#again I could do this with so many of her poems | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

checkeredflagggs · 7 months ago

Text

Adore, Amour, Inamorato

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!poet!reader

summary: charles’ new girlfriend receives a lot of hate for her seemingly joblessness

a/n: inamorato translates to “a man with whom you are in love or have an intimate relationship”

a/n 2: do you know how hard it is to try to be a poet when you don’t have a poetry bone in your body? Hard

a/n 3: I don’t like timelines so I don’t use them

a/n 4: if the name of the poem or author isn’t included in the photo, I have them listed out at the bottom of the post in order

myheartispoetry

liked by charles_leclerc, user, user, and 788,445 others

myheartispoetry: “my soul has traveled long and far to find yours” “and when you came into my life, the eternity of love begun.”

A new love has entered my life and like the rain falling from the clouds, I am washed anew. A new love, a new me, a new look for me and my page

Many thanks for all those that stuck around through the dark storms but the sun has broken through and shines again.

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user1: mother is mothering again!

user2: oh I can’t wait for more love poems again 💙💙💙

user1: i knnnnnoooooowwwww. It’s been too long since she’s been happy

user3: good riddance to that cheating bastard

user4: right! She deserves all the happiness ever

user3: definitely! How could someone hurt someone so nice and kind?

user4: brain deficiency?

user3: it could be

user5: Charles? What are you doing here?

user6: who?

user5: Charles Leclerc! He’s a race driver for Ferrari!

user6: what’s a vroom vroom guy doing in mother’s likes?

user7: that’s a very good question

Bluesky

user8: another one? so fast?

user9: that was my question too

user10: ok but my man is lookin’ goooodd 🥵

user11: 🥵🤤

user12: Charles it’s getting hard to defend you…

user13: he literally posted about his breakup just 2 weeks ago

user14: uhhh why are we blaming only Charles here? I mean we know he’s fast to move on but…

user12: so true girl - it definitely takes two to tango

user15: calling it now! Golddigger!!!

user16: right??? Like god…he’s been single less than a month and someone is already trying to take advantage of him

user17: we definitely need the Twitter detectives to find out who she is…

user18: working on it!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, yourbff, and 632,469 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: “People don't notice whether it's winter or summer when they're happy.”

Thank you darling for the trip ❤️ I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you

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yourbff: enjoy it dear, you’ve definitely earned it

user16: by being a whore??

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user17: as a gold digger?

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yourusername: I will sweetie!

yourfriend: have fun! and send lots of photos!

user16: or don’t! We don’t want to see your face!

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yourusername: I will! And coffee date when I get back?

yourfriend: absolutely!

user18: found her!

user19: you didn’t really have to try…she straight up tagged him…

user18: still found her!

charles_leclerc: oh ma chérie … je n'ai jamais été aussi heureux que quand tu es à mes côtés

user20: she’s a slut — run while you still can!!

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user21: she’s a gold digger

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user22: whore!

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user23: gold digger!!

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user24: what about his family??? You’re just taking him away from them during Christmas time!!!

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user25: what a bitch, taking him away from his family

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charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, pieregasly, maxverstappen1, and 2,590,278 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: having the absolute best time with you ma chérie — thank you for coming with me

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user26: charles charles charles…what are you doing with her…

user27: this!!! Like he ruins his entire aesthetic for…her 🤢

yourusername: oh my love there is nowhere else I’d rather be than with you, where ever that ends up being

user28: 🤢

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user29: whore!

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user30: go away! Leave him alone!

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yourbff: cheesy!

yourusername: oh you know it!

charles_leclerc: home is where you are ❤️

yourusername: oh Charlie…🥰

iamrebeccad: it was nice to see you yourusername again!

yourusername: oh absolutely! double date when we get back?

iamrebeccad: time and place babe!

user31: not you too Rebecca!

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maxverstappen1: so how many times did you face plant?

charles_leclerc: just the once!

maxverstappen1: really? 🤨

yourusername: like 10 times in an hour

maxverstappen1: that seems more like it

user32: what a bitch, making fun of charles like that

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charles_leclerc: ma chérie…

yourusername: sorry 🤷‍♀️

carlossainz55: that does seem like charles

charles_leclerc: Carlos…

myheartispoetry

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, user, and 872,399 others

myheartispoetry:

“As the dusk takes leave of the weary day,

A new dawn of hope and dreams make its way.

Yesterday's a closed chapter of our life,

Do not rewind your thoughts, it will bring strife.”

A new dawn is rising for me and with it, a night is beginning to end. My heartbreak book Will You Stay? will only be available for the next 2 weeks before it’s pulled from production forevermore.

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user33: the way I ran to your website to order this…

user34: same! Like i know I’ve never been cheated on and lied to by a guy but you never know

user35: noooooooooo 😭😭😭

user36: what??

user35: I don’t get paid till after the book is gone…

user36: well…you get to experience heartbreak in real time

user35: 😡😡💔💔

myheartispoetry: dm me lovie

user35: omg!!

user36: shut up!!

charles_leclerc: ordered!

maxverstappen1: same

user37: Ariana what are you doing here??

user38: what in the heck? Why are the vroom vroom guys doing in mother’s comments?

user39: …apparently reading her book?

maxverstappen1: it’s gonna be our book clubs book of the month

user38: WHAT DO YOU MEAN???? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN??

user39: YOU GUYS CAN READ??

user40: why you gotta do them dirty like that…

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbff, maxverstappen1, and 1,934,234 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: Happy Christmas my love ❤️ thank you for including me in your family’s celebration

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yourbff: you look stunning girlie 😍

yourusername: thank yoooouuu

charles_leclerc: chérie it was a pleasure to spend the holidays with you

yourusername: ❤️🥰❤️

charles_leclerc: also maman wanted to remind you to meet her for lunch

yourusername: of course! She promised all the embarrassing stories about young charles!

charles_leclerc: chérie…

yourusername: 😘💋❤️

iamrebeccad: gorgeous girl!

yourusername: Let’s drop the men

iamrebeccad: of course! 🏃‍♀️💨

charles_leclerc: wait wait wait

carlossainz55: what?

myheartispoetry

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, pieregasly, and 1,445,934 others

myheartispoetry: as winter settles around us, the days are short and grey and the nights are long and lonely…I could never find for myself the sun or the warmth to flourish during these dark months. However with you my love, I turn to the side to bask in the sun and seek your embrace to melt the frost on my soul

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user41: hey guys! I’m sleeping on the highway tonight

user42: sleepover!

user43: oh wow this post called me single and lonely in like a dozen different ways

user44: I know how you feel babe

user45: I can’t even get him to text me back and mother is writing literal poetry for the way he worships her…

user43: 😭😭

user44: I don’t know who I’m more jealous of…her or him

user45: both. Both is good

user46: oh my god yes

user47: I’m most jealous of him…to be loved by a poet

charles_leclerc: such gorgeous words

maxverstappen1: you could never

charles_leclerc: 👎🏻

user48: I’m having a thought.

user49:…are you gonna share?

user50: was it hard for you? Having one for the first time

user48: well I had a thought out paragraph with proof and time stamps but I’m not gonna share anymore thanks to user50

user51: she’s collecting f1 drivers like they’re pokemon

user52: no but you’re right. There’s been a new one in each of her newest posts

user51: dots are being drawn and connected

user48: I’m gonna dm you cause I think I know where you’re going

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, pieregasly, and 4,231,445 others

charles_leclerc: new music out now! 👍🏻

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user53: oh…

user54: he’s is LOVE love

user55: to a whore

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oscarpiastri: good stuff dad 👍🏻

charles_leclerc: thanks son 😊

user56: why are they so bland…

user57: that’s mini kimi for ya

yourusername: oh my love…

charles_leclerc: I know it doesn’t measure up to everything you’ve done but I wanted to give you a little insight to what I feel when I’m around you

yourusername: 🥰🥹❤️

user58: what a bitch can’t even be grateful for what she’s got

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maxverstappen1: I thought I wouldn’t have to deal with all of…this until the season started. Why is it on my screen

charles_leclerc: idk you tell me

user59: guys they still don’t follow each other

user60: are you telling me this drama king intentionally searched up his rivals post to make fun of him

charles_leclerc: yes he did

maxverstappen1: shut up

user61: ok but these like slap?

user62: thank god someone pointed them out. They’ve been on repeat and thank god and thank yourusername that this man is finally happy

user61: I KNOW. I don’t know how many sad tracks I had left in me…

user63: babe he still drives for Ferrari. You’re gonna have an entire season of sad tracks to choose from

user61: blocked. Reported. Why should you do this???

user62: 😂😂😂

user64: loml?? Love of my life?? And HAPPY?? Are you kidding me right now?

user65: he’s so in love with her…did you see his latest stream?

user66: when she poked her head in to let him know dinner was ready? And his face fucking lit up??

user64: 😭😭 we’ve lost him lads

user66: I’m just glad he’s happy

user65: same

Private Messages

translations: I adore and love you with my whole heart; I love you with everything I am

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 3,597,455 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: Bahrain you were so good to my man tonight! ❤️❤️❤️ congrats Charlie💋💋

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charles_leclerc: you’re gonna have to come to every race now ma chérie. You’re clearly my good luck charm

yourusername: oh no…what an awful problem 😂😊

maxverstappen1: congrats man! That top step was well deserved

charles_leclerc: thanks max

oscarpiastri: good race dad 👍🏻

charles_leclerc: thanks son 😊

yourbff: I’m gonna need your mascara cause that shit did not run your gorgeous girl

yourusername: the real mvp tonight

charles_leclerc

liked by scuderiaferrari, yourusername, user, and 7,823,912 others

tagged: scuderiaferrari, yourusername, carlossainz55

charles_leclerc: that’s how we do it!! A great 1-2 start to the season!! Forza Ferrari Sempre! And thank you to my love for being such an amazing good luck charm! ❤️

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carlossainz55: great race brother! Forza Ferrari Sempre!

user67: congrats!! Forza Ferrari Sempre!

user67: you did great too Carlos!!

yourusername: “And baby, I get mystified by how this city screams your name” congrats Charlie

charles_leclerc: well I did have to impress you

yourusername: you absolutely did!!! But tbh it was only upwards you could go after that ski trip

charles_leclerc: chérie…

yourusername: 🥰❤️

user68: Forza Ferrari Sempre❤️❤️❤️

user69: Forza Ferrari Sempre!!!

user70: charles come on. You could definitely race better if you didn’t have a slut weighing you down

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user71: ok but did you see they way he RAN to her when he saw her…

user72: I’m calling it! They’re my new IT couple. LOVE THEM

user73: she started crying like 5 laps in and girl I feel ya

user74: most relatable wag I feel

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, sebastionvettel, maxverstappen1, and 4,590,278 others

tagged: yourusername, myheartispoetry

charles_leclerc: I’ve been silent on this for far too long and will not hold my tongue anymore. I don’t know why people feel like that have the right to criticize my choices for who I date or where or with whom I spend my time with but I want you to know that my REAL fans will recognize that yourusername (or myheartispoetry for her professional handle) is by far one of the best things that have ever happened to me.

I don’t necessarily want to bite the hands that feed us but I don’t know why people feel like they are entitled to know everything about me or my girlfriend. yourusername is a private person and does not owe you anything and it is with her permission that I’m telling you that she is the author behind the myheartispoetry page and books — she is not the gold digging whore that so many of you made her out to be.

Ma chérie I am so sorry I waited for so long to address this issue and that I allowed you to face this alone. I love you. I love you. I love you. I could spend the rest of my life trying to find the words to describe the depth of love I have for you but I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to…thankfully I’m dating you and you are by far one of the best poets I’ve ever read so I’m sure you’ll be able to find those words for me

Going forwards, any harassment aimed towards yourusername will be handled with.

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Poems and quotes in order

Still, Kennedy Ryan

Ben Maxfield

Alexandra Vasiliu

Anton Chekhov

Tshering Wangchuk

Cornelia Street, Taylor Swift

1K notes · View notes

notlongtolove · 3 months ago

Text

in my dream, i'm fixing your crutch

most nights, spencer wakes to the sound of your sniffles—unlike most nights, he doesn’t have to ask why. the reason is visceral, tangible—staining the sheets when the wound dressing wasn’t tight enough, seeping and pooling right between the both of you where an ocean of your guilt already lies.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: flangst hurt comfort

content: many mentions of wounds and blood. bc spencer was shot. jesus reid woo! established relationship spencer and bau!reader deal with the aftermath of spencer taking a bullet for her

word count: 2.8k

note: based on this ask! for my jesus reid sassy man apocalypse flangst fight and make up lovers... this ones for you! i actually loved writing this sm @esote-rika u wonderful genius u!!! inspired by this poem that she sent me! might be one of my new favorite fics ive written

a line: In the bad dreams, over and over, you’re saying you’re sorry. In the worst dreams, he’s saying he forgives you.

“I’m sorry.”

Those were the first words out of your mouth when Spencer had woken up in the hospital. Before that, you'd been running on adrenaline, too focused on talking the unsub down. So certain—so sure—that he wouldn’t pull the trigger. That you’d be fine. That the father would be fine. And you were, mostly.

Because a hard shove sent you both tumbling to the ground. No broken bones, no bloody wounds—Just a bullet in Spencer’s leg instead of yours.

He held your hand through the tears, fingers gentle as they stroked through your hair while you wept against the edge of his hospital bed. Told you I’d take a bullet for you, honey. Spencer always joked about that. Romantic once—now, not so much. It is not an honour you ever wanted to hold.

Crutches for a month. You’d been right there when the doctor ordered it, nodding, asking questions, voicing concerns. The two of you make do, as you always do. You move into his place, helping him with the little things. Because loving someone means loving them in health and in sickness. During the good times and the bad. Two sides of the same coin—But intimacy wears many faces.

You don’t think you’ve stopped crying since you saw the blood soaking into the grass.

You try to smile more when Spencer’s around. He says it helps—just as much as the medication, maybe more. So you do. More cuddles than usual. Coffee, just the way he wants it, because come on, the man took a bullet for you, the least you could do is not criticise his sugar intake.

But when he’s not there, the tears come. In the shower, where the water washes them away before you can. Waiting for the coffee to brew, blinking them back so they don’t salt the mug.

You whisper I’m sorrys into his hair when he falls asleep after the Doctor Who reruns, as many as he wants. Hope he feels it in the way your fingers card through his curls, lathering shampoo carefully. Hope he tastes it in the spoonfuls of breakfast you lift to his lips, even though his hands work just fine. Everything served in bed, of course, because that’s where he is.

Because that is where he has to be.

I’m sorry. You don’t think you’ll ever stop saying it.

Most nights, Spencer wakes to the sound of your sniffles—Unlike most nights, he doesn’t have to ask why. The reason is visceral, tangible—staining the sheets when the wound dressing wasn’t tight enough, seeping and pooling right between the both of you where an ocean of your guilt already lies.

Still, every night he does wake, he cups your cheeks with warm hands as he murmurs it’s okays.

He’ll say it again at 2 am, when he’s inevitably forced to rewind the bandage himself because somehow, you never seem to get it right. Another tally mark on the growing list of ways you’ve failed him.

And again at 4 am, when you shift too close in your sleep, bump against him, and wake to a sharp, stifled wince. Then the tears resurface, and the cycle repeats. God, you’re just a walking Murphy’s Law, aren’t you?

“Do you blame me?” you’d asked him one night, voice meek in the dark.

“You were in danger. I acted. I could never blame you.”

You replay that conversation more often than not. You love Spencer enough to believe that he means it—that in his mind, it’s the only truth that exists. The only truth that could ever exist.

But you don’t think you love yourself enough to believe it, too.

You move to the couch after the first week. Couldn’t take another night of accidental touches, of hearing his breath hitch in pain and feeling—remembering— that you’d put him there. Spencer had protested, threatened to order an air mattress just to sleep beside you, but you’d won in the end. He needed space. Comfort. Proper rest to heal.

Mostly, you just didn’t want him to see you crying anymore.

The couch isn’t so bad. Smells just enough like him to let it lull you to sleep. Has pillows that are fluffy enough to clutch in your grip when he insists on showering alone for the first time. The couch is close enough to hear the bottle of shampoo hit the floor and the pause that follows when you both realise he can’t bend down to pick it up himself. It’s also far enough away that you hear only the muffled curses that escape him when he tries to dress himself after—Spencer hardly ever swears.

And again, the couch is far enough away that he can’t see you cry.

Intimacy is familiarity, carved deep.

It is not synonymous with love, nor does it innately mean romance. It is a vulnerability between two people, a connection that forms through time, a trust that builds upon circumstance. Intimacy is a blade that cuts through flesh and bone, never to be used lightly. It sees everything—what you are, what he is, what the two of you have always been.

It’s the chaste kiss you press to his lips before leaving for the jet, van waiting down in the lobby. The long list of instructions, medications, emergency contacts scribbled onto paper—handed off to Garcia. The unanswered calls that drain your battery, each one landing in his voicemail.

When you’re away, you dream of Spencer. You’re steadying his crutch, rewrapping his wounds, pressing gentle kisses over healing scars.

In the bad dreams, over and over, you’re saying you’re sorry.

In the worst dreams, he’s saying he forgives you.

Intimacy is something etched into the marrow of you, amidst the flesh and bone, through the ache and the aftermath.

“Spence?” you call from the doorway, one hand braced against the wall as you toe off your shoes. “You in here? Garcia said you decided to head home.”

A muffled shuffle from his office draws your attention. When you step inside, you find him perched in his desk chair, one hand gripping his crutch, the other stretched toward a book just out of his reach on the bottom shelf.

“I didn’t decide to head home,” Spencer mutters, still not looking at you. “Garcia sent me home.”

You have to bite back a smile. “Garcia sent you home?” you echo, amused, crossing the room to retrieve the book from the shelf with ease. He returns your kind act with a heavy sigh even as you set the book on the table beside him.

“She was rearranging her case files. Said I was in the way.”

“Aw honey,” you coo, reaching out to fluff his curls. Normally, he’d lean into your touch, eyes going all soft with adoring affection. But tonight, there’s nothing. Your hand falls away, neglected.

“Have you eaten?” you try, hoping hunger is to blame for his mood. He barely acknowledges the question, offering only a curt nod.

“What’d you have?”

“One of those instant meals,” he mutters.

You frown. “I thought you hated that stuff.”

Spencer scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I’m in any position to cook now, am I?”

