#and that I am always here for her if she is upset about her body cause I know how it feels and I’ve had to work not to feel that way

[lostintransist]

Seamstress | Part 5

Check out part 1 here.

Every time John brought in a shirt, pair of pants, or suit coat to get fixed it got harder and harder to stop yourself from touching him. Touching him casually, obviously. You weren’t going to up and grope the man. But fuck you bet it would be as amazing as your dreams alluded it might be. He would probably, rightfully, hit you if you did. John seemed bashful around you and his body.

Watching him pull off a sweater in the colder weather became a fascinating trial of self-restraint. The man had a happy trail and a small bump of flesh pushing above the waist of his pants. You wanted to lick that happy trail until he gripped you by the hair and bite his stomach, just gnaw on it. Hair covered him, not an excessive amount but a light dusting that you want to pet.

The sweater he handed you had a hole in the cuff. After he graced you with a smile, that you returned by rote, he turned to the back room. Watching him slip beyond the door every time he came to visit made you want to follow him. Dammit, your new vibrator couldn’t arrive fast enough.

You lived life fine without sex or orgasms until one John Price looked so delectable you wanted nothing more than to sink your teeth into him and hold on like a bulldog. The vibrator would hopefully take the edge off the yearning and sand the edge of your annoyance with dealing with your mother.

She had been hounding you since you had left her house ‘in a huff’ about Christmas. You had managed to dodge her calls, replying via text that you were busy with work and couldn’t talk. Mid-November the damn nearly broke. She sent your father to the shop.

Looking up as the door bell dinged you smiled when you saw your father.

“Hi, Pops! Surprise to see you here.”

Finishing your current project to the point of being able to step away you joined him in front of the counter. After a quick hug, you gestured for him to sit down.

“What brings you by?” You look him over. He sits tall even with age dragging at his bones and color leeching from his hair.

“Your mother sent me,” he says in his quiet, firm voice.

That is all it took. Leaning back in the chair you cross your arms and your legs. The sour look on your communicates your displeasure. Feeling fifteen again sat uncomfortably in your grown body.

“I don’t have anything to say to my mother right now.”

Pops gave you a slow blink that told you so much. He didn’t want to be here, but for the sake of his marriage, he would. His wife bullied and nagged at him until he came to play peacemaker.

“She is upset that you are not talking to her, says you are avoiding calls about Christmas.”

“I am avoiding calls about Christmas. I already called Nana and I will be spending Christmas with her.”

Both Pops’ brows lifted, he spoke to his mother once a month when your mother went to visit her mother.

“If you don’t mind I’ll send her gift up with you then if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind that at all.”

“Why the distance with your mother?”

“She doesn’t listen to me, or like me. She is always siding with my brother in every disagreement and I’m done. I hate the way she treats me and unless she is willing to go therapy I don’t want to talk to her.” The words coated your mouth like vomit.

You had never said these things out loud outside of therapy. In therapy, you ranted that your mother hated you and regretted having you but that wasn’t something you were willing to dump on your father.

“She is upset about the silence,” Pops hedges.

“She makes me upset every time I see her so this feels fair.”

The look your father sends you sends you back to the age of seven as you hold out the broken porcelain doll you had been told repeatedly to not touch. Before either of you can pick the tug-of-war conversation back up the door bell dings. Looking up you can feel the weight of the chat with your father fall away.

John stands in the doorway, a wooden box tucked under one arm. He stomps his feet on the mat and lets the door fall shut behind him. Eager to escape the chat with your Pops you stand.

“John! I wasn’t expecting you today.” He had been yesterday and tended to keep anywhere from four days to three weeks between visits. If he would be gone longer he made sure to mention.

Smiling at nodding once at your father he set his box on the counter. Stepping around to your side of the space you examine the piece with your eyes like you do with clothing.

“I wanted to confirm you liked the design before I started to stain and line it.”

John turned the jewelry box around, watching your face as you examined each corner and the neat construction of it.

You glance up at him, the same look in your eye that you get before you start touching the clothing while he is in it.

“Can I touch?”

“Of course,” he nodded.

Damn if only he could get you to say that about him instead of objects. Any part of him. Really, even his pinky.

The man you had been having an intense chat with stood, drawing John’s attention away from you. The older man stepped around the counter, placing a hand on your back and a kiss to your hair. John’s stomach met the top of his boots.

“Goodbye sweetheart, I will call you later this week to finish this chat.”

“There isn’t anything else I have to say on the matter Pops. She can go to therapy or she can leave me alone.” You don’t look up from slowly rotating the piece in front of you.

“She’s still your mother.”

“And I’m still her daughter, not that that has ever gotten me a modicum of love from her.”

He hums in response, giving John a nod as he heads past him into the cold.

As the ding rings out in time with the blast of cold air you slump forward onto folded arms on the counter.

“John, would you lock the door please?”

Without question, he does as requested. Stepping back to the counter he looks you over.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He probes gently.

“No,” you bite the word out at the countertop.

“Can I show you more about your gift then?”

John knew how to push and when to pull away from the pain and try again later.

“There’s more?” Your head pops up, eyes filled with tears.

Pulling out each drawer he showed you the differences. Two drawers had inserts to increase the storage space. Three were empty and one had been left half filled with wood. Tipping that drawer to John you lifted a brow.

“I know you mentioned you don’t wear rings often but it felt odd to not give you any storage space for them. My mum had heirloom rings she held onto and hated having no good storage for them,” he explained.

Setting the drawer down gently you cover your mouth with one hand and hug yourself tight with the other. John is confused until you let out a small sob, and then he is terrified. What the fuck did he do?

“Sorry, ignore me,” you sob out.

Fuck off, that had no chance of happening. Stepping around the counter John doesn’t wait to ask you for permission, pulling you into his arms.

You cry until you can pull the reigns back on the overly large emotions and shove them back in the box meant for therapy. Leaning back you move away from John. His hands drop slowly, keeping contact with you until they hang at his sides.

“Better?”

You sniff as you tip your head back and forth.

“Meh?”

Looking away from his probing blue eyes you pull a tissue from your shelf. Carefully blowing your nose, because you’ve already cried on the man no need to make it worse by being loud now, you keep your eyes down.

“Why don’t you tell me about it as you finish looking it over? I have more to show you,” John picks up a drawer, rotating it between his hands.

Filling your lungs as deep as you can you try and think of a way out of this. Seeing none within easy reach you decide to get to know him better.

“How about a truth for a truth?”

He glances at you from below his beanie.

“I won’t be sharing any state secrets no matter how pretty you ask.”

His deadpan delivery shocks a laugh out of you.

“What would I do with state secrets other than give myself an ulcer?”

John has a big laugh. You love it instantly.

“Fair point that.”

You trade truths as he shows you how to access the portion of the box that holds necklaces. The top of the box shifts forward. The back wall can be lifted out if a necklace falls from the hooks he will install. You tell John of your rocky relationship with your mother, and he tells you of the distant but decent relationship he has with his siblings.

“You’ve really thought of everything haven’t you?” You start to slide the drawers back into place.

“I have a lot of time on my hands on missions,” he holds out another drawer.

“Can you tell me what this is?” You point at the joint of the drawer you had taken from his hand.

“The joint?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t look like most furniture I see nowadays. I’ve seen it once on my great grandmother’s dresser drawers,” you look to him.

Seeing the words form in his mind is fascinating.

“‘S called dovetailing. Bit more work but holds joints better than glue alone like most pieces are made with anymore.”

Brushing a finger over the joint you are amazed by the smoothness and dare you say softness of the wood.

“This is lovely John. Much better than I expected. You will tell me how much I owe you when this is all done?”

Watching his eyes crinkle is a treat, even if his expression says he thinks you’re being silly.

“Don’t owe me a thing. Let me use your shop for naps for the low price of a fix to the clothes I bring in? This is the least I can do. You don’t even badger me for state secrets,” he winked at you.

Your cheeks have to be blushing, thankfully you can’t feel the heat radiating off them. Focusing on putting everything away you start speaking again.

“I will be gone the week of Christmas. I am going to be up north with my Nana. Did you possibly want my number so we can coordinate a gift exchange?”

“Don’t need to get me a gift,” John eyes you with suspicion.

“And you don’t need to give me this well-crafted box for free but we find ourselves at an impasse.” You lift a brow at him, liking the drop in your stomach as he narrows his eyes at you. “Do you want my number?”

“Yes, give me your phone and I will text myself.” He shifts from foot to foot, eyes tracing your features.

You pass your phone, number pad ready. After he punches his number in he calls himself instead, the phone carrier-assigned tone ringing out from his pocket.

Taking your phone back you smile at the connection to him.

“There, now you can just text me if you need a nap instead of stealing your men’s clothes.” Glancing up at him you continue, “At this point, I’m almost wondering if you are causing more tears just to come see me.”

John felt the alarm bells go off in his brain. You were onto him somehow. Play it cool John, you can bluff a terrorist cell you can do it to one woman.

“And if I am?”

You have the cutest nose scrunch as if you don’t believe him.

“I don’t think you are but just in case you better knock it off before they start hiding their clothes from you.”

John laughs again, keenly aware that he hasn’t laughed this much since Roach got so tipsy trying to out-drink Gaz that he couldn’t stand right. Gaz had also promptly fallen over when trying to prove he wasn’t that drunk.

“I’ll text you. This,” he placed his hand on the box, “Will be done after Christmas. Want to get together for New Year maybe?”

Smiling at him you folded your arms and tugged the inside of your lip between your teeth.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Stay safe out there John.”

“Always do.” He left with a wave and a smile, unlocking the door on his way out.

Masterlist

[randomthefox]

No matter how you look at it, there's no way to interpret Lanolin's current portrayal as anything other than a violent dictator or an abusive parent.

Her teammates are scared of getting beat by her. Whisper has been extra mopey ever since Lanolin smacked her onto the ground. Tangle saw Lanolin using a punching bag and then laments how she's scared of the sheep.

She prioritizes bossing people around more than saving people who are about to die. Clutch was revealed as an eco terrorist MERE SECONDS AGO and Lanolin is too busy bitching about Sonic to react to this new information.

She only listens to people that she personally deems as tolerable. There's no reason for Lanolin to trust "duo" more than her teammates and the heroes who've saved the world. She just arbitrarily decided that he's "better" than the others.

She NEVER EVER listens to anyone else's perspective or argument. Lanolin will endlessly move the goalpost so that she can end the discussion by mocking or smacking someone.

Lanolin is a contemptible wretched cunt.

It's so frustrating because it's just another case of this comic gaslighting me because I am tearing my hair out trying to figure out how the comic is trying to portray the character. The comics copium huffing ass fans seem convinced that Lanolin is being written as a flawed and combative presence who has friction with the other characters on purpose, but that doesn't really pan out because as I keep emphasizing: NOBODY EVER CALLS HER OUT FOR HER BEHAVIOR. She just runs roughshot over everybody completely unchallenged, allowed to have the last word in every single conflict she's a part of (and usually instigates) even though she IS (always) objectively wrong.

But that's the thing. She IS objectively wrong. Like, I will never not go back to this page.

Tangle is 100% correct. Lanolin COULD have just said something first. She SHOULD have. Even if it would have been stern and snappy because of her foul mood, shouting at Tangle something like "would you KNOCK that off, I'm trying to THINK here!" would have conveyed the same thing, that Lanolin is feeling high strung and stressed out and is frustrated at Tangle's immature behavior, while still being a completely reasonable way to handle the conflict. And it would have made this follow up actually MAKE SENSE and honestly be funny.

Lanolin seeing Tangle reaching back out for the paddle ball after she firmly told her to knock that shit off earlier and smacking the paddle ball away without verbally acknowledging what happened would have been a perfectly reasonable and amusing escalation of the conflict. Lanolin USED HER WORDS like an ADULT to tell Tangle to stop, Tangle initially acquiesces, but then gives into the devil on her shoulder to try going back to doing it and Lanolin lashes out. It would have been a pretty simple set up and pay off that would have effectively communicated Lanolin is experiencing some growing pains in this leadership role she's taken into but IS trying her best.

But as it is in the comic as written, Lanolin was annoyed by Tangle's paddle balling and IMMEDIATELY RESORTED TO VIOLENCE by SMACKING the toy out of Tangles hand WITHOUT COMMUNICATING THAT IT WAS BOTHERING HER. You could ARGUE that she was making her feelings known nonverbally and Tangle is at fault for not picking up on the social ques of Lanolin's body language, but that's bullshit. Tangle is fucking autistic and everybody knows it. Tangle SINCERELY did not understand that she was doing anything wrong or that Lanolin was upset by it. She couldn't possibly have known, and Lanolin did absolutely nothing to COMMUNICATE that fact to her. Instead Lanolin ROUGHLY SNATCHES THE TOY OUT OF HER HANDS in a way that was clearly very aggressive and distressing for Tangle. And she's left muttering under her breath that Lanolin COULD HAVE SAID SOMETHING.

And yeah. She should have said something. She is OBJECTIVELY being a cunt and nobody in their right mind could possibly think she was anything but in the wrong for that behavior. Frankly if I was Whisper I would have gotten pissed the fuck off and started mad dogging sheep girl for laying hands on my boo, but I guess Whisper is still kinda pissed at Tangle for the "diamond cutters" thing.

Not to mention the whole Duo confrontation where Lanolin immediately starts sucking this fucking random newguy off and treats everyone else like shit for no fucking reason. And this panel.

I don't care what the INTENTION of this panel is. Look at their fucking expressions. There is no other way to interpret this besides that Tangle is AFRAID of Lanolin, who is TRANSPARENTLY threatening violence in retribution against Tangle if she doesn't back up Lanolin's side of things. This is 100% an "abusive parent silently ordering their child to tell the nice police man that the cigarette burns were an accident or else they're gonna get whipped" panel. ESPECIALLY considering the previous interaction as I detailed above where Lanolin has already displayed a history of violent aggression towards Tangle. Tangle is AFRAID of Lanolin, which is only further emphasized in the current storyline.

"I'm scared of what she'll do."

This..... CAN'T be an accident, right? This is not subtext, this is text. Lanolin is abusive towards Tangle, and Tangle has developed a trauma response to Lanolin's aggressive and violent behavior.

If this were any other comic I'd say this is open and shut black and white - Lanolin is a BAD PERSON, and we as the audience are meant to see her as a bully and a tyrant. That the comic wants us as the audience to dislike Lanolin because she's objectively terrible.

But it's impossible to know for sure because like I said: NOBODY EVER CALLS LANOLIN OUT! The video game characters of Sonic Tails and Amy DO NOT UTTER A SINGLE WORD IN THEIR OWN DEFENSE when Lanolin starts reading them the riot act.

Seriously, look at this. Seriously read these panels. SONIC TAILS AND AMY DO NOT SAY A FUCKING WORD. They might as well be UNCONSCIOUS for all the difference it makes.

isn't that COMPLETELY NONSENSICAL? Shouldn't SONIC THE HEDGEHOG be telling Lanolin to blow it out her ass because he's all about freedom? Shouldn't Tails be trying to defend his tech and plead for a chance to have it inspected? Shouldn't Amy be calling Lanolin heartless for not expressing an ounce of concern about her well being or praising Sonic for rescuing her?

And then later at the diner, Sonic Tails and Amy don't have a single negative word to say against Lanolin for DQing them! They're all just spitballing about Clean Sweep! None of them resent Lanolin AT ALL.

And then later when Lanolin is being CLINICALLY FUCKING INSANE and trying to arrest Sonic while the sky is falling down, he just says this

Not "hey, crazy bitch, lay your fucking hands on me when I'm trying to save my friends and watch what happens"? Not "NOW IS SERIOUSLY NOT THE TIME"? Not "why do you even fucking care I didn't even do anything bad anyway"?

No, he treats her umbrage with him as VALID. He is DEESCALATING the confrontation by taking culpability.

THAT'S. DERANGED.

Lanolin is NEVER challenged or confronted BY THE VIDEO GAME CAST (except for Silver, who is beaten down like a dog because Evan Stanley thinks Silver needs to be an uwu soft boy bean instead of depicting him authentically to his video game self as someone who would have absolutely fucking strangled Lanolin to death with his psychic powers for getting in his way when attacking Duo). Lanolin is never CALLED OUT for BEING WRONG by ANYBODY IN THE STORY. Not by her boss Jewel. Not by the people who SHOULD have seniority over her, the games cast. Not by her peers. Only her subordinates (who SHOULDN'T be subordinate to her) Tangle and Whisper grumble and complain about her actions only to be stomped down into compliance and have to resort to hushed behind closed doors schemes against her interest.

I'M FUCKING GOING INSANE, WHICH IS IT YOU STUPID FUCKING COMIC? IS LANOLIN SUPPOSED TO BE A BITCH OR NOT? IF SHE IS, THEN WHY ISN'T ANYBODY TREATING HER LIKE A BITCH? IF SHE'S NOT, THEN WHY IS SHE OBJECTIVELY FUCKING EVIL?

This comic is SO GOD DAMN INCOMPETENT you can't even figure out if you're SUPPOSED to hate a character or not. So instead of hating Lanolin, I just hate the writers instead.

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XX.

GIF by bestintheparsec

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: The night of the ritual.

WORD COUNT: ~9.1k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: dead dove: do not eat!, kidnapping, mc is held hostage, allusions to SA (nothing explicit. will be explained later on), hallucinations, humiliation, wound care, hurt/no comfort, crime thriller vibes are vibing, demon worship, cult ritual, supernatural elements, non-consensual drug use, angst, whump, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i'm missing any other tags please let me know.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: i’m going to hold y’all’s hand when i say this... i am putting paloma through it 😓 i was initially going to just bang everything out and post it in one big chapter, but as i was writing... i just felt like it would be better if we let the suspense of it all do its thing and end with a cliffhanger. i am a sucker for ‘em, even if they’re so frustrating (in the best way possible) 😭 i hope that all the lore revolving the cult has been concise and strong enough to hold up during the ending bit of this. i wish i could say things are going to get better from here but they’re not… they’re actually going to get worse 🤠 as always, feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or on ao3. i'd really appreciate it 🖤

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

When ten minutes pass, Javier brushes it off. She’s probably just caught up in something. It’s nothing to worry about.

But when twenty minutes roll by, that’s when the unease creeps in. He starts pacing the living room, fighting the urge for a cigarette, glancing at the clock.

Where is she?

By the time half an hour has come and gone, he’s dialing the library, wondering why Paloma hasn’t come home yet. The phone rings and rings, but no one picks up. His stomach tightens, and he wills himself to remain calm. She’s probably fine.

At the hour mark, Javier’s behind the wheel, speeding into town. Maybe she’s still upset from the argument they had earlier, and instead of coming home, she went to Tammy’s.

But when Tammy tells him she hasn’t heard from Paloma for a few days now, a knot twists in his chest.

Panic threatens to take hold, but he pushes it down. He can’t let it consume him—not yet. Not until he has a real reason to worry.

But she has that damn habit of disappearing to sulk in random places when she’s upset. And that habit is gnawing at him now.

He drives to every spot he can think of, the abandoned tracks, the clearing behind the cemetery, the creek—but there’s no sign of her.

That terrible feeling grows, heavy and unshakable. He marches into the sheriff’s department, jaw set, not caring who sees the frantic look in his eyes.

He storms the file room, ripping through boxes. His hands tremble as he plucks out the file he’s searching for.

“Fuck!” He curses under his breath, jaw tightening as the photo of Paloma’s mother stares back at him.

Now, he has a reason to panic.

He should have known when he first laid eyes on it. The familiarity of her features—her eyes, her hair, her smile; it was all too close to Paloma. Too close to ignore. But he had, all because his mind was completely elsewhere at the time. Now look where that got him.

It’s like a scene from a horror film, where everything snaps into place too late.

The recent victims; brunettes in their mid-twenties with similar features, similar backgrounds—they resembled her.

The staged chamber, the gore, the man who killed himself.

All of it was leading to this, tying up the gruesome mystery with a neat little bow, like a gift Javier wishes he could burn. They had been played—manipulated, distracted from seeing the bigger picture.

Whoever orchestrated this whole thing has been after his girl from the very beginning.

He fights the urge to smash his fist into the nearest wall, to tear down every shelf in the room in a fit of blind rage.

But what would that solve? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Rage won’t lead him to her. Fear won’t undo what’s already been set in motion. All he can do is cling to hope, even if it’s slipping through his fingers.

The ultimate goal of this fucked-up cult—their twisted mission—is to birth the flesh reincarnate of their so-called, bullshit deity.

His blood runs cold at the thought of Paloma being used in some horrific ritual, being touched, violated, forced into madness.

He’s shaking, on the verge of a panic attack, his heart slamming against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape. But he forces himself to breathe—slow, deep, steady breaths, locking the perturbation away. 

Javier puts out an APB, his voice tight as he details her car, her appearance. Every word feels surreal, like it’s not really him saying it, like he’s watching someone else’s nightmare play out.

Romeo’s going to hear this, and he’s going to have to explain how they missed all the signs, how Paloma has been in danger this whole time.

The weight of it presses down on him like a thousand pounds of guilt.

Gathering what he needs and delegating some of the overnight officers at the station, he frantically drives to the Leighton house.

He’s already chain-smoked half a pack. That nasty habit he’s been trying to shake is clinging to him. The file in his hands feels too light for the bomb he’s about to drop.

How the fuck is he supposed to do this? How do you tell someone their wife’s past is tangled in a nightmare, and that their daughter—a woman they both love—is at the heart of it? How do you stay composed when you’re barely holding yourself together?

“Where the fuck is my daughter?”

Javier’s barely set foot out of his truck when Romeo’s fists twist in his shirt, shoving him hard against the vehicle.

The impact rattles through him, but all he can see is the wild, desperate look in the sheriff’s eyes—a terror that matches his own but runs even deeper, cutting into every line on his face.

“Romeo, listen to me!” Javier’s voice is authoritative, that familiar guarded wall of stoicism building as his trademark defense mechanism to the absolute anxiety that’s gnawing away at his body. “This is gonna be hard to hear—I’m barely making sense of it myself—but I need you to listen if we’re going to figure this shit out.”

Romeo’s grip tightens, then slowly loosens, and Javier seizes the moment, shoving the older man back, no longer giving a fuck about keeping the peace.

He yanks the folded photo from his jacket pocket and holds it up, letting him get a clear look. “Tell me. Is this Paloma’s mother?”

Romeo’s gaze flits to the photograph, and the recognition that floods his face is immediate.

His fingers snatch the photo from Javier, and his expression cracks, aging him in just a matter of seconds. “Where did you get this?” His voice is barely a whisper, “What the fuck is going on?”

Javier’s own dread deepens. “From the old files,” he says, voice hollow. “The ones from the original group. She’s connected to all of this. They both are.”

He takes a breath, then begins to explain everything he knows. He lays it out, bit by bit—the tangled web of what Paloma had uncovered, the twisted threads that pointed to this cult, the fake leads that had kept them chasing shadows. Every word feels like glass in his throat.

Confusion, fear, anger—every emotion etched on Romeo’s face makes Javier feel like he’s the one who has failed. 

“Did you know about any of this?” he asks, though he already knows the answer from the lost look in Romeo’s eyes.

