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hyperfixationthingss · 3 days ago

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L i e T o M e

Chenford Week - Day 3

Prompts: Undercover

Sypnosis: Lucy is away on an undercover job, but Tim manages to meet her at the club to get the information for the arrest.

Tags/Warnings: Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen, Undercover Lucy, dirty talk, nsfw, tthey're already dating.

Word Count: 2424

Notes: Take my undercover knowledge with a grain of salt. This one is my longest fic so far.

The most important rule of undercover work had to be not to get caught, but in reality, staying alive was the one that they all struggled with the most. The dangers that felt as if they were breathing down their neck, the crimes they had to witness and not do anything to stop them, at least not at that moment. It wasn't just the fear of physical death, but of the heart. What if the job consumed you in a way you couldn't leave behind? Like it had happened to her. To Isabel. Tim was sure that his fear about undercover work would never go away, but if he wanted to stay with Lucy, he had to get over it. He loved her, and she loved him, but most importantly, she loved the job and wanted to do it.

Lucy had been contacted by the detectives to go undercover after they had received intel about a possible buyer of heavy weapons. It was a dangerous group— drugs, weapons, and every illicit trade imaginable. And they needed an expert to test the weapons once they got them. That's when Lucy entered the picture. The CI told them that she was a vet who could manage all kinds of machines, but she was kicked out of the military due to bad behavior. The source even said that she was willing to go after anyone to get her revenge for kicking her off the job, for marking her as unfit. It wasn't quick, but they bought it.

Lucy wasn't Lucy anymore; she was Natalie Lang. Born into a good family and was disowned after she was kicked off the job.

Her contact was Angela, but Tim had insisted on being there at every encounter, too. It was a dangerous job, one for which she couldn't even own a bulletproof vest to protect herself. She was all on her own. And Tim was too worried. The warehouse Lucy had been taken to was vastly secured, and they couldn’t see or hear anything from their surveillance spots. They were in the dark, and Lucy couldn’t communicate with her team.

Lucy already knew how to keep her nerves controlled, how to keep the pretence when she knew she had to put on the best show. For the most part, she was lucky that they let her stay in her corner, reading any book or magazine she could find, all the while she was listening to what they were saying about the delivery. She needed to remember every detail, so when she was able to see Angela or Tim, she could tell them. But she didn’t know when she would be able to. The people she was with barely let her out of the warehouse since she got there. Only once had they moved her to a different place; she thought that it might have been a club. They had covered her head and left her inside the car; the guys would take turns to watch her. All she could do was listen to the music in the background. That didn’t last long, though. According to the guys, she was making too much noise and risking them getting caught for having her there. Lucy had told them that it would have been easier if they just let her go with them, but at that time, they all laughed. What she thought could have been an opportunity to meet with the police turned into a horrible car ride.

She didn’t want that to happen again. Lucy started doing her best to get on their good side. She offered to go with them when they mentioned going to different places. She used the excuse that she needed to go out and that she could be of help. It felt like too many days were going by; the delivery seemed to have been delayed because of patrols around town. Lucy knew that none of those would stop them and risk leaving her there, but they didn’t know that. And that meant that she was there for longer.

It was Friday night, and Lucy noticed that most of the guys were getting ready to leave. Some were having drinks, talking about how they were going to enjoy the party. The second she heard that word, she knew that she needed to go.

Lucy approached a guy they called Gunner, not too creative if you asked her, and she said, “Is there a chance I could go with you guys?” He looked up at her with a raised brow as if he didn’t believe what she was saying. He laughed at the thought. “I don’t think someone like you would enjoy the place we are going to, sweetheart. You’ll stay in the van.” Lucy’s stomach turned at the pet name and the idea of staying locked up in another place again. She took a deep breath before she said anything, “You have no idea what places I’m used to. Or the places I’ve been to, but I know I’m not staying in that van.” She spoke firmly, then softened her tone, realizing she’d come on too strong. ‘It smells, and I really would like to have a little fun.” It was the worst part of the job, trying to act sweet and as if she respected any of them, but she had to.

Gunner looked at her for way longer than she liked before he nodded once. “You will stay close to us. If we lose you, you are going to be chained until delivery day.” Lucy grinned. She didn’t know where she was going, but one thing was for sure: Tim would be there. “Go look for something to wear. I’m sure there’s… clothes that some of the guys’ girls have left around. Be presentable.” Disgusting. She thought, having to wear clothes that had been who knows where, but it wasn’t like they let her pack a suitcase with party clothes.

She rushed to look around, finding a dress. It was too short for her liking, but it was all they had. A backless black dress, which was long enough to cover her butt. Thankfully, it had a high neck; the last thing she needed was to show her boobs around too. The heels she found were a little too small for her, and it made her feet hurt, but she had to stand it. Lastly, her hair, long and free, covered as much of her back as she could. For the makeup, she couldn’t do much, using some blush that she found, hoping that it would be good enough. She hated the look, and she hated it even more when she left the room she had been changing in and heard the guys whistling at her and telling her nasty things.

The ride to the party was awkward. She was sitting in the middle of two guys who kept trying to touch her legs, even though she kept moving their hands. It was a relief when they finally arrived at the club, and she was able to leave the car. Gunner quickly moved close enough to say, “Remember what I told you.” And walked towards the entrance. Security let them pass without question, and Lucy followed silently, looking around for any blind spots of the place, for anything that would tell her why they were there. Part of her kept checking to see if she found a familiar face. She hoped she would.

When they got to the table, one of the guys had noticed her scanning the place. “Looking for something?” She turned to look at him with her most innocent look. “Nope, just enjoying the vibes. I like the music.” She smiled, trying to appear convincing enough because the guy looked at her with a suspicious face, but before he could reply, he looked up, his hand immediately going to his waistband. A sign that he was carrying a gun. Lucy turned around, and her whole body relaxed slightly. Tim. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, some that she had never seen before, and he smiled at the guys and Lucy. He raised his arms after pointing at the gun, saying, “Wow, no need for that, was just wondering if the lady wanted to dance.” Lucy wanted to smile at the thought, but she looked at the people she was with and wondered if she had to wait for permission. She did. “She’s with us,” Gunner said.

“I’m sure you can spare her for a few dances, right, doll?” He was acting as if he were a little drunk and flirty. Lucy looked at him and gave him an apologetic look, thinking that she would have to say no, but then someone said, “Well, let’s see those dance moves then.” Relief washed over her, and she held the hand that Tim was offering so she could get up. “Stay close,” was the last thing she heard after they both moved as far away as they could from the table, but still somewhere they could see them.

Lucy wanted to hug Tim, to kiss him, to cry even, but she couldn’t. She didn’t even know what to say. He saw the doubt in his girlfriend’s eyes, and he grabbed her hand to give her a twirl and have her end up with her back pressed to his chest. “I missed you,” he whispered, leaning to her ear so only she could listen. They danced to the music, pretending as best as they could when all Lucy wanted was to stay right there in Tim’s arms. “They might be listening,” Lucy whispered, not knowing if they had any other people who knew them around.

“Then lie to me.” He whispered to her, brushing his mouth against her ear and making her shiver from the touch.

“Tim,” she whimpered, pressing her body against his even more. Tim had lost focus on the goal of being there; he could ask about the important details later. All he cared about right then was Lucy. “This dress is too revealing. You’re driving me crazy. How can I let you be around them like this?” His hand brushed against her thigh, sending another wave of shivers through her body. This was torture. “None of them have touched me like this.” She looked to the side to lock her eyes with his. “And none of them will.”

He turned her around in one smooth movement, and the second her arms were around his neck, he closed the distance between their lips. She wasn’t sure what the rules were, but she didn’t think; she just kissed him back. It was heated, one of his hands moving through her bare back while the other grabbed the back of her head. Lucy moved a hand to his hair, pulling slightly at it, making Tim groan against her mouth. She could feel him grinding against her, the way he was slowly getting hard. “I need you.” She said against his lips, desperately urging him to open his mouth to slide her tongue inside. She wished that she could escape right then, and maybe she could, but it would ruin the mission. It wasn’t until someone crashed against Tim that they pulled slightly away from each other. Lucy was panting, flushed cheeks as she looked around at the guys, firmly staring at her. At that moment, she saw one of them walking towards them. She hoped it wasn’t, but still, she looked at Tim with seriousness and told him what she had to.”Tomorrow, 10 p.m. It was delayed because of patrols. You’ll have to follow them.”

Tim nodded, knowing that their time was coming to an end. He gave her another kiss, this time to pretend she wasn’t talking, as he saw the guy approaching too. Well, it was for himself, too. He wanted to.

An arm pulled Lucy away from Tim too fast: “We’re leaving.” That was all Tim could hear before she was out of his sight. He worried that they would say something to her about what happened, and he moved behind them quickly enough to see her pulling into the car. She seemed okay, her face was back to acting like anyone but her Lucy. Just one more day and she would be free.

That night, Lucy had made sure to ignore every comment the guys made about her. Each comment more vile than the last. She took refuge in the thought of Tim and the fact that it would be over soon.

When they were back in the warehouse, she quickly changed into clothes that covered her whole body and locked herself in her “room”. She couldn’t sleep, anxiety from being there and knowing what they thought about her, and desperation for it to be tomorrow were crowding her mind. She hoped to be back in her room, finally sleeping in a place where she could feel safe.

The next day dragged on, with Lucy preparing all day for the delivery as instructions were given to everyone, organizing them into different groups. It was a smart move, but one that they knew too well. She was leaving in the last car alongside Gunner.

“Natalie. Let’s go.” She was told, not sure what time it was, and getting no answer when she asked the guys. All she knew was that it was showtime.

The arrest wasn’t easy. The second the police saw the money exchange after Lucy had checked the guns, the police were all over them. Shots were fired almost immediately, and she was forced to grab one of the weapons to help the police take them down.

After some time, an ambulance was called for one of the criminals, and they managed to get them all in custody. It was over. Lucy was relieved that none of them had gotten hurt.

When the cars left for the station with the suspects, she turned to look for Tim, who was waiting right next to his shop for her. “I have a pair of handcuffs for you, too.” He said with a smirk and Lucy laughed, closing the distance between them and hugging him tightly. “I’m not kidding.” He added as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Maybe later.” She said with a teasing tone. “Maybe you can even wear a black dress again.” Lucy looked up at him with a raised brow as he managed to make his most innocent face, and she just rolled her eyes and kissed him. “Let’s get you home, baby. Work is over.”

Tag list: @loganwritesprobably @fanaticsnail @decaffeinatedscreaming @skullfacedlady

If you'd like to get tagged in any other The Rookie fic, let me know

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lizardho · 8 months ago

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When I came out, I was SO scared I was gonna get disowned. I wrote a letter to my parents, sent it to their emails, put a physical copy on the counter, and left the house for a few hours to give them time. In that time I tried coffee for the first time, which was a dreadful idea, and got all jittery. I kept waiting for a text or something but nothing happened.

After a few hours, I didn’t hear back from them so I went home. My parents were home and had stacked a bunch of groceries on top of the letter without opening it. They said “hi” and I said “hi” and went down stairs to the basement. I held my dog and panicked about what to do. My sister, who knew that I had written them a letter of great importance, told me they hadn’t read it yet. She also told me she could ask them to do so. I consented to this and stayed in the basement. A few minutes later my dad knocked on the door and poked his soft smooth little nerd head in and said “hey buddy” and I started crying so hard I almost vomited. He came over and gave me a BIG hug and said that it was gonna be OK, he was OK with this, he knew it must have been hard but he was here for me. He told me he and my mom had already talked years before they had me about how if they had to pick between their faith and their child they’d pick their child. It was a very sweet moment. I came out to my mom later that evening and we were both bawling the whole time.

The day after I came out to my parents, I came out to my brother @inbabylontheywept at a Mexican restaurant and he took it like a champ. That evening my mom took me for a walk and looked almost angry - she said she wanted to make sure that I didn’t use being a woman as an excuse to not go to grad school. I told her I wouldn’t and she instantly looked relieved and happier.

My dad, on the other hand, seemed to struggle with it. He kept asking me if I had a boyfriend, and I told him I did not. He kept asking me if I wanted to go clothes shopping with him and I did not. He kept asking me if I would let him go to some of my shows, and I had NO idea what he was talking about.

Finally, 6 months after coming out, of awkward misgendering and questions that didn’t make sense from my dad, he excitedly pokes his soft smooth little nerd head into my bedroom again and says “I found a movie about Your People.” My people. I was absolutely bewildered, but he was so excited and I knew he had been trying SO hard so I watched it with him. It was The Birdcage, and it was amazing. It also was revelatory in that I finally realized why my initially-supportive father seemed to be having such a hard time with my pronouns and stuff - he didn’t know what the difference between trans and doing drag was. After the movie he again asked if I would invite him to one of my shows, and I said, “Hey dad, you know how about half the world is women?” And he said “yeah,” and I said “Well, see, I’m on that half now. I’m not doing drag.” And it was like a switch flipped in his brain. He was like “omg that’s so easy? I was so confused about what to call you when?”

Anyway, my parents are charming and my family has been so kind and patient with me, I like sharing the stories of my little wins with them.

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ash-muses · 2 months ago

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@mythical-muses

I thought you should see this as well, expanding on some of the things we previously discussed 👀

how can u hate ur dad for lying to you but not ur mom? they did the same thing, the only one who didn't was thor.

//I’m gonna answer this one ooc as a meta because I know that all Loki would do IC is throw a large solid object at you, and that’s hardly insightful, LMAO.

So, as I see it, the difference between Odin and Frigga isn’t the level of disclosure of the truth, it’s the manner in which Loki was otherwise treated by each parent, and the consistency level in that treatment. It also has to do with the fact that Odin’s dishonesty wasn’t limited to Loki’s heritage, but his entire upbringing.

Odin establishes a dichotomy between Loki and Thor from childhood, which cognitively normalizes for each boy the idea that they are and should be at odds, representing opposite personalities and value systems. He intentionally makes himself emotionally unavailable and remote while they duke it out, and even encourages their competitiveness. He claims that Loki and Thor have equal opportunity to earn kinghood, but only one can be king. In doing so he alienates two people who would otherwise be each other’s most reliable support system (considering that Thor indeed loves Loki unconditionally, no matter what Thor may claim otherwise in the heat of anger). He also is lying from the get-go because equal efforts on Loki and Thor’s part to be “worthy” of Odin’s positive regard are met with unequal and conflicting responses. Thor starts a war with Jotunheim, and is slapped on the wrist with a few days in exile as a human. Loki starts a war on Earth and is reviled as a monster, disowned, and given a lifetime sentence in prison. Furthermore, Odin claims that human lives are worthless and that “illness is a defining trait of their existence” so “let their healers, doctors, deal with them” yet in the same breath condemns Loki for showing the same flagrant disregard for the value of human lives. Inconsistency, which is extremely upsetting to a rationally driven individual like Loki (yes, rationally: he may be emotionally volatile post-trauma, but he’s the son who was always considered sane and stable before, remember that).

Meanwhile, Frigga DOES LOVE HER SONS EQUALLY. She offers Thor counsel when he’s stressed about his coronation in Thor, and when he’s angry at Loki in The Dark World. She cherishes her eldest. She also cherishes her youngest. She raises him training him in magic acknowledging fully that “Thor and his father cast long shadows.” She does so to give Loki validation of his worth. It’s Frigga who bothers to search for Loki after he’s fallen into the spatio-temporal wormhole, and it’s Frigga who finds him, and sends Thor to earth to retrieve him home. When Loki comes back from Earth, Frigga, while not condoning his actions, offers him her forgiveness and her concern. Frigga visits Loki via illusions (since Odin forbids their seeing each other in person, a very spiteful and egregious part of Loki’s sentence), and orders books and good furniture sent to his cell to give him the most humane prison treatment possible. Frigga’s one mistake is to ostensibly make her forgiveness conditional upon Loki accepting her as his mother AND Odin as his father, when he wishes only to claim her as his parent, but I don’t even think that Frigga intended for her question “Am I not your mother?” to come across in such a coercive manner. I think she was just really wounded by Loki’s seeming coldness. The point being, Loki may be angry at Frigga for being complicit in Odin’s secrets, but he can forgive her because he knows her motives were loving, based on the precedent set by other characteristics of her parenting. Odin? Not so much. Odin discarded Loki as a son the moment he disobeyed him and made him too aware of his own hypocrisy as a ruler and parent.

#thank you omg #I've been having almost the exact same discussion with my best friend (we're on the same page about this lmao)#this is how I portray my Loki as well with these things in mind #like he has a softer spot for Frigga because she didn’t purposefully lead him on into believing he could be king or pit him against Thor #also she wasn't the one who *stole* him lmao #and like you mentioned Odin basically disowned him the moment he disobeyed instead of following the 'game' Odin set up #plus I think it only solidified his resolve when he caught the part where Odin sealed Hela away & probably realized that could have been him #if Frigga wasn’t there to stop Odin from doing that #my best friend and I have been discussing that part as well about how we don't think Frigga was around when Odin sealed Hela away #Idk a lot about the comics but my best friend knows more about them so we've been trading bits of knowledge and posts we find like this #mcu #loki of asgard #odin allfather #cs; loki #scheduled #frigga freyrdottir

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demonic0angel · 3 months ago

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Damian: Todd if you cause your relationship with Nightingale to end, I will have the family disown you before removing your head from its shoulders

Todd: nice to know how you really feel. what prompted this shovel talk

*Damian points to a cow brush batcow is happily using*

Jason: So?

Damian: I didn't know those existed till Nightingale got Father to install one today

(Hell fucking yeah)

Jason stared at him speechlessly. He was almost about to say, ‘That’s all it takes??’ but then he thought about it some more and shut his mouth with a click.

“I see,” he said instead.

Damian gave him a strange look and then insisted, “You better not break up with her!”

“If I do, I give you permission to kill me and not tell Jazz,” Jason said, rolling his eyes.

Damian glared at him for a moment and then nodded sharply, looking satisfied. Jason was almost offended by his attitude, because what the hell?

Before he could say anything though, they heard Jazz’s distant voice as she called out from across the field, “Jason? I heard from Alfred that you’re in the barn… Jason?”

Jason blinked and Damian had already ran across the grass to get to her, Batcow by his side like a brown and white streaking star as they raced towards Jazz.

“Jazlyn!” Damian practically squealed and in the distance, Jason could see him jumping into Jazz’s arms, who looked delighted to see him and promptly embraced him right back, also accepting the gentle nudges from Batcow.

Jason’s jaw dropped.

The only person he had seen Damian ever run for was Dick and Talia.

Just how on earth had his girlfriend earned the loyalty of one Damian al Ghul-Wayne?!

Jason stared some more in complete shock before he realized that he had been completely left behind.

“Hell no!” He hissed under his breath as he also ran towards Jazz. Like hell he was going to let his kid brother hog all of his girlfriend’s attention!

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom x dc #dp x dc crossover #ask #anon ask #jazz fenton #jason todd #damian wayne #jazz + damian duo #anger management ship #hardcover ship #jason x jazz #ty for the ask!#it makes me sad that I lowkey had no inspiration for this post despite me loving it so much

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luvergirl-535 · 19 days ago

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off-limits, on purpose

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 9.4k

c/w - privateschool!au, paige and nika are rivals, incredibly self-indulgent with little to no plot. read at your own will 😔.

a/n - reworked fic that i had written from a couple years ago, rediscovered, and decided to make pazzi lol. there will be a bonus part which is even more unserious than this one.

“I just don’t think they’re a very good fit. Not to be rude or anything—I mean, she’s probably super nice—but don’t you think he’s a little out of her league? I mean, a lot out of her league.” Nika smiles a little, amused at herself. “Like, miles out.”

“Stop, I’m so glad I’m not the only one.” Jana picks up her phone and starts searching for something. “Have you seen the picture she posted on her story yet? It’s so embarrassing.”

Nika snorts. “I don’t keep up with what she posts.” But she still looks eagerly when Jana hands her the phone, and her eyes widen when she looks at it. She clasps a hand over her mouth, looking almost nauseated, like she just watched one of those weird animal birth videos they were forced to watch in health class.

Azzi shovels another bite of pasta into her mouth, hoping they don’t rope her into whatever they’re talking about because she didn’t have time for breakfast this morning and she’s hungry, but unfortunately, Jana nudges her and shoves the phone in her face. “Look, Az. It’s bad, right?”

Azzi spares a glance at the photo. It’s a picture of this random girl that she kind of recognizes but doesn’t know the name of, and Jalen, a mutual friend of theirs, has his arm wrapped around her. She has to admit, it isn’t a very flattering picture on the girl’s part. It’s not bad, but not good, either. She looks a little jaundiced, maybe, but that’s just the lighting.

Needless to say, it’s not very interesting. At least not more interesting than her food. So she just says, “Why are we talking about this girl, again? Do any of us even know her name?”

“Well, no—she’s just dating Jalen. And she always stares at us in chemistry.” Nika gives a dainty little shrug. “But that’s the point. She’s…weird. She’s always writing in that little notebook and I’m pretty sure she grows weed in the school greenhouse.

