#I hope we get to see Wanderer gift her something

[endearng]

Doomed

Pairing: Spencer Reid x single mom!reader Summary: If you and Spencer had a nickel every time someone teased you after witnessing your interactions, you'd have two nickels, which isn't much — but it's weird that it happened twice. WC: 4.4k Warnings: Mentions of abandonment and I think that's it. Let me know if I missed anything. A/N: HI!!! I'm so obsessed with them... in a normal amount of course. I'm thinking about writing casually for them, who knows... Also,,,, who am I if not a morcia truther….. I hope you enjoy it! Feedbacks are always appreciated <3 neighbor!au masterlist | main masterlist

You were doomed from the moment he bid you goodbye.

"So, who's he?" Victoria inquired, a sly smirk on her face and a bashful expression on yours.

"Who's who?" You asked, trying to feign nonchalance.

She groaned playfully, "You know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I don't." You winked, sitting on your couch again, between the two women. Sex and the City was playing on the TV across from the three of you.

"You're acting like us as freshmen when the seniors looked at us—" she retorted.

"I thought we didn't talk about that," Jude deadpanned.

"You're 'I don't know what you're talking about' me? I thought we were friends!" Victoria poked you in the rib.

"Ouch! He's just a friendly neighbor, that's it." You said, trying to cut the subject. Jude looked at you suspiciously. "White wine time."

From Spencer's apartment, he could hear the sound of chatter, joyful laughter and opening bottles for the rest of the night. He didn't know how to feel by your invitation, now that he had calmed down after looking you in the eye for a moment, technically, all by yourselves. He would definitely feel inappropriate at a kid's birthday where he barely knew the people who invited him, but he thought that Olivia's gesture was amazingly endearing. What could possibly be more childishly adorable than an infant trying to help and making a 'mistake'? And what could possibly be more devastatingly endearing than a mother taking advantage of said mistake to make it right?

Spencer studied the card for a moment. It fit the palm of his hand, tiny and delicate. It had a different address from yours and the time of the party, all of it lovely handwritten, just like the letters from calligraphy practice notebooks. It seemed like Olivia put a lot of effort in trying to perfect her handiwork. It read:

Hey, it's Oli!

I'm turning six and I want to celebrate it with you!

The contents of the slip of paper were adorned by dainty drawings related to birthdays: party hats, cake, gifts, some decoration and so on. It suddenly dawned on him that he was actually becoming closer to the people he always thought lived a perfect life. His mind had a tendency to wander and, for a fleeting moment, he thought about what it would be like to be part of that perfect life.

Olivia was a perfectionist child. He saw the expected behavior of the age in her manners, but the care with her work almost made him think someone else had done it for her. Something told him it wasn't the case, though.

Secured by two magnets, he placed Olivia's birthday party invitation on his fridge. You know, just so he wouldn't forget it — he tried to convince himself.

Everybody knew about his otherworldly memory, but he decided to forget it purposefully.

"Good morning, good ghost. I didn't see you anymore." Olivia greeted as she saw Spencer in front of the elevator. You were just locking your door closed, hyping yourself up for the week ahead of you when you heard it and a shiver ran down your spine. This, whatever it was, was getting out of hand.

"Good morning, Miss Olivia!" He said, a sweet tone of voice. You melted. "It's true. It's been a while. I was here on the weekend, but it seemed like you had other plans." He stuck his hand out for her to shake. She did it in a heartbeat.

"I was with my grandma and grandpa. They took me to the movies and grandpa made me lasagna." She explained as you approached them, adjusting your bag and Olivia's backpack in each of your arms. "Did'ya get my birthday party invitation?"

"Yes, I did! Thank you for inviting me. But, you know, your mother probably needed the rest of them for the other guests." He said as the elevator opened. He gestured for you to enter it first, so you did it with a grateful nod.

"Sorry, mommy. I didn't mean it." Olivia looked at you briefly, ashamed that you would call her out.

"I know, baby, 's okay. Everyone has one now." You assured her with a light tone. Breathe. "Hi, Spencer. Good morning." You said as he joined you in the elevator.

He breathed out, "Good morning. Hi." He had a big smile on his face, standing right next to you, you both facing the door and Olivia in front of you. Internally, he felt like a puppy who had his owners’ undivided attention.

Olivia pressed the button to the lobby. You noticed a book in his hands. Courage. "So, what are you reading, Spencer?"

He gulped. Were you talking to him? It took him a moment to get a grip and realize that he hadn't answered you. Struggling to find the words and suddenly unable to remember what he was actually reading. "Me? I'm just re-reading one of Dostoievski's books. Notes from Underground."

"Dosto-what?" Olivia chipped in.

You looked at her, ready to tell her to not interrupt someone, but couldn't stop yourself from giggling. Spencer watched it fondly. "It's Dostoievski, baby. D'you remember that one book with the 'ugly' cover that mommy was reading the other day?" You asked her, air quoting the word 'ugly'. “It wasn’t ugly. It just wasn’t pink.” You explained it, looking at Spencer. He grinned.

"Yeah. You didn't read to me because it was work." She said, getting distracted with one of her braids.

"Are you a teacher?" He asked, intrigued.

"No. I actually work for a publishing company. Sometimes I have interesting content to revise." You said, a tinge of irony in your voice. He smiled at you, feeling comfortable enough to joke around him without the awkwardness of that first encounter.

The elevator door opened. Olivia jumped out. "I bet it's interesting," was the best he could come up with. Tongue tied.

“Yeah. It’s a good book.”

Like a fucking teenager, he watched as you left with your daughter. Your mixed laughter echoing in the lobby as Olivia spinned around while you carried the weight all by yourself.

He scolded himself for not remembering to offer you help.

Two days later, a few states over, Spencer sat on a chair at the conference room of the precinct they were working with. The case was exhausting and he just wanted it to be over, but it wasn't that simple. He waited for Derek Morgan — he was his ride that night back to the hotel they were crashing on. He was in front of Derek as he and Penelope talked, her image on the computer screen. The man's nonchalant tone was a riddle for her to unsolve — everyone else was aware that there was definitely something between them (an unspoken dictionary worth of words), even if their interactions were deemed as jokes. Penelope, feeling very shy, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked at her lap after a particular comment about her smile. As she did so, her eyes caught a glance of her watch. "Oh, shoot. I have to go," she murmured, relieved to have a way out of the exchange that had high chances of turning her into a nervous wreck. "I'm so sorry, handsome! Tomorrow is one of my friend's daughter's birthday."

A flash of disappointment crossed Derek's features. Not that she'd noticed. Instead of pressing her, he chose to say, "Need extra energy to keep up with the kids, babygirl?" Ah, there was it. The teasing tone. She was definitely imagining things.

"Not as much as I need to keep up with you, tiger," she replied with a wink, the dynamic between them quickly shifting back to the usual playful banter. Both of them wanted more than playful and far more than banter, but none of them had the courage to admit it, to be straightforward about it. Spencer understood it, really. Speaking made things too real. "But, seriously. I totally forgot to pick up her gift. Olivia loves reading, so I'll go to the mall. I'm glad I already bought it, so I won't get home late."

If he was a dog, Spencer's ears would have definitely perked up from how quickly he associated one thing to another. Could it be the same Olivia? Your Olivia? "Okay, mama. Be safe." Derek said.

"I will," she smiled as she hung up.

Idiots.

Maybe Derek was too serious about the "no profiling each other" rule they set.

"Let’s go, pretty boy," The dark-skinned agent stated. Spencer got up, grabbed his bag and made his way to the elevator with her.

As they chatted about nothing in particular, walking out of the precinct, he desperately wanted to ask him if she truly didn't see past Penelope's sudden shyness. It wasn't in his nature to do that, of course, but as Derek and Penelope were two of the most important people in his life, he wondered why wouldn't they be a thing by now, since they enjoyed themselves so much and were so open about their affections towards one another.

He was quickly ripped away from his thoughts when the man suddenly spoke up, “So, what's your deal lately, Reid? What's she like?"

The doctor choked on his own saliva, which made him cough like crazy. Derek laughed, but tried to help his panicked friend. "What was that, man?" he asked worriedly, once he saw Spencer had finally inhaled a gulp of air.

Face as red as a tomato, cough dying in his throat, "what was what?" Derek returned to his normal self once he noticed his friend was able to finally form a coherent sentence.

"You're gonna act dumb now that you almost died when I talked about her?" Derek questioned, teasing tone, "it was just a lucky guess, but I see you, Reid. You're daydreaming far too often for what's acceptable for the boy genius who's as focused as a laser beam."

Spencer looked straight ahead as they got to the exit. He should have cornered Derek first. "Why would you think it has anything to do with a 'her'?" He chuckled, nervous to be caught red-handed — even if he wasn't doing anything wrong.

Was it wrong to want? He felt like it was. All his life, really. Had no chance to want anything because either was a far too distant reality, person, happiness for him to grasp it or it was ripped away from him too soon, before he could even acknowledge what was happening inside him. That's why want was almost a foreign sensation for Spencer. He had been deprived of it for as long as he could remember.

"Because people get a little dumb when they're in love. At least, ordinary people do. Apparently, so do geniuses," he snickered, his mind also set on teasing Spencer.

Maybe it was dumb to reveal his secret, jaw dropping crush on his cute neighbor, but he wanted some sort of relief to that mess of tangled thoughts inside his head and the strange, to say the least, feelings brewing on his chest whenever he saw you. You barely knew each other. But he supposed it was yet another part of the want he wasn’t familiar with: it didn't need much and it took all consciousness out the door. It wasn't uncommon for him to feel like his heart was being ripped out of his chest whenever he was on the field, especially since he was often facing danger. The way the events were unfolding were scarily similar to his cases: he noticed you, made up theories based on your behavior and routine, and slowly, oh, so slowly, started to approach you. Not to put you away, but for more personal reasons.

What was different was the feeling in his heart, instead of the sensation of being squeezed painfully inside his ribcage, often leading to ragged breathing, now felt like it was being held delicately by a pair of caring, dainty hands. Either way, his heart was fighting in the frontline and relied on the other part to be calmed and saved. The least he could do was try to be careful, finally opting not saying anything to Derek.

"Just a lot on my mind lately," he chose to say, instead. Derek dropped the subject, too tired to press it further.

Olivia's party had come to an end an hour ago. You got to see old friends and talked until they got every single ounce of information about your life lately and so did you about theirs. Your daughter had enjoyed her party greatly, and hugged every. single. person. who came to wish her happy birthday and thanked them for being there. She paid little attention to the gifts, too focused on spending time with her friends, playing with them until the sugar rush wore off — all of them had a massive candy intake that day. You didn't spend much time with her, but she promised you that she would unwrap her gifts the next morning with you, the most adorable toothless grin on her face.

Despite everything flowing accordingly, all day long, your stomach churned with anticipation. You wondered if Olivia's dad would show up, since the day she was born was, quote, the happiest of his life. His parents did, and when you looked at them anxiously, his mother shot you a neutral glance. Not a word from his end was its meaning. Your daughter never asked anything about him during the day, which made you even more jittery. You feared she would have a breakdown at any time, so you paid extra attention to her.

It never came.

You had missed the deadline of a book chapter that you had to revise, too caught up on trying to balance everything in your life, so your parents told you they'd stay with her so you could go home to work and take her in the morning. Normally, you wouldn't accept it, but your father had decided you were too tired to wake her to go home, so you complied. Right after the guests left, you did all the steps of her night routine, except for the bedtime story — she was that tired of all the running around in the backyard. You were sure she would sleep all night long.

Once she dozed off, you stood for a moment in her grand-bedroom (she had come up with that and it kind of stuck with you). Your parents had decorated it while you were still pregnant. She needs to feel at home, was what your mother said when you walked in on them assembling her crib. You almost cried, overwhelmed with joy. Your fiancé, then, had rolled up his sleeves to help out. Oh, the irony.

Her room was full of photographs that held many memories of her six years of life. You could never imagine that you could love this much, let alone dedicate yourself so entirely to someone like you did for her. Even though it was hard and you often didn't feel like you were enough to raise her on your own, Olivia was a wonderful child and her gestures and overall behavior assured you you were doing a good job. The reflection brought tears to your eyes. You drove home by yourself.

Currently, in your apartment, it felt a little too big without Olivia in there — too many books, too many chairs, too much space on your sofa, too many toys scattered around with nobody to play with them. You sighed, deciding on going to the kitchen to make you a cup of tea — you felt like your brain was hammering inside your skull and you still needed to spend time in front of a computer screen. Going back to your small office to wallow in self pity and second guess yourself even as you read whatever material it was, you heard a knock on the door.

You checked your watch. 9p.m. On a Saturday.

Weird.

Through the peephole, you saw someone you truly weren't expecting. "Spencer?" You asked as you opened the door, surprise filling your being. "I didn't think you'd come, I supposed you were at work. I mean, sometimes it feels like you barely have a routine, heh. But, um, thanks for dropping by." You said, a little unfiltered. Not even five seconds in his presence and you were already making a fool of yourself in front of him.

He held a small bouquet of flowers in one of his hands and a gift in the other. To a stranger's eye, it seemed like he had missed your birthday and was trying to apologize for it. You blushed at the thought. He shut his eyes, sorry crossing his features. "I know. I'm sorry I missed it, even though I really didn't want to. You were right, I was away on a case." You smiled, dismissing his apologies and soothing his worries once you did so.

"It's alright with me. She was totally expecting you, though. Kept asking where you were for the first hour. Then she got distracted with candy," you told him, "so she's the one you're gonna need to apologize to." You joked.

"T—that's why I'm here."

"I'm just not sure if Olivia is old enough to get flowers," you said, face serious. His eyes went wide and it took him a moment to understand, but once he looked at your serious expression cracking, his shoulders shook with laughter, with you. If you had more attention, you'd seen the moment his ears turned red.

Your laughter died down. A beat of silence. "These are actually for you." He revealed.

You were stunned. "Oh," you said, suddenly at a loss of words. "Thank you so much."

He gave you the flowers and you gracefully accepted. You were mesmerized by them; colors swimming in harmony before your eyes and the scent making you feel dizzy. Maybe not the scent, but the emotions you were feeling with the surprise. He went out of his way to get you those flowers — it's safe to say that it had been a while since you felt that way. "I—I have no words, Spencer. Really. Thank you so much," your voice choked.

You looked at each other for a brief moment. You tried to show how much you appreciated his gesture. You grinned, trying to get out of that haze, "Do you want to come in? Oli's with my parents, so you won't be able to apologize today," you quipped, making room for him to enter.

"Yeah, I'd love to."

"You can place the giftbox on the coffee table." He went inside, toeing off his shoes in the small space you had before the living room. Once he was there, he saw you enter the kitchen to find a vase. He could see you from where he stood. "Make yourself at home. Do you want some tea? I have Earl Gray."

Your voice was distant as he took in his surroundings. "Yeah, I'd like it." He murmured as he looked around. Your walls were a light gray, adorned with pictures of you and Olivia, some people he assumed were some of your friends. The wall behind the sofa was entirely covered by a big bookshelf that went from one end to the other, filled with books and souvenirs from basically everywhere. The dark wood of the furniture complemented the light walls in a cozy way, some toys and kids books scattered around the floor. The apartment smelled like fresh printed sheets of paper and earl gray tea. You had a few indoor plants that looked well taken care of. Spencer was admiring your degree from Stanford, which hung on the wall beside the TV, almost close to the door.

"One of my biggest achievements. Besides Olivia, of course," you approached him with his mug of tea. Turning to you, he noticed through his peripheral vision that you had placed the flowers inside a vase and in your coffee table.

"Thanks," he said.

"So... are you okay?"

The question caught him off guard. What?

You smiled a little. "You always look kinda tired when I see you," you said, not thinking about how your words might be interpreted. Your eyes widened, realizing it. "I mean, no! Sorry! You're still pretty, don't worry. It's just— I asked because you might be going through something. Forget I said anything about your looks."

He would definitely never forget.

Spencer laughed, flustered, eyes softly gazing at you while you rambled like a madman. "I'm fine, thanks for asking. Sometimes my job is a little demanding and I'm forced to see some things that usually people don't even think exist," he confessed.

You bit your lip. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be," he retorted, "I have a great team to work with."

"I'm glad to hear that. Sorry I brought it up, you probably don't want to talk about work right now." You said, sipping on your tea.

"Yeah, you're right, again," he chuckled. "How was Olivia's birthday?" He tried a change of subject.

"That was actually the reason I was moping when you got here," you said, trying to force a chuckle. "It was nice, I guess. I was just on edge all day trying to anticipate her emotions regarding her dad, but I guess they never came. At least, not today." You beckoned him to sit with you on the couch, now facing each other directly.

"May I ask why?" He asked, tentatively.

"Why what?"

More hesitance. "Why wasn't he there?"

"From what I know, he moved away." You said, tone unreadable.

He worried that he was overstepping and wasn't sure that he would like to hear more about it. He was scared to find out unpleasant news, such as you still had feelings for him. "I'm sorry." Was all he could muster.

"Don't be. I have a great team," you repeated his words from earlier and he smiled at you.

His brain and tongue didn't seem to be working together that night, he was so avid to know more. "Did you always have support?"

"My parents didn't like the idea of having a single mother when they first heard it. It hit me hard back then, but then I realized it was better to be alone than to stay in an unhappy relationship, especially since Olivia was already in the picture." You said, setting your own mug on the coffee table.

"What happened?" Stop it.

He couldn't help it, he was too curious. It was his first opportunity to truly know the novel sort of family that you had. Apparently, not so much.

"He was distant before leaving. Someone else, maybe?" You asked, rhetorically, a crease between your eyebrows. "I never found out, but I don't want or need to, either. His parents absolutely love Olivia and they were there today, 's all that matters."

"You’re a very strong person."

"I have to be," you said, softly. "You’re a very good listener."

A rush of courage running through his veins. Deciding on not taking the road of unsaid things, like his friends were earlier. Don’t dance around the subject, take the opportunity. Dare. "And you're just as pretty."

The world stopped. You looked at him in disbelief. It didn't last much. A knock on your door. Scratch that: someone banging on your door.

You pinched your eyebrows together. Spencer stood up, almost as if he was doing something wrong. You looked at him, apologizing, "I'm not expecting anyone."

You walked to the door and he stood behind you, telling you he was going to let you be. You didn't want to and you were already chastising yourself from not trying to talk to him and focusing on your problems instead. You opened the door and in the threshold stood Penelope Garcia, gift basket in hands. Before you could speak, both of your guests spoke at the same time.

A mortified "Garcia?" from Spencer.

A surprised "Spencer?" from Penelope.

Finally, a confused "Do you know each other?" from you.

"Yeah. We work together." Spencer replied. "What are you doing here, Penelope?"

"What are you doing here, boygenius?" Her tone now was teasing, a cheshire grin on her face. You were acting confused, but you were loving to see Spencer so out of place.

"I... I was..." He trailed off.

Poor thing. "He came to drop Olivia's gift. We're neighbors." You explained, trying to save him from further embarrassment.

She glanced between you two, eyes full of mirth behind her glasses. "I'm here to do the same." She said, smiling as she handed you the basket, which you took carefully and thanked her with a side hug. "There's her present, sweetcheeks. I'm so sorry I couldn't be there, you know how much I miss you and Olivia. But I'm sure our genius told you all about it." Her sentimental words truly held emotion, but she turned her attention to Spencer once again. The opportunity was too good to let go.

Spencer looked like a fish out of water. You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it. "Garcia, can we talk?" He asked abruptly. "I'm sorry, I have to go." He murmured in a much more soft tone to you.

He could never resume whatever was going on in there because he felt like he had been caught with his pants down.

You were so surprised you didn't even process what was your answer, forgetting to ask if Penelope wanted to come in or anything. "I—Okay. I'll see you, then." With a small smile and slight disappointment in your voice. He all but dashed out of your apartment and took Garcia, who had a mischievous expression on her face, with him. You closed your door and looked at the mix of flowers. A sigh escaped you. Damn, Garcia.

Spencer was escorting Penelope back to her car, ready to bury himself alive because he knew she would run her mouth and knew precisely to whom she would tell about it. And, of course, the endless jokes he would hear during the next few days. "Sooooo..." She trailed off, suggestively.

"I—don't want to talk." She opened her mouth, but had no success in talking. "Not. A. Word."

She entered her car and started the engine as he waited for her to go. But before she started driving, she yelled, "I knew you had it in you, Reid."

From your balcony, work long forgotten, you watched Spencer hide his face in his hands in utter embarrassment.

You were doomed.

[redzeverin]

At the end of the day… there was one more gift. And now the sweet dreams have become reality. 😊💚

Happiest of birthdays to Nahida~! My favorite radish Archon!!

The Sabzerus festival was filled with so much fun and festivities, and everyone worked hard to make it the best one yet! Perhaps a certain someone who avoided the crowds also had something in store to gift to his wise deity…

[fangirl-dot-com]

Reader Lore - Born to Break Records

So this is a little filler for between now and the next chapter. This chapter might have triggers for death, abusive parents, and brief mentions of bullying. If these make you uncomfortable, then please feel free to skip this chapter. The synopsis is the reader’s life up until her first race win in F2. 

Welcome to Reader-Lore

2003

The cry of a baby filled the sterile walls of the delivery room. Pants filled in the quiet moments, but were mostly covered. The wailing baby was placed into the arms of the waiting mother, the father looking down on the two. 

“It’s a girl,” the nurse told them, writing something down in a book. 

The atmosphere suddenly changed. The once hopeful air was dampened with disappointment. The father sighed loudly, turning his head to look out the window. The mother, who had held her baby tight, loosened her grip. Her nose was now scrunched in borderline disgust. 

The nurse, feeling the off energy, offered to take the baby girl. She made some excuse about needing to weigh her and make sure that she was healthy, things that could have waited until after the parents bonded. 

The mother was quick to hand her over, waiving her hand as though it wasn’t a big deal. The father had now moved farther away from the hospital bed. 

The baby had started to wail once more after being taken from the arms of her mother. Arms that she thought were safe. Arms connected to the body that had cared for her for 9 months. Arms that suddenly did not hold her tight. Arms that willingly gave her away to some stranger. 

Once the nurse and frightened infant left the from, the mother and father looked at each other. 

“I wanted a boy,” the male murmured.

The female rolled her eyes, “I know. And so did I. But we don’t have a choice anymore.” 

“We do. Could always leave her here. A boy would be able to break records. A girl is useless.” 

“And be arrested? No thank you.” The mother rolled on her side, arms around her front. The father just huffed. 

“Everything we talked about, our future, is now a wasted memory.” 

The mother looked at the door with a sliver of hope, although, it was too small for anyone to see it. “Maybe she can do everything that you wanted a boy to do.” 

“We can just have another baby,” the father persisted. 

“You heard the doctor. It would be too dangerous for me to have another. What’s done is done. You can walk out now if you can’t commit.” The woman went to say something else, but was interrupted by whimpers. 

The nurse had walked back in, now with a swaddled baby. Begrudgingly, the mother held her hands out to take the bundle of blankets. She looked down at the brand new baby, but her heart didn’t swell with pride like she read about. Her heart filled with distain, as if the baby were a Christmas present that she didn't want. But this time, she couldn’t return the baby like she’d return a gift at whatever store it was bought from. 

The father had taken a few steps closer to the bed, but kept his distance. There wasn’t a bone in his body that actually wanted the child. 

“We still need a name for her,” the nurse stated, clicking her pen. 

The mother glanced to the father before saying, “Y/n. Her name is Y/n.” 

2008 – Five years old 

The air was stuffy, filled with the scent of petrol and burnt rubber. The quiet that could have been was broken by the rattles of engines and throttles. You wished for silence. 

You wanted nothing to do with this. But, you’d rather get in a kart then flinch at your father’s hand. You had been allowed to wander around the track. The big boys were driving now. And by big boys, you meant 11- and 10-year-olds. They were bigger than you and drove karts that were so much faster than the little one that you had. 