His mouth opens, then closes. He seems to gather himself, shoulders dropping under a weight he’s only just begun to grasp. “None. When I met Abby… she was just a woman startin’ over. She’d moved into a small house near the church. Said her parents had passed and she needed a fresh start. Picked a random town—that’s how she ended up here.” The sheriff’s gaze drifts to a place Javier can’t reach, caught in the bittersweet memory of his late wife. 

“Paloma said she found this out by going through her mom’s things,” he says carefully, each word a stone dropping into his gut. “But I don’t think she was telling me everything.”

Silence stretches between them, heavy and loaded as they lock eyes in an unspoken understanding.

They need answers, and every second they waste is another second Paloma could be slipping further away.

“Before we make accusations,” Javier says, forcing himself to stay grounded, “we need to dig through their belongings. There has to be something there—a lead, a hint—something that’ll tell us who’s behind this.”

“But you already know who it is, don’t you?”

Javier’s eyes darken, and his jaw locks as one name barrels into his mind, clear and hateful: August.

The red flags he had dismissed, convinced they were just a byproduct of his hate for the guy, now stand out like beacons.

He meets Romeo’s gaze, a grim certainty settling into his features. “I believe it’s Augustus Dixon and his group.”

Romeo’s face twists with anger, and he grits out, “Motherfucker—” His fists clench, his whole body radiating fury.

“Be pissed off later. We’ve got a job to do.”

They stalk up the stairs, both men moving with purpose—Romeo heads for his wife’s things while Javier makes his way into Paloma’s room.

It feels surreal, even wrong, to be rummaging through her life like this. The last time he’d been in this position, it was in Jessica’s room, and even then he could see the resemblance her space shared with Paloma’s—but he’d never thought he’d be here, seeing his girl as a victim.

His fingers skim over a leather-bound book tucked away on the top shelf in her closet, hidden behind a jewelry box. It’s as if she’d placed it there purposefully, stowed away out of reach.

When he pulls it down, he realizes it’s a scrapbook brimming with photographs and clippings.

Inside, he finds images of Calmana, surrounded by groups of men and women, all dressed in matching, traditional attire. A towering cathedral looms in the background, religious iconography scattered throughout—symbols he now recognizes from his research.

Maps, faded with time, span several pages, and in the center lies an intricate, sprawling family tree with Paloma’s name written at the bottom.

He spots envelopes tucked between the pages, each one addressed to her in cursive hand.

He calls out for Romeo, and the sheriff is by his side almost instantly, his expression a twisted mix of hope and dread.

“What’d you find?” 

Javier silently hands him the scrapbook, keeping the envelopes for himself. 

One by one, he opens them, unfolding each paper. His breaths come out ragged, and he feels his stomach drop as he reads.

They’re love poems—explicit, filthy in their adoration. Line after line, they detail all the things August wants to do to her, each word penned with obsession.

The praises he lavishes on her, how he calls her a spectacle, the power he insists she wields—it’s like poison seeping into Javier’s mind. 

His hands start trembling, and the implications tighten around him like a noose.

Romeo, sensing his agitation, reaches out, his voice rough. “What’s that—what did you find?” 

Javier jerks the papers away, swallowing hard. “Trust me. You don’t want to see these—not now.”

“Let me see them, Javier! Goddammit, my daughter is in danger!”

Before their back-and-forth can spiral any further, Javier’s walkie talkie crackles sharply, an officer’s voice coming through:

“A dark green, 1970 Buick Electra matching the APB put out an hour ago has been found in Lake Fraiser alongside an unidentified female body.”

The air thickens and shatters as Javier and Romeo lock eyes, both of them wearing the same look of wide-eyed horror. 

“Romeo—” Javier tries, reaching out, but the man is already out the door, the scrapbook falling from his hands and hitting the hardwood floor with a hollow thud that reverberates in Javier’s chest.

He mutters a quick fuck and scoops it up, rushing after him, yet the sheriff is a blur, tearing down the driveway with the kind of desperation only a father can muster when everything he loves is on the line.

Now that he’s left alone, Javier grips the railing, and the weight of it all—of losing her—comes crashing down. His heart’s splintering, his chest tight, mind skidding out of control.

This is what he’s been running from all along—failure… loss… grief. Now it is all coming back, circling like vultures, ready to take the one thing that’s ever brought him true happiness.

But he forces himself to breathe, to anchor his mind to the one cold comfort he has left. “He wouldn’t kill her. He needs her.” The words taste bitter, chilling him, but they hold him steady.

Paloma is at the center of this plan—there’d be no sense in taking her, just to end it so abruptly.

Despite everything, he finds a sliver of reassurance in that cruel logic. He clings to it with everything he has, because right now, it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

Javier pulls up to Lake Fraiser, where the scene is a flurry of first responders, flashing lights reflecting off the water’s dark surface in sharp reds and blues.

He parks haphazardly, barely cutting the engine before he’s out of the truck, heading straight toward the area cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape.

His heart slams against his ribs as he spots Romeo, kneeling by the edge of the lake beside a body draped in a white cloth, his face blank, almost empty.

Javier’s eyes dart to the surrounding officers, scanning each one, trying to get a read on the situation before he speaks.

“Is it her?” His voice breaks the stillness.

Romeo doesn’t look up, his gaze locked on the covered body. “…No.”

Relief floods through him, dizzying him for a moment before his gaze lands on a tow truck pulling Paloma’s car away from the scene. 

He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to swallow back the bitter uncertainty rising in his throat.

Romeo stands slowly, brushing the dirt off his hands, his expression hardening as he relays, “Just got a call from the hospital. Our girl from the woods finally woke up. Tonight of all nights.” He chuckles dryly. “Asked to speak with me specifically. So I’ll head that way tomorrow after she’s been stabilized properly… which means you’ll be in charge of all this.” He gestures around them vaguely.

The pulsing emergency lights cast fractured shadows over their faces.

“It’s best for you to step back momentarily. Clear your head. You’re too close to this,” Javier adds quietly, “She’s your daughter.” And while Javier is her lover and every inch of him is fraying at the edges for her, he understands that his pain won’t amount to the agony that Romeo is drowning in.

The sheriff’s silence stretches, words hesitating on his tongue, until finally, with a quiet confession, he murmurs, “I was too harsh on her. On you. I was an asshole, and if it’s any reconciliation—thank you for tryin’ to get her out of this shitty town.”

Javier’s caught off-guard but doesn’t show it, the self awareness on his behalf is appreciated. “I’d do anything for her.”

Romeo studies him for a moment, as if measuring the resolve behind his words, then he nods, his expression taut, “Gonna start combing through everythin’ back at the station. Probably call Olsen, see if he’s got any cameras ‘round the library so we can get a timeline goin’.”

These two men are similar in that regard, backing themselves into their jobs to mask the turmoil inside. They talk through some of the procedures before Romeo is pulled away by other officers, leaving Javier to handle things here.

He forces himself to switch gears, to summon every bit of authority he has left to do his job. He’s got a dead body to assess, a team to command, and then—then he’ll focus everything he’s got on finding Paloma.

Paloma stirs awake, the pitch darkness of the early morning pressing in from all sides.

She’s disoriented—a dull ache in her head and the sting of thick, abrasive rope biting into her wrists.

Her hands are suspended and bound above her, tethered tightly to an old, rusted pipe overhead, which creaks slightly as she shifts her weight.

She can feel the grit of dried blood matting her hair against her temple, the aftershock of Sloane’s vicious hit with the bat ringing sharp behind her eyes. Her boots are missing, leaving her barefoot against the cool concrete ground.

As reality sharpens around her, she realizes this isn’t a dream and it nauseates her, instilling panic in her heart.

She barely remembers the car ride or the way they dragged her down here, everything muddled from the hit she’d taken until she’d finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

Now, the throbbing intensifies as she tugs instinctively at the ropes, her wrists burning, but no amount of pulling loosens her bonds.

Frustration and terror mix, unwieldy coiling in her chest and tears sting at her eyes despite her attempts to fight them back. She doesn’t want to imagine what they plan to do to her.

She knows Javier and her father have to be looking for her. They must be tearing themselves apart with worry. She can almost hear her father’s harsh reprimands and Javier’s quiet, determined rage—they’re relentless when it comes to protecting her. 

They’ll find her. They have to.

The cellar door creaks open and she freezes, her pulse skittering as August, Sloane, and Gabriel descend the stairs.

The dim light barely touches their faces, but she doesn’t need to see them clearly to know what they’re capable of.

She tries to hold her head high, pushing back the tears, refusing to let them see the fear that’s boiling inside. She won’t give them that satisfaction, not if she can help it.

Their footsteps echo against the walls of the basement. August stops just close enough that she can feel his presence invading her senses, suffocating, his familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Good morning, P,” he drawls, voice dripping with the charm that managed to slither its way into her heart.

What she once found magnetic in him is now hollow, a mask that hides something so unfathomable. 

“Pretty nasty cut ya got there.” Sloane’s voice drips with fake sympathy. Her eyes glint with that special brand of cruelty she’d always kept hidden behind a guise of friendship.

The satisfaction in her tone is unmistakable, like she’s savoring every moment of seeing Paloma in such a vulnerable state.

The urge to spit in their faces, to lash out, is almost unbearable, but she remembers her daddy’s lessons, advising her to stay calm, to never let them know how afraid she really is.

Every word of advice he’d ever given her about self-preservation hangs heavy in her mind. 

She keeps her face blank, her mouth a hard line.

“Silent treatment, huh?” August steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. His fingers are inches from her forehead when she sees the sick satisfaction in his eyes, and she can’t suppress the involuntary grimace as his fingers hover over the gash near her forehead.

The moment of weakness feels like a win for him, his smile widening as he grazes her wound, pressing just enough to send a wave of pain radiating through her skull and a fresh stream of blood to trickle out.

Sloane watches her reaction, faux innocence weaving through her sneer. “You make for a pretty damn good damsel in distress. Thought you’d put up more of a fight, if I’m bein’ honest. You really disappointed me, doll face.”

Paloma’s grip tightens around the rope until her knuckles ache. She wants to tell her off, to fight and scream—but instead she just turns away, refusing to even look at them.

August’s hand cups her chin as he forces her to meet his eyes, eyes that once held promises of affection and loyalty now filled with something so dark and consuming.

His fingers dig into her soft skin. “I need you to look perfect, little dove. All stitched up and pretty.” His thumb trails along her chapped bottom lip. “Gabriel,” he calls, not even glancing back at the other man, “Tend to that. Tonight’s a big night, after all. Lots to prepare for.”

There goes that trepidation again. Her mouth twitches, half-ready to break her silence and demand to know just what the hell he’s talking about. But she’s already committed to keeping quiet.

Gabriel lingers behind them, shifting uncomfortably, the first aid kit clutched tight in his hand.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands there as usual, eyes flicking from Paloma to his partners, some part of him clearly unsettled yet too cowardly to intervene.

He’s her best shot of getting out of here, she just knows it.

“‘S’okay, you ain’t gotta talk,” August’s coos. “I actually prefer you like this—makes things a hell of a lot easier. The others…” He snorts, shaking his head.

How many other unfortunate women had been dragged down here, suffering at his hands?

“Too squirmy, too squeamish—like fuckin’ pigs.” His laughter is mirthless and Sloane joins in with loud, exaggerated snorts that mimic a pig’s squeal. The sound claws at Paloma’s ears.

There’s this twisted admiration in his stare as he studies her. “That’s why I knew I needed to have you. No one else on this planet holds a candle to the magic you have, Paloma. You should stop bein’ so scared and embrace it.” He murmurs, dropping his voice to a whisper.

His hand snakes down from her jaw, tracing her neck, lingering in an unsettling crawl between her breasts before settling at her hip.

His fingers dig in, and she flinches, her body stiffening in revulsion. He smirks at her reaction, savoring her discomfort like a fine wine.

“I’ll be back to check on you later, alright?” His tone is falsely tender. "Gotta make sure everythin’ is perfect. Can’t afford any fuck ups now—I’ve been way too patient for this."

He steps back at last, allowing Gabriel to shuffle forward with the kit in hand.

With a jerk of his chin, August motions for Sloane to follow him. She blows Paloma a mocking kiss and winks with a saccharine sweetness that really piles on the hatred that burns a little hotter for her specifically.

The heavy cellar door slams shut, casting them back into dim silence as the first pale light of dawn begins to creep through the basement windows.

Paloma’s heart pounds as their shadows disappear, leaving her helpless in the creeping morning light.

“What are you goin’ to do to me?” Her voice is hoarse, each word scraping her dry throat like sandpaper, but she can’t keep quiet now that they’re alone.

Gabriel wordlessly drags over a stool, placing the first-aid kit on top. He opens it, sorting through supplies as though she isn’t even there.

Paloma yanks at her restraints, the old pipe groaning in protest. “Fuckin’ say somethin’,” she snaps, anger edging her desperation. “It’s the least you could do—just… tell me.” She hates the pleading tone that slips through, the last thread of her control unraveling as she imagines what fate awaits her.

His gloved hands move to clean her wound, and she clenches her jaw against the sting, glaring at him as if she could force him to talk through sheer will. He’s careful and practiced, clearly having done this before.

“The Crimson Rite,” he mutters, brows furrowing as he concentrates, his voice a barely audible murmur. “It’s where the conception will happen… on the altar of incarnation.”

Paloma’s heart stumbles, her mind racing to piece together the fragments. “What the fuck are you even sayin’?” Her voice wavers, but there’s no denying the chill in her spine.

She knows what those words mean on their own, but together, they paint a picture she’d rather not face—the harrowing reality of how August truly plans on using her.

“August’ll explain,” he replies, brushing her off with the indifference of a man following orders. “He’s better at that shit than I am. I just do what he asks and stay outta the way.”

“Like a fuckin’ coward,” she spits.

The needle pauses, its sharp tip hovering an inch from her skin, and he raises his eyes. “You get all lippy with me, but keep your mouth shut around them? What, I ain’t intimidatin’ enough for you?” 

She holds his gaze, defiance simmering behind the exhaustion in her stare. “Nothing about you’s intimidatin’ enough to keep me from tellin’ you exactly what I think.”

His lips twist downward, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he resumes stitching, each tug at her skin rougher than the last. 

“At church that day, you were warnin’ me, weren’t you?” Her voice is barely a whisper, the memory of that awkward conversation rattling in her mind. “S’not too late, Gabe. You can still help me outta this… We both can be outta here ‘fore the sun comes up.”

There’s a lapse, just for a second, in his eyes—something she wants to believe is regret, a part of him she hopes she can reach.

The sliver of optimism she’s mustered might awaken that dormant part of him buried under layers of August’s bullshit and the bitterness life has forced him to swallow.

But he shakes his head slowly, avoiding her gaze as he finishes stitching her wound, his hands deft. “You don’t get it. Don’t matter if I do the right thing. He’d find us—he always does.” He sprays her wound with a numbing mist then covers it with a small gauze.

“He wouldn’t find us,” she insists, her voice fraying. “Daddy would protect us. He’d make sure we’re safe.”

He lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Yeah? He promise you that or somethin’? ‘Cause from where I’m standin’, you don’t look all that safe.”

A bitter, frustrated cry escapes her as he begins to pack up his kit, her pleas bouncing off him like stones against steel.

“Please, Gabe, don’t leave me down here alone,” she chokes out, and the words twist something deep inside her, pulling her further into a desperation she’s been trying to keep at bay.

“Breakfast’ll be down in a few hours,” he mutters, almost as if talking to himself, keeping his voice low and detached. “Probably get you a shower at sundown so you ain’t all sweaty and grimy. Needs you all fuckin’ pristine.” The last words slip out like a hiss, a disgusted edge in his tone. “S’gonna be a long day for you down here. Scream all you want; ain’t nobody around worth a damn to hear it. You got a better shot at rubbin’ the skin off your wrists than gettin’ out of that rope.”

Paloma snaps, her control breaking in a flood of panic and fury as she yanks at her restraint, her wrists burning as she curses him, calling him every name her mind can summon.

The words pour out in a desperate torrent, trying to cut him, to provoke something human out of him, anything.

But he stays silent, barely flinching, his face a mask as he gathers his things, turning his back on her without a word. 

When the cellar door finally slams shut, it echoes through the basement, and her last shreds of resolve crumble as she sinks into sobs.

The thoughts come in fragments, jagged and bitter, cutting her deeper than any wound.

The way things were left with her father—how they’d argued and he looked at her with that final, dismissive silence, like she’d become a stranger for daring to chase her own life beyond their town.

The love that took root so unexpectedly, so completely with Javier. He came into her life at the perfect time, pouring a rare, tender kind of intimacy into her soul; the kind that made her feel seen for the first time in her life.

He was a good man who’d endured his own share of hardships —and she let their last conversation end in anger and frustration. She’s just like her father.

Perhaps if she had told him the full truth about how she came across her mother’s past, she wouldn’t be in this mess at all.

This mess—it’s her inheritance. Not a blessing like August wants her to believe, but a curse Calmana left behind, the forced sins of her mother she didn’t choose but can’t escape.

Her suicide is starting to make more sense.

It all makes her feel like a lamb at slaughter, her life never really hers, and now her blood and body are an offering to feed whatever he believes she’s meant to bring to life. 

The promise of an explanation later on hangs over her like a guillotine. Does she even want to know? Will it make a difference?

She got herself kidnapped by trusting them all, falling for August’s romantic words and impressive knowledge. All of his lies. She’d thought she was smart enough to see through him, to keep a grip on her own heart, and instead, she’d unknowingly let him manipulate her.

Sloane was right—she is the helpless damsel she always denied being, someone who hadn’t fought hard enough to save herself. 

Paloma has to believe she’s got people searching for her, that they’re smart enough, relentless enough to find her before night falls. She has to cling to that hope, however fragile, because right now it’s all she has.

Her cries fill the empty space around her until exhaustion claims her in silence.

The basement is her prison as the sun traces its lazy arc above.

The day drags on in a haze of stale air and the natural sounds of bugs chittering about. On occasion, she’ll hear people walk by or see their shadows through the small windows.

She's trapped here, the only visits marking the hours coming when Gabriel brings a bucket for her to relieve herself—like she’s some kind of animal—or sets down a tray of food she refuses to touch.

“You need to eat,” he says, setting the tray with her dinner on the floor. His hands working on cutting the thick rope binding her wrists, each tug and scrape freeing her a fraction at a time.

“What’s the point? M’gonna die anyway,” she mutters, exhausted but still pissed. “Won’t matter if I’ve got a full stomach or not.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not goin’ to die, Paloma. You’re too important to all this. How haven’t you realized that yet?”

“Oh, forgive me if I haven’t picked up on all your twisted bullshit,” she snaps. “You all speak in fuckin’ tongues and riddles. No one’s told me a damn thing that makes any sense.”

At last, the final fiber of rope snaps, and the weight drops from her wrists. She lets out a low, relieved sigh as her arms fall to her sides, stiff from the hours of suspension.

The ache in her shoulders is intense, and her wrists are lined with red from the coarse bondage.

“Don’t try anythin’ stupid,” he warns, his voice low. “They might not kill ya but they’ll hurt you in ways that’ll make you wish you were dead.”

She doesn’t doubt it, so she reins in her impulses and instead glances at the food, the bitterness slowly giving way to resignation.

If the chance to escape comes, she’ll need her strength. She takes the cup, drinking greedily, barely noticing the water spilling down her chin—it’s just a relief to feel the dryness ease, something grounding in a nightmare that feels endless.

The meal tastes dull, but she swallows it down anyway, each bite a fight to hold onto her sense of self, to stay sharp.

Gabriel watches her with that quiet, unreadable expression.

“I tried leavin’ years ago, when August first started buildin’ the group.” He looks down, his mouth pressing into a grim line. “But he caught me at the train station. Gave me the ass-beatin’ of my life. Locked me up in a shed in the middle of the woods for days, left me there until I learned my lesson. I swear, I lost every bit of myself in that dark place.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “After that, I never thought ‘bout leavin’ again... not until he got his sights set on you.”

Paloma’s chewing slows, her eyes flitting over to him, reading the conflict etched in his expression.

For August to treat Gabriel, his so-called “brother,” with such brutality to keep him in line... it makes all too much sense now, why he is August’s silent shadow, obeying every command.

“His obsession with you is different. Everythin’ suddenly became different. He has this way of makin’ you submit to him that gets me wonderin’ if all this Eurynomos shit is actually real.”

The twisted loyalty, the deep-seated fear that’s tangled around them like shackles, intertwined with stories of divinity.

She’s barely scratched the surface of what August is capable of.

“That’s terrible,” she whispers, sympathetic to what he’s been through. “I’m sorry... ‘n I get why you’re scared, but there’s two of us now. We could make a run for it, slip away while we have the chance.”

Her food is forgotten as Paloma edges closer, her gaze steady and imploring. For a moment, he genuinely considers their escape.

But the heavy, thunderous creak of the cellar doors breaks through the moment, both of them jerking apart.

She scrambles backward until her back presses against the cold, damp wall, her heartbeat racing as Gabriel stands abruptly from his stool, his face hardening again. 

It’s only August this time, his usual shadow—Sloane with her biting sneers—thankfully absent.

He strides down with a bag in one hand and shower supplies in the other, eyeing her like she’s some prized possession he’s been itching to inspect. 

“Unrestrained, ate her dinner, and didn’t even try to run? My, my. Little dove, you’re such a good girl.” He passes the items to Gabriel as he steps closer, and she hates the way she’s wedged in a corner, wishing she could melt into the wall or skitter away like a mouse.

He crouches, gently moving the gauze out of the way, his sharp gaze examining the stitches worked into her head wound. “S’lookin’ better already. Now, let’s get you a shower. I can smell you from here, and, sweetheart, it’s not exactly appealin’.”

“Fuck you.”

He smirks, the cruel curve of his lips almost congratulatory. “There she is. Glad to see that fire hasn’t died just yet, my love.”

With a vice-like grip, his hand latches onto her arm, dragging her up to her feet and across the basement to a sad excuse for a shower—no curtain, nothing remotely resembling privacy, just exposed plumbing and mildewed tile. He shoves her into the cramped space, gesturing at her with a command that chills her: “Strip.”

Her stomach tightens, and she squares her jaw. “Turn around.”

A laugh bursts from him, sharp and mocking. “You think you’re in any position to make demands? You may be special, darlin’, but that don’t mean you’re runnin’ shit. Now strip, or I’ll tie you up and rip that little outfit off myself.”

She grits her teeth, fists clenched. “No.”

His smile vanishes, replaced by a darker, crueler expression.

In a flash, his hand is around her throat, shoving her harshly against the slimy tile, the back of her head meeting the hard surface making her cry out in pain.

Her breath snags as his grip tightens around her neck, the cool press of a switchblade grazing the scar on her hip, making her pulse hammer in her ears. “Don’t push me,” he growls, the blade’s edge nicking her skin just enough to sting. He knows exactly where she’s sensitive, and he revels in her flinch. “I’ve told you—I don’t like hurtin’ you, but I will if I have to. Strip. Now.”

He releases her, the air rushing back into her lungs, making her cough.

Her hands tremble as she peels away her clothes, starting with the long, flowing skirt that puddles around her ankles, leaving her in just her underwear and camisole.

August’s eyes rake over her, and his silent demand pulls at her last nerve.

She swallows back her tears, fingers shaking as she slides the straps off her shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor and then stepping out of her underwear, kicking the pile aside.