Okay, Azzi has to agree. Whenever she sees this girl, she always has an aroma, and she usually has pit stains, which is, like, a surefire way to knock yourself down a couple of pegs on the social hierarchy.

“We might have to disown Jalen if he keeps dating her,” Jana says, her voice low and conspiratorial, like she thinks Jalen himself might sneak up on them at any moment. “She’ll definitely take him to the dark side.”

“Ew, gross. Let’s hope he has more common sense than that.”

Azzi pulls her phone out of her pocket, officially bored of the conversation. The gossip has been lame today, with Jalen’s new love interest being the only thing her best friends can seem to talk about. She sort of wishes for something terrible to happen to somebody, like a circulated sex tape or an unwanted pregnancy, but then she scolds herself for thinking that because it’s one of those thoughts that Jana would call ’fucked up’ and ‘crossing a line.’ Jana is the moral compass of the group.

Just as Azzi is about to suggest they go vape in the bathroom or something, a general hush falls over the cafeteria. She recognizes the sudden silence as the same silence that falls whenever she walks into a room. And besides Nika and Jana, there’s only one other person in the whole school who can elicit this kind of reaction.

Nika’s eyes widen at something behind Azzi and Jana, and the two share a look before turning to see what all the fuss is about—though there’s no reason to look. They already know.

It’s Paige Bueckers.

And she’s dressed in the exact same outfit as Nika.

At their private school, there is a standardized uniform that everybody has to wear, which are only slightly less horrid than the standard public school uniforms in their area. Even though they’re expensive and made of high-end fabrics, the student body hates wearing them. They’re stuffy, hard to get into, and the skirts that the girls have to wear squeeze your waist until you’re blue. So, in her freshman year, Azzi, as student body president—three years running, now—fought long and hard to give them all a day every two weeks where they can wear whatever the hell they want.

Some come wearing shorts and bikini tops, even in the winter.

Some come wearing the most outrageous, hideous costumes Azzi has ever seen in her life.

And Nika Muhl? She comes wearing all of her daddy’s money in the form of a stylish top and jeans tailored specifically to her. She makes absolutely sure that every outfit will be nothing any of her peers have seen or even dreamed of wearing before.

And here Paige is—Nika’s self-proclaimed rival and toughest competition—wearing the same exact outfit as Nika, all the way down to the baby pink lipgoss.

Azzi puts her head in her hands and groans. She does not have the energy to deal with the storm that will surely follow this. Not today.

“What. The. Fuck.” Jana’s mouth is slightly open, and she’s giving Paige her most practiced mean girl stare, but Paige couldn’t care less. She struts across the room like she owns the place and sends a chin nod Azzi’s way. The smile on her face is probably the most satisfied, egotistical expression Azzi has ever seen.

After Paige and her little posse have sat down at their respective table, and the noise levels in the caf have gone back to normal, Azzi spares a glance at Nika. On the outside, she looks calm and collected, perfectly unbothered. But Azzi can tell by the way she fidgets with her hair, by the way her cheeks are a touch pinker than her Dior blush usually makes them, that she’s absolutely seething on the inside.

“Oh, my god.” Jana looks at both of them, her mouth still open, and Azzi nudges it closed before she starts drooling or something. “Nika, I…”

Nika puts a hand up, effectively silencing their friend. “Don’t. Don’t even try to talk to me right now. I think I’m going to faint.” She says all of this with a small smile on her face, like she’s gossiping with them about something funny, but her tone is pure venom.

Though Azzi gets scared of Nika in these moments, she decides to speak up. “Maybe we should go to the bathroom and—“

“Don’t be dumb, Azzi.” This is a sentence that is repeated a lot whenever they all spend time together. “Do you know how bad it would look for me if we got up and left right after that?” she shakes her head decidedly. “No. We’re going to sit here and eat our food until five minutes before the bell rings, and then we’re going to go and grab drinks from the cafe before lunch is over. Just like we always do.”

Azzi wants to roll her eyes, because Nika’s really being just a little dramatic about all of this, but her phone dings and she looks at it before standing up. “Okay, well, I’m leaving. I have to piss. Nika—“ she reaches across the table to pet Nika’s hair—“we can work this out later, babe. It’ll be fine until then. You’re wearing the outfit better, anyway.”

“I know that,” Nika snaps, but she leans into Azzi’s hand and smiles just a little.

Azzi blows them a kiss as she walks backwards, her heels clicking on the floors. They both pretend to catch it like the giant dorks they are and then they go back to gossiping, this time more heatedly than before. No doubt they’re talking about how they’re going to get back at Paige for this little stunt.

As soon as they’re distracted, Azzi spins around and makes a beeline for room 203A. This room used to be a counseling office, like, years ago, but then the counselors all got their own classrooms and the school must have forgotten about this one, because it’s relatively small and tucked away in an easy-to-miss hallway. It’s also perpetually unlocked. A perfect hideaway.

Azzi closes the door behind her with a soft click, and she thinks that she’s alone until someone speaks up from a dim corner of the room.

“Hey.” It’s Paige, sitting on top of the counselor’s desk, leaning back against her hands. “That was fast.”

Azzi doesn’t comment on how Paige was the fast one—seriously, Azzi hadn’t even thought she’d left the cafeteria yet—because she’s too upset. She crosses her arms and glares at Paige. “That was a bitchy thing to do.”

Paige raises her eyebrows. “What was?”

Azzi does roll her eyes now, and she rolls them hard. “You know what. I’m going to have to deal with Nika for probably the rest of the week because of you.”

“I mean, you don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. Because she’s my best friend, Paige.” Azzi leans back against the door, trying to act like she doesn’t want to walk over to that desk and stand in between Paige’s legs. “And it really wasn’t cool of you to mess with her. Not today, out of all days.”

For a moment, Paige’s eyebrows furrow like she’s confused. And then the realization dawns and the easy smile turns to a frown as she slides off her desk. At least she has the decency to look guilty. “Right. Your game. I—“

“Forgot?” Azzi scoffs. She feels sort of bad for making Paige guilty about this, because the whole wearing-the-same-outfit-as-Nika thing really isn’t that big of a deal. But the fact that Paige forgot about her soccer game? She’s been talking about this for weeks. “Yeah, I thought you might’ve. I mean, it’s not a surprise.”

Azzi isn’t oblivious to how Paige is slowly making her way towards her, but she ignores it. “You’ve barely been answering my texts the past couple of days. You haven’t so much as made eye contact with me in Spanish. This is the first time this week that we’re meeting in here, the first time this week that I’m actually talking to you in person.” Paige’s close now, within reaching distance, but she doesn’t touch, which is good because Azzi’s not finished yet. “And I was already kind of pissed at you, Paige, and then you forget about this game when you know it’s important to me. And now I’m really mad at you. Like, really, really mad.”

The corners of Paige’s lips quirk up for just a moment, which makes Azzi even more angry. “That mad, huh?” she almost seems amused, but then she’s frowning again. “Listen, Az, I’m—I didn’t know you were so upset. I didn’t mean to ghost you or anything, I swear. I thought you were fine with the distance, because you didn’t say anything.”

How could Azzi possibly have been fine with the distance? Sure, distance is okay—healthy—but without warning?

Azzi sighs, reminds herself that she’s getting all worked up over next to nothing, that this is just pent-up frustration from the past week. She runs a hand through her hair and looks down. “I guess I just got a little scared.”

“Of what?” Paige asks gently.

“I don’t know.” Paige reaches out and tugs on her wrist, and Azzi lets herself be pulled into her arms, because she’s been missing this closeness all week. She wraps her arms around Paige’s waist, rests her head on her shoulder, breathes her in. “That you found some cooler, smarter, taller girl than me and were planning to, like, dump me in front of the whole school.” She pauses. “Or something.”

Paige takes her upper arms and pushes her back a little so she can look at her face. Paige definitely looks amused now, and Azzi feels silly. “Taller? You think I’m going to leave you because you’re five ten?”

“Don’t laugh!” Azzi hits Paige’s midriff, embarrassed. “I’m serious. You just stopped talking to me out of nowhere and I got scared.”

“No, you’re right,” Paige says, and she seems to be serious now. “I shouldn’t have done that. And I also shouldn’t have forgotten about your game. I know how excited you’ve been for it, but I guess since we haven’t talked a lot this week, it just…slipped my mind.”

Azzi takes a step away. “Can you tell me why you stopped talking to me?”

Paige shrugs uncomfortably. She avoids Azzi’s eyes. “I guess…I don’t know. We’d just been spending sort of every waking minute together for the past couple of weeks, and I wanted…needed a little space.” She glances up nervously, and Azzi realizes with a sinking feeling that Paige thinks this will make her more mad.

“Paige, you know that’s okay, right?” she cups Paige’s face in her hands, making her look her in the eye. “It’s totally fine to need space. I get it. I was starting to feel a little suffocated too with how much time we were spending together,” Azzi admits. “All you needed to do was say that, and I would have given you space.”

Paige takes Azzi’s hands off of her face and wraps them around her shoulders just as the bell rings. Neither of them pay any mind to it. “I’m sorry I didn’t do that. And I’m sorry for making you so mad. And I’m really sorry for forgetting about your game.”

Azzi smiles softly, because she’s a sucker. “It’s okay. I should have communicated better. But, to be honest, I think I’m just sort of grumpy because I haven’t gotten to kiss you all week.”

“Oh, that makes sense. That’s an unfortunate situation.” Paige nods somberly. “I would be sad about not getting to kiss myself, too.”

Honestly, this girl needs to get her ego in check. Majorly. “Shut up.”

“Not unless you make me.”

Azzi shakes her head at the dumb line, but she leans up and kisses her girlfriend anyway.

Paige presses her against the door, pushes against Azzi’s lips with her tongue, and Azzi opens up for her. They make out like that for a while before Paige kisses her cheek and then traces a wet path down Azzi’s jaw, playfully nibbling at a ticklish spot that makes Azzi giggle.

“Be honest,” Paige says, pulling away to smile at her. “I’m pulling off this shit way better than Nika is, right?”

All Azzi really hears is pulling off, which is certainly something she’d like to do to the outfit because Paige always looks best in nothing, but the thought is concerning enough to make her lean away. She’s never skipped class before, and she’s not going to start now.

Paige senses that their time is almost over, and she slips a hand under Azzi’s shirt, rubbing small circles on her tummy with her thumb. “We’re okay, right?”

“Yeah, P,” Azzi replies honestly, because she can never stay mad at Paige, not when she looks at her like she is now. “We are.”

“Okay.” Paige presses one last kiss against her lips, then takes a reluctant step away. “I love you.”

Azzi blushes, then really hates Paige for making her the type of girl to blush at all. “I love you, too.”

She collects her bearings, and just before she walks out of the door, she says, “And yes, by the way. You’re definitely pulling it off better than Nika.”

She gets to her class only ten minutes late, but Jana still looks at her weirdly when she walks in. Azzi doesn’t know if the look is because of her tardiness or the probably stupid smile on her face.

“What’s up with you?” she whispers when Azzi sits down, immediately handing her one of her earbuds to share. “Did you take a really good shit in the bathroom or something?”

Azzi shoves her. Jana says gross things sometimes. “No. Just hit my pen.”

Jana hums suspiciously, then gets back to the writing exercises that they’re supposed to be doing. Azzi pulls out her laptop to do the same, relieved that Jana’s not going to interrogate her like Nika most definitely would.

But as she’s moving onto the second exercise, Jana brushes a thumb over her jaw and says, “Is that lipgloss?”

Usually, Azzi is very good at controlling her reactions, but now she lifts a hand way to quickly to cover the side of her jaw that Paige was kissing just minutes earlier. She can’t believe she didn’t check herself in the mirror before coming to class.

“It looks like the lipgloss Nika’s wearing,” Jana comments. Azzi clears her throat and brings her pencil back to paper, trying her very best to act nonchalant.

“Yeah, she kissed me on the cheek earlier. It must have smudged.”

Azzi feels Jana’s eyes burning into the side of her head, but still she looks firmly down, refusing to give anything for Jana to catch onto.

Eventually she just shrugs. “Oh. Okay.”

She hardly sounds convinced.

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡

If you were to ask Azzi why she’s secretly dating her best friend’s rival, she would tell you it’s because the secrecy, the sneaking around, the Romeo and Juliet-esque relationship, is exactly what makes dating Paige Bueckers so fun.

This, of course, would be a lie.

The real reason is because Azzi doesn’t think she’s ever met anyone who can make her feel quite the same way that Paige can, nor does she think she ever could. Which may sound a little pretentious and naive, but it’s how she feels.

Paige brings her flowers for no reason at all. Paige listens when she talks about her absentee dad and insufferable mom. Paige lets her lean on her shoulder when everything else in her life is just a little to heavy for her to bear on her own. And, maybe most importantly of all, Paige is, like, a really good kisser.

It all sounds so cliche and juvenile even to Azzi’s own ears, but to her, what they have is maybe the most substantial thing in her life.

Which makes her feel beyond guilty, because since when does she betray her best friends? Has she forgotten how Nika was the first person to ever really listen to Azzi, to talk her through any and every problem she may have? Or how Jana is the only person in the entire world who can help Azzi breathe through a panic attack, who can sense when something is going on at home?

Her friends aren’t artificial. Her friends are just as real as Paige is. Her friends don’t deserve to be left out of the loop of such an important aspect of Azzi’s life, and they certainly don’t deserve for Azzi to turn around and stab them in the back like she does every single day, like she’s been doing every single day for the past three years.

But Azzi is happy with Paige. Happy with her in a way she isn’t with her friends. And, despite all her flaws and all the admittedly mean things she’d said about people in the past, doesn’t she deserve to be happy?

“I can leave, if you want.”

Azzi bites her lip and glances over at Paige, who’s watching her cautiously. She wants to ask Why? or Did I do something? But she knows exactly why Paige’s offering.

She’s having a bad day. She woke up wallowing in her insecurity and has spent the day an anxious ball of guilty energy. She really should have said no when Paige offered to come to her place after school to study, but she thought maybe the company would make her feel better.

Instead, it might be making her feel even worse. All she can think about is how terrible of a friend she is and how terrible of a girlfriend she is and how she’s also sort of a bad person in general.

So, obviously, she’s a little irritable and more than a little distant. When Paige kissed her when they got up to her bedroom, she pulled away almost immediately; when Paige reached over to hold her hand while they were doing homework, she let go as soon as possible under the guise of needing to find a new pencil; and just now, while Azzi was questioning her place in this world and why she deserves it, she had shrugged Paige off when all she did was lay a comforting hand on her shoulder.

It makes sense why Paige would want to leave. But, as badly as Azzi’s PMS-ing today, she still doesn’t want Paige anywhere else but here.

So, she replies with an earnest, “I don’t,” and when Paige looks at her skeptically, she reaches up from her place on the floor and lays a palm on the bed where Paige’s sitting. Paige puts her hand over Azzi’s, albeit tentatively, and looks at her expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” Azzi says with a pout, trying to forget guilt and self-deprecation and just letting herself enjoy holding Paige’s hand, enjoy being in her space. “It’s just been a hard day. I shouldn’t take it out on you, though.”

Paige slides off the bed, sits next to her on her plush carpet. “Did something happen?”

Azzi pulls Paige’s hand into her lap and twiddles with her fingers. “Not specifically. I just woke up feeling bad and pretty much everything that’s happened today has made me want to cry.”

“I could kinda tell,” Paige says, and Azzi worries that she was too obvious about it, but Nika and Jana spent all day with her and they didn’t say anything. Azzi thinks Paige is probably an empath, or maybe she’s just attuned to Azzi’s emotions by now. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me over, but I figured I’d ask just in case and when you said yes I thought it’d make you feel better to have someone around. But if you want to be alone, that’s totally fine.”

“I don’t. I think I’d be lonely if you left and then I probably would cry.”

Paige smiles, opens her legs, a silent invitation much like Azzi’s hand on the bed, and Azzi doesn’t hesitate to move and sit between her legs, leaning back against Paige’s chest, letting herself be held and not feeling suffocated by it.

“If I were a really evolved, in-touch-with-emotions type of girl, I would tell you that you probably should cry,” Paige says, face nuzzled into Azzi’s neck. “But I say we just drop the homework and kiss until your mom gets back instead?”

Azzi giggles, presses her lips against Paige’s, and they do just that. And Azzi is very glad for a girlfriend who has such good ideas, because this is definitely more fun than crying.

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡

Having a secret relationship is probably one of the hardest things Azzi has ever done. Of course, having a secret relationship can never be easy, but Azzi thinks she has it especially bad because the very friends that she is trying to hide Paige from also happen to be very nosy and very susceptible to barging into Azzi’s house without any warning whatsoever.

Usually, Azzi and Paige are doing something like making out on Azzi’s bed whenever Nika or Jana invite themselves into Azzi’s home. It’s always pretty nerve-wracking, but it’s also not that difficult to just shove Paige under her bed or into her closet the moment they hear Jana’s yelling or Nika’s loud-ass laugh in the hallway. Of course, the fact that Paige has to sit in a cramped space until they can find a way to properly sneak her out is unfortunate, and it’s also sad when their time together is cut so abruptly short, but they usually just end up laughing about it later. No harm done.

Today, though, is different.

Paige and Azzi are not in Azzi’s room today, because they are in the kitchen instead, baking cookies.

Azzi’s mother is out on a trip with her latest boyfriend, and her brothers are out doing whatever they do on the weekends, leaving the entire house to her. Which means they don’t have to hide out in her room like they usually do.

Of course, maybe baking was a mistake, seeing as neither of them exactly know how to bake. There’s flour everywhere, the cookie dough has a weird texture, and they’ve spent more time ‘taste-testing’ than actually baking.

But, still, Azzi is having more fun than she’s had in a really long time.

“This is a good look for you,” Azzi says, inspecting the flour stuck to Paige’s eyelashes. “The white really brings out your eyes.”

“Oh, yeah?” Paige bats her eyelashes, then pulls Azzi in by the waist and kisses her.

Azzi pulls away, nose wrinkled. “You taste like flour, Paige.”

Paige kisses her nose, then her jaw, then her ear before saying, “That’s probably because you threw flour at me. Like a psycho.”

Azzi wants to tell her that she didn’t mean to throw it, it just flung out of the measuring cup when she slipped on the oil that Paige spilled earlier, so really it’s her own fault that she’s covered in flour, but Paige is kissing her neck and pressing her against the cupboards, and all she can really do is sigh contentedly.

After a minute, Paige grabs the bottoms of her thighs and lifts her onto the counter, probably so she doesn’t have to bend down so much to kiss where she wants to. Azzi gasps when Paige sucks at her collarbone, and she tangles her fingers in Paige’s hair, and she’s just worrying about the cookies and how they’ll probably burn if they get any more distracted when the front door opens.

Paige detaches from Azzi’s neck, though her hands stay underneath her shirt, still playing with the wire of her bra. “What—“

“Az!” it’s Nika. Of course it’s goddamn Nika. “You’re home, right?”

“Azzziiiii,” sings a second voice. Jana. “Azzzziiiii!”

Paige tries to say something else, and Azzi shoves her face in her chest to silence her while she tries to think. The front entryway leads into the living room. There’s a door from there that leads to the kitchen. If Nika and Jana decide to check the kitchen first, then Azzi and Paige are screwed.

Azzi holds her breath, clutching anxiously at Paige’s head as the footsteps get closer. The girls are still calling for her, and Azzi thinks she hears them pause outside the door, but the next second the footsteps get fainter as they walk towards the staircase.

“Shit,” Azzi mutters, releasing her girlfriend’s head. “That was close.”

Paige rubs at a spot on her scalp where Azzi must have dug her fingernails in too hard and glares. “You didn’t tell me they were coming over.”

“I didn’t know they were coming over.”

“They’re kind of shitty friends. They always show up without asking you if it’s okay.”

There are a lot of downsides to dating somebody who hates her best friends, but the biggest one is probably the arguments they get into whenever Paige says things like this and Azzi gets defensive.

She slips off the counter, straightens her shirt, and gives Paige a little shove towards the door. “They knew I was home alone. They had no reason not to come over.”

Paige pouts at her. “I don’t wanna leave.”

“You have to, Paige.”

“Why?”

“Because you just do.”

The pout falls, turns into a frown that is much less cute and much more angry. “Kick them out instead of me.”

This takes Azzi aback. Paige has never asked for such a thing, has never questioned it when Azzi has to choose her friends over her. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Paige’s tone is challenging, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Why can’t you just tell them that you don’t feel like hanging out today and ask them to leave?”

Azzi hesitates. The change in the atmosphere has thrown her for a loop. A minute ago, they were kissing, and now Paige looks like she’s rearing up for a fight that Azzi doesn’t want to have. “I don’t know. I don’t really want them to leave, Paige. I like hanging out with them.”

“You see them all the time at school,” Paige says. “You’re with them every weekend. If I don’t ask you to hang out a week in advance, you’ve already made plans with them. Moments like these—“ Paige motions at their surroundings—“are getting way too fucking rare. And even when we do hang out, this always ends up happening. You have to sneak me out like I’m some dirty secret when they show up unsolicited, because you choose them over me every fucking time.”