You looked around. There was definitely not a shortage of girls hanging around, but none were dressed like you. Most were the older or younger sisters of the drivers. Their pink tops, paired with shorts or skirts, flowed in the wind. None of them were wearing an old itchy race suit that was two sized too big. They were allowed to wear sandals, while you had to endure the tight racing shoes that your dad had definitely yanked on the laces too much. It wasn’t your fault that you hadn’t learn to tie them yet. 

You watched their hair bounce in the tall pony tails tied on the tops of their heads. They didn’t need their hair to be wrapped in a bun at the base of their necks so that it could fit into a helmet. 

You wished that your mom and dad would allow you to cut it off so that you could be the boy that they wanted. You knew that they didn’t want you, your little mind was able to catch on to things like that. 

You understood patterns. Patterns on the track helped you know what areas to avoid. Patters on the kart taught you where to put your feet and hands. Patterns told you that moms and dads should be happy for their children, and not yell at them. Patters revealed that children did not flinch when their parents patted their heads or caressed their cheeks. 

The wind blew loud as the kart race came to a close. You knew that you needed to get back quickly to where you parents were waiting, but you wanted to see the winners, wanted to see them taste a victory that you were so desperate for. 

You squeezed past the other boys and looked up at the three on the podium. The one on the lowest step wasn’t rememberable. His hair looked the same as others. His height wasn’t tall or small, just in the middle. 

But the boys on the other two steps were. The one on the second pedestal had a shaggy hair cut, with bangs that pointed down. You had seen him before, surrounded by his family. A little brother, a big brother, mom and dad, and then a man who looked at the boy with stars in his eyes. 

You wished someone looked at you like that. 

“And in second place, Charles Leclerc.” So that was his name. Sharl. His eyes were bright green and filled with light and hope. But a sadness still glazed them as he looked up at the boy on the top step. 

The boy who towered over the crowd had blond sandy hair. For a winner, he didn’t look happy. His blue eyes didn’t hold the same brightness that the green eyes had. 

“And our winner, Max Verstappen!” 

That was a nice name. Max. You wanted to look at the boy winner for a few more moments. Engrave his image into your mind. Because, you didn’t know when the next time you’d be able to do this. Your dad would probably ban you from such things, saying something like you didn’t need to look at something you’d never achieve.

But you were hungry. 

You were taken out of your watching by the announcement that your own race was going to start soon. And you weren’t in your kart. 

You rushed through the crowd, trying to put on your bright pink helmet on. You could put your gloves on while you got into your kart. 

By the time you got there, your dad was already looking at you with a disappointed look. Your mother was nowhere to be found. 

“Where have you been,” he hissed, hitting your helmet. 

“I wanted to see the podiums,” you muttered, getting your gloves on. 

Your dad shook his head. “What have I told you about that?” 

“That I shouldn’t look at things that I can’t get.” 

“Exactly. Now get in your kart.” 

You did as he said. You heart was pounding as you taxied the little thing onto the smaller track. You were able to be seen by everyone, your helmet acting as a little flag. It seemed to say “look at me! I’m the only girl trying to be on par with all these boys! Watch me fail!” 

But you were determined to prove them all wrong. 

By the last lap, you were right behind one more kart. One more pass and you could win. Prove your dad wrong. Prove everyone wrong. 

You watched as he broke your pattern. The pattern that would help you win. 

He made a mistake, and you welcomed it with glee. 

You passed over the finish line with a significant gap behind you and that boy. At the stopping point, you parked your kart and stepped out, exhaling sharply. 

You thought that people would cheer and shout, but the silence that you had wished for earlier had come to haunt you. 

You won and there was nothing to celebrate. 

2015 – Twelve years old 

Everyone thought he was crazy. There was no way that he was going to sponsor a 12 year old in karting, a female none the less. 

He wasn’t crazy. How could he not want to sponsor you, a consecutive race winner in your league. He constantly watched you drive circles around the boys who would berate you in their free time. He watched as you would let their words roll right off your back. You didn’t let their words get to you.

But, he was your godfather and he had a sense of responsibility for you. He watched as you climbed out of the kart, looking around trying to find a familiar face. 

He could see your eyebrows raise through the visor when you caught sight of him. 

“LoLo!” you yelled, quickly sprinting over to him. He was ready to catch you, but not expecting the hit with your helmet. 

He let out an oof as you knocked him slightly off balance. 

“Hey kid! You did good!” He rubbed your helmet as if it were hair. You quickly unbuckled the pink contraption and took it off, hair sticking to your forehead. 

You looked around before your shoulders slumped. You kicked a rock as you spoke, “They didn’t come.” 

Lorenzo had noticed a lack of your parents as soon as he arrived. He would have come earlier to help you with your kart if he had known that they weren’t here. He looked down at you with sad eyes, and that’s the last thing you wanted. 

You always wished for someone to look at you with so much love and affection that it poured out of their soul. But you only ever got looks of hatred and pity. 

He rubbed your shoulder, “It’s ok kid. But you wanna know something?” He crouched down to your level, pant legs getting damp with moisture. You nodded your head. “LoLo gets to sponsor you!” 

You gasped, eyes tearing. Even though you were twelve, you knew the weight of the situation. Your parents had told you that because you were winning, you were embarrassing them. And because you were embarrassing them, they wouldn’t pay any more years of karting after this one. You wailed when you told Lorenzo the next time you saw him. And he saw your heart break into itty bitty pieces while you did. 

When you left, he looked into every possibly way that he could keep you in karting. The only option was to sponsor you.

And sponsor you he did. He emailed, texted, and called multiple companies, trying to get their support. He would get sponsorship to put on your kart so that you could carry the logos proudly. He had your new one sitting in the back of his old truck, but that was a surprise. It was blue with two proud bulls on the very front. He had done it. He found you a sponsor that would keep you going for a couple of years. 

His thoughts were interrupted by you actually knocking him over. He knew his sweater was getting damp, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to see you smile for the rest of his life. 

You were too busy whispering thank you after thank you for you to notice the weird looks that you were getting. Looks from the boys that you had just beaten. Looks from the parents who didn’t know the worries of paying for karting. 

He quickly picked you up and took you back over to get your cart. He helped you load it on the mover and rolled it over to his truck. You wouldn’t be needing this kart that was almost falling apart. You had a new one, and you’d be all right. 

You talked the whole way home, animatedly moving your hands around as you described your latest win. Your hands rolled over the other as you showed him how you turned the wheel, barely clipping the front of the kart who wanted to push you off. 

Lorenzo only looked at you with pure adoration. A look that you wanted so much, but were too busy to see due to your explanations of your imaginations. 

Maybe he was crazy, but he didn’t think so. 

2019 – Sixteen years old (F3)

Your eyes were pricked with tears as you read the letter you received in the mail. The big letters of DISOWNMENT flashed in the reflections. They had done it weeks ago, according to the date on the top of the paper. By now, your things were probably thrown away or burned.   

You had just finished the F4 category and were making a name for yourself in F3. You couldn’t deal with this now. One of the management people came and knocked on your door, telling you that the race was about to start. 

You crumpled the paper up and threw it in the trash. If they didn’t need you, you didn’t need them. That was the lie you continually told yourself. Of course a girl needed her parents. They were the people who were supposed to nurture you and help you. 

But they never did that in the first place. At least you didn’t have to constantly buy drug store foundation and concealer and try to explain the black and blue around your eyes after it melted off during the race. No more flinching. No more hiding. 

Just no more. 

You would call Lorenzo and see if you could stay with him for a bit during the break. You would have to or you wouldn’t have a place to sleep. 

Your breath shuddered at the thought. 

You told yourself that you knew this was coming. They had cut all contact with you months ago and weren’t spotted when you went home during the last break. 

You allowed the tears to fall as you got your helmet on. No one would see the streams as you placed your visor down. You were now hidden away from the weird looks that everyone sent you. No girl had ever made it this far. 

Sure as you grew, there were girls in karting. That number seemed to increase in F4. Most of them were from the driver academies. You were still able to participate due to multiple sponsorships that Lorenzo had gotten you. 

But with increase, there has to be a decrease. You were currently the only female in F3 and were set to be the only female to make it to F2. Well, that’s what everyone told you. Your stats reflected your need to prove yourself. 

Race win after race win helped thrust you through the blockades built by men. They wouldn’t stop you, and you didn’t want to stop. Not now, not ever. 

Each race win fueled your hunger in this world. And it only grew and grew. 

Your tears were brushed away by the wind brushing through your car. At that moment, you told yourself that you wouldn’t cry over your parents ever again. They didn’t deserve them. 

You could cry about other things. Such as passing over the finish line, marking your first win in F3. 

You constantly showed the world that you could do it. You wanted to cry again as you listened to your anthem. You wanted to cry when the boys celebrated with each other, leaving you out. You wanted to cry as you walked back to your “motor home,” knowing that it was put up quickly for you. 

The time you finally let yourself cry was when you were talking with Lorenzo on the phone. Your eyes were tired and dehydrated by the time you quit. Lorenzo was able to calm you down. He told you that he would take care of everything, take care of you. 

You knew you wouldn’t be able to see him much though. The F3 calendar was far busier than the F4 one had. And you knew the moment you entered F2, time for relaxation would be far and few between. 

But you had Lorenzo to fall back on when the times got hard. You could always count on him. 

2020 – Seventeen years old (F2)

It was too soon. Too too soon. It wasn’t fair either. Your tears had not stopped streaming down your face since you arrived. The sterile smell itched your nose, but you needed to be here. For him. 

He had gotten paler in the few moments since you had been there. His breath rattled with each inhale and exhale. And each breath brought more tears. You didn’t want to let him go. 

“Please LoLo. I can’t do this without you,” you whispered, knowing that he probably would not hear you. The doctors told you that he was far too gone for that, but you liked to believe that he was still listening. “You can’t leave me like everyone has. I can’t be alone. I need you.” You put your face down in the blankets, squeezing his hand. 

The nurses stood in the door, with tears of their own. They were watching a child lose the only family that she had left. 

You inhaled sharply, wiping your tears away.

“You know I’m going to do it. For you. It’s only ever been you. You’ve been my best friend and I don’t know how I’m going to get through this scary world without you.” You hiccupped. “But, I know that you need to go. And I’m being selfish for keeping you here.” 

You stood and kissed his forehead. 

“Thank you LoLo, for everything. I love you.” 

His chest rose, fell, rose, and fell. 

But didn’t rise again. The multiple beeps from the different machines let you know that he was gone. And he wasn’t coming back. 

One of the nurses came and rubbed your back as you sobbed, not caring who heard you. Your tears did not stop. 

They didn’t stop on the plane to Bahrain. They refused to dry up during the practices as you set record times. They let up as you gave post-practice interviews, saving you from being embarrassed. 

You cried as you put your helmet on. Stickers had been placed on it the night before with Lorenzo’s name and dates of birth and death to commemorate his legacy that would continue through you. 

You knew this race was important. You heard that multiple F1 drivers were there to watch. And you’d give them a spectacle, before hiding away to burry your dead godfather. You hoped that the blond kid with blue eyes that had grown up by now was there. He didn’t need to know that you looked up to him. You just hoped that he’d be there. And possibly the green eyed Justin Bieber look-a-like as well, you had followed him too. 

You had managed to score a P5 starting on the grid and you knew it would be tough to fight for the front. But you had a feeling that you’d be just fine. 

And just fine you were. 

You all hauled your F2 car over that finish line, finishing with a gap of 10 seconds. Your crew was screaming in your ear through the radio and congratulations were being thrown everywhere. You pulled into the number 1 spot and climbed onto the nose. You put your finger on the big numbers on the nose of your car, kissed the finger that touched it, and raised it, pointing at the sky. You had changed your driver number to the permanent 89 this season, and for the rest of your career. 

One time, Lorenzo had showed you pictures of when he used to kart. The big 89 was visible through the old photographs. He had trophies upon trophies, but was never picked up by anyone. You told him that if he had raced these days, he’d be able to skip everything and would be put into an F1 car immediately. He had just laughed and told you to do it for him. 

So that’s what you were doing. After you commemoration, you scrambled down the car and jumped into the crews waiting arms. These days, you did not flinch when they hit your helmet. You knew that these were celebrations for racers and you were thankful to partake. Two boys followed you up and went before you. You didn’t remember their names, only the Australian accent and the odd American accent. But they would remember your name. 

You carried your flag high as you walked onto the stage. The anthem sounded much sweeter this time around. The trophy felt a little heavier this time though. You looked up to see those blue eyes that you saw many years ago. Max said a quick congratulations before you raised it as though to almost offer it to the open sky. This time, you let the tears go. You quicky wiped them away and picked up the giant bottle of champagne. You hauled it over your shoulder and sprayed the others, absolutely drenching them. 

This time, they did it to you as well.  

You knew you made it. 

I’ll do it for you, LoLo. 

December 2024 – Twenty-one years old 

Christian Horner sat in the folding chair, as he did year after year. A camera was right in front of him, with an interviewer to the side. 

“Please state your name for the camera.” He rolled his eyes. 

“My name is Christian Horner, and I am the Team Principal of the Oracle Red Bull Racing Formula 1 Team.” 

“Let’s talk about your driver, Y/n L/n.” 

The screen cuts to the pace of your car, passing multiple others in one clean sweep. 

“She’s one of the best talents I’ve seen in a while.” 

A scene of you holding a trophy, high in the sky. 

“What is one thing that you admire about your driver. She has said a lot about you.” Christian smiled. Of course you had. You told him that you saw him as the dad you never had. 

“Almost everything she touches, she turns it to gold.” 

The scene changes to your first win. The crowds of red cheered your name. Something you didn’t think was possible. You had taken that win from their favorites and you were being praised for it. Slow-motion splashes of champagne hit you from either side as you wiped your face. 

The scene returns, but Max is in Christian’s spot. 

“She’s different. She’s the epitome of what a rookie should be. I’m just thankful that she’s my teammate and not working against me.” 

The screen fades to two Red Bull cars with an Aston Martin in between them. 

“Y/n, Max is currently behind the Aston. Gap to you is 1.237 seconds,” Mitch’s voice is heard off screen through the radio. 

“Tell Maxie that it’s time to do the old switcharoo!” 

Your car suddenly slowed down just enough on the turn, and the crowd cheered as Max’s car went wide, putting him before you. You quickly got in his slip stream and the two of you sped off, leaving the green car in the dust. 

Another driver, with green eyes, is now in the seat, answering the same question. 

Charles looked up in thought while blowing some air out his lips. “She’s fearless. You normally don’t see that anywhere. Sure, everyone gets scared if they have an impact, especially as big as the one she had, but not her.” 

The camera cuts to the violent scene of your first DNF. Your car flipped, you were trapped. People’s faces were adorned with tears including Christian, no one had been able to contact you. Yet, the focus is now on you, wiggling out from beneath the wreckage. You, in spite of it all, raised your fist as though you were celebrating a first win. 

The scene cuts to an Australian with a straight smile. He looks semi-uncomfortable in the seat.  

“It looked like you and L/n had a tussle in the beginning. Is that true?” 

Oscar shook his head. “There was never a tussle. We both made mistakes, but that’s racing. Wheels touch all the time: it doesn’t mean that we have the urge to take each other out.” 

The interviewer continued, “But she did take you out.” 

The screen fades to a clip of two cars dangerously close together, one orange and one navy. 

David Croft’s voice could be heard, “And there goes the Red Bull of Y/n L/n and the McLaren of Oscar Piastri! They are close together around that corner and they aren’t backing down. Are they going to make contact! And they do! Off the track they go, debris is everywhere. And I don’t think they are going to be able to continue.” 

You knew that you should not have “never backed down never what-ed.” But Oscar was going for it and so were you. And you felt terrible. You quickly used the halo to climb out. Looking over, Oscar was doing the same thing. 

The camera followed you as you made your way through the swarming stewards. You just knew that you needed to check on the Aussie. 

The crowds could hear David speak again, “Oh no. Looks like L/n is mad. Does Red Bull have a thing for drivers with anger issues?” 

Oscar looked up and saw you storming towards him, batting away the stewards hands. He stiffened, ready for anything. But what he didn’t expect was a giant hug. He could feel you shaking and he quickly put his hands around you. 

“I’m ok.”  

The screen flashes back to Oscar. 

He huffed, “She did. But the moment she got out of the car, she came to check on me. She batted away the stewards who were desperate to make sure that she was fine, since she took the brunt of the hit. If that doesn’t convince you that Y/n is a great friend and better driver, then I don’t know what will.” The Aussie looked livid. 

The scene cuts to now a new face, your manager. 

The interviewer asks, “What is something that people might not know about Y/n.” Vito put his hand to his chin. You had already given him the permission to talk about what might be discussed. 

He inhaled, “She’s strong. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well.” 

“Can you give us an example?” 

“The kid was disowned in 2019, right before her F3 debut. And you know what she did? She put that F3 car in the P1 spot. She never showed it though. She held her head high, and was squeezing into her place, that was waiting for her, in this sport.” 

A quick flash of 16 year old you, holding your first F3 trophy, was shown on screen. 

Vito kept talking as the scene changed to you walking around your motor home, greeting everyone who was there. They knew what had happened, and comforted you with words and hugs. You were thankful for them. 

“She also lost her godfather Lorenzo in January 2020. It was heartbreaking to hear her over the phone. Her debut in F2 was the next day. I told her that she didn’t have to, but she insisted that she needed to race, to win.” 

The camera followed 17 year old you, helmet on and visor down, as you walked to your F2 car, shining with your new number. 

“In less than 24 hours, she was back in the car.” 

Your car sped down the straight, over the finish line. 

“And she won.” 

The scene shifted to 23 year old Max Verstappen handing you the big F2 trophy. Tears could be seen in your eyes as you took the cup and thanked him. 

“Did you know?” 

Max looked at her in bewilderment. “I didn’t. And you would have never guessed it. Y/n has her heart on her sleeve, everywhere she goes, except when she races.” 

A quick cut now shows Christian back in the seat. 

“The last driver I saw with that mental strength was Charles Leclerc. He previously lost his godfather, and then lost his father. A few days later he won his race. Y/n lost the only family she had in less than a year.” Christian laughed. “These rookies are built different. You’d think they were made for the earlier days of racing, with how much they put into it. But Y/n, I don’t know. Her aura commands attention.” 

The scenes now shown are from multiple races. 

The camera followed you as you walked through the crowded paddock, trying to get back to hospitality. You thought that it would be different, that you’d have to squeeze through to get by. But with each step you took, the people parted like water. 

You flashed a smile at many fans who seemed awestruck to be in your presence. 

A new driver is now in the seat. 

“She’s almost like Charles, in a sense,” Lando said. “The two of them,” he looked around, “I don’t know. It’s hard to describe.” 

“Can you try?” Lando shot her a cheeky grin. “They are basically the F1 royalty. Any driver has a ‘celebrity image’ and people are excited to see us outside. They ask to take pictures, but they also do things against us.” 

The scene cuts to multiple instances of booing and pushing drivers. 

“And yet, Charles and Y/n bend them to their will almost. They listen to them. The King and Queen of Formula 1.” 

A video of you, Lando, Max, and Charles speaking before the Monaco Grand Prix plays. 

“Ah, Max. Did I tell you that we have to address them as your highness now?” 

Max looked up from his phone and followed Lando’s finger that was pointed at Charles and you, deep in conversation.

“No? Why?” Lando walked over and showed him the edit and comments on his phone. 

The caption read “Y/n L/n and Charles Leclerc are F1 royalty and we need to address them as such.” The video that played started with a clip of Charles in Monaco, with the grid and Monegasque royalty behind him. He looked so majestic. It switched over to you in your home country, with a crowd around your pedestal. You hadn’t even won yet, and they looked at you as though you hung the moon. You stretched out your arms and the crowd roared.

Max looked back at the two, who were ignorantly blissed. Max looked up at Lando. 

“You’re right.” 

The camera is back to Charles. 

His eyes were wide with eyebrows raised, “Lando really said that.” He smirked. Shuffling up to good posture he said, “I’m fine with that. Y/n has always been different, but in a good way. She knows what the people wants, but also doesn’t get caught up in all the PR. She’s herself.” 

A clip of you with fans plays. Your smile was mirrored with theirs. Everyone wanted to see you, hug you, feel you. And the waves that were emanating from you only made the crowd happier. 

Now, the seat is occupied by none other than Sir Lewis Hamilton. 

“What do I think about Y/n?” he questions back to himself. “I know that she is one of the best rookies to ever come across in the world of Formula 1. I’ve had the opportunity to share podiums with so many drivers, but her? There’s something different.”

The scene flashes to a podium shared with you, Lewis, and Max. Lewis had been able to take the win, leaving you on the third step. You had almost had the win, but a late safety car ruined it. Lewis looked over at you, expecting a disappointed face. But all he saw was a smile that rivaled the sun. 

“She never seems to be disappointed with anything. Even if she was to qualify in last place, she would still smile.” Lewis laughed. “And I think everyone loves her more than they realize.” 

A small clip of you and a bulldog flashes across the screen. Roscoe was licking all over your face. 

“Roscoe, stop!” But you were laughing, and the dog thought that he should continue. Lewis found the two of you in the middle of the floor in the Mercedes hospitality. A blanket was draped around your shoulders.  

“And what are you doing here kid?” Lewis put his hands on his sides. 

You shrugged. “Toto told me I could hang out here. Max is having one of those ‘adult meetings’ that Christian says my ears shouldn’t hear. I think they forget that I’m 21 now.” 

Lewis just laughed, thinking of how Toto must have let you in and had given you a blanket as well. He just ruffled your hair and sat on the ground with you.  

The scene changes one more time. You are now in the seat. 

The interviewer asks, “Please state your name and your occupation.” 

You smiled, “My name is Y/n L/n and I am a Formula 1 racer who drives for the Oracle Red Bull Racing Formula 1 Team. I also DJ,” you shot finger guns at the camera and clicked you mouth, “Thanks Lando.” 

“How was your first season in Formula 1. You obviously showed the world of what you could do.” 

You nodded before continuing, “The season went better than I expected. To place third in the driver’s championship as a rookie? Unheard of.” You smirked. “Until now.” 

The person behind the camera continued, “You were only 10 points away from Charles Leclerc. How does that make you feel?” 

You cocked your head. “It feels wonderful. Charles had a really good season.” You leaned in as though to tell a secret. “If anything, don’t tell Charles or Max I said this, but Max and I would rather lose to Charles than anyone else.” 

“And why is that?” 

You deadpanned. “Well Charles is Lightning McQueen incarnate and Max’s emotional support rival. Who else would we want?” People laughed in the background. 

“Now that you know you could win a championship…” 

You cut her off, “Oh I’ve always known I could win a championship. But I also know that I was born to break records. And right now, I’m on a path to help Max break the 7 streak.” 

“Ah yes, sorry. What would you do after winning a championship.” You hadn’t seen Max slip in. 

“I think I’d pull a Nico Rosenburg. Ya know? Retire while I’m ahead.” 

“You would not do that!” Max said behind the camera and you looked straight at him. 

“Yes I would.” 

“No you wouldn’t. Because you said you were born to break records. Well Kid, if I make a record championship, you need to be the one to break it.” 

Oh my gosh, I loved how this chapter turned out. And it is officially the longest chapter I have written so far – 6,077 words. Right now, I have to write the chapter for the last race of F2 and you readers have to pretend that it lands on a weekend that the F1 drivers can attend. 

Also! I am pleased to announce that the first few chapters of a new series will be out shortly! It is called “Besties for the Resties” and it’s how you got close with many of the drivers. Not all of them will have their own chapter and not all the drivers are being written about. So please be aware that this will not be going over 10 chapters! 

Thank you to all my readers and Happy Thanksgiving!  