Now entirely naked, her arms wrap protectively around herself to shield what she can. She looks away, the sting of indignity making her skin crawl, willing herself not to cry.

August steps forward, adjusting the shower’s dial, and the pipes clank and groan as water finally bursts out of the rusted shower head, icy at first. She shivers, her teeth clattering, and only once the water turns warm does the chill ease up.

A snap of his fingers brings Gabriel closer, setting the shower supplies within reach. August then places them at her feet, his mocking gaze never leaving her as he drags a worn wooden chair up, seating himself like a perverse audience settling in for a show. 

Paloma doesn’t move, clinging harder to her body, her nails digging into her own skin, praying he’ll lose interest and turn away. But he just smirks. “Don’t be shy, P. Not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” His tongue drags over his lips, blue eyes glittering darkly, drinking in her discomfort.

She would rather die where she stands than have him touch her, lingering his hands over her body like a wolf savoring his meal. Slowly, reluctantly, her arms fall to her sides, shoulders curling inward, as she begins to wash herself.

The hot tears mix with the water streaming down her cheeks, each drop hiding the sobs she’s swallowing.

August’s stare trails over her figure, his smirk deepening every time she flinches under the weight of it.

He doesn’t hide his hunger, watching her every movement—the rise and fall of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the sway of her shoulders as she soaps herself in silence.

Gabriel’s eyes stay firmly on his boots, shame evident in his posture. 

Finally, she shuts off the water, chest heaving as she swallows down the humiliation, covering herself again and feeling his satisfaction lingering in the room like a toxic cloud.

A towel lands at her feet, and she grabs it, pulling it around her trembling frame, feeling like her skin might crawl right off her bones. 

“Got this dress made just for you,” August says casually, standing then pulling out a white dress and red flats from a worn bag. He tosses them onto the chair he’d just been sitting in, not making any effort to move or look away, and she swallows back the lump in her throat.

She’s barely holding herself together, her fingers fumbling with the towel as she dries off, eyes darting between the two men.

One won’t meet her gaze, too timorous, and the other stares at her with lecherous eyes.

She slips on the dress, it’s something she would’ve picked for herself under different circumstances; calf-length, delicate ladder lace along the trim, cap sleeves, and three charmeuse red ribbons that match the shoes.

But the beauty of it feels like a cruel mockery against the ugliness of this moment. 

“You look so beautiful,” August purrs, “Get a good look at yourself.” 

She’s forced in front of an antique mirror, the glass warped and cracked, but she can still make out her reflection. 

The dark circles beneath her eyes, bruised skin, the way her hair clings to her damp skin, the faded pallor of her face against her outfit—she looks like a ghost.

His hand slides to her shoulder, pushing her hair aside as he leans in, trailing his nose against her skin and inhaling deeply. “You smell like summertime.” He presses his lips to her neck, and bile rises in her throat.

Then, he pulls back, her mother’s cross pendant in hand, fastening it around her neck with a satisfied smile.

Her heart clenches once she sees it. She’d left that at Javier’s, tucked away safely with all the other things she moved out of her childhood home in preparation for their big trip.

The thought of August being in his space, doing God knows what, gets her alarmed. “What did you do to him?”

August looks momentarily confused by her query, but then his smirk grows as he eyes the pendent and sees that look in her eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your precious narc. He ain’t been home all day. He’s out there, sniffin’ around for you like a lost dog. Thought about killin’ him, but… I think he’d suffer more thinkin’ he failed you. Just another life he couldn’t save, huh?”

The words press against those bruising, sore spots on her heart. She scowls, throwing back as much defiance as she can muster. “You wouldn’t get close enough to try.” Her voice trembles, but she knows Javier and what he’s capable of. 

He just shrugs, the malicious glint in his eyes unwavering. “Maybe not. But Sloane?” He grins, knowing how even mentioning her gets under Paloma’s skin. “Now, I think she could.”

He doesn’t give her time to respond, moving to bind her hands again, this time in smooth silk restraints that feel uncharacteristically gentle against her wrists.

Time moves in slow motion, she becomes unresponsive, like a melancholic statue, as he brushes her hair, fussing over her appearance as if she were some doll, changing the gauze over her stitches.

Her hope of getting out of this has diminished. Gabriel won’t help her and August has run the two men competent enough to figure this out in circles, so tangled up in deceit to find her.

The evening melts into night, shadows deepening when he finally leaves, just to return moments later with a steaming cup of tea that smells rancid and earthy, like decay.

“Drink up.”

She shakes her head, refusing it, but he pries her mouth open, forcing her to swallow the scalding liquid. It’s bitter and burns her throat, her tongue singed as she swallows unwillingly. 

“See? Wasn’t so bad,” he taunts her, wiping away some of the remnants that spilled from the corner of her mouth.

The effect is immediate; her mind hazes, thoughts swirling, until her body feels sluggish, as if it is no longer tethered to her.

Just as her vision starts to fade, a red, body-length veil is draped over her, the fabric casting her world into blood-hued darkness.

“I need to see it again.” 

Javier pinches the bridge of his nose at Romeo’s request, fingers then pressing hard against his closed eyes as the footage gets rewound. 

It’s the only evidence they have—a single security camera capturing what transpired. The grainy video shows her crossing the street, pausing, and then August and his accomplices stepping into view. She runs, disappearing off-camera for what feels like a lifetime, before being dragged back and shoved into the bed of the truck.

Each time Javier watches, another shard of him breaks away.

Romeo shifts beside him, watching the screen with unrelenting focus. He’s insistent, searching for anything, some small clue to pinpoint where they went.

Javier, though, is at his limit, fighting the urge to hurl the screen across the room.

“Romeo,” he begins, a little strained, “we’re not going to find anything new here.”

“We missed shit before. Can’t afford to miss anythin’ now.”

They’d spent the whole damn day combing through the trio’s hometown, hoping for any piece of intel, some breadcrumb that would lead them to the group’s hideout.

The search had been maddeningly fruitless. Fayette’s local authorities helped spread the word, but there was nothing, no tracks, no whispers, no real leads to follow.

Every registered address tied to the three was a dead end. Their only childhood homes, a trailer park, had burned down over a decade ago, leaving no trace, no history to sift through.

Everyone close to them—parents, guardians—were either dead, in prison, or admitted. The few family members with any sense had cut ties long ago.

“They were hellraisers,” the retired sheriff had muttered. That’s all the town could say, the simple acknowledgment that the trio had always left destruction in their wake.

The only useful piece of information they dug up was that August had left his job at a local grocery store to work for some woman, an outsider no one really knew.

She’d shown up, taken August with her, and he’d returned a few years later with a more hardened resolve, recruiting Sloane and Gabriel.

After torching some local acreage and serving time for arson, they’d vanished from Fayette until the recent spree of murders started.

“He’s been planning this for a long time, Romeo. They knew how to hide; they’ve done this before.” Javier mutters, frustration simmering in his tone.

They’d tried running a partial plate of the truck, only to come up short once again.

Javier moves near the blinds, unable to keep watching her kidnapping, glimpsing the sea of people that make up their search parties gathered in their too small department.

The faces blur together, civilians and first responders alike, all waiting for direction.

“It’s probably best if you go to the hospital and get Harper’s statement. She’s cleared to talk, right?” 

Romeo takes a beat longer to respond, clearly grappling with his own anguish. “Yeah. Got the official call ‘bout ten minutes ago.” 

“If anyone’s got something to give us that can break this open, it’s her.”

The room is quiet except for the low murmur of voices spilling in. The tape finally ends and Romeo’s gaze falls to the corner of his desk, where a lone photo of Paloma sits; she’s grinning with his cowboy hat perched high on her head, radiating joy.

He stares at it like he’s trying to draw strength from that moment, then he slowly picks it up, pressing his lips together in thought, handing it over to Javier.

“Here. This is the one I used for the flyers.”

Javier swallows hard, taking it, his thumb grazing over the image, his own heart sinking. This is the Paloma he can’t let slip through his fingers, the one who belongs right here, laughing and safe. Not wherever she was now. 

Romeo’s tone holds firm determination. “Do what you gotta do. For her. You understand me?”

Javier just nods, no words left to offer in the face of everything unsaid.

The sheriff lets out a long, heavy sigh, the kind that speaks of too many hours awake, too many close calls, too many second chances lost to bad luck or timing or whatever fate is left to them.

He grabs his jacket, slinging it over his shoulders, steeling his expression as he leaves the office, moving through the throng that instantly swells around him.

They close in with questions, worry, and hope—all of it colliding in one tense space.

Seeing them converge on Romeo, Javier takes a steadying breath and steps out right behind him, his presence commanding even in his silence.

He straightens, letting the authority in his stance speak for him, his gaze hard as he begins relaying their plan with swift, unyielding precision.

The world tilts and sways as Paloma returns to half-consciousness, vision still muddled from the drugged tea that has her head feeling like it’s filled with lead and limbs sluggish.

She’s seated upright in an ornate, over-decorated chair with her hands still bound in front of her. She tries to blink away the fog clouding her mind, but the red veil over her face continues to shroud her vision.

Her stitched wound throbs faintly, then suddenly, she’s being lifted and carried by four indistinct figures.

The swaying motion makes her sick, but she’s too weak to cry out, her voice nothing more than a ghost lodged in her throat.

She starts to feel the dampness of the humid Texas night pressing into her skin, the scent of flowers floating in the air, sickly sweet as it mixes with the distant smell of incense.

She’s paraded down a candlelit path where kneeling figures line the walkway, bowing in silent reverence. The sound of murmuring voices hums around her like a distant, dreadful lullaby. 

Finally, the procession stops, and her chair is lowered to the ground.

Her surroundings feel unreal, like a fever dream she’s trapped inside. A dark shadow moves in front of her, reaching to pull her to her feet. She tries to make out their face, but it’s just a dark, hollow blur.

Her legs tremble as she takes a few shaky steps, guided by an iron grip that steers her from the soft earth to a hard surface. Somewhere to her right, she hears a voice—August's—so sharp that it almost makes her ears bleed.

“We have to capture this moment.”

Paloma’s body is positioned, hands adjusting her like she’s an ornament rather than a person. She can barely keep her knees from buckling, her body swaying as they try to hold her up.

Her mind is a mess, every thought tangled, every movement slow, as if she’s moving underwater.

She falls, just as she hears the flash of a camera, her legs finally giving way, but hands grip her before she hits the ground, lifting her, steadying her as her head lolls to the side.

Then, in one swift motion, the veil lifted from her face.

August stands there, close enough that she can see every cold line in his face, conforming into possessive delight. 

He’s dressed to match her, red bows on his collared shirt, the same lace design on his pants.

Her skin crawls as his fingers trace the side of her face, his voice a leering purr. “My special little dove.”

He pulls her close, spinning her so that she faces their creation in her honor. The white marble gleams in the halo of the candlelight, surrounded by a sea of blood-red spider lilies, their spindly petals stretching out like claws.

Candles of every size and shape cast their shadows over the altar, illuminating the intricate carving of their emblem, miniatures and other offerings strewn about.

“All for you,” his lips brush against her ear.

The hands surrounding her are unyielding as she’s lifted and maneuvered onto the cold slab, the hard surface unforgiving beneath her back.

Her wrists are freed only to be tied again, the silk binding each one to a small stone pillar at each side.

Her ankles follow, strapped to the pillars near the end of the altar, legs bent slightly and spread, leaving her trapped and exposed.

Her breath quickens, each ragged inhale catching in her throat as the reality of her fate crashes down with brutal clarity. The red veil is drawn back over her face.

Tears blur her sight, mixing with the snot and sweat as she starts to sob, desperate cries spilling from her lips, pleas tumbling out in a desperate stream that echo out into the vastness of the field.

“Please… please, let me go. You don’t have to do this, please.” Her words come out strangled and slurred but she’s ignored. She jerks against her restraints, each movement growing weaker as the drug saps her strength.

August stands before his followers, his voice low yet electrifying, every declaration steeped in reverence and simmering triumph. 

“For centuries, we have waited in the shadows, prayed in whispers, bound by oaths that our forebears swore. Those before us dreamed of this moment, yet they were weak, too fearful to claim what was rightfully theirs. We will not repeat their mistakes. The bloodline of the first, the birthing bloodline, flows through her veins, and she is ours. Eurynomos will have a body made of flesh and bone, a place in this realm, because of us.”

Paloma shakes her head side to side, desperate to block out August’s devious words. Just as a surge of strength flares within her, sharp fingers dig into her shoulders from behind, pressing her back down, anchoring her in place.

Through the haze of drowsiness, her blurred vision lands on Sloane, looming over her with a short, black veil shrouding her face. Beneath it, Paloma can make out an expression as evil as it is watchful.

“No more dreams. No more consuming or offering flesh that rots before dawn. Our devotion, our patience, has led us here. We are the last of our kind—the ones who bring forth the new age. Now is the time for fulfillment. Now is the time to step into the eternal night and bring our deity home.” 

His gaze sweeps over the bowed heads, the flicker of candlelight dancing in his eyes as his words coil around them like a vow.

Sloane relinquishes her hold, seemingly fading away.

He approaches her slowly, each step deliberate, his hand drifting up the length of her body. His fingers come to rest on her cheek, stroking gently, almost reverently.

August leans in, his nose brushing against hers, and without a word, he presses his lips to hers, a slow, possessive kiss over the sheer material of the veil.

She wants to pull away, to resist, but she’s trapped within herself, her will slipping as though he’s holding the reins to her very soul.

When he pulls away, his voice lowers to a rhythmic timbre, the words twisting together in an incantation she can’t understand.

Each syllable makes her sink further into delusion, the compromising position heightening her vulnerability. 

The weight of her own helplessness crushes her as she lies there.

Suddenly, the speaking stops. An unnatural silence blankets the moment, thieving sound until it’s just her shaky, pitiful cries. Even the cicadas quit their insistent chirping.

Paloma blinks, barely able to see through the veil, but she watches August step back until his figure is swallowed by the darkness beyond the altar. 

She shivers as a chill wind flows over her body, extinguishing the flames around her and plunging her into the night, save for the heavy, luminous moon hanging full and merciless above.

Two glowing eyes flicker into view at the far end of the clearing. They hover, eerie and inhuman, watching her with a predatory patience.

A twig snaps in the shadows. Her breath catches. Another snap, closer this time.

Blood rushes in her ears, but above the pounding, she hears something else—labored breaths, thick and wet, the sound too guttural to be human. 

Her body locks up and quivers as a shadow casts up to the very heavens, emerging from the backdrop of trees, its form towering and monstrous. It seems to stretch endlessly, merging with the dark sky above, as if it could reach out and seize the lunar sphere.

Paloma tries to scream, but her body is frozen, paralyzed in a state of unholy dread.

Her eyes widen, tears leaking silently, her throat closing tight as the figure moves forward.

The dark, hulking mass leans over her, and she feels something press down on her belly, then sharp claws caress her bare legs, creeping upwards, scratching at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. 

Her chest tightens as if she’s having a heart attack, fright coursing through her like poison. She can’t breathe, feeling herself teeter on the edge of consciousness.

Black spots swallow her field of view as her eyes roll to the back of her head, and in that instant, she’s slipping away, her mind yanking her away from this horror, casting her into the darkness of her own making as she loses herself, the terror too great to bear.

[spocksgotemotions]

I saw a stupid post on instagram about how being called skinny made this person change how they dress and wrecked their confidence and blah blah and with very few exceptions all the comments were like “oh mean fat people! It hurts just as much getting told to eat a burger than being told to stop eating burgers.” And its like I’m sorry you feel bad about your body, but until skinny people are consistently being told to get invasive surgeries or to take potentially dangerous medicines to get fat I will not feel bad for you for being skinny. Like genuinely, I do feel for anyone who is insecure about how they look, that is a shame. But you cannot tell me that it’s because you get bullied for being skinny.

[obstinatecondolement]

I'm trying not to despair!post all the time about living with my mother, but. It's not always easy.

[luveline]

can we possibly get the one where Gideon doesn’t like bombshell reader and poor Spencer is watching like☹️

Spencer feels a little like a child of divorce. Like, he absolutely is a child of divorce, but he didn’t think he’d feel this way at work. Lately, all Hotch and Gideon do is argue. 

It’s especially odd in that Hotch doesn’t usually go against Gideon’s judgement, even when he doesn’t agree, but you seem to be something Hotch is willing to fight for, and Spencer has no idea why.

“We don’t need her,” Gideon says. Spencer knows it isn’t Gideon being cruel, just stern. “We have a fine team without her.” 

“But with her, we’re better. And we have an opening. I know you like Greenaway for it, and I do too–”

“Everyone likes Greenaway for the position, she’s more palatable than L/N, and she works harder.”

Spencer tries not to whip his face back and forth like he’s following a ping pong ball, but it’s hard to keep up. He has no idea what his mentor’s talking about in all honesty, you’d seemed more than palatable when you met him last week. You were nice. And barely anybody is nice to Spencer. 

You sounded like you actually wanted to hear him talk, something Gideon has often been alone in. And palatable is a subjective word. 

“That’s not necessarily true,” Hotch says, knowing he’s losing. 

“We’re not gonna rush into picking someone,” Gideon says, less stern, more neutral. 

“No. I have invited her to the Georgia consultation this afternoon.” 

Gideon sighs through his nose. The afternoon rolls around quickly. Spencer doesn’t want to think about it but he’s excited to see you, and he feels conflicted in that; Gideon is the first person in a long time who actually seems to care about him, so Spencer is guilty of always aiming to please, but he can’t understand why Gideon dislikes you so much. Am I being easily led? he wonders. 

He’ll admit to finding you attractive. In his head, that is. You’d spoken so particularly, you’d looked stunning, and you didn’t make a fuss when he wouldn’t shake your hand. You called him beautiful. 

It’s the nicest, kindest attention he’s had since he started. Morgan calls him pretty boy. Spencer knows it’s not the same thing. 

They gather in the conference room, Morgan, Hotch, Gideon and Spencer, just a few minutes before 2PM. A minute later, you’re knocking on the door. 

“Hello…” You smile when you realise they’re here. “Am I late?” 

“No, L/N. Come and take a seat,” Hotch says. 

There’s a plastering of documents on the table and an empty seat by both Morgan and Spencer. You choose the one beside Spencer despite a stack of manilla folders, tucking your chair in neatly. “Oh, the grizzly stuff. This will upset my feminine energy.” 

Morgan laughs. Gideon glares at the table. 

Spencer likes it when you’re around. One more person and suddenly the consultation is a conversation and not a debate. You can keep up with everyone. You laugh at Spencer occasionally and he doesn’t know why, but he can tell it isn’t cruel laughter; he’s had a long time to work out the difference. 

Gideon excuses himself for a coffee half an hour in. 

Hotch immediately leans across the table. “I’m trying to help you,” he says. 

You grimace. “What am I doing wrong now?” 

“The laughing.” 

“You laugh.” 

“I know.” Hotch smiles at you. “You’re getting good at this, you have good insight on the dark triad. You read the book I sent?” 

“How’s Haley?” you ask.

He shakes his head, but his smile stays. “Don’t joke about that.” 

You’re not flirting. Or, Spencer doesn’t think so. It’s more likely you’re joking as Hotch says, everything about your body language pointing to amicable friendliness besides your flirting tones. “I read the book,” you say. Your gaze turns to Spencer. “Bet you’ve read it too, huh? Morgan said you’ve read every book ever written.” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” Spencer says. 

“But close?” you ask. “I’d love some recommendations. You know. For profiling.” 

“Don’t let her fool you, Reid, she’s well read,” Morgan says. 

“Wait, Gideon doesn’t like you because you laugh?” Spencer asks. 

It’s a socially inept thing to say, he realises after. You lean back in your chair all sweet and soft with your legs crossed, your dark stockings thin at the knees. He’s so, so worried you’re going to be offended and that’s exactly what he needs, a possible friend isolated again by his inability to read the room, but you don’t chew him out. You nudge his leg gently with the toe of your heel. 

“Now who said he doesn’t like me, handsome?” you ask teasingly. 

Spencer regrets the heat that floods his face and neck. 

“It’s complicated,” you add, your smile more than friendly, Spencer can’t work it out. “But don’t worry, I’ll turn him around eventually. It’s one of my many talents.” 

Oh, he thinks. That’s what it is. Spencer’s finally in on the joke. 

[barcaatthemoon]

party girl || barcelona x reader ||

a night out at the club takes an interesting turn for you.

minors dni, 18+, smut warning.

a huge thank you to everybody who has followed me. 1500 is a lot for a blog i never really thought anyone would pay attention to.

the club was a mess of sweaty bodies grinding against each other just barely to the beat. it was like you were in a bubble with every single person on the dance floor. within your little bubble, life was great. you had a sense of euphoria as the strong hands that had been holding your hips for the past three songs moved up along your sides.

it was always risky to let strangers touch you like this, but you knew that you were in a somewhat safe space. the club had good security, and nearly every patron you had come across was a woman. you felt lips press against your neck and your head fell back against a slender shoulder. your eyes were closed as you turned around, perfectly catching this woman's lips.

you felt your knees grow a bit weak as this woman deepened the kiss. just before your knees did buckle, you felt very familiar hands on your waist. lucy tugged your head back a bit as your eyes opened to see ingrid standing in front of you. immediately, your heart began to race with panic as you started to look around for mapi.

"don't get scared now," lucy teased. you turned around to glare at her, but you stopped when you caught sight of mapi and ona behind her.

"come back with us," ona told you. she reached out and took your hands in hers. you were a bit too shocked to argue as ona led you out of the club. it wasn't until you were in the back of an uber heading towards what you assumed was ona's apartment that you realized what you had done.

"mapi's going to kill me," you groaned helplessly. lucy rolled her eyes as she placed her hand on the back of your neck. "i'm a dead woman, i kissed ingrid."

"ingrid kissed you, first of all. second, she's not going to kill you, trust me. we wouldn't be bringing you over if we thought she'd kill you," lucy promised. you let out a small whimper, and lucy pecked your lips before you could start pouting. "lucy!"

"it's fine," lucy huffed. you were torn between arguing with lucy and apologizing to ona. ona seemed to understand what was going through your mind, and before you could do either, she kissed you. you had never kissed ona before, and you didn't think that you'd ever kiss anyone like that again. you had expected her to be softer, but instead, ona kissed you roughly. your lips were definitely bruised, and you were surprised that she didn't draw blood when she nipped at your lips. "come on, we're here."

"what am i here for, exactly?" you asked as lucy pulled you out of the car.

"we're gonna fuck you, obviously," lucy said. your hands began to sweat a bit as they brought you into the building. everything was moving quickly, but you weren't sure that you would have even considered going home alone if you had the chance to. "you still like this sort of thing, don't you?"

"lucy," you hissed as you swatted at her to be quiet. the blush on your cheeks told lucy everything that she needed to know.

"come on, we wouldn't want to keep our guests waiting." this time, you were surprised by ona being the one to push you forward. you wondered what lucy had told her about you from your days as a lioness. you weren't overly proud of all the things you had done or let people do to you, but there had never been a dull night for you at camp before.

mapi and ingrid stood in the hallway waiting for the three of you. it felt wrong to watch as ingrid greeted ona with a kiss. you found yourself turning away, but also desperately trying to avoid mapi's gaze. you couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow upset with you for kissing ingrid despite both of them being here waiting for you.