The window is shut but the study is ice cold. You knew he was upset when Hotch forbade him from coming along on the case. He had told you just as much, his frustrations only thinly veiled in the few text messages he’d sent. But whatever this is, you don’t understand why it’s suddenly being directed at you tonight.

“Did something happen while I was away?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” The sarcasm that drips in his tone pools together at your feet.

Most people work to live. Your boyfriend is not most people. He lives to work. The time he doesn’t spend solving cases is spent preparing for the next one—reading, researching, gathering knowledge for the inevitable moment it might be needed. You of all people know he hates being unoccupied. He’d explained it to you once, how much he detests idleness, the feeling of time slipping through his fingers with nothing to show for it.

And now here he is, sidelined. Left behind—with nobody else to point the finger at but you.

Not Garcia for shoo-ing him out of her Batcave. Not Hotch for being a stickler for the doctor’s orders. Just you.

“Is that it? You’re upset because Hotch didn’t let you come on the case?”

Spencer doesn't answer so you’re the one to take a step forward—both physically and metaphorically.

“Spence, talk to me. What’s gotten into you?”

The laugh that leaves Spencer doesn’t really sound like him at all. It comes out sharp and humourless—Empty, essentially.

“What’s gotten into me?” He exhales, shakes his head. “You mean other than a bullet?”

The breath you were holding slips from your lips, and for a moment, it feels like the bullet never left. It might as well have buried itself hilt deep, slicing through you and back out. Right now, you almost wished that were the case.

A bullet in your boyfriend is not a cross you ever wanted to bear but it is a cross you’re tied to carrying all the same.

Maybe it had been easier in the beginning. In the holding of hands in the ambulance, in the moving of mugs to accommodate yours. But in the wake of skin and gauze, of antiseptic burning raw and sheets gripped in clenched fists—What is there to thank god for?

Just a bullet.

Just a wound.

Just a bed too small to carry the hurt of two people.

“Spencer.”

For a man with a limp, he moves fast. The bedroom door slams shut behind him and you’re left to stand there by yourself, guilt seeping into the floorboards under you. Thank god for the couch.

You don’t dream of Spencer tonight. You don’t sleep at all. Which is why you hear it—the crutch slipping, the clattering against the wood of the floor. You tiptoe to the bedroom door, nudging it open.

“Hey, everything alright? Need your meds? Water? I can get—”

“S'fine,” Spencer says. His sigh is as heavy as it is exhausted as he bends down to retrieve his crutch.

“Oh. Okay…” You hesitate, lingering by the door. “Goodnight then.”

“Sweetheart—” Spencer exhales, soft and uneven. “I—I… wanted to talk.”

You swallow. “Talk?”

“What I did—how I acted just now—that wasn’t okay. And I’m sorry.”

It sounds weird coming from him. Wrong, almost. A man who took a bullet for you shouldn’t be apologising. A thousand sorrys from you wouldn’t even come close to enough, and you’re certain you’ve already said more than that.

“You don’t need to apologise, Spence, you—”

“I do.”

He tries to stand. You’re at his side before he can, pressing him back down with a gentle hand against his shoulder as you take a seat by the edge of the bed too.

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I was frustrated. At Hotch, at Garcia, at myself. And I took it out on you.”

You nod silently, trying to understand.

“I’m not used to this,” he admits. “Being taken care of. Needing to be taken care of. It’s... hard. What I said before I left the room… I shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

Spencer isn’t one to dance around words. He thrives on specifics. Tonight, he doesn’t need to name it.

What’s gotten into me? You mean other than a bullet? The words have been reverberating in your skull since he said it.

“Do you—” Your voice sounds hollow in your throat, shaking as it leaves you. “Can you forgive me?”

Spencer’s seen you cry before. But the sight of you wiping away your own tears is not one he’s used to. He’s used to holding you through it, with soft hands, with light kisses. So, he takes your hand first, then coaxes your gaze up to meet his. It’s the first time you’ve seen him smile since you’ve gotten back.

“Angel,” he breathes, “there’s nothing to forgive. I don’t blame you. For any of it. Do you remember what I said the first time?”

“I—yeah.”

“You were in danger. I acted. Simple as that.”

In theory, it is simple. Bullets move at roughly 2,700 feet per second. To reach you first, Spencer must have moved at 2,701.

It is not a lifetime of love of reflected in a single split second. It is a lifetime of love refracted, redirected—Love forced onto a different path the moment the bullet entered his body. Two sides of the same coin, wild violence amidst the intimacy. You see it day after day in the blood that trickles down his leg, in how his skin splits open in millimetres, in the way his body punishes itself for what his heart decided.

It is agonising to see how softly he hurts.

“I just—I’m so sorry, Spence. For this. For everything.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “do you trust me?”

Your head jerks up. You sit straighter, wiping at your nose with the sleeve of your sweater. “Yeah, of course, Spence, I—”

“Then I need you to believe me when I say this.” He shifts, taking both your hands into his. He winces slightly but doesn’t let it stop him. “This? This isn’t your fault. Not at all. I need you to know that, baby. Okay?”

You’ve never been one to hold back or stay quiet during arguments with Spencer. Especially when he’s the first to admit he’s wrong—And, being Spencer, that hardly ever happens. More than you’d like to admit, he’s usually right. But this is different.

Because Spencer is wrong. He shouldn’t have said it. But “shouldn’t” doesn’t make it untrue.

Spencer was shot. Fact.

You weren’t. Fact.

And you weren’t shot because Spencer took the bullet for you.

Fact upon fact, stacking too tall, pressing down hard, choking you out.

“But it is though,” you whisper, though it comes out as more of a cry. “Spence, if it weren’t for me—”

“Honey, there is no version of events where I would’ve ever let that bullet touch you.” He gives your hands a light squeeze. “None.”

There is an intimacy in knowing love, at its core, is a kind of violence. It is a body rashly moved by instinct before the mind catches up. It is the sacrifice of flesh before the heart has even finished deciding, of stepping into the line of fire before you’ve even realised that you’ve moved.

With his heart, mind and body—That is how violently Spencer Reid loves you.

Spencer has always been fast. Faster than the bullet meant for you. Fast to love, quicker to comfort—He presses a kiss to your cheek where the last tear falls. “I mean it when I say that there is nothing you could’ve done, or Hotch could’ve done, or the Unsub could’ve done that wouldn’t have resulted in me taking the bullet for you.”

“Well,” you start, voice still sniffly from the remnants of your tears, “the unsub could’ve just... not shot.”

Spencer blinks. For a second, he’s still caught in the weight of his emotions. Then, his lips twitch, a knowing smile breaking through as he rolls his eyes.

“Smartass.”

A small giggle bubbles out of you. You lift your joined hands to press light kisses into the spaces between his fingers, into the cracks of him that you can reach. He lets you. Spencer doesn’t remember the last time you touched him like this—Not careful, not afraid. Not like guilt kissed your fingertips before they ever touched his skin.

“Baby,” he mumbles.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Spence.”

For the first time in weeks, you’re looking at him the way you always have. Not like a martyr you never asked for, carrying the weight of a sacrifice you never wanted him to make.

For the first time in weeks, you’re looking at him like it’s just him, and it’s just you.

No bullet. No blood. Just him. Just you.

“Will you sleep in here tonight?”

You freeze. He feels it immediately.

“Spence, I—I don’t know, I don’t want to hurt—” you murmur, blinking down at your interlocked fingers.

“You won’t,” he’s quick to reassure. “I just want you next to me. The sheets don’t smell like you anymore and I never sleep well without you. I wake up, and you’re out there, and it feels wrong. I just want to hold you. Please? It’s been days.”

You’re helpless when he speaks like that. Besides, the man took a bullet for you—how could you ever say no to him again, for as long as you live?

So you nod, shifting closer, barely hesitating before crawling into bed beside him. After some readjusting, you hear Spencer exhale, feel his arm curling around you, slotting you against his side like muscle memory. For the first time in days, you let yourself be held.

His lips brush your skin as he whispers, “thank you.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: savior complex by phoebe bridgers inside your mind by the 1975

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templeofelysium · 9 months ago

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worshipping the chthonic gods

first, a note on cthonic vs ouranic: the line between these gods is one that is not really as stark as it can be portrayed. many gods have both ouranic and chthonic aspects, and neither make them any more "good" or "bad" than the other. chthonic gods are not evil gods, at least no more than any ouranic god. all deities have the capability of doing good and evil, but are largely ambivalent in nature. the advice listed below is not set in stone, simply provided as gentle guidance. if you have suggestions, feel free to add them in the comments/reblogs! :)

LIBATIONS/OFFERINGS

In Ancient Greece it was very common for offerings to the chthonic gods to be given in the form of libation--a drink (or any liquid) poured into the ground. Solid offerings, like food, were often burned in their entirety to ash or left to rot, instead of being partially shared by the offeror. Incense was not as commonly used since the smoke travels upwards, towards the heavens.

I suggest disposing of/keeping ashes and rotted food outside or burying them, seeing as chthonic sometimes refers to "-of the earth." This would be similar to how curse tablets were treated in Ancient Greece, as Hermes, messenger of the gods, would deliver them unto their underworld-ly receiver from there.

If you can't do that, consider pouring your libations down the sink or flushing them down the toilet (ONLY do this with water-based liquids, oil and honey will clog up your sink in no time flat). It's not ideal, but it gets the job done.

Common libations include: coffee, blood (animal or your own, we'll get to that at the end), honey (instead of wine), milk

Common offerings include: meat, barley/grain, oil, cheese

PRAYER

In many cases, prayers to ouranic deities are directed upwards, into the sky or delivered unto the wind by voice, song, or some sort of poem. In the case of the chthonic gods, we should be directing them downwards, towards the underworld where they reside. This may include extending your hands with palms facing down, putting your head down, or just imagining your prayers being sent below. The only exceptions to this may be Persephone, who resides in the heavens for half of the year, and Hermes, who can be considered both ouranic and chthonic.

Other recommendations I can make are: light a candle, even if you're not going to use it for pyromancy; light some incense (I do this for focus and cleansing, not so much for the deity); and perform it at night. It's not mandatory, of course, to perform your prayers at night, it's just that in antiquity ouranic activities (festivals, prayer, etc.) were done during the day and often directly enshrouded in sunlight. We can assume, therefore, that a chthonic prayer or festival should occur during the night, especially if being directed towards Hekate or Nyx.

ALTARS/SHRINES

In Ancient Greece, temples to the ouranic gods were constructed so that their doorways would directly face the sun, thus illuminating the inside (and often the main statue(s), too). We can assume, then, that our chthonic altars/shrines should be located somewhere out of the direct sunlight. This can be in a dark spot, like a closet or isolated room--or it can just simply be in a corner furthest from the sun's rays.

Again, there may be some exceptions to this: Hermes, under his ouranic epithet(s), Persephone, for her time in the heavens, and Hekate, for her association with the moon.

DIVINATION

For the most part divination with the chthonic gods is conducted in much the same way as with the ouranic. Of course, when calling upon these deities you'll want to face towards the ground, and perhaps even conduct these sessions in partial darkness. Again, maybe you could light a candle or even pour a libation before a really big reading.

I mostly use pendulums and tarot, but I've been experimenting with meditation and have had some luck. What works for ouranic deities should work just as good for chthonic, you just might have to shift your approach a little.

Some good tarot spreads for working with chthonic deities:

"Fork in the Road" spread-- for Hermes or Hekate

"The Tower" spread-- for Hermes or Hades

"The Self Exploration" spread-- for any

"The Bat" spread-- for Hades or Persephone or Nyx

EXTRAS

--Consider offering blood if you're able! Animal blood that is sourced from ethical farms is neither morally reprehensible or illegal and can be sourced from a variety of places. Offering your own blood is also a possibility, but for this I would not recommend more than a pinprick. There are limits to how much pain you should be incurring on yourself for your deities. If you have to check your blood sugar often, maybe you can soak up excess blood with some cotton and bury it outside. Make sure to always clean your wounds properly and do not engage in this behavior for the purpose of self-mutilation. That, I can assure you, your deities would not appreciate. Don't be stupid.

--Snakes are commonly associated with almost all chthonic deities, or just the Underworld in general. We see this the most with Hermes, who is pictured with two snakes wrapped around his caduceus. The god Asclepius is also pictured with a staff with a single snake on it. Asclepius is the god of medicine, and (before being deified) was killed by Zeus for making people practically immortal.

--Chthonic deities are the best places to turn to for spirit work, protective, and baneful magic. You're looking to contact a spirit? Turn to Hades. You're looking for protection against spirits/demons? Turn to Hekate or Hermes. You're looking to cast a curse? Turn to Persephone or Hekate.

dividers by @vibeswithrenai

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amirasainz · 7 months ago

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Do you know the video.of the little Asian girl crying because the school gave her so much homework and the dad comforting her?

Could you do one where it is Lewis and his little daughter. She arrives later to the race week with her Nanny and is crying because of homework. Lewis comforting her while also trying to hold his laughter. Can you also add George and the Mercedes team (maybe they are in a meeting?)

Thank youuuu❤️❤️

Ok, so because I am getting a lot of Lewis daughter requests, I finally gave her a name. Hailey Hamilton (super cute in my opinion)

Enjoy reading and send some requests

-xoxo, Babygirl 💋

A father's comfort

The early morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the Mercedes team headquarters, casting a warm glow on the sleek, modern meeting room. Inside, the air was thick with the tension of strategy and the relentless pursuit of perfection. Lewis, flanked by Toto and George, was deep in conversation about the upcoming race weekend. They discussed tire strategies, car setups, and team dynamics, each voice blending into a symphony of high-pressure motorsport.

Suddenly, the meeting room door swung open with a loud thud, cutting through the serious atmosphere. All heads turned as a small figure burst into the room. It was Hailey, Lewis’s four-year-old daughter, her face streaked with tears, her bright pink backpack bouncing against her back. Her eyes widened when she spotted her father, and without hesitation, she ran straight into his arms.

“Daddy!” she cried, burying her face into his chest, her tiny body trembling with sobs. “I don’t want to do my homework! It’s too hard!”

Lewis’s heart melted as he enveloped her in his strong embrace, a protective barrier against the world’s worries. He glanced at Toto and George, whose expressions mirrored his surprise but quickly transformed into amusement. The rest of the team members looked on with a mix of sympathy and barely contained laughter.

“Shh, it’s okay, sweet pea,” Lewis said softly, holding her close. “What’s all this about homework?” He could feel her small frame shaking with every hiccup, and he fought to keep a straight face, finding it hard not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Hailey pulled back just enough to look up at him, her big brown eyes shimmering with tears. “I have to color two pages and remember a poem, but it’s too many things! I don’t want to!” she whimpered, her tiny hands clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“Homework can be tough, can’t it?” Lewis said, trying to soothe her with gentle words. “But I bet you can do it. You’re so smart, just like your daddy.” He glanced over at Toto, who nodded in agreement, a smile breaking through his usually stoic demeanor.

“I can help you with the coloring later, Hailey,” Toto added, leaning down to her level, his voice warm and inviting. “And the poem, too. What’s the poem about?”

Hailey sniffled, her little face scrunching up as she tried to remember. “It’s about a butterfly… it flutters and flies,” she mumbled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“That sounds beautiful!” George chimed in, crouching down beside her. “Butterflies are so pretty! Maybe you could draw a butterfly for your coloring pages. We can make it the biggest and best one ever!” He flashed her a bright smile, trying to distract her from her tears.

Hailey looked between her father and the two men, still clutching Lewis tightly. “But I just want to play! I don’t want to do homework!” she cried again, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I know, love,” Lewis said gently, his heart aching for her. “But what if we make a deal? If you finish your homework, we can go for ice cream after the race. How does that sound?” His voice was soothing, and he brushed her hair back from her forehead, trying to comfort her.

“Ice cream?” she repeated, her eyes lighting up slightly through the tears. “With sprinkles?”

“Of course! And chocolate sauce, if you want it,” Lewis promised, laughing softly now, his heart swelling at the sight of his little girl. “But first, we’ve got to tackle that homework, alright?”

“Okay…” she sniffled, her voice softening as she glanced around the room, taking in the chuckles from the team members who were trying unsuccessfully to maintain a professional demeanor. “But it’s still so hard!” she pouted, climbing onto Lewis's lap as he settled back into his chair.

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” he said, holding her close. “We can color one page together first, and then you can practice the poem. I’ll even help you memorize it! How does that sound?”

Hailey wiped her eyes on his shirt, her face lighting up just a bit at the thought of doing it with him. “You’ll help me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course, Hailey. I’m always here to help you, no matter what,” he assured her, holding her tighter. As he spoke, she rested her head against his chest, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Daddy?” she murmured sleepily, a hint of a smile appearing as she felt safe in his embrace.

“Yes, love?” he replied softly, gently stroking her back.

“Can we read a story after?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper now, fatigue washing over her.

“Absolutely. We’ll read as many stories as you want,” Lewis promised, smiling at her. “But first, we’ve got to get you to finish that homework, okay?”

Hailey didn’t respond; instead, she let out a small yawn and nuzzled into his chest, her small form relaxing against him. The room fell silent, the earlier tension replaced by the warm, tender moment unfolding between father and daughter.

The sight of Lewis holding his daughter, her little body curling up as she fell asleep, made the team erupt in laughter, the sound echoing off the walls. Even Toto struggled to maintain his composure, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“I think she’s out, Lewis,” Toto chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, I’d say we’ve officially lost her to the nap,” George added, unable to hide his smile. “What a way to end the meeting!”

Lewis looked down at his daughter, her peaceful face nestled against him, and couldn’t help but laugh himself. “Guess I’m going to have to finish that homework for her,” he said, his voice light with amusement. “But I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.”

As the laughter continued to bounce around the room, Lewis sat quietly with Hailey, knowing that despite the chaos of the race weekend, there was nothing more important than these little moments with his daughter.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #lewis hamilton x daughter!reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton #f1 x female reader #xoxo babygirl 💋#dad!lewis hamilton #lando norris x reader #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader

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bluelikebruises · 8 months ago

Text

wanna be yours || rhaenyra & daemon targaryen x f!reader

Rhaenyra Targaryen/TargaryenF!Reader/Daemon Targaryen 18+ MDNI! summary: scared of thunderstorms you seek shelter in the confines of your sister's chambers. but things quickly escalate and you find yourself forgetting all about the storm w/c: 8.2k tw: SMUT, 18+, plot? what plot?, INCEST, threesome, slight breeding kink, loss of virginity, cunnilingus, nipple play, some choking, creampie, rough & gentle daemon, slight ooc daemon, lost the plot about half way through tbh, not proof read

a/n: havent written in a while my bad yall the claws of depression got me and then i got a job (booooo). promised a rhaenicent oneshot but yall got this instead im so sorry ((your honor i’m working on it i swear!)) second time ever writing smut so please be kind, any comments or suggestion for improvement feel free to let me know <3

☆━━━━☆━━━━☆

A storm rages outside the walls of Dragonstone, the ocean and sky bashing against the windows of your chambers. They howl and thrash relentlessly, the rolling sound of thunder striking your heart with fear. As a child it reminded you of dragon roars soothing your unease but now it gave no such comfort.

