#even here ten is taking something from her . and framing it as her giving it up of her own accord

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER TEN ━━ The Introduction

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 5.9K

❀ ━ warnings: allusions to sex, alcohol consumption

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: hehe

IT’S FRIDAY, December 2nd, and UConn just annihilated Providence. Jo played out of her mind, as she always does. Of course, Paige is proud. Of course she is. But both her performance and the team win can’t really make this might feel like a victory for Paige to bask in. 

Currently, she’s standing in Nika’s kitchen, staring down at the cup full of Everclear in her hand. The liquid inside is dangerous, too strong for her, and yet she’s already downed three or four shots. She doesn’t even like it. In fact, she usually avoids this shit like the plague. But tonight, it’s the only thing she can think of to numb her, the only thing that might be able to quiet the anxious, suffocating storm inside her chest.

It’s almost laughable, really, how predictable she is. How every time Jo does something—breathes, laughs, smiles—Paige feels like she’s suffocating just a little more. It’s insane. They’re best friends. They’ve been living together since May. She’s seen every side of Jo—the silly, the serious, the completely ridiculous.

Well, every side except the one she shares with Asher.

Because Paige still hasn’t met him.

She’s seen all the pictures, of course—the one’s on Jo’s Instagram, the one that Jo has as her lock screen, the one framed in Jo’s family’s house back in Boston, the one perched on Jo’s desk in their apartment. She hears about him a God awful lot, too. She’s seen Jo text him, call him. She’s listened to Jo gush about him and their future while Paige is just… there. Watching Listening. Seeing Jo get lost in that perfect, fairytale love that Paige will never be a part of.

The rest of the team, on the other hand, have already met the damn boy. Back in October, while Paige was in LA rehabbing, he’d come up to visit Jo, and they’d met him. And, of course, they all informed Paige of how kind and charming and absolutely perfect for Jo he was.

And, tonight, it seems that Paige has finally met her dues. Because he’s coming to Ted’s with Jo, to hang out with the team.

Okay, it’s not that Paige wants to hate Asher. He hasn’t done anything to her, not really. She just doesn’t want to see it. Doesn’t want to see the joy and adoration in Jo’s eyes when she’s with him. Doesn’t want to see her look at someone else the way she’ll never look at Paige.

That’s why she’s standing here in Nika’s kitchen, holding the cup of Everclear like it’s a lifeline. She’s downed drink after drink, trying to numb herself before the night really starts. She needs something to take the edge off. Anything to make the world feel a little less sharp, a little less raw.

So, Paige reaches for the bottle again, pouring herself another cup, her hand unsteady from the alcohol already coursing through her veins. She doesn’t even care that she’s probably about to get way too drunk to function. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Not when she’s about to experience first-hand the perfect, romcom, movie-like romance of Jo and Asher.

As Paige pours the drink, she doesn’t even hear Caroline approach. It’s not until the sophomore’s hand wraps around her wrist that Paige jerks back, spilling some of the alcohol across the counter. “Bro!” she exclaims, frustration creeping into her voice as she whips her head to glare at Caroline. “What the hell?”

Caroline narrows her eyes, and the look she gives Paige is one of irritation, not amusement. “What are you doing?” she demands, voice tight. “You’re gonna be wasted before we even get to Ted’s. Besides, you don’t even like this shit!” She gestures to the bottle of Everclear in Paige’s hand, her gaze pointed.

Paige rolls her eyes. “Nah, don’t do that with me, Carol,” she says, her voice flat and cold, the words rolling off her tongue like venom. “I’m older than you. If you wanna mother someone, go find the freshmen.”

Caroline doesn’t flinch at Paige’s outburst. Instead, she just rolls her eyes back, her expression practically dripping with exasperation. Then, with one swift motion, she gives Paige a quick shove on the shoulder, a mockery of affection that’s meant to get her attention but only serves to make Paige more frustrated. “No,” Caroline says, her tone laced with that same tired edge. “I’m gonna mother because clearly you need it!”

The words land like a slap, stinging more than Paige expects. Yes, she knows she’s not being entirely responsible, but also—when has she been? It’s sort of in her nature to be irresponsible, so she’s not sure how this is any different. But is is. And she doesn’t even know why.

There’s a long pause. Too long. It stretches between them like a chasm, and Paige can feel the moment hanging in the air like it’s about to swallow her whole. She thinks Caroline might be done. She thinks the conversation might be over.

But it’s not. Caroline is not finished.

“Look,” the brunette says, her voice gentler now, but still firm. “I know you’re, like, totally in love with Jo and all, but please, Paige, get yourself together.”