"hola chica." mapi greeted you the same way that she did at practice when you tried to keep to yourself. it was hard, but you had finally shaken the "party girl" persona that you had been dubbed with at the beginning of your career. "no kisses for me? i am sure that everybody else got one."

"she's always a little shy at first," lucy said as she unlocked the door. mapi stuck by your side as the group made their way inside. ingrid didn't seem to mind at all, far too preoccupied with ona. "if you don't want to do this, let me know, okay? i know that i sprung this on you, but it's always a little spontaneous isn't it?"

"i'm fine, i promise," you said quietly. lucy nodded and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. she walked off, leaving you alone with mapi on the couch. this time, you couldn't ignore the older spanish defender. "d-did you know that ingrid was going to kiss me?"

"no, but i hoped that she would. one of us had to make a move to get this started, right?" mapi asked. it was stupid, but you felt embarrassed as you nodded. you had never made the first move with anybody before, always the one sought after by teammates and strangers alike. although, you'd never do something like this with a group of people that you didn't trust to take care of you. lucy had hooked up with you both by herself and with others, so she knew all of your rules by now. "can i tell you a secret?"

"sure." you glanced over at mapi, who leaned in close to whisper in your ear.

"ingrid made most of our first moves. other than the ring, that is. i did the big one, and that's what counts," mapi told you. you weren't surprised, having noticed how mapi and ingrid were with each other when nobody else was looking. "i can make this move with you, don't worry."

mapi gently cupped your face in her hands. her thumbs rubbed along your cheekbones as she leaned in. mapi moved much slower than you had expected, but you didn't mind it. the build up made the kiss even better, and you found yourself melting back into the couch as mapi covered her body with yours. her tongue swiped past your lips, giving you a taste of the mint from her drink that expertly masked the bit of alcohol.

"you're being greedy." ona wedged herself behind you. mapi broke the kiss to say something back to ona, who wasn't listening in the slightest. ona cared much more about pawing at your clothes as she kissed you. once again, you could feel your lips begin to bruise from the roughness of ona's mouth against yours. you felt your stomach tighten as you thought about how rough she'd be with you in bed.

"let's go somewhere with more room," lucy suggested. you were led out of the living room with mapi and ona both competing for your attention. lucy and ingrid didn't seem surprised in the slightest by any of this. you could see lucy's hands on ingrid's body as they slid beneath ingrid's top. that was the first article of clothing successfully removed.

you tried to lean towards where ingrid and lucy were, but it was no use. mapi finally managed to get the top of your dress undone, causing it to fall in a pool at your ankles. you didn't even have a chance to step out of it before you were being pulled onto mapi's lap on the bed. ona followed up closely, placing herself in between everything happening.

out of the corner of your eye, you could see lucy splitting her attention between ona and ingrid. you couldn't do much aside from watch as clothing disappeared at breakneck speed while mapi hooked her legs around yours to keep them open.

"lucia has told us a lot about you, but i want to know what you like," mapi said. she ran her fingers through your hair, smirking when your body went lax against hers. "talk to me, chica. what do you want me to do to you?"

"i want you to fuck me so good that your name is the only one i can think to scream," you told her. mapi took it for what it was, an open challenge. "i want you to split me wide fucking open."

"careful what you wish for (y/n)," lucy warned. you shot her a glare before turning your attention back to mapi. the spanish defender captured your lips in another kiss as her hand moved down your body to rest in between your legs. she wasn't doing much other than just letting her hand cup your pussy, but you were still moving your hips to seek out more contact. "she'll break you if you tell her to."

"mapi wouldn't hurt me unless i really wanted it, isn't that right?" your tone was dripping with false innocence and sweetness. mapi bit her lip as she let her hand lay flat against you. you continued to grind your hips, now getting yourself off by rubbing against her fingers. you let out a soft moan, one that prompted mapi to kiss you a little more.

those kisses were interrupted by ona, who pulled your face away from mapi's. you could see ingrid behind her, thrusting harshly, and lucy's body beneath the both of them being the only thing keeping ona from slamming into you. the kiss with her was messy and desperate, like ona had been craving her moment with you all night.

mapi slowly began to pull more of your attention away from everything else in the room. she had two fingers plunging deep inside of you, keeping a steady rhythm as she began to fuck you. next to you, ingrid and lucy were fucking ona harshly, and mapi noticed that your eyes continuously drifted over towards them.

"do you like it rough? i can fuck you like that. i'll bend you over so you can get a better look too," mapi offered. "would you like that? just say the word and it's all yours."

"mapi please, i want it so bad," you told her. you were surprised how quickly you were reduced to whining. lucy had always liked to joke that you were easy to break, that it was why you were so fun to pass around for a night. you could spend an hour getting fucked relentlessly and once you had the energy to would be asking for it all over again.

"bring her over here," ingrid said. mapi moved you over ona and lucy's bodies. ingrid helped to position you once you were close enough. her touch was less gentle now than it had been earlier in the night. she was being less careful with you, like she was no longer afraid of scaring you away. "do you want to taste ona?"

"yes, please." ingrid surprised you by pulling out of ona and guiding your mouth to the tip of her strap. the subtle smirk on her face grew as she watched you swallow up every inch of her strap that she offered to you. mapi eased into you as ingrid pulled out and pushed your face down towards ona's cunt.

you could hear lucy fucking into ona's ass from beneath her as ingrid guided each stroke of your tongue. occasionally, she'd pull your head away from ona to have you suck on her strap or give you a close up as she fucked ona. it was a lot, and the way that mapi roughly thrust in and out of you had your legs shaking quicker than anybody else had in a long time.

mapi kept thrusting into you even after your body had stilled. her pace was relentless, and you could only get her to stop by squirming away. you laid back against the pillows for a moment as you watched the scene in front of you. you got the sense that they had definitely done this together without you. mapi's strap found a home in ona's mouth, guided by lucy's gentle praises and the strong grip of her hand in ona's hair.

their positioning switched, and you found yourself invited onto lucy's face. lucy's tongue was comfortable and familiar, something that you had come to know well. lucy moved the same way that she always did with you, holding your thighs to keep you on her face until she was finished. you had more than enough freedom to wiggle around and position yourself more comfortably on lucy's face. she knew how important control over your own pleasure was for you sometimes, often having her own reservations about giving that sort of thing up, especially in front of a group.

"you look so good on lucy's face." ona's words were just barely strung together as ingrid began to fuck her once again. mapi was beneath ingrid, eating her out like how lucy was eating you out. you wondered if you were in what would normally be ona's spot, and if you were, the small spanish woman didn't seem to mind one bit.

she relished in the harsh thrusts of ingrid's strap moving in and out of her. you wondered what it would have felt like to be in her position, but you were content where you were. lucy's tongue brought you right up to your peak before easing you away from it only to work you up again and again. you weren't to the point of begging. you had never been able to hold out well, but lucy knew how to edge you for explosive orgasms.

you drenched her face as you squirmed and wriggled your hips wildly. ona was leaned over to lick away the cum you had left on lucy's face. you couldn't believe what you were seeing, and if your body didn't feel so spent, you would have re-joined them. lucy seemed to understand your exhaustion as she pulled you away from the bed to the bathroom.

the shower was spacious with a little ledge for you to rest on. lucy took care in helping you clean up, and the two of you soon found yourselves joined by ona, who seemed to be in a similar state to you. lucy took care of both of you with equal amounts of effort. the three of you were nearly finished when ingrid and mapi came into the bathroom. ona wrapped you up in a robe and led you into a different bedroom than the one you had just been in.

"do you want to stay?" ona asked you. you weren't used to having a space to stay. someone was always there with you, usually a roommate or close friend. someone who never judged you or would raise too many questions in the morning. everybody knew what you got up to, but none of them really ever put much thought into whether or not you spent the rest of your night alone.

"the question is do you want to sleep in here with us or do you want to go back to mapi and ingrid's room? it'll be cooler in here and mapi sleeps naked," lucy said as she walked into the room. there was an extra pep in her step, the one you recognized as her pride from making you and ona cum. she was feeling herself, and the confidence was extremely sexy.

"i don't think that-," ona started, only to be cut off by both you and lucy speaking in unison.

"it's different," the two of you said. ona rolled her eyes as she put a sleep shirt on and nothing else. you found yourself in a pair of lucy's boxers and one of your old england shirts that had mysteriously gone missing years ago. lucy got dressed in her own pajamas before she got in bed with the two of you, placing herself in the middle. the three of you fell asleep together, both you and ona laying there comfortably with one of lucy's arms around your shoulders each.

[darnell-la]

i’m actually so in love with your writing! Could i request Oldman!Logan x married reader having sex for the first time in forever bc he’s getting sick and age is showing in him and he isn’t healing but he wants to prove he can still keep up

note: Logan and his little emotional ass…

———

“Logan, what are you doing here? What happened!?” Y/n asked, worried after seeing his state. The man had bullet holes in him. He was bleeding and looked like he was close to passing out.

“Need you, bub,” Logan said, meaning it in so many different ways, but y/n only thought of one as she pulled him into her shared house.

Y/n dragged the man to her shared room and pulled him to the bathroom. “The fuck, Logan — I thought you were done with that shit,” y/n felt horrible seeing him like this.

He went down after she broke up with him because of his unemotional ways. He didn’t show emotion when she left the mansion, but people noticed the change in his mood.

Logan was always an asshole, but he had a soft spot for sweet people. After y/n left, he felt no need to be that man anymore.

“Just a little fight. Nothin’ serious, princess,” Logan said as y/n sat him on the toilet. “Logan, not right now, please,” Y/n said before she went into her closet to find things to help him.

Logan was confused for a second, wondering why she didn’t like the nickname until he remembered. He took a look at her hand and noticed the ring he prayed wasn’t real.

After hearing the news of her marriage, he couldn’t take it. He tried reaching out to her, but she was a ghost.

After finally finding her, he noticed how happy she looked. That was decades ago, and since then, he’s just kept his distance. Still watching her, but never approaching.

“You’re still with him, huh?” Logan asked, sounding heartbroken all over again. “Yes, I am, and he gets home tomorrow night, so I need you out of here quick,” y/n said, aching the man.

“Can’t stay until he gets here? Maybe meet the man or something?” Logan asked, making y/n sigh loudly as she finally found what she needed. “No, Logan — Me and you haven’t talked in years, so there’s no need,”

“We haven’t talked because of you,” the man said in a low voice. “Yeah, because-“ y/n cut herself off as she noticed her tone getting higher. She shouldn’t be upset anymore. They’re done.

“Just- Let’s get you cleaned up,” y/n walked back over to Logan. The two stayed quiet as she took his shirt off to see what she had to work with. “Fuckin’ hell, Logan,” y/n shooter her head.

Even though this wasn’t the man’s fault, he looked down with a sad look, disappointed that he got worse over the years, and never better for her to see and maybe want him back.

“He treats you good?” Logan asked, trying to get rid of the silence. It’s been too many years of silence. “Alright,” y/n said, answering drily because she felt embarrassed about her life.

“Why just alright? I see he buys you stuff- On social media — I-I have you on social media,” Logan saved himself after y/n gave him a confused look. Y/n sighed with a nod, not wanting to tell him or anyone why he gave her those gifts.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” Logan asked with a slightly serious face after noticing her body language. After all these years, Logan could tell when something was wrong.

“Please, just- Let’s get this done, okay?” Y/n said before using a pair of tweezers to pull one of the bullets out. “Fuck! Fuck- wait,” Logan softly grabbed the girl's wrists as he stood up. “I’ve got this part,”

Logan slowly walked over to the bathroom sink to lean on it, resting and taking deep breaths for what he was about to do.

Y/n was confused until the man began pushing out bullets with low groans, trying to hide the pain he was in.

Y/n placed a hand on his back, comforting him so he would mentally feel better about this all. She couldn’t look at him like this.

“Just a few stitches, okay?” Y/n rubbed the man’s back after he got all of the bullets out. “No, it’ll heal itself. Just need it cleaned,” the man said before sitting back down on the toilet, already missing her back touched.

y/n wanted to ask why he came here if he wouldn't help him stitch up, but she kept her mouth closed and didn't ask. He finally had a small reason to show up and be let in her house.

“Lo — Logan, you need it,” y/n slipped up by calling him by the nickname she gave the man. Logan looked up at the woman, eyes lighting up at her words, but face expression tired.

He was tired of life. He was tired of living without y/n. He was tired of being distant from y/n. He was tired of going home and having an empty bed while she came home to whoever the man was she married.

“I need you,” Logan said, making y/n scoff, feeling tears fill her eyes in an instant. “Logan, if you’re not gonna let me help you, then you have to leave,” she hated saying.

“C’mon, baby — Just take me back,” Logan on off of the toilet and stepped towards her. Y/n instantly turned around, not wanting to look at him. She can’t. She’s married now.

“C’mere,” Logan said softly as he hugged y/n from the back, leaning down to sniff her neck. “You still smell good,” he said under his breath as his hands rubbed her waist and stomach.

“Logan, I can’t,” y/n said, not pushing him off, but hoping he’d pull back. She couldn’t bring herself to push his old but missing scent away.

“C’mon, baby — If you couldn’t, then you would’ve pushed him off a while ago,” he said, and he was right. That’s when y/n turned around and placed her hands on his chest, pushing, but he grabbed them, keeping her hands on him.

“I’m sorry, y/n — I wasn’t good back then, but I am now. I’ll do anything to get you back. To get all of those years without you, back,” Logan’s hands softly grabbed her cheeks.

“I-I can’t, Logan — I have a husband, and he- He treats me right,” y/n lied, and he knew it instantly. All the years away from his girl, he still knew when she was lying and not doing well. Her slight body language change does not lie.

“You don’t have to lie to me, princess. If he doesn’t treat you right, I won’t laugh, judge or make you feel like shit,” Logan said as tears slipped past her eyelids.

“Hey, hey — Don’t cry, okay? This is my fault. You’re with him because I wasn’t man enough to deal with love. I was scared, and I let us get together knowing I should’ve ghosted you. I should’ve fuckin’ stopped it right then, but I didn’t because I love you, y/n,”

“I’m so stupid,” y/n buried her face in the man’s chest as she cried. Logan’s own tears slipped past his eyelids, hearing y/n cry like this after all of these years.

If only he had been a better man, a better boyfriend, she wouldn’t be like this. What has she been going through, through all these years? Anything negative was his fault. All of it.

“Baby, no, you’re not. I am. If I just did better, you’d be with me. We’d both be happier,” Logan pulled y/n’s face back as he wiped her tears. “Need you to stitch me up like you wanted. Take care of me, then I’ll take care of you. Till the day I die,”

Y/n isn’t invincible, but she does take a bit longer to die off. She’s nothing like Logan though, so getting together at this time, especially since his regenerating powers aren’t working well anymore, is perfect.

“Mhmkay,” y/n said low, feeling her heart grow for the man again. “Please stop crying, baby. Gonna make me feel bad,” Logan playfully pouted as he lifted her chin. “Good,” she giggled low.

“So good, baby. Always so fuckin’ good, baby,” Logan whispered in the girl's ear after slipping past her folds, filling her up until he had no more to give. She took him so well. Like they have not stopped being together.

“Oh my god, Logan,” y/n cried as she scratched his back, drawing a little blood. He almost forgot how strong she was. He never really paid attention. She was always his sweet little girl.

He cursed himself for being an asshole towards her. All he had to do was tell her when he felt down. All he had to do was ask for help. All he had to do was accept that it’s okay to not be okay. She would’ve been happy to help.

“Gonna keep you, baby. Gonna take you from your sad excuse of a husband,” Logan snapped his hips, shaking at the feeling of being someone he hadn’t been in for years. Since her, he hasn’t been with anyone. Not one soul.

“Ima treat you better, baby. Gonna show him how to be a man,” Logan didn’t know how the man was. He knew nothing about him, only the fake news he puts out on social media, but by the way, y/n was clenching around him and not calling her husband to get Logan out of their home, he knew the man was a dick.

“You’re gonna tell me everything about him, y/n. Don’t miss one detail. Gonna show him what happens when he makes my girl cry at the thought of him,”

Logan’s hands rubbed y/n’s cheek, watching her jaw go slack as his hips bucked up into his, chasing after her orgasm.

“That’s it, baby. Forgot about that rich prick. Knew he wasn’t no good,” Logan talked like he knew the man personally. Even if he wasn’t a bad person, Logan didn’t care. Y/n was his, and his only.

“Fuckin’ hell — Still squeezin’ me tight like back in the day, when you cum,” Logan reminded the woman as she came all over his cock. “So pretty when you did it too. Now you look better because we’re finally officially,”

Y/n was confused at first until he spoke. “You’re my wife. And I’m your husband. You’ve always been mine, and I’ll show you that. Gonna show you all the years you’ve missed out on me, baby,”

Logan smashed his lips onto y/n’s, hungrily kissing her as he pounded, making sure to fuck her into the mattress. He was old, and his body ached, but the adrenaline was still there. He wanted to fuck her for hours. Mark her for hours. He wanted to do everything with her for hours until her shitty husband came back to the sight of her taking his cock better than she could ever take her husbands.

“That’s it, baby — Gonna fill this little girl up like I should’ve done years ago. Trap you with me and never let you go,” Logan’s hands found hers and locked. He pinned them beside her head and leaned into her neck, sucking as he groan.

The man couldn’t help himself, sniffing and growling into the girl's neck as he spilled into her, hard. Cumming so deep, she swore she felt it swirl in her stomach.

“F-Fuck,” y/n cried low, feeling complete. The feeling of him in her, marking her, and telling her she was his, made her heart grow. Fuck her husband. She couldn’t wait until he came home to the sight of Logan claiming her.

[girlgenius1111]

healing

alexia putellas x reader you don't like to admit when something is wrong, alexia knows this. she also knows that with a a scheduled surgery coming up for you, she'd have to wade through these hidden emotions as best she could to support you. basically, r has a breast reduction surgery, and alexia does her best to take care of her, even when r is a bit resistant. this is, obviously, very self indulgent. potentially the most self indulgent fic i've ever written. it's very reflective of my experiences recently so. you know. i hope you enjoy. hugeeeeee thanks to @pickledwoso who sent the request in and gave me sooo many ideas to work with.

------

You sat up with a loud gasp, clutching at your chest. The specifics of the nightmare evaded you instantly, but you knew it had been horrifying. Filled with needles and doctors and knives and pain. 

“Amor?” Alexia mumbled groggily, emerging from where she was curled up under the covers, despite it being a warm evening.  She had barely been dragged from sleep by the sound you had made, only one eye cracking open to look at you.“You okay?” 

Unable to say much in response, you could only whimper quietly and shake your head. Alexia was wide awake in a second, sitting up and tilting your face towards her.

 “Ale-” You cut yourself off with a sob, leaning forward to bury your face in your girlfriend’s soft sleep shirt. 

Shaking once more, Alexia pulled you into her, cradling your body close. “What is wrong, mi amor?” 

“I-I… nightmare. I had a nightmare.” You admitted, too far gone into panic to try to hide your anxiety from your girlfriend. Alexia didn’t say much for a while, just nodding her head to show that she’d heard you, before she got to work calming you down. She did it rather easily, reminding you to breathe, stroking her fingers through your hair. She was soft, gentle, loving, and her affection bled through every light touch. Alexia always cared for you so easily; she made it seem simple. 

“Easy, just like that amor. In and out, slowly. It was just a dream, you’re right here with me. You’re okay.” 

It took a few minutes for you to calm down, and even still, you were still practically vibrating with anxiety. Alexia shifted over so that you were curled against her chest, and she could lean back against the headboard. With your face barely visible buried into her shirt, your girlfriend couldn’t really tell if you were still crying or not. Breathing steadier, for sure, but the sniffles coming from you every so often told Alexia that you were still very upset. 

The blonde began to run her fingers through your hair, massaging gently at your scalp. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

You were quiet for so long, she was sure you’d fallen back asleep. “I don’t remember what happened. It was about the surgery I think.” You murmured finally. “I’m a little nervous, I guess.” 

Alexia repressed a sigh. It was beyond clear to her, and had been for weeks, that you were more than mildly anxious about your scheduled breast reduction. She’d been waiting, less and less patiently, for you to just tell her how scared you were, but now the night before your surgery, she knew she couldn’t let this go on any longer. 

Wrapping both her arms tight around you, she pulled you even closer before she spoke. “It seems like you are maybe more than a little nervous, hmm?”

“Why do you say that?”

“You seem completely terrified, mi amor.”

“I am nervous, but I know I want to do this. I’m sure, Ale, I’ve made my mind up, and I-”

“You can still be nervous, even if you feel confident in your decision. That’s okay, amor. Why would you think it’s not?” 

“I… I just didn’t want you to try to change my mind.” 

“Why would I do that?” She sounded confused, and logically, you knew why. Ale was a deeply respectful person, and she’d never ever presume to tell you what to do with your body. Ever.

 No reply came, and Alexia realized you’d begun to tremble again. Frowning, she gently guided your chin up so she could look into your eyes, less than content with the anxiety so clear on your face. “Amor, talk to me. Please.” 

“What if you don’t like them? You know… after?” 

Alexia could have laughed at the completely ridiculous notion, but she saw the wet shine in your eye that told her you were completely serious. “Do not be silly. I will love them. ” She insisted. 

“You love them now.” You argued. “They won’t be the same.” 

Carefully, Alexia took your face in between her hands, insistently gazing down at you. “I know. They’ll be different. They won’t hurt you so much anymore, and that is all I want. Nothing will make me happier than you feeling better. I will love them, just like I love you.” She promised, her voice low and soothing. “You could get them removed completely, you could do anything, and it wouldn’t change how I feel about you. This is your body, mi amor. I love your body, and I will love it even when it changes.” 

“But… it doesn’t have to change.” Chewing on your lip, you took in your girlfriend’s completely puzzled expression. 

“I don’t understand. It doesn’t have to change, but you want it to, no?”

“I… don’t you think I’m being dramatic about this? A whole surgery just for some back pain…” Your words were not things you really believed. You knew you weren’t being dramatic, and you knew you were getting this done because of more than just back pain, although if you had, that would have been okay too. You’d just spent the last years hearing from your family and your doctors that you were being dramatic about your pain and the issues that came with having an absurdly large chest. Even getting a surgeon to agree to do the surgery was difficult, though you wouldn’t have even gotten there at all without Alexia. 

Not until you were with her, did you find yourself being believed. When you said you were hurting, she believed you. She wasn’t skeptical that you were exaggerating, or just looking for attention. It was this earnest belief that had you reconsidering, and ultimately deciding on, a breast reduction. Now, though, the years that people had spent belittling you and your struggles were rushing back to you, and you very suddenly felt like you were being ridiculous. 

The lights flickered on in the bedroom, and Alexia rolled back over to you. Having been lost in your thoughts, you’d missed her roll away to turn the bedside lamp on, and now she was studying you with a focused look on her face; one you knew to mean she was concerned. 

Her hand found yours, and she absentmindedly pulled the shoulder of your shirt back up as she spoke. “It is not a little back pain. It is debilitating. This affects your whole life, amor, you’ve wanted this for years. You know you aren’t being dramatic. Where is this coming from, hmm?” 

There was a deep reluctance in you to tell Alexia what you’d been through in the past with doctors and your family alike. You weren’t sure where it came from, or why it was so persistent, but you were too exhausted to fight it. Too terrified to even think of doing something that would make your anxiety spike. 