Most nights when you had resided in the Keep the maesters would inform you of an approaching storm and you would sneak into your fathers chambers and read. You’d read passages of your favorite books and poems aloud to him. Whether he was asleep or awake never bothered you, you simply appreciated his presence.

Another cry of crackling thunder falls upon your ears causing your heart to hammers in your chest. You silently wish you were not alone feeling as though you were a child, small, powerless, and frightened of the world. If you were in King’s Landing you could simply walk to your fathers chambers and let the storm rage on. But as your luck would have it you were miles away.

For the past few months you had been residing in Dragonstone as a ward to your sister and her husband. You had loved every minute of your stay up until tonight, in hopes of alleviating your fears you shut your eyes trying to forget about the storm outside.

Your thoughts are scrambled for a moment before you begin to recall your stay in Dragonstone. You’ve made an array of memories from tutoring Jacaerys in High Valyrian to games played with Joffrey and Viserys to your name day celebration. While you try to recall the many more you had, your thoughts are interrupted by the piercing sound of striking lightning.

It hurts your ears sending a shiver down your spine, Rhaenyra crosses your mind but you know she is lying with her husband—who would waste no time in making a jest out of your fear. You want to banish the possibility of seeking shelter in Rhaenyra, after all you were far too old to sneak into her chambers. But as another flash of lightning bellows through the sky you could no longer stay still. Fear and anxiety guide your movements as you stand and grab the cloak at the end of your bed.

━━☆━━

The castle isn’t as frightening as the Red Keep under the cover of night, yet you still move quickly through its large cold corridors. With shaking hands you make a valiant effort to knock gently on the giant doors of your sister's chambers, pausing to hear for any movement but none comes.

With no response you knock again this time with a bit of urgency. You don’t have the luxury of waiting for a response as thunder echoes through the stone causing you to yelp. Without thought you push the door open uninvitedly stepping inside. You do your best to shut the door quietly unsure what to do next. The thunder had passed and yet the patting rain could still be heard. You had not thought this far ahead, what were you supposed to do? Sneak into her bed?

The room is dark, lit by the beams of moonlight that pour in, it’ll take some moments before your eyes adapt to the shadows of the night. Before you could think to move the sound of rustling and a sword unsheathing alert you of a presence. You need not see who it is to know it is your uncle Daemon.

You curse yourself turning to face him. He holds his sword pointing it towards your chest and it should frighten you but the storm outside threatens you more than he does.

“There is no honor in killing a man while he sleeps”, he says, stepping into the light of the moon ready to strike your unrecognizable form.

“I do not intend on killing you Uncle”

At your words his sword drops, “Sweet Dragon, why are you sneaking into our chambers?”

You’ve come to grow accustomed to your moniker slipping from his mouth in a mocking manner, but tonight his voice holds no ill intent.

Lightning cuts through the sky in a loud shout before you can respond. Your skin crawls and you’re trying to keep your voice from wavering, “It’s quite loud”

“Are you frightened?” he asks, stepping towards you. His eyes bore into yours and under the moonlight it’s as if they are glowing.

Your heart stammers and you shake your head in embarrassment, clearly lying. A small grin spreads against his lips and you know he sees right through you. The thought and his gaze becomes too much for you to bear as your eyes fall onto the floor.

“There is no one around to pretend for”, he places his hand under your chin as he tilts your head up, to once again meet his gaze. His gentle demeanor disarms you, most times he’s brutish, arrogant, and entirely uninterested in you.

“I am merely skittish . . .” you clasp your hands behind your back trying to appear more collected than you felt.

He looks you over, his eyes sparkle in the moonlight only this time you’re unable to avert your gaze. His fingers hold you still and a sinking feeling of being prey washes over you.

“Rhaenyra?” he asks

The voice of your sister emerges from the darkness surprising you, “Yes, my love,”

“It seems our intruder is our favorite little princess”, his fingers trace your jaw, concentrating his eyes on your lips.

Fear is an afterthought as an indescribable feeling crawls up your body. Your stomach flips under his touch and you fear to know why.

Rhaenyra says your name, “Come here”

Without a second thought you walk towards her voice, your eyes now adjusting to the moonlight making out shadows in the darkness.

Rhaenyra sits upon her bed, furs laid spread over her lap she smiles fondly as you approach.

Once you’re before her she instructs you to sit, “Has the storm unnerved you?” she asks, placing her hands on yours. They’re soft and her touch is almost enough to make you forget why you had entered her chambers to begin with.

“It is quite loud”

“Yes you have said that already” Daemon says. His approach has gone unnoticed by you as he stands opposite of Rhaenyra. The side of the bed you assumed he slept on.

“I read to father during storms,” you admit sheepishly

“Oh you poor sweet girl” she coos, “Would you like to read to us?”, you nod almost enthusiastically, “Come then” she pulls you forward unfastening your cloak.

The warmth of her hands on your exposed shoulder sends you into a panic. Your septa had made it clear how your virtue was to be maintained until you married. No living eyes were to be set on your chaste skin but your future husband’s and yet you sat next to your sister who threatened to stain your skin. You tremble under her touch unsure how you could deny her.

Grabbing her hands you halt her movements, “I’m only reading, I’ll be returning to my chambers once the storm passes”

“Of course” she agrees, “But while you are here my husband and I can keep you warm, as can the furs”

Her smile kills your resolve and like a puppet in her control you cave in, Rhaenyra had always had that effect on you. You thought so highly of her and loved her dearly of course you were always eager to please. Any want or command uttered by her and you’d comply instantly.

Removing your hands from hers, the cloak falls from your shoulders and she tosses it aside. You shiver as the cold air comes in contact with your bare skin. The nightgown you wore was less than modest, showing more skin then was appropriate for a lady let alone a princess. The feeling of being gawked at consumes you—their eyes burn into your skin.

“Come here princess” Daemon’s voice makes your knees weak. In the moonlight you see a smile on Rhaenyra’s lips, you take it as encouragement and crawl onto the bed. You settle between both their bodies but Daemon tugs at you pulling you towards him, the movement causes your nightgown to slide up your thighs exposing more of your skin.

If your septa could see you now… you cringe at the thought mortified. Your heart patters rapidly, Gods if it kept beating you were sure Daemon and Rhaenyra were going to hear it.

If Daemon notices your exposed skin he doesn’t show it, he rather seems preoccupied with adjusting you before him. His legs spread as he sat you between them, his chest pressed against your back as he loomed over you.

He grabs at your sides pulling you closer to him, and if your heart didn't explode before it exploded when you felt Rhaenyra lips kiss your shoulder then rest her head where she had kissed.

Your mind and heart betray you as you become a victim to their siren song. You’re a vision of adultery and sin, it’s wrong–unbecoming of a princess and yet you do nothing to stop them.

With his left arm Daemon keeps you tucked under him and he wraps his right around Rhaenyra who nestles into your shoulder. You had not thought this was where you would find yourself at the beginning of the night.

The storm is a long way from your thoughts as you try to figure out how your body fits into theirs, if it could. You’re against both of them unsure of how to move.

You feel Daemon reach for something, “Read this” his breath touches your ear as he places a book on your lap. Being caught between them you had almost forgotten how you ended up practically on Daemon’s lap.

Picking up the book you read the title, The Mythos of the Land Beyond Essos: Yiti. The book provides a much welcomed distraction, you had heard of Yiti before but only in passing from Lord Coryls.

“Is it real?” you ask absentmindedly to no one in particular

“Of course it is, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra says, slithering her arm over your lap fully intrapping you in their hold

Opening the book you were met with half of a map littered with cities and towns you had never heard of. As you turn the page the book's wear and tear is visible, it was clearly loved. For a moment you wonder if it was Rhaenyra or Daemon who loved it. Your thoughts like many times throughout the night are interrupted by thunder and relentless down pouring of rain.

You jump frightened hearing a chuckle come from Daemonand who places a kiss on your hair Any other night the gesture would have been ill fitting and strange but tonight it brings you comfort.

“Read” he gently commands and like an obedient dog you do

You read through four pages undisturbed, your voice only occasionally interrupted by the storm outside that is until you feel Daemon’s fingers on the exposed skin of your upper thigh. Gentle thoughtless traces of his fingers over your flesh.

His touch makes you acutely aware of their bodies pressed against yours, body heat and furs warmed you like no other. With every hound of the wind and pounding of the rain you shook, which was made worse by their hands and lips trying to sooth you.

Daemon’s left hand draws circles on your left thigh. Rhaenyra kisses your shoulder and any exposed skin she could reach. It was intoxicating her lips and his fingers. How were you supposed to read when there were two hungry dragons trying to feast upon you.

The words you’re reading pass thoughtlessly through your mouth, once the information found a home in your mind now simply glossed over.

Daemon’s lips fall on the nape of your neck sending a shiver down your spine and a soft whimper from your lips.

In a small effort to keep them at bay you ask questions, it works for the first two questions but after the third Daemon grabs the book from your grasp and throws it.

With the book out of their way they both grew relentless. Daemon kisses and nips at your neck without disregard. Rhaenyra readjusts herself to be able to access your collar bones, her lips beginning to trail up your neck and jaw. The furs had been tossed somewhere on the bed.

“Nyra” you plead, nervous of what was to come next. Pressing your thighs together as a warm feeling emitted from your womanhood.

“Shhh” she coos, kissing your cheek dangerously close to your lips.

Daemon’s hand pulls your nightgown exposing more of your thighs to the night air.

You should leave, you know you should but the thought of enduring the storm alone keeps you in place, “Perhaps…Perhaps I should r-read from another b-book” you try to stop Daemon’s hand pulling your nightgown from his grasp

Your efforts are futile as Rhaenyra interrupts you by planting her lips on yours. The action leaves you entranced by her, you melt into her lips moving yours against hers. She tastes like tea, warm and sweet.

Under Rhaenyra’s spell you’re unaware of Daemon sliding your nightgown further and further upward. His hands stopped only to touch your inner thighs nearing your clothed cunt. You squirmed thinking of the septa’s words, the only man who can lay a finger on you is your husband.

“I can’t…I can't,” you say, breaking away from Rhaenyra and moving away from Daemon’s hold. You move away from them putting some distance between your sister and her husband.

“Why not?” Rhaenyra asks

They’re feigning ignorance and you don’t know why, “I’m not wed”

They both laugh and share a knowing expression.

“Silly girl,” Daemon says, pulling you back to them, his hands dragging you back between his legs, “You are not to wed” his breath is hot against your ear as you try not to think of the heat that expels from his hands

Confusion is clear across your face, “But the Queen said—”

At the mention of Queen Alicent his grip of your flesh tightens, “To the Seven Hells with Alicent,” his hold on your flesh is half as painful as it is pleasurable.

“You are ours”, Rhaenyra cuts in, “You shall not be sullied by hands that are not our own”, she plants a kiss on your shoulder.

You’re unable to make sense of their words, you could not be theirs, you would only ever be your husband’s. And yet you could not find the words to say it aloud—to let them know you could not be sullied by them despite how desperately you wanted.

Your attention is fully on Rhaenyra that the sneaking fingers along your jaw have gone unnoticed. Daemon’s fingers trace your lips before gently pushing themselves into your mouth. They’re cold as he presses them against your tongue and you can taste ash. The taste is almost telling, you think.

“Suck” Daemon commands

You hesitate for a moment frightened at the possibilities of what would happen next and what they entailed. But all your thoughts fizzle away when Rhaenyra’s mouth bites down on your shoulder and without a second thought you do, making sure they’re thoroughly coated in your saliva. He spreads his fingers exploring your mouth before shoving them down your throat. The unexpected action leaves you coughing gagging, which earns an amused laugh from Daemon as he retreats his fingers.

“Good girl” he kisses your ear and you bite your tongue in order to stifle a whimper. His words ignite a fire that spreads throughout your body, it’s alluring leaving a blazing trail of want in its wake. The need to be praised has your head spinning, never had praise elicited such a reaction from you before. You want to continue being good and dutiful for Daemon and Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra sits in front of you both simply watching as her husband's fingers trailed under your nightgown. He pulls your small clothes to the side, the anticipation killing you as his fingers neared. It’s reprehensible you know, but you do not have the willpower to stop him.

Your breathing stops as two of his fingers come into contact with your sensitive pearl. He groans as he feels the heat of your cunt, drawing circles with his fingers. You bite your cheek trying to stop yourself from moaning, leaning your head against his chest. His fingers begin to accelerate as he wraps your hair around his free hand pulling you to look forward.

“Look at Rhaenyra, sweet dragon, she wants to see you”

Your eyes catch hers, they’re lit with fervent desire, a look you had never seen before. While you wish you could stare at Rhaenyra forever, Daemon's fingers have returned to their slow pace leaving you unfulfilled and on the cusp of pleasure.

Turning to face him you plead, “Please”, you’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for, only that you need more. Embarrassed by your plead you hide your face in the crook of his neck

“Please what princess” he presses against your pearl roughly

Through a moan you speak, “Need more”

You don’t see the delighted smile that spreads over Daemon’s face as he gathers fistfulls of your hair forcing you out of your hiding spot. His eyes fall onto your sister and you’re trying desperately not to let out a string of unbecoming moans.

With another tug Daemon crashes his lips onto yours, the angel which he pulls you almost hurts but his mouth and fingers provide a wonderful distraction. The kiss is rough, tongues and teeth clashing. All the while his fingers never cease their attack and you’re quickly becoming undone.

An unfamiliar pressure builds and you find yourself near a breaking point you had never experienced. The building pleasure has your heart beating out of your chest, it’s dizzying. But just when you think you can’t take it anymore Daemon’s fingers stop and he releases your lips. You moan out in disappointment.

“Perhaps you should ask the future Queen for assistance” he pulls your hair like a rag doll. Moving you as he pleases, facing you again towards Rhaenyra.

“Nyra please”

Gripping your hair even tighter exposing your neck he whispers, “Where are your manners?”

“Please, your highness” you beg eyes glossed over full of want

Rhaenyra smirks, leaning into you momentarily allowing your lips to meet again which you welcome eagerly.

The kiss is gentle at first, your lips moving in sync. Her tongue laps at your bottom lip and you shutter feeling Daemon ghosting his fingers above your aching pearl. When one of his long fingers threatens to enter your leaking hole you moan into Rheanyra's mouth. She takes the opportunity to kiss you with more vigor. Her lips are so soft and you’re entranced by her, thoughts racing, why had you never kissed her before?

When she finally breaks away she leaves you breathless and you get no time to recover as she pulls the top of your nightgown down exposing your breast. Heat spreads over your cheeks, never having been so bare in front of anyone before.

The thoughts quickly leave your mind as Rhaenyra’s tongue drags against your hardening nipple. She uses the pad of her thumb to draw circles against your nipple, the sensation adds fuel to the fire in your core. She expertly nips and sucks only stopping to change breasts.

“N…Nyra please … enough” you try to weakly fight her off. Receiving far more stimulation from your nipples then you thought could ever be possible. Instead she removes her mouth and replaces them with her hands, pinching and pulling without regard. There’s an electrifying pain that shoots down your spine, you had never thought your breast to be so sensitive.

Rhaenyra does not argue, continuing to toy with your breast as she moves towards her husband. She practically purrs as she nears him a smile lingering on her lips, your eyes close shut as she continues her attack. Above your shoulder she kisses Daemon as if she were not inflecting the most deliciously painful pleasure. The drool that leaked out of you was as shameful as it was degrading.

When they finally pull away Daemon pushes a finger into your neglected hole, earning a yelp from your lips. The sudden intrusion is foreign and stings, biting your bottom lip you try to keep your cries of discomfort from spilling out.

They work in tandem drawing pleasure out of you with their expert touches. The way you squirm beneath them is pathetic and a distant image to the woman the realm knew you to be.

“So fucking tight” Daemon says adding a second finger causing your head to spin. He moves his fingers expertly in and out of your cunt. Loving the feeling of your velvety walls, he speaks to Rhaenyra but you can’t hear them. Deaf under the spell of your uncle’s long fingers, your eyes are shut concentrating on the flowering pleasure that was beginning to take hold.

Rhaenyra’s hands stop their movements and you’re half heartedly aware of the way the bed shifts far too caught up in your pleasure. You’re unraveling completely melted into Daemon, unable to keep your moans quiet they fall from your lips like a waterfall. A knot forms in the pit of your stomach as Daemon stretches you open fucking his fingers into you, you’re left a blubbering mess.

His fingers mercilessly hit every spot in your spongy cunt, you take every bit of bliss he gives you. Sweat gathers on your pinched brows, your skin feels hot against the cool night air.

After an especially hard thrust he angles his fingers just right and your walls tighten around him. You feel as though you’re going to die, your breaths come in short quick intervals, you're on the edge of pleasure nearly going under.

And as if he read your thoughts Daemon halts his movements, removing his fingers from your warmth, “So pretty when you moan”

Your eyes open in disappointment, missing the feeling of being played with. But Daemon gives you no time to react as he orders you to open your mouth.

“Taste your filth”

Obediently you do, his fingers are heavy on your tongue wrapping your mouth around them tasting yourself—you’re bitter and sharp unlike anything you had ever tasted.

When Daemon decides you’ve had enough he pulls his fingers out and kisses you.

You’ve forgotten about Rhaenyra until you feel a wet sensation on your pearl. With a moan your eyes shift downwards where she rests on her stomach between your legs. She’s excitedly lapping you up, her tongue sending you into a frenzy as she focuses on your puffy cunt.

Moments ago you had thought the height of pleasure was your uncle’s fingers yet it was actually your sister's mouth.

“Ngh…Nyera”

Your cries only invigorate her, she presses her tongue into your hole and the sudden motion has you bucking your hips. She laughs into your cunt, amused, sending vibrations straight into your pearl.