Almost instantly, Paige stills. It’s as if the entire world falls silent in an instant. The sound of her pulse fills her ears, louder than anything else. Her mind goes blank for a moment, and then the words slowly filter through. Caroline knows. Paige has been so careful recently to pretend, pretend, pretend. But Caroline’s still seen through it.

Fuck.

“Wha—? How did you know that?” Paige’s voice comes out high-pitched, more frantic than she wants it to be. She feels like she’s suffocating, like she’s about to drown in the truth that’s just been laid bare. “Did Azzi tell you? Aubrey?” The thought of anyone else but the two of them knowing, of anyone else seeing what she’s been trying to hide, is bad. It’s what Paige imagines standing in front of a crowded room, naked, while everyone stares at her would feel like.

Caroline gives her a look. “No, dumbass,” she deadpans. “I figured it out myself. You’re not very subtle.”

As if it were possible, Paige’s stomach seems to drop even more at the simplicity of it all. Because Caroline’s right, just as Aubrey and Azzi both had been. Paige isn’t subtle. She never has been. The way she looks at Jo, the way her face burns every time Jo smiles at her, the way she seems to track everything Jo doesn’t without even meaning to—none of it is subtle.

She groans, a frustrated sound that escapes her before she can stop it. She leans forward, her palms flat against the counter as she rests her forehead against the cool surface. She’s so tired. Tired of pretending, tired of fighting the feeling that never goes away. And now, with Caroline’s words hanging before her, she knows it’s probably only a matter of time before Jo figured it out, too. Before Jo realizes what Paige has been hiding, and everything goes to shit. Jesus Christ, she’s gonna have to transfer.

Caroline doesn’t let the silence linger for too long, though. “Okay, yeah,” she says, her voice softening a little. “I know it sucks. I get it.” She takes a deep breath, and Paige can hear the sympathy in her voice, the understanding. “And I’m sorry you have to see Jo with Asher while you like her. But, please, get yourself together. Because she’s so excited for you to meet him, and if you’re drunk off your mind when you do, you’re probably just gonna embarrass yourself and her. Do you wanna do that?”

Caroline’s right. Of course she is. Paige can imagine herself meeting Asher, entirely wasted, and saying some stupid shit that would have him grimacing at her and Jo flushing with embarrassment over the fact that this drunk girl before them is supposed to be her best friend. It would be wrong and selfish to do that. But it’s gonna be so hard to do it and act normal. She knows she swore she would take Jo in whatever way she’ll give her—and she still stands by that—but that doesn’t mean she has any desire to meet her boyfriend. Because she just doesn’t. She’s truly not sure she can. 

She doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she just stays there, head pressed against the counter, trying to will sway the stupid, hot tears that begin to form in her eyes. She can’t cry here. It’s fucking stupid.

Eventually, after blinking the tears away, Paige begrudgingly shakes her head. “No,” she mutters under her breath, the words barely audible. “I don’t wanna do that.”

Caroline pats her on the back. “That’s what I thought.”

PAIGE LISTENS. She’s being good. She’s only slightly tipsy, every so often taking sips of her Dirty Shirley. She’s doing her best to integrate herself into the team’s conversation around her, despite her uncharacteristic anxiousness. She tries to will her gaze to stop flicking toward the door. It doesn’t work; her mind is already rehearsing every possible scenario when Jo and Asher walk in.

“Aye, JoJo just said they should be here any minute!” Ice says loudly, reading a text off her phone. The rest of the team, half-fueled by the alcohol running through their bloodstream, lets out a few cheers.

Azzi, who’s across from Paige and who Paige can tell is almost entirely sober, meets her eyes. She title her head, giving her a look as if to say you good? The blonde gives her a tight nod. She will be good. She’s gonna keep it together, it’ll be fine. It’s just one night, one introduction. After that, she can pretend none of it matters. She doesn’t need to be anywhere near Asher.

But even as she tells herself that, her pulse begins to quicken, the seconds ticking by too slowly as she waits for the pair to walk through that door. And, when they finally do, it’s not the way she thought it would be. She expected her heart to sink, her breath to catch, but what happens instead is worse. Her skin tingles, and her chest feels too tight, like her ribs are being squeezed, her lungs struggling for air. Jo walks in first, her laugh ringing out across the bar like it’s some beautiful melody that Paige can’t stop hearing. And then there’s Asher, in the flesh, right behind her. His arm is casually draped over Jo’s shoulder, and the two of them look so natural, so right together that it makes Paige feel like she’s been hit with a sucker punch to the gut.

They’re happy. It’s blatantly obvious in the way they move together, the way Asher’s hand rests lightly on Jo’s shoulder, the way they share that easy, carefree smile, as if nothing in the world could ruin this moment for them. Paige’s vision sharpens, the edge of the bar blurring as the urge to shrink away into herself rises up like an overwhelming tide. She wants to leave, to disappear, to drink so much she blacks out and dies.