Tag List : @awekbachira @lightdragonrayne @leilanixx @angsthology @digitalizeduniqueness @topguncultleader @landosgirlxoxo @gods-menace @itsjustkhaos @thefandomswhre @alwaysboredsworld @vellicora @bintuabbas @sam-is-lost @empress-kimiko @assholeinatrenchcoat @kagatinkita @glitterquadricorn @zyonsay @tsukishimawhore @treehouse-mouse @ashy-kit @agent-curt-mega @julesbabey @lydialawrence @stopeatread @claudia5912 @nichmeddar @blueberry64857959 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @leptitlu @alessioayla @badassturtle13 @kaaale @wcnorris @cool-ultra-nerd @hockeyboysarehot @agent-curt-mega @myxticmoon @cmleitora @sam-is-lost

[theitgirlnetwork]

Earn it

Ch. 1: You Boys Really Like to Play Doubles

Note: Okayyy another one in the lineup. Now that I'm back in my account I think I am going to make an update schedule. I hope you all enjoy this new series along with the others and let me know what you think. This first chapter is mostly backstory building but this story is my chance to be messy lol. It will have spoilers for challengers, but also a lot of things are changed. Please feel free to interact and give feedback (constructively) it inspires me to hear from you all. This obsession came fast so I feel like I already have so many ideas for these characters. This one is short because I was dipping my toe in but they will get longer! The aesthetic board for this story will be on the masterlist in a couple hours! Thank you and enjoy!

Tashi Duncan is an athlete. Hell, she’s the athlete. Of their arena. Of their time. She’s good. Great. Passionate. Beautiful…in the words of Art.

Sexy as shit in the words of Patrick and just about every other man who managed to lay eyes on her. She’s something to marvel at. And they did. Marvel. Art and Patrick stand there, jaws slack, eyes locked on the girl as she moves about the dancefloor absently. It’s like the opposite of how she moves on the court. There she’s a predator. Moving quickly, calculated, with strength. Here she’s graceful, eyes closed and enjoying the motions.

It’s their chance. A chance to meet her. To flirt with her. Con her out of her number when she wanders away from the group of women she’s dancing with over to the couches to retrieve her drink. It’d be easier to talk to her alone. They do their best work in a double, and as far as they knew, she had no partner. As far as they knew. 

And they’re basking in her attention. Taking turns in a whole new match. When one gets the gift of her gaze the other’s smile drops like a puppy waiting for its turn to be played with, her easy smirk resting comfortably on her face the whole time. Until she comes.

“Made some friends?”

The two of them can’t help but have the same thought. Art was admittedly more ashamed to have it but they both had it. There’s two of them.

“These guys are in the tournament. They play tomorrow.” Tashi smiles, holding her hand out to the girl and helping her step over the table so she can sit down next to her. Both men offer her their own hand to help her the rest of the way but she simply squeezes Tashi’s harder. 

Patrick and Art don’t know where to look. Before the girl’s arrival Tashi was the only person worthy of admiration here. She’s stunning, abnormally beautiful. But so was her friend. She had a darker complexion, with full lips coupled with a pretty smile. She tosses her silky dark hair over her shoulder, exposing more shiny skin. Her pink, strapless dress compliments Tashi’s royal blue one so much that even two men with no knowledge of women’s fashion would guess the choice was purposeful. They exchange looks as the women cross their legs in sync, Tashi handing her half-drunk beverage to her friend who rolls her eyes with a small as the boys’ eyes drop to her mouth. “Are they any good?”

Tashi hums thoughtfully, tilting her head lightly as if she needed to observe them to determine that. “From what I hear? Sometimes.”

“Not good like you though.”

That takes them aback for a moment. I mean, Tashi just won a tournament, she’s proven herself enough to pass judgment, all this girl has proven to them is that she’s hot. Who’s she to decide that they weren’t in the same league as Tashi. They weren’t, but who was she?

“You, uh, know that just from looking at us?” Art asks, finding himself sitting straighter at the scrutiny, the unimpressed looks on the two girls' faces getting to him as he wonders what it would take to change them.

All the girl offers is a shrug and a small smile around the straw, earning her a giggle from Tashi. 

“You know, we didn’t get a chance to see your match. What’s your name again?” Partick’s brows furrow as he glances between his friend and the two women. 

The smile drops from her face and her lips curve into a frown, cheek dimpling in a way that almost has the men forgetting she’d insulted them. “Wow.” she scoffs.

“You’ve got balls. You came to my party to talk shit to my best friend?”

That has them scrambling, stuttered half apologies from Art and sarcastic denials from Patrick. Anything they could blurt out to convince Tashi and her mystery friend to stay. All of it interrupted by their burst of giggles. 

“We’re just fucking with you.” The girl leans her head back against the cushion, puffing out laughter that makes Art’s head feel like it’s swimming. He blinks at the feeling and takes his own deep breath. “I’m Heaven, I’m nobody, I don’t play tennis.”

“Nobody? You don’t seem like nobody.” He doesn’t even recognize his own voice when he says it. 

“Nobody is nobody.” Patrick cuts in.

Tashi gives the girl a disapproving look that would put ice in the mens’ veins, pursing her lips in agitation briefly before turning back to the guys in front of them. “She’s Heaven Whitlock, she’s my best friend, and the best fuckin’ ballerina in the world.” 

Heaven lifts and drops her shoulder noncommittally, taking a deep sip of the drink. “Yeah. I’m the best fuckin’ ballerina in the world.”

The girls left soon after that so that Tashi could take pictures and once they were done, they were pleased to discover that the boys had waited to hang out with them more. The group made their way down to the beach and found themselves talking about all sorts of things. Life, Tashi’s earlier match, tennis as a spirituality. They were shocked to learn that Heaven knew a lot about the sport and could even play a little. But based on how they described it, she only knew enough to help Tashi train. 

Patrick felt aggravated and outnumbered by the fact that all three of the others were going to college. 

“Okay, so she doesn’t want her only skill to be hitting a ball with a racket. What the hell are you going to school for Miss Ballerina?”

“Train. I can get better.” Heaven shrugs. “Get my name out there too, before I join a company I mean.” 

“Can we see something?” Art blurts from his seat, shaking out the ash from his cigarette. “Like your favorite trick or-”

Heaven’s face lights up slightly. Her back has been straight up all night, her shoulders rolled back with poise, but she perks up in excitement at the thought of the opportunity to dance. “I like doing Fouette turns-”

“Heaven, in sand?” Tashi whips her head to look at her friend. “You don’t even have your shoes. You have your first audition for your school’s fall show when we get back don’t you?”

Heaven rolls her glossed lips inward, nodding, eyes dropping to the sand briefly before they return to the men in front of her. “Maybe another time.”

“Another time. There’s gonna be another time?” Patrick leans back in his seat, looking between the two women smugly. “Does that mean I’m gonna hear from you two again?”

“I’ll see Art at Stanford. Heaven will visit.” 

“He’s asking for your numbers.” Art offers. “So am I.”

Heaven’s brows furrow as she stands dusting sand off her hands before she helps pull Tashi to her feet. “Both of you?”

“Yep.”

“Want both of our numbers?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Oh, you boys really like to play doubles, huh?” She’s met with cheeky smiles and a shrug from Tashi. “Well, I have a boyfriend, so…” she grins, gesturing to Tashi. “May the best one win boys.”

The boys crane their necks briefly to follow Heaven’s walk up the hill, her sandals in hand, watching as she turns expectantly, holding out her other hand for Tashi to come up and take. They barely get out their offer for Tashi to come to their room later before she’s making her way up the hill. Her long legs carry her to her friend, whose hand she takes before swinging their arms back and forth, singing along together to whatever song is playing in the distance together.

As soon as they’re out of sight Patrick whips his head to face Art, a wild smirk on his face. 

“Which one do you want?”

“So…which one’s your favorite?” 

“Patrick’s got more natural talent, that’s for sure, but he’s stubborn, doesn’t wanna learn anything new. Art- what?” Tashi tilts her head at her friend’s scoff, moving to sit next to her at the small desk chair, watching as her friend rubs lotion into her face. “What?”

“Nothing, T, tell me about Art.” Heaven laughs, shaking her head. Tennis. Always about tennis. Poor boys. 

“Art wants it more right now. And he’s good. Could be great." She stands walking over to the closet and tugging on her jacket. “You set your alarm?”

“4:30, T. Gotta get our run in and practice for my audition before the tournaments start.” 

“Mm, good girl.” she smiles, dropping a kiss onto the top of Heaven’s head. “I’ll have my key.”

“You’re really going? You’re gonna go to their room?” Heaven turns in the seat and watches Tashi put on her shoes. The brunette pauses to look at her friend, walking over and crouching in front of her. Her hands rest on Heaven’s legs as she looks up at her.

“You jealous?”

“Want me to be?” Heaven asks, leaning her forehead against Tashi’s with a defiant look on her face. “I know you’re not gonna fuck them.”

“Really?” Tashi hums absently. “We’ll see. I’ll be back later. Why don’t you call Trevor while you have the room to yourself.”

With that she pats Heaven’s legs, pushing off of the floor and leaving her alone in the hotel room. 

Heaven takes her best friend’s advice. She calls her boyfriend. It was a mistake.

Trevor hates Tashi. He hates tennis. He hates dance. He hates everything. 

He didn’t use to. He used to think the girl’s dedication was cool. He used to love to come to showcases, recitals, even some of Tashi’s tournaments. But then he realized his place in everything. His place in Heaven’s life. Dance and Tashi, those two things would always come before him.

That’s the hard lesson everyone always had to learn. Tashi was always gonna win when it came to tennis and Heaven. Tashi was Heaven’s first…period. First best friend, first kiss, they’d taken each other’s virginities. They met in middle school. Heaven had been at the community center gym with her mother, running and doing weight training while her mom took a zumba class. Out on the court was Tashi. Beautiful and focused as ever. Heaven chose a treadmill that she could watch Tashi practice out the window from. She’d been startled when the taller girl came into the building and stood next to her machine and asked her if she knew anything about tennis and if she wanted to play. 

She wasn’t good. Tashi was determined to make her good enough to play with. Soon enough they were inseparable. Heaven would sit in the stands at Tashi’s games, yelling as loud as the girl playing when she won. Tashi would go to see Heaven dance, offering her applause when she won awards or starred in a show. Having Tashi was intense, but Heaven was intense too, in her own right. They were both passionate about their crafts, and loved the art of working hard. They liked making each other proud. 

Tashi was Heaven’s first everything except her first love. That was dance. Her muscles stretching into beautiful motions. Using her body to tell all kinds of stories. Becoming someone else entirely over the course of a song. Heaven would die if she couldn’t dance. 

She doesn’t feel like that about Trevor. He was a sweet guy, and she liked him. Despite Tashi’s constant digs that he wasn’t good enough or amounting to anything, Heaven liked him. Not everything has to be an intense feeling. Content can be good enough. I can be satisfied with content. 

But Trevor wished she would be normal. He wished she wasn’t so close to Tashi. He wished she wasn’t constantly working at something. At least that’s what he said when he dumped her over the phone. 

“Trev-Trevor. Trevor are you fucking serious?” 

Dial tone. 

Heaven’s lip curls up in frustration as she feels her eyes watering. She throws her phone against the wall, hearing the distinct crack of the screen. “Fuck. Fucking shit.” She…needs Tashi.

Pulling a baggy t-shirt over her sport’s bra and underwear she goes to the bathroom and rids herself of any evidence that she’d been crying before she heads to the room Tashi told her she’d be in. She creeps past her friend’s dad’s door so she doesn’t wake him and alert him that neither she nor Tashi were in bed. As she gets off the elevator on the boys’ floor she straightens as she goes to knock on the door, hearing the faint sounds of lips smacking and moaning. 

That makes her feel worse then she did when Trevor told her she wasn’t worth the hassle.

Heaven turns on her heel and goes back to the elevator. Her bare feet pad on the rug of the hotel hallway as she wraps her arms around herself until she gets back to her door. 

She ties her scarf around her hair before climbing into the bed the girls had been sharing, facing the window. The blinds rattle as the wind blows and the quiet tears on Heaven’s face are dry by the time Tashi slips into the room and into the bed behind Heaven. 

The bed dips slightly under her weight and suddenly hands are planted onto Heaven’s side. “Hev, I’m back…I had fun. Come on, I know you’re awake.”

“Cool.”

“I hooked up with them.”

Heaven turns then, laying on her back as Tashi leans over her, her hair making a curtain around her. “Which one?”

“Hmm…both. We didn’t have sex or anything but…I made out with both of them…and then they made out with each other. S’fun.” Tashi grins, flopping on her back next to her friend.

“They…ever done that before?”

“Nope” she smiles, popping the ‘p’ loudly. Both girls burst out into laughter as they think about the difference between their friendship and the two boys they met, so similar yet so different.

“You’re evil. You fucking homewrecker.”

“Ahh, they’ll be alright. It’ll be a good fuckin’ match tomorrow…winner gets my number.” 

Oh. 

“Trevor dumped me today.” 

Tashi turns on her side at that. Her ever-inspecting eyes scan Heaven’s face before narrowing a little. “No bullshit? Good fucking riddance. Should’ve dumped him when I told you to. Damn, would’ve been an even better match if I knew that earlier. Imagine how they’d play if the stakes were the winner gets both of us at the same time.” She laughs, putting her legs under the blankets. “It’d be fucking funny.”

“Yeah, T. Fucking hilarious.”

Tashi is at the courts by 5 am the next morning, and Heaven is running on the beach. She normally loves training with here friend, but right now, she needs a fucking break. Being drilled about the audition or talking about this deathmatch for Tashi’s phone number doesn’t feel like something she wants to do right now.

Still, her and Tashi’s workout playlist blasts in her ears as she fights the sand’s resistance, panting out breaths to Lose My Breath by Destiny’s Child. That is until she sees something moving out of the corner of her eye. 

It’s the blond one. She wasn’t sure which one’s name was which, but to her, the blond one was the cuter one. She liked his smile and he looked like he had a nice body under his baggy shirt yesterday. His tight athletic tank today shows her she’s right. Popping an earbud out, Heaven slows to jogging in place, offering him a smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, you’re up early, aren’t you?”

“Might not play tennis, but I’m still an athlete. I get up at 4:30 everyday. Clearly you do too.”

“Uh,” he adjusts his cap on his unruly blond hair before covering it back up, matching pace with her in her jog. “Not really, but the match is in a couple hours and I gotta explain to my family how to watch it. There’s a lot of them. And Patrick snores.”

“I see. Well, you’re gonna have to get used to it if you’re gonna get with Tashi.” His mouth opens and closes at that, like he’s shocked she knows he’s interested in her friend. “She told me about the stakes for today…and the other stuff.” 

He falters in his step at that, placing his hands on his hips as he laughs in disbelief, before pulling her shirt over his mouth for a second to hide his face, ears red. “You guys share everything, huh?”

“Apparently you do too.” Heaven laughs, pausing in her jog to stretch her leg when she feels tightness in it, bending over to work the muscles. If her eyes hadn’t slipped closed she would see Art’s eyes dart to her backside before looking away in an attempt to be respectful. He absently thinks that Patrick is right. Hot girls usually are friends with other hot girls. “But I’m rooting for you…uh…?”

“Oh, Art. I’m Art.” he breathes, willing his eyes not to slip again.

“Short for Arthur?”

“Um, yeah, but nobody calls me that. Except my grandma when I’m in trouble.” He blushes. Heaven straightens, and offers him a pretty smile.

“If one of you is gonna be seeing Tashi, I need to know your full name. I’m sure you can carry the speech to the other one too. If you hurt her, you die, I’ll kill you little white boy, you get it right?” 

“Right.” he hums, rocking on his feet. “So, you guys are close huh? She talked about you a lot last night. Fucking hates your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well, she won’t have to worry about him anymore. Done. As of last night actually. Tashi was saying she wishes would’ve known that before your little bargain. Then, it would be both her and my number on the line. What can you do?” Heaven shrugs absently. She was flirting a little. Sue her. She’d just been dumped and was finally free to start having fun. All summer she’d been traveling with Tashi, being a good little doting girlfriend, turning down every hot guy she met. Only ever having one slip up, with Tashi. She knew they both were into her friend, she didn’t expect anything-

“So raise the stakes.” 

Heaven’s eyes widen as Art looks at her earnestly, looking embarrassed by his own words. “What?” she laughs.

“You can…definitely tell me to fuck off…but…we would be interested in having your number added to the…pot? Fuck, that sounds awful, Patrick and I want your number too. I want your number too. If that’s okay.”

“And you wanna play for it?”

“Those are the rules right?” 

Heaven observes the man in front of her. Boyish. Cute. And nervous. He doesn’t know how hot he is. Not like his friend. Not like Tashi. He doesn’t know what he looks like. And he seems sweet enough, nervous to offend them, but determined enough to push past the embarrassment to get what he wants. “Tashi’s rules. Not mine. Do you guys want to play for my number?”

His jaw sets slightly as he looks her up and down. “I wanna earn it.” 

“Okay, winner gets Tashi’s number. And mine.” 

[fluiora]

　　　　　　　　　　 　　 🪷 　　Serenade　of　Lilies　:　The　Event

　　𓎡𓎡𓎡　　A　　 @fluiora 　　300　　 special　 ㅤଂ ♡

first things first, thank you all so so SO much for 300 🥹💗 I honestly could not have been here without all of you guys ! ! I can't believe I already reached such a milestone in a span of 2 weeks 💗 thank you all so much for your love and support ! ! you all are absolutely so kind and gorgeous and most of all talented :3 ! ! ! getting to 300 means so much to me in so many ways 🫶🏻 i know my blog is still little, but i hope to see it flourish in the future ! i want to specially thank to all my mutuals & friends that helped me grow throughout this journey and made it absolutely enjoyable ! ! ! ♡ and to celebrate this, not only i will be doing an event for reaching 300, i'll also be doing a face rev on the kmbd community :3 ! ! ! anyway, all things stated, i hope you enjoy this event since i spent a lot of time on this, now let's move on to the actual event ! !

Mindy and her family had been looking forward to their weekend getaway to a peaceful cabin near a stunning lily field. The cabin was nestled by a lake, surrounded by lush greenery, and just a short walk away from the famous Lily Valley, where lilies of all kinds bloomed in every colour imaginable.

One sunny afternoon, while her family was relaxing by the lake, Mindy decided to take a solo stroll through the valley. As she walked along the path, she admired the beauty around her—the soft breeze, the vibrant wildflowers, and, of course, the lilies. As she wandered deeper into Lily Valley, she came across a breathtaking sight: a bundle of lilies in shades of pink, yellow, white, and blue, swaying gently in the wind. They looked like something out of a dream.

Mindy was completely captivated by them. She bent down and carefully picked a few of the most beautiful lilies, making sure to gather a variety of colours. She smiled to herself, thinking how perfect these flowers would be as gifts for her friends when she got back from her trip. She imagined how happy they would be to receive such beautiful and unique flowers. With her hands full of lilies, she made her way back to the cabin, eager to share the joy she had found in Lily Valley.

Someone knocks on your door, and when you open it, there stands your good friend Mindy, grinning on your front porch.

"Hey there, friend!!" she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Sorry for showing up out of the blue, but I wanted to surprise you!"

Mindy steps forward, holding something behind her back. "I just got back from Lily Valley—I went with my family a couple of days ago, and it was amazing! We stayed near the most beautiful spot, and one afternoon, I decided to take a walk on my own. While I was exploring, I came across a field of lilies, and oh my gosh, I fell in love with them! There were so many different colours—pink, yellow, white, and even blue."

With a big smile, she reveals a stunning lily from behind her back and hands it to you. "I picked a bunch of them and thought, ‘Why not share them with my best friends?’ And of course, you deserve one of the prettiest ones! Here you go, a gorgeous lily for a gorgeous friend!"

She beams, waiting for your reaction. "I knew you’d love it!"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 🐰ㅤㅤㅤ 🪷ㅤ ㅤㅤ˖ㅤㅤㅤㅤ◌ ㅤㅤ about In this event, you'll be creating a mood board centered around the beautiful lily. I chose lilies for this event because they’re one of my absolute favourite flowers. Lilies have such a peaceful and calming look, especially the white ones, and they’re all incredibly stunning ♡ these are just two of the many reasons why I love them so much, and I hope this event helps you appreciate their beauty and charm as well. Each type of lily carries a deep, unique meaning, and I can't wait for all of you to explore the different colours and their significance through this creative experience !

ㅤㅤhowㅤitㅤworks ㅤ🐰ㅤㅤㅤ 🪷ㅤ ㅤㅤ˖ㅤㅤㅤㅤ◌ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You are expected to dm @m-indy a number from 1 to 4, and in return, she’ll gift you a unique lily along with its meaning and color. Each lily is different, with its own special significance and vibrant hue ♡ Once you receive your lily from your lovely friend @m-indy, your task is to create a mood board featuring that flower. It doesn’t have to be the exact image she sends, but if you choose a different one, it must be the same type of lily in the color she assigned you. While @m-indy will provide the meaning behind the lily, basing your mood board on the meaning is totally up to you—it’s an optional touch of creativity!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 🐰ㅤㅤㅤ 🪷ㅤ ㅤㅤ˖ㅤㅤㅤㅤ◌ ㅤㅤ rules

— your moodboard has to include the lily Mindy has given you. (doesn't need to be the exact image) — moodpboard has to be completely made by you (divs, locs, pngs are fine as long as you credit the owner) — tag me in the moodboard or in the comments + use the tag #𝓢erenade of 𝓛ilies : 𝓣he 𝓔vent when submitting your entry or it wont be counted. — two entries per person max. — do not copy others, 3 pictures from another moodboard will be considered copying and will lead to a disqualification. — dm me for any extensions and concerns you might have! — last but not least, have fun!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhowㅤtoㅤjoin ㅤ🐰ㅤㅤㅤ 🪷ㅤ ㅤㅤ˖ㅤㅤㅤㅤ◌ ㅤ — comment joining + your favourite flower — like + reblog & tag 4 or more mutuals who you think would like to join — deadline is on november 20th

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 🐰ㅤㅤㅤ 🪷ㅤ ㅤㅤ˖ㅤㅤㅤㅤ◌ ㅤㅤ prizes ㅤㅤㅤ：ㅤ 1st placeㅤㅤ：ㅤ 100 rblgs on 2 mbs of ur choice, 3 custom mbs, 5 custom word divs,  shout out ㅤㅤㅤ：ㅤ 2nd placeㅤㅤ：ㅤ 100 rblgs on 1 mb of ur choice, 2 custom mbs 2 custom word divs, shout out ㅤㅤㅤ：ㅤ 3rd placeㅤㅤ：ㅤ 80 rblgs on 1 mb of choice, 1 custom mb, shout out ㅤㅤ˖ㅤㅤㅤㅤ◌ㅤ runner upsㅤㅤ：ㅤ 50 rblgs on 1 mb of choice and a shoutout ㅤㅤㅤ： all participants of the event will get 15 rblgs on their entry. ㅤㅤㅤ： all reblogs will be done on @lvioung

hai guys :3 I hope u guys enjoy and like this event AHHH and I hope it doesn’t flop… please dont make it flop sighs.. I put my blood, sweat and tears on to this (I started last night and stayed up) as for my first event I think this is really cute and im so in love nd I hope u guys feel the same T_T BUT WOOHOO 300!!! Thank u al so much again :33 I love you guys sososo much and u all the sweetest human beings ever, hugs and kisses from yours truly :3 ( also hey again,,,.. this is suni from exactly 1:27 am aest typing all of this down.. sobs anyway im gonna schedule this post at around oct 25 12pm aest or probs earlier cause im impatient!!! dont let this flop and soz for the lame prizes )

tags: @im4yeons @wonjuii @awwriri @y-urios @fairytopea

@i9hrtszn @chaeryeos @sugarish @y-unrei @loien

@x-aravv @yeossemble @aeraras @kokoch4nel @y-vna

@nikist-4-n @purinkiss @cg1rl @flaireur @n-americano

@floriseu @florichae @kissunoo @bitchey @sxgarhan

@beompercar @jimzittos @wonysmiu @fairyfaes @et2rnity

@y-une @yzhiche @miuhyein @hourlyhoon @soulari

@nepentheism @tzulipss @studiogyu @draculasdaughterrr @jimzittos

[lafleshlumpeater]

Could you please do a Luke x sunshine reader where Luke asks the reader on a date, and they agreed. Then, when he comes to pick them up at her cabin, their siblings interrogate him and threaten him a little if he hurts their sibling.