She’s an expert at what she does, her tongue running up and down your slit. Sucking on your pearl with such vigor before fucking her tongue into you. This was not the first time your sister had done such a lewd act and the thought of Rhaenyra having done this before with another woman has jealousy crawling up your back.

Distracted by Rhaenyra you don’t feel Daemon’s hand lowering, not until his cold fingers are pressing into your pearl. Two of his fingers begin moving sporadically electrifying every fiber of your body. You’re writhing in pleasure, burning with passion consumed by Rhaenyra and Daemon, unsure of how much more you could take. Coming undone as they pull you apart just to put you back together with nothing but their hands and lips.

You’re squirming, “Uncle, Ny…Nyra I’m—I”

Like before Daemon’s movements stop followed by Rhaenyra, you look between them dazed with need and confused. You pout in frustration, tired of being dragged to the edge of pleasure only to have it ripped away from you.

In response Daemon turns you to face him, “Fret not sweet dragon, we’ll give you what you want”. His lips fall on yours forcibly, kissing you as if you were the only thing able to quench his hunger.

He moves off the bed and Rhaenyra grabs your hips, pulling you towards her gently pushing you to fall onto the bed backfirst. With your legs hanging off the bed she crawls on top of you slowly, taking her time to ravish your body with bites and kisses. Her teeth sink into the softness of your flesh and though it hurts you can’t help but moan. Goosebumps rise over your body as she sucks the skin under your breast. When she’s had enough she lifts her head to meet your collar bones, she wastes no time sucking on your skin. Making sure to leave her mark on your skin.

The feeling is different yet so enticing, full of tenderness and lust. You’re moaning under her and you realize just how empty your cunt feels as it drips for Rhaenyra.

You need more, desperate for it your hands move not entirely sure of what you are doing only knowing you needed more of her. You pull Rhaenyra’s nightgown trying to get it off. But only managing to pull the top of it revealing her breasts. You make quick work of taking them in your hands, they’re soft and firm, plump from having been filled with milk many times.

Her mouth releases your skin as she moans

“My two pretty nieces playing with each other, I could die a happy man right now” Daemon stands behind your bodies. His hands touch your thighs repositioning your body how he’d like. Your clay in his hands—pliable—letting him mold you however he likes rendering him full control of your being.

He slides what you can only assume is his cock between your folds moaning as he does so. Warning drums sound off in your ears, you should put a stop to the night's debauchery and end it before you’re ruined forever. But your inhibitions are lowered and you couldn’t exactly care to think what a septa or the realm would think. Not when you were pinned between Rhaenyra and Daemon.

Rhaenyra adjusts herself above you, her knees resting on either side of your hips, giving Daemon room to do as he pleases.

“How do you feel princess?” Her voice is laced with teasing affection. You are unsure how to respond if you could at all, focused entirely on the sensation of Daemon’s cock pressing against your cunt.

He gives you no warning as he pushes the tip of cock into your weeping cunt, it’s tight and uncomfortable. The intrusion is painful; it feels like you’re being pulled apart, like your body was being set aflame.

“Fuck” the word falls from Daemon’s lips like a prayer

The fur under you is balled in your fists trying to ease the pain, tears form in your eyes

“Dae–”

He shushes you, “The pain will lull soon”

“Be good for uncle, won’t you sweet girl?” Rhaenyra asks kissing along your neck

You’re nodding

When he fully sheaths himself a painful sob escapes your lips. Your eyes are shut trying to weather the storm. You’re half frightening he’ll start fucking you, the pain would surely kill you. But he does not move, allowing you a moment to become accustomed to his length.

“Gods, you’ve been keeping such an amazing cunt from us” he says after a moment, slowly he begins to move. Pulling himself out before gently pushing himself back in.

The first few thrusts send shockwaves through your body. In an effort to distract you from the discomfort Rhaenyra plays with your breast. Nipping one with her mouth while she rolled the other between her thumb and forefinger. You shudder at the stark differences in sensations, like ice and fire you’re teetering the line between pleasure and pain. Tears fall from your eyes as you clenched tightly around Daemon’s cock, Rhaenyra kisses them away.

The longer Daemon continues his intrusion the faster the pain soothes into a warm pleasure. When a moan escapes your mouth he responds with a sharp thrust. Bliss rests heavy on your brow, the lewd squelching from every thrust only adds fuel to your heightened state.

Rhaenyra moans above you, her face contorted in ecstasy, she’s the vision of desire, a nymph of lust and pleasure. You piece together that Daemon’s fingers are exploring the warmth cavern of her cunt. As you watch her, her eyes find yours and she leans down to kiss you. It’s sloppy and full of half-sound moans. Her breaths begin to quicken and for a brief moment your uncle slows his thrusts to focus on Rhaenyra. Though you miss the feeling you discovered your love for watching your sister lose herself to your uncle.

Her moans only grow louder, she’s calling out her husband's name. Pushing herself into his fingers and suffocating you with her breasts.

She shakes, eyes rolled to the back of her head with her mouth half opened. Her body is spasming above yours, moans fall from her mouth like prayers as she peaks all over Daemon’s fingers.

She falls on top of you, her head resting on your chest as she tries to catch her breath. Without thinking you caress her hair, it's soft and smooth and it almost startles you when she looks up to you.

For a moment while you hold her gaze the entire world falls away, nothing else matters but her. You could spend the rest of your life just gazing at her—worshiping at her altar. A gentle smile appears on her lips as she climbs off your body, she moves towards Daemon kissing him passionately. You almost averted your gaze, the act felt so intimate it did not feel right to watch.

Daemon rests comfortably inside you as they kiss, the entire time you have not been able to pull your eyes away from them. And when it is over, as if nothing had occurred Daemon resumes his relentless pace. His cock is pressed deliciously inside you forcing you to see stars. He repeats his actions over and over again.

“Perfect fucking tits,” he leans down to catch your bouncing breast. Wrapping his lips around your nipple as he thrust harder, lapping at it like a crazed man. His mouth is hot against your skin, his tongue rough as he suckles—as if expecting milk. The thought sends a shiver down to your cunt, causing your walls to flutter against Daemon’s cock.

“I should put a child in you just to watch your breast swell”

You know he shouldn’t, it’s wrong you’d be ruined–-more so than you already were—no man would ever marry if you had a bastard. But you can’t suppress the moan from leaving your lips, squeezing around Daemon like a glove. His hips falter for a moment as you choke his cock, “Fuck, does the idea appeal to you?”

“We could keep her here, have her birth our heirs, keep her stuffed with cock”, Rhaenyra chimes and her words are enough to push you over the edge vibrating with pleasure. Your back arches off the bed as your body is consumed with ecstasy. You’re first ever release racking through you without mercy.

Daemon moans, your contracting cunt making it near impossible for him to move.

Your chest heaves as you try to regain your breath, try to regain the composure you had lost hours ago.

But you’re given no time to do so as Daemon pulls himself from your cunt and flips you onto your stomach. His hands grip your hips as he pulls them up, your head is pressed against the bed. A blush creeps on your cheeks, the position is lewd, one you had overheard Aegon say was reserved for whores.

Your thoughts dissolve as Daemon runs the tip of his cock along your sensitive wet folds. His movements leave you shuddering, wanting him to just get on with it.

“Uncle please,” you whine pushing your hips back onto him

“So eager” his hands roam the expanse of your ass before sheathing himself once more inside you.

The angle offers you a new pleasure, spread wide before Daemon like a feast at the ready for him to devour. Your walls flutter with sensitivity and yet it does not deter Daemon from pulling ropes of pleasure out of you. It exudes from your cunt tenfold and wrenches through your body unyielding. Like everything about the night it’s overwhelming bordering the edge of pain, but you’re too drunk off Daemon and Rhaenyra to put an end to it. Not when Daemon is molding your insides, as if to make sure no other suitor could ever compare. Not that you would ever want another suitor, you could spend the rest of your life beneath Daemon.

Cold fingers slither themselves up your spine, snaking themselves around the side of your neck. Daemon’s touch is rough, callus hands pressed against the soft of your throat. Fingers stretch over the expanse of your throat, squeezing ever so lightly and you swear you see stars. An involuntary moan escapes your lips as you arch your back into him and it's all the encouragement Daemon needs to apply more pressure.

Every thrust from Daemon has the air in your lungs exuding at a rapid pace. Your head starts to throb, all your senses are melting into one another. Daemon’s touch is paralyzing; you're frozen, stuck in a twisted masochistic purgatory and loving every moment of it.

The grip on your neck tightens, cutting the little airflow you were getting. Above you Daemon leans down the heat of his chest against your back. He whispers something in your ear but you can’t hear anything above the beating of your heart. You’re not sure how much longer you could take, eyes half lidded and bordering tears—you’re barely holding onto consciousness.

Just when the arms of unconsciousness threaten to pull you under, his grip releases and his thrusts come to a stop. Like a stone dropped onto the bottom of a river your head falls straight onto the bed. You try to regain your breath, through painful breaths the sound of Rhaenyra’s laughter reaches your ears. Through your lashes you look upon her, she sits before you smiling, eyes glowing under moonlight.

“What a spoiled princess, receiving such fervent treatment from my husband”

In response Daemon gently kisses your back. Slowing and ever so carefully moving his hips as he does so, you moan and Rhaenyra laughs again.

“Come now, before I’m seething with jealousy” she moves. Her legs spread before you, nightgown exposing her flesh as she adjusted. You have an idea about what means to happen next but your inexperience has you doubting your thoughts.

Your head lifts in realization that she’s settling herself, her clothed cunt only a touch away. You’re captivated by the allure of her covered womanhood.

“Go on princess, serve your queen” Daemon voice rings out as he reaches to tangle his hand in your hair forcing you towards Rhaenyra’s cunt.

She looks down at you, a seductive smile playfully lingering on her lips. She lifts her dress agonizingly slow, pulling the thin layer of her nightgown exposing the smoothness of her skin. When she's finally revealed to you in all her glistening glory you waste no time, diving right into her core. You’re half surprised she wasn’t wearing any small clothes but you don’t think twice about it, devouring her with novice eagerness.

As you run your tongue through her folds you clench around Daemon getting your first real taste of Rhaenyra. She tastes poignant and sweet like a nectar you had never known but were growing addicted too. You kiss her swollen womanhood inhaling her sweet scent, pressing your tongue against it before swirling around it. Though you know your inexperience shows you eat her up like she was your last meal in the living world.

Her moans are music to your ears, you look up to watch as her chest heaves. Invigorated by her pleasure you flick your tongue fucking it against her dripping hole, through a half open moan her eyes fall on yours. Her brows are pinched together in ecstasy as her thighs close around your head keeping you in place not that you could think of moving away.

The world falls away as you bring your sister to the heights of pleasure, drunk by the feeling of her warm cunt wrapped around your face. It’s lewd and disgusting and yet you can’t get enough of it.

In a sudden motion your attention is pulled away from Rhaenyra, you’re unable to turn your head but you feel Daemon’s cock retracting before he thrust it back to the hilt. You moan into Rhaenyra, sending shooting vibrations through her. She chokes out a moan as her hand comes down to grip your hair.

She roughly tugs as you continue the intrusion of her cunt, pushing you further into her. Your nose bumps her puffy pearl as you move uncoordinated—distracted and falling victim to Daemon’s relentless attacks. The squelching sounds of your weeping cunt sends your mind into a frenzy, it’s filthy and obscene.

“Such a good girl,” Rhaenyra purrs, “Had I know you were so good at eating cunt I would have had you on your knees long ago”

Her words of praise have your pussy fluttering around Daemon who grunts in response. Your mind has gone completely blank, you've lost yourself knowing nothing but the hot liquid pleasure that Daemon and Rhaenyra were tearing out of you. They’re molding you into shapes only they knew—only they could touch.

Daemon nestles himself so deeply you’re sure if you reach down you’d feel him in your stomach. You try to keep up your pace on Rhaenyra but with Daemon’s insistent thrusts you’re having trouble, sloppily licking and inserting your tongue into her.

“Gods you were both made for my cock”, he grunts out but you can’t think of a single response. You’re pushed into Rhaenyra with every thrust, slurping her overflowing bliss.

At her husband’s words Rhaenyra releases you from her grasp letting her legs fall away and you take the opportunity to rest your head on the inside of her thigh. Moaning against her skin coming undone on your uncle’s cock.

“Is that true, do you think we were made for Daemon’s cock?” Rhaenyra’s hand drops from your hair and gently caresses your face. You can hardly process their words, unable to speak, lost in pleasure and too concentrated on the feeling of Daemon pulling out then stuffing you with each thrust.

“Did the princess forget how to speak?” Daemon teases his hand coming down to slap the meat of your ass

“She’s cock drunk” Rhaenyra laughs, grabbing your hair and pushing you back into her heat, crying out as she does so. Your tongue laps over her absentmindedly but it’s enough to have her legs trembling.

Roughly she tugs your hair, her moans becoming more frequent and you know she’s just as close to coming undone as you are.

Minutes stretch into hours as you’re used by your sister and her husband as nothing more than an object to achieve their own pleasure. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, unable to do anything but writhe in their grasps.

With a final lap of your tongue over her womanhood Rhaenyra comes undone against your tongue. Like before her thighs press against your head keeping you locked in place. The sounds that escape her are so indecent you would have never thought sounds like that could come out of the realms delight. Greedily you swallow everything she gives you.

The spell Rhaenyra cast over you is broken when Daemon spanks your ass again, but now you’re able to turn your head to face him. Head laying on Rhaenyra’s thigh looking back to see Daemon smirking, continuing his assault on your sensitive walls, hips slapping against yours.

“Uncle…Uncle” you breathe out feeling the thundering shockwaves of pleasure crashing over you. Your words do nothing to divert Daemon, who continues to fuck himself into you.

In a matter of short moments you’re overwhelmed by pleasure—pushed over the edge by a final slap on the ass by Daemon. You muffle your cry into the bed, shaking in elation. Your body feels like it was struck by lightning, overly sensitive by the pleasure that was just ripped out of you.

Behind you Daemon unsheathes himself from the warmth of your cavern. Without his hands holding your hips up, you drop onto the soft bed. Mind left a puddle of mush as sleep begins to weigh your eyelids. Your consciousness begins to slip into the realm of dreams, not bothering to check on the wellbeing of your sister or uncle.

The bed dips at both ends and you feel gentle hands adjust you against the bed, laying you onto your back.

“Come here sweet dragon I’d like you on top when I release my seed”, Daemon says crawling above you. Your eyes flutter open at the sound of his voice and he smiles down at you.

Rhaenyra laughs from beside you, “You’re insatiable. Can’t you see she is tired”

He turns to her, “She is free to object,” then returns to you, “Do you object princess?”

You know you should, not sure if your body could handle any more of what Daemon wanted to give you. He would surely tear you apart, leaving his marks on your body and spent for days to come—the thought sends a thrill of anticipation down your spine.

His eyes bear into yours and there’s a hint of softness in them you had never seen before. Of the entirety of your stay in Dragonstone he had never once spared you a glace much less held a conversation with you. Yet now he wanted nothing more than to consume you and after the events of the night your mind has gone feeble. And the look in his eyes is all persuasion you needed, through hooded eyes you shake your head.

“There’s your answer wife” Daemon shoots her a boastful smile, in return she laughs. His attention is drawn back to you with a kiss, it’s short and sweet but you’re far too tired to appreciate it for what it’s worth.

“Come now,” he pulls you up with him maneuvering you on top of him as he lays with his back against the bed. Without needing to be told what to do you spread your legs straddling his lap. Daemon ushers your hips over his standing manhood, gently pushing the tip of his cock into your drenched entrance.

Your sensitive walls make it near impossible for you to fully take him. He groans below slowly pushing you further and further onto his cock. Your body shutters as you take all of Daemon, every single one of your nerve endings on fire.

After a moment his hands fall onto your hips guiding you to rise then fall onto him. The sensation leaves you trembling, unable to hold your head up, it falls on his chest.

Your eyes are screwed shut feeling an aching pain coiling in your stomach as tears threaten to spill out, “I…I can’t” you almost sob

He shushes you running his hand over your hair in a consoling manner, “You can”

Tears begin to stain your face as your abused walls clutch against Daemon. He thrust into you slowly, grabbing your face so you’d meet his gaze. You’re fully seated on him as a tear falls from your right eye, he brushes a tear from your face bringing your face to his.

“Such a good girl taking me so well,” he praises, burying his head in the crock of your neck. He leaves a trail of kisses up your jaw, “Could spend the rest of my life buried inside you”

His words shouldn’t thrill you as much as they do, yet you find desire pooling at your feet lulling the coiling pain. Pleasure comes slow and then all at once bliss blossoms through your body, the sensitivity of your previous releases leaving you with a heightened sensitivity.

Without Daemon’s guidance you lift your hips and sink yourself back down. You moan when Daemon meets your lifted hips, moving your hands onto his chest straightening your back to sit yourself comfortably. It’s like nothing you’ve felt before, you’re completely full of cock—stuffed to the brim. The feeling is addicting as if your sole purpose in life was to be seated on Daemon’s cock.

He fucks into you quickening his pace, your cries become louder and more frequent completely entranced in a haze of blistering hot euphoria. You’re pressing your hips against his trying to reach your peak again, chasing that intoxicating feeling. Perhaps Rhaenyra’s idea was not so bad afterall, you give them all the heirs they wanted.

“You’ve been such a good girl for us” he says rutting up to you, his grip tightening around your hips. Indenting into the plush of your skin sure to leave bruises. Your mind becomes a flurry filled blur as you begin to bounce on your uncle’s cock. Hands pressed to his chest trying to find some sort of grounding leverage. You find it, if only momentarily before Daemon’s tip brushes against a spongy part of your cunt.

A loud cry emits from your lips, unable to hold yourself together any longer. Your walls clench around Daemon who digs his fingers further onto your skin. A groan bubbles in his chest; it's almost animalistic as it travels up his throat. Your eyes fall onto his, there's a dangerous edge of hungering lust that has your head spinning.

A dangerous smile dances on his lips as his hands travel up your chest towards your bouncing breasts. He cups them, holding them for a moment before squeezing. You shiver at the feeling of his warm fingers on your cold nipples.

Nearly falling apart at the sensation combined with his insistent thrusts. At the speed he’s hammering you with, you know he’s about to reach his peak. Your eyes close shut when his forefinger and thumb clamp around your right nipple rolling it between them.