But she doesn’t. Obviously.

Jo and Asher head straight toward the team, where they stand in the back corner. Paige forces herself to appear nonchalant like always, her back pressed against the bar wall, her fingers gripping the edge of her drink. The others begin to greet the pair quickly, all laughing and chatting with him so easily and fast it almost gives Paige whiplash. Within a minute, he already fits in so seamlessly—and Paige hates if. She hates the way he’s making them all laugh, the way he’s charming without even trying, the way everyone seems to like him so easily. Things would be so much easier for Paige if he was just some shitty douchebag boy.

But then Jo’s eyes find hers, that smile spreading across her face, and all thoughts of the boy flee for a short moment. It’s that smile only for her, only for Paige. She’s reserved it.

Paige feels her heart leap, an automatic reaction that she can’t stop, especially with alcohol in her system. She doesn’t know if Jo can see it, the way her face softens at the sight of her, but Paige knows her smile is already in place, even if it feels a little strained, like her cheeks might crack under the pressure.

Paige watches as Jo grabs onto Asher’s wrist, pulling him so they’re both face to face with Paige. “Paige! This is Asher!” she exclaims excitedly, and it’s adorable, it really is, the way her doe eyes shine at Paige, twinkling.

With some effort, the blonde forces her gaze from Jo to the boy beside her. “Hey, bro,” Paige says, her voice coming out a little higher than she intended, but she doesn’t let it show. She forces the words out, the greeting she’s practiced a thousand times too many.

“Nice to meet you,” she adds. It’s a lie. Of course.

Asher nods, his hand extending to shake hers. It makes everything inside Paige write. He’s not just some asshole she can dismiss; he’s the guy who makes Jo happy. And in the face of that, what does Paige have to offer? Absolutely nothing.

“Yeah, you too,” Asher replies, his smile wide, genuine. Fuck, he really is likable. It makes everything worse. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Stupidly, Paige can feel her heart skip a beat. He’s heard about her. Jo’s talked about her. The thought of it makes her skin flush, and she glances at Jo, who’s standing just a little too close to Asher, her eyes sparkling. There’s a faint blush on her cheeks, just enough for Paige to notice.

Hm.

Jo’s talked about her. Jo’s talked about her. It’s an absurdly stupid thing to obsess over, because, yes, it would only make sense that Jo has talked about her. They’re roommates, for God’s sakes.

But then, just as quickly, it all comes rushing back—the overwhelming knowledge that it just doesn’t matter. Because Jo has Asher.

Paige’s hand in tightens slightly around her drink, and she forces her smile to stay in place. “I bet,” she says, before gesturing to Jo. “She’s a yapper.”

Asher’s grin widens, and he nods in agreement. He glances down at Jo for a moment, and Paige can see the faint sparkle in his own eyes. It makes her sick. “Yeah, she is,” he chuckles. Of course he would know that. He knows everything. Certainly more than Paige (except how to make a girl cum—though, at this point, she supposes it can’t even apply to the situation). But he’s been there. For everything. Since the fucking sandbox days. It’s not something Paige can even remotely compete with.

She needs another drink.

JO SITS awkwardly in the booth at Ted’s, wedged between Asher and Paige. It’s not even that the space is tight—there’s room enough for the three of them, probably room for one more—but the proximity feels off, almost claustrophobic. She shifts in her seat, feeling the edge of Asher’s knee against hers, and Paige’s shoulder brushing lightly against her own. All of it—the heat from their bodies, the weight of their presence—is somehow making her feel small, like there’s no space for her in this conversation.

Asher, ever the extrovert, is holding court with Paige, talking on and on about college football rankings and how Penn State (where he goes to school) is sure to win their bowl game. Jo tries to listen and engage, but the topic doesn’t interest her. Basketball is far superior to football. But she still follows along, because Asher’s so into it, so excited to share his thoughts, and Paige—who, as usual, is completely unfazed by the world around her—responds with that ease that always leaves Jo wanting more.

Jo feels herself sinking lower in the booth, staring at her drink. It’s a cranberry vodka, something that feels sweet on her tongue. She takes another sip—maybe too quickly—and feels the alcohol warm her from the inside out. It helps dull the growing discomfort, but it doesn’t erase it. The tightness in her chest persists, a strange, insistent thing that makes her shift again, trying to find a way to make herself comfortable.

She doesn’t know why she feels this way. She should be happy. She should be enjoying this. After all, she’s the one who was so eager to introduce Asher and Paige, so excited to see her favorite people meet and get along. So why does it feel… wrong now? Why does it feel like she doesn’t belong?