I hope you’re okay with child of aphrodite reader<3

Warnings: fem!reader, teasing, very slightly suggestive comment- lmk if there’s anything else<3

luke castellan masterlist

Luke didn’t know whether to be nervous or slightly flattered that he was receiving looks from the window which were impossible to ignore.

Dressed in an unbuttoned blue flannel which he’d borrowed from one of his siblings and a plain white t- shirt underneath, he wonders whether he should have opted for something more formal instead when he sees slightly mocking smirks and giggles from your fashion expert siblings.

Or maybe it was too formal.

He was unsure as to which way round he had it wrong.

And then there were the flowers. What would be more romantic, fancy, cellophane- wrapped roses or something simpler with just a satin bow? After consulting Katie Gardner, his brother’s girlfriend, about his dilemma she had snipped off some lush, crimson roses for him so the stems were short and wrapped around with a thin piece of white ribbon. Only now he realised how stupid he probably looked, a small gift so classy and somewhat luxurious and in an attire so casual.

It wasn’t an everyday occurrence for Luke Castellan to feel hot all over and want the ground to swallow him whole, but there were few and rare occurrences. Like the first time he had been at camp he had been wandering aimlessly to find where everyone was getting their food from (why had no- one thought to tell him that all he had to do was think about the food he wanted?), or when he had somehow managed to singe some of his hair off that one time he was in the Hephaestus cabin since they were in the same team as him for capture the flag (he had told them the flamethrowers were too much for their chariot) and, well, like now.

Just as he was weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of knocking on the cabin and asking for you (he’d be able to escape the taunting laughter sooner, but the overpowering smell of all the cosmetics and perfumes gave him a headache) the door finally swung open and oh if his heart wasn’t beating a thousand miles an hour before it definitely was now.

You were dressed in a sundress of pure white, that was snatched in places and hung loose in others perfectly. Your skin was smooth and glassy, reflecting the glow of the white fabric. Lips curled upwards into an easygoing smile, painted a pretty bubblegum pink colour Luke often associated with your personality. Two tendrils of hair carelessly free from the confines of the simple yet elegant style of your hair framing your face perfectly- the very embodiment of Aphrodite’s kin.

It was only when you giggle a small “Hi,” that Luke realises his jaw is slack, lips slightly parted. He clears his throat, standing up straighter and hand running through his hair.

“Hey,” he stammers. “You look…”

“Oi, loverboy!” His flustered compliment is cut- off with a shout from the open cabin window. His head whips towards the sound, slightly miffed that the moment was interrupted.

Mitchell. One of your brothers.

“Treat her well, alright?”, the smug boy yells, self- satisfaction written all over his face. “And no touchy- touchy business.”

Luke’s half- tempted to grab your hand and run away from the teasing. “Uh, you-”

“Yeah, what he said! Treat her well!” Lacy’s head pops out next to her brother’s, nails half- painted where they grip the window frame. “And be back before eight, okay? We have a girls’ night planned! No forgetting, or I swear I will interrupt whatever frisky business-”

“Okay, okay!” You interrupt, vivacious laughter escaping your throat. “That’s enough, I think we get the message.” You slip your delicate hand into his, looking up at him through long eyelashes. “Right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke mutters with an abashed smile, relieved to be saved from the incessant torture and just wanting to get to the destination of your date as soon as possible. Just as shyly, he holds the flowers out to you, awaiting your approval.

You take them. “For me? They’re so lovely.” You inhale them, eyes fluttering closed at the fragrance. “Thanks, so much!” You reach up on tiptoes, even on white heels, and quickly kiss his cheek.

As the two of you walk away, hand in hand, Luke curses at the way his cheeks flush at the titters and hollers of your siblings under his breath.

Not proofread- pls lmk if there's any mistake/it doesn’t make sense

taglist: @quickslvxrr @bibliophile-dendrophile

READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

[fatcatlittlebox]

It may be a bit late but since the ROP showrunners have said just one line from Galadriel in FOTR served as the inspiration for the show, we can examine it in light of the events of the past 2 seasons.

“…even as I speak to you, I perceive the Dark Lord and know his mind, or all of his mind that concerns the Elves. And he gropes ever to see me and my thought. But still the door is closed!’

So aside from her nightmares, have they shown Galadriel entering Sauron’s mind as he has entered hers? And if they obey the canon properties of osanwe, it means that Sauron never shut the door to his mind from her. He has always left it open. He could have protected himself from her spying on his plans and intentions, but no. And judging by this infamous quote, he is aware that she can see him. He can feel her but not see or hear her. There is something so incredibly moving about that. That he keeps his mind open just to feel her there. Again, Sauron has this undeniable need, contrary to his programming, to be seen by Galadriel. He must have her understanding. He is desperate to keep the tether between them, to feel connected. What a colossal risk he takes but, again, in all things Galadriel, his need for her overrides his self-preservation instincts. It borders on self-sabotage. Whether it’s letting his guard down during a duel to tell her, “Not all of it.” Or diving into the depths of the ocean, in his weakened form, to save a bossy elf princess from drowning. Or even instructing her on his methods of manipulation. He can’t resist. The Dark Lord has given his greatest rival an open invitation to his mind or “all of his mind as it concerns the Elves.” One in particular it would seem. So can she see his past, his dreams and his nightmares? What if Galadriel ventures into his mind and sees this?

Can you imagine Galadriel wandering into Sauron’s dreams and she sees his view of her? How he sees her light? His worshipful gaze? How would that change how she sees him? How she views his actions and motives, especially as it relates to her? She will be able to judge truly what his lies were and what was truth. What was his design and what was fate.

Charlie has said that a part of Sauron believes that he can still get Galadriel back. That’s not arrogance. That’s hope. He’s still reaching for the light in the darkness. In return, she’ll always have a view of that ocean of vibrant color. Is that his gift? How can anyone read this line and think Sauron is a one-note evil villain?

[anjelicawrites]

Do you remember when you wrote about reader fantasising about her and osferth being king and queens and taking Aemond as there war trophy? Could we get a oneshot on that??? Not like as an au but as them actually roleplaying tho

I'm so sorry this came out this late! I hope the fic makes up for the long wait!!!

NSFW and 18 + only please.

Warnings: three people acting out a dubious consent fantasy. Everyone is happy in this scenario but, if dubious consent is not your thing, please skip this one! Oral (m receiving), balls worship, handjob, collar and leash usage, captive scenario where sex is used to trap the person in a dubious consent situation.

Your husband shall arrive soon with his newest gift from the latest city his army has conquered; he's told you to prepare yourself, that this is something you've wanted for such a long time, what you deserve after your injury in battle. To tell the truth you have no idea what he's prepared for you, the excitement sits at the pit of your stomach, heavy and warm against the bodice you're wearing.

You've styled your hair and used the sweetest fragrance you own, you've put a light dusting of makeup on your face and now you're pacing the length of the tent, waiting anxiously: you hate that you can't fight by his side, protecting him from his enemies, your injuries far too serious to accompany him anywhere near the battlefield that's not your shared tent.

You'd recognize his footsteps anywhere, you sit on the edge of the cot, hands under your thigh to still their trembling.

"My sweet beloved."

Before he can say anything else, you jump into Osferth's open arms, your legs finding their rightful place around his trim hips. Deaf to his words you cover his face in kisses like am hyperactive dog, until he manages to grab your chin one handed to stop you.

"Don't you want to receive your gift?"

His voice is deep, with an undercurrent of lust that ignites your own desire, your eyes falling only now on he leash he keeps wound around his hand.

He doesn't even wait for your response, he tugs at the leather and the most beautiful man you've ever seen steps inside the tent.

He's naked, wearing only a leather collar around his long neck, a light dusting of platinum hairs adorns his chest, abdomen and pubes, his nipples darker pink and already erect. His cock is magnificent, even flaccid as it is under your gaze, his stones heavy, the skin, you imagine, is as soft as velvet. You let your eyes wander on the wall of muscles this man is, not a ounce of fat on his lithe body, a killing machine now under your power. Only when you meet his mismatched gaze you realize the importance of the gift your husband bestowed upon you.

"Is it...?"

Osferth doesn't let you finish your question, with a jerk on the collar he forces your gift to stand closer to you

"He is, the prince Aemond Targaryen."

You squeal in happiness, jumping up and down while clapping your hands like a maniac.

You've heard tales of his beauty and marring, you've never thought Osferth would fulfill the desire to have him as your own, you once told him.

Through this whole conversation he stays as still as a statue, and silent. If he's scared or embarrassed, you can't tell.

"Has he lost his tongue?" You ask, padding closer to him. "No. He's just stubborn." "Oh, I like that."

You stand close to him, your index following the hard path of muscles on his tummy and chest. His skin is so warm, warmer than Osferth's, his body hairs soft under your finger; you know he's reacting to your proximity thanks to the blossoming of goosebumps wherever your touch lands.

"He's all mine, isn't he?" You ask your husband. "To play with when I am away." He smiles, darkly, and you know you're not going to be the only one enjoying this beautiful specimen.

You're not paying enough attention and Aemond grabs your wandering hand in a painful grip, before Osferth can do anything you stop him and stare into the lonely lilac eye boring into yours.

Under the cold mask you can see so many emotions: hate, disgust, rage, and the flame of something you can't name, yet. There is contempt in his eye, and something else you're not sure he's aware of, but you are.

You know you are beautiful, you're well aware of the power your body holds over men and women. You can see his eye darting to your breasts almost spilling over the tight neckline of your corset: he hates you, if he weren't held captive he would try to kill you, yet he can't help appreciating the spectacle of your curves, and you know it, even if he doesn't.

"Let's make a deal, you and I." You say leisurely, as if his hold isn't grinding your bones. "Let me worship your body like it deserves. If you don't make a sound, you're free to go, but if you spill the smallest whine, you're mine to keep and play with."

You can hear Osferth's intake of breath and elect to ignore it. Aemond's eye is as cold as ice as he stares at you, weighting his options with a soft humming you can barely hear; in your heart you want this beautiful specimen of a man to submit to you and let you do depraved things to him, until you both break down.

"Agreed."

His voice is ice in your ears, so cold you only want to hear him beg and whine under your caresses: you deserve it, he deserves it, your beloved husband does as well.

"Osferth, let him lie on the bed, tummy up." You order. "I'm not letting go of the leash." At that Aemond simply sneers, almost choking when Osferth pulls on the leather again. "And if you try something stupid, you're dead." "He will not." You interject, free hand grabbing Osferth's. "He'll have no brain left to do anything as soon as I am done with him." "You wish, woman."

Someone else would feel put out by Aemond's contempt, you're simply excited by the prospect of breaking his controlled exterior.

Calmly you invade his personal space, making sure your clothed breasts push against the hard planes of his chest and your lips are at level with his.

"Go lie on the bed and show me how tough you are."

You have to hide the grimace of pain when he lets go of your wrist, which feels numb now: you're going to wear his marks tomorrow, the same way he's gonna wear yours.

With precise movements, Aemond lies flat on the bed, his long legs spread, soft cock laying on one muscular thigh; he stares at you, ignoring Osferth who is laying horizontally where the pillows are to keep an eye on him, his pupil expanding against his will when you remove your small clothes and he can see the hairs there. On purpose you don't remove your corset, he hasn't yet gained the privilege to look at your naked breasts, yet.

Slowly, telegraphing your movements, you kneel between his legs, noticing how his cock is stirring to life untouched: he's making it so easy for you!

He's so tense, the strong muscles of his ankles jump when lay your hands, simply caressing the prominent bones there, before slowly following up the long lines of his muscles. You can feel the trapped energy his body holds, the anxiety for what's to come that tenses his muscles into strings ready to snap at any given moment, yet you continue your gentle ministration, trying to help him relax. His cock seems to appreciate your efforts, slowly hardening and oh! He's a grower, not that his cock wasn't impressive to begin with. Your eyes dart to his face, which is still set in that stony expression he wore the moment he set foot in your tent, what he feels betrayed by the fire in his eye.

His thighs jump when your hands approach the delicious junction with his hips, his translucent hairs so soft under your palms, you'd caress him for hours, but there's his half hard cock to look after, and his heavy balls: you don't have the whole night.

You stretch one hand and Osferth already knows what to do, his tongue licks your palm and you can see the dark smile on his face: he's been at your mercy for hours, begging and crying for you, there's no way this haughty prince will beat you at this game.

Gently you cup Aemond's half hard cock, feeling the weight and the steel under the soft velvet of his skin. With a loose, slow fist, you caress him into full hardness, paying close attention to his head, red and weepy already; under you, he bites down his lip and grabs the bedding with a desperate grip: it has been so long since...

His hips jump off the bed when the tip of your devious tongue licks his base playfully, before following the vein under his erection; you're taking your time, tasting him until all you can feel is him, masculine and heady, letting the loose 'O' of your lips envelope his cock head.

Your mouth is a furnace, he has to stop himself from whining as soon as you start taking him in, moaning at his girth, his hips trying to follow your movements when one hand grabs what you can't swallow; your touch now is stronger, angling his cock to your leisure, your mouth trailing kisses up and down his shaft, teasing him with kitten licks that have his hips jump under your face, his teeth mauling his lower lip to keep silent.

The bedding rips as soon as you start mouthing his heavy balls as you jack his cock, slowly, with a tight fist, tongue following the shape of his sacks. Aemond can feel the tears spilling from his eyes, it's so hard to keep quiet when you're devouring him, sucking on his heavy stones, moaning against his body and Gods your hand! So soft and hard at the same time, torturing him so slowly, teasingly, he can feel your touch all over his body!

The more his silence lasts, the more ravenous your hunger for him becomes, the more desperate your lips on his body kiss and mouth at his soft skin as he trembles and squirms under your ministration, his control unraveling with every passing second. You're so warm against him, the vibrations of your moans travel through his body like lightning, his cock and balls hurt with every pass yet he can't get enough of you.

A scream is tore out of him when you deepthroat him and push your thumb against his stones to separate them, index finger massaging his prostate from the outside.

Whines cascade from his lips now and broken pleas for mercy when you tighten your throat around his shaft to massage him mercilessly: you're velvet around him, you burn like fire, his abused nerves tortured by you sing and scream all over his body. Desperate Aemond tries to stop his orgasm, the band in his belly so tight it hurts to breathe, broken pants and whines all he can manage as he feels the tide growing and growing, taking his sanity away, his long body squirming under you, back arching painfully, until he comes inside of you, and you suck him, ravenous, hungry for his taste.

Aemond's body lays on the bed, chest raising and falling fast, his eye unfocused on the ceiling; he whines when you hover over him to kiss him, his seed on your tongue like ambrosia, your tongue wicked against his. He is so tired now, he just wants to sleep in your arms.

"Dōna jorrāelagon, sweet love." He whines and you immediately understand that playtime is over. "I'm here, I'm here."

You hold his bigger body tight as Osferth brackets him from behind.

"Are you all right?" He asks, concerned.

You and Osferth can see how hard it is for him to switch from High Valyrian and give him time to get his gears in motion.

"So tired." He whispers. "Take this off?"

As fast as you can, you remove your corset to let him push his face against your naked breasts.

"Is it good tired or bad tired?" You can't help but ask.

Aemond hums against you, breathing your scent in.

"Good tired."

You can feel relief wash over you. You were afraid of hurting him when he proposed to act out this little fantasy of yours, you were scared of his demons, and yours, coming out and ruin everything.

"May we continue this, later?" He asks, voice muffled by your breasts. "Anything you want." Osferth answers from behind him. "You deserve a taste of your prize, as well."

Aemond can't see Osferth's eyes cross at the thought, he's asleep between your bodies, in his dreams, he's already started to play again.

OG!Poly taglist : @fan-goddess, @notyour-valentine, @aegonx, @darylandbethfanforever9 @20thcentwriter @peachysunrize

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

[pomegranateshrimp]

hi!!! How are you? Could i request a James Wilson x reader were she’s at the hospital working with children (and we all know that james has a breeding kink) so like he sees her being caring with the children and gets turned on

Hi!! Tysm for being my first request, I’ve been a lil busy so this is coming out a little late I’m sorry 🩷🩷 I hope you like it!!!

A/N: (Sorry if this is too short!!) Do hospitals have play rooms for kids? They do now! Also do heads of pediatrics have time to play with kids? They do now!

CW: public sex, p in v, breeding (obviously), pet name baby

⚕️You’re going to make such a good mom.

James Wilson X Fem!Reader Smutshot

———————————————————

You were head of the pediatric wing and married to your beautiful, amazing, lovely husband, James Wilson. He would always stop by your office to give you gifts and small kisses. The job could get stressful at times, and he just wanted to make sure it never got to be too hard on you. You didn’t take it for granted either, returning every kiss he gave you and repaying him for the little gifts he got you after work. Today though, he couldn’t wait.

You were working with one of the children you had been treating for the past few days, nothing too bad fortunately, he was diagnosed with diabetes. Both of you lay down in the play room as the little boy made car noises with his mouth. “Zoom!” he hummed as a hot wheel jetted across the room. Wilson was looking for you to give you your usual afternoon kisses, and because he had a particularly hard case that he wanted to talk to you about. It was really weighing on him it seemed. When he couldn’t find you in your office, he assumed you would be in the play room with one of the patients. He hadn’t often found you here, and when he did he looked at you with such adoration, but this time he looked at you with something else as he peered through the glass door of the play room. Lust. James knew he wanted kids and he knew you were the one that he’d have them with. You were so good with them after all, and he knew that, but seeing you care for kids made him hard. He wanted that so badly. He wanted to see you make his kid laugh and smile with you; and he wanted it now.

You noticed your husband peering at you through the glass, and you gave the kid the toy car you were playing with and told him you’d be right back, along with the nurse who supervised the play room as well. You pushed open the door and stood across from James.

“Hey baby I—“

Your sentence was quickly cut off by a kiss planted on your mouth. But this kiss wasn’t like how it was any other day, this kiss was needy. Hungry. He didn’t want to wait for you to finish your sentence he just wanted to fill you with his seed right now. You were still in the hospital corridor and you pulled away.

“James, can you wait until we get home?” When the kiss was sloppier, messier, hungrier, you knew he wanted more, and you weren’t sure that you could give him that in the middle of the hospital. He wasn’t happy with you pulling away, he needed you right now. He took your hand and dragged you into a corner of the hospital no one went to. The thought of being caught was still in your mind, but at this point both you and james were turned on beyond belief. He always knew what to do to get you horny.

“No.” He hissed, and you weren’t used to him speaking to you like this, but fuck you could adjust. He titled your head to the side and started marking you up, planting deep kisses on your neck as his hands wandered on your waist, he sat down on a nearby chair and pulled you into his lap. With the case he was working on now, he needed a distraction, and you were just that. “You’re so good..” he moaned onto your neck, sending vibrations down your spine, earning him a small moan back from you.

“James…” your hands found themselves moving up into his hair. His hands found themselves moving down towards your panties. He looked up at you with glimmering eyes, “Can I?” He asked. Despite your previous worries you nodded eagerly at him and a small smirk appeared on his face as he tugged your underwear to the side. Quickly, he fumbled with the zipper of his jeans and pulled down the waistband to his boxers. His boner sprang to his stomach and he made haste in getting himself inside of you. That was his goal. You’re off the pill, you’re ovulating, and you’re ready to be pumped full of his hot, sticky, cum.

“I think we should have kids.” He says dominantly and you nod in agreement, not wasting any time. Even though you were okay with it, and he knew, he always made sure you were accepting before he did anything.

You moan out as he pushes himself inside of you, without much warning. He covers your mouth with his hand for only a second, reminding you where you both were. The thrusts that were usually so slow and soft and patient were now eager, fast, and yearning.

His cock stretched your cunt and you tightened around him, earning small grunts in return.

“You’re gonna look so fucking gorgeous when I cum inside of you.”

Even with his already fast pace it somehow quickened, earning more muffled moans from you and heavy breaths from him. He added his thumb to your clit, circling as he thrusted, wanting to make sure you were feeling just as good as he did. In the middle of the hospital, on his lunch break, he was going to make sure your walls were painted white with his cum.

“Fuck James, you feel so fucking good.”

You clenched on him and felt a familiar knot in your stomach tighten, and he knew you were close. You both were about to finish at the same time, his throbbing cock begging to cum inside of you already.

“I’m gonna—“

“Me too baby.”

Your back arches and your legs shake; you crash into James’ shoulder and after a few minutes of heavy breathing he pulls your soaked panties back up to you and plants a small kiss to your forehead. “You’re going to make such a good mom, I know it.”

You just had to hope your kids didn’t ask how it happened in the future.

[inkspiredwriting]

A Day with Uncle Klaus

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: I hope you forgive me that this little story is more about Maddie and her uncle Klaus. Can you imagine how sweet Klaus would be to his little niece?

Warnings: None

Maddie Hargreeves, the six-year-old daughter of Five and Y/N, was a bundle of energy. She had inherited her father's curiosity and her mother's kindness, but she also had a unique gift of her own: the ability to make things float. Today, she was set to spend the day with her favorite uncle, Klaus, known for his mischievous charm and penchant for chaos.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Y/N asked, her eyes filled with a mix of amusement and concern.

Klaus waved a dismissive hand. "Please, I've dealt with spirits, apocalypses, and your husband. How much trouble can one little girl with telekinesis be?"

Y/N chuckled, giving Maddie a kiss on the forehead. "Have fun, sweetie. And listen to Uncle Klaus, okay?"

Maddie nodded eagerly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Okay, Mommy!"

As they set off, Klaus and Maddie walked hand in hand, ready for their adventure.

Their first stop was the local market. Klaus thought it would be fun to show Maddie around the bustling stalls, filled with vibrant colors and delicious smells. As they wandered through the market, Maddie's eyes grew wide with wonder.

"Can I make things float, Uncle Klaus?" she asked, her small hand tugging at his sleeve.

Klaus grinned. "Of course, just be careful not to cause too much of a scene."

Maddie nodded, concentrating hard on a bunch of apples at a nearby stall. Slowly, they began to rise into the air, floating gently above the vendor's head.

The vendor looked up, eyes wide. "What in the world?"

Klaus quickly stepped in, snatching the apples from the air and placing them back on the stall. "Sorry about that! Just a little magic trick."

The vendor, still bewildered, shook his head but eventually laughed it off. Klaus winked at Maddie, who giggled.

Next, they headed to a nearby park, where Klaus had brought along a kite. As they found a clear spot, Klaus handed the kite to Maddie. "Want to see if you can make this fly without any wind?"

Maddie nodded eagerly, gripping the kite string tightly. She focused, and the kite began to lift off the ground, soaring high into the sky.

"Look, Uncle Klaus! It's flying!" Maddie exclaimed, jumping up and down with excitement.

Klaus laughed, clapping his hands. "That's amazing, Maddie! You're a natural."

They spent the next hour making various objects float around the park, much to the amazement of passersby. A couple of ducks quacked in confusion as they found themselves hovering a few inches above the pond, and a group of kids cheered when their soccer ball started floating in mid-air.

As the afternoon wore on, Klaus decided it was time for a treat. They went to an ice cream parlor, where Maddie insisted on trying the most colorful flavor available. They sat outside, enjoying their ice cream and watching the world go by.

"Uncle Klaus, do you think Daddy can make things float too?" Maddie asked between licks of her cone.

Klaus chuckled. "No, your daddy has other cool powers. But you're special, Maddie. You've got a gift."