You feel your head explode with pleasure, it shutters through you with such intensity your vision goes white. There’s a brief moment where you think Daemon has fucked you blind. But when you see the ‘o’ shape of his mouth you’re almost thankful he did not, loving the image of him left at your mercy.

The spasming of your high around him pushes Daemon into his own release. Your nails dig into his skin as he spills himself inside of you, his head thrown back in a moan as your cunt milks his cock.

After a moment his thrusts become shallow as his elation wears off. He smiles triumphantly, hands sliding down to your hips. His glee should fill you with shame—regretful of the sinful actions that took place upon your sister’s marriage bed but instead you feel satisfied.

Breathlessly you collapse on his chest feeling his seed leak out of you. With your head against his chest you think you should run out of the room, flee to the walls of your chambers and hide from the grotesque act you committed. But exhaustion wears on your bones rendering you unable to move. Your legs tremble, tender from the amount of pressure they endured.

Daemon says something but you don’t catch a single utterance.

“Mhm” you hum too tired to ask him to repeat himself. He chuckles, readjusting you both on the bed, you moan as he moves—his cock still buried inside you.

Your eyes close inhaling Daemon, the smell of leather and musk invades your nostrils. You hate that you find it comforting, hate that you want to stay wrapped in the arms of your sister’s husband. A man that was not yours and yet allowed to defile your womanhood.

As if Daemon could sense your storming thoughts he traces his fingers on the small of your back. His touch brings you a strange solace, tomorrow you would feel conflicted about your blossoming emotions towards your sister and her husband. Tonight you’d sleep sheltered from the storm, tomorrow you’d face the reality of your situation.

“Are you drifting off to sleep?” Daemon's voice is almost sweet but before you could answer the chamber door opens. The sound of footsteps entering alert you to a new presence but you can’t move limbs weighing you down instead you hide in the crook of Daemon’s neck. Mortified to have been caught in the bed chambers of the future Queen and her King Consort.

“And where did you run off too?” Daemon nonchalantly asks his fingers still tracing patterns on your skin

“Refreshments my love,” the sound of your sister’s voice comes as a surprise, you hadn’t noticed the absence of her presence. But you’re happy she’s returned, missing the warmth of her body on yours. You lift your head to see her standing at the foot of the bed, a plate full of fruits and a flagon of wine in hand.

“Who’s insatiable now?”

#targaryen reader #rhaenyra targaryen/reader #daemon targaryen/reader #daemyra/reader #hotd fic #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #this is so bad im so sorry

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gguk-n · 9 months ago

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Chapter 1- Anonymous Conversations

Unravelling Max's Mystery (Max Verstappen x Online Friend!Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Y/N formed an unexpected bond with a boy behind the screen. He doesn't have many interest it seems, except for reading her stupid poems.

{Reader's POV}

12/07/2012

Dear Diary, Stella is leaving for Canada tomorrow forever. Today was the last day of school before the summer break so I went to Stella's house after school. It's so shitty, how can she leave me like this and before the start of high school. I don't have any friends other than her, what am I supposed to do??? This isn't fair, first Faye moved back to her home country a couple years back and now Stella. It's like they don't even care about me. I made a google plus account so we can stay in touch. Actually everyone's on google plus, I'm just late to the party. I'm sure we'll still be close.

02/01/2013

OMG!! I think I'm in love. There's this new boy band, One Direction. Ava told me about them last year but I brushed her off saying they weren't my cup of tea, but OMG!!! They are fucking perfect and I love Niall so much. He's so cute and has the dreamiest eyes and his accent, I'm gonna faint. I bought the Take Me Home album yesterday!! I even put up their poster above my bed, hehe!! Sooooo, I may or may not be writing now. I think I'm gonna be an author. The stuff isn't great like Shakespeare but I'm sure I'll improve. I've written a couple poems and Aria read them and she thinks they are great. I'm gonna start uploading them on google plus. I made a separate page for it, under a pseudonym. If I really improve, maybe I can publish my work.

I was sat at my laptop, typing the latest story I came up with during lunch so I could upload it. There were a lot of people who were reading my work and even encouraged me. There is improvement, but then again, we can do better, I'm sure. My parents aren't very happy with how I'm wasting my time writing instead of focusing on my education since I'm in high school now. I finished typing the story and clicked the upload button, I got a comment on the post. It was from this guy, named Max, just Max. He always read all of my work and writes the nicest comments under them. I haven't spoken to him personally ever since my mother kept warning me about stranger danger and that it could be some 50 year old dude. But his comments are encouraging and make me want to write more. I hope he knows the kind of effect he's having on me.

My birthday is in a couple of days, I don't know what I'll do since I don't really have a lot of friends. Even Aria is away during that time, so I don't really have anyone to go out with. My parents are busy as always.

So, out of desperation or sadness, I don't know which one, I posted on google plus saying that it was my birthday. The first person who replied was Max as always. I really wanna know when this guy sleeps or how he gets any work done if he is online so much. He messaged me personally too, to wish me again and even asked what I did. I couldn't lie because my heart was heavy, so I told him. I literally just unloaded about not having any friends and spending the day alone because work was more important for my parents. He was so nice about it. He spent the next hour talking to me and cheering me up. He's apparently 15, from Netherlands. He loves cats and lives with his dad and sister. He sounds like a fun guy.

After that, both of us ended up chatting on google plus regularly. I would message him immediately after school and spend the next couple of hours talking to him. Some times, he'd be gone a couple weekends but it was no biggy. I'm sure he had other commitments instead of entertaining a dumb teenager.

Max's birthday is on 30 September. I wanted to be the first one, so I stayed up late to match the dutch timings and wished him. He replied a little while later. He wasn't very excited about it. I get it, maybe his friends aren't there or couldn't make it to his birthday. I was gonna cheer him like he cheered me up. I wish I could send him a present. He really was a light in dark time. When I had no friends in school I could rely on, he came like the knight in shining armour. I just want to be a good and reliable friend to him like he is to me. He is such a sweetheart. We've never spoken on call yet. I guess I'm still a little scared and we've only known each other for a few months. I'm gonna hold on that but Max is a genuinely nice person in my eyes. But his dad doesn't sound like the nicest person from what he says, but I can't tell him that his dad is shitty so I just read his texts.

18/12/2013

Dear Diary, Maxie is the cutest. I haven't seen or heard him yet but I feel like he is. Otherwise, why would he encourage me to follow my dreams? He was so understanding and gave great advice. You might wonder why I needed the advice, diary. I told my parents I wanna pursue a degree in literature and we had a huge fight since apparently I'm throwing my life away and I should try to get a proper degree that might get me a job. Apparently, I'm not thinking straight. I've been thinking about becoming an author for some time now, it's my one passion, I've realised. And if it means struggling, I would rather struggle and be happy than be in a dead end job. Just because they are some big shot business people doesn't mean I wanna do that do. ugh!!! I hate them. Maxie calmed me down honestly, he heard me out and told me it was okay to follow my dreams. I think he is such a good friend. I won't tell him that, he has a big ego as is. LOL!!

I've been gaining a lot of traction on my posts on google plus. I have a couple thousand followers but Max is the most active of them all. Max is so effortlessly funny. He did ask one time if we could talk on call, I told him that my microphone was broken. I'm still a little skeptical. I know, even though I'm literally sharing everything with him, I've never spoken on call or video with him. Maybe some day.

04/03/2014

Dear Diary, I got a new phone and a new number. The previous one was one of my parents multiple numbers but this one is my own. I feel like an adult, hehe!! I made a whatsapp, maybe I'll share my number with Maxie and we might start chatting on there. Google plus had become a bit of hassle and I'm not uploading on it like I used to. I usually only open it to talk to Max. I think it would be better to shift it to another service. He's been a little busy this year compared to the last, didn't tell me much but I think it has to do with him being in his final year of high school. Can't relate, but I hope I'm done with high school soon. It fucking sucks. But on the bright side, I've gotten close to Nia and Aria and I could call Aria my best friend but she considers Nia her best friend. I don't mind being her friend. I have Max anyways.

Max has been quite busy lately, but I don't blame him. I would be busy in my final year of high school too. Even with all that, he has taken time out to talk to me. I did share my number with him, so now instead of google plus, which is a barren wasteland, we text on whatsapp. I've suggested talking on call some time when he's free, which hasn't happened yet.

We had set up a time to talk, it was really early here but I didn't mind, I was up anyways. I couldn't wait to hear his voice. I was anxious as well, what if he's some pedophile; all these thoughts raced through my head when my phone rang. Max- Hi, Y/N! Y/N- Hey, Max!! How are you? Max- I'm good, what about you? Y/N- Yeah, I'm good too. haha!! This is so weird talking to you. Max- yeah, you sound pretty. Fuck was he flirting, is this flirting? A million thoughts ran through my head, no one's ever flirted with me before. I felt my cheeks heat up. Y/N- You sound nice too. I mean....you have a nice voice. Max- haha, thanks, this is the first time some one has said that. Y/N- soooo, what have you been up too?? You've been so busy lately. There was a pause on the other end. I heard shuffling. Max- yeah, I've been busy with stuff. I'll be done soon for a while now. Y/N- That's great I need my best friend back! The conversation flowed smoothly. It didn't feel like we were talking on call for the first time. I had a lot of fun talking to Max. He sounds like a teenager, much to my relief. He's just as funny on call as he is on text.

After that, we ended up calling each other regularly. Max would answer my calls whenever but sometimes I felt bad about calling him at the crack ass of dawn in Netherland so I would avoid calling him whenever. He is so kind and listens well but damn does he talk. Every one who knows me calls me talkative, if they heard Max their ears would bleed. But I like hearing him talk, he has the most random and vast knowledge, he's helped me write too many of my papers because I didn't have to research, I could just ask him; he's like a walking encyclopedia.

17/05/2015

Dear Diary, I think I'm in love. It's not some celebrity this time but I think it's Max. I don't even know that dude's last name but I'm in love. He not like the guys in school, he's so mature and funny and sweet and understanding and he supports me so much. I didn't know when or how but I think I love him. Obviously I won't tell him. It's prolly a crush since I have't dated anyone ever. I'll get over it, can't ruin my friendship over this. As is, he has gotten so busy. I think he is going to college. He didn't say it explicitly but why else would he be so busy right now if not applying for colleges. I don't know the dutch education system but I'm sure he busy pursuing higher education. He said he liked cars, I think he'll do something with cars. I didn't really ask in more details. I'm sure he'll tell me when he wants to. We have a chill friendship, we share when and what we want to. Alas, I hope this crush doesn't ruin my friendship.

09/08/2015

This is bad, my crush on Max has only gone on to increase. He's so kind to me, what am I supposed to do? Also he's the only one who can calm me down after a fight with my parents regarding my future. Sadly, he gotten so busy. He's gone for a while every few weeks. But lately he's been free. We've been talking a lot. He sounds a lot more rested lately too. I'm sure college is tough. But he's strong and I know he'll do it.

[Little did Y/N know, Max was busy racing across the world in Redbull's junior team. He was in his first year as a formula one driver, hence he was so busy. Max had no intentions of telling her, he liked being just Max, a guy from Netherlands who could talk to her. He enjoyed the disconnect he got with her]

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delphi-shield · 1 year ago

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OLD FOLKS HOME ↪ age gap hcs

the people you love & the shit they do that reminds you of the dreaded Gap (tm). characters included: leon kennedy, chris redfield, jill valentine, claire redfield, rebecca chambers no warnings to speak of. remember kids, if you're gonna date people in their 30s and 40s, you're gonna have different cultural contexts and, most likely, different senses of humor.

Leon is eight levels of irony deep. He started doing Old Guy Shit just to mess with you, and now it's all come full circle.

It turns out he actually likes watching the weather channel. He’s monitoring storms that are miles and miles away from you, pointing out the feeder bands like it’s some kind of sporting event.

He's genuinely invested in Ice Road Truckers. He asks you to TiVo it for him when he's gone. You do not have TiVo. In fact, you're pretty sure no one still has TiVo.

Or you were, until Leon once again committed to the bit and got TiVo.

Really, genuinely annoying about old movies, actors, and directors.

”What do you mean you don’t know who Robert Redford is? The Candidate? Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? C’mon. He was even in an episode of The Twilight Zone. You’ll know him when you see him.”

At least you get movie dates out of it.

Movie dates that he will pepper with trivia about the film, by the way. You don't need the commentary track. He is the commentary.

I'm so, so sorry about this. 🤪 is his favorite emoji. I know. I'm sorry.

Chris cannot fucking hear. To be honest, I think most of them have some degree of hearing loss - but Chris in particular seems to have very subjective hearing loss.

Yes, you were just having a full-fledged conversation. No, he didn’t hear you ask him to take out the trash. He didn’t forget, he just didn’t hear you. Sorry, you were standing on his right - come on, you know that’s his bad side.

Explains basic technology to you because he’s not sure if you know what it is. Then, in the same breath, crams in so many military acronyms he may as well be reciting the alphabet. Does not explain the acronyms.

Like, yeah, Chris. I know what a landline is. Dial-up internet, too. Now, what the fuck is an ORE?

Have you ever gotten ‘ok’ in response to a nude? You’re about to. Completely demoralizing, by the way.

He didn't know you wanted him to compose a poem dedicated to your beauty, okay? He tries to get better, but winds up sending shit like 'wow 👍'

Does the dad thing where he insists he's not interested in watching what's on TV and then stands with his hands on his hips in the middle of the living room, enthralled by the show.

Jill does not understand your music. She will not make an attempt to understand your music. If you see her tapping her foot to the beat, no you do not. She is not interested in expanding her musical horizons.

She only bought you tickets to that concert because she knew you would love it. She only went with you because you’re cute when you’re so into this stuff. She only bought that t-shirt because it would be a good souvenir, and eventually, a good grease rag.

Generalized distrust of social media. Do not show her a tiktok. She will ignore the video and lecture you about data safety. Jill, please. Just watch the fucking cat video.

And then she turns around and opts in to literally everything on the McDonald's app.

If there’s a rewards program, she’s in. Already sold. Didn’t even read the fine print. All that shit she was telling you about how you need to be more careful is right out the window for some free fries.

Anything for the thrill of a good deal. If she had more time on her hands, she would be couponing.

Buys in bulk. No, it doesn't matter if the two of you could not physically eat that much rice. It's cheaper to buy it like this. It's fine. It's good for you.

Gotta stock up on non-perishables, too. You gotta be prepared in case something happens. "Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it."

Claire cannot stop shopping from QVC. She's in the kitchen with David. It Takes Two with Mary and Sandra? Wrong. It actually takes three. Mary, Sandra, and Claire.

Infomercials have got her by the throat. You have so many gadgets and gizmos around your home that are just collecting dust.

Gets wine drunk and goes online shopping. Legitimately does not remember what she’s bought.

Absolutely will not let you open the packages. (“Some of this stuff could be for you, you know.” “Claire, last time it was a 10,000 count package of googly eyes.” “And I used all 10,000. You still haven’t found them all.”)

Uses every piece of technology until it’s about to fall apart. Absolutely not interested in having the latest and greatest. She’s one of those people who insists that as long as her phone can make calls and send texts, she doesn’t need a new one.

Speaking of texts. Somehow, she got it into her head that a read receipt is equivalent to a reply. She doesn't get what the problem is. You know she saw your text. Why does she have to reply?

Genuinely doesn't mean anything malicious by it - but also, if you did that to her, you would never hear the end of it.

Rebecca legitimately has facebook humor. They all have some degree of facebook humor, but she's got it the worst.

Will blow up your notifications tagging you in shit that is just straight up not funny. I’m talking full on tagging you with “😂😂😂”

Unironically sent you a minion meme once.

It's not that she's disconnected. She teaches undergrads. She knows what’s in, even if it’s only from the periphery. It’s just that she doesn’t care. She has no interest in keeping up with trends just for the sake of it. She’s so used to being the youngest person in the room and having to keep up expectations that she just absolutely does not care anymore. She's glad she's not one of the kids anymore.

If it made her laugh it made her laugh, her enjoyment isn’t shackled by feelings of shame!!

If you have a group chat on any platform with your friends please invite her. She's just happy to be included. She'll make a discord if she has to, and she'll brag about it to her students.

Yeah, she says pupper and doggo. She does. Look at her.

#resident evil headcanons #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #chris redfield x reader #jill valentine x reader #claire redfield x reader #rebecca chambers x reader #resident evil fanfic #resident evil #leon kennedy

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kaibutsushidousha · 4 months ago

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What are your thoughts on orihime?

Ichigo's little group of friends exist to be basis of Bleach's arcs. The Soul Society arc is envisioned as Rukia's arc, which is a no-brainer because Rukia is a Shinigami. The Lost Agent is envisioned as Chad's arc, and even if it fails that role, the choice is understandable due to Chad being a Fullbringer. The Blood War is envisioned as Uryuu's arc, obvious again because Uryuu is a Quincy. But Orihime is a Fullbringer, so realizing what makes her fit at the center of the Arrancar arc requires a little more thought.

Well, I'd say the answer can be found about as early as possible. Orihime simply isn't like any other character in the good side. A whole lot of characters in Bleach have tragic pasts, but only Orihime is shown having a tragic present. The other Karakura people have comfortable houses with providing families. The Seireitei is a high class place directly contrasted with the poor Rukongai. The Visored and Xcution are united communities. Unclear about the Quincies in Silbern because we never the status quo there before the times of war.

Meanwhile, Orihime lives alone thanks to cutting ties with her parents at age 4 and losing her brother at age 12. She survives out of part-time jobs and financial support from distant relatives who determine how much money she gets based on her grades. The status quo of Bleach is pretty rough on her, and if I'm not forgetting anyone, her alone. She's doing what she can to survive under a constant threat of hunger, which is something Bleach otherwise only portrays as the lifestyle of a Hollow. I'll get back to this later.

The point here is that Orihime's life sucks. But that's not a thing that ever shows. Orihime in public is just a silly airhead constantly presented as the most cheerful person around. Her screentime in normal school situations is marked by her filtering her unpleasant reality with outlandish imagination. Her antics make her look really stupid, but we're shown that she isn't as she has 3rd best grades in their school. Intentional as her silliness is, she can't afford to be a bad student because that affects how much bread she gets to every month, as mentioned above.

And Bleach wastes no time explaining why she's like that. Still in volume 1, it's already established that Orihime spent her whole life being protected by others. First Sora, then Tatsuki, and now Ichigo. And because she grew up like this, her greatest wish is to not be a problem.