It’s not jealousy. No, not even close. She’s fine with Asher and Paige talking. She’s good with it. She wants them to like each other. She’s been waiting for this, hoping for it. But still… the weight of their conversation feels like it’s too much for her to hear, even if she can’t articulate why. It’s the way they’re so at ease with each other, like they’ve known each other for years, and Jo feels like she’s just a spectator, stuck in the middle. Paige is talking about football like she’s always been passionate about it, and Jo wonders if she even really cares or if she’s just being her usual, charismatic self, making everyone around her feel like they’re the most important person in the room.

She doesn’t know why this feels so weird, so odd. It’s almost as if the booth is too small for the three of them, like either Asher of Paige needs to move out of it so Jo can finally breathe again. She just doesn’t get it.

Asher keeps talking, oblivious to the tension knotting in Jo’s stomach. She can tell he’s enjoying himself, that he’s happy to be here, happy to be connecting with Paige. He’s wanted to ever since he’s realized how close she and Jo are, not to mention the fact that he’s a big fan of Paige’s game—which, valid. And Paige, of course, is just as nonchalant as always. She’s good at this—at making people feel seen and heard, like she’s the only person in the room that matters.

Jo tries to keep her smile in place, but she knows it’s not quite reaching her eyes. Every time Paige laughs, it hits something inside her she can’t explain, some quiet ache. Every time Asher leans in closer to Paige, every time they lock eyes, Jo feels a small, gnawing discomfort in the pit of her stomach. Not jealousy, just… something else. Something she doesn’t want to name.

Paige’s voice cuts through her thoughts, and Jo snaps back to the moment. “I’mma go get another Shirley,” the blonde says easily, pushing herself up from the booth. Jo watches her walk away, feeling a strange sense of relief mixed with the sudden urge to grab Paige’s hand and pull her right back. So weird.

Asher’s voice suddenly cuts through the murmur of chatter, causing Jo’s head to snap toward him. He’s looking at her now, his brow furrowed in that way he gets when he’s concerned. “Babe, you good? You been kinda, like… quiet?”

Jo forces a smile, the expression coming easy enough but feeling unnatural on her lips. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and she can feel it, can feel the way he’s watching her, sensing something is off. Why am I being like this? She doesn’t know.

“Yeah, let’s go dance,” she says, the words sounding too breezy. Asher doesn’t seem to notice, though, his smile brightening. He takes her hand in his, tugging her up from the booth.

They make their way to the dance floor, and Jo feels the heat of the crowd, the heavy bass that vibrates in her chest. She tries to lose herself in it, tries to let the rhythm take over. Asher’s hands find her waist, guiding her gently, pulling her closer as they fall into the music. She moves with him, tries to feel the warmth of his body, the comfort of being with him. It’s weird, though, because the steps feel a little too quick, like she’s trying to make her body fit the rhythm of something that feels off.

Her gaze drifts without meaning to. It’s not even something she consciously does, it just happens, as her eyes scan the room, taking in the crowd of people. And then, they land at the bar.

Paige is there, talking with someone Jo doesn’t recognize at first. But when she squints her eyes, trying to make sense of the redhead leaning over the counter, she realizes it’s Celeste. She watches, captivated for reasons she doesn’t understand, as Celeste leans in closer to Paige, her fingers brushing along Paige’s arm. Jo doesn’t really like that. She should stop watching.

But she doesn’t. And the longer she stares, the more that strange feelings gnaws at her. She can’t tear her gaze away, even though she tries. It’s weird and wrong, Jo knows, watching her best friend cook up her nightly fuck—because, surely, that’s what this is.

And then, just as if she’s been caught, Paige’s eyes meet here. Jo feels her heart skip a beat. Her cheeks instantly flush, her gaze jerking away from Paige’s with an awkwardness she doesn’t understand.

Bur when she dares to glance back, she finds Paige still looking at her, her gaze steady, unwavering. There’s something about the way Paige is staring, like she’s waiting for Jo to react, to do something, anything. Jo feels herself shift uneasily under that gaze, her skin heating as though she’s been caught in something she shouldn’t have been.

She looks away again, closing her eyes briefly as she tries to focus more intently on the movement of Asher’s hands on her hips, on the way he’s leading her in a slow circle. She tries to focus on the feel of his body close to hers, tries to drown out the memory of Paige’s eyes. But Jo’s thoughts are all scattered, her focus slipping like sand through her fingers.

The music changes, the beat shifting, becoming more sensual, slower. Asher leans in closer, his lips brushing against Jo’s ear, and he whispers in that low voice that always makes her shiver, “You wanna go back to yours?”

Jo nods automatically, because, yes, she really needs to leave this place.