Your girlfriend seemed to sense this reluctance, because she brought your intertwined hands to her lips, leaving a kiss on your knuckles. A part of you had expected her to be annoyed for not talking, but another part of you knew better. Alexia didn’t get mad about stuff like that. All she had for you now was a sweet smile, and another kiss for your cheek that had you blushing unnecessarily. 

“We don’t have to talk about it.” She promised, mumbling the words against your face as she interspersed kisses in between her words. “You are not being dramatic. Your body changing does not bother me, could never bother me. I love you, and everything is going to be okay.” 

Entire body seemingly deflating, you leaned heavily into your girlfriend, torn between exhaustion, anxiety, and the overwhelming feeling of being adored. It wasn’t one were sure you’d ever get used to. With your face tucked into Alexia’s chest, it was hard to feel anything but safe and reassured, so you focused on the soft fabric of her shirt against your cheek, instead of what would be occurring the following morning. 

“I love you.” You murmured, burrowing in closer when your girlfriend tightened her arms around you. “Ale?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you come with me tomorrow? And stay?” You hated the vulnerability seeping from your words, didn’t want Alexia to ever see you as pathetically as you saw yourself. 

She only nodded, though, rubbing your back slowly. “Of course, cariño.” 

“It’s not too late to get out of training?” 

Alexia gave you a soft smile, though slightly embarrassed, rubbing her thumb across your cheek affectionately. “I am already called out, mi amor. I was going to stay anyway.”

“You were?” You asked with a shy grin. 

Alexia nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. I thought you might change your mind, and if you didn’t, well… I would have just pretended to go to training. I want to be there for you, and I would not be able to focus anyway.” 

You were overcome, for a moment, with affection for your girlfriend. She always seemed to anticipate what you’d need even before you knew herself. There was something about not only being loved, but known by Alexia that made you feel like the most special person in the world. You felt it even more when she placed the gentlest of kisses on your lips, and smiled at you just enough that the dimples on her cheeks appeared. 

“I am so lucky to have you.” You murmured, feeling emotion tug at you once again. 

Alexia shook her head with a grin, almost exasperated. “It always amazes me that you think you are the lucky one, when it is me. Because you are perfect and beautiful and I love you.” 

Before you could reply, and begin a back and forth of who was luckier, Alexia had pulled you to lay down practically on top of her, stretching her long arm to turn the bedside lamp off. 

“You need to rest, amor.” She insisted. And though when you’d woken from the nightmare, you had been sure you wouldn’t be sleeping any more tonight, there was something so soothing about being held so securely against your girlfriend. Your eyes began to shut of their own accord when she began to run her fingers through your hair, and you wondered briefly if there was anything Alexia couldn’t do.

------

The following morning came much too quickly. The first alarm went off at 6, only rousing you. Knowing you still had 15 minutes before you had to get up and get ready, you curled yourself back into Alexia’s side, shutting your eyes tightly and pretending that today was no different than any other day. Of course, the persistent anxious shaking of your body woke your girlfriend, though, an alarm in and of itself. 

It took her a second to realize what had woken her, as she couldn’t hear the alarm going off. Soon, though, she processed the way you were clinging to her, feeling her heart simultaneously melt and break.

“Oh, mi amor.” Alexia sighed, sliding her hand up the back of your shirt and splaying it across your spine, knowing you liked to feel her skin on yours. 

“Sorry I woke you early.” You whispered. 

“Don’t be sorry. I am always happy for 15 extra minutes to lay with you.” She said sweetly, tucking her face into your hair and sighing contentedly. She knew that if she kept herself calm, and didn’t react to your anxiety with her own, you’d be able to stay calmer. 

It felt like only minutes later that your second alarm was going off, and you groaned into your girlfriend’s chest as it did. Extracting herself from your rather tenacious grip, Alexia quickly rose from the bed and walked around to your side, grabbing your hand before you could bury yourself under the covers. 

“No hiding, amor. Time to be brave for me, sí?” 

Not one to deny any of your girlfriend’s requests, you let her tug you from the bed with a pout, one she very determinedly kissed off your face. Once she was done with that, she pulled you into the bathroom. 

“Okay. Shower quickly, I will eat something, and then we leave at 7:03.” She said, as if that was a normal time to plan to leave. You were long used to Alexia’s strict punctuality, though, so you just shook your head fondly at her. It was only when she attempted to pull away from you that your anxiety really rose, and you clung onto her hand with a look of panic on your face. 

Alexia turned back to you, expression completely open, as if she was ready to do whatever you needed her to do to feel better. 

“Shower with me?” You asked shakily, looking up at your girlfriend with wide eyes. 

“Siempre, guapa.” 

Your movements were practically robotic as you undressed yourself and allowed Alexia to guide you into the shower. For a moment, you allowed yourself to just rest against her under the warm stream of water, forcing yourself to breathe in and out slowly. As always when you showered together, Alexia insisted on washing you herself. Somehow, she knew that you needed to use the special medical soap on your chest, but could use your regular body wash everywhere else. 

You thought you caught a glimpse of sadness as she gently washed over your chest, and she must have felt you stiffen under her hands, because she was tilting your chin up and looking down at you, forehead crinkled in concern. 

“Are you sure you won’t hate what I look like after?” You asked, voice wobbling. 

Your girlfriend’s face softened. “I am sure. I will love you all the same.”

“You won’t miss them?” 

“Oh I will miss them. I should say farewell, no? Goodbye,” Alexia said wistfully, cupping each of your breasts in her hands. “I will miss you, but I will be happy when you stop bothering my pretty girlfriend.” 

“Oh my god.” You rolled your eyes, flushing at the attention on your chest, but feeling your heart soar at how genuinely she seemed to mean what she was saying. You appreciated her honesty. It wouldn’t have been believable that she wouldn’t miss them at all; the blonde had made it very clear in your time together that she very much enjoyed them. But for Alexia, she’d happily give that up if it meant that you were happier and more comfortable. And then felt like another level of love she must have for you. 

 Alexia leaned down to kiss you again, this time a bit more intensely as the water rained down over your heads. 

She broke away after a minute, a satisfied smile on her face telling you she was pleased that she had successfully distracted you. And distracted, you were. 

“Do we have time to-”

“No.” Alexia said sternly. “That is why we made sure to have enough time last night. We will not be late because you are horny even after I made you co-”

“OKAY. I don’t want a reminder if I can’t really enjoy the reminder.” You argued, barely noticing how Alexia turned the shower off and wrapped you in a towel. She really was doing a good job distracting you, because the mere step forward in your morning routine didn’t make you nauseous like it normally would have. 

The rest of the morning, Alexia went out of her way to keep you distracted. Whether it was giving herself a beard with bubbles in the shower, or forcing you to have an impromptu dance party in the kitchen while she ate a quick breakfast, your girlfriend gave you very little time for your mind to wander. Once you were in the car, though, it was inevitable. You were on the way, and there was nothing else to think about. 

Alexia kept her hand on you throughout the ride, noticing as you grew quieter as she pulled out of the drive, and brushed a few tears away when you thought she wasn’t looking. 

“Alright, mi amor?” She checked, well aware that you were not even close to alright.

“I’m so scared.” You whispered, Alexia just barely hearing your voice over the hum of the car engine. She moved her hand from your bouncing knee to grab onto your hand, squeezing it three times. 

“I know. Everything is going to be okay, amor. They do this every day, you will be in such good hands.” 

“What if I wake up in the middle?”

“You will not.” She sounded so sure. 

“What if I don’t wake up at all?

“You will wake up.” Again, her voice was filled with confidence. Whether it was truly what she believed, or if she was just saying it for your sake, you didn’t know, but you appreciated it nonetheless. 

“What if something goes wrong and I come out with three boobs or something?” 

“I will buy a sewing machine, and get to work making bras for three boobs.” Alexia said seriously. 

You gave a wet laugh, wiping at your eyes. Alexia smiled at you happily, fixing her eyes back on the road as the light turned green. Her hand didn’t leave yours the rest of the way to the hospital. 

------

Without Alexia there with you, it was likely that you would have bolted out the front doors of the hospital within a few minutes of arriving. You weren’t alone, though, and Alexia began to resort to absolutely ridiculous tactics to distract you and see a smile on your face. 

First, she blew up a glove she found in the room you were brought to wait in and then let it fly all around. It wasn’t really funny but the way she released it, and then looked at you with a hopeful grin on her face made you laugh anyway. If you counted correctly she made six bad jokes when they made you take a pregnancy test, that had you giggling even though they were quite juvenile. As the nurse put your IV in, the blonde reminded you of the time she got stitches in her leg on the sidelines of the football pitch, in the middle of the game, going so far as to point out the scar on her shin that you’d seen many times before. This wasn’t really funny either, but the somewhat disturbed look on the nurse’s face was. 

She was goofy when you needed her to be, she was serious and listened carefully whenever anyone was telling her important information, and she didn’t let go of your hand for the entirety of the pre op process. The minute your heart began to pound in your chest, or tears began to well in your eyes, you’d feel her squeeze your hand, and feel inexplicably comforted. Realistically, you knew Alexia had no ability to keep you safe once you were in the operating room. Still, you had the overwhelming feeling that because she was here with you, nothing bad could happen. 

“Okay, it’s time.” The nurse said kindly, walking into the room just moments after the surgeon had left. He had drawn all over you while answering Alexia’s seemingly endless questions about your recovery. 

You looked at the blonde next to you, willing yourself to remain calm, breathe deeply. She leaned in, kissing you softly. Once on the lips, then once on each cheek. 

“I love you. You are going to do so well, mi amor. I will be right here when you wake up.” She promised, helping you to your feet and squeezing your hand one last time. “Brave for me, okay?” the last part was whispered just for you to hear, and you nodded.

You could be brave for her. For her, you could do anything. 

“I love you, Ale.” 

She smiled at you until you disappeared out of sight, finally allowing the anxiety she’d been repressing all morning to let itself be known. It was going to be a long three hours, and she’d known that. She was absolutely resolved not to let you see her own nerves, knowing they’d only make you feel worse. Already calling her Mami as she was led to the waiting room, she hoped she did a good job at making you feel more comfortable. And she hoped, more than anything, that you’d be okay. 

-------

It felt nearly impossible to keep your eyes open. They opened and closed of their own accord, the room a bit different every time. Very vaguely, you recognized the surgeon coming to talk to you, saying something about everything going well. A nurse asked you about pain, and you focused enough to notice a slight twinge on your chest. 

The only coherent thought you had, though, was of your girlfriend. She said she’d be here when you woke up, and the beautiful blonde was nowhere in sight. 

“Would you like a sip of water?” The nurse asked kindly, holding a straw up to your mouth. You shook your head, though, frowning dramatically. 

“Alexia.” You murmured, eyes falling shut once again. The nurse chuckled, replying even though she wasn’t sure you were hearing her. The heart monitor attached to you was making a rhythmic beeping sound, and you were bobbing your head along to it gently, though you didn’t seem aware of it.  

“We’ll bring you out of recovery in a few minutes, and then you can see her.” 

Sure enough, you felt the strange sensation that you were moving, before you opened your eyes once again. Now in a different room, there was a smiling face next to yours, a gentle touch on your cheek. 

“Ale.” You sighed happily, eyes half shut, but a big smile adorning your features. 

“Hi, bonita.” Alexia chuckled. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmm.” You hummed. “Sleepy.” 

Alexia thought you looked incredibly adorable, all groggy and happy to see her. Clumsily, you reached for her hand, pulling it to cup your cheek. Your girlfriend laughed lightly, stroking her thumb over your cheek bone. 

“Are you in any pain?” 

“I loveeeeeee you.” You sang, clumsily patting her face with your free hand. 

Alexia laughed again, her features soft as she gazed down at you. “I love you too, cariño. Can you tell me if anything hurts?” 

“Nothin’ hurts.” You slurred. “Are my boobs small?” 

“Sí, look. The buttons on your shirt aren’t pulling apart anymore.” 

You’d bought several cotton button up pajama shirts especially for the occasion, having been told not to lift your arms above your head to put a shirt on. As always occurred with button ups, though, the buttons pulled tightly across your chest. Or, they had. Now, the shirt sat unstretched across your chest, and you felt a staggering amount of joy course through you. 

“Oh.” You said weakly, blinking hard as your eyes filled with tears. 

Alexia’s face fell. “What? Does something hurt? What’s wrong?” She asked frantically, looking around for something to stop the pain you weren’t actually feeling. 

“No, no. It’s good, it’s happy. They’re small and my shirt fits. Shirts like this never fit right and now they do.” You cried, too out of it to really feel embarrassed for crying so hard over such a small thing. 

“Oh, amor.” Alexia whispered, feeling like crying herself. She knew more than anyone how much you struggled with the way you’d looked before. She’d genuinely never seen you look so happy over your appearance before, and it was her new favorite thing. “I’m so happy you’re happy.” 

“I’m happy.” You mumbled, allowing Alexia to dry your face of tears. Carefully, Alexia brought the water to your lips again, and this time you drank some, feeling more and more awake with every passing second. And even though she was pretty sure you wouldn't remember this later, Alexia had to make sure you knew something. 

“You know what, amor?” She asked. 

“What?”

“You are beautiful. Even more beautiful now, with such a happy smile on your face.” 

It didn’t matter that you’d just cried, or that your hair was a mess. It didn’t matter that you were decidedly not beautiful at the moment. Because Alexia thought you were, and that made you think it, too. More than ever before, you felt beautiful like she said you were. 

------ 

The first two days went pretty smoothly. Everything ached a bit too much for you to really do anything on your own, and Alexia was more than happy to help. The trouble came after you were given clearance to shower, on the third day of your recovery. You wanted to do it by yourself, and Alexia was insisting on helping you. 

“No, Ale.” You snapped, trying to sit up and get out of bed on your own. Alexia wouldn’t move, though, still perched next to your legs, arms resting on either side of you, and honestly, you needed her help to get upright. 

She was being overly patient with you, and that only bothered you more; you didn’t like to be treated like you were fragile. “Amor, it says in the instructions, ‘have someone nearby to help for the first few showers.’’” 

“Nearby. Not in the bathroom with me. I’ll be fine, please just let me do this myself.” 

“It is not safe, I would like to be in there with you. I don’t understand, you have never had a problem with showering me before.” Alexia’s hazel eyes squinted at you, as though she was trying to visually ascertain what the issue was. 

“It’s different.” You grumbled, feeling your stomach twist at the idea of your girlfriend having to do another thing for you. Enough was enough, you had to be independent. If you couldn’t shower on your own, you’d feel completely helpless and you hated to feel helpless. 

“How is it different?” Alexia wondered, her patience with you still unwavering. 

“It just is! Move so I can get up, please.” 

The blonde just shook her head. “Not until you tell me how it’s different.”

“Alexia, I am disgusting right now, I’m gonna be all bruised and swollen and I haven’t showered in two days. It’s gross, I’m gross.”

She didn’t even blink, as though she’d already known this. “I don’t care about that, cariño. I just want to make this easier for you. Please let me help.”

“I don’t need help.” 

“You do, and that’s okay. Please, amor, just let me come into the bathroom with you. I’ll sit on the counter if you want me to, but let me be in the room. Please.”

Your girlfriend had a way of asking you things and making her eyes wide as she did so, making you agree without really thinking. It was genuinely difficult to say no to someone so pretty, who very clearly just wanted the best for you. This was how you found yourself in the bathroom, allowing Alexia to carefully unbutton your shirt and remove the bra from your chest. 

You’d tried to do it yourself at first, but it was ridiculously difficult to get your arms to do what you wanted them to do without pressing against your chest or your sides, and your yelp of pain had Alexia firmly telling you that she was helping you, and that was that. 

You waited for her face to turn disgusted, or at least for her eyes to give her away. It didn’t happen. She looked pained at the sight of the bruising on your body, but that was sympathetic. The kiss she gave you filled your body with warmth, but that warmth disappeared as soon as Alexia stepped away to turn on the shower, and you turned to look at yourself in the mirror. 

It was the first time you were really seeing your reflection, seeing the full results of what had been done, and you were more than a little horrified. 

When Alexia turned back around to help you into the shower, you had turned several shades paler, and your legs were shaking. Eyes fixed on your chest in the mirror, you looked completely disgusted with what you saw reflecting back at you. 

 Worried that you would pass out or something, Alexia stepped in behind you, carefully placing her large hands on your upper arms to hold you steady. “Amor? Feeling okay?”

“Dizzy.” You managed, leaning back into her. Alexia grabbed the water she’d had the foresight to bring into the bathroom, and carefully urged you to take a few sips. She knew how you were with stuff like this, ever since you’d passed out once watching her get stitches after a nasty tackle. 

“Just breathe. In through your nose, and out through your mouth. Don’t look if it’s bothering you.” 

“I-I… please don’t look, either, Ale.” You requested, shutting your eyes tightly. Alexia only hummed in response, resting her chin on your shoulder and rubbing her hands up and down your arms. “It’s awful, it’s so gross.” 

The bruising and the sight of the incisions through the tape over them was enough to make you nauseous, but Alexia being there only made it worse. She shouldn’t have to see you like this. 

She seemed unphased, though, her eyes on your face in the mirror, not distracted by your chest. “It looks exactly as the doctor said it should look. Your body went through so much, healing isn’t going to be perfect and pretty. Everything is okay, I promise. Just look at my face, and focus on me. Everything is okay.” 

You did as she asked, breathing deeply for a few minutes, your eyes fixed on hers in the mirror. Only when some color had returned to your face, and you weren’t shaking as badly, did Alexia move from where her body pressed to yours. 

“Are you ready? She murmured in your ear, enjoying that at least from this angle, from behind you, she could feel your body against hers. You enjoyed it too, your head dropping back to her shoulder as you nodded. “Okay. We’ll go quick. I’ll wash your body, wash your hair and then you can lay down.” 

Too afraid of what would happen if you stepped into the shower by yourself, you nodded again. 

It always struck you how gentle Alexia could be. On the pitch she was a force to be reckoned with, her body a well oiled machine that always got the job done. Her job was so physical, it always surprised you how soft her hands were, how gentle her touch was. 

She was so careful with you, especially now. The blonde maneuvered you under the stream of water, getting to work right away, as if she knew how exhausted you already were, just from standing for a few minutes. She hummed as she worked the loofa across your skin, intermittently leaving kisses wherever she saw fit. Done with that, Alexia moved on to your hair, her fingers feeling absolutely magical on your scalp after several days of it being tied back in a bun. 

You were mostly silent, only speaking to reply to Alexia’s quiet check ins every few minutes. It was only when she was facing you, massaging the conditioner out of your hair as you tilted your head back under the stream of water, that you said anything of substance. 

“Thank you for helping.” 

“Always.” Alexia mumbled, her lips pressed to your forehead. “I miss hugging you.”

You melted even further, as if the careful way she washed your hair for you wasn’t soft enough. “You’re adorable.” 

“No, I am tough and strong.” Alexia objected. 

“And incredibly adorable.” You insisted. For the first time that day, Alexia saw the ghost of a smile on your lips, and she made herself a promise that she’d make you smile more often. Even if she had to be ridiculous to do so, though it would prove to be harder than she wanted. 

------

It felt like there was a dark cloud hanging over you. You were irritated and depressed and near tears for no discernible reason. Alright, there was a reason, but you were too upset to really think rationally about it. Everything hurt more once you’d stopped taking the prescription painkillers you’d been prescribed, and the lack of the drugs was definitely not helping your mood. The last two days had been horrible, your recovery hitting a wall. It had been a week exactly, and suddenly, nothing was moving fast enough. 

Now that you were used to the sight, your breasts didn’t seem as small as they had at first. They were swollen, you kept reminding yourself, but the worry that they wouldn’t be small enough, that you’d gone through all this for nothing, persisted. It didn't matter that logically, you knew they were smaller. You’d seen what was removed, been told the measurements, and still. You’d convinced yourself they looked mostly the same. It hurt to move and showering took you at least an hour every time. You hyper fixated on your appearance, worried that now that your chest was supposedly smaller, everything else would be bigger. Alexia kept taking days off work, and when she didn’t, her mother or her sister would randomly show up with something random to drop off or pick up. You hated that she felt like she couldn’t leave you alone, and you hated even more that she was right to feel that way. You couldn’t lift anything, could barely sit up on your own. Your girlfriend was stuck helping you with every little thing, from showering to walking down the stairs. It was miserable. 

It felt like she asked you every other minute if you were in pain. And god, you were. More than you thought you’d be. Everytime, though, your answer was the same. Just a bit, you’d tell her. Both of you knew you were lying. You’d grit your teeth and bear it, unwilling or perhaps unable to admit to Alexia that your chest ached and stung and pulled and hurt. Your brain didn’t feel much better. 

Of course, Alexia knew you were miserable. The doctor had warned her this might happen; it wasn’t uncommon for individuals to fall into a depression after surgery like this. There were a lot of complex emotions involved. Combine those emotions with pain and narcotics, of course you didn’t feel like yourself. She’d been awake last night, when you’d cried next to her, holding her hand like a lifeline even as you stayed as quiet as you could. Alexia knew you didn’t want her to see you in pain, and if she could bring you comfort because you thought she was asleep… she’d take that. 

Still, though, every part of her ached with how sad you seemed, and how shut down you’d become. She was sure that if you talked about even one of the things bothering you, you’d feel so much better. You weren’t talking, though, and Alexia was running out of ways to help you. 

The blonde had one final idea before she broke and called your doctor to tell him that you just weren’t coping well, and she really didn’t want to do that. So, she made you tea, put on a boring documentary, and played with your hair until you were half asleep on top of the covers of your bed, as snuggled into Alexia’s pillow as you could get at the moment. 

She gently roused you, informing you that she had to run out for groceries but she’d be back very soon, before grabbing her list and slipping out the front door. Alexia had assumed you’d gone right back to sleep, but you hadn’t.

Instead, you’d realized you had to use the bathroom, dragging yourself off your bed and into the bathroom. It was there that you bumped into the door, which hurt way more than it normally would have. It had been the last straw of an already horrible day, and you just couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t be brave anymore. 

Alexia had been in such a rush to leave so she could come back, that she forgot her wallet, turning the car around only a few minutes into her drive to return and grab it. 

“Amor, I forgot my-” Alexia’s whispered words halted as she walked into the bedroom, and the sounds of your sobs hit her ears. You weren’t in bed where she’d left you, and your girlfriend whipped her head around in panic. “Baby, where are you?” She shouted, able to tell that you were closeby. Answering her own question, she rushed towards the bathroom, only relaxing slightly when she found you. 

Hunched over by the sink, your shoulders shook with the force of your sobs. Somewhere in her mind, Alexia realized that the movement was likely causing you pain. The blonde hadn’t ever heard you cry this hard in her life, and when you whipped your head around to look at her when she pushed the door open, you looked broken. You only looked more upset at the sight of her, and your girlfriend tried not to panic. 

“Baby, are you hurting?” Alexia questioned, moving forward as her hands fluttered uselessly in the air. All you could do in response was continue to cry, and reach one shaky hand towards the blonde. “I need you to talk to me.” 

It was all just too much; you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You needed her to kiss you and hold you and promise that everything would be okay. “I..I- hurts, Ale, it hurts so bad.” 

“I’m so sorry.” Alexia frowned, giving your hand a squeeze. “What can I do?” 