“You were just saying you needed space because we were spending to much time together, and now it’s not enough?” It’s silly, but all Azzi can think about is how she and Paige made a rule to never cuss while they’re angry at each other, and Azzi finds herself wanting to bring that up rather than face this poorly timed argument. Instead, she just tries to keep her voice down because the footsteps from overhead are getting louder. She sighs. “Now isn’t a good time for this, Paige.”

“Of course it isn’t.” Paige scoffs, runs a hand through her hair, and grabs her phone off the kitchen counter. “You know what? Fuck you, Azzi.” And then she turns around and just…leaves.

Azzi stares after her, even after the kitchen door has closed and her footsteps have long disappeared.

Her phone starts ringing. The sound startles her into movement, and she looks around, realizes Paige left her sweater sitting on the island. She hides it. Then, she answers the phone.

“Where are you?” Nika says accusingly. “Your car is in the driveway, so we know you’re home.”

“Are you guys over?” Azzi asks, trying her best to sound aloof rather than panicked. “I’ve had my earphones in for the past, like, hour. I’m in the kitchen.”

“Since when do you even step foot in your kitchen?”

“Since today, I guess. I’m making cookies.”

“Okay, we’re coming down.” On cue, Azzi hears footsteps descending the staircase. “Hold on.”

Nika hangs up, then appears in the kitchen with Jana a second later. “Hey, pretty.”

Azzi takes a shaky breath and smiles. “Hi.”

Jana stares at her. “You have flour on your neck.”

Azzi wipes it away, unworried about whether it was left in the shape of Paige’s lips or not.

“We thought you might be bored, all alone in the house.” Nika wanders around the kitchen. They hardly ever come in here, because Azzi has a mini fridge and candy stash in her bedroom and Nika’s house is where the good snacks are at, anyway. “Obviously we were right. You were reduced to baking cookies.”

Azzi tries for a laugh. Nika seems completely unaware of her strange behavior, but Jana is still looking at her intently. “You okay, babe?”

“Yeah.” Azzi can never lie to Jana, so she says, “I mean, I sort of have a headache, but it’s okay.”

Nika hoists herself onto the counter, sitting at the same spot Azzi was a few minutes ago, when Paige was here and close and warm. “Want to go shopping later?”

Azzi nods, and can’t help thinking she’s made a terrible mistake.

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡

The first time Azzi met Paige, she was fourteen.

Paige was some sort of basketball prodigy, a year older than Azzi and yet playing at a higher level than any other sophomore, and when Azzi saw her standing at the front of her lit class, introducing herself all-too confidently, her first thought was that she was very, very pretty.

Her second thought was that Paige could fit in perfectly with Azzi and Nika and Jana. This was her first mistake.

When she told Nika about it later that day, her best friend was furious. She told Azzi about how Paige had already tried to one-up her in debate club (which was Nika’s thing) and had also already been named the school’s basketball star before even playing in a game (also definitely Nika’s thing).

Obviously, this new girl was trying to take Nika’s spot as queen bee. Azzi still didn’t see why Paige couldn’t just join their group and be with them rather than against them, but Jana seemed to agree with Nika on this one, so she was sort of outnumbered.

Paige found her own group of friends soon enough, and the rest of the year was spent as some sort of long competition between the two groups—Who can silence a room the fastest? Who can wear the most expensive clothes? Who can throw the best parties?—and neither one of them ever came out on top. It was a constant tug-o-war.

For some reason, Nika was under the impression that since Paige was from a different state, that meant she was only going to be in Virginia for a year before she moved away again. Nika spent the whole summer singing about how the next year was going to be a fresh start, an amazing, Paige-less year—she was ecstatic.

(One June day, Azzi was out shopping with her brother and she saw Paige browsing one of the shops. They made eye contact. Paige waved, and Azzi smiled shyly. It was their first real interaction besides sharing blushing glances in class.

Azzi didn’t tell Nika about that.)

After the interaction, she found herself hoping that, since Paige hadn’t moved away by June, it meant she would still be around for the school year. It was no surprise to her, then, when Paige walked through the doors of the high school on her first day as sophomore, looking really cute in her school uniform.

Nika nearly fainted, and Azzi pretended to be shocked and angry when really she was just hoping for a chance to speak to Paige this year.

And then they got paired up together for the biology assignment.

“Hey,” Paige had said after the teacher had announced their partners and instructed them to go to each other’s desks to get to know one another. “You’re Azzi.”

Internally, Azzi was flipping her shit. She had never seen Paige up close before, and she was even prettier when she was standing right there. Plus, there was a pink tint to her pale cheeks and she was wringing her hands nervously, which let Azzi know they were feeling more or less the same way.

But on the outside, Azzi was as cool as a cucumber. She was known for her I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude and effortlessly pretty smiles, and squealing at Paige’s closeness would be a foolproof way to ruin her brand.

“Yeah, I am,” she replied, and then she thought of Nika. She couldn’t keep something like this from her. She still didn’t understand why Nika and Paige hated each other so much, but she was in no place to argue against their little rivalry. All she could do was try to stay loyal to her best friend.

But that didn’t mean she had to be a bitch to Paige. Paige seemed nice, and if she was okay with setting she and Nika’s strife aside to be friends with Azzi, then Azzi was perfectly fine with that, too. Even if the friendship had to stay a secret.

Nika freaked when she found out, of course. She gave very specific instructions to Azzi—don’t speak to her unless it’s about the assignment, don’t let her into your house, and don’t, under any circumstances, tell her anything about the group. Anything and everything she said could be used against her, against them, as blackmail.

Azzi broke basically every one of these rules within the first week of she and Paige’s partnership. Because Paige was cool, and funny, and she told good stories and turned out to be a great listener. And, again, she happened to be very nice to look at.

They got an A on that assignment, and Paige didn’t stop coming over after they finished it.

Needless to say, Azzi soon realized why she got all giggly and nervous around Paige—it was because she had a crush. Which brought on a whole slew of identity crises and a lot of looking back at certain events in her life and thinking Oh, that makes so much sense now, but the side effects that came with realizing she was queer could be saved for later.

For the moment, all she could think about was how maybe, maybe, Paige just might have felt the same way.

Azzi spent a lot of time picking petals off flowers, she loves me, she loves me not, and analyzing basically every single thing Paige said and did while they were together. Paige grabbed her hand at a jumpscare in the movie, did that mean anything? Or what about when Azzi caught her staring and she looked away and blushed—that had to mean something, right?

The end of the year rolled around before Azzi could figure out if anything actually meant anything. Paige and Azzi made plans to see each other over winter break. The night after the last day of school, Paige showed up at Azzi’s front doorstep and said, “I like you a lot, and I don’t want to end the year without kissing you,” and Azzi said, “We’re seeing each other on Wednesday, silly,” and then she leaned forward and kissed her for the first time.

All promises about staying loyal to Nika flew out the window the minute their lips slotted awkwardly together, but that didn’t matter so much to Azzi anymore.

She’d pulled away and said, “We won’t tell Nika about this, right?”

“No,” Paige replied. “I guess not.”

And that’s how their relationship started—with a secret friendship and a hidden first kiss.

They are used to their world being confined in a tiny locked box, never to be opened by anyone but them. But worlds can’t grow, Azzi will come to learn, without space.

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡

The curious thing about Paige is that she’s the type of person who looks like she could never, ever get angry, let alone at someone she loves as much as she loves Azzi. But then you catch yourself saying the wrong thing, or stumbling over your words at the wrong time, and she explodes, because when all that time you thought she was simply a happy, contented girl without a hateful bone in her body, she was really letting the anger sit just underneath her skin to fester.

Paige does not explode, however, in the way that explosions usually happen. Even when the anger bubbles up to the surface and bares its ugly teeth, she is quiet about it. She doesn’t scream, or demand answers, or stomp her feet and yell. She looks you in the eye, says what she wants to say, and leaves.

She leaves, and she takes your heart with her.

It has been four days since Azzi and Paige fought. Or, to put it more accurately, since Paige fought and Azzi sat there like a stump. A stupid, clueless stump. Azzi has been trying to contact her girlfriend basically every spare minute she gets since then, but there has been nothing. Paige’s ghosting her.

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Last year, they got into a fight much bigger and louder than this one, and in the middle of it Paige had said something like “I can’t do this anymore” before walking out the door.

Paige had no idea, then, that Azzi’s father left them after a big fight with her mother. She did not know that he had said almost the same words, worn almost the same expression as he walked away as if it were nothing.

Azzi panicked, surprised by the likeness of it all, surprised by her own reaction to it, surprised that Paige could leave her as easily as he did. Her mom found her in the bathroom, trying and failing to breathe properly because she’d driven somebody away again.

She was scared of the rejection that would surely come with reaching out, but she did it anyway, sending Paige one long text and reminding herself that this is why she doesn’t let herself care about people too much when Paige didn’t respond.

But the next day, Paige knocked on her bedroom door with a bouquet of flowers and begged to her, please, I’m sorry, I love you, and Azzi told her about her past, about why her dad isn’t around anymore.

Paige held her, and said, “I will never leave you again. I will stay right here forever. I promise.”

And yet, here they are. And maybe that’s what hurts the most.

But Azzi knows that, this time, Paige is not the one who needs to apologize. So, after four days of radio silence, she shows up at Paige’s doorstep after school when she is supposed to be at a soccer game, because Paige was right. Azzi has had to choose between Paige and everything else in her life for a long time, and she always goes for everything else when she’s pretty sure that Paige is her everything. So, here she is, missing a pretty important match, freezing her ass off on Paige’s front porch, and hoping that Paige will just answer the door and give her a chance to explain herself.

The door opens, but it’s not Paige. It’s Paige’s stepmom. “Oh, Azzi. Hi, honey.” She looks quite confused, for some reason, but not angry, which makes Azzi think Paige hasn’t told her family about what happened.

“Um, hi. Is Paige home?”

The confusion on her face deepens. “No, she went out with KK about a half hour ago. Said they were going to watch your soccer game.”

Azzi stops. She stops because this whole time, these past ninety-six hours, she has been terrified because Paige left. But now Paige is trying to come back, despite everything.

“Thank you,” Azzi says, and then she walks back to her car and pulls her phone out of her pocket just as it starts ringing.

“Azzi,” Paige says when she picks up.

“Where are you?” Azzi asks, because she needs to apologize in person.

“I’m at your house. I—I went to the school, to see you, but you weren’t there, and you’re not at your house either.”

“I know. I came to see you. It was more important than the match.”

There’s a pause, and then Paige exhales something like relief. “Come to me?”

Azzi starts her car. “Always.”

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡

When Azzi was little—when her parents never fought, before her younger brothers were adopted—she had a universe for a bedroom.

Now, this is a very well-kept secret of Azzi’s, but she was sort of lame back in kindergarten. Her father was really into astronomy, and Azzi was able to read the stars like a second language before she ever opened a book. So, for her fourth birthday, all that she asked for was a space-themed bedroom.

She fell asleep in her older brother’s room the night before her birthday. And when she woke up, she had been magically transported to her own room, except it wasn’t her own room anymore. It had been professionally painted, and murals of all the planets in the universe had been painted on every wall, making her feel like she was taking a walk through the sky. The ceiling was split into two halves: on one side, there was the sun, this giant fiery ball of yellow that Azzi was sure would fall down on her if she wasn’t careful—and on the other, the moon sat not quite as bright nor quite as extraordinary as its counterpart, but Azzi thought it must have been much less lonely because it had all the stars and constellations for company and the sun only had itself.

That night, her parents lay in bed with her. Her dad pointed out all of her favorite constellations which the painters had so carefully constructed, and her mom stared around the room with something like wonder.

“So, we got you the universe,” her dad had told her as he tucked her in, after her mom had already left the room. “How can we top that for your big O-five?”

“Don’t be silly, daddy,” she’d giggled. “I can’t have the whole universe.”

“Why not?” he’d asked.

Azzi found that she didn’t know how to answer him.

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡

It starts to rain while Azzi’s driving, and usually she would slow down because it terrifies her to drive in the rain, but today she can’t seem to be that scared of hydroplaning or careening or dying because all she can think about is how Paige hates the cold and she’s standing outside of Azzi’s locked, empty house with nothing but the roof over the front porch as shelter.

She gets to her house in ten minutes, which is a record time considering it’s a busy Saturday afternoon and there’s traffic lining every street. Paige is sitting on her porch in a t-shirt and baggy jeans when Azzi pulls into the driveway, and she gets out of her car, passes by without even looking at her to unlock the door. She hears her stand up, take a step towards her. “Azzi—“

She opens the door. “Let’s get inside. You’re gonna catch a cold.”

Paige looks at her a little hesitantly, but she does what Azzi asks anyway.

Once they’re inside, Azzi splays her palms over Paige’s forearms, thumbs rubbing at her cold elbows, animosity and fear forgotten for the moment, overpowered by the need to take care of her girlfriend. “How long were you outside?”

Paige stares down at Azzi for a moment, looking at her as if this is some sort of trick. “Azzi…” but Azzi levels her with a look that says later, and she relaxes a little. “I don’t know. At least ten minutes, I guess.”

“You should go change. You left your sweatpants over awhile ago. And I have your sweater from Tuesday.” They both flinch a little at the mention of Tuesday, like even mentioning it will take them right back there. Azzi backs away and nudges her towards the hallway. “I’ll make hot chocolate, and then we can talk.”

As soon as Paige is upstairs, Azzi goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on to boil. She’s trying to think of how she should apologize, how she can make up for all the mistakes she’s made in the past year. Well, almost two years. Their anniversary is in a couple months. Which reminds her that she needs to start looking for a gift, because shipping is slow this time of year.

That is, if she and Paige are still together a month from now, if Paige doesn’t break up with her today. Which, yeah, maybe she’d deserve that because she hasn’t been a great girlfriend. But she doesn’t think she could get over it if Paige broke up with her.

The milk starts boiling just as Azzi starts crying just as Paige walks into the room, dressed in warm clothes and looking pretty enough that Azzi cries harder and turns away, embarrassed, busying herself with turning the stove on low.

Paige doesn’t say anything about Azzi’s sniffles or the way she’s wiping her eyes angrily with the sleeves of her sweater. She just grabs two mugs and moves Azzi’s hands away from the stovetop, pours the boiling water.

Azzi watches her miserably. “I’m supposed to be making it for you,” she hiccups.

“It’s okay, mama,” Paige murmurs, and Azzi knows that this is Paige’s way of comforting her without the risk of getting too close.

Azzi goes into the pantry, mainly to collect herself and to try to stop her lips from quivering anymore. When she comes out with three hot chocolate packets, the tears streaming down her cheeks are silent.

She pours them into the mugs—two packets for Paige, one for herself—and lets Paige stir them in, watching the milk turn brown and creamy.

By the time they’re settled in the living room, Azzi’s properly embarrassed. She hides behind her mug, pulling her legs into herself, and tries to remember how to speak. She’s spent every second since their argument going over how she’s going to apologize, what she’s going to say, what she’s going to do. But now that Paige is here, sitting in front of her looking tentative and a little angry, all of that seems useless. Instead, she blurts out the one thing that’s been in the back of her mind since she realized that Paige came back for her. “Are you here to break up with me?”

Paige sighs, sets her hot chocolate down on the coffee table. “Azzi, no.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Azzi adds, but the words choke her up again so she closes her mouth.

“Just because we argued doesn’t mean I want to break up with you.” Paige avoids her eyes, picks at the expensive fabric of Azzi’s couch. She says, voice a little shyer now, “I asked you to come to me, didn’t I?”

Yeah, she did.

“Are you…” Azzi peers at her over the rim of her mug, “angry with me?”

“To be honest? Yeah,” she says quietly, like a part of her is scared to hurt Azzi. And it does hurt, a little bit, but Azzi would rather she be honest with her than hide her feelings for Azzi’s sake. “I’m not just angry with you, though. I’m also hurt, and sorta sad, and I miss you a lot, despite everything. And I’m mad at myself for how I handled…everything.” She meets Azzi’s eyes sort of sheepishly, and then shrugs like none of what she said matters.

Azzi opens her mouth to apologize, but instead what comes out is a soft, “I’m proud of you for telling me that,” because it’s always been incredibly hard for Paige to communicate, to put her feelings into words.

Azzi isn’t sure whether her being proud has any substance right now, but Paige’s eyes widen and then she smiles just a little bit, looking back down at the sofa bashfully. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

Azzi hums, and then she puts her hand on Paige’s knee, lightly enough that she knows she can move away if she wants to. She doesn’t move away, though, just lifts her eyes, and Azzi says, vehemently, “I’m really sorry, Paige.”

Paige nods, places her hand over Azzi’s, and watches her expectantly.

“What you said that day…Paige, I’m not going to say I hadn’t noticed the way I’d been treating you. I’m not going to say that I had no idea I’ve been putting you second to everything in my life for awhile now, because of course I did. Every time I chose someone, or something, over you, I was making a conscious decision to do that.” She stops to frown at herself—this is more difficult than she thought it would be. Paige rubs a thumb over her knuckles, gives her an encouraging nod, and that’s enough to make Azzi continue. “I guess it was just easier that way. It was easier to cut you out of my life whenever it was convenient, knowing you would come right back the next day acting like it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Which sucks,” Paige says.

Azzi looks down shamefully. “I know.”

“I know that what we’re doing is complicated,” Paige says, scooting a little closer to her. “But the way you’ve been treating me…it’s mean, Azzi.”

Tears well in Azzi’s eyes when she hears the hurt in Paige’s voice, and hearing that—seeing it written all over her face up close—she understands now the weight of everything she’s done, all the mistakes she’s made. And yet Paige is still here, holding her hand, willing to make this work.

And Azzi is sure as hell willing to change. For her. For them.

“I know,” she whispers again. “I’ve been a really shitty girlfriend.” She wipes a stray tear away with her free hand, and Paige’s lips wobble. She looks away, probably to pull herself together, and Azzi reminds herself of the one-cry-a-day rule that she put in place for herself a few years ago, which sort of helps her stop sniffling. “And I’m really, really sorry.”

Paige squeezes her hand. “I know you are.”

It’s not forgiveness, not yet, but Azzi feels better knowing that Paige knows how sincere she is.

“I could’ve handled it better, too,” Paige says after a silent moment. “I never meant to blow up on you like that, and especially not at such a bad time. I was just…I had had enough, I guess.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me sooner?” Azzi asks gently.

Paige gives her a sad little smile. “I was sort of hoping I wouldn’t have to.”

Paige hates conflict, but Azzi knows it’s not about that. It’s about the fact that she shouldn’t have had to talk about it—Azzi shouldn’t have kept treating her like shit until she reached the end of her line. But she did. And here they are.

“Baby,” Azzi breathes, a new wave of guilt crashing over her, and she wonders if she will ever stop feeling bad about this. It’s probably for the best if she doesn’t, anyway.

“I know,” Paige whispers. She takes Azzi’s hand off her knee, and for a moment Azzi is worried that she’s going to turn her away, but she just starts playing with her fingers like she does whenever she gets anxious. “I should have talked about it before I got so angry, though. Or I at least could have picked a better time to yell at you about it.” The teasing lilt in her voice makes Azzi smile a little, but then Paige’s wincing. “And I’m sorry for cussing at you. I feel the most bad about that.”

Azzi has spent the better part of the year treating Paige like she’s nothing more than a second thought, and yet Paige is still apologizing for something so small, so insignificant in the end, and Azzi almost wishes Paige would break up with her, find someone a million times better, someone who can treat her right.

“It’s okay,” she says, knowing Paige won’t let her dismiss the apology. “Hey,” Paige is avoiding her eyes, so she takes her chin, angles her face towards her until they’re looking straight at each other, “I’m going to be better, okay? I don’t care if my friends can’t know about you. I don’t care if it’s easier to keep them from asking questions than it is to ask you to stay. I care about you.” This, most of all, is what she wants Paige to know, because she deserves to feel nothing but loved, respected, cared for. “From now on, I’m going to show it better, okay? I love you. I love you so much I don’t even know what to do with myself sometimes. I want you to know that, even if it feels stupid to say.”

Paige juts her bottom lip out a little bit, and she leans into Azzi’s touch, leans into Azzi, getting close enough to her that Azzi can feel her breath on her lips when she murmurs, “Promise?”

“Promise,” she echoes, and she does. She stays where she is, letting Paige decide whether she wants to move away or close the gap, and she almost gasps when Paige bridges the space between them, even though she sees it coming. It’s a soft, tentative kiss, like they’re trying to remember how to fit together, trying to be gentle with each other in the way they weren’t four days ago, trying to say I love you and I’m sorry and I promise all at once.

It takes a moment to catch her breath when they separate because Azzi’s heart and lungs had already nearly forgotten what it was like to kiss Paige, but by the time she finds her voice again, she says, “Can you promise me something, too?”

Cupping Azzi’s face in her hands, Paige nods and pecks her on the lips.

“If we ever find ourselves here again, please do me a favor and dump me. Like, don’t be nice about it, either. Pull a Regina George and sabotage me, or something.”

Paige stares at her for a moment, and then she laughs, that loud, full laugh that Azzi loves so much. “You’re ridiculous.”