As they move through the crowd, heading for the exit, Jo sneaks one last glance at the bar. She’s hoping for something—she doesn’t even know what—but Paige’s attention is elsewhere, focused on Celeste now. Jo feels a pang, but it’s fleeting, and she brushes it off with a shrug, tightening her grip on Asher’s hand.

“I’MMA GO get another Shirley,” Paige says, pushing herself out of the booth before either Jo or Asher can respond. She’s already halfway out by the time the words fully register with them, and she doesn’t wait to hear what they might say. For obvious reasons, talking to Asher has drained her. They’ve been going on and on about football, and it just got to a point. Not to mention the fact that Jo was between them, the whole right side of her body pressed against Asher, his arm casually slung over her shoulders.

Paige tries not to think too hard about it. She’s fine. She’s so fine, in fact, that she decides she needs another drink.

The bar is crowded, but Paige carves her way through the bodies easily. She leans against the counter, resting her forearms on the sticky surface as she flags down the bartender. She orders another Dirty Shirley, and then a shot of tequila because, well, it’s just one of those nights.

Paige exhales and lets herself sink into the moment—the crowd, the pounding bass of the music, the buzz of alcohol in her system. She tries to think about anything but the happy couple she’d been forced to hang out with for far longer than she’d planned.

Her drink arrives, the tequila shot placed next to it. She picks up the shot glass without hesitation, throwing it back quickly. The burn hits her immediately, sharp and biting, but she welcomes it. She needs it. The glass clinks against the bar as she sets it down, and she picks up her Shirley, sipping it to chase the tequila’s lingering heat.

“Hey, P,” a voice says from beside her, catching her off guard.

Paige turns, her brown furrowing for a split second before her expression smooths out. It’s Celeste. Of course.

“Hey,” Paige says casually, as if the sight of the redhead doesn’t throw her a little off balance for a moment. She’s not surprised Celeste is here—she’s always around. She’s also not surprised when Celeste slides closer, her lips curving into a smile that Paige knows all too well.

“You celebrating the win?” Celeste asks, her voice light, flirtatious. Paige has to give her credit, if she’s honest, because, really, this girl never gives up, no matter how hot and cold Paige is.

And, if Paige is even more honest, Celeste looks good. Better than good. She’s wearing some kind of black corset top that pushes her tits up in a way that’s impossible not to notice, her bright red hair perfectly blown out, and her makeup flawless even in the hazy lighting of Ted’s.

“Something like that,” Paige replies, her words accompanied by a small shrug. She takes another sip of her drink, letting the alcohol settle over her like a warm blanket.

Celeste doesn’t waste any time. She leans forward, her hand brushing against Paige’s arm in a way that’s calculated. “You looked good on the bench tonight. I posted a couple shots that the cameras got of you,” she says lowly.

Paige nearly snorts at the words—you looked good on the bench tonight. That’s what she’s been reduced to, a pretty bench-warmer, too injured and useless to be anywhere but on it. But she doesn’t laugh. Because she knows exactly what Celeste is doing. And under normal circumstances, she might be annoyed—Celeste has a habit of getting too attached, of acting like there’s more between them than there really is. But tonight, Paige is a little drunk, a little tired, and more than a little tempted to let herself fall into the distraction Celeste is offering. She was already planning on fucking someone tonight, and Celeste? Well, she’s right here, looking like that. Why not?

So, Paige smiles, tilting her head just slightly, enough to give the redhead the impression that she’s been hooked. “Yeah?” she says playfully, teasingly. “Didn’t know you were paying that much attention.”

Celeste laughs a little, leaning even closer, and Paige can feel the way her fingers linger on her arm. She plays along, letting herself fall into the conversation, the push and pull of flirtation. It’s easier to think about other things.

But, of course, somehow, her focus still seems to slip.

Over Celeste’s shoulder, Paige catches a glimpse of the dance floor. Her eyes find Jo and Asher almost instantly, like she was looking for them without even realizing it. They’re dancing, their bodies close, their smiles easy. They look happy. They look like they belong together. And it makes Paige want to puke.

She tries to look away, tries to focus on Celeste, on the warmth of her hand still on her arm, on the sharp curve of her smile. But she can’t. Her eyes keep drifting back to Jo, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

And then, suddenly, Jo looks over. Their eyes meet across the room, and Celeste blurs into the background beside Paige like she was never even there. Paige should look away, should stop staring. But she doesn’t. Her eyes stay locked on Jo’s, rooted there.

But then Jo breaks the connection, her gaze shifting away, and Paige is left staring at nothing. She feels an idiotic pang, and forced herself to take another sip of her drink.

Celeste seems to notice, her head turning to follow Paige’s line of sight. Her eyes land on Jo and Asher, and she tilts her head as she turns back to Paige. “Is that Jo’s boyfriend?” she asks.