“I d-don’t know, it just hurts.” You sobbed, your chest stuttering. 

“The crying is not helping, amor, try to breathe.” She encouraged, exaggerating her own breaths for you to copy. It worked only slightly, and your face was still contorted in pain. “Let me get you some more medicine.” 

“No, stay.” You panicked, only tightening your grip on your girlfriend’s hand. 

“Okay, I’m right here.” She cooed, trying to move closer and give you a gentle hug. You winced away from her, though, in too much pain and too afraid of it worsening to allow her close to you. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you whimpered, wanting the pain to stop if only so she could hug you. 

Pausing and pursing her lips, your girlfriend tried to think logically. Getting up was difficult for you, standing only worse.  Sitting propped up on the bed was the only way for you to be even slightly comfortable, so Alexia took each of your hands in hers. “Back to bed, okay? You’ll feel better sitting.” 

You nodded, and allowed your girlfriend to carefully lead you out of the bathroom, and back towards the bed. “Okay, almost there. You’re doing so well.” 

It felt ridiculous to be praised for something as simple as walking back to bed, especially as you needed her help to do so. Still, she sounded so earnest and encouraging you couldn’t doubt her sincerity. 

Alexia got you settled on the bed just how you liked, and adjusted the pillows until they were just right. You sighed shakily, shifting as you tried to get comfortable. 

“Tell me how to help you.” Alexia practically pleaded. 

“I want ice please.” You sniffled, desperate for anything to numb the pain on your body, and the pain inside your head. Alexia tucked the blanket around you, using her thumb to wipe a few tears off your cheeks, gazing at you regretfully. 

“I’m sorry, amor, the doctor said no ice, remember? It is bad for the circulation. I can get you more medicine and a cool towel for your head?” Her suggestions felt weak, and she wished she could just take it from you, take away how badly you felt. 

You nodded, a few more tears falling from your eyes as you did so. It seemed to Alexia as though every time she offered to help you, you cried more. She rose to go get what she needed, and you let your head fall back on the pillows, a few quiet sobs escaping. You wished you could stop needing her so badly. 

Crying too hard to notice her return, you jumped when she placed her hand on your upper arm, crying out quietly as you did so. 

“Easy, amor.” She soothed, handing you two pills and holding a straw to your lips. Once you took the medicine, she wiped the tears off your face with the wet washcloth in her hand, her features wrinkled with worry. You hadn’t stopped crying, and she didn’t know what else to do to help you. 

“Are you crying because it hurts, or because of something else?” She wondered. 

“I don’t know, I just can’t stop.” You whimpered, clutching almost desperately at your girlfriend’s hand. 

Letting out a sad, sympathetic sound you’d never heard her make, Alexia took her place on her side of the bed, scooting over so she was pressed up against the pillow that was pressed up against you. It was the best she could do at the moment, even if she wanted to pull you into her and never let go. You reached over the pillow to grab onto her hoodie, the brown one with holes all over it you liked to make fun of. She’d put it on earlier, hoping you’d do just that, but she’d had no luck. 

Alexia just watched you for a few minutes, both of her hands on you, tracing patterns into your skin wherever she was sure wouldn’t hurt you. It became clear to her that you were exhausting yourself, your eyes barely even open anymore as you wiped at the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. 

“Amor, you need rest.” She whispered, watching your eyes flutter open to look at her helplessly. 

How were you supposed to sleep when you were so upset? 

“I can’t.” 

“Try for me. Close your eyes, relax your body.” The blonde instructed, smiling despite herself as you instantly did as she asked. Grabbing the cool washcloth again, she folded it in half and draped it over your eyes. Sighing you settled back into the pillows a bit, chest still stuttering every few seconds, but less intensely than it had been. “Sleep, cariño. I’m right here, I love you, and everything is okay.” 

Her words had an incomprehensible power over you, and it wasn’t long before you were barely clinging to consciousness. The tears had stopped, and all you could really think about was that you were really glad that Alexia was here with you. 

------

Alexia wasn’t sure how long you’d cried for before your grip on her sweatshirt had gone slack, and you’d finally relaxed. She let you sleep for an hour or so, though, unmoving so she didn’t disturb you. She busied herself with her phone, placing an order of the things she needed so she didn’t have to leave you, but mostly, she just watched you sleep. Swollen and red eyes, tear stained face, uncomfortable frown on your face even as you slept, you were still the most beautiful person she’d ever seen in her life. 

Once the delivery was made, your girlfriend slipped out of bed as carefully as she could, heading for the front door. Turning around with the bags from the front porch in hand, Alexia jumped a little at the sight of you standing behind her. She hadn’t heard you follow her out of the bedroom, but she saw you now, more tears falling down your flushed face. 

“Hey,” she said soothingly, moving closer even as you backed away from her. 

“You were supposed to go grocery shopping and I ruined it,” you cried, feeling a little ridiculously upset that you’d messed up her plans. You just thought she needed the time away from you. It wasn’t as though you were pleasant to be around right now. “You didn't get to run your errands, I’m so sorry.”

“You haven’t ruined anything, mi amor.” Alexia cooed. “Come on, sit on the couch for me, and I’ll show you what I got.” 

Sniffling, Alexia led you to the couch, helping you sit down and once again, placing the excessive amount of pillows exactly as you liked them. She began to pull items out of the bags once she sat down next to you, explaining what she’d gotten as she did so in a very quiet, almost shy voice. 

“A new candle, it makes the crackle sounds you like. Your favorite candy. Some roses, and I will put them in a vase and you could put them next to your bed, if you want. This is supposed to be a cooling blanket, so you don’t get too warm. I noticed you were almost out of the hair ties you use, so I got more of those. You liked that one button up shirt you got, so I got more because they are easier than other shirts, and these are very soft.” She listed everything out, putting it all on the coffee table in front of you. 

It was endless, the number of things she’d bought for you. Favorite snacks, a book you’d mentioned wanting to read once. A new coffee mug, even though she always complained that you had too many already, just because she knew you’d like the color. One bag was full of the ingredients to make your favorite dinner. She grabbed the last bag off the floor, really rambling now that you hadn’t said a word in at least 2 minutes. 

“I can return this if you don’t want it.” She finished, pressing the small, plush elephant into your hands as her face turned red. “I thought he could keep you company when I’m at work, but it’s probably stupid-”

You cut her off, tucking the elephant under one arm as you tilted her chin up with your other. Her face fell further, because you were still crying. 

She didn’t know that they were no longer sad tears. 

“I love you.” You blubbered, absolutely sure that there weren't words to describe how grateful you were for her at that moment. Ale, your perfect, sweet Ale. What had you done in your life to deserve her? “I love the elephant, I love everything. What did you do all this for?” 

Alexia looked at you incredulously, her fingers linking with yours. “You have been so down. I just wanted to make you smile. I thought maybe one of these things could.” 

“Oh. I… I didn’t know you noticed. I thought I was doing a good job hiding it.” 

You would never be winning an Oscar, Alexia thought to herself. “Why would you hide that from me?” She wondered, her face adorably confused. 

“You’re dealing with enough from me right now, you don’t need-”

“I decide what I need and don’t need.” Alexia cut in, her voice so firm it had your head snapping up to stare at her. She wasn’t angry, though, just… passionate. “Don’t push me away because you think you are being too much. I knew what I was getting into when you scheduled this surgery. I arranged to have time off so I could take care of you. I know you are hurting and I know you are upset, and I want nothing more than for you to talk to me.” 

“You’re too good to me.” You murmured, eyes flitting all over her face, trying to memorize the sincere expression on her face. 

“This is what you deserve.” Alexia disagreed, her knee shifting over until it pressed into yours. “Now, I know you are hurting because you just had surgery, but I do not know what has you so sad. Can you tell me? Please?”

How could you say no to that? The issue was, you weren’t even sure where to start. “There’s too many things. I’m just… I don’t feel right.” 

Alexia hummed. “Amor, it is normal to be depressed after a surgery like this. It says in the post op notes, your doctor talked to me about it. This is normal, how you are feeling is normal and it isn’t going to last forever.”

It was the same thing you’d been telling yourself, except now it echoed around your head in Alexia’s voice, and that held so much more meaning. Nodding meekly, you wondered if you should keep going. 

“What else?” 

Nervously, you glanced down at your chest. You didn’t want to sound ungrateful. Not everyone got the chance to have this surgery, even if they needed it, and it felt so disgusting to complain. The feeling that they were still too big was unshakeable, though. 

“You don’t like how they look.” Alexia stated simply. You stared at her, jaw dropped, wondering suddenly if she could read minds. She gave you a small smile, tugging at her ponytail and fiddling with the ends of her hair. “That is normal, too. I read about it. They don’t feel different enough?” 

“No.” You replied quietly, still ashamed of your feelings. 

“They are still swollen. It will take three to four months for them to look how they are going to look. You have to be patient, you have to give yourself time. I know everything is overwhelming right now, but I promise you, they are smaller, and they will get smaller still.” 

This time, Alexia raised your intertwined hands to her lips, pressing a kiss to the back of yours. “What else?” She asked again. A mind reader, for sure, you decided. 

You bit your lip before speaking, though it was progress that you verbalized your feelings without Alexia having to guess. “I’m in so much pain. It’s taking so long to go away. You can’t do anything or go anywhere because you’re here helping me. I’m such a burden right now and I hate it. I’m so tired of this. I don’t want you to have to help me with every little thing.”

Alexia looked almost offended. “You have never been a burden a day in your life, and I am sorry that anyone has ever made you feel that way. I am happy to be here, and help you heal. Really, amor. You’ve wanted this for so long, and this part isn’t very fun, but you’re doing so well. It hurts, and it sucks, I know that. It feels like it’s taking forever, but it’s just barely been a week. You aren’t helping yourself by keeping all these negative thoughts in your head, either.”

“Probably not.” You agreed timidly. 

“Probably not.” Alexia echoed, her hand coming up to cup your cheek. “I am here for you because I want to be, so let me help, okay? It isn’t your instinct to tell me when you are hurting, or when you need help, but I want you to try, okay? Just try.” 

“I’ll try.” You promised. Because, honestly, if Alexia was this good at making all your fears and stressors melt away and she was happy to do it, there was no justification for suffering in silence anymore. 

“I”m proud of you. You are doing so well, and I love you. Everything is going to feel better soon, and until then, I am right here with you.”

“Are you going somewhere once I am better?” You asked teasingly, just the hint of a smile tugging at your lips. This did not go unnoticed by your girlfriend, who leaned closer and got a look on her face you knew to be her I just won look. 

“A smile.” Alexia grinned, pressing her forehead against yours, still making sure to give your entire midsection a wide berth. 

“It’s just for you.” You whispered, holding eye contact with her, and enjoying that it no longer felt insincere because you were keeping so much to yourself. 

“I’m not going anywhere. Ever.” Alexia promised. Her words were barely more than a warm exhale on your mouth, and before long, she was brushing her soft lips against yours, giving you the world’s most careful kiss. 

She had magical kisses, you decided. Magic hands, as they linked with yours. A magic smile that made you grin, too. Good taste in get better soon gifts, you thought, picking up the elephant and asking her if she’d thought of a name for it. 

“Alex.” She smirked, looking rather proud of herself. 

And maybe she had egotistical taste in names, but you were more convinced every second that she was right, that things would get better, and a bit of ego was something you could handle. Especially when it came wrapped up in a package with overwhelming amounts of love and care. You were the luckiest girl in the world, you’d never been more sure of that. 

Hours later, after you’d eaten your favorite dinner and lit your new candle, settling into bed with a much more relaxed look on your face, Alexia thought the same thing. She was the luckiest to have you. Your smile was worth everything, and she’d missed it these past few days. It didn’t feel like she’d have to miss it anymore, though, especially as you drifted off, your hand in hers. Lips curved just slightly upward. You always had a smile to give Alexia. 

------

i'm honestly not sure if this is too niche for people to enjoy, so i'd appreciate any thoughts anyone has :) this feels wildly vulnerable and i will do my absolute best to not get embarrassed and delete it 🙏 love to you all 🫶🏻🫶🏻🥰🥰

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

Famous Last Words

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

Summary: She'll never let him believe he isn't loved, even when he doesn't deserve it.

TW: None.

“Be careful. I love you”

She hears the snort of derision he lets out and resists the urge to roll her eyes at him lest she makes things worse. He’s like a cornered animal when he’s upset, all consuming anger to cover the vulnerability he doesn’t want to acknowledge exists. She’s worried the wrong move will make him tell her to ‘fuck off an’ then fuck off som’ more’ like he had the night before.

“Though’ ya were mad at me” He grunts, scuffing the toe of his boot in the pebble-dashed dirt, other leg poised to keep moving further away from her and closer to the run he’s supposed to be going on.

“I am mad at you, you’re mad at me too” She raises an eyebrow before scanning her eyes down, taking note of the way he’s picking at the skin of his thumb; a nervous habit he’s had the whole time she’s known him. He’s nervous, as if one fight will make her leave him, as if she’s going to suddenly realise he isn’t worth the effort. She huffs a small, understanding smile at him “I still love you, and I’m never going to risk that not being the last thing you hear me say”

He pauses at the gate, tilts his head to the side and looks at her properly, sees the way she’s looking at him wide eyed and concerned, the way her shoulders are tense. Whenever they fight he convinces himself he’s being left, talks himself into thinking she doesn’t care and here she is, mad at him, fighting with him and still refusing to let him believe she doesn’t whilst being scared he won’t come back for different reasons.

He strides forward suddenly, twisting his body to close the gap between them and slings an arm around her shoulder, bringing her in to press his lips to the top of her head. He lingers, lips against the hair he loves so much.

“I love ya”

“Be careful. I love you” She repeats, knowing the words have sunk in when he raises one side of a lip fleetingly before opening the clanking metal chain.

-

It was a stupid fight, in hindsight, the kind they probably wouldn’t have if anyone had eaten a full meal for dinner rather than whatever percentage of rabbit there was split between twelve people. Or maybe they would, because they could have twelve rabbits and Daryl would still give his up for someone else, and it would infuriate her just the same that he sacrifices his own wellbeing for them at every opportunity. She suspects it’s only half about taking care of others, and maybe a solid thirty percent just not thinking he deserves care; the other twenty percent she is entirely unwilling to examine.

It was a fight though, one that ought to have been kinder than it was. One that she wishes she could have kept her cool in, but she’ll be fucked if Daryl is the only one who gets to be angry. She stews on it, sitting perched on the solid prison cot, playing it over and over in her mind until she hears heavy footsteps outside the makeshift door. She’d recognise them anywhere, his distinctive gait and well-worn shoes that always scrape on the second step when he’s not trying to sneak. The consideration, even in his unconscious actions, is part of the reason she loves him as fiercely as she does.

She doesn’t get up, doesn’t allow herself to follow the overwhelming urge to rush towards him when he opens the bars and lifts aside the curtain. He bites the inside of his lip.

“’M sorry”

“Me too”

She moves then, coming to a stop in front of him to run her hands over the solid muscles under his shirt, checking him for cuts and scrapes, feels him exhale underneath her palms. He’s always taken by the act, no matter how long they’ve been together or how often he goes out. He remains captured by the tenderness and care she bestows upon him. He is, still, so unused to the kindness, so out of depth when the only gentleness he’s known has been a cover for malice, false sense of security so quickly followed by pain.

“Ain’t sure what I did t’ deserve ya love” He mumbles into the same spot on the crown of her head. The spot he kisses when he fucks her, the place his chin rests when he hugs her after a long day, the spot he’d patted condescendingly when he was too embarrassed to admit he liked her but needed an excuse to make contact.

Finally, after almost twenty four hours of not making contact, at least twenty three too long, she kisses him, presses her lips firmly to his, relishing the way he instantly responds. When she pulls away it’s with a smile, an always fucking present smile he’ll never get enough of, the smile that’s his.

“You don’t have to deserve it, you don’t have to earn it, its just there”

He eats more that night, sitting by the fire running a thumb soothingly on her knee as he takes a well earned swig from a bottle of water. He wants her to see it, wants her to know he's trying; and if he has to trick himself into it by thinking it's for her, caring for himself because she needs him to, then it'll have to do for now.

[pia-nor481]

Green with teenage jealousy

Max Verstappen x Reader x Daniel Ricciardo SMUT

3.4K words Masterlist

It's hard to say how they came about. It was an unusual relationship yet it worked so well. Max was more quiet, while Daniel was loud, and a little more boisterous. In their eyes she perfect, every part of her. Neither of them knew who fell first, but it was definitely Max who fell harder, for both his partners. This made Max more affectionate than most. He always had a hand on either of them. 

She was out of the house most likely treating her self, well treating them to some new lingerie. The men typically liked different things. Max enjoyed bodies and baby dolls, while Daniel preferred a nice matching set of bra and panties, stockings every now and then. She ventured to multiple shops, mindful of her boyfriends preference. But not forgetting to treat herself too. They were invited to a club later by a friend of a friend. After a long few weeks of racing it would be nice to buy the boys a little treat. She picked up a new party shirt for Daniel and a much more simple button up for Max, hoping she could entice him out of the Red bull uniform. 

Once out of the car she struggled up and into the flat with the many bags; she placed them on the ground by the front door quickly, excited to show her boyfriends what she got them. Until she heard it. Max's moans travelling through the rooms. A pang of sadness pulled through her, the moment she was out of the house they decide to fuck. They've been together everyday for the past month, yet this is the first time in weeks she was even in the vicinity of them. It was almost as if she'd been double-crossed. Her head shook quickly, questioning why she was so upset by something as trivial as sex. She looked through the bags again and grabbed the shirts, ready to put a smile on when they leave the bedroom. Until she heard it, "Daniel...Don't tell her." She was shocked to say the least, quickly making way to the bathroom, just needing to be on her own. The door was slammed slightly louder than she planned for but it was too late anyway. Her clothes fell to the floor as Daniel rushed out of their shared bedroom. 

The room promptly filled with steam as the water flowed over her skin, pulling the stress away. Her body was covered in foam from the soap as she tried to wash away the thought of her boyfriends keeping secrets from her; She wasn't upset that they were sleeping together, in fact she would be slightly concerned if they were not, she just didn't appreciate not being told what was happening in her own relationship. She shook her head once again, trying to rid her brain of jealously. 

As soon as Daniel made it out of the room, he noticed the bags at the door, excited to see his lavish girlfriend. The further he walked away from Max the quicker he realised she was not there, until he heard the running water on the other side of the flat. He walked with haste hoping to see her as soo as possible. He needed to see her, touch her, taste her. He knew Max would be asleep now so felt no guilt as his clothes were thrown around the hallway. The Australian was quick to turn the handle and slide the door open. Briefly shocked with the lack of visibility in the room, he move the curtain and a wide smile dawned his face upon finally being met with her. "Come here, Love." Her head remained low as his hands circled her waist, pulling her close as the water began to cover him. "What about..." She started, careful not to sound angry. "You know what he's like, either on the sim or asleep, more likely to be the latter." Daniel's lips were quick to make contact with her skin, allowing him to hear the sweet sound of her voice as his hands wandered. "So, why'd you slam the door?" He questioned, between kisses, never truly giving her a chance to speak until her fully pulled away, looking her up and down. "Just a long day." Realistically, what was she supposed to say? 'I am beyond fuming that you slept with our boyfriend today.' That would be far from a sane sentence. But lying wasn't the best choice either. "Aw, you poor thing." Daniel said before giving her one last kiss. 

They soon made it out of the shower, Daniel praising her body as much as possible. "Come on, it's getting late and we need to be ready soon." She said pulling him through the flat, making a quick stop to the front door before heading to the bedroom. Max was half dressed as they approached him, bag in Daniel's hand as she focused on keeping her towel up. "Hello. Love." Max said ecstatic, rushing to embrace her. Max was quick to grab her cheeks and pull her in for a sweet and passionate kiss. 

"Look in the bag." She was still excited to give each of her men their gifts. "Well I know which one is Daniel's." Max laughed with his signature smile and head tilt. She smiled and turned to their, well more her and Daniel's wardrobe, looking for the perfect dress. "Since you treated us, how about we save you the trouble of searching and tell you we bought a pretty blue dress for tonight." Daniel said, holding a hanger up. She knew he picked the garment but it was most likely Max's idea. "Thank you." She said with sparkling eyes as they helped her with slipping into the dress. After finally looking presentable, they begin to make way to one of Max's many cars, and she was getting more excited by the minute; Until she saw her partners with their tongues practically down the others throat. Her feelings resurfaced quickly, this time a mix of envy and anger. 

She climbed into the car quickly, not bothering to engage with them. Perhaps it was a bit selfish, they'd been racing for weeks, had mountains of work and not much time to rest or relax. Is it so wrong to want your partners to pay attention to you, and not keep secret. The whole ride to the club was slightly awkward as she spent the whole time ignoring them and focusing on if she was actually in the wrong or not. She shouldn't feel like an outsider in her own relationship, there was no need for them to hide the fact Max wanted a blow job, in fact it wasn't particularly surprising; She wasn't blue because of the act, she was home, heard them, and wasn't bothered, yet as soon as it needed to be a secret it was a problem. 

She was pulled out of her thoughts as Max grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the car and into the club, exchanging hellos with the friend of a friend. She was the first to leave for the bar, asking for her drink and an additional shot, needing to get her mind off everything. They lost sight of her very quickly as she moved to the dance floor, looking for someone attractive enough to dance with. She focused on the beat of the music in her body and the harsh lights on her eyes. She let her body sway with the rhythm, taking large gulps of her drink every now and then. She soon felt someone's hand make contact with her hip, pulling her body closer to his own. She didn't recognise the width of Max's hands or the length of Daniel's fingers, yet she didn't complain. She continued to dance with him for a few songs, bringing her hand to rest on the back of his neck. The feeling of this man against her made for a great distraction from her current relationship, her pulled her hips against his own as he kissed her neck. She finished the rest of her drink quickly, looking up to meet eyes with Daniel and Max, both their jaw's clearly clenched. She grabbed the arm of the man and pulled him back towards the bar for another drink. "That's a very pretty dress, Darling." He stated, looking her up and down. "Do you really think so?" She was being slightly shallow now, but she was most definitely feeling yellow now. "Yeah, looks real good on such a gorgeous body." She blushed slightly, sipping on her drink, slowly feeling guilty about using him. At the end of the night she was going home with her boyfriend's, not him. "So when did you get it?" He wanted to keep her talking about herself, assuming that she would entertain him further into the night. "Actually her boyfriend bought it earlier today." Daniel was quick to state, arm quickly sliding around her waist. 

Daniel preferred PDA more than Max, in fact her was more conversational than Max. "Well mate, it seems like your girl was all over me, so maybe you can leave now." Daniel rolled his eyes, not bothering to listen. "Come on, we're going home." He said pulling her away from the bar and outside, desperately needing fresh air. She stumbled behind him as they made way to the car, lucky Max's first and only drink was non-alcoholic. "What were you thinking? Flirting with some other man like we didn't exist." Max started, clearly infuriated, running his hand through his hair, not waiting for an answer. Daniel slipped into the back with her and closed the door before he spoke. "Since you've decided to be so disobedient, I'll treat you like it when we get home." Her eyes remained focused on anything other than Daniel, who never stopped looking at her. Her nerves begin to rise slightly as she felt the car slow, Daniel's hand on her thigh getting tighter by the minute. 