Something inside Azzi slides into place, like she’s been missing a vital organ and just got a life-saving transplant. “I’m serious! You need to have some self-respect, baby.”

“How about,” Paige kisses her again, “we just try not to find ourselves here again. Yeah?”

“Seriously,” Azzi says, more to herself than Paige, “you have such good ideas.”

Paige giggles, calls her a dork, and kisses her. Just like that, everything is right in the world once again.

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #uconn wbb #wcbb #wbb #pazzi au #high school au

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my-castles-crumbling · 9 days ago

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cousin - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 181

“So let me get this straight,” James said, cheeks pink from laughter as he, Sirius, Remus, and Peter all sat on the floor of their dorm, piles of candy scattered around them.

“Can’t get something straight if you aren’t!” Sirius sing-songed, making the whole group fall into fits of giggles again, Peter spraying an appalled-looking Remus with bits of chocolate.

“Fine,” James corrected himself after calming down, chuckling as he spoke. “Let me get this gay. When your mum said she said she was disowning you for dating this wanker,” he jabbed his thumb at Remus, who gave him an affronted look, “you not only ran away, but you–”

“Asked her if she would feel differently if he was my cousin, yeah,” Sirius nodded, clearly fighting back a mad grin. “You know, since the Noble Black Family tends to be so chill about inbreeding.”

They all sat silently for a moment, biting on their knuckles and swallowing their laughs, before James burst out in guffaws, starting a chain reaction of hysterics that couldn’t be calmed for the rest of the night.

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narcjsistx · 9 months ago

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𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 | sae, kaiser, rin, reo and isagi

plot: domestic shit because I love fluff stuff 🌷 the characters chosen seem to me to be the most "visible" with little girls... so yeah. I'm actually not very sure of the result, maybe I'll delete it sooner or later to do it again

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

— sae itoshi

If there was one thing Sae had understood since becoming a parent, it was that having two children was complicated. On one hand he was now understanding all of his mother's concerns when, as children, Rin was unmanageable

We know however that males, if brothers, are somehow a little more manageable. Females, if sisters, are not. He was the father of two girls

As much as he loved them, he agreed with you when you said it would have been better to wait a few more years. But then he looks at his girls in the face, he regrets even thinking about it a little, because he loves them too much

In his eyes he sees him and Rin when they were kids: Sayami, the eldest, looks awfully like him because of her reddish hair, but in character she is like you. Semika, the youngest, is different from him in appearance but identical in character. Sayami brings out Semika's very hidden, but existing, sociable side. The only trait that makes girls similar are those damned undereyelashes that have marked the Itoshi family for generations

“Love, when are you going to let them go?”

"No."

"Sae, we've already talked about this..."

"I said no"

"Sae."

"I already said no, Y/n.”

"Y'know, they're already 7 years old. Sooner or later it will happen..."

"Not as long as I'm alive"

...a simple child had asked Sayami if she and her sister wanted to go play with him. Sae took their hand and walked out of the park as fast as he could with his treasures

✶ Sae tries hard to talk with her little girls. In a relationship not talking, or in any case having some communication problems, can be understood... with little girls no, because they would take it as a rejection. He ALWAYS goes out of his way to talk to them as much as possible, also because he loves the moments when they come home from school and, together, they chat about what happened during the day

✶ Let's be honest, Sae doesn't have much other knowledge or passions apart soccer, which was probably imposed on him as a child. He has not the slightest intention of making any of his girls leave school: if like him they end up having to change country to follow a sport, Sae will have to be absolutely sure that they are studying at the same time. He doesn't want them to be like him, because he knows how difficult is that life

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: resting with them. Sae is often busy with his career, training and of course with his beautiful wife, but he always tries to make time in the evenings (if he's not out of town for a match) with his daughters. He likes to lie down on the bed or on the sofa, before dinner, with the girls who tell him everything exciting they did that day

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: he hides it well but LOVES when you come to watch him play. If he is normally a prodigy, in front of his daughters he must seem even better. When he scores a goal the first thing he would do is turn towards you, no celebration because it's not his style, but he would wave to his daughters who are cheering for him from the stands. Once the game is over he would ignore the interviewers, as he normally does, and simply come to you to claim his victory kiss

— kaiser micheal

Having children, whether boys or girls, was NOT in Michael's plan. I mean, how can someone who had such a complicated childhood have children? Even if he hides it, he has an enormous fear of being able to make someone of his own blood suffer, voluntarily or not, what he has experienced. He just knows that if something has to happen, it happens. And he doesn't know what fate has in store for his possible heir. He might hate his kid and disown him or her like his parents, if they can be called in that way, did with him

When he found out that he was going to become a father, and with a daughter, he seriously thought for a few moments about simply walking away. Not that he hated you, he couldn't, but it was really strange for him to think that someone of his own blood, his kid, was about to born

Kaiser can't explain how all the worries he had collapsed the moment he held Anneliese, his daughter, in his arms for the first time. Just by seeing and hearing her, he wondered how he could even remotely think that he could hypothetically hurt such a wonderful being

Anneliese quickly became the center of Kaiser's world, along of course with the beautiful mother of his little girl. It can be said that his daughter is a shameless copy of him, both in appearance and character: long, blonde hair, proud and always challenging temperament. One might doubt that she is your daughter but not that she is not Kaiser's. She is liteeerally him

...Sitting on the sofa, Anneliese is watching one of her father's old match. The assist with a teammate ends badly, but the ball returns to Kaiser's possession again and he scores a goal

“Dad, the next time you pass the ball to someone unworthy, I will be even more angry than I am now!”

"I understand, don't worry. I can't make my little girl angry again, can I?"

"Mihya, on the field you have to do what you feel, don't listen to her..."

"How can I not listen to our little girl, Schatz?"

✶ Kaiser loves to take his daughter with him everywhere: whether it's to an interview, to training or to a match, Anneliese is almost certainly with him or next to you. He loves when you and your little girl cheer for him during a match, even more if he knows that if he scores there will be your lips kissing him and the little girl's little arms hugging him. He shows a lot his family and his being a fantastic father (you tell him too, he's a little insecure about this) in front of his teammates. The emperor's family!

✶ Ness is practically the little girl's uncle. He never stopped idolizing Micheal, even more so when he discovered that now there was no longer just one Kaiser but two. Micheal is slightly jealous, he doesn't like that his daughter spends so much time with Ness... he hates seeing his Anneliese so happy with an adult other than him or her mother

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: he loves when his daughter plays with his hair, especially with the blue parts. Seeing the cerulean blue on his little girl's pale hands, as she braids it or whatever it is, makes him tender. He once dreamed of Anneliese with the exact same hair as him and he admits he wouldn't mind seeing her that way. Maybe blue tipped hair could be the Kaiser's new trademark

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: whenever you and Anneliese come to a game, the first thing he makes sure to do is that you have a seat in the VIP section. He loves seeing the stadium celebrate for him because his family is there to see him, it's something that feeds his ego. As soon as the match was over he would have you go down onto the field with him, the little girl in his arm and his other arm around your waist as he holds you close to him

— rin itoshi

In his mind Rin, the few times he imagined himself, he always saw himself as the father of a son, and nothing more. Not brothers, as much as he actually liked the idea, just a child and above all a boy. He would have been happy like that

As much as he liked the idea of a possible second child, with his job he wouldn't be able to dedicate the time he knows children deserve. At the same time he doesn't want to leave all the work to you, because parenting is something that is usually done by two. One child would have been enough

He doesn't know how but at a certain point in his life, he found himself with three daughters, all of whom were no more than two years apart. At first it was just a child, your beautiful Ayaka, then suddenly Homura also appeared and finally Rika

The idea of just one boy dematerialized pretty quickly. But he loves his girls so much that, when sometimes he thinks of his original idea, he curses himself: how could he deprive himself of the presence and love of his girls?

All the girls resemble him tremendously, both in character (the one before the incident with Sae) and in appearance, obviously talking about the undereyelashes signed 'Itoshi'. Ayaka, only, is the female version of her father. Homura and Rika have taken something from their mother, but Ayaka could almost resemble Sae too... well, he is her uncle after all, right?

"Dad, Rika doesn't pass the ball when she plays!"

"You can't handle it either, Homura! You can't even pass me games at home!"

"Girls, calm down"

"Learn to score on goal first, before complaining"

...The situation seemed to be calm under Rin's control, but Ayaka broke the calm by scoring a perfect goal into the net of the private home soccer field. New prodigy?

✶ Rin often thinks about what might happen if, in the future, he ever does something that could divide her daughters. He has no preference between them, but he is always terrified that he might do something wrong that could create inequalities that he doesn't want, because in a certain sense, what happened between him and Sae must not happen in another generation of the Itoshi. He bond and love between his daughters must exist forever, not deteriorate as happened with his Nii Chan

✶ He would try to get his daughters to try as many sports as possible. As much as Rin loves soccer, his choice was influenced by the fact that Sae played it... what if he was now a world champion in, idk, volleyball? NO OKAY. He simply likes to make all 3 try new things, looking for something that maybe they could dedicate themselves with passion

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: when his little girls organize themselves to do makeup on him. He's got a pretty mysterious look to maintain, but if Homura has decided that he's going to show up at practice tomorrow wearing orange nail polish, he'll show up that way. Not that he has any problem fighting anyone who has something to say against him, but no one dares. Rin loves to see them concentrate while putting on mascara or a completely disgusting shade of lipstick

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: if he knows that you are there to see him play, he will do everything to score as many goals as possible and, above all, quickly: he wants to keep his girls' expectations high. Once he scored a goal he would raise his hand to the sky, waiting for his girls to do the same thing because it has now become a gesture that only each other understands. At the end of the game the first thing he would do is go up to the stands to be with you, fuck his lukewarm teammates

— reo mikage

Looking after Nagi was like taking a pre parenting course. Nagi essentially has the needs of a child if you ignore the fact that he is 17 years old and 1.90cm tall, so Reo knows quite well what a child needs. Then, he always saw the maids in his house bring their young children to work when possible: Reo loved playing with them or picking them up, or just generally spending time with them. The idea of having children, sooner or later and with a special person, has actually always interested him. He always said to himself, but in reality he hoped, that he would find the person who would love him for simply being Reo and not for his money... and then you came along!

His idea has always been of only one child because he is afraid that, sooner or later, two possible children could fight over the money of the Mikage company. Everything is unpredictable, right? So he doesn't want to risk anything

His original idea was respected. When he held Hikari for the first time he simply understood that he wouldn't be able to create, obviously with you, such a cute and perfect being again

The only similarity that links Hikari to her father is the same hair color, that strong purple. For the rest she is completely her mother, and Reo loves this even more: it's cute to see a mini version of you, but with some of his features, walking around the house. His new sweet treasure!!

"So, this... this, yes, also this... that... this"

"Reo, honey, what are you doing with that newspaper?"

"Nothing dangerous. Don't worry"

"What are you doing though? You make me curious"

"I told you not to worry, honey. Trust me."

...Reo was marking all the objects, approximately 300, in a catalog of toys and children's products. If he has money, why can't he spend it if he knows it will make his daughter happy?

✶ The first person Reo told that he was going to be a father was obviously Nagi. Let's say that at first Seishiro wasn't really believing it, but when he saw that pregnancy test... oh... yes, he definitely believed it. It often happens that Hikari stays with Nagi for days at a time, as the little girl sees him as a giant she can annoy. Reo often tells his daughter not to bother Nagi too much, but it secretly makes him laugh to see Seishiro so awkward with Hikari because he doesn't know how to handle children (himself??)

✶ If there's one thing he would never do, it would be to push Hikari into running the Mikage company once she grows up. Reo hated living his childhood with the knowledge that he already had a predetermined destiny, and he doesn't want Hikari to have the same treatment. She want to become a doctor? It will become one. She want to become a farmer? It will become one. She want to become president of the world? It will become one. He simply wants her to do what she loves

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: travel the world with his daughter or of course with you too. The money is there, and what better way is there to spend it than learning and traveling? Hikari, at less than 5 years old, had already visited half the world. Reo loves taking her to different places and seeing her reactions so amazed. His favorite will remain forever when they arrived in New York, where Hikari didn't stop smiling for a second

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: it is obvious to say that he would pay to let you have the VIP of the VIP, his girls deserve the best, right?. He would feel amazing among all his teammates knowing that his family is there for him while there is no one for them. At the end of the game he would let the cameras record him hugging you and Hikari, why would he hide all the love he has for you from the cameras?

— isagi yoichi

Isagi was relatively happy as a child: his parents loved him, he played the sport he loved, he didn't do badly at school. Everything was happy for him in his early life. The only thing he often noticed were his classmates with older or younger siblings, who yeah argued with each other, but at the same time loved each other very much. He didn't suffer from loneliness from being the only child, not that, but he was always intrigued by the concept of not being the only child in the family

Since you've been dating seriously, and even before actually, he's always thought that his future family would model what he had: loving parents, one child, two if they had the chance

When Fujiko was born there was this plan in his mind: okay, now we dedicate ourselves to her, we give her everything she needs... then, if we want, we will have another child. Both you and Yoichi were very convinced that a max of 5 years after the birth of the kid you would try again, but Fujiko filled your lives so much that you decided that only she was good for the whole life

Fujiko's appearance bears little resemblance to her father's, maybe just a few facial features. If we talk about character, however, everything changes completely: it's a kind of Isagi 2.0, the same determination coupled with a lot of kindness. We will find out later if she also has bipolar disorder on and off the field like her dad- WHO SAID THAT??

"Fujiko, why aren't there any more pencil in your pencilcase?"

"Mom, I had to give them to some friends. Otherwise they couldn't write what the teacher said"

"This kindness reminds me of someone"

"Who? Who? Who?"

"Think about it: who do you consider to be the kindest person in the world?"

"My dad!"

...doing homework with your daughter, you noticed that some things were missing. Isagi is kind, one of the kindest in the world; when you told him about it he was perplexed, because he too would have done the exact same thing... just like his little girl

✶ Having now become a professional striker, he often does not have the opportunity to spend long periods at home due to champions or special training sessions. When this happens he is happy to leave because soccer is his passion anyway, on the other hand he dies inside every time he hugs his daughter or you for the last time. He loves his family, he would like to always be with you and Fujiko because you give him courage, but he understands that always moving with him from city to city, or even from country to country, is complicated and, above all, tiring

✶ He would like to direct Fujiko towards soccer, but at the same time he knows that he cannot choose something that is actually up to her. He has the belief that Fujiko would probably be good as him, unlocking her own version of the meta vision, but he prefers to see her little girl happy with the things she has chosen and loves

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: he likes when they watch the games Isagi has already played. Television often replays reruns of recent or even old matches, and whenever Isagi is present on the field, Fujiko is the first to ask to watch them together. Yoichi enjoys seeing her so amazed by the actions on the field, commenting on anything that she doesn't understand because she rightfully doesn't know the rules of soccer. The thing that amuses him most is explaining to her who are the people he passes the ball, whether they are his friends or not, but now for Fujiko there is only Bachira with the title of dad's friend

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: the mere fact that you come to see him play is a lot for him, but since you and Fujiko once showed up wearing a jacket that said "biggest fan of number 11" on the back, he understood that he didn't it would matter if he were to be burned alive if he did it for you. Unfortunately the insults would always be there, but he would try to contain himself in front of his little girl. At the end of the game the first thing he would do is come to you and let you onto the field, making you celebrate with him

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4m0r1m · 3 months ago

Text

Let It Burn

SUMMARY: They were supposed to hate each other. An arranged marriage was the Black family's final game — but neither Sirius nor she were willing players. Until one night beneath the stars, he saw her smile. And everything began to fall apart.

WORD COUNT: 2,776 words

PAIRING: sirius black x slytherin!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, a little angst

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual Friday night energy — students chattering over the remnants of pudding, House banners rippling slightly in the enchanted ceiling's breeze. Sirius Black lounged lazily at the Gryffindor table, laughing too loudly at something James had muttered about McGonagall’s new hat.

But his laughter died on his lips when his eyes, almost against his will, slid towards the Slytherin table.

There she was.

The so-called Princess of Slytherin.

Poised. Perfect. Wrapped in a halo of cold detachment and veiled sneers. Her hair was sleek and immaculate, her posture impeccable, her smile — if she ever deigned to offer one — sharp enough to cut glass. Sirius swore she could curdle milk with a single look.

And he was supposed to marry her.

Betrothed. Promised. Packaged neatly by two families so desperate for control they thought binding him to her would somehow tame him. As if he would ever be tamed.

She caught him looking and arched one elegant eyebrow. A silent, disdainful challenge.

Sirius scowled and jerked his gaze away.

“I’m not bloody doing it,” he muttered under his breath, stabbing his treacle tart viciously.

James, Remus and Peter exchanged looks.

“You don’t really have a choice, mate,” said James with a grimace. “Not unless you fancy disownment.”

Sirius snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first time a Black got struck off the bloody tapestry.”

Remus gave him a sidelong glance. “Still. Must be a special kind of hell, being chained to that one.”

Sirius didn't answer. He didn’t need to.

Everyone knew her reputation.

Cold. Ruthless. Uncaring.

And Sirius hated her for it.

It was a week later, late afternoon, when Sirius stumbled across something that would change everything.

He'd taken a detour through the courtyard, avoiding a furious Slughorn who was still smarting from the "accidental" potion explosion Sirius and James had orchestrated earlier.

There, by the old fountain, he froze.

The Slytherin Princess was kneeling — actually kneeling — in front of a tiny, sniffling first-year Hufflepuff. The boy clutched a battered satchel and had a skinned knee visible through torn trousers.

Sirius stood behind a stone pillar, unseen, mouth slightly open.

She was talking to the boy in a low, soothing voice, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket to dab at the wound. She conjured a little salve with a flick of her wand, smiling — smiling — as the boy giggled at the cool sensation.

Not a sneer. Not a smirk. A real, genuine, luminous smile that softened every sharp angle of her haughty face.

Sirius felt like he’d been punched in the chest.

Who the hell was that?

He backed away before she could spot him, heart pounding for reasons he didn’t want to examine too closely.

That night, unable to sleep, Sirius roamed the castle.

The corridors were silvered with moonlight, empty and echoing. His footsteps were quiet against the stone as he made his way towards the Astronomy Tower — a favourite haunt when he needed to be alone.

He rounded the last staircase and stopped dead.

She was there.

Leaning against the battlements, her cloak pulled tight against the chill, staring out over the sleeping grounds.

For a long moment, he considered turning back.

But something — curiosity, defiance, stubbornness — made him cross the threshold.

She turned slightly at the sound of his approach, pale face unreadable.

“Don’t tell me,” she drawled, voice cutting through the silence. “Caught out past curfew. Again.”

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Could say the same for you, Princess.”

She laughed — low and surprisingly soft — and turned back to the view.

Sirius hesitated, then moved to lean on the wall a few feet away from her.

The silence stretched, but for once it wasn’t sharp or hostile. It was... companionable. Almost.

After a minute, she spoke again.

“You're lucky, you know,” she said quietly, not looking at him. “To have friends who love you. Who’d do anything for you.”

Sirius frowned. “Is that what this is? A compliment? I should frame it.”

She smiled faintly, still staring at the stars.

“You laugh, but it's true,” she said. “I watch you lot sometimes. Potter, Lupin, Pettigrew... you’d burn down the world for each other.”

There was something hollow in her voice, something brittle beneath the casual words.

Sirius found himself watching her, really watching her.

“What about you?” he asked, voice rough. “Surely you’ve got your little Slytherin court.”

She snorted. “They don’t love me. They follow me. Big difference.”

There was a bleakness in her tone that hit Sirius harder than he cared to admit.

He shifted, uneasy. “You make it bloody hard for people to like you, you know.”

She laughed again, but it wasn’t cruel this time. Just tired.

“Better to be feared than pitied, Black.”

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Sirius stared up at the endless, glittering sprawl of the sky, the cold biting through his robes.

“I saw you, earlier,” he said eventually.

She glanced at him, wary. “Saw me what?”

“With the Hufflepuff kid.”

Her cheeks coloured slightly, the first sign of true vulnerability he’d ever seen in her.

“He fell,” she muttered defensively. “It’s not like I could leave him there.”

Sirius smiled crookedly. “Didn’t know you knew how to smile without plotting someone’s murder.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

But the edges of her mouth twitched.

Sirius found himself grinning.

There was a crack in her armour. A glimpse of something real.

And damn it all, he wanted to see more.

The Astronomy Tower became their secret.

Neither of them ever spoke about it during the day. In public, she was still the icy Slytherin Princess and he the reckless Gryffindor rebel. They bickered in corridors, exchanged cold glares across classrooms, and maintained the careful façade expected of them.

But at night, under the silent witness of a thousand stars, they were different.

Real.

Vulnerable.

It terrified Sirius how quickly he started looking forward to those stolen conversations.

It terrified him even more how she smiled when she saw him approach, something shy and genuine flickering across her usual perfect mask.

It was the end of term when everything shattered.

Sirius returned to Grimmauld Place for the summer, and it was like stepping into a grave.

The house reeked of dust, old magic, and simmering hatred. His mother's shrill voice rang through the halls, punctuated by sharp reprimands and endless lectures about loyalty, blood, and duty.