Paige nods. “Yup. His name’s Asher.” She forces her voice to sound calm and unaffected, even though saying his name feels like she’s choking on something too sharp to swallow.

Celeste hums slowly in response. She pauses for a moment, and Paige can feel her gaze, sharp and curious, boring into her. “So… you and Jo are, like, best friends, right?” Her tone is casual, but there’s something suspicious laced beneath it, like she’s fishing for something Paige doesn’t want to give.

Paige nods again, slower this time, turning her head to glance at Celeste. “Yeah…” she says, the word dragging out of her like it takes effort to say. She wonders where this is going.

“Well,” Celeste begins, tipping her shot glass back and setting it down with a faint clink. “I ask her about you sometimes, and she never really gives me a clear answer. I can tell she tries to be nice to me, but it doesn’t really seem like she likes me much.”

Paige raises an eyebrow at that, her instinct to defend Jo kicking in automatically. “Nah, Jo likes everyone,” she says, waving Celeste off with a dismissive hand. And it’s true—Jo does like everyone.

But Celeste shakes her head, her red hair catching the light. “I don’t know,” she says thoughtfully. “For a while, I kinda thought you and her were a thing.”

The words hit Paige like a slap, and she chokes on the sip of her Shirley she just took, coughing as she sets her glass down hard on the bar. “What—?” she manages to get out, her voice rough and disbelieving. Her heart is pounding so loudly in her chest she’s sure Celeste can hear it.

Celeste shrugs, her expression almost too nonchalant, like she knows exactly what kind of chaos she’s causing. “Yeah. I mean, I guess I just kinda got that vibe. But if she’s got a boyfriend and we’ve fucked a couple times recently… I guess I was wrong.”

Paige blinks at her, wide-eyed. “You definitely were,” she says quickly, the words tumbling out too fast, too eager to set the record straight. Her face is flushed, and she can feel the heat crawling up her neck. “We’re just friends. Nothing more. At all.”

The words feel heavy in her mouth, bitter and thick. They’re not a lie, no matter how much Paige sometimes wishes it could be.

She doesn’t miss the way Celeste studies her, her green eyes narrowing slightly, like she’s trying to figure out if Paige is telling the truth. Paige hates how exposed she feels, like someone on the outside—someone as far removed as Celeste—can somehow sense the mess of feelings she’s been trying so hard to bury.

She forces herself to take a large gulp of her Shirley, the alcohol doing little to ease the tightness in her stomach. When she glanced back at the dance floor, her eyes automatically searched for Jo, she realizes that she’s—and Asher—are gone from their previous spot.

Her gaze flickers around the bar, scanning the corners, but they’re nowhere to be found. Probably went to go fuck, she thinks bitterly. Even though she has insight now that Asher is basically terrible at it, the idea still makes Paige want to die.

But she doesn’t. Obviously.

Instead, she finishes the last of her drink, turning her attention back to the girl next to her, forcing her signature smirk back onto her lips. Jo’s gone, busy with him, and Paige doesn’t owe anyone anything.

She leans into the conversation, matching Celeste’s flirtation with her own, their banter growing looser and bolder with each drink they down. The alcohol is certainly doing it’s job, blurring the edges of her thoughts, making everything feel distant and less painful.

Unexpectedly, Paige ends up in Celeste’s bed. And, also unexpectedly, she thinks about brown hair and doe eyes during the entirety of it.

JO LIES tangled in the sheets with Asher, her head resting on his bare chest, his arm wrapped around her back. It’s around four, she thinks, and the world outside feels impossibly quiet at this hour, the kind of stillness that comes only in the dead of night. Asher’s fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along her shoulder, his touch featherlight and soothing.

The haze of the night has mostly worn off now—the alcohol burned away by time, replaced by a comfortable clarity that feels almost foreign after hours of noise and chaos. It’s just the two of them now, alone in her room, their breaths in sync, the moment easy and weightless and familiar.

Jo closes her eyes, letting herself drift in the warmth of his presence, but her mind doesn’t quiet as easily as her body does. It’s almost like something beneath the surges won’t let her fully settle. It’s not unease, exactly. Not suspicion. Just… something. A restlessness she can’t name.

“Okay, I gotta piss,” Asher says suddenly, breaking the silence.

Jo snorts, her eyes fluttering open as she turns her head to look up at him. “Way to ruin the moment,” she teases, though her voice is laced with affection.

Asher grind down at her, unapologetic as he shifts, moving to sit up on the edge of the bed. “Nature calls,” he jokes. He starts to stand, but Jo catches his wrist, tugging him back down for just a second.

“Put some clothes on first,” she reminds him. “Paige got back a little bit ago.” She’d heard the door open, the quiet shuffle of footsteps as Paige made her way to her room. It was probably a half an hour ago, maybe less, and Jo had listened, wondering how Paige’s night had gone, whether she’d been alone or gone back with the team or left with Celeste.