They made it up the stairs in record time and once through the door she continued to look between the gentlemen waiting, no begging, for either of then to say something to her. "Max, why don't you pour yourself a drink before we start, since someone felt the need to ruin tonight." Daniel said with a pointed look. Max walked to the kitchen slowly pulling out a nice bottle of whiskey along with a lowball glass, taking a large sip. Max placed the bottle on the table before sitting down. "Over my lap, now." Max spoke quietly, but his tone make it clear he was seething. Her dress was hiked up quickly, blue panties on show. "How many do you think she deserves?" Max asked looking at Daniel who was drinking from the bottle. "I say ten...each side." Max laughed and quickly smacked the flush of her ass harder than he intended to, but was pleased not to hear a complaint from her. "Relax, Love, Max won't hit you too hard." He said watching Max's hand make contact with her skin again. Daniel was quick to bring the bottle to his mouth again while walking over to his his partners. He grabbed Max's throat and kissed him, letting the whiskey fall onto his tongue. The burn down his throat was exhilarating and decided that she needed the feeling as well. Max was quick to pull her up and onto her feet, spiting the alcohol into her mouth. "Now now, let's not get too excited. You've only given her five each side. I think I said ten." Daniel spoke with a tone of disappointment, he passed the whiskey back to Max as he sat on the table behind her. "I won't be as kind as Max." His spanks were a lot harder, or at least it felt that way after the ones she received from her other boyfriend. Her skin was quickly feeling sore and so she flinched more often; falling foreword into Max, clutching his arm for support. "Be good, you did all that for attention, and now that you've got it you're still misbehaving. Unbelievable." Daniel's hand lowered slightly, so his hand would make contact with the very top of her thigh; she gasped as she felt his hand on her skin. He made sure the last two taps were particularly rough, a few tears falling from her eyes. 

"I think that's enough physical torture for now." Max said, wiping the tears from her cheeks, kissing her sweetly. "I'm not too sure Max, she was being a brat." She could feel the zip slowly come undone, tooth by tooth. She could feel his fingers dance down her spine, tracing every divot. "She should be punished properly." The pretty dress stayed on the floor as Daniel pulled her out of Max's embrace, carrying her to the bedroom. Their boyfriend was quick to follow. 

She was placed on the bed gently, waiting for Max. Daniel kissed over her hips softly, making way down her thighs, biting down lightly, ensuring to leave a mark. "Daniel, be careful." Max chastised as he came into the room. He didn't listen, leaving marks as often as he could. Daniel soon found her cunt, licking her clit lightly to tease. She pushed her hips towards him, needing the contact. "Please Daniel, need you." She moaned out, look directly at Daniel between her legs. Soon she felt Max against her neck kissing sweetly, wanting to provide the smallest amount of comfort. "No, you don't deserve it, not after flirting with some random man at a bar instead of speaking to us." That didn't stop him from sucking her clit, rolling his around in circles, knowing it would drive her crazy. She opened her eyes as was met with Max's jeans and reached up, pulling the zip down slowly. "I want you in my mouth." She was almost testing him, would he be able to handle two orgasms in such a short amount of time. Max let out a whine as his cock was slowly pushed into her mouth, tongue teasing the tip. "Fuck Love, go slow." He was still sensitive after Daniel earlier. Speaking of, Daniel was now abusing her clit, tongue flat as he shook his head side to side. She pulled Max out of her mouth momentarily, running her hand up and down the shaft, "Please Danny, need to cum." She struggled to get out. It ha been so long since either of them touched her, she could get off on her own sure but it wasn't the same. It wasn't enough without them. She could feel the pleasure build in her lower abdomen as her legs began to shake slightly. "Yes Danny, I'm gonna cum, please." She didn't stop touching Max, she wanted him to cum, perhaps overstimulate him. "No, you don't deserve it, when are you gonna listen?" He pulled away quickly, leaving her on the edge. "No...Please." She whined, begging with pleading eyes, knowing Max would be very likely to give in.

"You have to earn it." Daniel stated, nodding his head towards their boyfriend, She moved away from the edge on the bed and towards Max, grasping his cock once again, pumping up and down a few times before licking a long stripe on the underside of his shaft. She felt Daniel's hand on the back of her head. His cock was pushed into her mouth quickly, slowly sucking. She was quick to bob her head, looking up ever now and then, watching Max's eyes roll back. "Fuck love, you feel so good." He moaned out, thrusting his hips slowly. "Make him cum, Love." Daniel stated, lightly taping her ass. Max groaned loudly, white painting her throat. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he sat back, feeling as though he was on cloud nine. "Good girl. Making Max feel so good...Get back on the pillow love." He motioned back as he kissed Max briefly, making sure he was good while they continued.

"Look at you, so pretty, so desperate for me." Daniel whispered, pulling her thighs apart and pushing her knees back. "Do you think you deserve to cum, hm?" She nodded quickly as Daniel began to push his cock in, inch by inch, rubbing her clit slowly, building her up again. "Yes. Please let me cum Danny, need you so bad". Her desperation was showing, but she couldn't help it. They had been away from each other for so long it was a need for the other. Daniel was thrusting slow but hard, another way of teasing her. "Max, come here Love. Need you to rub her clit for me, make her feel good." It wasn't really a demand but it was seen as necessary. Max came over quick, kissing her as soon as possible before his hand made contact with her cunt, her voice immediately hickuped as she gasped for air. The feeling of Max's fingers on her clit and Daniel hitting her G-spot, the fuzzy feeling was coming back. "Please I'll cum." She rushed the sentence so Max could continue to kiss her as much as possible, he missed her dearly, so finally being with her was a pleasurable experience on it's own. "Have you learned you're lesson?" Daniel asked between breaths, hips stuttering ever so slightly, enjoying the feeling of her around his painfully hard cock. "Yes, I promise, I'll be good. Please just let me cum." A smirk adorned his face as he looked at Max, silently telling him to practically abuse her clit until she cums. "Okay Love, come for us." Her legs were shaking violently as her hips came off of the mattress. Daniel covers her abdomen with his cum.

"So good love." Daniel whispered grabbing her jaw to pull her into a passionate kiss, his desire still not fully settled. They cleaned up quickly, not preventing them for making out as much as possible, just as handsy as before. Max behind her with his arm firm around her waist, her hand in the base of his hair pulling him down to kiss. Daniel on the other hand, kissing and marking her neck as much as possible, hands roaming over her legs. 

Soon they were laying together covered by an multitude of blankets. Max wasn't too fond of cuddling, he said it always got too warm, but that didn't stop him from touching them. She was resting on Daniel's chest while Max had a hand on her waist. "So...What's actually wrong?" Daniel asked after a while, Max wasn't fully aware of the problem. "So that's why you slammed the door earlier." Max stated, letting his hand run up and down her waist. "It's stupid, so don't worry about it." She said, burying her face further into Daniel. "It's not stupid if it's upsetting you." Max said, lifting his body up slightly, leaning closer to her. This made her feel even worse than she already did. "You wont say anything?" She waited for them to nod before speaking again. "I came home earlier and...and I heard Max moaning but.." She was soon interrupted  buy Daniel, who clearly had mixed feelings. "So you're mad I was blowing Max earlier, you know there's nothing wrong with that." She could tell he was slightly confused, he wanted to comfort her, but didn't know how he was supposed to do that when she was being dramatic. "No, it's not that, of course I'm not bothered that you have sex, whatever kind that is, you're dating each other too. It was Max asking you not to tell me. Why would you need to keep it a secret?" She sighed, face becoming warm.

 "Well...I didn't want you to feel bad. We've been together for months as in turn fucking for months. It's unfair on you if we talk all about it without you asking." Max stated simply, pulling her close to him, feeling a need to touch her. Perhaps it was a way of apologising. "It's not your fault Max is insatiable." Daniel laughed, hands behind his head. "Well fuck, I got spanked for nothing." She sighed, pulling Max in for another kiss. "Now lets not say nothing, you were flirting with that guy." She shook her head and smiled, placing  a peck on Daniel's cheek. "Well I wasn't actually flirting with him. I knew you were watching and I wanted your attention. Plus I'd never do anything, I'll always come home to you two." 

"Since you wanted the attention, how about we give you some more."

[yelenabemylova]

say no more, my queen - regina george x reader

summary: regina taking care of her girlfriend on her period

“What are you doing here, baby?” Regina sat down at her vanity table to take off her rings after she noticed you curled up in her bed after school. She received no response, so she decided to gently pull back the thick duvet covering you.

Snatching it back quickly, you huffed and scowled at her, “leave me alone.” Regina scoffed, “you're in my bed.” You only buried yourself deeper into her sheets, not caring about how your girlfriend could potentially be mad at you for ignoring her.

Regina began to frantically wrack her brain for what could make you feel and act in such a way. She didn't recall you feeling ill recently nor did she think she'd done anything to upset you.

Her mother came upstairs and saw Regina leaning over your figure in bed, quietly leaving a tray of snacks for the both of you. She had let you in before your girlfriend had gotten home and told you to make yourself comfortable upstairs.

The assortment of food that June had left was entirely different to what Regina had been eating before she met you. Ever since you had started to get closer to her, slowly her incessant thoughts about being conscious of her body were replaced by your consistent compliments about how perfect she looked.

Carefully, she rustled a bag of crisps, hoping it would get you to emerge from your cocoon of safety. Wordlessly, your arm reached out from under the blanket, your hand open. Regina placed the bag in your hand and you were quick to begin eating it under the blankets.

Suddenly, it clicked for Regina. She remembered you complaining about PMS a few days prior and how terrible it was making you feel.

Going into full protective girlfriend mode, she quickly ordered pizza and took off her makeup before getting into some comfy pyjamas. She went downstairs to collect the food and a hot water bottle with painkillers, bringing them up to you in a hurry.

She knew that you were always especially hungry when you were on your period but your cramps made it too hard to move to get anything to eat. As she climbed into bed, she set up her laptop with a new reality show playing quietly in the background.

“Baby, food’s here!” she gently shook your arm, which got you to uncover yourself. A small smile was evident on your features as you saw the box of pizza on Regina's bed. “All for you, sweetie,” she opened the box and fed you a slice.

As she continued to feed you, you became more like your normal self, chatting away to your girlfriend as she held the hot water bottle to your lower stomach. After you had eaten, she handed you some ibuprofen and a glass of water, encouraging you to take it so you could nap in peace.

“Is there anything else I can get for you, m’lady?” Regina teased. “You know those chocolate strawberries we made last night?” you sheepishly grinned. “Say no more, my queen,” Regina bowed, making you giggle.

She ran downstairs and retrieved them quickly, “nothing but the best for my perfect, beautiful girl.” You blushed, “thank you Gigi.”

Regina put her arm around you as she got comfortable with you tucked into her side, “so, are you gonna share those?” The expression on your face was priceless, “I am bleeding out of my uterus Regina George and you have the audacity to ask me-”

She chucked quietly as she silently regretted even asking as she listened to your rant.

[eddiesxangel]

Give Me Everything | E.M x PlusSize!Reader

Anonymous requested: I was wondering if you could do a story on a plus size best friend reader.. who was asked out by a jock on a dare or who Eddie walks into her room to see her sitting on the floor upset because her favourite dress is getting tight.. and he shows her how much he loves her body even if she can't see it... Maybe with like a praise/breeding kink.. or whatever you want to do 😁🫠👉👈 Recently went through a weight gain, and I'm so hard on myself.

AN: As a plus-size girly myself, I got you bbg. 😚

CW: bestfrined!Eddie x f!reader, self-loathing, self-depreciation, weight gain, body image, Eddie is a big ol' simp, soft dom, praise, oral, p in v, breeding kink, creampies, Pet names (baby, babe, pretty girl etc.)

wc: 3k

When the former basketball team captain ran into you at the local bar and asked you out, you were hesitant to say yes.

Your body never bothered you…until it did. The perks, your tits never looked better; the downside was you felt big. You’re still getting used to this new body, the body that you didn’t like.

Maybe your favourite dress would be the thing to help. So you dug into the depths of your closet. It has been a while since you’ve even attempted to put it on. The summer months were finally here; you could use this pick-me-up.

You stepped into the A-line skirt. So far, so good. When you tried to bring the straps up, things took a turn. It felt so tight; it dug into your soft flesh, your skin popped out around the straps, and the buttons in the front weren’t even close enough together to do up. You turn to see the taught fabric surrounding your back, all lumpy with back rolls.

Silent tears start to shed as you look at yourself in the full-length mirror. You never even heard the knock on your door or the lock click when your best friend entered your home with his copy of the key. You didn’t see how Eddie’s face dropped when he saw you criticizing every inch of your body. The way his heart broke when he saw your tear-stained cheeks in the reflection of the mirror.

Eddie knew you had a date. He came for moral support and to maybe convince you not to go for his own personal reasons.

He was shocked when you revealed the name of the guy who had asked you out. Jason Carver. Number one douchebag of class of ‘87. He thought you were joking, but you didn’t grow up in Hawkins; you moved here after college. No way you would have known the country club- bible-thumping moron was his arch-nemesis all those years ago.

“Y/N”

You jumped when the soft whisper of Eddie’s voice filled the room.

“Eddie, I didn’t hear you come in.” You quickly try to wipe away the tears, embarrassed that he saw you like this, looking like this.

You quickly grab your oversized t-shirt and pull it over your head to cover up your shame.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You’re quick to reply.

“Don’t do that, you always do that. Tell me what’s wrong.” He gently takes your hand and pulls you to the bed.

“It’s so embarrassing.” Your voice cracks, and you want to die.

“It’s me we are talking about, babe; nothing you can do is embarrassing.”

Eddie was right; you shared everything. He knew all of your deepest, darkest secrets. All of them, but this one.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before speaking.

“I’m no model, I’m not the size I use…” You look down, and you are not able to finish your sentence. It hurt too much to say out loud. "Nothing fits me anymore." You mumble.

“What?” He stroked the back of your head, trying to calm you.

“Nothing fits me anymore!” You break.

“So we will buy new clothes.”

“That’s not-ugh. You don’t get it,” he would never understand.

“Then tell me.”

“I never used to be like this.” You gestured to yourself.

“Like what?”

“Big!”

“You’re not big”

“Eddie… stop. I am… I just wanted to put on my favourite dress to feel better about myself, but now it doesn’t fit me anymore.” You sniffle.

“Y/N.” your name fell off of Eddie’s lips-laced with such sorrow.

“And now I have to find something to wear for this date in two hours, and I have nothing. I don’t even know if I like the guy, but he’s the first one who asked me out in a year, and I just wanted to feel pretty… to feel wanted... desired.”

“You are pretty; you are beautiful.”

“You’re just saying that.” your mouth speaks, but you can't ignore the butterflies that come with those words.

“No,” he shook his head. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.” Eddie poured his heart out.

“You have to say that- you’re just trying to make me feel better.

“I’m really not, and if Jason doesn’t see that, then he doesn’t deserve to go out with you.” He shuffled closer to you. “That guy is a fucking loser! Peaked in high school. It’s killing me that you agreed to go out with him.”

“Maybe that’s what I deserve…”

“What?”

"If he is the only kind of guy that wants me it's what I deserve."

"Don't you dare say that," Eddie cups your face to force you to make eye contact.

"Why on earth would you think so little of yourself?"

"Because... no one wants the big girl." your eyes glazed with tears once again.

Eddie knew he fucked up by not telling you his feelings earlier on, but he was scared.

"Let me show you how beautiful you are. Please."

"What?"

"I can't watch you go on this date without letting you know that it should have been me to ask you first. I was scared of what it would do to us, but I like you; I like you more than a friend should. I think about you all the time, and I want to show you how much you mean to me. I want you to understand that your body is the most perfect thing I have ever seen.

"Eddie I-"

"Please"

"O-okay."

Eddie crashes his lips into yours. Nothing about this is sweet. It is primal and needy, like he can finally drink you in after weeks of thirst. His hand travels to the back of your head and gently lays you back on the bed. His body is hovering over yours as your fingers tangle in his hair. He tastes like spearmint gum and cigarettes. You breathe in his woodsy cologne, giving you a head rush.

His kisses become more gentle, more calculated as the both of you begin to mould into one. Curious hands travelled under your skirt as he felt the soft skin of your thigh, bringing it up so he could get closer.

The skirt of the dress you still had on fell, exposing more of your leg, and Eddie couldn't resist taking a peek.

He rose, and you let out a soft moan at the loss of contact.

"It's okay, baby. I just needed to see you. How beautiful you are spread open for me."

That made you flush. Never have you seen this side of Eddie before. Only in your wildest fantasies could you dream of these words being spoken from his mouth.

the self-consciousness quickly set in as you needed to close your legs, but Eddie's strong hand found the meat of your inner thoughts and pried them open with ease.

"No baby, I need you to be a good girl, and keep these open. Do you think you can do that for me?" He leaned in and gently kissed your inner thigh, another part of you you've been particularly loathing lately.

"i don't know" IT was so overwhelming.

"We don't have to keep going if you don't want to... But I would be honoured if you let me have you this way." It would be the highest compliment, the most trust you put into a man.

"I want to, but im nervous." You've not shown anyone your body since the weight gain; you never wanted to. But something about Eddie made you feel safe and wanted.

"we will go slow. I want to savour every second." He smirked and you couldn't help but cover your face. Why was he making you feel so giddy?

"No, no. I need to see you, pretty girl." Eddie's rough fingers intertwined with yours as he peeled your hands away from your face.

"You can't say things like that to me!" you squeak.

"Why? dose it make your pussy feel all tingly?"

"Eddie!"

"Oh, I bet it does; you like me talking you up? Good, because so do I." His lips latched on yours once again, and his tongue made its way into your mouth before he pulled away to kiss his way down your neck until your shirt got in the way.

"Take it off." His hands slid underneath, feeling the fabric of the tight dress bunched up around your middle. This was another barrier he would need to convince you to get rid of.

"Eddie..."

"Please? I want to make you feel good." His hands inched up further and further towards your breasts.

You close your eyes and let out a deep sigh before nodding in agreement. Your hands find the hem of your shirt before slowly peeing it off, exposing your lacy bra.

"Fuck" You hear Eddie exhale above you.

When you slowly open your eyes, you see a man above you, full of lust and primal desire. A man to whom you thought never to be attracted to you, yet here he is, ready to devour you like you're his last meal.

"You're so fucking perfect." He reaches to grope you, not able to resist not touching your chest.

He can feel your pebbled nipples through the thin blue lace that hardly concealed anything. The thought that Jason was the one who might have gotten to see this instead of him drove him mad with jealousy.

You swore you heard him mumble the word 'mine' before leaning in to kiss your skin right above where the bra lay on your breast. His plump lips were so soft on your skin as his kisses turned into licks and nips through the fabric. His hands cupped and squeezed your tits as you watched him become a man possessed.

You arched your back up into Eddie as he fondled you; you can also feel how hard Eddie is becoming against your thigh.

You moaned his name, and that only made Eddie need you more.

“Do you know how badly I’ve wanted to taste you, baby?”

“No,” your breath is sharp and shocked.

“No?” He cocks his head, “Well, I need to get better at showing you just how much I need you.” He takes your hand and guides it to his jeans, where his cock is strained beneath.

Your eyes widen as you feel the stiff outline before you reach up to kiss him, but he pulls away, making his way down your body as he pulls down your dress, leaving you in only your matching panties and bra.

Your hands instinctively cover your stomach, but Eddie beats you to it, catching your hands mid-air and tilting his head.

“I don’t think so, baby; it’s just me.” He guides your hands to rest beside your body before he tentatively moves his own hands to your inner thighs.

“You trust me?” He continued.

You can’t form words; the only thing you can do is nod your head dumbly. No one had made you feel so desired, wanted... needed.

“Good girl”

Eddie finds his own hands pushing your legs open as far as they can go so he can see the wet patch that has formed in the gusset of your panties. A knowing smirk breaches his face as he leans forward to lay a gentle kiss on your covered pussy lips before taking a deep breath in. Your scent filled his nostrils, making you squeak with embarrassment.

“Eddie!”

“Can’t help myself, you smell so delicious…. Can’t wait to taste you.” He hooks a finger in your panties to move them to the side.

“So pretty,” he whispered into your lower lips before leaning a long wet kiss to your clit.

“Oh god!” You cry, arching your back into him as he makes out with your pussy.

“Tastes even better than you smell, baby.”

His tongue licks a long, drawn-out strip from your home to your clit, making you even wetter than before.

A mix of Eddie’s saliva and your slick coat on your inner thighs as he ravished you. The way his lips and tongue worked your clit and folds was head spinning.

“Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!” You cry as your orgasm crashes into you like a tidal wave.

Your body shakes beneath your best friend don’t let go until he’s consumed all of you.

“Holy shit,” you catch your breath. No other words came to mind as your blissed-out state takes over all of you.

“You did such a good job f’me” he mumbled into your pussy before pulling back.

You see his shiny lips and chin break into a smile as he crawls back up your body to kiss you. You pull him down into you, and his body weight feels so good on top of you. You need more; you need to be closer.

“More,” you say into the kiss.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’m not even close to being done with you.”

“Eddie, please.” You whine, hardly recognizing your own voice. You’re so full of want and need for Eddie. He is the only thing you can focus on.

“Patients, baby,” he leans back to remove his clothes.

First came his shirt and then his belt; you watched as his ring-clad fingers skilfully undid the intricate lock of the belt buckle and teased you as he slowly undid his pants.

Your hands travelled up your chest, and you played with your nipples to entice Eddie to move faster, but he was savouring the moment. He wasn’t going to give in to your tricks; he had been waiting too long for this moment to not make it last.

"You're so pretty spread out like this, just for me."

“I want you so bad,” you moan as his boxers finally are tugged from his waist, and what you’ve wanted the most is sprung free. “I need you.”

“You have me, all of me.” Another feverish kiss was taken, and you couldn’t help but grind your bare hips into his own.

“No more waiting.”

“No more waiting baby, I have you.” You feel him rock the warm head of his cock through your cum soaked folds back and forth collecting your slick so he can slide into you with ease.

“Baby please.” You beg.

“What about protection?”

“No condom” you shake your head.

“No? You want me to fill this pretty little pussy? Claim you? Breed you? Make you mine?”

“Yes” you plead with a hint of desperation in your voice. The glint behind your eyes was too much for Eddie to say no.

“You want to be mine?”

“So bad, Eddie. Please, I want to be yours. I’ll give you everything, please.”

“Such a good girl. I like it when you tell me what you want.” He stroked the side of your face before cupping it to take you into a long kiss as his cock penetrated your leaking hole.

Another muffled moan from the both of you filled the room as his cock stretched your inner walls. Never had you had someone this big before; it's been a little over a year since you’ve had sex with a man. You don’t remember why you’ve waited this long. All thoughts about body image and self-hatred melted away with each brush of his cock.

“Fucking pussy is so tight.” He gritted through his teeth, trying not to spill his load into you already. Eddie swore he died and this was heaven. Your pussy was heaven on earth; nothing ever felt this good, not anyone, not anything.

“Faster.” Your hips matched his rhythm as you ground down onto his cock.

"You sure you can handle it, baby?"

"Yes!"

Lewd sounds of wet skin slapping filled the empty space of your bedroom. Cries of pleasure and touches of wanting filled the space and one another minds as the two of you couldn't get enough.