And marriage.

Always marriage.

He could still hear her voice echoing down the corridors: You will marry her, Sirius Orion Black. You will restore this family's honour.

He wondered if she would still say it if she knew about the nights he'd spent talking to his so-called bride-to-be under the stars, trading secrets and stolen laughter.

Maybe.

Maybe she would simply chain them together all the faster.

The breaking point came one evening when Sirius found a set of marriage contracts laid out neatly on the dining room table, alongside his wand and a black quill.

Signed and sealed.

As if he were some prize animal being led to slaughter.

He exploded.

There were shouting, slammed doors, a flash of crimson light as he hexed a portrait in a fit of rage. His mother's howls followed him up the stairs and down the hall, curses in ancient tongues battering at his back.

That night, while the house slept under a heavy, oppressive silence, Sirius packed a bag.

A few sets of robes. His broomstick. His father's old dagger, tucked into his belt.

He didn’t leave a note.

Didn’t look back.

The moment he crossed the threshold of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, he felt something invisible snap inside him — like cutting the last fraying thread tying him to a life he no longer wanted.

By dawn, he was pounding on the door of the Potters’ cottage, soaked from rain and shivering.

James's mother opened the door, took one look at him, and pulled him into a hug so warm and fierce it nearly broke him.

"You’re safe now, love," she whispered. "You're safe."

Sirius sagged into her embrace, rainwater dripping onto the doormat, feeling like, for the first time in his life, maybe he actually was.

When he returned to Hogwarts in September, something was different.

He was lighter. Freer.

But the world hadn’t changed around him — not really.

She was still the Princess of Slytherin.

And he was still the boy she was meant to marry.

But now, when their eyes met across the Great Hall, there was something crackling in the air between them. Something dangerous and electric.

That night, he found her at the Astronomy Tower, waiting.

As if she knew he'd come.

The air was crisp, the first hints of autumn nipping at the castle walls. She stood by the parapet, arms folded, face upturned to the sky.

Sirius approached quietly, heart hammering.

"You ran," she said without turning, as if she could read it in his bones.

He gave a short laugh. "Couldn’t bloody stay."

She finally looked at him then.

Really looked.

There was no contempt in her gaze. No condescension. Only something deep and quiet and unbearably sad.

"I envy you," she whispered. "I don’t have the courage."

Sirius leaned against the wall beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.

"You don’t need courage," he said roughly. "You just need someone to stand with you."

She smiled — that soft, secret smile he was coming to crave — and shook her head.

"No one stands with me, Black."

Sirius hesitated, then reached out, covering her hand with his.

"You’re wrong," he said fiercely. "You’ve got me."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, as if she didn’t know how to believe it.

Sirius squeezed her hand gently, feeling her tremble under his touch.

"I know what you really are," he said. "Not what they say. Not the bloody masks you wear."

A long silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken things.

Finally, she pulled her hand away — not harshly, but slowly, like it hurt to do it.

"This can’t happen," she whispered. "You know it can’t."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said, voice cracking, "loving you would destroy me."

Sirius stared at her, stunned.

It was the first time either of them had admitted it aloud — that whatever was between them had already taken root, dangerous and wild and inevitable.

He stepped closer, until there was barely an inch of space between them.

"Maybe," he murmured, "it'll save you instead."

And then, without thinking, without planning, without caring about anything except the way she was looking at him — like he was something precious — Sirius kissed her.

It wasn’t a soft kiss.

It was messy and desperate and aching.

She kissed him back like she was drowning and he was the only thing keeping her afloat.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, she rested her forehead against his chest, trembling.

"We're going to burn the world down," she said against his robes.

Sirius smiled, threading his fingers through her hair.

"Good," he said. "Let it burn."

They kept it secret after that.

Hidden smiles in the corridors. Brushed fingertips under the tables. Midnight meetings in forgotten classrooms and dusty broom cupboards.

To everyone else, they still hated each other.

But beneath the surface, a war was raging — against expectations, against families, against fate itself.

And they were winning, one stolen moment at a time.

A/N: Lovies I don't know how I survived without writing a HP fanfic but here it is for all you lovies that love Sirius Black as much as I do💗💗💗

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lazy-ahh · 3 months ago

Note

﹌﹌⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆⊹ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆﹌﹌

This has been on my mind for like a whole 2 weeks.. wouldn't it be so cute and silly if the reader is close with Debbie???

Imagine moments like this:

Mark brought the reader home with him, and then he expects his mom to hug him and all that mom stuff. But instead, Debbie goes like, "MOVE" and hugs reader, then drags him to the kitchen, and Mark is just standing by the door like "🧍‍♂️ wow mom.."

I honestly don't know how my brain thinks stuff like this 😧

﹌﹌⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆⊹ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆﹌﹌

– Number 1 fan!! 🌊 anon

(Hehehe silly format)

THE WAY HOME FEELS

pairing mark grayson x male reader

debbie grayson has two sons—one by blood, one by choice. mark has known this since he was ten, when you first started tagging along after school and never really left. seven years later, nothing's changed: you're still her favourite, still folded into their family like you were always meant to be there. and mark? well. he's just desperately in love with his best friend, watching you move through his house like it's yours, wondering if you'll ever realise his heart has been yours just as long.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff

you’ve been coming home with mark since you were ten—back when his front steps felt too tall and his mom had to remind you to wipe your shoes. now, his house smells like cinnamon and laundry detergent, like the couch cushions that still have the indent of your body from all the nights you’ve slept over. it’s more yours than your own empty apartment ever could be, with its too-quiet rooms and fridge that’s always half-empty. debbie has practically adopted you at this point, slipping extra snacks into your backpack and texting you reminders about dentist appointments even though she’s not the one who’s supposed to.

so when the two of you stumble up the driveway after school, backpacks hanging off one shoulder and the last traces of laughter still tangled in your throats, it’s nothing new. mark bumps his hip against yours, nearly sending you into the hydrangea bush debbie spends way too much time pruning.

"dude," you huff, shoving him back. "if i crush her flowers, she’s gonna disown you, not me."

mark grins, all teeth, and fakes a gasp. "wow. using my own mom against me? cold." he reaches out to ruffle your hair, but you duck, narrowly avoiding his hand. "you’re lucky you’re cute."

your stomach does a stupid little flip. "shut up," you mutter, shoving your hands in your pockets so he doesn’t see how your fingers fidget. "just open the door before i start telling her about that time you—"

"nope!" mark yelps, lunging for the knob like his life depends on it. "we are not talking about the boxers incident. ever."

you snicker as he fumbles with his keys, still trying to glare at you over his shoulder. the second the door swings open, mark steps inside first, arms already half-open, grinning at his mom like he’s expecting the classic welcome home hug.

but debbie doesn’t even look at him. instead, she makes a shooing motion with her hand and says, "move," before pulling you into a tight embrace.

"oh, sweetheart, how was your day?" debbie coos, ruffling your hair like you’re still that scrawny kid who used to hide behind mark on the first day of school—the one who clung to his sleeve until he promised to sit with you at lunch. her hands are warm, her perfume faintly floral, and you can’t help but laugh, leaning into the hug like it’s the most natural thing in the world. because it is.

over her shoulder, you catch mark still frozen by the door, arms slightly raised like a forgotten puppet, mouth hanging open in mock betrayal. "wow, mom.." he says, voice flat but eyes sparkling with amusement. "real nice."

you shoot him your most obnoxious, shit-eating grin, even sticking your tongue out for good measure. sucks to be you, your expression screams.

mark rolls his eyes so hard it looks painful, but then—just like always—his face softens. there’s something stupidly fond in the way he watches you, in the quiet curve of his smile as you let debbie fuss over you. it’s a familiar ache in his chest, this warmth that spreads every time he sees you like this: comfortable, cared for, home. his best friend. his biggest, dumbest crush. fitting so perfectly into his life that it almost hurts.

debbie ignores him entirely, already dragging you toward the kitchen by the wrist. "i made those cookies you like," she says, voice dropping to a whisper like it’s a secret just for you. "extra chocolate chips. hid them from mark and everything."

"traitors. both of you," mark calls after you, but he’s grinning as he says it. he follows anyway, because of course he does. he always does.

you shoot mark a helpless look over your shoulder, but you’re grinning—cheeks still warm from debbie’s hug, from the way she’d cupped your face and called you her favorite right in front of him. he rolls his eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it, just that familiar, fond exasperation he gets when his mom spoils you rotten. he follows after you both, dropping his backpack on the couch with an exaggerated sigh, but his gaze lingers on the way you automatically step toward the sink to wash your hands, like you’ve done it a thousand times before. because you have.

"you’re her favorite and it’s not even fair," he mutters, leaning against the counter. but he’s smiling when he says it, soft around the edges, like he doesn’t actually mind losing this one.

"obviously," you tease, popping a cookie into your mouth before offering him one. your fingers brush when he takes it, and the contact sends a stupid little jolt up your arm. you both freeze for half a second too long, the air suddenly thick with something unspoken. your face feels warm. mark clears his throat and looks away, shoving the whole cookie into his mouth at once like that’ll distract from the way his ears are turning pink.

debbie watches the two of you from the corner of her eye, stirring her chamomile tea with a spoon, the ceramic clinking softly against the mug. seven years of this. seven years of you and mark being hopelessly, stupidly in love and completely oblivious to it. she takes a slow sip, hiding her smile behind the rim.

"so," she says, voice dripping with faux innocence as she sets the mug down. "any special plans this weekend?"

mark chokes on his cookie. you suddenly find the pattern on the kitchen tiles fascinating.

"actually," debbie continues, unfazed, "i was thinking you two could help me fold the laundry. it’s piling up, and you know how nolan gets when his shirts are wrinkled."

you nod immediately, already moving toward the basket. "yeah, of course. i’ll separate the colors."

mark watches you, something warm and syrupy-slow curling in his chest. you’re already pulling his dad’s 'work' shirts out with careful hands, smoothing the fabric before folding it just the way debbie likes. it’s stupid how cute you look like this—domestic and comfortable, humming under your breath as you work. his brain unhelpfully supplies an image of the future: you in his apartment, folding his laundry, grumbling about mismatched socks while he presses kisses to your shoulder. or maybe the two of you on the couch, tangled together under a blanket, doing taxes like it’s something fun just because you’re together. or driving somewhere with no destination, your hand resting on his thigh as the radio plays.

"earth to mark," debbie says, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "you’re staring."

he blinks, heat rushing to his cheeks. "was not."

"you so were," you laugh, tossing a rolled-up pair of socks at his head. "now come help me for once, markus sebastian grayson."

debbie sighs, shaking her head, but there’s no real exasperation in it. just quiet affection. "you two are ridiculous."

mark catches the socks before they hit him, grinning as he chucks them back at you. "what are you talking about? i always help out, i could sue you for defamation, you know?" but his chest feels full, too big for his ribs, because this—you—are everything he’s ever wanted.

it’s just like always. and honestly? he wouldn’t have it any other way.

the three of you move around the grayson kitchen like a well-rehearsed dance—something perfected over years of shared meals and comfortable silence. you don't even need the step stool anymore (not since your growth spurt at sixteen), easily reaching the top shelf where debbie keeps her good serving bowls. "hand me that mixing bowl, sweetheart?" debbie asks, and you grab it without stretching, your long fingers wrapping around the familiar ceramic.

behind you, mark leans against the counter, watching the way your shoulders flex under your t-shirt as you reach up. he imagines you in your future home—maybe in some cozy apartment with sunlight streaming through the windows. you'd be putting away groceries, your height making the top cabinets accessible while he'd pretend to pout about it. maybe you'd tease him by holding things just out of reach behind you, laughing when he tries to grab them, only to pull him close instead.

"mark, earth to mark," debbie's voice cuts through his daydream. she's holding out a bunch of carrots. "make yourself useful and peel these."

"he's not my sous chef," you joke, taking the carrots from debbie and bumping mark with your hip. "he's my... personal nuisance."

"personal something," mark mutters under his breath, his fingers brushing yours as he takes the vegetables. the contact sends a familiar jolt up his spine, one he's felt since you brushed a stray strand of hair away from his eyes so casually. he used to tease you about being shorter than him then too, but now... now he can't stop noticing how your height makes it easy to rest his head against your shoulder when you're watching movies, how you have to duck slightly through doorways, how perfectly you fit when he hugs you from behind.

debbie watches this exchange with knowing eyes, stirring something on the stove. "dear, could you grab the oregano from the top shelf? nolan put it up there again like he forgets we have a resident giraffe."

you laugh, that deep, warm sound that makes mark's stomach flip, and easily pluck the spice jar from its perch. "at least I'm good for something," you tease, handing it to debbie and she pats your cheek affectionately.

"you're good for many things, honey," she says pointedly, glancing at mark who suddenly finds the carrot peels very interesting.

as you move to the sink to wash your hands, mark can't help but admire the way you fill the space—comfortable in his family's kitchen like you belong there. he pictures you years from now, in a kitchen of your own, maybe wearing that stupid "kiss the cook" apron you always joke about getting him. you'd be bending down to check the oven, your back muscles shifting under your shirt, while he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, nuzzling against your shoulder and neck.

"mark's doing it again," you say to debbie, waving a hand in front of his face. your height means you're looking slightly down at him, and the angle makes his throat go dry.

"doing what?" he croaks.

"that weird staring thing where you forget how to blink," you grin, flicking water at him from your still-damp hands.

debbie shakes her head, hiding a smile. "set the table, you two. and dear, stop flicking water—even if mark makes it too easy."

you grab the plates, your physique making it easy to carry several at once. mark follows with the silverware, his gaze tracing the line of your back as you move. he imagines lazy sunday mornings where he'd kiss you good morning, how you'd bend down just enough to make it easier for him even though he can reach you just fine. maybe you'd tease him about the height difference sometimes, but always in that fond way that makes his chest ache.

"you're quiet," you note as you arrange the placemats. "thinking deep thoughts?"

"just..." mark swallows, watching how your long fingers smooth out the wrinkles in the tablecloth. "how nice this is. you. here. with us."

your hands still for just a second before continuing. "yeah," you say softly, your voice deeper than usual. "it is nice."

debbie tactfully busies herself at the stove, giving you this moment as you stand there, closer than necessary at the table. mark has to tilt his head up slightly to meet your eyes, and the way you're looking down at him—all soft and fond—makes his knees weak.

later, when you're all seated around the table, mark watches as you easily reach across to refill debbie's water glass without her having to ask. he sees how perfectly you fit into the rhythm of their home.

and as you laugh at something debbie said, your shoulders shaking with quiet mirth, mark thinks—not for the first time—that he'd give anything to keep this. to keep you. his stupidly perfect first love.

2k words full of fluff and domestic home life! honestly hope you enjoy this one 🌊 anon! thank you so much for the requests and support teehee <3

#lazy-ahh #invincible #mark grayson #debbie grayson #male reader #invincible x male reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x male reader #debbie is a mother to reader #like bro this is so sweet #NEED THAT INVINCIDIH #are you sure?

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no-144444 · 11 months ago

Text

family issues-l.norris (no.4)

---------------

pairing: lando norris (no.4) x fem! sky presenter! reader

summary: lando (and his mum) are there for you during a difficult time.

---------------

P1. Pole position. Incredible.

“Well done,” you smiled, hugging him close as he entered his driver’s room. “You did really well.”

You could feel his smile against your neck. “Thanks baby.”

You stayed there like that for a moment, just holding each other, then he pulled back with a big smile on his face. “OH! My mum is here, you can finally meet her!”

A part of your heart sank, and another part lifted. You’d met a good portion of his family and they were all lovely. It’s just that every time you met a part of his family, he wanted to meet a part of your family. You’d been dating for a year now, and up until 2 months ago, yeah, he could’ve met your family. But then… they decided to go no-contact with you. They just told you not to call or visit anymore. You weren’t their daughter anymore. Whatever, that was fine. Your parents were emotionally unavailable due to your sister’s mental health issues, and your sister didn’t treat you well at all. You were the glass child. 2 months ago you’d gone to dinner with them and your sister brought up all your ‘happy memories’, but all of them were moments without you, or moments where you were the joke. You’d gotten upset at them, and apparently that was all they needed to kick you out of the family. So much for love. So much for blood. Lando couldn’t make it to that dinner, and he was so upset that he couldn’t. He was worried your parents thought he wasn’t serious, or that he was dodging meeting them, but you told him not to worry, that they’d meet ‘another time’. Now, you were out of chances. You didn't tell Lando about the fight or everything that came after, he’d been struggling enough with his own mental health without you having to burden him with yours. So, you just swallowed it and told yourself you’d tell him over the summer shutdown. Then, Lando was having so much fun that you didn’t want to ruin it, so you decided you’d tell him after Singapore. Probably. Maybe.

“Awesome!” you smiled. Even you could tell you didn’t sound right, too pitchy, too awkward, too surprised.

He raised an eyebrow. “You alright?”

“Fine,” you nodded. “Where is she? I want to meet her.”

He nodded, still sceptical but obliged you and led you to his mother. Cisca was warm and welcoming, funny and kind, and just a good person. You saw so much of her in Lando. He was beaming as he watched you two interact, so happy that two of the most important people in his life got along. You spent the whole afternoon together as Lando went on with his duties, chatting about your lives, sharing stories about Lando and yourselves, you even got to see some embarrassing baby photos of Lando.

“So what about your parents? Do they ever come to the races?” She asked, a big smile on her face.

“Well, no actually. We don’t talk much,” you chuckled.

She raised an eyebrow, the same way Lando does. “Really? Lan told me that you were quite close with them?”

You sighed. “Can I tell you something? And you can’t tell Lan.”

She nodded and took your hand. “Of course.”

“2 months ago my parents disowned me. Lan has been begging to meet them and I have no idea what to tell him. I feel awful about it, and I didn’t want to add to his stress so I just keep lying to him telling him they’re busy. I just feel so… guilty,” you admitted.

She sighed. “You poor girl. It's awful that you have to go through all of that on your own.”

“Well, it’s not that bad,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the moment.

“It is. And that’s ok. It’s ok to be upset,” she smiled warmly. “I know my son, and he has not shut up about you since he met you as a sky presenter 2 years ago. Lan is a family-oriented person, and he’s just excited to be a part of your family and have you be a part of ours. He’d want to be there for you, the same way you’re there for him.”

You could feel yourself tearing up. You’d never had someone be so kind to you, never had someone treat you like a daughter. “Thank you,” you smiled sadly.

“And anyways, your parents suck, you can be my daughter now,” she smiled.

And you definitely cried. But, they were happy tears. You’d found your family.

---------------

After your eye-opening conversation with Cisca, you decided you’d come clean to Lando. As you two entered your room he wrapped his arms around you and kissed your cheek.

“How was my mum today?” he asked, his voice deep with tiredness, and eyes heavy with sleep.

“She was amazing, we had a bunch of fun,” you smiled. “Can I talk to you about something?”

He nodded. “‘Course baby.”

“It’s about my family.”

Lando woke up slightly, sitting on the bed as you stood between his legs. “Alright.”

“2 months ago, after that dinner I went to, they cut contact and disowned me. It was up to my sister why and well, we know how much he hates me. So yeah, I have no family anymore, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just didn’t want to burden you with it.”

You looked at Lando and his face was a mixture of anger, guilt, and upset. He cleared his throat and his grip around your waist got tighter. “Number one, I’m so sorry that happened to you. That’s fucking shit and your parents don’t deserve you. Number two, you will never ever be a burden to me. Ever. You’re the most important person in my life. I love you Y/n, more than anything. I always want you to come to me about things that are happening and how you feel. Number three, fuck your family, you’re my family, alright?”

You chuckled sadly, running your fingers through his hair. “Right. Thanks Lan, I love you.”

He smiled. “I love you more.”

“I feel it,” you smiled. He stood up and kissed your cheek.

“Seriously, I’m here for you, always. Never forget that.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I know. I won’t.”

---------------

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

#lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 x you #formula one x reader #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #formula 1 #mclaren #lando norris x publicist reader #lando norris x reader angst #ln4 #lando x reader #f1 2024

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mattsundaes · 4 months ago

Note

matsukawa + mark him? >:33

KNEE DEEP IN THE PASSENGER SEAT.

matsukawa issei x reader — 2k, suggestive, marking, hickeys, kissing, friends to lovers, seijoh 4 banter

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Matsukawa groans, pinching the bridge of his nose and scrubbing a hand down his face.

He takes a peek over at you where you’re sitting beside him cross-legged on Oikawa’s living room floor, back against the couch, as if to say, please back me up here.

You shrug, looking at Hanamaki. “I mean Mattsun hates her, it’s not like we have to worry about him relapsing back into the most toxic relationship of his life because she just so happens to be going to the same party as us tonight.”

Makki groans loudly, placing his drink on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary. Iwaizumi glances up from scrolling through his phone, brow raised.

“That’s not the problem,” Makki sighs, tracing a finger through the wet ring of condensation left behind on the table’s surface from the last time that he moved his can.

Oikawa smacks his hand, and Makki mutters something under his breath before pulling down the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe it up, and Iwaizumi barely glances his way as he flicks a coaster toward him.