She let Sora bite her because life going on without him was being a problem to him and having to protect her was being a problem to Ichigo. She puts on a smile at school and keeps her conditions a secret to avoid being a problem to anyone who could care about her living situation. She let Ulquiorra take her because she didn't want to be a problem to anyone willing to fight Aizen for her sake. Her experience in Soul Society should have told her that this last one would backfire tremendously, but in her moment of weakness, she couldn't fight against her ingrained habit of avoiding being a burden.

Another key point of her early characterization is obviously her relationship with Ichigo. He was just a cool funny guy at first, until Sora's incident made him interesting, so she asked Tatsuki about him, and only really started caring after hearing about Masaki's death. This happens in a volume where she takes the cover and her opening poem is "If I were the rain [...] could I tie hearts together?". The rain is the symbol of Ichigo's grief, and Orihime falls for Ichigo by associating the lost of his mother with the loss of her brother. She connects best by relating to suffering, which shows later in the many, many, many times she's shown healing Arrancars after years practically living like a Hollow when in the world of the living.

This is kinda of a sudden change of topic, but things are sorta moving in chronological order here and the next big checkpoint is Orihime's first fight, so I'll conclude the talk about her position there and now talk about her powers.

Orihime gets Shun Shun Rikka, a Fullbring centered around rejection of events. Like Bleach abilities tend to do, this power goes incredibly well with Orihime's established characterization. Reality sucks for her but she keeps things by rejecting it through her filter of imagination. She can attack with this power, but it's best suited as a shield (preventing causing problems for others) or healing (making people forget their problems).

She then proceeds to not do much in Soul Society, then early into the Arrancar arc, she loses to Yammy and gets to negatively compare herself to Rukia, who did well in her first on-screen fight ever. Her feelings of uselessness pile up and compound into the 5 lives scenes, which as I already told you before, I consider the emotionally powerful dialogue Kubo has ever written. Not much to comment on it, the moment speaks for itself.

For Orihime, the bulk of the Arrancar arc is spent interacting with Ulquiorra. It's a really challenging experience for her because Ulquiorra has zero emotional depth. He was an ancient Hollow with no eyes, ears, nose, or mouth, being unable to perceive the outside world until Aizen broke his mask. Starrk, Barragan, and Grimmjow's backstories establish that Arrancars inherit experiences from their Hollow selves. Breaking their masks didn't change who they are. But Ulquiorra has no experiences because his Hollow life was spent entirely in the nothingness of himself.

Orihime has always been engaging with people through a smile-shaped web of lies, social conventions, and bravado, but Ulquiorra still haven't experienced humanity enough for that to work on him. He responds only to cold truths, so Orihime's typical conversation strategies are proven useless. It forces her to change her ways. She can only teach him about the heart by being honest and direct. Arrancars are about literal broken masks, but Orihime makes herself part of their story by having her metaphorical mask broken.

After that, we have the Lost Agent arc, which doesn't really take Orihime further (and doesn't really need to since Arrancar was her main focus arc) but does an amazing show of progress for post-Ulquiorra Orihime by introducing Riruka, a tsundere who hangs with Orihime a lot. While Riruka is as full of walls and bravado as Orihime originally was, this Orihime gets to be effortlessly vulnerable, recapping her horrible backstory to her new friend, being called creepy for her apparently fake smile, and clarifying that she actually can smile for real because she was already saved from her past.

The final arc doesn't do much with her aside from putting her in the final boss battle, so I guess I'll use this space to talk about how her progression in combat participation feels really well-paced. She goes from being squarely away from major action in Soul Society to not interfering with the fight but making a point to stay near the battle vs Grimmjow to start tactically throwing shields vs Ulquiorra to getting Ichigo actively ask for her help vs Ywhach.

Ok, that last is probably more about Ichigo himself having learned to ask for help 10 minutes ago after cringing at Uryuu's inability to rely on his friends and taking him as an antithesis model (pun intended).

But still, I love this kind of step-by-step character growth model, it reminds me of how Yugi and Atem's dynamic grew from Yugi unaware to Yugi aware to them starting to talk to them working together vs Pegasus to Yugi dueling alone to Yugi defeating Atem. Always great to see an author commit to a flowchart of development like that.

#bleach #orihime inoue #ulquiorra cifer

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vietcrepes · 10 months ago

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◡ ✶ SCHOLARS IN SESSION!

study date headcanons with the sbg kids

◡ ✶ notice board: gn!reader as always, not proof read, established relationship, food mentioned in taylor's part, might be ooc

୨୧ ASHLYN BANNER

she doesn't really care for studying, between phantoms and ballet, studies are one of her last priorities. she'll do the very bare minimum to pass and make good score, but making time out of the day to study more? she'll respectfully pass. there are other ways she'd rather spend time with you, like curled up in bed, or teaching you how to dance.

it's not until it gets to exams that she decides a study date won't be bad, and if it's just the two of you it'll be peaceful. now, studying might not be her favorite thing, but when she studies she's focused, just as she would be in anything else.

you were in ashlyn's living room, her parents providing with plenty of snacks as she listened to music through her headphones. you? absolutely bored out of your mind. you had to analyze this poem and it was your least favorite thing to do in the world. ashlyn felt eyes boring into her head, and met eyes with you. with a sigh, ashlyn moved over to be closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and continuing with her work. "you're the one who wanted to study, at least focus for a bit"

◡ ☆ click to read the rest!

୨୧ AIDEN CLARK

the one time you manage to sit him down to have one of those cute pinterest study dates is the day society reaches its peak

he'll probably be pacing around, playing on his phone, and maybe doing a problem here or there. he's struggling on a problem? he was simply destined to not know the answer. don't take this the wrong way though, he's a brilliant student, really!! once he sees you struggling he'll be explaining the problem flawlessly, like he was the teacher of the class himself

"babe" aiden dragged out, on his phone as he draped his body on top of yours, "we've been here forever, let's go to the arcade" your features softened at the sight of aiden, but you had to stay stubborn. "no, it's only been 15 minutes hun, I need to finish this assignment." you were stuck on the math behind this particular chemistry problem, and it was driving you insane. "oh, you just have to convert the units to moles so you can cancel out the units in the next step" he said, looking up from his phone. "wait what-" you said, realizing he was right. he only beamed, once again asking if you two could go to the arcade. with a sigh, you gave in. after all, who could deny what aiden clark wanted?

୨୧ BEN CLARK

he tries his best to focus, but ultimately he ends up taking a nap halfway through the study date. the combination of schoolwork, classical/lofi music, and the soft sun worked in harmony to have ben doze off. if you play with his hands or hair it'll be the final thing that sends him to sleep. no matter how many times it happens you just can't bring yourself to wake him up

you scribbled in your notebook, listening intently to the history video playing on your laptop. after all, you had a written paper coming up that you needed to study for. your hand was intertwined with Ben's, the both of you sitting at the Clark's kitchen island as you could hear aiden playing video games upstairs. your fingers were intertwined with his, rubbing circles on his hand absentmindedly as your brows furrowed in focus. feeling ben's hand go limp in yours, you glanced over. he was fast asleep, blissfully undisturbed by your upcoming exams. you smiled, and tangled your hand in his hair as you decided against waking him up.

୨୧ TYLER HERNANDEZ

no matter how exhausted he is, he'll always find time for studying. he's driven and knows what he needs to do to achieve his goals, but his priorities can skew, especially after the savannah trip. he unfortunately has other worries, namely you, taylor, and whatever the hell goes on at midnight

it's you who reminds him to refocus on baseball and his studies, and once he does it's like he never lost his focus in the first place. he doesn't like studying for more than 4 hours a day, and usually only studies for around 3. no matter how long he's studying though, one things for certain, he'll always be touching you, whether it be a hand on a thigh or holding hands

tyler stifled a yawn, finishing up his annotations for this english passage as he got ready to write an analysis on the language use. the two of you were on his bunk, you researching for a presentation for another class. your head was rested on his shoulder, rambling on about how one of your group mates simply refused to do their part for the project. he listened intently, chiming in with the occasional "what an asshole" or even a "snitch on them." when your tangent was done, you went back to a comfortable silence with you typing away and tyler slouched over, writing away.

୨୧ TAYLOR HERNANDEZ

taylor is the perfect study date, point blank period. she's just as driven and zoned in as her brother but she's light hearted and doesn't make studying feel like a chore. she'll bring plenty of snacks and ask plenty of questions

while her questions are greatly appreciated, they can tend to stray off topic from your studies. in fact, most of the time they result in you two talking about issues entirely unrelated. before you knew it, piles of unfinished homework was before you and two hours had been spent talking.

taylor spun her pencil around, doodling on her science worksheet as she laid down on her stomach, swinging her feet in the air. she had finished a good portion of her work, but she had kept the hardest subjects for last. you were taking a break, mindlessly scrolling through your phone as a much-needed refresher. taylor, now uninterested in working, propped her chin up with her hand as she asked, "want to look at my welding projects?" upon hearing your laughter, she quickly sat up, "it'll be a nice break! we'll still study afterwards!" she defended, steadfast in her beliefs. you gave in, and an hour later you weren't even focused on welding, but rather something else entirely.

୨୧ LOGAN FIELDS

i feel like logan prefers studying the subjects he's good at on his own — he'll get into the flow of the equations and rules of the world that he'll be in his own little bubble.

of course, you are the exception to this. he loves doing anything if it's with you. he's willing to help you but you try not to rely on him too much, you won't be able to retain the information if you don't struggle through yourself after all. despite this, he'll go out of his way and help you if he sees you stuck on the same problem after too much time

logan glanced over at you, chewing on your bottom lip as you furrowed your eyebrows at the paper. he smiled, placing a hand on your back as he leaned in. he smelled flowery, an obvious side effect of working at the flower shop. you leaned on his shoulder, complaining about the problem and the class. "it's simple, you just need to look at it from another angle." he said, picking up your pencil before explaining in detail

writers note: it's my biggest fear... headcanons. this is just something indulgent and short n sweet 🙂‍↕️ ashlyns feels so ooc and poorly written I am so sorry ashlyn lovers.

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sweetestberryofthebunch · 4 months ago

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Scars On My Mind (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Ever heard of the Daughters of Liberty? When Agatha appears at your doorstep covered in blood with a knitting needle peeking out of her elbow, you certainly wish you hadn’t. Here’s how it went.

Content/Warnings: WitchKiller!Agatha, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Injury, So Much Blood, Open Wound, Angst, Mild Mentions of NSFW Content, no beta we die like the Daughters of Liberty

This fic is a gift for @marril96 who made a gifset for me in return! Ily, let's swap again! It was so so so much fun to dive a little deeper into Agatha’s Witch Killer days with this, and make her a little vulnerable for once!

The rain started on Thursday night and hadn’t stopped since. A continuous drumming against your window, the world outside tainted a muddy grey. It was the earliest hours of Saturday now, Friday had passed silently without you noticing, the continuous waterfalls of raindrops on the windows not letting up to let the days pass either. The vinyl player kept playing as Friday had slipped into Saturday too, the kettle kept simmering as you prepared a boiling cup of Agatha‘s favourite tea blend. Even as the days drifted away, the world kept going. Boiling hot water turned into lukewarm turned into cold, the vinyl finished playing, spinning to a halt. The rain kept thrumming.

You sighed, leaning back on the couch, eyes fluttering shut. Agatha was late, like, even later than usually. And you were tired, sleep tugging at your bones with gradually more and more urgency.

But it was useless to go to bed, no matter how often she insisted you shan’t wait for her. You wouldn’t find much sleep anyway. Not on nights like this. When Agatha was out with other witches, when she set out to … feed? Kill? Siphon?

Well, it was hard to find any rest while she was out there like that.

She may have laughed when you’d admitted to that, throwing her leather jacket over her shoulders before pulling you into a quick kiss by your neck.

„There’s nothing to worry about, darling. I do this all the time.“

But still, as the front door to your little nyc apartment swung open and she sauntered out, chirping a „See you tonight, honey!“, over her shoulder at you, the pit in your stomach remained. The ghost of her palm on the back of your neck remained.

You sighed, taking a sip of the cold tea you’d prepared. If she wasn’t coming home in time, you certainly wouldn’t let the water go to waste.

They’d just raised the prizes for utilities on you. And while Agatha had just laughed and mentioned some inactive bank account she had in Germany that she‘d simply pull from, you couldn’t help but stress about it.

It wasn’t that you didn‘t trust her, so far every time she’d mentioned some savings from one of her many, many lives it had always been true. But just because she was an undying, centuries old witch who didn’t have to concern herself with mundane things like paying bills didn’t mean you could just shake those things off the same.

You had no magick, but you did have your name on a lease. But so far, she’d always made it work somehow, whether that be with her old account of when she lived right beside the Berlin Wall ten years ago or by selling a quick spell or curse to some unassuming person desperate enough to pay for one. You weren’t even sure if she actually performed real spells all of the time. Your Agatha was a scam artist through and through, but you wouldn’t have her any other way.

You took another sip of tea, watching the rain pour down the window. Sometimes, you wondered how many more of you there had been. Agatha was good at dodging those questions, but one night, when you wouldn’t let off even after she’d made you come undone multiple times on the couch, she’d handed you a little cardboard box.

„I try not to be traceable and I can’t exactly show you baby pictures, but some stuff just sticks.“

The contents of the box were fragile, some paper so frail you barely wanted to touch it. Little notes, handwritten poems, a few pages torn out of books. A pencil sketch of the bunny that lived in a cage beside your bed, that she always made sure to drape a blanket over before going down on you. An ink sketch of her, without the worry lines on her forehead or the little wrinkles around her eyes. But, as always, with the amulet she never took off her body.

A few photographs. Black and white on flimsy film paper, Agatha in a flapper dress, feather in her hair and a cigarillo between her lips, legs spread as she leaned back on a barstool. Agatha in the same dress, smiling over her shoulder at the camera, a dark skinned woman in a matching dress sitting beside her, raising her champagne flute at the camera.

Jenny Kale, you knew from her stories, the most brilliant potions maker Agatha had ever met. And the most annoying one. They‘d fallen off, you assumed it had something to do with Agatha‘s habit of power grabbing.

But, there was also a Polaroid.

A Polaroid that lay on the coffee table in front of you now.

A Polaroid that had not left your mind since you’d found it.

Agatha with a wild, unkempt perm and uneven bangs, black liner smudged around her eyes, in a black tank top, arm stretched out to take the picture. But, what actually caught your eye was the arm wrapped around her waist, tight enough to bunch up the fabric of her shirt, revealing a thin line of pale skin of her lower stomach. The person hugging her was out of frame, all you could see was an arm, and a shoulder pressed into Agatha‘s, and the way the witch seemed to hold back a laugh. The handwriting under the picture was messy, and the black marker had faded over the years.

For my love A.H. 1982 - We can be heroes forever and ever

And then what you‘d assumed was once a heart, but got smudged by someone touching the ink before it had dried.

It was exactly what you‘d been looking for. Proof that there had been people before you. That you weren’t her first lover in the 350 long years of her life. Of course you weren’t, that’d be foolish to assume!

But still, the find had punched a hole into your stomach that had only hollowed out the more you thought about it.

How many other people had she taken a liking to, how many non magickal people had she moved in with, let them sign leases and contracts for her as she ran off to suck the magic out of the local witch community of wherever she found herself? How long had this been going on? How long until she’d move on?

Sure, you were young now, but other than her, the clock was ticking for you. Would you just wake up one day and find her gone? And would she bother to keep your picture? And, even if all of this was nothing, why would she hide it from you? She‘d told you about Jennifer Kale, but she‘d never ever mentioned living with someone during her time in Berlin, or any era before that.

You bit your bottom lip, hissing when you tasted the metallic tinge of your own blood.

Did you want to be just another picture in her little box of memories? Did she even deem you worth remembering?

It was stupid to think like that, and you knew that, but it was harder not to let the uncertainty consume you.

But, you were smart enough never to ask her about it directly. Your wild, fierce, unapologetic witch. You loved her, you had realised that the moment her eyes met yours for the first time, and you loved everything about the chaos and the magick and the passion that she brought into your life. Maybe that was why the potential answer scared you so much. Better to keep holding onto your belief than to risk knowing you didn’t mean as much to her as she did to you. Better to live in the harmony of what you had built with her.

You wish you‘d never asked her about her prior life, had never opened the paper box. Now that you had the Polaroid in hand, it was impossible to put down.

A sound ripped you from your self deprecating thoughts. A faint scratch, just loud enough that you were sure you hadn’t imagined it. Another one. Like a dog scratching at a locked front door … or a key that kept missing the hole it belonged into, and instead kept hitting the rough wood of your door.

You sat up. „Agatha?“

No answer. Fuck.

You knew Agatha had her enemies, it was impossible to live that long without them. Hell, there was a whole coven formed of the daughters of her prior victims, a piece of information you preferred to not think about too much. After all, you saw what she was capable of, saw her cast runes around the entire apartment to keep out evil spirits, the way she glowed after siphoning, the daily use of telekinesis and the occasional prodding your mind - which she swore was to remind you to keep up the mental wards she‘d taught you, and totally not because she enjoyed the image of her that danced around your thoughts since the day you met.

Wards you made sure you had up and intakt now as you grabbed a candelabra on your way towards the front door - the first weapon you‘d spontaneously found.

Another scratch at the door, then a grunt, and a little thud, like something was falling into the wooden frame.

„Agatha?“, you asked again, louder.

Panting, whoever was on the other side of the door was breathing heavily.

Here goes nothing. You bit down on your lower lip, fingers tightening around the candelabra. Twisting the doorknob, you held your weapon high, ready to strike. The wooden door flew open, you held your breath … only to immediately let it go in a loud shriek.

In front of you was in fact Agatha, however, this was not how you had expected her to return. Her shirt was torn and ripped apart, shreds of fabric barely clinging onto her. if you hadn’t known, you would have never guessed it used to be white fabric, for it was covered in mud and dirt and … a worrying amount of blood. There was so much blood. On her clothes, her face, her head. Like someone had dumped a bucket of red over her head. Agatha herself was shaking, her body leaning against the wooden doorframe, the key she was holding in her right hand quivering with every rattling breath she took. Her left arm … your stomach twisted. Her left arm was completely bare, the sleeve ripped away at the seam, and her skin was covered in dark red crusts of dried and fresh blood. It hung useless at her side, and as she shifted from one foot to her other, you saw a single, long piece of hard plastic sticking right out of her elbow.