Asher groans playfully, leaning down to peck Jo’s lips. “I will, I will,” he promises, his voice low and warm.

Jo rolls her eyes but can’t help the soft laugh truth escapes her. “You’d better,” she says, swatting lightly at his bare chest.

He smirks before gathering his clothes from the floor. Jo watches him for a moment, her head propped on her hand, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself. He looks good, his hair messy, his lips still swollen pink from all the kissing. And he’s here—he’s always been hers. She knows she should feel lucky.

When he leaves the bedroom to disappear into the bathroom, Jo sighs and sits up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. The cool air against her skin makes her shiver, so she grabs the first things she can find—a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from her drawer. She pulls them on quickly, then settles back on the bed, folding her legs beneath her as she waits for Asher to return.

The sharp buzz of a phone notification catches her attention, the sound loud in the quiet.

Instinctively, Jo reaches over to the nightstand, assuming it’s hers. She picks up the phone without thinking, the screen lighting up in her hand—and stops short.

The message isn’t hers.

Her heart stills in her chest, her breath halting for a moment as she stares at the screen. Without thinking, she presses on the contact, scrolling and scrolling and scrolling, unraveling everything she thought she knew in an instant.

She doesn’t notice the sound of the bathroom door opening, doesn’t register Asher’s footsteps until they’re right at her bedroom door.

And then she hears his voice, soft and unsuspecting. “What’s wrong?”

[theladyfae]

42 / lost brilliance, rita dove

[notlongtolove]

in the woods

three photos. three crime scenes. three notes. slowly, then all at once, it hits you. you know these words. you’ve read these words before. why do you know these words? where have you read them before? this work is part of the little red cap series

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

genre: fluff?

content: very brief mentions of a crime scene and blood. lit student reader helps spencer put together a clue he missed.

word count: 2.6k

note: this idea was truly so random but if you like it and are interested to see a p2 that includes her meeting the team feel free to lmk! i would love to develop this story but im having mad writers block rn lol anyways the linked poem is amazing, one of my favourites.

a line: Spencer Reid hardly swears, if ever, but the next words out of his mouth are nothing short of explicit.

But then I was young – and it took ten years In the woods to tell that a mushroom Stoppers the mouth of a buried corpse, that birds Are the uttered thought of trees, that a greying wolf Howls the same old song at the moon, year in, year out- carol ann duffy

Spencer’s distracted tonight. You noticed it the moment he breezed past you, pressing a distracted kiss to your cheek before disappearing into the study. Normally, you’d give him space, let him untangle the thoughts on his own, but it’s past midnight now, and you’ve decided enough is enough.

“Spence,” you call softly from the doorway. 

He doesn’t look up.

​​You take a breath and step inside, the floorboards cool under your bare feet. The study feels foreign to you. You’re hardly ever in here despite Spencer’s gentle efforts to make space for you after you’d started spending more time at his place. He’d cleared half of the mahogany desk for your own books and files—a space now claimed by a few framed photos of the two of you from last year’s Christmas market.

You’ve always preferred his bed over the confines of this room, the comfort of his sheets beneath you, his bedside table the perfect coaster for your copious cups of coffee as you slog over your essays. The study always felt too still, almost stifling. It’s the kind of quiet that breeds overthinking, though Spencer thrives in it—Especially when it’s work.

Which it does seem to be tonight, judging by the furrow of his brow and the way his hands are clasped, tense, as he pours over the file in front of him. You cross the remaining space and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, thumb moving in soothing circles. 

“Hey,” you murmur, leaning down to speak into the curve of his neck. He reaches up absently, fingers threading into your hair, but his eyes stay fixed on the contents on the desk. 

“Come to bed,” you whisper, quieter this time, softer, as though you might coax him away if you’re gentle enough. 

He murmurs something you don’t quite catch, his focus still locked on the papers. You frown, the corners of your mouth tugging downward as you try again, this time layering your voice with the soft insistence you know he can’t resist.

“Please?”

That gets him. He sighs, the sound heavy, before slowly swivelling his chair around to face you. There’s a small flicker of satisfaction in your chest—still got it, you think, though his tired eyes make it hard to fully savour the victory.

“Soon, honey,” he says, soft and apologetic, but it’s not enough for you.

“Missed you today,” you murmur, stepping closer.

He shuts his eyes for a moment, reaching out to pull you into him. His arms wrap around your waist as he presses his face into your stomach, breathing you in like you’re the first fresh air he’s had all day. And with the day he’s had, you might as well be. 

“It’s almost 1,” you remind him gently, brushing a strand of his hair back. “And you haven’t even showered.”