“I’m not going to talk to her,” Matsukawa adds, reaching over to pick a piece of lint off of your top.

Fingers threading into his pale pink tresses, Makki glares at him. “That’s my point. You’re going to ignore her all night—rightfully so, she’s an evil witch and I will disown you if you so much as think about making her my girlfriend in-law again—”

Iwaizumi cuts him off, “What the fuck is a girlfriend in-law?”

Matsukawa blinks, “I don’t think that’s how you use that word—”

“ANYWAY, you’re going to ignore her, and she’s going to spend all night stalking around the perimeter of our group like a bloodthirsty wolf—”

“I need you to stop finding a way to insert a Twilight reference into every conversation—” Iwaizumi mutters.

“How the fuck is that Twilight? Can everyone stop interrupting me? Mattsun, for fuck’s sake. She cornered me outside the bathroom at Yahaba’s last time and spent twenty minutes trying to Sherlock Holmes her way into finding out where your dick’s been lately…” He trails off, eyes going wide as he turns to look at you.

Your heart rocks violently in your chest at the implication, and you valiantly fight the urge to cast an accusing glance Oikawa’s way.

Because he’s the only one that knows you’re in love with Mattsun.

And if he told Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi told Makki and now Makki’s about to—

You’re going to be sick.

Probably.

Maybe.

Not right here though, because throwing up on Oikawa’s new shag carpet (despite the fact that it’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen) inches away from Mattsun’s feet would make this the most mortifying moment of your life.

(Not that it won’t be a record-breaking runner-up either way.)

Iwaizumi speaks up suddenly, a surprisingly thoughtful look on his face. “She was always paranoid that the two of you were hooking up.”

You steal a quick glance Oikawa’s way, and he subtly shakes his head.

He didn’t say anything.

He might be insufferable most days, but you’ve been friends with him longer than anyone else in this room, and he knows what this secret means to you—

But still, Iwaizumi’s statement is news to you. It’s completely and entirely false and nothing more than a headline from your pathetic reoccurring dreams.

And it’s dizzying, the way your chest lurches as it sinks in.

Mattsun coughs.

“She what?” you squeak out.

Makki’s answering grin is downright predatory.

Ten minutes later, you’re sitting in front of Matsukawa trying to stave off the flood of warmth that blooms in your gut under the steady weight of his gaze. He runs a hand through his hair, eyes briefly darting somewhere beyond your shoulder—probably to look at Hanamaki.

“We have to leave soon, chop chop.” Speak of the fucking devil.

You swallow as your throat goes impossibly dry. “Can’t we just like, hold hands?” you ask the pink-haired imp.

“Holding hands is easy, a fool’s errand,” he sighs dramatically. Like he’s reading a goddamn Shakespearean monologue. “A trashy hickey is forever.”

“A week, two tops,” Iwaizumi corrects him in a bored tone.

Oikawa sounds downright gleeful as he asks, “How would you know, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi grunts something back, but you don’t hear him over the sound of Mattsun’s voice. “You don’t have to—”

Makki huffs in annoyance, throwing the small metal tab from his drink can at him, and Matsukawa catches it without looking.

“She’s going to see the two of you together at the party, and she’s going to see the big, sexy, dirty hickey on Mattsun’s neck like a big, obnoxious billboard—”

“I know a big, obnoxious billboard alright,” Mattsun mutters, only loud enough so that you can hear, and you snort.

“—and she’s going to finally accept the fact that our dear, precious Issei wants nothing to do with her wicked, scheming ways, because he’s actually madly, deeply, passionately in love with—”

Mattsun’s head jerks up, eyes a little wide, but you don’t have time to contemplate the look that crosses his face when Makki’s suddenly cut off. Turning your head slightly, you catch sight of Oikawa tackling him to the ground.

Iwaizumi sighs, staring at them with all the interest of a man watching two bugs fighting in the dirt before returning his attention to his phone.

You look at Matsukawa again, taking the inner edge of your bottom lip between your teeth. “Where should I….”

He breathes in slowly, eyes searching yours for a moment before he tips his head slightly, baring the left side of his neck. And if that’s not enough to have sweat collecting in the center of your palms, you momentarily forget how to breathe when he spreads his legs, silently beckoning you to slip between them.

Warmth slides down your spine at how unnervingly natural it feels to crawl between Matsukawa’s legs, to put something into practice that you’ve unfortunately imagined more times and in more ways than you can count.

There’s a brief moment where you wonder why you didn’t just remain sitting beside him, why you didn’t just lean in sideways and carry this out in a far more platonic position—

But then his hand brushes somewhere in the vicinity of your outer thigh, and all you can smell is the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and suddenly you find that your lips are hovering barely three inches away from the smooth expanse of skin that makes up the side of his neck.

And Mattsun mistakes your hesitation for something else, a warm laugh rumbling in his chest and brushing down your spine. “Bite as hard as you want, I like it rough.”

You know he’s joking.

He’s trying to lighten the moment, to make you laugh.

To stave off the awkward hesitation that’s probably written across every facet of your body language.

—but all it does is turn the heat churning in your gut positively molten as his words confirm something you already had a feeling was true.

(Something that has your thigh muscles instinctively trembling as you fight the urge to squeeze them together at the thought.)

Matsukawa tenses beneath you for a moment when your lips meet his neck, and you stiffen in turn, waiting for the inevitable regret, the unrequited rejection…

His hand slides up your nape, cupping the back of your head in a way that he likely thinks is reassuring (in a way that’s going to probably ruin you forever after this.)

“Just do it,” he encourages you.

So you do.

And you don’t mean to get so into it.

But there’s a starved, unreasonable part of your brain that takes over when you start to bite and suck at Matsukawa’s neck, alternating between rolling his skin between your lips and teeth and running your tongue over it after.

Every other bit of uncertainty fades into background noise when you feel Matsukawa react. When his shoulders go pliant, when his head tilts even more to the side—baring himself to you even further. When you swear you feel him push down on your head like he wants you to go harder.

When his free arm wraps around your waist and clutches your hip.

When his thighs press against you, caging you in (and there’s a delirious, faraway laugh that bubbles up in the back of your head as you imagine that he’s holding you there, that he doesn’t want you to stop).

When you bite and suck and lick and—

—and he fucking groans.

“Should we really be watching—” you think you hear Oikawa ask from somewhere behind you, followed by a yelp from him and a grunt from Iwaizumi.

Matsukawa’s exhale is downright ragged when you pull back slightly to observe your work, fingers clutching his shirt in an attempt to hide the way your hands are trembling.

“Should I—” you start, more than a little breathless and not exactly sure what you even intend to ask as you stare down at the bruise that’s already blooming against his skin.

Something possessive yawns awake inside of you, and you try to suppress the full-body shiver that dances down your nerves like spider silk.

Matsukawa stares at you for a beat, chest rising and falling, and he looks—

He tilts his head the other way. “Just in case,” he explains, his voice like gravel.

This time, you hear the sound of footsteps padding across the floor and the patio door sliding open, and the room goes quiet other than the sound of your breathing as you press your lips to the opposite side of Matsukawa’s neck.

He inhales sharply, and you momentarily find yourself lost to the pull of gravity as he fully reclines with his back against the carpet and pulls you directly on top of him.

Your heart thunders in your chest as you realize that you’re now fully straddling Mattsun, fingers somehow finding their way in his dark, messy curls as you mouth at his skin in an attempt to match your first canvas. One of his large hands slides across your lower back, and scorching heat blooms through your shirt under the deceiving weight of his touch.

He breathes out your name, the sound reverberating in your eardrums alongside the sound of rushing blood, and he cups your cheek as you stare down at him, faces scant centimeters apart.

Your eyes dart to his lips, to the way they’re parted slightly, and it takes everything in your power not to wholly collapse into him like a dying star taking its last brilliant breath when his thumb carefully strokes the hinge of your jaw.

He glances at your mouth in turn.

“I don’t think that’ll leave a mark—” you weakly start to joke.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You swallow. “I guess we should test it out, just to see…”

Matsukawa stares up at you. “Do you want to?” It’s a loaded question.

“Yes,” you whisper.

Your lips have barely finished forming the word before Matsukawa flips you over without warning and pins you beneath him on the carpet, his mouth crashing into yours.

You’re oddly thankful for the plush embrace of Oikawa’s ugly carpet as you sink into it, trapped between the multi-color fibers and the all-encompassing warmth of everywhere Matsukawa’s body is flush with yours.

An embarrassingly needy sound crawls up your throat when his tongue darts across the seam of your lips before slipping into your mouth to deepen the kiss. You unconsciously start to card your fingers through his soft hair and he groans into your mouth in turn, leaving a sticky trail of saliva between your lips with each slick, hungry kiss he presses to them.

“Hey, we should probably get go—” the patio door slides open, and Makki’s voice floats into the room.

Iwaizumi barks something at him, and the door slams shut, cutting off the sound of their bickering as Oikawa laughs.

But you can hardly hear it—

Mattsun’s lips slow against yours, and he pulls back slightly, only to lean back in and press another lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Hi,” he says.

You blink up at him, reaching a hand up to rest against his jaw, your thumb just barely skirting his bottom lip. He gently bites the tip of it.

“Hi,” you whisper back.

#matsukawa issei #matsukawa issei x reader #haikyuu #dee writes #noun/verb drabbles #seijoh 4

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pedge-page · 4 months ago

Note

I hope this makes sense but I’d love a cute and sexy little moment where Mama does the “mom chop” after having Sarah and Ellie bc the babies are always pulling on her long hair when she hold them and she doesn’t want to worry about all the time she spends to style it. Joel sees her and think she looks so sexy with her hair short (like a short bob cut) and he’s begging to get her pregnant again lol

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Making a Mom out of You

warnings: more detailed descriptions of hair, unprotected sex, breeding kink, doggy, feral Joel, not really a Mommy kink but really into Mommyfication kink? , descriptions of post-pregnant body

18+ ONLY

- - - -

It’s not her fault at all. She’s just a baby. Sarah was no different. Those chumba little fists were strong as hell.

But you were ready to cuff those hands behind their back if Ellie yanked on your ends one more fucking time.

As if on cue, she looks you dead in the eyes. Held hostage by one of her bitty hands curled up in a ball is your long hair. You balance her sippy cup in your other arm, unable to defend.

You could see it in her eyes. The way she’s telling you that she saw how you ate Daddy’s last cookie, and blamed it on Sarah. And now she’s about to exact her vengeance upon you…

A tense moment passes between momma and baby. And then—

“OW!!” You screech.

From the stairwell echoes a booming thumpthumpthumpthum—BANG, and Joel, limping with impressive speed while rubbing his shin, appears with concern.

“What happened??”

You wrap your fingers gently but firmly around your 1 year old’s hand, trying your best to detangle her fat claws from your strands. “I’m done. IM DONE!”

Joel helps by offering his arms out to Ellie, which she immediately bounced right out of your embrace and into Joel’s.

“Done… with…?” He almost worriedly looks to his little innocent baby girl, surely not suggesting that you were disowning her now?

“I just—I need a hair cut. This isn’t working anymore—“

“Your hair is beautiful—“

“I know it is!” You huff. “But it’s just not easy with the girls.” Between Sarah now wanting to paint your hair with marker and Ellie determined to get you a freeway pass to early balding, having each to access long hair was no longer ideal. “Can I just—I’m gonna run for a walk-in appointment and I’ll be back in less than an hour—“

Joel soothes your worry with a warm kiss to your forehead. “You take as much time as you need. Get one of these head scalp rub things. And the—the conditioner—treatment—soft rubbing—you know the one.”

You smile as he holds and bounces with Ellie. Pecking him on the lips a few times, he sends you off your way in the car.

As you back away, Joel carries Ellie back inside. “Mama just gonna get a little refreshing’ cut. She’s be lookin’ just the same, just our same pretty lady.”

Except you didn’t come back lookin’ quite the same pretty lady.

Joel is mid changing Ellie’s diaper on the floor when you come in and drop your keys on the counter.

“How’d it go—“

He pauses when he finally looks up, and the content expression from his face vanishes:

Who let this hot fucking milf in his house??

“S’okay,” you mumble, still running your fingers through the voluminous and now much shorter strands. They practically bounce back with an effortless glow.

Your once glowing, youthful hair was now cut back in, daresay, an even sexier, mature look? How is that possible?

You were still you… beautiful woman and all just as he’s always seen…but suddenly he was staring at a different version of you now. You were a hot sexy girlfriend turned wifey he would fuck in the backseat- of his car like a whore, turned into to the hot sexy wifey turned MOM who he’ll be fucking in the backseat of a mini van before pickup from soccer practice like the neighborhood affair.

Its just as good… but so new… he doesn’t know how to contain himself.

You shake your head, the hair bouncing with each little jolt and then quickly back into place. “I didn’t like the mousse they put in so I’m gonna rinse it out and take a shower. Be out in a few minutes, ok?”

Joel is still drooling into Ellie’s belly button. He barely registered you had spoken to him, let alone where you were suddenly disappearing off to.

He wipes his mouth hastily and scoops Ellie up like a football. Running to Sarah’s room, he grabs her as well, iPad still clutched in her hands without a care in the world of being held on her side.

Car.

Seats.

Buckled.

Door.

Ignition.

Vroom.

The door to Tommy’s newly moved in house gets kicked in, making the younger brother yelp like a bitch. Just As qucking, in comes Joel with two squirming kids in either arm, his biceps flexing like he was carrying logs from a hot day of chopping wood. He tosses the girls on the couch next to him, their squealing laughs ringing deaf on their dad’s ears.

“Joel-what the—“

But he doesn’t look at him as he’s already storming his way out with heavy thuds of his boots. “Watch ‘em — 1 hour—“

He slams the door shut.

Tommy blinks, then checks out the two kiddos next to him, smiling, like they were about to make this the most painful hour of his life…

Joel is speeding back down the street, barely coming to a stop at the intersections. His fists white knuckling the steering wheel, he’s never gritted his teeth so hard in his goddamn life.

When he gets home, you’re just stepped out of the shower: skin still warm and moist, barefoot with your smooth legs paddling around the carpet. You’re sporting one of his large T shirts while rubbing your now half damp hair with a towel, your head tilted to the side to get the water out.

“I was thinking for dinner, I could make us some pasta —“

You hadn’t noticed he had left, that the girls weren’t home, let alone the way he’s barreling to you like an avalanche about to consume your valley whole.

He quickly wraps himself around you, his arms under your butt and lifts you into the air like nothing. “J-Joel!”

With your legs now firmly wrapped around his middle, he carries you off to the bed, and falling forward with you caged underneath him. His strong, burly body suffocates you. Dominant hands gliding over your thighs and up your shirt, revealing your nakedness before him. His touch is insatiable, rolling his jean clad bulge into your core. Before you can protest, his tongue slips into your open mouth, and he kisses you with such fervor, you nearly pass out with the combined heat of the shower still radiating your senses.

“W-wh-w-mmf!” He seals your lips again with an even hungrier kiss. Between his fingers tweaking your nipples with his massive paw groping your tit, to his knee nudging your legs even further apart, elbow hooking underneath to get your ankle snugly latched over his back. He doesn’t relent, tongue chasing yours with he snarls through his nose just to breathe without separating from you. It’s suffocating in the best way possible.

Finally you curl your fingers in his hair and tug, earning a low growl from the beast above you.

“WHAT is going on Joel Mill—“

“You look so fuckin’ good, Momma,” he rumbles from deep within his core. You get a good look at him now above you: pupils dilated like a fuckin’ demon, his back and shoulders expanded with his breath, his tongue caught between his teeth as he licks his lips scanning over you. “I ever tell you that, Momma?”

“I—I mean—yeah—you—you usually say I’m pretty—“ you bat quietly, unsure where this extra level of attention is coming from—

He cuts you off as he rolls your shirt completely over your tits. Looking at you now, he falls even closer, both forearms laying flat on either side of your head. “No,” he breathes into your lips, nose grazing yours. his digits filter over your new hair, barely straightening before loosing the strands completely after a moment. “I ain’t tell ya just how good you look, like a momma.”

His gaze roams over your whole body, spread out on display for him: squeezing your plush hips, all widen beyond your youth, up to your soft belly, who’s miraculously carried not one but two babies already, and lookin’ like she could use a third; kneading your tits—your now twice-breast-fed tits, which are even softer and supplier in his thick palms. Jesus. He really did alter your body completely into a mom’s didn’t he?”

“You’re such a hot fuckin’ mom, baby.”

You’re not tracking it. “I—I’ve been a momma…for like…a few years now, Joel. Baby are you okay?”

“I’m so fuckin’ good,” he cackles, grinding his body deeper into you. “SO fuckin’ good.” He can’t stop looking at you like you’re his first and last meal, and like its the first time he’s having you like this all over again.

You can tell he means it.

“I—“

He buries his head into your neck and starts rolling his bulge into your heat.

You gasp.

“What if I made ya a momma again? You want that? FUck look at what ya do to me.” Another punctured rut of his throbbing cock desperate to break through his jeans and wedge itself inside you elicits a moan.

“Is it…is it my hair?” Ask you curiously.

He lets out an even more desperate growl, humping you like a dog while his fingers tangle in your strands.

It’s the hair, you nod with a self satisfied grin, wrapping your hands tightly around his broad shoulders.

“Do ya see yourself, momma? Do you see how fuckin’ breedable ya are—how breedable I made you? You always been but… fuck…you’re like… like a fucking MOMMY now baby look at you. All of ya, my fuckin girl, a momma now, no hiding it no more…fuck…fuck…fuck” he hums into your temple.

“You did that to me yourself,” you whisper, clasping his face in your hands.

He groans louder, rutting his hips deeper into you. “I wanna do it again. Ain’t gonna let ya leave this bed till ya bloated with another one.” He pets over your stomach. “You remember that? All pregnant n’ full of me. Bet ya body remembers it. How bout we dump the birth control again huh?”

Your mad man is talking again.

“Joel…” you whine. He’s getting to you though, with the incessant hands roaming all over your body, his lips attached to your neck and hips thrusting against your mound, your body is begging to let the man have his way today.

“Where are the gi—“

“With Tommy.” He shushes your worry, almost drunkenly with heavy lids. “Gimme 40 minutes, momma, just you n’ me. How about it, Momma?”

You should have said no. But god damnit, Joel Miller know’s how to make good on those 40 minutes and show his wife a good time.

You’ll have to send Tommy a nice gift card for his trouble. Maybe a vacation package for him and Maria. Right now, you’re too focused on the way Joel’s cock is carving a whole new home inside your cunt as he rails you from behind.

And he’s fucking—hard.

“You like that, baby? You n’ me fuckin’ in the car—gettin that stupid mini van ya want— before those parent teacher conferences or behind the bleachers —oh fuck baby squeezing’ me just like that—like a whore mom who can’t keep that pussy at bay—and—”

He’s just been babbling, images flooding your mind of all the naughty things he wants to do to you, with more energy than you can even calculate he has stored right now.

And you? You’re teetering between insanity and falling unconscious from the heaping amounts of pleasure he’s forcing into you. Your one arm is extended to its furthest reach, fingers just barely grazing the headboard for stability. Joel’s steel grip digs into your waist with each clash of his thighs against your ass. His other hand is scrunched into the roots of your hair, holding you in place with a gently yet arousing grasp. The satisfying slick slap of his balls kissing your clit make your nerves curl deliciously.

He hisses through his teeth with each forceful puncture.

You might actually pass out from sex.

“J-J—Joel-oel-oh-oh-oelll—“

He pulls you up until your back is flush against sweaty chest, nowhere for him to go but deeper. “Yeah Momma, you feel it yet?” He brushes over your stomach, down to your naval and below, pads of his thumb rubbing tight circles into your clit. His other fingers grave on other side of your folds, and he can feel just how much pressure changes each time his girth slots back into your tight heat. “Shit—shit—you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous…” he squeezes his eyes shut, concentrating and just feeling you. All of you.

You nod helplessly, surrendered entirely to his control.

Your eyes fall to the side to meet his wild, desperate ones staring back at. “Amazin’,” he rasps before planting a hot hiss on your pulse.

The point of his nose grazes along your vein in your neck, his lips sucking sickies into your skin. His breaths are fast and harsh, tickling your ear.

You close your eyes, letting yourself fall into him.

“I love you,” you whisper.

His eyes flutter open, the hand tangled in your hair now squeezing tighter as he forces your lips to his once again in a passionate clash. He won’t let you breathe, but won’t let you fall either.

His stomach presses perfectly above your ass. Bodies strained in a thin layer of sweat, and muscles aching in all the right places, Joel holds you captive against him. He hasn’t stopped paying attention to your sensitive zones. Between flicking your clit and tweaking your nipples, he’s made excellent work of keeping you on a dizzying edge of pleasure without pushing you over.

“Auughhh!” He yelps, falling forward onto you. Your hand can’t hand the surge, and you’re falling face first into the pillowy mess below. His forehead sticks to the nape of your neck, kissing it, while his thrusts increase in shallow, harsh punches, completely battering your walls.

You can’t even form coherent words. Just eyeballs rolled back, and hums of ecstasy as you bite into the pillowcase.