Your stomach twisted at the sight, and you instinctively had to reach for the wall, not trusting your knees to support your weight right now.

Agatha’s eyes were open wide, blue piercing at you as she panted, a now dried drop of blood had run right between her eyes and down her nose. She looked insane. You felt insane.

And yet, she had the nerve to cock her brows at you. „The candlestick? Seriously? Do you have any idea how much that thing is worth these days?“

Slowly, you dropped your arm, the makeshift weapon sliding out of your grip and tumbling to the floor.

Agatha winced, like that was what really caused her pain right now.

„Agatha!“, you gasped, swallowing hard.

The witch bit her bottom lip, hard, before heaving her own body closer towards the entryway, pushing for you to let her in.

„I got ambushed“, she exclaimed, even though that didn’t explain anything at all, „This little bunch was smarter than they seemed. In theory at least“, she laughed, but it only made her grit her teeth, „All the spells and curses in the world, and they stab me with a fucking knitting needle!“

You gulped. So that was the thing peeking out of her elbow.

Glassy blue eyes found you, her glare bewildered, almost panicked. „Are you done now? I would love it if we could at least move this out of the hallway, before we wake the neighbors!“

Finally, you snapped back into reality. Agatha was injured, badly, and she was also leaving stains of red on your doorframe and the „Welcome Home“ doormat in the hallway. But those were problems for later.

Right now, you needed to get her to safety. You surged forwards, grabbing her by her uninjured shoulder, pulling her right arm around your neck.

„Lean onto me“, you instructed, kicking the candelabra out of your way as you slowly guided her into the apartment.

She was cold to the touch, too cold for your liking, but she still managed to tut at you anyway. „What would you say if i kicked your hairdryer around like that?“

You let the front door fall shut behind you, other arm wrapping around her waist to support her further.

“I would say Thank You Honey for not letting me bleed out on the doormat! but you can practice that later.“

That made her snort, and you felt her entire body wince in pain.

„Stop being funny“, she hissed, her right hand digging into your shoulder as you slowly guided her towards the couch, step by step, „It hurts.“

You finally reached the plush sofa and carefully sat her down. Agatha‘s body collapsed against the cushions with a groan, her head rolling back.

„Hey!“, you snapped your fingers right in front of her face, „Sit up! Don’t you dare faint on me!“

Her eyes fluttered, and you felt panic rise in your chest. Your palms found her cheeks, cupping her face gently as you pulled her head back up, forcing her to look at you. Blue eyes blinked up at you, pupils dilating when they closed in on your face.

„Agatha“, you said, taking a deep breath more to calm yourself than her, „I‘m gonna go grab the first aid kit, but I need you to stay with me, okay? No fainting. Can you curl your fingers for me?“

Her right hand curled into a weak fist with no issues, while her left hand laid beside her uselessly. You swallowed. „Okay, keep doing that. Clench, and unclench, exactly. I‘ll be back in a second.“

She blinked twice, and a small smile found her blood covered, cracked lips. „You’re worried about me“, she drawled deliriously, healthy hand coming up to poke your side. The touch was a lot weaker than you‘d like. „That’s hot.“

You bit down on your tongue. „You’re unbelievable“, you shook your head, making sure her own head was supported by the cushions behind her before letting go, „Keep clenching your fists!“

To your relief, the first aid kit was right under the sink in the bathroom, fully stocked and ready for you. On your way back out, you grabbed a towel as well.

Agatha was still sitting up when you came back, already digging through the first aid kit as you walked, pulling out bandages, alcohol wipes, and the little bottle of superglue you kept in the kit. You sucked your cheeks in, thumb running over the little tag on it. The next fifteen minutes were going to suck.

Glassy blue eyes watched you as you spread out your new findings on the coffee table. Her breath came in heaves, but at least they were even and her chest didn’t quiver with every gush of air that surged through her lungs anymore.

„How are you feeling?“, you asked, needing her to stay awake, stay with you at any costs.

Luckily, she had it back in her to let out a humourless chuckle. „Like shit. Those bitches betrayed me like I didn‘t teach them everything they knew.“

Even as you cut open the plastic baggy holding a bandaid, you had to give her a long look over your shoulder.

„Betraying the witch that was gonna betray them? How dare they.“

Agatha opened her mouth in protest, but then you sat back up on the couch next to her, the cushions she was resting her injured arm on shifting, and instead a high, pained whimper left her throat. The sound rang through your head and you pressed your lips together, carefully positioning her arm so the needle stuck in it was facing you.

„I‘m sorry“, you took a deep breath, „You‘re not gonna like me for the next few minutes, but I need you to stay still for me, okay?“ Your eyes found hers, and you gave her a firm little nod.

„What?“, Agatha's voice was weak, brows creased in confusion, her eyes barely focusing on you. You gave her a soft smile, hand closing around the knitting needle slow and firm. „Look out the window babe“, you softly hummed and Agatha‘s head rolled to the other side, lashes fluttering.

„Don’t turn around“, you said. But of course, she immediately turned back.

“The window Agatha!“, you sighed exasperated, not waiting for her to listen this time.

„Okay, one, two…“ Before you could say the next number, you gritted your teeth. With one firm tug, the knitting needle slid right out of her open wound.

Agatha screamed, flinching under your firm grip, head thrown back against the couch.

The needle made a wet sound as you pulled it out that made your stomach turn. Thick, red liquid was stuck to the plastic as well as fresh blood immediately pooling out of the wound at her elbow.

You quickly pressed the towel onto it, gripping Agatha’s arm tight so she couldn’t pull away, even as she screamed. The whimpers leaving her throat echoed through your bones, and you had to bite down on your cheek harder.

„I‘m sorry baby“, you pressed out, glancing over at her face. Fresh, salty tears ran down her face, parting the dried crusts of blood on her cheeks. She was biting down on her tongue, hard enough to draw blood, holding back her sobs as best as she could.

„Fuck you“, she sobbed weakly, eyes closed shut and you had to chuckle.

„That’s okay. Let it out.“, you hummed, pressing the towel down onto the wound with one hand. The pale blue fabric was quickly soaking up red, and you had to act fast, worried she was going to lose too much blood.

With your free hand you reached for the superglue, the lid already off, clear, stale liquid at the tip.

„I have to do one more thing that you‘re not gonna like“, you said, keeping your grip on her arm tight as she tried to pull away.

„No! Stop! That’s enough!“, she yelped and it took everything in you to stay firm. The wound needed closing, no matter how much it would hurt.

„Agatha!“, you held her tight, giving her a firm stare that held no room for discussion. When you saw the way her bottom lip was quivering despite her pushed forward chin, your voice softened.

“I‘m trying to help you. Just one more thing and you‘re done, I promise.“

Agatha swallowed hard, leaning towards you.

You let her, gently pressing your forehead to hers.

„That was scary“, she murmured, „They were so smart about it. Didn’t blast me once. Instead…“, her shoulders twitched in an attempt to shrug, the sharp pain causing her to wince.

„Instead you came home with a knitting needle in your arm“, you nodded, craning your neck. Your lips brushed over her forehead, the bittersweet mix of mud and blood on your tongue as you pressed a gentle kiss right over the crease she always pulled when she was in pain, but trying to be brave about it.

„This was terrifying, but you’re being so strong“, you leaned back again, enough to look her in the eyes one more time, „Let me close the wound and then it‘ll be over, I promise.“

And she let you.

As you pulled the towel away to inspect the wound closer, Agatha looked the other way, her right hand coming up to her mouth as you pulled the skin together. As you dropped the clear glue down onto the gash, pulling it closed with one hand and handling the bottle of superglue with the other, she let out another blood curdling scream, muffled only by her teeth digging into her own hand. But, it worked. The moment the liquid began to thicken, the bleeding stopped.

It took all the alcohol wipes of the kit to get her arm cleaned up, working quickly and in silence, knowing well not to talk to Agatha as hot tears ran down her cheeks. You made sure to save a wipe for the bite mark on her right hand too, and then once you were positive all of her injuries were cleaned, you finally reached for the bandaids.

By the time she was all patched up and in clean clothes (you‘d thrown her bloody shirt and all towels it had taken to get the muck off her face into the bathtub, a problem for later), the two of your curled up underneath a blanket, her healthy shoulder squeezed up against yours, the sun was coming up.

Finally, it had stopped raining too.

The two of you had shared a can of microwaved ravioli, and slowly but surely, the color was returning to Agatha‘s cheeks. You wrapped your arm tighter around her, nose nuzzling into the crown of her head. Her hair still smelled of metal and cinder, but that didn’t bother you right now. What mattered was that she was still with you, that her body was warm against yours and her breathing even.

The blanket rustled as she shifted in your hold, right hand coming up to rest over yours.

„Now.“, Agatha took a long breath, thumb running over your knuckles as she held your hands in hers. Finally, she seemed fully back to consciousness.

„Tell me why you‘ve been pondering all night instead of sleeping like I told you to.“

„What?“, your brows furrowed, tilting your head to the side in confusion as you glanced down at her.

Agatha nodded towards the coffee table, blue eyes fixed on a specific object scattered between the leftovers of your once organised and stacked first aid kit. „I doubt you‘re using that as a bookmark.“

Between scissors and a piece of bandage you‘d cut off, there was still the Polaroid you‘d taken from the box of her private possessions. Now, there was a single drop of blood on it, right above the black marker writing.

„Oh my god!“, you quickly reached for it, „I‘m so sorry, I‘ll clean that off!“

Before your hand could reach the photo, Agatha‘s unharmed arm lunged forward, hand closing around your wrist. Despite how pale she still looked, she pulled you back to her with no trouble, wrapping the blanket around you two tighter. Injury or not, there was still magick power running through her veins.

„Darling“, her pale eyes found yours, „Look at me.“

You didn’t dare break the eye contact she established, even though it was the last thing you wanted to do right now, ears hot with embarrassment.

„Have you been thinking about that?“ she asked, and you knew exactly what she meant. Her long, long life before you, the nature of your relationship. The only thing on your mind for days now.

„I mean, it‘s stupid!“, you shook your head „It’s naive to think I‘m something special, you’ve had such a long life already,“ you poked her side, „Even though that‘s hard to believe right now.“

Agatha‘s hoarse chuckle made you smile despite everything weighing on your mind.

„I‘m going to stop you right there.“

With her healthy hand, she tried to push herself up, eyes fluttering shut as she groaned in pain. You instinctively reached for her shoulders, helping her sit up and lean against the sofa cushions.

Her hand found your cheek, palm gently cupping your cheek.

„You are something special“, her voice was low and you swallowed hard.

„Do you think I could do this with just anyone? I was just bleeding out on your couch.“ Her eyes found yours, giving you a firm little nod. „Have there been others? Of course. A witches lifespan depends on her powers, and I‘m not exactly the type other witches want around for long. It can get lonely.“ Her lips pursed into a little smirk, brows rising. „But thanks to you, it‘s not. And thanks to you, it won’t end just yet either.“ She chuckled, raising her bandaged elbow with a sharp inhale.

Your hold on her shoulders tightened just the smallest bit, holding her upwards. Her thumb ran over your cheek, and you couldn’t suppress your smile at the touch.

„What I am saying is yes, there have been lovers before you. But that does not diminish your presence in my life, and it does not make you any less special. To be quite honest, you‘re the first person to have pulled a knitting needle out of my elbow.“

She let out a little laugh and soon, you joined in. Agatha‘s hand tugged at the back of your neck, and you willingly let her pull you into a sweet, gentle kiss. Her lips brushed against yours with the familiarity of someone who had practiced plenty, pushing her chin forward into the kiss like she knew you loved her to do, and you let out a little laugh in return, teeth grazing over her bottom lip just the slightest bit. Exactly the way that made her groan, pull you in tighter, kiss you with more and more fervour, until you’d bite down on her plump lip for real.

But not right now. You pulled away before she could coax you into something more, giving the shoulder of her injured arm a gentle tap as you raised your brows at her.

„Not now Agatha! You literally almost died today.“

She let out an exasperated sigh, but then opted to wrap her healthy arm around your waist instead, pulling you closer. „But I didn’t, thanks to you.“

You gave her a warning glare but obliged as she pulled you into her lap, arm wrapped around you and your hands resting on her shoulders. She leaned forward, lips grazing over your neck just enough to make you gasp before nuzzling her face in the crook of your neck and shoulder, a spot she had found she fit perfectly into one time while napping and loved ever since. Your hands found her hair, fingers slowly running through the thick, dark waves falling down her back. She hummed against your neck at the feeling, and you felt your heart swell at the sound. Even if all of this was fleeting, at least right now, you could provide a safe space for her.

You pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, inhaling the faint scent of the lavender oil she liked to brush through her hair.

Even if you were but a fleeting moment in her life, maybe in 10, 20 years she‘d think back to you and miss the way her nose perfectly nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“I love you, Agatha“, you whispered, so quiet, you could barely hear it yourself, „Try not to get killed while I‘m still around.“

If she heard you, she didn’t answer.

You pulled her even tighter.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #berry writes things #aaa #marvel #mcu #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x gn!reader #agatha coven of chaos #agatha x reader #Im like kind of really proud of this hahaha

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notlongtolove · 4 months ago

Text

to get it anyway

a steel case to the face. that's the last thing you remember seeing. spencer’s voice, shouting your name. gunfire in rapid succession. you remember hearing sirens. maybe. you’re not entirely sure. hands, trembling, cupping your cheeks. then, nothing.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff, hurt comfort

content: slight mentions of stitches and wounds. bau!reader gets hurt during a case and spencer is worried out of his mind—maybe even worried enough to confess his feelings for her???

word count: 2.3k

note: love the linked poem... also need someone to confess their undying love for me rn rn rn (also is this considered fluff? im not too good w tags)

a line: He cradled your head in his hands, shielding your body with his own when the gunfire went down. His world tilted on its axis—Instinct overtaking reason.

the final sour cherry we kept politely pushing onto each other’s plate, saying, No, you. But it’s so good. No, it’s yours. How I finally put an end to it, plucked it from the plate, and stuck it in my mouth. How good it tasted: so sweet and so tart. How good it felt: to want something and pretend you don’t, and to get it anyway. - cristin o��keefe aptowicz

A steel case to the face. That's the last thing you remember seeing. Spencer’s voice, shouting your name. Gunfire in rapid succession. You remember hearing sirens. Maybe. You’re not entirely sure. Hands, trembling, cupping your cheeks.

Then, nothing.

Spencer’s pacing down the hallway, his hands restless at his sides as he calls out for the doctor who’s only just walked out of your room. Before he can get far, he feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder, firm enough to stop him in his tracks.

“Hey,” Morgan says, his voice low. “Hey!” he says again, louder, forcing Spencer to look at him this time, “You gotta slow down.”

“She—she was hit. In the head!” Spencer twists under his grip, his eyes darting toward the room where you’re lying behind a closed door. “Do you know how fragile the human skull is? She could have a concussion or—or intracranial bleeding, or—I need to—”

“What you need to do—is calm down,” Morgan interrupts. His tone is stern, leaving no room for argument. “You pacing and panicking? That’s not helping her. And it’s not helping you. You’re worried. We all are. I get it.”

But Spencer isn’t just worried. He’s terrified. He’s bone-deep, mind-numbingly terrified. You all get hurt sometimes—Occupational hazard. Duh. Everyone knows that. But it’s rare for any of you to actually end up warded in the hospital, rarer for it still, to be a two-hour wait with no definitive answers. The doctors had been maddeningly vague: We’ll let you know as soon as possible. No reason to worry. But how could he not?

“Don't tell me to calm down, I—” Spencer’s voice cracks. His chest feels tight, constricted. “Even small blows can cause severe brain damage. Nobody knows how fast—how fast neurons can start to—”

“Reid,” Morgan repeats, his grip not letting up. “They checked her. Twice. You saw it yourself. You saw them go in. I promise you—They’re on it.”

Spencer doesn’t reply. He doesn’t tell Morgan that 3.6% of hospital deaths occur because of medical negligence—A staggering 1.8% of those linked to head injuries. Doesn’t tell him how many journal articles he’s read on misdiagnosed head trauma or the cascading complications that can go unnoticed until it’s too late. The numbers run through his mind unbidden anyway.

“I’m gonna let you go now,” Morgan says carefully, studying Spencer’s face. “But you gotta stay calm, kid. You hear me? Hotch is already looking.”

Spencer forces himself to look where Morgan’s nod directs him. Hotch is speaking to a local officer at the end of the hallway, eyes already darting warningly towards them. “I’m calm,” Spencer mutters, though his chest feels like it’s caving in and his breaths are shallow and his heart is pounding so hard he thinks it’s a wonder Morgan can’t hear it. Nothing about this feels calm at all. Not even remotely.

He drags himself to the bench in the hallway reluctantly. As it turns out, sitting does little to settle him. His leg bounces uncontrollably and he bites at his nails, a nervous habit he hasn’t indulged in since childhood. Old habits resurface when the mind is in distress, he recalls. He doesn’t even glance up when Morgan comes by again with a peace offering in the form of a cup of coffee. Not even when Hotch had come to pass on his well wishes, a pressing call waiting for him back at the bureau.

The minutes crawl by and Spencer counts each one. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty. At ninety-three, a doctor finally approaches. Spencer bolts upright, standing so fast that his head spins a little. You’re stable. Visitors are allowed. Two at a time. He barely registers anything else that the doctor says.

You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

The sharp antiseptic smell hits him first. Then it’s you, eyes blinking blearily as you try to grab a cup of water from the overbed table. The motion makes you wince and Spencer is at your bedside in an instant, his knees bumping gently against the frame as he leans down.

“Stop I—I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” he says softly, scooping up the cup before you can strain yourself any further.

“Thanks, Spence,” you whisper, your voice hoarse. You take the cup from him with a weak smile and lift it to your lips for a small sip.

Spencer’s gaze flits involuntarily to your temple. Stitches, eight of them, subcuticular running sutures, from what he can see. They start at your hairline, tracing a clean path down just shy of your cheekbone. He tries to tell himself it’s a good sign—clean wound edges, minimal scarring expected. He wants to say something but the sight of you, pale lips, fragile in the oversized hospital gown, usual biting sarcasm and saccharine teasing nowhere to be found, makes his heart ache.

“How do you feel?” he finally manages. Even he knows it's a stupid question the moment it leaves his lips.