Maddie beamed, her face covered in ice cream. "I like my gift. It's fun."

Their final stop was a little craft store where Klaus had promised Maddie she could pick out something special. Maddie chose a set of colorful beads and strings to make bracelets. As they paid and left the store, Maddie couldn't resist making the beads float in a sparkling, swirling dance above their heads.

People around them gasped and pointed, but Maddie just giggled, enjoying the spectacle she was creating.

"You're causing quite a stir, Maddie," Klaus said, grinning. "Let's get home before we end up on the news."

When they finally returned home, Y/N and Five were waiting, curious to hear about their day.

"Did you have fun?" Y/N asked, pulling Maddie into a hug.

Maddie nodded vigorously. "It was the best day ever! We made apples float, flew a kite without wind, and even made ducks hover!"

Five raised an eyebrow at Klaus. "Ducks?"

Klaus shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hey, it was all in good fun."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "Thank you, Klaus. It sounds like you both had a wonderful day."

Maddie yawned, her energy finally waning. "Can we do it again, Uncle Klaus?"

Klaus smiled, giving her a gentle hug and a kiss on the forehead. "Anytime, kiddo. Anytime."

As Maddie was tucked into bed, her eyes already closing, Five and Y/N looked at each other and smiled.

"She had a great day," Y/N said softly.

Five nodded, wrapping an arm around her. "Yeah, she did. Thanks to Uncle Klaus."

In the living room, Klaus settled onto the couch with a contented sigh. He might have been the family wild card, but today, he felt like a hero in his niece's eyes. And that was more than enough.

[lemoniiiiiii]

lacking trust

(ralph bohner x gn!reader) in where you try to cheer up your paranoid boyfriend with a gift...

content: angst, swearing, yelling, mentions of being naked

a/n: i have so many ideas for ralph it's insane i love this man... but anyways i was hoping the gif would show what i mean when i say he blinks and twitches lmao. and uhm the context is that reader was not around when the whole hex stuff happened

--

"ralph baby?" you enter the living room, placing your things down by the couch. "how was it? what did they ask?"

"it was just some kids... askin' about what it was like..." approaching him from behind, you massage ralph's shoulders, trying to ease the obvious distress in his expression.

"...just when i was praying for them to not ask about.. her, they did. like they read my mind or somethin...'"

your boyfriend reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. "at least i got something outta it..." he mumbles.

"any migraines lately?"

"this morning yeah, but it's about gone now"

throwing your arms around ralph, you lean down give him an affectionate squeeze from behind before pulling away. "well, i got you a present.."

"yeah?" his head turns to follow you.

"i know you said you were missing your blu-ray collection... and so..."

"holy shit-"

once ralph sees the DVD storage case in your arms, he excitedly grabs it out of your hands and flips through it like a kid on christmas day. you haven't seen him smile like this in so long...

then he pauses.

he pauses and he looks up at you, eyes glazed with fear.

"you went back to the house." he says, voice menacingly monotone and low.

"i- i did."

"do you know what you've done?"

"ralph-"

he stands up, grabbing a spray bottle out of his pocket, dousing you in spritz' of the rose water toner you use in your skincare routine witch repellent.

"ralph what the actual fuck!?"

he mutters to himself, looking down in thought. "this won't be enough." his gaze returns to you. "did she touch you?"

"i- well-" you stammer, still disoriented by his previous actions.

"well what? what did she do?"

"we shook hands-" you admit. ralph groans loudly and holds his head like he's heard the most devastating information. frantically you try to reassure him. "ralph she's never met me before- agatha has no reason to come looking for you. wanda's gone."

"don't say- DON'T SAY THEIR FUCKING NAMES!" the veins in his face show themselves, prominent, like they're about to burst.

feeling defensive, you scoff. "this is insane ralph! this isn't normal you're being crazy!"

"do you know what it's like to have your mind mentally fucked by two exponentially more mentally fucked women?! to be forced to do awful shit, hurt people, and not be able to do anything about it? it's not good! not fucking fun! so i'm sorry if I've been just a little crazy... i'm trying to protect us"

"i understand baby but what i'm trying to say is-"

"take off your clothes" he suddenly blurts out.

"excuse me?"

"we need to burn them. make sure she didn't get any of her witch filth on you. then you should take a shower...and wash that hand real good" he blinks a few times and twitches his head, making you frown. you've noticed that it gets worse when he gets worked up and the new quirk seems to irritate him.

"i need to wash up too..." he adds eyes wandering, rubbing his neck where you were massaging him. "can never be too sure..."

when you see the expectant look on his face, you raise an eyebrow.

"right here?"

ralph twitches and stares at you blankly, grabbing a trash bag, motioning it towards you as if to say "go on".

too tired to protest you comply and undress, taking off your jacket, jeans, and top, leaving you just in your undergarments.

you wait for his next instructions but he simply continues to give you that same expectant look.

"i don't think i need to-"

"can never be too sure" he repeats.

with a sigh, you remove the two thin fabric pieces leaving your body bare in front of him. a part of you feels a bit humiliated, and you wonder if this is how similar to how he felt under wanda's hex.

"thank you." ralph exhales. "i know what i'm asking seems extreme- i know. but the last thing i would want is for you to have to go through what i did. see- look-"

ralph undresses in front of you in the same manner. it had been months since either of you had last seen each other naked, so freely like this. you take in your boyfriend's current appearance. he had grown out his hair and beard to "disguise" himself from who knows what and his toned body had now softened with some small but noticeable pudge on his stomach (likely due to a lack of having a bowflex plus his daily physical activity being reduced to pacing around the house at odd hours). not to mention the dark and deep eyebags.

he looks different and he's gotten some new... personality traits, that's for sure, but you still loved him the same.

and you knew he did too.

--

ralph holds your (non-contaminated) hand and smirks, rubbing the back with his thumb. "maybe we should shower together. y'know save water, i could make sure you get allllll the right places when you're cleanin' up"

you roll your eyes at his perverted proposal and smile.

things would get better. you were certain.

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @quickreider @tiffysdeath @honeymoon8 @wcnderlnds @lacucarachapisser @xrag-dollx

[ohsohoney]

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Ten

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Later than usual, sorry! But I've been busy with a whole load of shit ngl, it's just been stress:) Let me know if anyone else wants to be added to the taglist though, I realise my updating is a bit sporadic? Maybe? Just a little? Lmao, anyway here's 10, hope you enjoy!

| Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

taglist: @thelastemzy

Masterlist

Jacket potatoes were a fucking delicacy.

Any Brit back home would tell you that. You could top ‘em with all sorts; Chilli, Tuna, Cheese, Chicken, Stuffing, Coleslaw, Bacon, Gravy, Bolognese— some people even liked them plain. But my favourite, as well as the only real and true way to serve a jacket potato, was with an ungodly amount of butter and baked beans.

Being in the States, it was a rather hard dish to come by. But, seeing as Marshall always appeared to go above and beyond, beans (No, none of that shoddy American shit) could be found in the little basket he’d gone and gifted me the day before. A little wicker bowl full of goodies to soothe that little ache of homesickness. 

I smacked the can down onto the countertop and levelled Rosie with a long stare.

“You’re serious?” She asked me around a wary glance, extending her arm out cautiously to get a better look at the bright blue tin as though she thought the contents might just reach out to try and grab her back.

“Deadly.” I remarked, attempting to keep my smile hidden when I met her question with a raised brow, “You’ll love it.”

Rosie didn’t look too convinced about that fact and yet, she rolled up her sleeves and took a seat at the counter to watch me work, helping out with the few things that she could. 

She had waltzed in through the front door a while earlier, just a second after I’d made it up the stairs, and the grin she’d worn when she had spotted me had had my heart warming and the pair of us wandering into the kitchen, arm in arm and already talking at a mile an hour. 

I was sauteing some mushrooms in a pan after having peeled and diced them up, whilst she kept a keen eye on the warming potatoes. “So Dad’s finally found some inspiration then?” Rosie asked me after a while, peering into the oven.

I smiled when I peered over at her, seeing how the orange glow of it washed over the side of her face to softly illuminate her features. “Seems so, we got a lot done but he was on a roll by the end of it.” I told her in reply, shaking the pan again and blinking at the sizzle that sparked up, “What do you mean anyway? Finally.” I dragged out that last word in a small singsong which made her chuckle as she stood to her full height once more and turned.

“He’s been trying to write for a couple weeks now, I think. Or months.” She shrugged, stepping back to watch the mushrooms fry with a slight wrinkle of her nose, “Not sure, but he keeps complaining about it whenever he’s on the phone.”

With a small hum, my eyes flickered back over to her, then to the pan again, “He didn’t mention it.”

Rosie blew out a faint chuckle and leant back against the counter, knuckles wrapping around its edge, “Why would he? He hates jinxing himself.”

It was cute that she noticed things like that about him, something I’d begun to note in the short time I’d been staying with the two, but I didn’t know... A large part of me wished that Marshall would have said something about it before, or at least alluded to it. It made me feel a bit bad for bowing out so early now. 

Still, my mind was quickly recaptured by the task at hand and then the story that Z deemed to tell me about, apparently a teacher thought that one of her friends was a shoo in for these auditions that they had coming up soon. The familiarity of the scene made me think back to Lottie, to everything that was happening back home, and I wished, silently and not for the first time, that it could be possible for a person to exist in two places at once. 

The spuds took their time baking but soon enough they were ready and piping hot, fluffy on the inside and with a crisp exterior. Rosie gathered up the butter and cheese at my signal, face lighting up at the prospect of being able to drown her own in the latter, whilst I pinched the tops of the spuds with a clean tea towel and plated them up, spattering them with a small amount of herbs.

I was going to keep Marshall’s wrapped up in tinfoil, if only to save it from going all horrible before he had the chance to try such a delicacy, but thankfully he’d worked his way back up the stairs just in time. I wondered how he’d managed it.

“Hey, you’ve got table duty.” Rosie exclaimed as soon as she saw him bustling over the threshold, handing the cutlery she was already holding to him without a second thought, which caused Em to blink down at his hands whilst he struggled not to drop the sudden weight he'd just been shafted with.

“‘Scuse me?” Marshall prompted, brow furrowed as his gaze wandered about the rest of the kitchen. I wondered what he thought of the bubbling pot of red sauce sitting on the hob, as well as the absurd amount of butter both Rosie and I had already lumped onto our steaming plates.

“You can set the table, Dad.” Z explained as she jumped back to help me with the mushrooms, her voice edging the line of a whining lilt, “We cooked! So it’s only fair.”

Marshall stared at her for a second longer before he ultimately snorted, “Right.” He murmured, recapturing his hold on the silver he held and eyes finding mine, before he spun round on his heel and left the room once again with a small smirk. When he returned, his plate was almost ready and just about to be loaded up with– “The hell’s that?”

I withheld my snarky reply in favour of smirking when Rosie answered for me, her eyes widening in the face of her father’s obvious leery expression. “Beans, Dad. El told me it’s one of her favourite meals, she wanted to share it with us.”

It wasn’t hard to hear the undertone there, the kind that told him to keep quiet on how he felt about the bubbling bowl I was currently holding because Z obviously didn’t want me feeling disheartened in any way. It was adorable, as was the stern face she’d paired with it, the same face that her dad found hard to waver against. His shoulders slumped ever so.

“Right.” He repeated for the second time tonight, dragging the first syllable out a tad, “Looks good?” He tried. 

I had to laugh then, “That a question or statement, Mathers?”

His eyes flickered over to meet mine, but I motioned for Rosie to get a start on heaping the cheese we’d grated onto her plate, the girl’s responding grin was giant. 

“I–” Em appeared stumped for a split second before he eventually just pressed his lips together and decided to jump in on helping us. Although he did complain when he spotted the frying pan sat off to the side, “Mushrooms too?” But with Rosie’s short warning of Dad, Marshall only appeared to raise his hands in mock surrender and then moved over to grab the plates so that he could carry them off into the next room.

I shared a conspiratorial smile with the younger girl before we followed after him, the three of us settling into the same seats as we had occupied the day before. Marshall still looked wary, even with his beans being hidden beneath a thick layer of cheese that I figured he had reasoned to himself would mask whatever taste was under it, but Z, to my utter surprise, looked ready to dig in.

“Changed your tune there, lovely.” I mentioned with a sly smirk, my gaze lingering on her long enough to catch the sheepish reaction she bore before she just shrugged and dipped her head around a grin, fork already in hand.

“Smells good.” Was the excuse she used and so I softened my face into a smile too.

“Well you helped so of course it does,” I quipped easily, picking up my fork as well before nudging Em’s forearm, “Come on, you big baby. Just try it. If you hate it, I’ll order you whatever you want. On me.”

That had him rolling his eyes, but he picked up his knife and fork with a determined expression.

I bit back a round of chuckles I could feel bubbling in my throat and used my chin to getsure for the pair of them to get stuck in. Rosie was quick to tear into hers and I was silently thankful for the way the potato easily broke apart under her knife, its texture fluffy and golden.

“Oh wow, this is so good.” She blew out the second that she could, already moving onto her next bite whilst Marshall was still working his way up to trying his own. “When you first showed me those beans? I was so sure I was gonna puke.”

I snorted quietly at that image, perfectly content with the plate of home I’d gone and conjured up for us, whilst Em’s face wrinkled. “Well if you had hated it, you’d have only had your Dad to blame, he’s the one who bought them.”

“I jus’ looked up British shit, they were top five on every list.” Marshall defended before he finally took a bite, slow in the way he raised his fork to his mouth, his eyebrows raising a little as he let the taste settle in, “Shit.”

My eyes narrowed a tad around the smile that I was chewing on to keep hidden but I watched him cut further into the potato, beans and melted cheese puddling around the sides. “That a good shit or bad shit?”

“Three dollars.” Z acknowledged, voice muffled by the food she still had in her mouth.

I laughed at that and shook my head in fond amusement before I turned to Em for an answer. He took another bite, a big one, something I took to be a good sign, and just nodded. My brow quirked in hope. “So good?”

He hummed, one shoulder shrugging, “Ain’t gone die if I finish it.”

Snorting, I could only shake my head at him, hiding my smile behind my fist. “Idiot. You like it.”

Marshall rolled his eyes, though the gesture was obviously fond as he raised his fork to point at me, “Just grateful you didn’t burn down my damn house.”

Rosie’s giggles filled the room and with them we all settled in to enjoy. Marshall asked after his daughter’s day and the girl was all too happy to ramble and rant to him, face lighting up at the prospect of it. She mentioned her English lesson, the book they had started on and how her teacher had explained this one paragraph to her class, then she went into detail about the play that was set to happen just before the Christmas break. I chimed in here and there, putting in my two cents where it was worth, but in truth, I was perfectly content to simply listen and watch on. 

The clean up that followed was mainly made up of me and Z messing around and singing to the music Em had stuck on, never the type to linger in silence. The pair of us did manage to rope the man into joining us once he had loaded up the dishwasher though, something he thoroughly complained about but followed through on all the same. He was just a sucker for his kid's smile, I reckoned, went above and beyond for the girl and it was all too easy to see.

It was a lot later that we all fell into a comfortable silence around the tele, Rosie sat crossed legged on the sofa with her homework whilst I offered help whenever asked. Marshall had joined the two of us a little later, after his phone had rang and he’d stepped out to take the call, he’d padded into the room with only the explanation of ‘Royce’ before he’d fallen into the seat beside me. I’d hummed but was too distracted by Rosie’s newest question to prod him further on it.

By the time she had finished up, handwriting practically perfect, her books had fallen into a heap on the coffee table and she’d slowly but surely scootched her way further up the sofa. I kept my eyes on the tele when I’d outstretched an arm in quiet invitation but hadn’t missed the grin she’d given in turn before she’d settled into my side, head coming to rest on my thigh. I caught Marshall’s watchful stare from out of the corner of my eye but didn’t glance back over, smiling at the scene that played out on the screen whilst my hand smoothed over the girl’s hair. 

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed between us before Marshall’s quiet cough broke the peace we’d since created, but the sky was more of a hazy cast of dark blue now rather than the ruddy auburn that had lined it much earlier. I stifled a small yawn.

Rosie sniffed softly in my lap, twisting a tad to cast her Dad a quizzical glance. Throughout the duration of the film that Z had picked out for us to watch, the man had gotten close enough that he now only had to drop his shoulders to poke at her cheek.

“Bath and bed, kid.”

The scrunch that overwhelmed Rosie’s face at the order had me grinning and so I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before moving my hand to pat her shoulder. “Up and at ‘em, soldier. Heard what the old man said.”

“Do I have to?” Z huffed, just as a hand came up to rub at her eye. Marshall’s mouth ticked ever so slightly into an amused smirk, his fingers replacing mine in an effort to smooth the front of her hair. 

“School tomorrow.” He reminded her all too gently, dropping his hand lower to shuck the underside of her chin which only made the girl smile sleepily. “You know the deal.”

She sighed heavily in retort, but did eventually make the move to push herself up and out of my lap, legs stretching across the couch cushions before her feet found the floor. It was just as she went to stand that she turned to face me though, her expression a little meek but rapidly losing the residual somnolence it had just held. “Will you do my hair again for me tomorrow?”

I was caught by surprise at the question she’d asked. I wouldn’t lie, but I didn’t let the reaction show as I smiled warmly back at her, reaching out to tap a finger on the top side of her hand, “‘Course. Anything you want, lovely.”

Rosie’s little grin had her eyes squinting and forced the corners of her mouth to pinch upwards in a move that only deepened her dimples. She leaned over to give me a hug of thanks, whispering the word into my ear before she pulled away and rounded the sofa, kissing her Dad’s cheek on her way out.

“No messin’ about, Z. An early night, ‘kay?” Em reminded her, leaning against the back of the couch so that he could tilt his head far enough to see her, “I’ll be up soon.” He added, his words met by another charming grin whilst she shook her head in fond exasperation and slipped out of the room, leaving just the pair of us and the tv. 

It was a long while before Marshall disturbed the quiet once more, the film we’d been watching had finished some time ago and so now all that was playing on the screen was a couple repeats of South Park and the odd advertisement. “She’s different with you.” I heard him voice.

With a furrowed brow, I let my head turn to find him. He was perched in the same position he had been, but now with an arm stretched along the back of the sofa and a knee bent to fill the small gap that still separated us. “What d’you mean?”

When he replied, it was low and soft, a murmur if not for the sincerity behind it. “She don’t act like that ‘round nobody.” He told me, fingers jumping in a steady rhythm on the back of the cushion, his eyes peering between mine. “Me, sure. She’s a fuckin’ koala when she wants to be, but with other people… it’s something she second guesses.”

His words confused me. Or rather, threw me. “I don’t get it.”

He dropped his gaze, blowing out a small but mirthful huff through his nose, his thumb dragged along the edge of the sofa. “You known her what, three days? And she don’t think about gettin’ close to you. Sure she’ll be coy with it, sly even, but that’s ‘cause she don’t wanna overstep with you. Like that right there–” Em said, getsuring his chin out towards my lap, I followed the gesture, then blinked back up at him, remembering the way she’d approached me, “She don't do that with people.”

My face must have given away to the fact that I was still trying to process the weight of what he meant, because his smile was soft, warm even.

It made me think of Lottie, who was always so open with her affection, who gave it out without thought or focus, her smile always great, always there. Then of myself. I tended to avoid affection where it mattered, a reason as to why I’d never let many people too close to my heart, why I hadn’t had something fulfilling to divulge when Marshall and I had spoken about past exes, I supposed. It baffled me to see some of the same tendencies I’d shown growing up in Rosie, in a girl too sweet, too loving, too happy to be so aware of how to guard herself.

I looked to him again and let him have his fill, allowed him to see how his words, the sentiment behind them, had pierced through the armour I’d long since moulded around myself. 

One side of his mouth lifted and he used the hand resting on the back of the sofa to circle my wrist, leaning in a little closer, filling that previous gap. “Ro’s had her mom, her sister. They’ve been there. They love her, and she loves them. I know that. But with Kim, it ain’t always parentin’, it’s fun and games. It’s showin’ off, not showin’ up. It’s messin’ around until she finally grows–” 

He paused there, eyes flickering left and then right as his tongue swiped over his lower lip, almost as though he was resentful of the term he wished to use. 

He settled for, “Bored. Or maybe jus’ tired, you know? She’s there until it's her time to step up and do the job she’s ‘sposed to, til it's missed recitals and forgetting pick-up, that’s when she reacts. Pulls away.”

He sighed, gaze caught on his fingers, on the easy way they engulfed my wrist. His thumb brushed over the freckle that dotted the bone, and continued on through a slow exhale, “Ayla, she’s a lot older. She does her own thing, she’s got school, work, friends. Z obviously filters into all that, but there's always been a small divide. I like to think it’s just ‘cause of their ages– it’s how me and Nate worked growin’ up, you know? But there’s this whole idea that fuckin’ messes with my head, like maybe it's all down to me. Ayla’s my niece, but she’ll always be one of my own. I love that girl as much as I love Rosie. More than life itself. But I know I hurt her, havin’ her here, watchin’ me fail and fuck up whilst she was growin’ up. And jus’, maybe I can’t help but wonder if I ever let her know that enough, that I loved her, if it’s that that’s impacted her relationship with Z.”

I was quick in my attempt to soothe his doubts, the hand he didn’t hold jumping over to lay across the top of his own. “I’d call you an idiot, but I reckon you already know that.” I chuckled halfheartedly, though my smile was genuine when his eyes snapped up to meet my own, “You’re an amazing father, Em. I honestly believe that with my whole heart. And it doesn’t take much to see it either. I mean, I was here not even a day and was so quick to see the love you held for your daughter. I saw it in your reactions too when we called, when you spoke of them, however brief it was. I haven’t met Ayla but I don’t think I’d have to for me to see that your worries are just that, worries. I’m sure that girl loves you in the very same sense that I am sure that she knows you love her. That you see her as much more than just your niece.”

My thumb trailed over the back of his hand, skimming knuckles, taking in their slight discoloration, the faint white lines that could have only been age old scars. I dipped my head a tad so that my gaze could align with his shadowed blues, prompting him into lifting his eyes from off the floor.

“I’m also honoured that you think Rosie’s comfortable enough around me to mention the gravity behind it, that you’d trust me with her company, let alone her affection.” I said sweetly, gifting him another smile, it was close lipped but one that appled my cheeks. His stare caught onto it, fingers tightening around my wrist by a fraction in a squeeze that showed only his appreciation. So I squeezed back, fingers fastening over the top of his fist. “Z’s hard not to love, she’s all of your best parts and more. Sometimes…” 

I took a small breath, fretful over saying what I had intended to until Marshall met my flickering gaze once more, silently prompting me on. I swallowed thickly, feeling the force of it travel through my throat, but did follow through, “Sometimes it’s just hard raising kids, I guess not everyone’s made out for the harsher reality of it all. Of having to be a parent and not a friend. I mean, it was forced on me in a way, I’ve been raising my siblings since Danny the day came along, since before I knew what being a mum meant. What one was.” The weight of that admission had me reeling for a split second, at the truth it held. But I pursed my lips before allowing my eyes to find Marshall’s once more, “Kim, I’m sure she tries, I’m sure it’s more than my mum ever did, ever could do, but it’s okay for you to fear that it’s not enough for Z, too.”

Marshall worked his jaw, blinking for a second before he eventually spoke, voice rasping with the emotion he felt. “Kid deserves the world.”

I found myself grinning at that, the teary kind which glossed over your eyes but was strong enough that you couldn’t prevent the fluid motion of it. It was without thought that my arms came up to wind their way around his neck and I relaxed further in the gesture when I eventually felt his face come to rest against my shoulder.

“She does.” I murmured, hand cupping the back of his neck, fingers resting over the fine hair which lined his nape. “She does.” I heard myself repeat again as my eyes slipped closed. 