“You’re gonna cum for me, Momma, yeah? You’re gonna cum, and I’m gonna—fuck—fuck!—cum inside you, and we’ll make a little baby in there, an’ you’re just gonna be a momma forever okay? You n me, babies every year—“

If you had half a braincell left that hadn’t been Molded into Joel Miller shaped penises, you would remind him no, you two were done.

But right now all you can do is nod for him. He’s so close, recklessly humping and slapping into your ass without thought. Your clit is smashed against the bunched up comforter, dragging deliciously, but oh no, Joel won’t let something else get you off this time.

He forces his hand beneath your body, palm splayed across your lower stomach and pushing inward. At the same time, his pointer and middle finger twiddle with your swollen clit, all sticky and warm under the mass of him.

Your voice is hoarse, cracking as you let out a cry. He can feel your cunt pulse before absolutely clamping down on him like a vice, and cumming harder than you had in years.

And Joel Miller always makes you cum during sex. But this?

You shouted. shook and cried, sang like a mantra of moans just never ending as the white hot pleasure courses through you, filling your every senses and exploding them until you’re nothing but an empty shell, incapable of processing anything else but ecstasy.

‘That’s it that it momma holy fuck—you cum s’goodformeyesyesyes—ahh fuck I can’t—I can’t—I’m gonNA—!”

He bares down with all his strength. A tense moment of his held breath passes before he’s erupting in a chorus of groans and growls. Your body jolts with each spurt of his seed finding its way deep inside your womb. He’s laid completely boneless atop you, heavy and breathing in your skin like it’s his lifeline.

When the final pulses from both of you have subsided, you lay still, sweaty and collapsed.

His soft kisses find their way to your neck again, like he’s trying to rouse both of you to stay awake but stay still, exactly as you are.

It’s been on both your minds: you hadn’t fucked like that in years.

Sure, you and Joel had a very active, amazing sex life. Always had. But you realized a lot of the desperate, harsh, steamy, raw sex had been disbanded when the girls came along in favor of naps, lazy oral, slow grinding, and quickies. When was the last time you both acted like savage animals on one another and let it play out like this?

He thinks about how much he’s missed out on you. How much the two of you had let being parents dictate your schedules. How little he’s opened his eyes to seeing this new woman right before him, the woman who not just the mother of his kids but has actually become a mom, and how he’s cursing himself for not having taken ever advantage to show you just how hot you are every day by being like this , and —

“Joel,” you whisper beneath him.

He shakes his head and lets up. You roll over to your back, with Joel settling right above you again.

As if you could read his mind, you cradle him with a smile. “Joel, look at me.”

He obliges, and your sink a little more in love with him when the soft, vulnerable, (slightly more sane) brown baby eyes find you again.

“I feel so loved from you. Every day. I feel sexy because of you. Its never faltered. You make me feel like a woman, a mom, a wife, a partner. A hot sex kitten and a sexy forbidden affair. I could not have asked for a better man oogling me up every day like a slab of butter on popcorn--“

“Why, you craven’ popcorn?” His ears perk up. “Is that a baby—“

“There’s no baby, cowboy.”

He chuckles. Bringing your palm to his lips, he sucks a sweet kiss into your skin. “I know. I’m happy with us. Just love seein’ you a mom is all.”

“I’ve been a mom for like, 5 years now!”

his eyes wander off course slightly. He fiddles with your hair, a little grin tugging the corner of his lips. Irises practically heart shaped, like a toddler who got distracted by pretty lights as he fits his fingers in your new mom-cut.

“Joel.”

“Huh?”

You laugh, slapping his shoulder before bringing his face back down for a legnthy kiss.

Tommy won't mind watching the girls for the whole night…right?

- - - -

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld @jeewrites

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lilahisntsadanymore · 2 years ago

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Growing up with a deatheater father doesn't teach you much about emotions, so when Theo finds himself developing an infatuation with a muggle-born, he thinks she gave him a love potion.

Pairing: Theo Nott x granger!fem!reader

Words count: 1.9k

Warnings: jealous Harry

There is a 2nd part!! <3

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Unveiled Desires

It was strange to him. So strange how he went from mocking, annoying and occasionally bullying her every step she takes to secretly wanting her. Wanting to have her, or even needing her.

He didn't know how or when it happened, but one day he realized she was constantly in his head. It creeped up on him in small steps and eventually he had developed an infatuation for the girl.

Of course nobody knew about it, Theo wouldn't dare telling anyone. He just kept with his antics, hoping the obsession will somewhat disappear one day. Unfortunately, the more he tried to get rid of this feeling, the more he gave it power, the more it grew.

But he couldn't be with her. He couldn't be with a mudblood.

But he wanted to be with her. The more he thought about it, the less he cared about the blood status. He cursed at himself for these thoughts. Raised by a deatheater father, he would get disowned for dating anyone who wasn't a pureblood.

"Granger, can I talk to you for a second?" A question left his mouth as he approached the Golden Trio. Who was better to talk to about Y/n than her older sister?

The three Gryffindors looked at Theo as if he wasn't good in the head. Just casually wanting to have a chat, a normal chat, with someone outside of his social circle. Pretty unusual for a Slytherin.

"What is it?" Harry asked protectively.

"I was talking to Granger. I need to talk privately."

Hermione looked at Harry and Ron, exchanging suspecting glances. Eventually she spoke, "Alright, but make it quick."

"Great, let's go." Theo started walking, but Hermione stood in her place.

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere they," he gestured to Harry and Ron, "aren't gonna eavesdrop."

Hermione crossed her arms on her chest, a knowing expression on her face.

Theo raised his hands, "It's not a trap again, I swear."

The girl sighed and walked after her rival.

Hermione and Theodore weren't fond of each other not only because of their houses and their blood statuses, but also because they were academic rivals. Both of them were extremely competitive. Since first year they aspired to be better than one another in pretty much everything.

"Can we stop already?" The girl asked. "I'm pretty sure they won't ear us from here."

"Alright, alright." Theo agreed. "But I need you to promise me you won't tell anybody about it."

"Why me? Why would you trust a Gryffindor with keeping a secret for you?"

Theo lowered his voice to a whisper, "Because it's about your sister."

"What?!" Hermione's voice was the opposite of a whisper. "What have you done to her?!"

The boy gestured telling her to lower her voice. "No, I didn't do anything. She has done...something."

"What on Earth could that possibly be?" A little more quiet, but still unpleasantly surprised, she decided to listen to him.

One last time, Theo looked around to make sure there's nobody there who could be a witness to what he was about to say.

"She used some spell on me." He accused. "Or put something in my food, my drink."

Hermione scoffed with laughter. "You must be joking. You bully her for whole five years, but one time she pays you back for it, it's an issue?"

"Not like that." He took a second to gather his thoughts. "Granger, do you remember how we learnt about amortentia few weeks ago? I think Y/n gave it to me."

Hermione started at the boy for a moment and then burst out with laughter. Y/n wasn't the issue, there was no way a fifth year would be able to make amortentia. Not even Y/n Granger.

Theodore felt annoyed and offended by Hermione's reaction. He looked at her with disgust. "What is so funny to you about it, mu-, Granger?"

Noticing how he almost called her a slur, her expression immediately became serious. "Seriously? You know what, deal with it by yourself. I don't even know why you're telling me all of this."

"Why? Because you have to talk to her, tell her to do something about it! Tell her to stop it!"

Hermione got a brilliant idea.

"You know, I've heard professor Slughorn had a remedy for amortentia."

"Yeah, and I'll end up in the hospital wing like Weasley."

"It was poisoned mead, not the amortentia cure itself. You can ask him to make one from the ingredients in the classroom."

"I will," Theo scoffed, "look at you being useful for the first time in your life."

Without another word, Hermione walked away. "Boys..." She muttered to herself.

"Don't tell anyone I told you this!"

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

"What?! He likes me?!" Y/n asked with blush on her face. "Theodore Nott likes me? The boy that has been bullying me for the past five years?"

"And the thinks it's because you gave him amortentia." Hermione giggled.

Y/n wouldn't ever think that he could be into her and the whole story that her sister had told her was simply unbelievable. But Hermione had no business in lying to her very own little sister, especially not about that.

"Does anyone else know about this?"

"Not yet, but I talked him into asking Slughorn for the cure! I suppose he'll do this tomorrow after class, as soon as possible."

"Who are you and what have you done to my sister?"

The girls were sitting alone in the common room and as Y/n laughed, Ron and Harry walked in.

"What are you two laughing about?" Harry asked, ready to hear that story.

"Can I tell them?" Hermione looked at Y/n. The younger Granger nodded. "Nott likes Y/n."

The girls and Ron laughed, meanwhile Harry stood there with his lips in a thin line, far away from laughing.

"The best part is," Hermione continued, "he thinks Y/n gave him amortentia!"

"What?" Harry spoke eventually, his voice a bit more surprised than it should be. "Y/n, did you give amortentia to Nott?"

"No, why would you accuse me of this?!" The youngest girl defended herself. "Is it that unbelievable that he can fancy me?"

"I mean... You're a muggleborn... And-"

"And what?! Does that mean I'm not worthy of that? We don't know him, maybe he doesn't believe in this whole blood purity thing."

"He does. That's why he hasn't asked you out. And he never will. Because they're all the same."

Y/n's eyes became a little glossy, the tears ready to start flowing anytime. "Are they, though? And you're saying this. You, whose godfather was Sirius Black."

"Sirius was different!"

"We don't know because we don't know what Theo is like!"

"Theo? It was Nott for the past few years that he was tormenting you," Harry put an emphasis on the word bullying, "now he fancies you and he becomes Theo?"

"I would actually give him a chance. It's not his fault that he was born into a blood purity obsessed family."

"Don't you think that's a little pathetic? Running into his hands the moment you find out he might fancy you meanwhile you had chances to date...other Gryffindors."

"Pathetic? You call me pathetic?"

"I didn't call you pathetic, I said what you do is-"

A sound of a slap filled the room, but the following silence spoke even louder. Y/n looked Harry in the eyes, a light red mark on his cheek that her hand left.

Harry could see and sense that it was too much, he said unnecessary words. He regretted them, but he just couldn't stop them from coming out.

The Golden Trio watched Y/n run upstairs. She was so glad nobody else was in the bedroom yet.

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

"Excuse me, professor," Theo walked up to Slughorn after the class on the following day.

All the other students were slowly exiting the room, Harry's eyes fixed on the Slytherin standing by the teacher's desk.

"Yes, Theodore?" Slughorn asked. "Do you have some more bright insights you'd like to share with me?" He was clearly happy to have this conversation.

"I actually need help, professor."

The man's expression dropped. "Yes? Do you have a problem?"

"I'm worried that I've been given amortentia."

Slughorn's eyes widened. He was surprised or even shocked. "Are you sure? I remember seeing other people under the influence of several love potions and you don't quite match the criteria."

"There's this girl who I can't stop thinking about... I suspect she has given it to me."

"Who that might be?"

Theo waited until all the other students exit the classroom before he said the name.

"Y/n Granger."

Y/n stopped in her tracks just as he was about to enter the potions classroom. She was about to show the teacher a part of her project, wanting to consult the texts she has written. Instead, she stopped and decided to listen to the conversation.

"Ah, she's one of the best students in her year," Slughorn said proudly, "but I assure you - she wouldn't do that to you."

"How can you be sure, professor?"

"Well, could you describe your symptoms, Theodore?"

"Whatever I do, Y/n is on my mind," the boy admitted, "I can't eat, I can't sleep, I zone out thinking about her. It's not normal, I've never experienced it before."

The teacher gave his student a sympathetic smile. "My dear boy, you might be experiencing the actual feeling of being in love."

"What? And how could it have been caused? Was it a love potion, after all? Maybe a spell?"

"It's a part of muggle science, biology. The chemicals in your brain cause it and it's not something you can control. It happens when it happens. A truly beautiful feeling."

Theo's mouth twisted into a dissatisfied grimace. "Is there anything I can do about it?"

"You can talk to the girl about it, for example," Slughorn looked at the door and shouted, "come in, Y/n!"

Y/n cursed to herself in her thoughts. How could he know she was there?

The girl walked in shyly, holding a paper in her hands. "I wanted to show you my paper, professor," the girl spoke, "if there's anything you think I should change or... anything."

As the girl handed the paper to the teacher, she looked at Theo. They stood dangerously close to each other. The silence between the was so loud, Y/n was praying for the teacher to say something. Anything.

"Amazing, Mrs Granger," he spoke eventually, "although the Draught of Living Dead is an extremely difficult potion to make. I'm glad you're so ambitious, but I'd suggest you get help from someone more experienced."

"I'm pretty sure I can do it on my own." Y/n assured.

"Maybe Mr. Nott here could help you. The sixth year has been just learning about this potion, actually. Theodore, would you be so kind and help Mrs Granger?"

Suddenly, Theo's gaze somewhat softened. There was no more disgust in his eyes. When he stood so close to Y/n, he wondered why did he act the way he did. Why did he do all the mean things to her. Maybe he had always liked her, but didn't want to admit it, even to himself alone.

"Yes, sure," he said, "I can help."

Y/n felt happy. For some reason, she didn't dislike Theo for all the things he did. She secretly always liked him, he was attractive, and she would even sometimes daydream about the day he would finally talk to her like a normal person. Maybe the day has finally come.

#theo nott #theodore nott #slytherin boys #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfic #theo nott fanfic

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martian-astro10 · 10 months ago

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D9/ Navamsa chart observations - Part 6

Moon in 10th gives you a sassy (in a good way) father in law. Also, your spouse can be the best in their field. After marriage, you can be closer to your partner's family than your own. If you don't have a good relationship with your parents, then your partner's family will fill that void. (I know a gay guy with this placement and his husband was disowned by his family when he came out but my friend's family treat him as their own son. They have a really sweet relationship. I love this placement)

Rahu will either take away everything or give the best results related to the things of the house it's in. It really depends on it's dispositor. For ex- if rahu is in 5th, it can either give you a partner who is intelligent, creative, energetic, has a lot of hobbies, or it can give you a partner who drinks a lot, parties a lot, sleeps around, etc. it can also either give you a lot of kids or none at all.

Mercury in 9th gives you an intelligent spouse, they can also be a multilingual person. If you're a woman then your partner can have a little, teeny tiny tendency to mansplain, it's honestly like, they're so proud of their knowledge that they just wanna show how much they know, it can be a little annoying sometimes but nothing too serious. (I know a guy with this and his wife is so cute, she looks like a child every time she talks about her interests, you can tell how much she enjoys sharing her experiences and knowledge, it's kinda cute actually)

Venus in 7th is that placement that completely changes you after marriage, especially your fashion sense. it's because it aspects your 1st house, so definitely a huge change in personality, you can also get a glow up after marriage. Also, it can give a rich partner, kinda like a crazy rich Asians type situation. (I know a girl with this placement and she was so innocent before marriage, she wouldn't even wear revealing clothes and stuff but then after marriage, her mother in law basically threw out all her old clothes and got her new ones, I met her recently and BRO, she looked so different, so beautiful and she was wearing clothes that actually suit her body type and skin color. Also her mother in law is COOL AS FUCK, every time I look at her, I'm like, yeah, this is who I aspire to be like in the future) last point, you'll have a very loving marriage

Jupiter in 2nd is THAT placement. so many celebrities who are married to rich business men have this. I feel like this is one of the placements that just makes you very materialistic, like money is very important for you all, so you should marry someone who is just as materialistic. (I know people with this placement who don't get lonely or offended even when their spouses are workaholics, both you and your spouse think that money should take priority over any other matter) I'll be honest, your married life can be a little dry, but not if Jupiter is in a good sign

Sun in 9th is OFC another good placement. I haven't really seen this mentioned anywhere but this is like THE foreign spouse placement. all the people I know who have this, married someone who was not from their country. You'll also travel a lot after marriage. It gives you a really charming partner, like they can charm the pants off you. Also, the sexual tension is HIGH, Especially if sun is in Aries. There's also a high chance that you're an introvert but your spouse is not, so they can help you get out of your comfort zone

Saturn in 3rd can be such a calm and mature placement, it's like, you know how many men don't talk about the problems they face in a relationship, and then they start acting shitty and wait for the woman to break up. With this placement you get a responsible partner, someone who is willing to talk and meet halfway but you have got to match their energy yk. if you have a weak Mercury in d1, then this placement is not nice, cuz your communication skills are shit and they are TOO mature, so the moment you play games with them, they'll leave you. So work on yourself, is what I would say.

For ketu also, if the dispositor is well placed then you achieve balance in that area, but if not, then you feel detached. ( I know 2 people with ketu in 7th, one is so against marriage and she has extremely high standards, which tbh, are not even practical but the other one has high achievable standards. The funny thing is that the first one has always dated guys who were not good to her and the other has had zero dating experience cuz she's waiting for the right guy. So the detachment sometimes refers to "wrong attachment".

You all are not gonna like this but Jupiter in 7th is one of the STRONGEST indicators of getting married a lot of times. Jupiter in 1st as well, it's not that strong but chances are high. (Halley berrey, Jennifer Lopez, angelina jolie and Scarlett Johansson have it)

To end it on a good note, if you have mars in 5th, just know I'm jealous of you, cuz if there's one thing that you're not gonna lack in your marriage, it's sex. You guys will be those parents who kiss each other even you've been married for 35 years, you do that and then your kids go "ewww, you guys are so cringy" and run away. (Just make sure that mars is not conjunct or aspected by Saturn or rahu, Saturn gives no sex, rahu gives painful sex)

#astroblr #astrology #vedic astrology #astrology content #astrology community #astro observations #astrology observations #navamsa chart #d9 chart #astro community #astro notes #vedic astro notes #vedic observations #astro content

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agreeewrites · 8 months ago

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The Black Dog and His Bluebird | S.B.

feat. adult!Sirius Black x fem!reader

summary: Sirius Black returns to 12 Grimmauld Place battered and alone after 12 years in Azkaban. While his childhood home is the last place he wants to be, there's a small glimmer of hope right next door.

cw: MDNI 18+, smut, mentions of abuse and parental illness/death, head injury, hospital visit. Sirius has got that dog in him. 🐾

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

12 Grimmauld place loomed over him, weathered and and glaring. Sirius dropped his bag on the porch as the taxi rumbled away. Why had he insisted on coming back here? He hated this house, hated it’s stained brick and crooked shutters and gaping black maw.

But he had nowhere else to go, no one to turn to. So backwards was the only way to move forward.

He glanced at the neighbors house, the y/l/n’s, and was struck to find the same olive Ford Cortina in the drive, blue tansy in the window boxes. Could y/n still be there?

Unlikely, he thought. She was probably working some posh career in Paris, a fashion designer, or journalist. He hoped she was, even if part of him longed to see her again.

They’d grown up together, despite living in entirely separate worlds. Y/n’s life was pretty, honeyed, with loving parents, lavish Christmases, and vacations to the French coastline to visit her grandparents. But she’d always been kind to him, and went out of her way to sneak him pastries made by their Parisian chef. She never knew that some days, that would be the only thing he’d eaten. Some days, her silly jokes were the only thing to make him smile after weeks of misery.

When she’d left home to attend Beauxbaton’s, he’d been heartbroken. He knew she likely wouldn’t attend Hogwarts, but part of him had desperately hoped they’d go together. Countless nights were spent awake in his bunk in boys dormitory, wondering how she was, what she was studying, if she liked it there. If she thought of him, too.

He’d only seen her a few more times after that, in fleeting moments over the course of five summers. But then he was disowned, and the war began, and then…

Sirius sighed. Even if she was here, she likely thought he was a murderer, and dark wizard, and would want nothing at all to do with him.

Kreacher opened the front door, startling him. “Master Sirius returns, but Kreacher remembers how he left, yes, Kreacher remembers…”

Sirius grabbed his bag before the elf could and pushed inside. “I’m not happy about this either, mate. But we’ll have to make do.”

Kreacher grumbled and disappeared into the dining room.

“Welcome home,” Sirius muttered to himself and shut the door.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A few days passed while Sirius settled in, despite Kreacher’s constant efforts to inconvenience him. At least the house elf had kept the house in decent shape over the years.

The sound of a car rolling up the neighbors drive drew his attention from the novel he’d been reading, and he sat up from his sprawled position on the couch, parting the heavy velvet curtains.

The Cortina rolled to a stop in front of the neighbors house. His palms began to sweat, his heart pumping in his chest.

“Master Sirius—”

Sirius waved Kreacher off, fixated on the drivers side door. There was a woman inside, he was sure of it. But was it…

The door opened, a denim clad leg poking out, a slender, red-polished hand gripped the edge of the door. Y/n stepped out of the car, her curls shining in the morning sunlight.

Sirius’ stomach flipped, and he swallowed hard. She’d been beautiful as a girl, but now she a woman, and that much more stunning.

Fuck me, Sirius thought, hand tightening around the edge of the curtain. The countless times he’d dreamed of her, mapping every inch of her face, every hair on her head, somehow he’d forgotten just how perfect she was.

Her head turned suddenly, their eyes connecting across the way, and Sirius ducked down, the curtain falling closed.

“Shit,” he hissed, smacking his forehead. “Kreacher!”