“Like I got whacked in the face.” Ah, there you are.

Spencer chuckles meekly though his attempt at lightness falls flat when he catches sight of the stitches again.

“S’not as bad as it looks,” You say tiredly, noticing his line of sight. “The nurse told me it was barely a concussion. A mild one at worst.”

“Oh yeah? Would’ve been nice to know ‘bout two hours ago,” Morgan interjects, cutting into the quiet moment. Spencer startles slightly, having completely forgotten he was there. “Pretty sure our poor boy wore a hole in the tiles from all his pacing.”

The flush creeping up Spencer’s neck is immediate, spreading to his cheeks as he goes a little crimson. Regardless, he’s thankful for the soft laugh it draws from you. Eyes crinkling, lips curved. You look a little more like yourself now, even if the weariness hasn’t fully dissipated. It makes Spencer feel a little fuller, a little lighter.

Spencer’s liked you since the first day he met you. 248 days ago, to be exact—But it’s definitely not like he’s kept count or anything.

He thought he’d like you when he read over your application file. You’d cited winning a local checkers tournament at age 11 as one of your ‘greatest accomplishments to date’.

He knew he liked you when he caught you trying to explain the concept of gravity to Henry at his fourth birthday party using a juice box and a cookie.

When you quoted Aristotle in an attempt to convince Hotch to get a new coffee machine for the unit? Spencer was certain he’d fallen in love right then and there. Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work. Doesn’t it, Spence?

“Aw, Spence,” you coo softly, your voice carrying that honey sweet lilt he’s grown so fond of. “M’fine. Really.”

For a fleeting moment Spencer almost believes you. Because the way his heart flutters when you reach over to squeeze his hand in reassurance makes him think he’s the one who should be hooked up to those machines instead. Your thumb brushes gently over the back of his hand and Spencer feels his breath hitch, swallowing hard. He swears he goes a little dizzy for a moment so he promptly takes a seat in the chair by your bed.

“It’s good to see you awake, pretty girl. You really had us worried there for a minute,” Morgan says. Spencer nods fervently in agreement. After a beat, Morgan just can’t seem to help himself, adding, “Well, some of us more than others.” Spencer’s certain Morgan’s thoroughly amused by how flustered he is—More so that you seem blissfully unaware.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Spencer pretends not to notice the pointed glance and shameless smile Morgan throws his way. “Don’t let this one fuss over you too much, though. He’s got that down to an art form.” The door clicks shut behind Morgan, and the room grows quiet again, save for the faint hum of the machines and the soft rustle of sheets as you shift slightly in bed.

“Do you remember anything? Before? After?” Spencer asks. He’s painfully aware of how your hand hasn’t moved from his.

“Not much,” you sigh, your eyes downcast. “Lots of shots… shouting.”

Spencer nods grimly, his jaw tight. If he were being honest, he didn’t remember much either. The moment he saw you go down, his mind had gone blank, aside from the fuzzy static screaming in his ears. He’d lunged toward you as your body crumpled to the ground. The scuff on his pants and the sting of his elbow attest to that fact. His knees had scraped against the concrete as he cradled your head in his hands, shielding your body with his own when the gunfire went down.

His world tilted on its axis—Instinct overtaking reason.

FBI protocol was clear: never abandon your weapon, never turn your back during active gunfire. Subsection 28A, paragraph 2, page 36. Spencer knew it by heart. (He knew the entire handbook by heart.)

But Spencer also knew that if it ever came down to it, he’d take a bullet for you without hesitation.

“I remember you,” you admit softly, your voice a little stronger as you glance up at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“M—me?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, “I remember you calling my name. You holding me.” A faint smile tugs at your lips. Your fingers trace gentle circles into his palm as you sigh, “I only remember you, Spence.” It sends a flip through him, right down to his toes—He short circuits.

“I care about you,” Spencer blurts. His mind feels foggy, his words slipping out before he can overthink them. “Like, really care about you.” He winces internally. Filler words? Really? But with the way you’re looking at him—kind, expectant, devastatingly patient—he can’t seem to summon anything better.

“I like you,” he tries again, his voice just a tad firmer. “A lot. More than I probably should. I—I really like you,” he adds in a rush. Real smooth, Spencer.

You tilt your head, biting your lip to suppress a grin, and Spencer hopes you can't feel how sweaty his palms are.

“I know,” you say simply.

“Y—you do?” His voice comes out shakier than he likes.

“I do. Kinda guessed it from the teasing and stuff.”

Silence.

It stretches just long enough for Spencer to start panicking. He’s briefly comforted by the fact that even mild concussions can cause memory lapses and wonders if there’s any other way to make you forget this humiliating confession.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers, rushing to fill the quiet. “I’m being insensitive. You’re probably overwhelmed enough as it is—I shouldn’t have—”

“I like you too, Spencer,” you say softly, cutting him off.

“You—you do?”

"I do," you nod unabashedly, utterly unflustered. “I have for a while now, actually.”

His eyes widen. “You have?”

“Yes I have, and I do, I really like you too,” you say with a sheepish smile, laughing. “But if you keep making me repeat myself you’re gonna give me the headache the doctors keep saying I'm lucky not to have.”

“S’not funny,” Spencer mutters, but he smiles anyway. The brightest smile he’s had today. Maybe even this week. Possibly even this year. “Don’t joke about that. I was really worried.”

“I know,” you reply warmly. “Something about pacing holes into the tiles, if I recall.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, a boyish laugh slipping out. He hadn’t imagined this moment unfolding in a hospital room, of all places. To be honest, he hadn’t imagined this happening at all.

You’ll probably be out in three days. Maybe two if you’re lucky. He’ll ask you out then. Properly. Dinner at that Thai place you both love. A trip to the library you’d mentioned two months ago but never got around to visiting. He’ll take you to the park where he plays chess every Saturday. He’s going to do it all. The thought makes him absolutely giddy.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, outside, Morgan hasn’t budged. Not an inch. He’s standing by the blinds, peering in through the narrow sliver. The panicked clatter of heels on the tiled floor announces Garcia’s arrival before she’s even turned the corner. Her face is the epitome of panic, teary eyes wide with worry.

“How—how bad is it?” she blurts, her voice shaking. “Oh god, did she make it? Reid called and—”

Morgan silences her with a gentle finger to her lips. “Shhhh. She’s fine.”

“Fine?! But—But Reid said something about brain trauma—and her neurons and—”

“Babygirl, you and I both know how he gets when it comes to her,” Morgan chides, “Nurse said it’s barely a concussion.”

Garcia lets out a deep, shaky breath, her shoulders sagging dramatically as relief washes over her. “Oh, thank god,” she utters, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m gonna kill that boy, d’you know what he told me?! He said—”

“Hold that thought,” Morgan says, cutting her off with a smirk. “Our boy genius is a little… preoccupied right now.” He steps aside slyly, gesturing toward the blinds. “Take a peek. You’ll thank me later.”

Inside, Spencer has moved his chair closer to your bedside. One of his hands holds yours securely, fingers interlocked now, while the other traces soothing circles along your forearm. His smile is blinding, proud even, as laughter fills your face. When you shift, a strand of hair falls across your face, and Spencer gently brushes it aside, his hand lingering on your cheek.

Garcia visibly melts at the sight. She lets out a soft, adoring sigh as Morgan starts to steer her gently down the hallway. “You know, when I told you last week that she wouldn’t know Reid liked her even if it hit her in the face, I didn’t mean it literally,” she quips, amused.

“I know babygirl, I know,” Morgan chuckles, shaking his head as he places a hand on her shoulder. “Now, come on. I think I saw some jello in the cafeteria.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: magnets by niki soft spot by keshi

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gpcwsl · 4 months ago

Text

Warnings: suggestive, kissing, swearing.

Katie McCabe x Reader:

Title: Offside Secrets

MasterList

Y/N wasn’t trying to snoop. Really, she wasn’t. But when you live with someone like Katie McCabe—a whirlwind of energy and attitude—you tend to notice when something’s off.

For the past week, Katie had been unusually quiet during their downtime. She’d sit curled up on the couch, her focus laser-sharp on a small paperback book. Not her phone, not Netflix, not even one of her beloved football highlight reels. Just…a book.

Y/N had tried to let it slide, chalking it up to Katie needing some personal space. But the curiosity was eating her alive. Katie McCabe was many things—brilliant on the pitch, quick with comebacks, and fiercely loyal to her team—but a bookworm? That was new.

One morning, while Katie was out on a run, Y/N finally gave in.

The book was sitting innocently on the coffee table, its cover face down as if Katie were deliberately hiding it. Y/N glanced toward the door, listening for any sign of Katie’s return. When the coast was clear, she flipped the book over.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. The cover featured a shirtless man holding a woman who appeared to be swooning dramatically in his arms. The back cover blurb described it as a “torrid tale of forbidden love, blazing passion, and scandalous secrets.”

“McCabe, what the hell?” Y/N muttered to herself, already stifling a laugh. She thumbed through the pages, skimming a particularly spicy passage. Her cheeks flushed, not from embarrassment, but from the sheer absurdity of imagining Katie reading this.

“Is this what you’ve been so secretive about?” Y/N whispered to the empty room.

Just as she set the book down, the door swung open. Katie burst in, her cheeks flushed from the cold morning air. Her eyes immediately landed on Y/N, who froze like a deer caught in headlights.

“What’re you doing?” Katie asked, her voice sharp.

“Nothing!” Y/N blurted, holding her hands up defensively.

Katie’s eyes narrowed. She marched over, spotted the book lying on the table, and groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back her grin. “Burning Desire, huh? Didn’t peg you for the romance novel type.”

Katie snatched the book off the table, her ears turning red. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, really? Because what I think is that you’re secretly a sucker for swooning heroines and steamy love affairs.”

Katie glared at her. “It’s none of your business.”

“But it’s hilarious,” Y/N teased, leaning back against the couch. “Does this mean you’re gonna start writing love poems in your free time?”

Katie’s lips twitched, betraying the beginnings of a smile. “You’re such an idiot.”

“And yet, you live with me.” Y/N stood and stretched, clearly enjoying Katie’s embarrassment. “Seriously, though. This is gold. Why didn’t you tell me you were into this stuff?”

Katie hesitated, clutching the book like it was a lifeline. “Because I knew you’d take the piss out of me, just like you’re doing now.”

“Okay, fair point.” Y/N softened, realizing she might have struck a nerve. “But it’s kind of…sweet, actually. You, reading something so—what’s the word? Sentimental.”

Katie scoffed. “Don’t read too much into it. It’s just a bit of escapism.”

“Sure, sure.” Y/N smirked, already planning how to work this into their next training session.

Katie groaned again, throwing the book into her bag. “If you say one word about this to anyone, I’ll—”

“Relax,” Y/N interrupted, holding up her hands. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now.”

Katie rolled her eyes and stalked off toward her room, but Y/N could hear the faintest hint of a laugh escaping her.

As the door clicked shut, Y/N sat back down, her mind still buzzing. She hadn’t meant to tease Katie so much, but there was something endearing about seeing her so flustered. It was a side of Katie she rarely got to see—vulnerable, human, and undeniably cute.

Shaking her head, Y/N tried to push the thought away. “Get a grip,” she muttered to herself. But deep down, she knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

Katie had reached her limit.

Y/N had been relentless all day. Ever since she found Katie’s romance novel, she hadn’t stopped teasing her. Every sly grin, every comment about “burning passions” or “torrid desires,” had Katie’s patience wearing thin.

By the time they returned home from training, Katie was fuming—but not in the way Y/N might expect.

“Y/N,” Katie called from the kitchen as she grabbed a glass of water.

“Yeah?” Y/N called back from the living room, lounging on the couch with the smugness of someone who thought they’d won.

Katie smirked to herself, an idea forming. If Y/N wanted to play games, she’d play back—and she’d win.

She walked into the living room, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “You’ve been at it all day. Got a problem, or are you just obsessed with me?”

Y/N tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm, maybe a little of both.”

Katie’s smirk widened. “You know, if you’re so curious about the book, I could read you a bit. Really give you a taste of it.”

Y/N laughed, sitting up. “Oh, please. You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Katie raised an eyebrow, sauntering around the couch to sit next to her. She grabbed the book from her bag and flipped it open, her eyes scanning the pages. “Let’s see…ah, here we go.”

Clearing her throat dramatically, Katie began to read aloud:

‘“His smoldering gaze met hers, igniting a fire deep within her soul. Her breath hitched as he whispered, his voice low and full of promise, “You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel alive.”’”

Y/N froze, her eyes widening as Katie’s voice dropped into a husky tone, full of mock intensity.

“Stop,” Y/N said, holding up her hands.

Katie grinned. “What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted?” She leaned closer, her voice taking on an exaggerated sultriness. “‘He traced a finger along her jawline, his touch sending shivers down her spine…’”

“Okay, okay!” Y/N interrupted, her cheeks flushing. “Point made!”

But Katie wasn’t done. She closed the book and turned to face Y/N fully, leaning an elbow on the back of the couch. Her smirk turned into something more dangerous, more…real.

“You know,” Katie said, her voice quieter now, “you’re giving me a hard time about this book, but I think you’re just scared.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Scared of what?”

“Scared you might like it if someone said those things to you.” Katie’s gaze lingered on Y/N’s face, her smirk softening into something more genuine.

Y/N’s throat went dry. She scrambled to come up with a witty comeback, but Katie’s boldness had completely thrown her off balance.

“I—uh—” Y/N stammered, looking anywhere but at Katie.

Katie leaned in just slightly, enough to make Y/N’s breath hitch. “See? You’re already blushing.”

“I am not,” Y/N mumbled, though her cheeks were undeniably warm.

Katie chuckled, leaning back and tossing the book onto the coffee table. “Alright, I’ll stop. For now. But just remember—if you’re gonna tease me, you’d better be ready to take it, too.”

Y/N sat there, stunned into silence as Katie stood and sauntered off to her room. The sound of the door clicking shut snapped her out of her daze, and she let out a shaky breath.

“Well,” Y/N muttered to herself, “that backfired spectacularly.”

From the other side of the door, Katie grinned to herself. Two could play this game—and she wasn’t planning on losing anytime soon.

The days that followed were a delicate dance of unspoken words and lingering glances. Katie and Y/N continued their routines—training sessions, shared meals, evenings spent watching television—but beneath the surface, the air was charged with a tension neither dared to address.

One evening, as they sat side by side on the couch, a romantic film playing softly in the background, Y/N couldn’t help but steal a glance at Katie. The flickering light from the screen cast shadows across her face, highlighting the curve of her smile as she watched the movie.

Y/N’s mind wandered back to the novel—the catalyst for this shift between them. She wondered if Katie had been reading it again, if the words on those pages had stirred something within her, just as they had within Y/N.

“Hey,” Y/N said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. “About that book…”

Katie turned to her, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “What about it?”

Y/N hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I was thinking… maybe I judged it too quickly. Maybe there’s more to it than I realized.”

A slow smile spread across Katie’s lips. “Oh? And what brought about this change of heart?”

Y/N shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Just… thinking about what you said. About being open to new experiences.”

Katie’s gaze softened, and she reached out to place a hand over Y/N’s. “It’s just a book, Y/N. But if it made you think, then maybe it was worth all the teasing.”

Y/N looked down at their intertwined hands, her heart pounding in her chest. “Katie, I…” She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Katie’s expression grew serious, concern flickering in her eyes. “What is it?”

Y/N met her gaze, her voice trembling slightly. “I think… no, I know that I have feelings for you. More than just friendship.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as Katie processed her words. Then, slowly, a radiant smile broke across her face. “Y/N, I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

Relief washed over Y/N, and she let out a shaky laugh. “Really?”

Katie nodded, squeezing her hand gently. “Really. I didn’t want to push you, but I’ve felt the same way for a while now.”

Y/N’s heart soared, and she couldn’t help but grin. “So, what now?”

Katie leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now, we see where this goes. Together.”

As their lips met in a tender kiss, the tension that had been building between them melted away, replaced by a warmth that promised new beginnings and uncharted territories.

The novel that had once been a source of teasing had become the catalyst for something beautiful—a love story all their own.

In the days that followed, Katie and Y/N navigated their new relationship with the same teamwork and understanding that had defined their friendship. The teasing continued, but now it was laced with affection, each joke a reminder of the journey they’d embarked on together.

One evening, as they cuddled on the couch, Y/N picked up the infamous novel and waved it playfully.

“Shall we read a chapter together?” she suggested with a grin.

Katie laughed, pulling her closer. “Only if you promise not to mock my dramatic readings.”

Y/N feigned innocence. “Who, me? I would never.”

As they settled in to read, the words on the pages took on new meaning, each passage a reflection of their own unfolding story.

And as the night wore on, they realized that sometimes, the best love stories are the ones that catch you by surprise, turning the pages of your life in ways you never expected.

Their relationship continued to blossom, both on and off the field. Teammates began to notice the subtle changes—the shared smiles, the supportive glances, the way they seemed to move in perfect harmony during matches.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling practice, their teammate Lisa approached them, a knowing smile on her face.

“You two seem… different lately,” she remarked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

Katie and Y/N exchanged a glance, their cheeks flushing slightly.

“Just working on our teamwork,” Katie replied smoothly, though the corner of her mouth quirked up in a telltale smile.

Lisa chuckled, clearly unconvinced. “Well, whatever it is, keep it up. It’s doing wonders for our game.”

As she walked away, Y/N nudged Katie playfully. “Think she knows?”

Katie shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Let them wonder. As long as we know what we have, that’s all that matters.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a surge of affection for the woman beside her. “Agreed.”

As the season progressed, their bond only deepened, each victory on the field mirrored by the growth of their relationship off it. They faced challenges together, supported each other through setbacks, and celebrated each other’s successes with unwavering pride.

One evening, as they sat on the balcony of their apartment, watching the sun set over the city, Y/N turned to Katie, her expression thoughtful.

“Do you ever think about the future?” she asked softly.

Katie looked at her, her eyes filled with warmth. “All the time. And lately, those thoughts always include you.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion. “Me too. I can’t imagine it any other way.”

Katie reached out, taking Y/N’s hand in hers. “Then let’s make a promise. No matter what comes our way, we’ll face it together. As partners, on and off the field.”

Y/N squeezed her hand, a smile spreading across her face. “Deal.”

#katie mccabe x reader #katie mccabe #arsenal women #woso x reader #woso community #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso #wlw post #wlw community

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