"Love how needy you are for me. Just can't resist my cock can you baby?"

unintelligible left your lips as Eddie rocked furiously into you.

"Anwer me, baby, or I'll stop. You were doing so good before."

"Yes! I want your cock." you cried.

"I'm so proud of you; you're taking me so well. Who's my beautiful girl?"

"m-me," you stutter as his cock brushes your spot.

"Fuck youre so beauiful. You're going to be even more beautiful after you're filled with my cum. You want hat baby? Want my load inside of you?"

"Yes!" your fingers dig into the flesh of Eddies back, leaving raised red scratches in their wake.

"Please- wanna cum so bad." you breath

"Fuck yes, baby, claim me. Make me yours cum on my cock."

It didn't take much longer as Eddie began to play with your swollen bud of nerves before you were falling apart all over again. A silent scream, your jaw hung lax as the sound gets caught in your throat, and another tidal wave, this one bigger than the last, washed over your whole body as his cock and fingers continued to work your needy pussy.

Eddie watched your fucked out state feeling so satisfied with himself. "Fuck that's my girl, squeezing me so fucking good." You feel Eddie jerk one last time before he spills everything inside of you. "Fucking take it."

You snap out of it when you feel the weight of Eddie collapses on top of you. You let out a giggle in your blissed-out state.

"Something funny, pretty girl?"

"No-no, everything is perfect. Thank you, Eddie." You brushed his swaety hair off his perspiering face.

"No baby, I think I need to be thanking you. Never has anyone let me fuck them like that."

"Never?" You shy away, realizing what youve asked of him.

"Don't worry. You're the only one I've ever wanted to do that with. I think you unlocked something inside of me." He kissed the corner of your mouth.

"Yea, I like you... a lot. If that's not obvious."

"I like you too, Eddie."

"I sure hope so you let me cum in you." He snorted.

"God, you're so vulgar."

"Yea, but you like it. "

"I do."

[cherriecove]

A New Dawn

Alicent Hightower x M!Reader

Summary: With the Hightower plot to place Aegon on the thrown a failure, Queen Rhaenyra finds herself unsure with what she should do with her old-friend. After some consideration she decides to remarry Alicent to her Hand, a man she trusts wholeheartedly, this of course upsets Alicent who belived her marital duties died when her husband did. Cherrie's Notes: This was a request that i really loved the idea of! Would like to apologiese in advance becasue this is so long I changed some things slightly but not too much. This is the first time I am writing a male reader and although there is no real description i hope it is satsfactory! There are so many words im sorry i got carried away! Masterlist

The bells of King’s Landing tolled in the early dawn, marking the end of one era and the uncertain beginning of another. With the death of King Viserys I, Queen Rhaenyra had ascended to the Iron Throne, securing her rightful place as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, the victory was bittersweet, marred by treachery and near civil war. Alicent Hightower, Viserys’ widow and mother to Rhaenyra’s half-siblings, stood on the losing side. Her father’s ambitious plot to place Aegon on the throne had failed, and the Greens' hold on power was shattered.

Now, Rhaenyra ruled over a fractured court, her mercy the only thing keeping Alicent and her children alive. Otto Hightower, once the most powerful man in the realm, rotted in the dungeons. He was still scheming, still whispering plans of future influence, and Alicent found herself torn between loyalty to her father and a growing desire for peace.

Though Rhaenyra was urged to imprison or execute both Alicent and Otto, she hesitated. Old bonds of friendship still lingered in her heart, even if they had been buried beneath years of betrayal and political manoeuvring. In this delicate balance, you—Rhaenyra’s loyal Hand—offered a solution.

“If you wish Lady Alicent to live freely, Your Grace, then perhaps she should be placed under the care of someone you trust implicitly,” you had said, knowing full well the weight of such a suggestion.

“And who might that be?” Rhaenyra asked, her eyes searching yours with a knowing look.

You held her gaze. “Your Hand, Your Grace. I can see to it that she remains free but under close supervision.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened into a sly smile. “Then you shall marry her.”

The queen’s words struck you as sharply as they did Alicent when she was informed of the arrangement. It was the last thing she expected. After all these years, she had thought herself done with marriage, with the expectations and duties thrust upon her. The mere thought of submitting again, of being bound by obligation, made her heart ache. 

Yet on the day of the wedding Alicent stood before the sept, her hands clasped tightly, the weight of the world resting on her slender shoulders. The vows echoed around her like a distant murmur, a ceremony that held little meaning for her heart. She barely glanced at you, her brown eyes, once so bright and commanding, now distant and guarded.

This was not the life she had envisioned. After Viserys’ death, she had assumed her time as queen was over, that she would fade into the shadows, left to a quiet existence without further demands. The idea of marrying again, especially to someone with no ambition, no thirst for power, had seemed almost unreal to her.

Yet here she was.

The thought of being bound to another man filled her with dread. Despite your reputation for loyalty and honour, she couldn't help but fear what this union might become. Marriage, in her experience, had always been about duty, submission, and control. The idea of yielding herself once more, her body and will, to another man’s authority terrified her. This marriage felt like a new prison, different from the gilded cage Viserys had kept her in, but a cage nonetheless.

On the night after your wedding, Alicent retreated to her chambers, her heart a swirl of confusion and bitterness. She had braced herself for what she assumed would come next—a knock at her door, a quiet but insistent demand to fulfil the duties of a wife. Viserys had not been cruel, but he had expected certain things from her, things she had learned to accept despite her reluctance. She feared history would repeat itself, that you too would seek an heir, another way to secure this alliance.

But you surprised her.

There was no knock. No intrusion. The silence of her chambers stretched into the night, uninterrupted by any demand or expectation. The following night passed in the same manner, and the one after that. You did not come to her room, did not impose yourself upon her. Instead, you gave her space, a freedom she had not anticipated. It unsettled her at first, the lack of pressure, but slowly, she began to breathe easier.

You treated her with respect, never asking for more than she was willing to give. You allowed her to visit her father in the dungeons, though under strict guard. Each visit left her feeling more conflicted than ever, as Otto, ever the schemer, continued to urge her to find ways to manipulate you, to regain some of the power she had lost. Yet, despite his machinations, you remained distant from those games, patient and steady.

One evening, after another tense meeting with her father, Alicent returned to your chambers, her face drawn and her steps hesitant. She hovered at the threshold, her fingers curling around the door frame. You sat by the fire, a book in hand, your features calm and focused. The warmth of the flames cast soft shadows on the room, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside her.

“I need to speak with you,” she said quietly.

You looked up, closing the book and setting it aside. “Of course. Come in.”

She stepped inside but did not sit, her voice low and uncertain. “My father… he’s still trying to use me. He wants me to manipulate you, to influence Rhaenyra’s decisions. He believes I can sway you.”

You didn’t react with surprise, nor with anger. Instead, you simply nodded, as if you had already expected this. “Thank you for telling me.”

Alicent exhaled, her shoulders sagging slightly with relief. “I don’t want to be used anymore. Not by him. Not by anyone.”

You stood, your expression soft but serious, and approached her with a deliberate slowness, careful not to make her feel cornered. “Alicent, you are not under anyone’s control now—not your father’s, not mine, not anyone’s. I won’t let him use you, and I won’t treat you like a pawn in his or anyone’s schemes.”

She looked up at you, her guarded expression flickering with something close to disbelief. “You… you truly mean that?”

“I do,” you said, your voice firm but gentle. “I never wanted this marriage for power or gain. I have no interest in forcing anything upon you—marital duty or otherwise.I don’t expect anything of you that you’re not willing to give.”

She blinked, her lips parting in surprise. The firelight danced across her face, casting shadows that highlighted the tension in her features. For a moment, there was silence—unspoken words hanging in the air between you, an understanding growing in the space that had long been empty.

Finally, Alicent spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "You... don't want anything from me? Not even—" She hesitated, her words stuck in her throat leading you to shake your head gently. "No," you said, your tone calm. "I don’t expect that from you, unless that is something you desire.” 

Alicent’s brow furrowed, a mix of confusion and hesitation clouding her eyes. “But we are wed,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Isn’t it… isn’t it your right to expect me to fulfil my duty? Is that not what this union is meant to be?”

Your gaze softened as you stepped closer, but still you remained careful not to approach too quickly. “You are not a vessel for duty, Alicent,” you said, your voice firm but gentle. “You are a person, not a means to an end. We are married because it is the only way to allow you peace, and to give our realm stability. Anything within our marriage is based on because you desire it—because we decide it together. Not because you’re bound to some obligation.” 

Alicent stared at you for a long moment, as though searching for something deeper beneath your words. Perhaps a hidden motive, a secret ambition. But all she saw was sincerity. There was no calculated manipulation, no power-hungry intent in your eyes.

Her hand fluttered to her chest, her fingers absently tracing the fine embroidery of her gown. “I never thought… I never thought I’d be free from such burdens,” she whispered. “Not like this.”

You offered her a soft smile, a reassuring one. “Then let’s make this work in a way that brings you peace. I know that it might take time for you to believe that.”

She nodded slowly, as if the weight of your words was beginning to settle. And though she remained distant, there was a subtle shift—a crack in the walls she had built around herself. You didn’t want her to be caged, not even in the gilded prison of a marriage. You wanted her to feel free to breathe, to live her life on her own terms.

In the days that followed, your quiet respect for her space became apparent. She had come to your chambers less frequently, yet when she did, you never pressed her for anything more than conversation or companionship. The two of you would sit together, occasionally exchanging stories of the past, speaking of times before the chaos that had defined both your lives.

One afternoon, as the sun cast long shadows across the chamber, you and Alicent found yourselves engaged in a quiet conversation by the window. The room was filled with a soft, golden light, and for once, it felt peaceful—unnaturally so, in the midst of the court’s usual tumult.

“Do you ever miss it?” she asked, looking out at the gardens below, where the birds fluttered amongst the flowers.

“Miss what?” you asked, your gaze following hers.

“The life before all of this,” she said, her hand resting on the windowsill. “The days before the schemes, the plotting, the weight of responsibility.”

You leaned back against the wall, your gaze drifting to the same view she saw. “I miss the simplicity of it,” you admitted. “But I wouldn’t trade the peace I have now for it. The quiet moments like this. The stillness.”

Alicent was silent for a while, as though considering what you had said. Finally, she turned to face you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You find peace in the simplest of things, don’t you?”

“I try to,” you said softly. “It’s the only way to survive in a world like ours.”

She nodded, though her eyes were filled with an uncertainty that had yet to fully leave her. For years, she had been used to a life filled with turmoil, her mind constantly burdened with the weight of others’ expectations. To be here, in this moment, with a man who did not want to control her, who did not demand anything of her, was a strange feeling—one she had not yet fully understood.

In time, as the days passed, your actions proved your sincerity. You allowed her to breathe, to make her own choices, while still offering her the safety of your protection. You never pressured her, never tried to push her into a role she did not want. And with each passing day, the distance between you lessened, even if only by a fraction.

The Small Council meetings had become more tense ever since your marriage to Alicent. The lords who sat at the table were no fools—they knew the weight of such a union. Whispers circulated through the court that you could no longer be impartial, that your marriage to the widow of the late king would compromise your loyalty to Queen Rhaenyra.

One such meeting came to a head when Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, leaned forward across the table, his brow furrowed. "You have served the queen faithfully for many years, Hand," he began, his voice deep and steady, "but now you are bound to a Hightower. Can we be certain your loyalties remain with the crown, rather than the family that sought to usurp it?"

Eyes turned to you, waiting for your response. The room was heavy with unspoken accusations, but you met them head-on, calm and unflinching.

"My loyalty has always been, and will always remain, with Queen Rhaenyra and the realm," you replied, your voice steady but firm. "I did not marry Lady Alicent for ambition or power. I married her because it was the Queen’s will, to keep the peace and ensure stability. If anyone here doubts my impartiality, let me assure you—my actions have always been for the good of the realm, not for the ambitions of any one family, including my own."

Lord Corlys, while still sceptical, leaned back in his chair, considering your words. The others exchanged glances, but no further accusations were made. Still, you could feel the lingering doubt, the tension in the air. It was a challenge you would have to face repeatedly as long as your marriage remained a topic of interest.

After the meeting, Rhaenyra sought you out, her brow furrowed. "They are suspicious of you," she said quietly, her eyes searching yours for any sign of resentment.

"They have reason to be," you admitted, not denying the reality. "But I will not betray you, my Queen. My marriage to Alicent does not change that."

Rhaenyra smiled, though faintly, and nodded. "I believe you. And that is all that matters to me."

While the realm questioned your loyalty, another tension brewed between you and Alicent. Though you had grown closer, there were still moments when her insecurities resurfaced, especially regarding her role as your wife.

One night, as the two of you sat in your chambers, she turned to you, her voice quiet but strained. “Do you expect me to give you an heir?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I know I am still of childbearing age. You must expect children from me.”

You looked at her, surprised by the question. “Alicent, I do not expect that of you,” you said softly, setting aside the parchment you had been reviewing. “I married you because it was necessary for peace, not because I desired heirs.”

She frowned, her brow furrowed. “Then what do you want from me?”

You sighed, stepping closer but keeping your tone gentle. “What I want is for you to feel free. If you wish to have children, then that is your choice, not mine. But if you do not, I will not hold it against you. I am content to leave my titles to others—your children, or perhaps my nieces and nephews. My duty is to the realm, and to you, as my wife. Not to some legacy of blood."

Her eyes softened, surprise evident in her expression. “You are… different,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Not like the men I’ve known before.”

You offered a small smile. “Is that a good thing?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. It is.”

Over time, the relationship between you and Alicent deepened. Though it was not a marriage of passion, it became one of companionship. You spent evenings together, discussing matters of the realm or simply sharing stories from your past. Occasionally, she would speak of her children—her love for them, her fears for their futures—and you would listen, never judging, always offering comfort.

One evening, as you sat by the fire, Alicent glanced at you, her expression soft. “You’ve always been kind to me,” she said quietly. “Even when I didn’t expect it.”

You met her gaze, your voice gentle. “You deserve more than kindness, Alicent. You deserve peace. And if I can give you that, then I will.”

She smiled—a rare, genuine smile—and for the first time in many years, she felt a warmth she had long since thought lost. The heavy burden of her past was slowly lifting, thanks to the quiet strength and respect you had shown her.

As the months passed, Alicent grew more at ease in her new life. The tension between you eased, replaced by a mutual understanding and trust. She no longer feared manipulation or control, and you respected her autonomy in a way no man had before.

One afternoon, as you both walked through the gardens of the Red Keep, she turned to you with a soft smile. “I never thought I would find peace in marriage again,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “But with you… it feels different. It feels… free.”

You smiled in return, warmth filling your chest. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

For the first time in years, Alicent felt as though she was no longer a pawn in someone else’s game. She was finally allowed to live her own life, with a man who valued her not for her name or her power, but for who she was.

And in that, she had found something she never thought possible—contentment. A new dawn had come, for both of you.

[rlimagi]

When Everything Else Becomes Too Much

Pairing: Bridget x reader

Requested?: Yes!

Genre: Angst and Fluff!

Warnings: sad Bridget

Note: Another Bridget one because I love her sm and many of you guys asked me to write more for her, so here you go<3

You and Bridget had always been by each other's side sine elementary school, she was your go to person for everything and you were hers. There was a bond of deep understanding and love between you and the princess of Wonderland.

Which was why you were the first person she came to after everything and everyone else became too much.

You were alone in your room, going through your Magical History notes since exam season was coming up when you heard someone knocking on your door.

Immediately, you knew it was Bridget because she was the only person in the whole school who knew how to knock. Most of your friends would barge in your room like it was their own.

You were immediately met with a bone crushing hug as soon as you opened the door. You breathed in the sweet smell of her candy scented perfume as you melted into the hug.

"Hey there, pretty girl." You muttered as you wrapped your arms around her waist. Bridget stayed quiet as she nuzzled into your neck. She was never that quiet so you knew that something bad must've happened to make her so upset.

"Alright, we can talk whenever you feel like talking...but we really should head inside instead of standing in the middle of the hallway." You waited until she nodded before locking her hands into yours and leading her into your room.

Bridget sighed as she settled into your soft blankets, basically drowning in your plushies as you tugged her in. “I know that you were planning to study all day and I'm sorry for distracting yo-”

"No, you'd never be a distraction." You reassured her with a soft smile before lifting her hands up and placed a gentle kiss on them. You enjoyed watching how her face reddened up whenever you do those simple but loving gestures.

“Now tell me what got you so upset, do I need to beat someone up?” You said jokingly, giving her a cheeky grin when she sent you a reprimanding look.

Bridget shook her head before pulling you onto the bed, yearning for the comfort of your body. “No, please don’t. I don’t want to see you in detention for me again.”

Bridget was the nicest person ever, even to people who never deserved her kindest. Especially Uliana and her gangs of delinquents, you had a long and violent history with them. Detention was your second home at that point but it didn’t matter because you would always win and you got the girl too.

“Alright, fine I won’t…though I would be up for it if you ever change your mind?” You chuckled as she leaned onto your shoulder, your arms wrapped around hers as she played with your hair.

A few minutes of silence passed before Bridget finally spoke up.

“Am I weak?” Bridget asked, her eyes bubbling up with tears as she looked at you with such vulnerable eyes. It made you upset knowing the exact person who made her felt like that, but you couldn’t get them yet because Bridget needed you the most.

“No, of course not. You’re the strongest person I know.” You gently used your hands to wipe her tears away as she sat in silence before looking at you with sparkling eyes.

“Really? Because everyone else seems to think that I’m a pushover…I try so hard to get them to like me, I offer them treats, I let them copy of my homework, and I never said anything when they talked about me behind my back…” Bridget wasn’t able to stop her tears from falling anymore, she was hurt by all the things people had said behind her back but she never wanted it to bother her.

“Yeah, they’re right. I’m a total pushover.”

Bridget would always say that we get more with sugar than salt but today, everything and everyone was too much. But you were the only one she felt like she could never get enough of.

“And what’s so bad about being a pushover? Your kindness is why you’re so strong because no matter how vile and mean people can get, you would never stoop to their level.” You said as you locked your hands into hers firmly. Looking at her gently as you continued to ramble on.

“Like Uliana for example, that girl can’t breathe without ruining someone’s day-“

Bridget watched as you continued on with so much passion, it made her heart flutter by the way you reassured her with so much love. It felt like time had slowed down for her because all she could focus on were your lips.

“You know how hard that is for me to not fight back when Uliana barks in my ear every time we see each other? But you’re so natural at it because you’re patient, forgiving, and extremely strong. That’s what I love about you and you should love yourself for that reason too.” You didn’t even notice that you’ve been talking for so long because you got so riled up just thinking about all the people that had done your girlfriend wrong.

“Thank you, baby. I really needed to hear that.” Bridget’s frown finally turned upside down and she pulled you into another hug but it was much softer this time, it made you feel like you’re on top of the world after seeing that she felt much better.

“Of course, anytime sweetheart.” You smiled as you gently kissed her on her forehead, running your hair through her soft pink hair.

Without another second wasted, Bridget wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled your face closer to hers. Your eyes were met with a pair of loving gaze as she leaned in, you’ve kissed Bridget many times but she never failed to make your heart flutter every single time.

When Bridget’s lips met yours, it felt like fireworks were blowing up inside of her body and all she could care about was the girl who made her feel that way.

[pyrodolls]

I love that Bayani is so damn clingy, but I would never confess that to him.

If we were unfaithful to him, would he still be with us?

if you were unfaithful (superfan! yandere oc x popstar! reader)

warnings: slight nsfw, mentions of vomit, cheating, death, stalking, depression, slight worshipper yandere, established relationship, lowercase intended, reader is gender neutral

a/n: hey guys peep the new acc layout and username omgggg! anyways thanks for all the birthday messages and also update on the bsf drama: i don't know for SURE if she's dating him, cuz she posted the picture of my ex but his face wasn't showing and the caption was talking abt her bf... so maybe she just HAPPENED to use that picture of my ex and the caption was talking about a whole different dude??? idk maybe im just delusional LMAOO but yeah i'm still friends with her cuz she's a total sweetheart and i'm sure it was just a coincidence. anyways sorry for taking such a long break, heres some bayani hcs!! btw guys... just between you and me... i too, am down bad for bayani and love how clingy he is. bring back kind and clingy men instead of men texting you "wyll" on snapchat

if you were unfaithful to bayani, he would most likely find out through the internet.

bayani is obsessed with you in every single way. so if he couldn’t be with you physically, he’d stalk you through the paparazzi or fans recording your concerts.

there was one concert that bayani unfortunately couldn’t attend. so he simply watched it through a fan’s livestream online. that’s how he noticed another popstar on stage with you. the crowd went wild and started screaming. the arena shook with the vibrations of your fans. the popstar with you started to sing and dance next to you. bayani was always jealous of anyone that got to be around you when he couldn’t, but this was different. the popstar on the stage with you was rumored to be dating you. fans on the internet had been speculating about your relationship for months, claiming that you two were “soulmates” and “secretly dating.”

it made bayani’s blood boil. but he knew it was bound to happen at some point, since you would often rant to him about how suffocating fame could be. he knew it wasn’t your fault. he wasn’t mad at you at all. he knew you still cared about him.

but the song ended, and the popstar next to you wrapped their arms around your body and connected their lips to yours.

the crowd started screaming once more, and the person recording the performance dropped their phone. bayani couldn’t see what was going on.

plus, the livestream was blurry so he couldn’t tell if you were pleased with the popstar’s advances or not.

either way, bayani dropped his phone and threw up.

the minute you arrived home from the concert, bayani ran up to you and grabbed onto your waist, clutching it desperately.

“was what i saw real? are you with that popstar now? are you saying the rumors i saw online were true? i tried to ignore them because i know how your fans can be, but still…” bayani babbled, crying as he spoke and his words slowly became unintelligible.

whether you were interested in the popstar or not didn’t matter. bayani would be on his knees, pleading for an explanation. he would spiral into a pit of self-deprecation, thinking he wasn’t good enough for you, so you went off with someone more attractive and more talented than him. he wouldn’t blame you at all. he wouldn’t be mad at you at all. he’d be mad at himself for not pleasing you enough.

if you weren’t interested in the popstar and it was simply a publicity stunt, you would have to gently hold bayani in your arms to calm him down and explain. he would be SO relieved. he’d still be upset, though. he would be relieved that you’re still interested in him, but he’d also be jealous someone got to kiss and hold you in front of millions of people. bayani would never tell you that, though. he’d try to suck it up and pretend that he’s cool with it, but you can tell he’s really upset (he’s a terrible liar) and you would have to reassure him that you’ll never do it again.

if you WERE interested in the popstar… uh wtf are you doing here?? jkjk but if you were actually dating the popstar, bayani would be crushed. he would probably beg you to stay with him and forget about the popstar, but he'd ultimately fail to convince you. he’s desperate, but he isn’t stubborn. if you rejected him over and over as he begged, he’d get the hint and leave you alone. he just wants you to be happy. as much as he hated seeing you with someone else, he’d want you to live your life however you want.

if you left him, bayani would fall into a deep depression, thinking he failed you. he would never be happy again. he would hate himself for messing up what could've been his perfect life. he could’ve been with you. he could’ve lived happily ever after as your servant for the rest of his life, but he wasn't good enough for you. even though you were the unfaithful one, he’d still believe you were the one in the right. it would haunt him for the rest of his life until he died.