“Master Sirius called Kreacher?” the elf hissed, entering the room.

“How long has y/n been back home?”

“Kreacher remembers Miss. Y/n returning six years ago…yes, six. With Mistress y/l/n. Kreacher saw them take Master y/ln away in a long, black car…the crying disturbed Kreacher, yes, Kreacher scolded them—”

“That’s all, Kreacher. Thank you,” Sirius said, risking another glance out the window. Y/n was helping her mother from the driver’s side, the old woman frail as wheat with a pink cap over her head. Sirius frowned, concern tightening his throat. First, her father passed, and now her mother was ill.

My poor little bluebird.

How he longed to go speak to her, to knock on her door, throw a rock at her window like he did in their youth. But, things were different now. He was different now. And he had no doubt that as soon as she laid her pretty brown eyes on his gnarled, tattooed appearance, she’d run screaming.

He slumped back on to the couch and retrieved his book, determined to ignore the persistent ache in his chest.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

You glanced back at 12 Grimmauld Place while guiding you mother up the front stairs. Surely, you hadn’t imagined him. A man with dark curls, his face severe, but so familiar.

Who else could it have been but Sirius?

Your heart drummed in your chest, trilling with nervous excitement. Your entire life, you’d harbored a crush on the mysterious Sirius Black, the absurdly wealthy, rakishly handsome, silver-tongued boy next door. but then you left for school, and his family unraveled, and then the incident…

You shivered. You never thought he’d see the outside of Azkaban, and when the reports of his escape were plastered all over the city…you’d felt nothing but girlish hope. Not for a single moment did you think that Sirius, your sad-eyed friend, was guilty of something so heinous. No, you knew there was more to the story.

Once your mother was settled in bed, exhausted from her treatment that morning, you ventured into the kitchen and got to work.

Two hours later, you poured the steaming pork cassoulet into a tall-sided dutch oven and wrapped a fresh loaf of bread in a kitchen towel hand-stitched with blue flowers. Nerves tickled behind your ribs, but you fluffed your curls, straightened your ivory jumper, and loaded the items into a picnic basket.

Would he answer the door? Will he be glad to see me? Will Kreacher chase me away?

Thoughts raced across your mind as you walked down the driveway, across the sidewalk, and up towards the Black front door. It struck you that this was the first time you’d ever done this. Your parents had forbade you from visiting the Black’s household, though Sirius, and his little brother Regulus, were welcome at your house anytime, and Sirius echoed the same sentiment whenever you brought it up.

With trembling fingers, you tapped the door knocker against the wood three times.

“Intruders at Mistresses stoop!” Kreacher wrenched open the door, his eyes narrowed. If one’s entire body could frown, Kreacher’s certainly was.

“It’s a pleasure, Kreacher,” you said brightly, offering the crotchety house elf a smile. “Is your Master home?”

“Y/n?” A deep voice called, and Sirius Black stepped into the shadowed foyer.

Your tongue tied, your mind grinding to a halt at the sight of him. He was gorgeous, if a bit thin from twelve years in prison. Time had honed the handsome boy he’d been into a bonafide man, complete with rugged facial hair, smoldering eyes, and spools of intricate ink across his skin. He wore a gray henley, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and black jeans, capped with sturdy black boots.

“Cassoulet,” you said dumbly, and your cheeks immediately heated with embarrasment.

“Sorry?” He asked, stepping closer and shooing the house elf away.

Kill me now, you thought. “I, uh. I noticed you were home and, uh, I thought you might like a home-cooked meal,” you said, holding up the picnic basket.

“For me?” he asked, taking the basket from your hands, though his eyes never wavered from your face.

You nodded. “It’s a pork cassoulet, stew,” you corrected yourself. “And a loaf of bread to go with it.”

He looked a little surprised, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth, exposing a sharp canine. Heat curled along your spine, making your knees soften.

“Thank you, y/n,” he said, passing the basket to the scowling Kreacher, who was eyeing our exchange with open disdain. “Would you like to come in and have dinner with me?” he offered, leaning against the door frame.

Even though he was on the thinner side, he still towered over you, consumed every one of your senses like a greedy masterpiece.

“I should get back to my mother,” you said, more nervous by the second. You weren’t afraid of him per se, but what he was coaxing out of you. The long dormant feelings you’d locked away to spare your own heart.

“Of course.” He nodded, but didn’t make any move to close the door, still assessing you with those sharp eyes.

“But perhaps another night?” you offered, raising an eyebrow in a gesture you hoped came across as flirtatious, not creepy.

“I look forward to it,” he purred, flashing that wicked smile once again.

Before you did something rash, you turned and hurried down the steps, not daring to look back until you were safely behind your own front door

“You’re blushing,” your mom teased, startling you.

You flipped her the bird and trudged back to the kitchen to clean your mess.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Sirius couldn’t stop thinking about y/n. From the moment he opened his eyes in the morning, to the moment he fell into fitful, sinful dreams about her. It was driving him mad. She was driving him mad.

He found himself waiting by the window, waiting for her to step outside to water the flowers, or fetch the mail, just so he could get a glimpse of her. A few times, her mother invited him for tea and he’d get to bask in y/n’s presence for an hour or so, nibbling on flaky pastries, sipping fresh cups of herbal tea, and making silly small talk, not that he ever had much to contribute. It was the best part of his week, and he was grateful for even a few moments of conversation with her, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

He’d even appeared on her front porch in his animagus form, literally begging like a dog for a scrap of her affection. She had scratched behind his ears, offered him a wedge of cheese, and even placed a gentle kiss on his snout, leaving behind a red lipstick print.

It had taken hours for his heart rate to settle, his blood to cool, after that. He imagined every place she’d leave lipstick smudges. Across his jaw, his collarbones, over his tattooed chest, haloed around the root of his cock…fuck.

His whole world had tilted to orbit around her gravity, and made his childhood crush look fleeting in comparison. She had ensured him, enthralled him, and he was beginning to think twelve more years in Azkaban would be more tolerable then this. Having her so close, but just out of his reach.

Sirius knew he should be worried about other things. His godson, for one. But selfishly, he wanted to linger in this feeling. The anticipation, the thrill of a passing touch, a prolonged gaze. Even if it would likely never be more than that.

His life had been nothing but darkness for so long, even a thimble of her light would be more than he could wish for. And yet, she gave it with abandon, recklessly doling out kindness and sweet smiles.

Bang bang!

Sirius jumped from the love seat, tossing his book onto the coffee table. He snagged his wand from the bookshelf and ran to the foyer, beating Kreacher to the rip open the door, wand raised.

Y/n stood on the other side, eyes wide with terror and tears streaking down her face. “Sirius, my mum—”

He was already out the door, running across the walkway and into their house, y/n on his heels.

“The bathroom. She hit her head,” Y/n said through hiccuping sobs, leading him up the stairs and down a narrow hall.

He found Ms. Y/l/n leaning against the wall in the master bathroom, a bundle of tissue pressed to her temple. She was awake, but her eyes were a bit unfocused, her hand struggling to keep the compress in place.

“Call an ambulance. I’ll bring her down,” he said, fighting to keep his voice level.

“Sirius—”

“Now, y/n,” he ordered, lowering his voice to not alarm the old woman. Once y/n ran out of the room to use the telephone, he crouched down beside her mother. “Hello, love. Can I carry you downstairs?”

She looked at him, eyes bleary. “Orion?” she asked, reaching up touch his face.

Shit, he thought, and didn’t waste another second before scooping her up, her frail body feather-light in his arms. “I’ve got ‘ya, hold tight,” he murmured softly as he carried her downstairs, careful to avoid any jerking movements.

“They’re coming,” y/n said, rounding the corner at the same time he reached the bottom.

Within minutes, sirens filled the neighborhood and her mother was taken away in an ambulance, y/n riding in the back with her.

Sirius followed on his recently returned motorcycle, breaking a few too many speed limits on the way.

He ran into the hospital, finding the first nurse in the lobby.

“I’m looking for—”

“Sirius!”

He turned and y/n slammed into his front, throwing her arms around his neck. Her whole body was trembling, sobs strangling her voice, and throttling his heart.

“Oh, darling,” he shushed, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m here, love. I’m right here.” He ushered her into an empty waiting room, keeping her pressed against him. It was agony to see her like this, her eyes rimmed with red, her breathing unsteady. He wanted to steal all of her hurt, banish it with a spell or a cruel word, but he was helpless to do anything but hold her.

An hour passed with her resting against his side, cycling through boughts of tears and stony silence. The only words were offered by him, small murmurings of hope, empty promises that everything would be alright.

Just as she was starting to calm, a doctor walked into the waiting room. They bolted up, rounding on him.

“How is she?” Y/n asked, clutching Sirius’ hand. In another situation, he’d be elated.

“She’s fine,” the doctor said, resting a placating hand on her shoulder. Sirius narrowed his eyes at it, but resisted the urge to slap it away. “We’d like to keep her overnight for monitoring, but we believe it’s a minor concussion at worst. She’ll be just fine.”

“Oh, thank God.” Y/n sagged into him, relief bringing tears to her eyes.

”Can we see her?” Sirius asked, wrapping a protective arm around y/n’s waist.

“Of course, right this way.”

They followed the doctor down a series of hallways, Sirius never once releasing his hold on y/n. Seeing the doctor touch her awakened something in him, something possessive and snarling, and every man that glanced her way made his hackles rise.

The doctor stopped at a door and y/n broke from his side, bursting into the room.

“Maman!,” she cried, rushing over to her mother’s bed. She was sat up and alert, nibbling on some crackers and drinking a cup of tea.

“Mon Cherie,” she cooed, taking her daughters hand. “I’m well, darling. Don’t fret.”

“I was so worried,” y/n said, wiping a tear from her cheek. They began whispering back and forth in french, leaving Sirius and the doctor estranged. Until, that is, Sirius caught his name in the jumble of unfamiliar words.

Y/n glanced back at him, then her voice took a argumentative tone. Her mother bit back, and y/n sighed, then waved Sirius over.

Perplexed, he stepped up to the side of the hospital bed. Ms. Y/l/n took his hand in hers, his long, tattooed fingers a stark contrast to her willowy ones.

“Take y/n home with you. Make sure she eats and gets some rest,” she said, whispering to him. “She worries too much.”

“Mum!”

Sirius nodded, smiling. “I’ll take good care of her,” he promised.

“You were always such a good boy, Sirius,” she said, meeting his eyes. “We always knew that.”

Unexpected emotion welled in his chest, and he cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he managed, voice gruff.

“Now get out. I need my rest,” she barked, shooing them away.

“But—” y/n argued.

“Out!”

“C’mon, love,” Sirius urged, taking y/n’s hand and leading her away. “I’ll take you home.”

Reluctantly, she followed him, twining her fingers with his.

Y/n was a bit daunted by the motorcycle, but after some coaxing, she climbed on, wrapping herself around him like a koala. The warmth of her body spread across his skin, rousing that hunger in his soul and making his pants tighten.

He drove as carefully as he could, keeping one hand on her body the entire time to ensure she stayed tucked safely against him. But it was nearly impossible for him to focus with her small hands curled against his lower stomach, her thighs pressed against his waist.

He really was a feral fucking beast.

Finally, they made it back to 12 Grimmauld Place just after sunset. He helped her off the bike, her legs a little wobbly from the ride. Indecent thoughts flitted through his mind, but he shoved them away. She needed him to look after her, not drool all over her like a dog.

“Could we do that again sometime?” y/n asked, surprising him.

“Ride the bike?” he asked, raising a brow.

She gave a small nod, blushing. He nearly gave an audible groan, his heart thumping out of rhythm.

“Whatever you want, bluebird,” he said, leading her up the steps and into the house. She blushed even further at the childhood nickname and he about tripped up the last step.

Kreacher was already there, of course, complaining loudly.

Sirius whistled to get the house elf's attention. “You’re off duty for the rest of the night. Go on,” he ordered, and if Kreacher could smile, Sirius swore he did.

Kreacher made himself scarce, and Sirius led her further into the house.

“I’ve never been in here,” she said, looking around with wide eyes.

He shrugged, sheepish at the grandiose nature of the interior design, how dark his home seemed in comparison to hers. “Better than Azkaban,” he muttered, and she giggled.

“What’s this?” she asked, pausing at the hall he hoped she’d miss entirely. The one with the sprawling mural of the Black family tree.

“The bane of my existence.” He followed behind her, watching as she ran her fingers along the branches, tracing his lineage across centuries.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, craning her head back to take it all in.

He just hummed in response, trailing the lines of her throat with his eyes, wondering what the fragile skin would feel like beneath his teeth.

But his revery was short-lived. He saw the moment her eyes snagged on his scorched name.

“Sirius…” she rubbed her finger over the burned hole, tilting her head slightly.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, wanting to avoid this conversation all together.

“Who did this?” she asked, turning to look at him. Tears glimmered along her lash line, and he regretted not tearing this wall down the second he returned. How dare his mother make her cry.

“It’s in the past,” he said, wanting desperately to comfort her despite the curdling sadness in his own heart every time he confronted the memories of his families disdain.

She didn’t respond, instead fishing around in her purse. She withdrew a tube of lipstick, her signature, oxblood red that his mother would think was garish, and spread it effortlessly across her plush lips.

Sirius’ mouth filled with saliva. What is she doing?

Y/n leaned forward, pressing her lips over the space his name once was, and his heart stopped. When she pulled back, a red lipstick print was left behind.

“Fuck your family,” she said, putting the lipstick back into her purse.

Sirius couldn’t bear it any longer. The beast severed the last of his restraint. He lunged for her, crushing her body between himself and the cursed mural, and claimed her mouth in a savage kiss.

She tasted like tea and chocolate, liquor sweet, and he was starved for it. She grabbed at his collar, pulling him closer as she bloomed for him, spreading those painted lips for his tongue to delve deeper. To devour her. A small sound of pleasure slipped from her throat and he growled, notching his thigh between her legs as their bodies rolled together. It was a fevered kiss, frenzied and desperate, and he never wanted it to end.

“Sirius” she panted, her fingers tangled in his hair.

“Hmm?” he hummed, kissing along her soft jaw, smirking when her hips twitched against his thigh.

“Should we, with everything—”

He pulled back, finding her eyes. “Most would caution you against associating with the likes of me,” he murmured, his tone light and teasing. He swiped at her smudged lipstick with his thumb, a deep pulse of satisfaction curling his toes in his boots. Already, he was making a mess of her.

She smirked. “The likes of you?”

He slid his hands down her body before scooping her up by the thighs and wrapping her legs around his waist. His constrained cock pressed against the heat between her legs, aching to feel her. “A feral stray with a chip on his shoulder,” he said, dragging his teeth along her pulse.

“Feral, hm?” she teased, her voice breathless as he continued to lavish attention across her neck.

“What would they think? The pretty, Parisian bluebird caught in the jaws of a murderous beast?” He felt her heart rate accelerate under his touch, her thighs clenching at his words. “But I think you’d like that. Would you like a little danger, love?”

“Yes,” she exhaled, then kissed him again, as hungry and needy as he felt. “All I ever wanted was you.”

If he was a cat, those words would have conjured a rumbling purr. But he was hound, a wolf, so he growled instead, and carried her into the closest room, the dining room. He dropped her onto the expensive, polished wood and undid her belt. He glanced up at her, asking permission before he ripped her jeans off of her. She gave a hurried nod, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, and he removed them swiftly, revealing her white panties and gorgeous legs.

“The amount of times I’ve dreamed about this,” he said, lowering to his knees in front of her.

She pulled her jumper over her head, and his brain short circuited as he stared up at her. She was braless, her perfect tits bouncing freely on her chest, nipples tight and rosy with arousal. “Me too,” she admitted, combing her fingers through his hair.

He rose up to kiss her, pressing her back against the wood. He moved a little more slowly now, savoring her taste rather than devouring it, making note of every hitch in her breathing, every flutter of her heart. With unhurried care, he kissed down her throat, along her collarbones, between the valley of her breasts, before wrapping his lips around a taught nipple. She loosed a soft moan, arching into his touch.

He lingered there for awhile, nipping and sucking at her tits until she mewling for him, her hips rocking against the hard plane of his stomach.

“Sirius, please,” she whined, tugging at the roots of his hair.

He gave a soft tsk. “Is it too much, love?” he asked, lifting his head.

Her answering glare could raze all of England.

Sirius chuckled and started kissing down her stomach, lowering back onto his knees between her legs. “I promised I would take care of you, didn’t I?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer, couldn’t stand to wait another second himself, and dragged his tongue over the soaked gusset of her panties.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“Ohh,” You moaned, your head falling back.

Sirius’ fingers hooked around your underwear, tugging the fabric aside, and his tongue finally connected with your clit, setting your brain on fire. He was slow and steady at first, exploring every inch of you before picking up the pace until he was ravaging you, feasting on your pussy like a man starved.

Already, you were barreling towards release, the coil in your pelvis winding tighter, tighter, until your whole body was thrumming with tension.

“So fucking perfect,” Sirius praised, flicking your clit with the tip of tongue with maddening softness.

“Sirius, please—fuck,” you panted, nails scratching along the wood table.

He stopped suddenly, rising to his feet and looming over you. “Please, what?” he asked, eyes dark, facial hair shining with your slick.

“Fuck me.” You grabbed at his belt, undoing the latch and fumbling with his zipper.

He let out a low chuckle, his hand sliding between you, two fingers dragging through your heat before easing inside. You let out a keening cry, hips bucking into the palm of his hand. “This what you wanted, darling?”

You shook your head, biting your lip to suppress a frustrated whine.

“No?” He removed his hand and undid his pants to free his cock, the head an angry red, slick with precum. He tapped it against your clit, shooting sparks of pleasure through your body. “How about this?”

“God, Sirius. Stop fucking around,” you snapped, grabbing at his collar to pull him in for a kiss. But he resisted, smirking down at you.

“So impatient,” he teased, sliding his cock through you slit, lubricating himself. Driving you fucking mad. “You want me to ruin this spoiled pussy?” he asked, notching the head at your entrance.

“Please,” you whimper, desperation driving you to tears.

“Oh, bluebird,” he cooed, catching a tear with his thumb. “My sweet girl. How could I ever say no to you?” With a punishing stroke, he buried himself to the hilt, splitting you open on his cock.

You cried out, collapsing onto the table, the feeling exquisite and brutal, ruinous.

“Bloody hell, angel. Like a fucking vice,” he rasped, drawing his hips back before surging forward again. You grabbed his shoulders, pulling him closer and capturing his lips with yours in a rough kiss. He fucked you slowly, deliberately, while dominating your mouth with his tongue, claiming you as his. And you fucking loved it.

You were sure he meant ‘ruin’ physically, but he had ruined you in other ways as well. You were ruined for any other man. None would compare to him, none ever had, even if you didn’t know it at the time. You were his, a bluebird caught in the jaws of a predator, and you were more than happy to let him eat you alive.

His buried his face in your neck, licking and biting the skin there, ratcheting you that much closer to your peak. He must have felt your walls contract because he amped up the pace, fucking you mercilessly. Pouring gasoline on the fire, he reached between you and started circling your clit with his middle finger, the metal of his rings like ice against your heated skin, and the coil in your stomach snapped.

You came with a scream, your whole body shattering as it laid waste to your nervous system.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarled, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own high. He grabbed your shoulder with his free hand, holding your body down against his as you rode out your orgasm, driving deeper, harder than before.

“God, Sirius,” you cried, another orgasm riding on the tails of the first, your muscles shuddering around him.

“You can do it, darling. C’mon,” he panted, before loosing a long moan, his hips flush with your as his cock bucked inside of you, pumping you full of his release. The sensation plunged you over the edge once more, bliss spilling through your blood like ink as you milked him dry.

He collapsed onto you, breathing hard. You wrapped your arms around him, your movements sluggish, and nuzzled into his shoulder as contentment settled over you. He peppered small kisses against your hair, wandering fingers ghosting over your sensitive skin just to feel you tremble beneath him.

Sirius let you bask in the afterglow for a few moments before hauling you up against his chest. He used his shirt to clean the mess you both made, then carried you down the hall and into a bedroom. His, you presumed. He set you on the edge of the luxurious, four-poster bed before turning to retrieve a pair of pajamas.

“Sirius,” you said, voice small as doubts began to circle in your mind.

He immediately dropped the pajamas and returned to your side, smoothing a strand of hair from your face. “What is it, love? Are you hurt?” he asked, brows knitted together in concern.

Suddenly, you couldn’t find the words. “I, did you do this just to make me feel better?” you asked, flushing at how pathetic you know you sound.

He blinked, tilting his head. “Y/n, I’ve been waiting to do that since I was old enough to want to do that. I’ve wanted you for years and years.” He cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him. “I’ve waited for you my entire life, bluebird.”

Tears well in your eyes, and you let him draw you in for a kiss. Not a hungry, frantic kiss like before, but a soft one, full of emotion, over a decade worth of words unsaid.

You had waited your entire life for him too, your sad-eyed boy, and nothing in the world would keep you apart again.

Fin 🐦

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Thank you so much for reading!

If you're interested in exploring more of my writing, you can read my published work here.

Much love,

Allie

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