When we parted, I watched as Em knuckled the corner of his eye, grunting faintly to clear his throat and rid the room of any tension that then clouded us. I felt the corner of my mouth twitch, but did look away towards the tele when he started to shift once more, giving him a sense of security that he hadn’t been caught out, that I wouldn’t dig too deeply into his reaction. 

“Thanks.” He murmured after a stunted moment and it was only then that I glanced back over to him. I smiled in turn.

“Nothing to thank me for.”

When we parted ways for the night, I chose to head on up to bed, mind so full of thoughts that I found it hard to latch onto a singular one, whilst Marshall stopped at the bottom of the staircase to gift me a quiet goodnight, eyes caught on the reflection of moonlight that crept its way across my cheek, the sight mirrored on his own face.

I didn’t know it then but I would eventually, he’d never felt so inspired.

So as I’d slipped beneath my duvet, my mind stuck on the words we’d shared, Marshall was back down in the studio, writing away once more. But this time, it was for a completely different reason.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Shameless

Sequel to Graceless

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, dejection, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The reader attempts to move past her ruination, but is reminded of her tarnish conscience at every turn. (Regency AU, tall!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

Note: Here we are. The sequel but not the end.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖

The string of the glove’s seam trails loosely from the thumb. You twist the thread, playing with it, but doing little to mend it. Even with a needle in hand, you have no whim to darn. There are many things in life that cannot be repaired no matter how you try. Occurrences which cannot be taken back.

You pull at the seam until a hole forms in it. You poke your finger through with no heed for the glove’s integrity. You detest that pair anyhow. The very same you wore… that day. 

Albina lays at the foot of the bed, her head bent back over the edge as she peruses one of her novellas. Hannah and Cora disappeared ages ago and you only just heard them through the windows. They are likely causing chaos in the gardens. You hope your mother finds them and issues a reprimand for their immaturity.

The autumn thins the air as it creeps in around the window frame and you smell that discerning scent of dirt and leaves. Only a week and it feels as if the whole world has changed seasons. Your world has transformed irrevocably.

There’s a clatter and you glance over as Albina rolls onto her side. She’s always hated to be disturbed amid her stories. She huffs and falls onto her back to begin again, but the door bursts open, your two other sisters tromping through with excitement.

Albina shuts her book loudly and sighs as she sits up. You go back to your exploration of the glove, watching the thread stretch along the seam as you tug. If only that were Cora. If only you could rent her pretty hair from her pretty head. Or in the least, swat the smug grin from her lips.

You can’t even look at her. It just makes you think of him. Of how stupid you’d been. You believed his promises were meant for you but it’s only as you relive that haunting episode every night that you realise, he never proclaimed his intent for you, only alluded to a vague offer. Another mean trick.

“Lord Rogers has sent a gift,” Cora trills as she stands at the vanity, shuffling something unseen before her. Hannah stands at her side, bouncing with anticipation.

“Oh, what do you think it is?” Hannah chimes.

“Could you not unveil it in the sunroom, where there is no one reading?” Albina says as she drags herself to the edge of the bed, resting her book on her skirts.

“Could you not get your head out of those ridiculous fancies,” Cora retorts over her shoulder, “if you ever do for long enough, you might just find a husband too.”

You don’t look up. You refuse to give her the satisfaction. You haven’t missed her wandering glances, how she taunts you without even a word. She turns back to her gift and rustles beneath the thick paper.

“Oh, heavens,” she swoons and spins, “isn’t it beautiful?”

“Are those rubies?” Hannah preens.

“I think.”

“Garnet?” Albina suggests.

“No, no, surely they are rubies,” Cora insists. “Do you see?” She swirls around the room closer to you, “I must find the perfect gown to wear with this. Oh, he would fawn to see me in his ribbon, wouldn’t he, sister?”

You grip the glove tight as her figure looms over you. With your other hand, you clutch the needle, letting it jab into your palm until your eyes prick. You nod, “very beautiful.”

You stand the moment you get the words free of your dry throat. You try to smile but can only muster a strained grimace. You try to step past Cora but she moves with you.

“You’ve not even looked,” she says, “how would know how beautiful it is?”

“Cora, please.”

“No, no, have a look. It’s so elegant, isn’t it?”

You clamp your lips together. Your insides tangle painfully. Even as the tenderness leaves the bruises in your thighs, you swear they hurt just as much as the day after. You sniff.

“Please, move out of my way,” you beg.

“Oh, sister, why must you be so dour? Is that jealousy I sense?”

“No,” you snarl. Jealousy. Oh, something much deeper, something agonizing. “I said move.”

“Move? Well, it looks like I am the first to wear a title so it is me who should be issuing the orders, don’t you think?”

“Oh, Cor, you are not duchess yet,” Albina reproaches, “let her pass.”

The heat rises up your back and crawls onto your neck. You feel like you’re suffocating. You feel like the walls are closer together, as if the world is hewn in fire. It is all burning down around you.

“She is being a sour little brat about it, Al,” Cora snaps, “it isn’t fair of her to ruin my engagement. I don’t know where she ever got the idea that Lord Rogers had any mind for h–”

You don’t think. You need to get out of here. You shove Cora out of your way and stomp past her as she gasps. You drop the glove as the needle sinks further into your palm. You sweep out of the door and hurry down the corridor. You hear her, whining pitifully as you flee.

“She shoved me! She–”

“Oh, you did goad her,” Albina’s quiet scolding follows you to the stairs, “put that ribbon away, you’ll only ruin it.”

Ruin… 

The word clings to you as you barrel down the stairs, as if running from your own shame and anger. You love your sister, you would never wish anything horrid on her, but you can’t help that small whisper in your mind that suggests that Lord Rogers may just treat her as cruelly as he has done you.

💙

The autumn continues its slow advance, nipping in the air and at the foliage alike. You smell the crispness as it wafts through the open window of the carriage, cooling the cluster of bodies within. Your father rides with the driver, guffawing loudly with the clop of hooves. Your mother fans herself as she needles away with her relentless critique.

…Albina, push your shoulders back; Hannah, keep your lips shut tight, you don’t need horseflies wandering in; You, fix your bonnet, it is dipping at the front; Oh, Cora, isn’t that a lovely ribbon…

You try not to mope. The more you do, the more pleasure Cora takes in her victory. You will forget it, you will go on as you’ve ever done. Dejected. You fold one hand around the other, your palm tender from the bite of the needle still wrought into your flesh.

You look up as the carriage slows. The lush green of the promenade tinges with edges of russet and patches of goldenrod. Lords and ladies stroll along the brickwork walkway, skirts swishing around languid steps, arms hooked in one another, others perched upon benches or huddled around the grand fountain at the center.

Your father climbs down as the driver unlatches the door. Your mother emerges first, her fan clapping shut sharply and knocking against the frame. Cora is second, then Albina, Hannah, and yourself. You come out behind them and feel your height all the more. You hunch and grip your wrist tight.

“Do not slouch,” your mother looks back and raps your arm with her fan, “no lord wants to walk alongside a hobbling giant.”

“Yes, mother,” you correct yourself and let your vision drift off into a vacant blur.

“Ladies,” a familiar timbre approaches with a pair of footsteps, “you’ve arrived.”

You refuse to look at Lord Rogers as he stands just along your peripheral. He greets your mother with a cordial bow of his head and shakes your father’s hand. At last, he addresses his betrothed as she wiggles in her skirts and nearly squeaks.

“Lord Rogers,” she drawls, “I wore the rubies.”

“Beautiful,” he praises, “my lady, might I request a stroll upon the promenade?”

“Aye, you may,” your father answers, volunteering himself as escort.

“Sir,” Rogers accepts elegantly and offers his arm to Cora, “and perhaps a few more daughters might care to join us?”

“They will remain with me,” your mother insists, “we would like to see the roses.”

You wait until they’ve departed to dare a peek at them. Lord Rogers struts away confidently with his arm through Cora’s. Your father trails them with his brass-tipped cane. Your ribs rack as if they might collapse in on themselves.

“Come girls, the autumn will wilt away the roses,” your mother declares, “let us make our rounds, perhaps we might have two engagements this season, hm?”

You linger behind the others. You keep your head down as you watch the toes of your boots poke out from beneath your skirts with each step. Your led by the hem of your sisters ahead of you.

As you approach the hoop of rose bushes, there is an unexpected furor. Voices trill and flutter, a booming laugh that rolls like thunder. You raise your eyes and see a blond head above a cluster of hats. You don't recognise the lord amid the clan of amused men.

"How rowdy," your mother remarks in her curmudgeon way.

She ignores the pluck of glee for the thorny tangles. Hannah and Albina give longing looks to the uproar but dutifully accompany your mother to the hedges. The eldest of your quartet pets the paling pink petals and grieves the browning at the edges.

The dullness of that moment feels like a promise. This is how life will always be for someone like you. You will never know excitement, you will only ever be a witness, a scrap of collateral left to squander. 

You pretend to admire the greenery. The colours are faded and worn. Just like everything since that night. As you are.

You smell the leaves and the pollen and you're taken back to that moonlit moment. The cool air on your skin, the friction of his figure, his weight trapping you on the stone.

The leaves mesh together in a tapestry of swirling hues. You quickly dab your eyes before your tears can spill over. Those bouts come suddenly and dry up just as soon. You cannot let it take you here.

An emptiness enshrines you and you peer over to find yourself all alone. Your sisters and your mother have left you, forgotten you. Not such an unexpected plight but painful nonetheless. You turn in search of them and nearly collide with another.

You press yourself to the bushes behind you and swallow a gasp, creaking out an apology.

"Apologies, my lord, I did not see you–"

"Lady," the man greets with a courteous dip of his chin, looking down at you. Down! He is even taller than you. 

The same lord with the blond hair who had a crowd raucous. You do not know him. He is rather older than any courtly debut.

"You mustn't catch yourself," he reaches around you delicately and untangles a fold of your skirt from the thorny vines, "it is too fine a dress to tarnish."

"Thank you, sir, it seems I am a bit obtuse at the moment," you force a smile. 

He is very handsome. He eyes a brighter shade than even Lord Rogers and his hair even more golden. That comparison urges you back to the ground. You are still you and you cannot be so foolish as to let yourself believe contrary ever again.

"Might I–"

"I spy–"

You speak at the same time and both correct yourself. You defer and touch your lips in embarrassment, "apologies, once more, I keep treading on your toes."

"I have tough toes," he japes, "I meant to ask if I might have your name."

"Oh, yes, sir," you give him your name, "I admit I am ignorant of your own identity."

"Ah, yes, I have come from far," he grins, "Lord Thor Odinson, of Asgard."

"Asgard, why that is very far," you comment, "well, sir, it was a delight to meet you. Welcome to our homeland."

"A privilege," he returns, "if I might be so forward, as I am a stranger to this land, I would extend to you an invitation to dinner as I acquaint myself with your country. Would that be too improper?"

"Sir," you flutter your fingers at your side as you stand awkwardly before him, "I would needs ask my father."

"Yes, certainly you would, as you are unwed," he says as if untwining a riddle, "I do hope you will be permitted."

"My lord," you bow your head, "my mother…"

You look past him to your mother's fan as she beckons to you with it. Lord Odinson steps aside and extends his arm in gallant dismissal. You shift to move past him.

"Thank you, my lord."

"Allow me to thank you, lady, for entertaining my tedious conversation," he counters and you quickly flit away.

You near your mother as your other sisters crowd her. She is jibbering behind her fan, "...an ambassador," she says and snaps together the folds, "I hope you did not spoil our welcome."

"Mother?" You look at her in confusion, your cheek hot and tingling still.

"With that Lord, he did invite us to a dinner," she explains, "it would be very important for your father."

You shake your head. You don't argue. Ah, but the invitation was extended to all. Are you so foolish to think otherwise? You must shield yourself in the harsh lesson you've been taught. You are not and can never be special.

💙

The night of Lord Odinson's dinner arrives. You wear a gown of black patterned with deep green vines. Plain attire in contrast to Cora's shining scarlet silk, Alvina's buoyant blue bodice, and Hannah's deep rose sleeves. You add a simple beaded ribbon around your head, and a string of pearls around your neck.

"Dour," your mother remarks as she emerges in a tangerine satin, "ah, Cora, my darling, you look splendid. And to think, now that your engagement is public, you will be a pretty ornament on Lord Rogers' arm."

"Mother," she preens, averting her eyes in feigned modesty.

You clutch your reticule tight and glance over as you hear the approach of hooves. It is Lord Rogers' coach. The vehicle bustles towards the gates, open in expectation of him, and you look away. You can hardly bear the sight of red paint that decorates the doors.

His driver slows and breaks in the dirt. He greets your father as ever, gallant and proper. You put your teeth over your lower lip and peek up, catching the glint of Rogers' sapphire irises. His cheek dimples as his brows twitch. You swiftly rescind your gaze, favouring the dust on your slippers to him. He is as handsome as ever but to you, he is a vile cad. A demon clothed in cravat and vest.

He helps your mother first into the coach, then Cora, Hannah, Alvina, and finally yourself. He extends his gloved hand to you and you stare at his palm with disgust. You put your hand in his and step up into the vehicle. He squeezes before he lets go, a subtle tug on your skirt as you duck inside.

You sit on the bench between Albina and Hannah. You play with the strap of your reticule, focusing on it as you coil it like a snake. You only need to survive the journey to lord's manor. You've survived worse, and all at his hand.

💙

The manor is called The Nine Pillars, a rather strange name for a house, but referenced by the columns set into the stone walls. Each is topped with the facsimile of a different beast's head; a lion, a boar, a bear, a wolf, a falcon, a stallion, a bull, a viper, and an elephant. You lean over Albina to take it in, only to be nudged back to the middle.

You sigh and trail the part from the court. Attendants await your arrival at the broad steps of the manor house, the style much unlike that of the other courtly homes. The peak of the house resembles a warship overturned and the walls are without the typical white wash. It is very antiquated yet refined.

You enter the glowing hall, the glass lamps hung from the walls lit in an illuminating speckle. Voices carry from the drawing room where other guests gather and the bustle of the house staff flutters around the corridors and clamours from the kitchen. Your stole is taken by a groom and you nod in acknowledgement at his diligence. Your stomach swirls nervously.

The drawing room is a cluster of swishing skirts, flapping fans, and waggling coat tails.  Your mother and father greet another older couple as your sisters disperse; Cora to show off her betrothed, Albina to whisper to Maria about her novels, and Hannah to gossip about the newest debuts. You find yourself lost before the sea of elegant figures.

You wade towards them, weaving between the bodies, looking around for any sense of welcome. Those who do see you, turn away quickly, as others pretend not to notice your towering form. You will find a place on the wall as you ever do.

"Lady," a deep voice calls but you don't bother to hear it. It cannot possibly be directed at you. It calls again, several times, before pronouncing your name. You spin to face Lord Odinson before you can retreat to your setinel against the wallpaper.

"My Lord," you greet him, "pardon me, there is much going on, I mustn't have heard you calling."

"Ah, but forgive me, it is rather uncouth to be shouting," he stops before you, "my mother always said I did blow in like a storm."

"Oh," you nod politely. You're not used to someone looking you in the eye, not without having to awkwardly contort your posture.

"She would like you, very much, I think."

"Why would you think that, my lord? You hardly know me."

"But I see you, a strong woman, built like a valkyrie. You are resilient and might I so forwardly say, resplendent."

"Sir?" You peer around, looking for an audience, for someone in collusion taking amusement from his false interest. It is always a trick.

"Again, I am the tempest, I cannot be subtle, not with a lady so stunning. Awe-inspiring. If I am the storm, you must be the sky," he remarks boldly.

You face him, a frown.

"Lady, it is a compliment," his face turns sober, "I hope I didn't overstep--"

"It is a joke. Who do you make laugh? For who am I the farce tonight?"

"Joke? Not at all. Never," he glances around the room. He is quiet as he takes in those around him. As he sees their elusive eyes and cold shoulders. "They cannot see what is right in front of them. A goddess--"

"No," you nearly sob, "no. I am not goddess." You bow your head, as you hear that same word from enough, a memory; Athena. "No sir," you put your chin up defiantly, "I will not be fooled by you."

"Fooled, my lady--"

"Excuse me," you shuffle away from him, "I need air..."

"Lady," he calls again but you elude him, delving into the crowd, marching away with head and shoulders down.

As you near the door, you hear a familiar laugh. You look to find Lord Rogers with Cora on his arm, his golden hair shining, her locks perfectly spiraled and set. He tilts his head towards her, "I call her my Athena," he says loudly, as if he knows you are listening, "for I worship her."

His eyes flick up and meet yours. You recoil and spin on your heel. Scalded, you flee into the hall and huddle into an alcove. No one would notice if you stayed out here all night.

💙

You sit among the guests at the table. The women chatter as the men speak in low voices about their business or some writ tabled in session that morning. You do neither as you're isolated in the fervor. As sherry and wine flows generously, you partake only of lemon water and loneliness.

You peer down the table and find yourself drawn to a pair of eyes. Lord Odinson. Where you expect tension or disappointment, you find only an amiable smile. He is almost dreamy as he watches you. You turn in your seat and look at Albina next to you, she's bent so far toward Hannah in her whispering that he likely cannot even see you.

You keep your gaze on the table. You will not encourage him. Lord Rogers taught you caution, he taught you your worth and not to think yourself above it. You feel suddenly sick, as if you could spew onto the table.

There is the clink of glass and someone clears their throat. The buzz around you hushes and all turn to the head of the table. You look over reluctantly. It is Lord Odinson, the host, about to make his toast. He stands, a crystal glass in hand.

"Welcome and thank you all for attending. You've all made me feel rather at home," he raises his glass and the guests mirror him. You lift yours a few seconds too late. He sets down the flute and continues, "and while you've all ingratiated me so kindly, I hope you might tolerate a little piece of my homeland."

He pauses and gestures to someone you can't see. A servant comes forward, holding a wooden box carved with symbols you don't recognise. Runes, perhaps.

"In my faith, there are the Valkyrie. They are the embodiment of female power and prestige and thus they are the keeper of our culture, of our ways. They are fertile and beautiful. So it is that each season, one lady is crowned as Valkyrie. I understand that I've come late but I am honoured to spend the season here, in your society. Thus, tonight has been more than a dinner..."

He stops as the servant opens the box. He takes out a crown of daisies wrought in gold and silver. He presents it to the room with a smile. 

Cora leans forward as her eyes round in greed and the other women sit up, admiring the piece of jewelry and peeking at each other. You don't move, you stare at the wall and wait. You wonder who it will be. Maybe Cora or Maybelle and her doe eyes.

There is another lull, swollen with anticipation and intrigue. Lord Odinson gives a soft chuckle before he declares his valkyrie. No one speaks, none says a word. You blink. He speaks again.

You feel a nudge on your elbow as Albina leans towards you and whispers, "it's you."

You glance at her, then along the table. Cora's eyes are narrowed at you and Lord Rogers looks like he's chewing his own tongue. You turn your attention to Lord Odinson, trapped in surprise and disbelief.

"Yes, lady, please, come and claim your crown."

You grasp the arms of the chair and push it out as you rise. You walk stiffly, keenly aware of those watching you. You stride down the long table and near Lord Odinson. He faces you and hovers the crown over your head. You bow and he lowers it on, wiggling it to be sure it's firmly in place.

"It is I who shoulder defer to you, sweet lady," he lowers himself to a knee and bows his head, "our valkyrie."

The silence looms. You refuse to look back. You feel the stare, the disapproval, and disappointment. There's a clap and you flinch. Then another, and slowly the applause build.

Lord Odinson stands again and takes your hand, placing a kiss on your fingers. You meet his eyes, so intense you could melt.

"As I said," he keeps his timbre low, "it was not a joke."

💙

"Can I see it?" Albina asks as you go to set the crown on the narrow table.

"Oh, certainly," you turn to her. You're still burning with excitement. It's only one night, it doesn't mean anything, but it is a good night.

You hand her the crown and she takes it, admiring the craftwork with aw and showing it to Hannah as she nears. She places it on her head and rocks her shoulders.

"I am the valkyrie," she japes.

"No, I am the valkyrie," Hannah snatches the crown and dawns it.

"You are both children," Cora sneers as she shoves her ribbon of rubies into her jewelry box, "please, that lord is only here to pander to our king on his family's behalf. Nothing else."

"You're only jealous," Hannah rebukes.

"Am not," Cora stomps up and swipes the crown of daisies, "what would I need with a meaningless thing like this. Queen of what? The chimera? You don't even know what a valkyrie is."

"Nor do you," Hannah retorts.

"I do," Albina asserts, "they are an army of female warriors who lead the dead--"

"I do not give a fig," Cora flings the crown so it hits the bedframe and bounces off, "we don't believe in them here. That man is a fool."

"Oh, I saw you fawning over him, Cor," Albina goads, "don't lie. Rogers himself looked concerned."

"Fawning? Don't be silly."

You don't say a word as you go to fetch the crown from where it's fallen. You notice that one of the petals is bent out of shape. Oh, no.

"It's fine. She's right, it's just a silly crown."

"You all need to grow up," Cora insists, "as a woman soon to be married, I can see now how juvenile you lot are."

"Not married yet," Hannah snaps, "sooner the better if it means you're off."

"Charming, Hannah, I wonder why you've not had a proposal yet?"

Hannah waves her off with her hand and goes to Albina, "I'm tired. Help me out of my dress."

You turn away and set the crown on top of your own jewelry box. You take your time undoing the ribbon on your head and unclasping your pearls. You peel off your gloves and as you face the bed, you see Cora's hot glare.

"You'll see. That Lord Odinson will leave you behind and next season, you'll be on your way to a convent."

You swallow down her bitter words. Deep down, you don't doubt it. She is likely right but less than clairvoyant. You know better than any what your fate will be.

💙

You watch from the window as Cora walks in the gardens with Lord Rogers. Albina is in bed, moaning and rubbing her pelvis, as Hannah is downstairs with your mother stitching at her frame. The winds of autumn rattle the window frame and you back away, nervous to be caught observing.

You sit on the mattress and lean back against the pillow. Albina curls up on her side and faces you. You offer your hand and she latches on, squeezing. Her cramps have struck and she's already stained several shifts. Her blood has her in agony.

You don't mind keeping her company. Your own was due a week ago. You know because you've not stopped counting the days since... since Lord Rogers' proposal.

"I should hate to miss the promenade..." she mourns.

"You shouldn't miss very much," you assure her.

"Yes, but it will be cold soon. Too cold and it will snow and I will hate to go," she utters, "will you go?"

"Perhaps," you answer.

"And walk with Lord Odinson again?"

"If he wishes."

"I am certain he does. He is very friendly. Last night, when he told us of his families stronghold. About the mountains and the crossing rivers..."

"He has many stories," you agree, "and he tells them well."

"Oh, he does. He tells them for you."

"Pardon?" You nearly laugh.

"Sister, don't act clueless. He gave you his crown--"

"It was only a game."

"I do not think he plays."

"Why..."

"He always finds us on the promenade, doesn't he?"

"He is polite."

"Oh, you are stubborn."

You puff but don't argue further. She's wrong but she can't realise she is. She doesn't know what's happened, how you know for certain that he has no true intentions. That he cannot be any different than Lord Rogers.

💙

The hedges along the promenade are thinning. The roses have wilted away and the greenery curls and recedes. You wear a pair of lambskin gloves and an unlined cloak. It isn’t cold enough yet for fur.

As he does most days, Lord Rogers approaches to greet your family. Your mother and father bow to him briefly and bid their best before strolling off to meet with their peers. The betrothed couple will lead the way, as you walk behind with Hannah. Albina remains abed at home, her presence sorely missed as Hannah yawns and makes faces at the duke and his engaged.

You resist the urge to look around, to search for the man who crowned you valkyrie, the same who appeared at your side nearly every day. You restrained yourself from depending on his presence, from longing for it. He is a fleeting acquaintance, destined to return to Asgard one day. You shouldn't think so much of him.

“I wish we could have a summer wedding,” Lord Rogers declares, his voice raised loud enough for you to hear.

“But, my lord, that is so far away,” Cora protests, “so long as we wed before the snows, I will be content.”

“You, content. I am not mistaken, I know the sort of wife I’ve chosen,” he chides, “you only relish in that you might wear velvet.”

“Not at all my lord. I relish that I should marry you,” she preens, her arm hooked in his firmly. 

You stare at the linking of their bodies. You remember the way he held you down, the way he cooed and coaxed, how he so softly coerced you. You should fear for your own sister, yet their misconceptions may be mutual.

“My ladies,” Lord Odinson’s voice precedes him and he steps up beside you, “and my lord. You are ashen, does the cold not agree with you?”

Lord Rogers glances over his shoulder, an edge in his jaw, “I handle it finely.”

You don’t mention he was only just longing for the summer. It isn’t any of your concern and you don’t very much care. Or you try not to.

“In Asgard, the winters, ah, they are splendid,” Odinson begins vibrantly, “there are days when the snow builds walls on its own and the next, they blow over to rippling oceans of frost. Endless and powdery.”

“Oh, we do not get so much snow here,” Hannah comments, “I don’t think I would survive such winters.”

You nod, listening intently as you picture the swirling snow and white dunes. It reminds you of a fairytale or a scene from one of Albina’s novels. Otherworldly and fantastical. Something entirely new and wonderful, but terrifying.

“And you, my valkyrie, would you face the blizzards?” Odinson challenges.

You hum thoughtfully. You know he is looking at you but you are too shy, too wary to return his gaze.

“I suppose with the proper cloak and a thick pair of boots, I might make it through, sir.”

“A coach and a horse, and any lady would say the same,” Rogers scoffs back at you, “girls hardly know the truth in matters of spirit. They can be overly presumptuous upon their own abilities.”

Odinson pushes his jacket back, hooking his finger in the pocket of his vest, “women are strong in ways men can never be. They carry lives, they bear the burden of the world, they maintain a grace lost on most men.”

“And the demure to the strength of men, to the wisdom they can never possess,” Rogers snaps back, laughing cruelly, “it is in the vows they take, is it not?”

“Only the strongest man can see the strength of women,” Odinson dismisses calmly, “my own mother keeps a pack of snow wolves. She goes out in the winter storms and reins her own sleigh. All while my father sits warm before his hearth. Her victories are not his losses.”

“Sounds rather quaint, Lord Odinson,” Rogers clucks, “your country strikes me as lacking civility.”

“Uncivil is a boring way of saying lively, and I promise, my home is much and more,” Odinson affirms, “but I think that fate has a way of placing us all where we belong, wouldn’t you agree?”

Rogers is quiet for a moment, his steps heavy as he strides on. He turns his head, his eye flicking between Odinson and yourself. He snorts and turns forward again.

“We must all take as we earn, accept what we do and do not get,” he says tritely, speaking animatedly with his hand in the air, “more often than not, we have only ourselves to thank… or blame.”

As cryptic as his words are, they are plain to you. That night with him was not unearned. Your foolishness bought your destruction. You must now live out your sentence of watching him walk arm in arm with another woman, your sister, everyday. You must accept that what he took can never be reclaimed.

💙

You sit in the garden, wrapped in a shawl as autumn breezes around the table. Your mother has a fur on her shoulders and your sisters chatter their teeth as they sip their tea. You rub your hands together, your gloves doing little against the crisp air. You suspect the days of dining without are close to done.

As you watch a leaf drift down from a branch, the hinges whine, and your father emerges from within. He gives an emphatic shiver as he claps his hands together. He seems rather pleases as he has his shoulders pushed back and his hat on a tilt.

"Daughters, my lovely wife, it is a beautiful day, is it not?"

You wonder at his uncharacteristic glee. Your father is ever practical and serious, on all matters. More so, he confounds as through the mutter of responses, he looks to you. You nod and agree with his sentiment softly.

"My daughter, my eldest, you... have a visitor."

You blink and withhold a grimace. He hates when you make faces. You force a smile and your voice crackles as you muster your voice.

"A visitor, father?"

"He is inside, he cannot have his tea alone," he says as if you should know who he alludes to.

You stand as Cora rolls her eyes, "who could be here for her?"

You notice how Albina and Hannah share a look. You cannot determine whether it is at your expense or Cora's.

"Daughter," your father drawls, "do not be sour that your betrothed eludes you."

"He does not--"

"So be happy for your sister and enjoy your tea."

She huffs and reaches for her cup. You step around her chair and approach your father. He smiles and as you near, he puts his hands on your arms. He is smiling. Genuinely.

"He has my blessing, of course, I will need accompany you to maintain propriety," he speaks quietly, "come."

You dip your chin down and meekly follow him inside. A servant pulls the door closed behind you. Your steps echo down the corridor as your father leads you to the sunroom. As you enter, there is some rustling and a subtle creak. 

You peek up to find Lord Odinson standing with a hand on his vest. He bows to you and your father. You stop in the archway.

Your father proceeds, unaffected, and sits in the cushioned chair nearest the fireplace. He slaps his thighs as he splays his legs and grunts.

"Well, then, get on with it," your father grumbles.

Lord Odinson straightens his posture and gulps. He reaches up and toys with his cravat, the starch fabric already askew. He smiles, his cheeks reddening. He sways and looks between your father and yourself.

"I thought it very difficult to put this in ink but now I am here, I find the same is true of words," he says, laughing at his own joke, "so, lady, I trust this isn't very surprising to you. I've made my intentions clear and I've made your father a proposal, which he has graciously approved. Thus I put to you the question..." he twists his cravat, stops himself, then grips his jacket lapel, "would I be a fair husband to you? Er, or rather, would you... would you... honour me as a wife?"

The air stills and the chill that trailed you in dissipates. You blink dumbly and let your mouth fall open. You glance at your father. You understand his happiness now and yet you cannot believe it.

Your stomach churns and you clamp your mouth shut. The silence turns unbearable. You notice how Lord Odinson's cheek spasms and his complexion drains.

"Yes, sir, I... suppose... rather, I would..." you feel as if you're choking, "is it true? A marriage?"

"You wouldn't have to leave your homeland forever. I have some months ahead of me and my holdings here. We could visit--"

"Yes, yes, I will marry you," you murmur.

You hold your breath. Waiting. For one of them to break. For a peel of laughter between them. For it all to be another trick.

"Glory," Odinson exclaims as he proffers his hand, "shall we sit for tea, then, my valkyrie?"

You nod, unable to speak for fear of croaking. It is real. This man is real but you worry, his attention may yet prove false.

[abbyromanoff]

Hi! I want to request Sugar mommy! Agatha x R

$TING

PAIRINGS: Agatha Harkness x reader

WORD COUNT: 2,970

WARNINGS: sugar mommy/sugar baby relationship, hook ups, punishment, praise, degrading, guided masturbation, mommy (A), pure smut, edging, orgasm denials, body writing, open relationship (kinda), jealousy, fingering, spit kink, clothed sex, voyeriusm, exhibition, small age kink, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

The sun blared through the large windows of your apartment as the expresso machine brewed your morning energy. There were a few dishes left in the sink that you forgot to attend to earlier on, along with clothes scattered all over the place. Not all of them were yours, they belonged to the woman that had decided to stay the night, much to your dismay.

You met her at a bar the night before and hit it off. You could still feel her wandering hands that left you on edge. It wasn’t exactly her fault, she did have good skills when it came to pleasure, but she wasn’t her. She wasn’t Agatha.

You wanted more than what you had with the older peer, but the two of you often made the excuse that you were too busy for a relationship. You were a full-time college student with a high GPA that you intended to keep, while Agatha was head CEO of a market-developing company. You didn’t really understand what she did, only that the money piling into her wallet, as a result, became yours quickly after.

“Good morning.” The woman, who you lacked the knowledge of her name, spoke. You whipped your head around, giving her a small, tight-lipped smile that she returned.

“How’d you sleep?” She stood behind you now, placing her arms on either side of your waist and resting her head on your shoulder. You tensed up when feeling her lips on your neck and her hands rubbing circular directions on your skin.

“Mm, pretty well. What about you?” It was clear she saw this as much more than a hook-up, and you weren’t ready to let down another person. You stepped away, trying to subtly address your thoughts.

“I slept fine, yeah.” She hummed in response and watched as you traveled over to the door where the clothes were ripped to shreds in the night of lust. You could nearly feel her gawking at your ass as you bent over, gathering the pieces in your hand and returning to your spot in front of her.

“Well, I have to head out soon so here, I believe these are yours.” It felt like hours before she left, writing down her number on a pad of paper and kissing you graciously at the door. She turned around after giving you a wink, bumping into an individual and sending a quick rush of apologies that were left unheard.

You gulped fearfully when they appeared at your doorstep, a small bag in hand as they glared down at you. She watched the woman leave while shooting you a glance, hoping to catch your eye.

“What are you doing here, Agatha?” You demanded. You tried to seem annoyed, yet you still left your door wide open for her to follow you. She chuckled at the use of her real name while removing the suit jacket she kept on.

“Hm, I thought we were past full-name basis by now, are we not?” You rolled your eyes, not the best choice. You knew she had nothing but vexation for brats, but that was the fun in it.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, baby.” You were finally able to get a better glimpse at the item held in her right hand, it was a shopping bag, one of luxury. She wasn’t one to be seen in low-quality stores that you often found yourself a regular at.

“What’s in there?” She placed it on the counter which you stood next to, her body leaning against the fridge that she helped afford.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” You let out an irritated sigh with no intent to show your hidden excitement. You loved when she bought you something new, it made you feel seen. She could spend her money on anyone or anything yet she decided to get you new gifts daily, that was how she showed her love.

“Well? Do you like it?” She surmised when catching the small gasp that escaped you. You had pulled out a purple lingerie set, her favorite color on you. It was a one-piece that left very little to the imagination.

“I love it! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Your act seemed to have started its process of fading away as you surged yourself forward into her grasp. She kissed the top of your forehead that was situated on her chest as her fingers sifted through your hair softly.

“You’re very welcome, my dear. How about you try it on for Mommy, yeah? Give me a little show?” You nodded and waltzed into your room where you discarded the little amount of clothing left that clung to your body. You wanted it to be a surprise, which is why you forced the older lady to remain on the other side of the closed door.

“You almost done in there?” She was impatient and she didn’t care, she knew it spurred you on every time.

“Come in.” She quickly opened the entryway and the sight that greeted her was one to make anyone foam at the mouth. The lace fit you perfectly, showing every curve and mend to your body.

“Oh, sweetness…” She was at a loss for words when admiring your effortless beauty. There was no such thing as perfect, yet here you stood, your body on display as if you were a walking goddess. You stalked closer to her, placing your hands on her chest as you gazed up at her, innocence painting your eyes.

“You like it, Mommy?” She groaned deeply and lifted you by the backs of your thighs, letting your legs wrap around her waist and arms venturing to her shoulders. Your breasts were right in front of her face, and it took all of her not to press her lips against them.

“You look so beautiful. My beautiful little girl.” Your cheeks reddened at her praise as you were lowered onto the bed that sat beneath you. You expected a touch, a kiss, something more than just her watchful eyes.

“You know, I was going to come here today, give you your gift and touch you a little bit, make you cum as a reward for being so, so good. But when I got here, I found out someone else was touching my property. She was chasing your attention so badly, but you didn’t want her, did you?” You shook your head at her remark, nervously fiddling with your fingertips. She noticed, gripping your wrist tightly in her hand as her nostrils flared, her jaw clenching as you noticed a small vein on her forehead that looked as if it was going to pop.

“No, because you know you’re mine. Tell me, did she make you cum?” Another shake of your head was received. “Mm, I bet she didn’t. You can’t cum without Mommy’s help, how pathetic.” She faked a pout, cooing at you in a gentle manner that almost made you believe she felt bad. But there was no remorse, she wanted you to suffer.

“I’m sorry, Mommy…” You tested your luck, praying that’d she show you at least a small amount of mercy. Her hand finally let go of your wrist as it came up to cup your cheek, her thumb rubbing the skin softly in false comfort. There was a small part of you that expected it when she drew back, only to slap the same area she had just been touching.

Tears brink at your eyelids from the harsh contact before she was gripping your chin and forcing your lips to part. She leaned down, almost convincing you that she was going to kiss you with passion like usual. But instead, you felt a wad of spit fall onto your tongue. It nearly made you moan with how dirty she was making you feel.

“Don’t swallow until I say so, baby.” She directed, knowing she was able to boss you around however she pleased and you’d always obey.

“That’s a good little slut.” The feeling of her saliva going down your throat was one you never imagined. It felt magical, and the noises you let out were pornographic. Of course, you did it all with permission when she finally granted you the chance to swallow.

“Please, Mommy-” Your pleas were cut short with another slap to your cheek, this one seeming to pain you even more than before.

“Did I say you could speak?” You were going to apologize, but her predatorial gaze stopped such words from releasing.

“Now shut the fuck up and listen to what Mommy has to say.” Her hair tickled your face as she leaned close to your ear, her voice coming in a low and hot whisper.

“Touch yourself, baby.”She guided your palm down your body where they stopped at the tops of your thigh. Your breath quickened the closer you got to your heat, your clit already throbbing under the confinement.

“Since you think anyone is allowed to touch this pussy, why don’t you add to the list, hm?” You squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment as you were guided in pulling the panties to the side, gathering your slick on your fingers as you dragged them along your folds.

“Does it taste good?” She inquired when bringing your singular digit to your mouth where you subconsciously wrapped your lips around it. You nodded slowly, repeating your actions but this time letting her soak in your flavor. She had fucked you enough times to be able to memorize the taste of your sweet nectar, yet she could still never get enough. It was her fuel, her gas pedal.

“You think you can fuck yourself without my help? Or do you need Mommy to do everything for you?” Before you could gather a response, she was already answering for you.

“Well, you didn’t seem to need my help last night when you let that bimbo fuck what’s mine, I don’t see why you can’t do the same now.” You were ready to beg, but with one glare you were quickly shut up. She led the desk chair on the other side of your room over to where you sat, placing it right in front of you where she’d watch you as if you were the TV. One leg crossed over the other, her tie mindlessly being toyed with by her palm.

You knew this was your only option, she’d sit there all night and wait for you to move if you didn’t. The thought was what led you to continue your movements from earlier, this time without her guidance. You were only provided with her watchful eyes that were so easy to get lost in.

“No wonder no woman ever wanted you, you can’t even fuck yourself properly.” The derogatory remarks only led you to venture further, your neglected clit finally getting the attention it begged for as you rubbed small circles.

“M-mommy-” You whimpered, hips bucking into nothing while your arm struggled to hold you up. Your head was thrown back as you followed every move you recalled her creating while teasing your desperate and leaky cunt.

“Moan for me, sweetness. That’s it, such a dirty little girl.” She watched your face contort into pleasure the faster you went, your other hand teasing your breasts and pinching your nipples. You had already been edged by your denial from the night before and now it felt closer than ever.

First, you penetrated your hole with one digit, then a second, and then a third when it wasn’t enough. Nothing you did was sufficient, nothing flourished the bliss pleasure you felt when Agatha was the one creating it.

“Aww, is it not enough? But you’re already stretching yourself out so much, I wouldn’t want you to be in pain.” That was a lie. You knew she loved seeing you in any form of pain as long as she was the one inflicting it, your tears were what spurred her on the most. She adored seeing you cry out for her to stop, knowing you deep down were begging for more.

“No, Mommy, please, I can handle it.” You bit your lip, the words just barely being able to escape with broken-up moans.

“Only big girls can make their own decisions, and you’re far too little for that. Now, slow down, angel, wouldn’t want you getting too ahead of yourself.” You wanted to quicken your pace, but you feared the consequences too broadly. Sure, you were a grown adult, but you were just a sweet baby who needs protecting in her eyes. Anything she said goes, and if you didn’t follow that, there were lists of cruel punishments she’d choose from and not one of them was for your enjoyment, it was for hers.

“‘M sorry, I’m only yours, Mommy- ugh!” She hummed as you fought for her endorsement, yet she gave no indication of any. You were getting closer, your thrusts meeting halfway with your hips that had a mind of their own. You were merely brushing over that sweet spot inside of you that had your toes curling and free hand gripping the sheets. Your palm was rubbing against your clit every time you moved, everything was so overwhelming yet so divine.

“What are you- what are you doing?” You saw her stalking towards you with a sharpie in hand, she must’ve gotten it from the desk. Her knees hit the floor with a thud as she gripped your open thighs, spreading them even further apart. She didn’t tell you to stop, so you assumed that was your permission to continue.

“Mommy just wants to doll you up a bit more, alright?” You nodded without hesitation. You could always trust her, there was no doubt about that.

You could feel the tip of the sharpie pressing onto your skin, leaving lines of ink as she wrote. You didn’t know what she was spelling out, you even tried to follow the letters with your mind but found yourself unable to focus.

“Don’t move, wouldn’t want me to mess up this gorgeous body.” Your movements faltered for a moment as you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold back if they didn’t. She stopped, and with one look you knew exactly what she wished of you.

“But-”

“No but’s, baby, do as Mommy told you.” You insisted on instead torturing your clit once more, already missing the feeling of being full but wanting to please her as best you could. She didn’t tell you anything she wrote, nor did she utter a word until she stood.

“I can’t hold it anymore, feels too good.” You brainlessly shuddered. As badly as you wanted to cum, you wouldn’t be able to unless you had her permission, she completely ruined you for anyone else including you.

“Shh, let me take a photo. I’m sure my colleagues will love this.” She knew of your shared infatuation with some of her lower coworkers, and you were exceedingly surprised when she wasn’t enraged. In fact, it only brought more teasing your way, something you were forced to get used to with her.

“Oh, don’t you look adorable?” She spoke, staring at her phone that now held the lewd picture of you. She was already planning on sending them whether you liked it or not, it was just a matter of time before they’d struggle to look you in the eyes whenever you stopped by her office.

“Oh, shit! I’m gonna-”

“No, you’re not.” She was quick to demand, grabbing her purse from off the hair and settling her phone in her pocket.

“You won’t be cumming until I say so, got it?” It took you a moment too long before you mustered out a nod while tears streamed down your face. She was patient, though, and when you finally did so, she grinned happily.

“Good girl. I need to head into the office, I sent three hundred to your account, go neaten up and get yourself some food before I come back later.” She started to walk out the door to your bedroom while ignoring your whines of protest, only to stop mid-way and turn to face you once more.

“Oh, and if you cum, I’ll know.” Her eyes set place in the corner of a wall as a smirk took over her. You followed her eyesight, finding a blinking red dot that was situated on what looked to be a camera. Your eyes widened as you went to look back at her, only to see that she was gone.

You then took sight of the mirror that wasn’t so far from your bed. Standing on shaky legs, you walked over to stand in front of it, and that’s when you noticed all of the degrading words printed onto your skin.

‘Slut’, ‘Cum here’ with an arrow pointing to your weeping hole. ‘Breeding whore’, ‘Mommy’s toy’, and lastly, ‘A.H’s property’. You didn’t know how exactly you were to get these off, but you couldn’t deny the deep arousal it caused. The lingerie piece was kept on as she requested, and you truly felt as though you looked exemplary. There was no doubt in your mind that Agatha would be receiving many photos throughout the day, only fueling to the large fire that was your punishment.

Suddenly, you heard a ping from your phone that you left on the nightstand. You grabbed it quickly, expecting to see a text from the woman in mind but smiling smugly when seeing her coworker's contact appear. It was Wanda, one of the sweetest and seemingly wholesome people you’ve ever met.

‘Hey, just thought I’d let you know you looked absolutely stunning in that photo. Maybe you could stop by my house sometime so I can show you just how beautiful I think you are.’

[v3nusxsky]

hello, this is my first time asking here so im kinda shy... maybe can u do a emily prentiss x fem!reader where emily for some reason finds a cowboy hat and put it on to show reader and that turns reader on, then reader needs emily to deal with her... maybe smut if you into it ? thanks, also im following you for a little time and im loving your stories, bye angel

Reverse Cowgirl 18+

*Authors note~ I was unsure on which direction I wanted to take this due to writers block but I low key love it and the last word of the ask seemed to incorporate itself well here, I hope you love it*

Trigger Warnings~ roleplay?? dom em sub r daddy Emily cowboy hat reverse cowgirl position strap oral praise kink degrading kink

Prompt~ see ask^^^^^

It was so rare that you ever had time to spare from chasing serial killers all around the world, but thankfully today seemed to be a rare restful day. No phone buzzing at ungodly hours of the morning with the words "we got a case." No this morning you'd awoken to your favourite agent peacefully sleeping next to you. Your girlfriend, not that anyone else knew. These mornings were definitely your favourite. You often wonder how she gets away with looking so damn gorgeous but then again your too busy starring to care why, instead admiring her beauty.

A lazy morning with your love sounded absolutely perfect until your phone began buzzing on the nightstand. A silent pray for it to not be work, you answered the call to be greeted with an excited shriek form the one and only miss Penelope Garcia. "Pg!" You whined, "my ears Garcia, what do you need?" A little scoff made its way over the line, "you me JJ and Prentiss, shopping at noon. No excuses we need a girl day and I need to spoil my god sons. I'll text you the address, bye sweets!" And just like that she was gone. It wasn't a few seconds later, and your girlfriends phone buzzed too. Trying to contain your laughter as she attempted to wriggle out of the girls day, and her side glance at you while mouthing "traitor" before giving in and accepting that she needed to get up. After the phone call ended you promised if Emily got out of bed you could shower together, apparently that was all the motivation she needed.

After a shower that took twice as long as it normally would've due to Emily's wandering hands you finally secured breakfast and both left to meet the girls. Emily drove you both and honestly you'd be lying if you said her driving with a hand on your thigh didn't drive you insane, soon enough you were separating ways after a final kiss to avoid the suspicion. A part of you wished you could hold her hand in public or kiss her cheek but another part was too scared they'd try and reassign you to keep you both apart. You'd like to think Hotch wouldn't do that but you knew it was out of his control. Plus they didn't even know you were bisexual with a preference for women.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't have fun watching Garcia absolutely raid the toy stores and clothing shops while JJ insisted they didn't need anything since the absolute flood of gifts on six months ago. Garcia always won those arguments, finding some kind of loophole somewhere which made you giggle, Emily grabbed everything a coffee in order to slip a little I love you on your cup and every chance she got she discreetly joined your hands under tables. Small things like that made your heart yearn for her.

Now to end up in a sexy shop wasn't on your to do list but with JJ and Wills anniversary coming up it wasn't surprising she wanted to get him something or someone to unwrap. Garcia wondering off to another toy store left you and Emily waiting for JJ. Both of you pretending to look around separately while mentally compiling a list of outfits to get,

Emily even going as far to look at some of the strap ons. Seeing a cow boy hat in a sex shop was certainly something unexpected yet you still couldn't resist putting it on.

"Fetch me my horse daddy" you giggled adding a southern drawl into your accent causing Emily to spin around in confusion. There you stood with a cow boy hat on your head, going surprisingly well with your braided hair, and a riding crop in your right hand, "I believe I found my ride" you whispered before cheekily winking at the stunned woman. While you were putting it back where up I found the accessories you completely missed the raven haired woman buying a certain something and slipping away to hide it.

By the time JJ returned with her gift Emily was back looking at objects in the room as if she'd never left. The imagine of you being her perfect cowgirl never leaving her mind, all the ways she could fuck you in that outfit. On all fours her hand gripping and tugging on your braids as she absolutely rails you from behind. Oh and you'd be so good for her, you always were. Her sweet little cow girl. Unbeknownst to you a silly little dress up would result into an absolutely desperate Emily tonight.

The journey back to Emily's apartment was blissfully normal until you arrived. There she went to the boot of the car and grabbed a cow boy hat. The hat suited her so well and you found yourself to distract to try and find out where she got it from due to the sticky wetness now dripping down your thick thighs. "God daddy so big! I need you" you whined pitifully as she came to hug you from behind, purposefully rubbing her bulge into your ass. That was new. She definitely wasn't packing when you left this morning that was for sure. God she knew how to drive you absolutely wild.

Emily allowed you to practically drag her into the apartment and straight to the bedroom, secretly loving how desperate a simple had made you, before pushing you into the wall and claiming your lips with hers. It was lustful and needy as if neither of you needed oxygen to breathe. Emily's right hand crept up your body until it made its way to its rightful place, your throat. Now with the gentle squeeze of her hand you were begging her to take you already. The nerd becoming unbearable for you. And Emily wasn't handling the need any better than you.

Clothing was torn from eachothers body before Emily gently lifted you so you could wrap your legs around her waist all while never losing your lips. A squeak of surprise flooded the room when your back hit the mattress, "Emily! Oh my gosh" you gasped, "what's got into you?" Perhaps it was a rhetorical question but she answered you anyway with a nip to the base of your throat, "you and that damn hat." You couldn't help but smirk, a harmless silly thing had turned her this needy for you.

Any reply you may have had died on your tongue as you felt her mouth creeping lower and lower until she met your needy cunt. By now your wetness was seeping onto the sheets, "god I need more" you whined impatiently, moving your hands to her hat to hold her in place. Emily was always talented in ever aspect of life, but the way she would plunge her tongue into your tight little hole and curl it just right was enough to drive you insane, but then when she would add two fingers and move her mouth to your aching bundle of nerves you honestly saw the stars. If there was one thing Emily prides herself on is how well you scream her name as she fucks you with her tongue. In fact she swears that she would spend forever between your thighs and die a happy woman.  Yet when your tugging her up for a break from the overwhelming sensations she still feels a little glee at what she planned to come next.

A few sweet kisses and some soft praises found you straddling her lap, the new strap on pressing against your soaking slit. "Please daddy" you whimpered only to be met with a shake of her head. "Nahuh angel, you're gonna ride my cock like a good cowgirl for me" she purred in your ear before helping swivel you around to face her legs. Then the hat was settled on your had before she finally slipped into your awaiting core. "Oh fuck yes so good, so big daddy fuck" you mewled as you slowly began to bounce on her cock. "God you're so fucking sexy, bend over cowgirl I wanna see how I spilt you in two."

The moment you finally bent so she could see how her faux cock moved in and out of your slippery hole she could've swore she almost lost her composure. But her patience was rewarded when soon all you were was a whiny mess hardly able to keep a rhythm. Hands gripped onto her thighs like a life line and yet you still couldn't do as you were asked to. "Such a pathetic whore for my angel, and you were being my sweet girl and yet now you can't even do what a common whore could. I'm disappointed Angel" she murmured placing her hands on your hips. A whine escaped you, "mm sorry daddy I be good girl mm sorry" you whimpered over and over until she finally took pity on you.

With a pace that was perfectly fast and rough Emily slipped out of your cunt, ignoring your whines of protest and flipped you on your hands and knees before slamming back into your needy pussy. From there on she kept a punishing pace. Her hands gripping your braids to steady herself as she attempted to burry her cock into your womb. And you came over and over for her that night until you were nothing but her little angel absolutely fucked dumb.

"Shhh sweetheart you did so good for me darling" she murmured in between kissing all over your face to distract you from her pulling out. "Such a pretty cowgirl for your daddy" was what caused you to blush like a mad woman. You knew the routine Emily would get up to get a cloth and clean the strap but you didn't want her to go. But you didn't have the brain function to do more than whine at her, trying to convey what you wanted. "Shh two seconds my love, we have to clean up then I'm all yours baby."

Two seconds was all it was, and then Emily was back in before allowing you to snuggle up on her chest as her hands threaded through your beautiful hair. "So proud of you sweet girl" she whispered not expecting you to whine and mumble "disappoint you" the clearest you could. "No angel, you're my good girl, I love you my little cowgirl, you did so well baby, now rest angel, I'm right here."

Word count 1880

[emmafrostdefender]

a fine line between god and animal | logan howlett x fem reader

prologue - that which cannot be held in your hand | masterlist

your mother was a god-fearing woman. but she feared you much more. some part of you was wrong, at least in the eyes of god, but you answered to something much bigger. and so did he.

hi friends, this was written when i was struck with inspiration by the one and only ethel cain. of course, the inspiration was paired with my recent renewed interest in wolverine and x-men. some of the characters are more like how they are in the comics because the movie writers did them dirty! like jean slays in the comics okay! anyways, i wanted to write about wolverine and it be sexy in an ethel cain way. do we get the vibe? i hope so. also, i, in fact, do not have religious trauma but if you do this might be the story for you. enjoy.

warnings: cursing, religion, religious trauma (will pick up), lowkey a lot of blasphemy, people be bad sometimes, reader's mother was not chill, a ton of exposition (sorry!), i’m writing this mainly for practice (especially regarding dialogue, so that’s why some of it might be kinda choppy), definitely won't be canon compliant, 4k words

━━━━━━━━━━☆━━━━━━━━━━

By the grace of some unholy god were you created.

The priest with silver hair expelled the demons from you; those crawling, crushing, wriggling, squirming demons that lived within you. Those demons that whispered in your ears, caressing your skull with a language lost to time. They pushed to be revealed. Today, your mother shoved you to your knees before the altar of your true Mother, the Mother of all. “Holy Mother, bless this rotten soul,” she whispered by your side, eyes clenched shut. You watched her. There were no tears, not for your lost soul. Your rotten soul. As if your morality was like an apple. Something that could shrivel up and die if left too long in the scorching sun.

Your skin crawled under the light that beat down on you through the skylights of the church. The air was thick with incense and smoke from the ever-burning candles. The stench filled your nose. Your mother grasped your hand in hers, forcing you to focus on her words. She spoke so quietly, so quickly, you’d think she was chanting some spell. Something to save you from your fate.

“Heavenly Father, take the Devil’s spirit from her body; take this ugly, horrid wickedness from her.”

You closed your eyes, not in prayer, but to lend your ears elsewhere. To the birds chirping outside. The wind whistling through the trees. 

You were connected to nature. In some primal, peaceful way.

Before your father died, he would take you into the woods and you would wander together. Sometimes you would pack supplies for overnight trips, sometimes you would bring nothing but your spirit with you. Now, you thought he knew that something was different about you before you did. When you were a stumbling child, he knew. There were days he would force you to lead the both of you back to safety after getting you lost in the middle of the woods. Force you to reveal yourself to him. The part of you that God shunned.

And you did.

Your spirit became one with the natural world around you. You could hear and smell and see. For what felt like the first time. It was a beautiful thing that came over you.

The trees spoke to you, in their ancient language lost to humanity. And you spoke back. Using sounds that had never before emerged from your lips. 

And they led you home.

Never once did your father ostracize you for your gift. That’s what he called it. A gift.

When you turned sixteen, your gift shifted. You fought back as it reared its ugly head at you. It pushed and pulled at your insides, begging to be released fully. The day your father died, lying still in a sterile hospital bed, it burst out of you. The monotonous tone that rang out death filled your ears as you lay beside him on the thin sheets. He wasn’t supposed to die like this. Not here. The thought blared in your brain. He should’ve been somewhere he could see the sky, the trees, the clouds, not the plastered ceiling of a hospital room.

In your memory, nothing changed. But your mother, eyes blurry with tears, watched as something inside you morphed. You became still, grasping your father’s hand, and whispered something that sounded to her like sin. The tongue of some animal, some demon. She watched as her daughter became something unholy. Your eyes went pitch black, your skin glowing with a soft light. And suddenly, vines were creeping into the room from all around.

Through the window, the door, from the cracks in the ceiling. Crawling to the thrumming in your veins. The winds answered your call, blasting open the window, broken glass scattering across the linoleum floor. Your mother screamed at the sound. 

As vines wrapped around your ankles, around your father’s bed, your mother watched as you continued your senseless muttering. She couldn’t move to stop you. She began to chant a prayer of protection. For herself, for her husband’s lifeless body, for your soul. 

Anger filled your spirit, the anger of a thousand year old mother. Tar filled your veins, smoke filled your lungs, oil in your eyes. The drilling, the pounding, the burning, the slaughtering. It all pushed into your brain as the vines choked your soul. And you screamed.

Your mother grabbed the metal tray from your father’s final meal and slammed it against your head.

And she continued to pray. Gripping your hand until it hurt. And you let her. Let her expel the demon from you. 

Your bare skin bathes in the moonlight shining through the early autumn foliage as you sit on your knees before a different altar. 

You cringe at the memory of your bruised knees and that crushing hold on your hand. Begging God to turn you into a flower, while your mother begged for your mortal soul.

You shake your head to clear the memory. That was ten years ago now. Seventeen and terrified of who you were, what you were. She was wrong about you and you were wrong about you. 

The day the priest came to perform another exorcism of sorts, something that had no effect on you whatsoever, a new man had entered your bedroom. A man in a wheelchair. Professor Charles Xavier. He saved you. 

Made your mother forget who you were.

And you came to live on a beautiful estate in upstate New York with people like you. Mutants. A word used in such a way you had never heard before in extremely rural Oklahoma. “What do you mean, mutant?” You asked, not sure if you should feel insulted.

Professor X looked at you from across the plasticky diner table, studying your features. You studied his right back. Soft eyes and a kind smile. Such a stark contrast from your mother’s severe gaze and thin-lipped grimace. “Mutants are like regular people, only with a mutated gene that gives them special abilities. I’ve been studying mutants and their mutations for decades. Each mutant I meet is unique and you are no exception.”

Your eyebrow raised ever-so-slightly as you sipped on a strawberry milkshake. “How many are there?”

And so began your relationship with Charles Xavier. He became your mentor, someone to go to for guidance. He assisted you in harnessing your abilities, treating them like a muscle to train rather than a burden to bear. And yet, every night you prayed to God that you could be rid of it. That you could go back home and live a normal life. 

In your years at the mansion, friendships blossomed all around you. You never made friends easily back home, but here they came quickly and firmly.

And you felt complete. You are complete. You remind yourself.

Something deep inside of you grumbles in response.

You ignore it and stretch your arms to the sky, cupping the moon in your hands. The moon is slightly out of your jurisdiction, but she controls the tide, which controls the winds. It all works in harmony, you’ve learned. When another girl with similar mutant abilities arrived at the mansion a few years after yourself, you became close partners. Storm, Ororo by birth, was your closest companion. She had striking white hair and a piercing gaze and a personality to match. In combat, she is your most trusted partner. 

You spin your arms in a practiced circle, beginning to feel the thrumming of power in your veins. Every full moon, Charles would send you out into the woods of the estate to become one with your abilities. He says the most dangerous mutant is a mutant that severs all connection to their powers. One that has no real idea what they are capable of. “They could destroy a whole city and not understand why,” he replied when you first asked him the meaning of these exercises. “You must be in tune with yourself if you ever want to feel some semblance of control.”

Control. The word forced a shiver down your spine. Mother Nature revolts at it.

And yet, you managed to tame the primal part of yourself. The part that screamed to be let loose. 

The world pulses around you as your eyes flutter shut. This is your favorite part of the night. When you merge with the natural world. When you feel and hear and see everything around you. The flapping of an owl’s wings. The beat of a young doe’s heart. The smell of the moss and the dirt and the stream miles away. You feel another heartbeat. This one is firmer. More distinct. It reminds you of the steady thumping of your father’s heart when you would lay on his chest as a small child. You can’t pinpoint its location. It seems to come from everywhere at once. A sense of serenity washes over you. 

And you simply listen.

You spread your fingers on the plush grass below you, feeling that heartbeat skitter along your skin and wash itself in the blood that pulses through your veins. You hear the sound of drifting snow, feel its cold sting before it melts against warm skin. Your eyes scrunch up as you focus. The thought of even wondering what you’re tuning into never crosses your mind. You just want to keep feeling and hearing. Your gluttony for the senses takes over and you taste the sheen of melted snow on this stranger’s skin as if you licked it yourself. Salt and something man. You hum. And then you smell something so distinctly like smoke that you are thrown from your reverie. Your body repulses against itself and you cough. Being connected to Earth has its disadvantages. 

Desire to return to that state of complete contentment fills your mind, but you stand. Your nude form basks in the moonlight for not a minute longer. You shrug a pretty little silk robe on and make your way back to the mansion. Although it is early October and New York has not yet succumbed to the winter weather, you still feel the keen chill of snow. 

As you slowly walk back to the mansion, the new thrum of energy courses through you. It spreads down your legs to the pads of your feet, which leave trails of newborn flowers. As quickly as they are born, they die. The circle of life and death. Darkness and light.

The exact breadth of your powers is still unknown to you and your fellow mutants. Before being taken in by Professor X, you thought they were limited to simply being one with nature. The memory of your father’s death and the events that quickly followed were hazy, but being far away from your mother and her religious zeal allowed you to connect to that piece of your past. To your chagrin, Charles refused to go into your mind to help you remember. It took you two months to fully remember the events. Memories came in dreams, waves of disconnected images all straining in your mind. The first night Charles sent you into the woods to “figure it out,” the pieces fell into place.

And you finally knew yourself again.

Now, you’ve chalked your abilities up to being a reincarnation of Mother Nature, a realization that pulls at the small cross that rests in the hollow of your neck. Despite the trauma incurred by your mother in the name of the righteous God, that part of yourself hasn’t been severed. You remember your father knelt in the church, clasping the chain around your neck, thereby forever bonding you to your faith. You’ve never feared any man you’ve gone against in combat, but you fear the one waiting to judge you.

If He’d even bestow that luxury upon you.

You look up at the sky as you step through the woods, drawing lines between the stars like the ancients. Stringing stories and myths and legends. You wonder if the monsters of olde were simply mutants, like you. Misunderstood and begging to be believed.

The soft glow of the mansion enters your vision. The weight of sleep hits you in the shoulders and you slouch to the back entrance. All the young mutants are asleep at this time, but you hear the skittering of a few rebels in the halls. The mansion never fails to awe you, with its tall wooden walls and bright windows. A far cry from your small rancher of a childhood home. You pass the main entrance and make your way up the stairs that lead to your bedroom on the third floor. This floor is for the older mutants, the X-Men.

Originally, you declined Charles’ offer to be a part of the mutant bad-guy-fighting team. A lack of confidence in yourself, you realized later on. The belief that something was still too wrong with you to even have the ability to help anyone. That belief changed rather quickly. 

When you realized there wasn’t much of a place for mutants in this world, you accepted his offer. You took on the name Proserpina, the Roman goddess of spring, at the behest of your teammates. Despite your initial disdain towards the alias, you soon grew fond of the name.

Your ears perk up at the sound of whispering voices down the hall.

Coming from Jean’s room.

Jean Grey is another member of the X-Men and another close friend of yours. You were one of the first people she met when she arrived at the mansion a few years ago. You were the first to confront her about her obvious feelings for Scott Summers, who is something of a brother to you, before she even recognized them herself. You are the first person she goes to whenever she feels out of control, which seems to be more frequently as of late. “He wants you and Storm to track them down,” she says in a soft voice.

“Just the two of us?” Scott asks.

You assume she nods.

You raise your eyebrow. Track who down?

Deciding to enter the conversation, you continue to her room and open the cracked door fully. “What, so Charles doesn’t want me tracking anymore?” You question with a hand on your hip.

They both stand in the center of the room and turn their heads to look at you. Jean rubs at the space between her eyebrows. “Not necessarily. He just isn’t sure you should go on this one.”

“Why? Is it because we’d be fighting Captain Capitalism or something?”

Scott quirks a smile. “He’s found another prospect for the X-Men.”

“And how does that impact my ability to find them?”

Jean approaches you slowly. “Don’t be offended, honey, but sometimes you come off a bit…”

“Bitchy,” Scott finishes with his arms folded across his chest. 

Your mouth drops open and you move to slap him or punch him or kick him, but Jean puts her hand on your sternum. “I meant to say, you can come off a bit guarded. And that isn’t always helpful with new recruits.”

“But no one is better at tracking than me,” you say with a pout. “Besides the obvious.”

“Sorry, babe, Charles isn't letting you come on this one,” Scott says with a grin. “Too bad.”

You flick him in the forehead and he flinches. “Asshole.”

“You can stay here and help me with my exercises. Charles is trying to get me to move a car,” Jean suggests. “I know,” she says in response to your eyebrow raise. 

“You can barely move a book without it flying at your face. Or, in most cases, my face.”

She shrugs. “Out of the frying pan and into the fryer, I guess.”

“Fine. I’ll be nice.” You turn to leave and toss a dismissive hand up behind you at Scott. “Good luck tracking without me, bitch.”

He hums. “Goodnight.”

As you shut the door he throws out, “Can’t wait to bring them back in record time tomorrow!”

Them. So it’s multiple. Interesting.

That night, your dreams are filled with images of your old church. The windows stain everything around you a blood red. 

You are on your knees before the altar of Mary. But today, her hands are folded away from you. She scorns you with a downwards glance of repulsion. You know this isn’t real. It’s not real.

Yet, your body burns in her gaze. Your skin is on fire and no one is there to quell it. You are chained to the floor by your hands, you feel your chest being cracked open to onlookers. Your heart is yanked from your ribs, your impure blood oozing from gray hands. Roaming hands belonging to a wisp of smoke pull at your bones, branding them in silver. Bugs crawl out of the cavity in your chest, maggots and cockroaches. You scream and the onlookers laugh. Your body vibrates with fear and disgust. And you scream. 

You wake with hands pinned to the bed by your own force, your necklace set between your teeth. 

Your nightgown is soaked in sweat, sticking to your skin. Your heartbeat pumps hard and fast in your ears, an almost unbearable sensation. Not the way you hoped the night would go.

Despite appearances, you are used to the nightmares that plague you whenever there is a full moon. With the resurgence of your power, comes a resurgence of memories. 

You spit the cross out of your mouth and slam your head against your pillow. 

Dawn has skipped across the sky, bringing streaks of hazy light into the darkness. You stare at the ceiling, allowing your heart to return to its usual rate.

It seems like the dreams are only getting worse with time. You thought they would subdue after a few years, but they’ve been building steadily. And you would never tell Charles that, lest he pry into your brain and see for himself. You couldn’t let him, or anyone, see that part of you. The part you worked so hard to tamp down. It would only make things harder.

Therapy for one?

You laugh in self-pity and sit up, your muscles tense. You stretch out your arms, moving them in circular motions as you control your breathing. The last thing the team needs is something else to worry about. Magneto, your main opposition, has been pushing harder and harder toward his goal of world-domination and mutant-superiority. Charles doesn’t need another burden. You crack your neck and stand. 

Your room has floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the gardens and the woods. A special request you made the first time you moved in. You can just barely see the sun beginning to peak over the horizon, glimmering off the dewy leaves. 

Someone knocks on your door. “Yes?” you ask, turning to face the entrant.

The only other person ever up this early is Storm. She stands before you in her leather suit, stark white hair hanging by her shoulders. “Put some clothes on, Charles wants to speak with you.”

“You don’t think he’d appreciate this?” You gesture to your sweat-stained dress.

“Bad dream?”

You shrug. “I was actually having very passionate sex with Christian Bale.”

“Slut!” She smiles, but her eyes see right through your lie.

You wink. “Always.”

Ororo is the only person you’ve let see the terrified side of you. The side that you keep locked away. And it makes your skin crawl when she sees straight through you. As if she’s the one that can read minds.

When you’ve changed into a sweater and jeans, you follow Ororo downstairs to the professor’s study. The sun has fully risen by now, along with many of the students. You dodge sleepy children and annoyed teenagers as you make your way to the study. 

“I’ll wait out here for you,” Ororo says softly as you open the study door. 

“I feel like I’m about to be scolded for something.”

She laughs.

You shut the door behind you and see Charles sitting at his desk. “Good morning, Professor.”

“Take a seat.”

You grin as you make your way to the plush seats in front of his desk. “Am I in trouble?”

He smiles back. “No, you’re not in trouble. But I did need to speak with you.”

You nod, allowing him to continue.

“I understand that you already know about the retrieval mission Scott and Ororo are to be sent on today?”

“Yes, I overheard Jean mention it to Scott last night.”

He hums. “How was your night besides?”

He’s referring to your monthly ritual. You smile. “It went well.”

“Anything interesting occur?” he asks with a quirk of his brow.

You narrow your eyes slightly. Is he asking about the dreams? You pivot. “Not really. I seemed to connect to someone far away, though. That hasn’t really happened before.”

He nods, a glint in his eye. He knows you’re omitting something. But he lets you get away with it by switching the topic. “I suppose you might be wondering why I’m not sending you on this particular retrieval?”

You shrug, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “I mean, it crossed my mind. But it’s your decision.”

“I’m not sending you not because you aren’t useful, you must understand. Or because of you’re 'attitude,' which I must admit, I disagree with. You are truly the best tracker we have. And you are fairly good at calming new people down. However, I have recently been made aware of a plot by Lehnsherr to somehow use you to further his plans,” he says with a straight look on his face.

Before you register the second part of his statement, you feel smug pride at the fact that you were right and Scott was wrong. “Wait, he wants me?”

Charles nods. “Yes, it seems he believes your mutation would be useful to him. But I am not aware of how exactly.”

“How were you able to read his mind?”

“We were both at a speech given by Senator Robert Kelly a few days ago. I found his mind in my scan of the room. His is much different from everyone else.”

The unspoken part: We are connected.

The professor never seems to fully admit the strong connection he has to Erik Lehnsherr, but you sensed it the same way you sensed Jean and Scott. It might be different, it might be the same, but the history they share has never fully dissolved.

You wonder if a part of your mutation is sensing innate connections between people. That invisible force that pulls some together, while pulling others apart. That which cannot be held in your hand. You suppose it is something only nature could define.

He continues. “He believes that your connection to nature could be used in conjunction with his control over metal. How? I’m not sure. I’m not sure even he knows.”

You consider this, bringing your hands together. “So you’re nervous I wouldn’t be able to hold my own against his goons?”

“Not necessarily. But if you were abducted, we might not be able to reach you. It’s safer if you stay here with all the protections this mansion affords.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Are you sure that’s the only reason?”

“It’s the only reason I need.” He looks at you with such care that your annoyance pauses. “If not sending you on a monotonous tracking mission means keeping you from uneccessary harm, then I will do it. Even if it upsets you.”

You break his gaze and sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

He leans back in his chair and smiles.

“I just hate seeing Scott’s ‘I-did-better-than-you’ face. He’s so smug,” you whine.

“You two have that in common, I see.”

The grin that spreads across your lips is impossible to fight.

Scott and Ororo board the jet after an hour of briefing from the professor about where the mutants are most likely located. Somewhere in Canada. Far, far north.

Before they head off, Scott ruffles your hair. “Hey, don’t look so disappointed. You can stay here and grow some flowers or something.”

You shove his hand away from you. “Shut up.”

“Save that fire for when we get back. You never know what these mutants are going to be like. They could be gearing up for a fight.”

“I think I’ll just let you handle that, since you’re so confident you’ll even be able to find them properly without me.”

“It’s not just confidence. It’s a guarantee,” he says with a grin.

“Whatever. Be safe.”

“Always am. Keep Jean company.” 

“Mhm. ‘Bye now!” You say with a wave of your hand.

Jean exits the jet where she was speaking to Ororo and comes to stand next to you. Ororo gives you a thumbs up and she and Scott exit your line of sight. Although you would never admit it, you like going on these missions to keep your teammates safe. And not being able to protect them itches at your skin. Before you go crazy pacing in the hangar of the jet after it takes off, just waiting for them to get back, Jean reminds you of her own practice.

“Time to move that car!” You say with gusto, hooking your arm with hers. 

You fight the urge to glance behind you. Your other hand comes up to worry the cross at your neck. They’ll be fine. 

ugh i know i know she didn't meet him this chapter aw man....