He makes a sound—somewhere between a groan and a half-hearted protest. Probably indignation, though he doesn’t bother to articulate it. When he finally lifts his head to look at you, your chest tightens. He looks so so tired. Handsome, always, but tonight, the weariness in his eyes is impossible to miss.

“Aw, honey,” you coo, voice soft with affection. “C’mere.”

It’s ironic, considering you’re the one climbing into his lap. The chair protests under your combined weight with a faint creak, but neither of you care. Just your presence alone is a comfort that Spencer accepts all too willingly. He doesn’t hesitate, pulling you closer and burying his face into you, fingers toying with the edges of your—his shirt.

“Tough case?” you ask quietly, your fingers slipping into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

He nods defeatedly, the motion slow and heavy, like even that small acknowledgment takes too much out of him.

“He’s already—” Spencer sighs, low and weary. “Already killed three women. And the profile is… flimsy at best.”

You nod quietly, your fingers gently tracing patterns on his shoulder. Though crime-solving and criminal profiling aren’t your expertise, the weight of what he carries is never lost on you. You’ve come to know the signs all too well.

You see it in the way he comes home after cases like this—silent, drained, his body curling into yours. You hear it in his voice when his worry spills over during arguments, like the time he snapped at you for drinking too much on a night out after a brutal final. It wasn’t out of anger but fear, raw, born from the evils he sees every day. He’d never explicitly linked it to the horrors of his work, but you didn’t need to be a profiler to piece it together. 

“You’ll catch him,” you say softly, keeping your voice steady despite the knot tightening in your stomach. “You guys always do.”

Spencer sighs, releasing one hand from your waist to rub the bridge of his nose. “There’s something off,” he mutters, words tinged with frustration. “I just... I can’t figure out what it is.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?” you offer gently, watching his face for any sign of what he needs.

He manages a faint, tired smile and shakes his head. “I’d rather not,” he murmurs.

You nod, letting it go. Spencer tries, always, to keep that part of his life separate from you. But even you know some things are impossible to leave behind. Shadows don’t adhere to boundaries. They’re stubborn and heavy, sometimes seeping into the cracks of his resolve. All you can do is try your best to hold him together when that weight gets too much to bear. Leaning into him, you rest your head against his, the silence between you filled with a kind of unspoken understanding.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Spencer whispers after a moment, as though he can sense your quiet disappointment at not being able to do more. His arm tightens around your waist as though anchoring himself. You press a soft kiss to his temple, a quiet gesture of acknowledgement.

“Now,” you say, standing up. Spencer leans forward instinctively, unwilling to let the warmth of you go. “Shower?”

He glances between you and the desk strewn with papers, hesitation in his face. “After I—”

“Nope,” you interrupt, grabbing both his hands and gently pulling him to his feet. “I’ll handle this,” you say, gesturing to the chaos on the desk. “You,” you point toward him, then toward the bathroom, “Shower. Now.”

Spencer lets out a long-suffering sigh, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “Bossy,” he teases softly.

“Maybe,” you reply, a playful glint in your eyes. “But you love me.”

Without missing a beat, Spencer wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer as he presses a kiss to your lips. “Wow,” he murmurs against your mouth, his tone warm and teasing. “Bossy and smart. How did I get so lucky?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling, nudging him lightly toward the bathroom. “Go,” you say, laughing. “Before I add ‘violent’ to that list.” At that, Spencer tears his arms away from your waist, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he backs slowly toward the door. “Go!” you laugh again, shaking your head at him before turning your attention to the desk strewn with papers.

You turn your attention back to the desk surveying the organized chaos, trying to piece together how he usually files them. The thin sheets—pale and slightly crumpled—belong in the manila folder. The thicker briefs, stapled neatly, go in the black case. And the photos…

Huh. 

Your hand pauses mid-reach, brow furrowing as your eyes fall on the glossy prints. You tilt your head. Something about them feels—almost… familiar, maybe. You stop to lay them out side by side, studying them more closely. 

Three photos. Three crime scenes. Three notes. 

The first note reads, ‘I burn.’ The words are scrawled haphazardly, the letters jagged and uneven.

The second is darker, more ominous, ‘Your knife.’ Its edges marked by splatters of blood.

The third is the most unsettling of all. Just two words. ‘All alone.’ Stark and final. 

Slowly, then all at once, it hits you. 

You know these words. You’ve read these words before. 

Why do you know these words? Where have you read them before?

It gnaws at you. The exhaustion you felt earlier is long gone as you find yourself sinking into Spencer’s chair. Your fingers trace the edges of the prints as you try to piece together your fragments of memory. You don’t know how much time has passed since you first laid eyes on the photos until Spencer calls to you from the bedroom.

“In here,” you answer absently.

When he steps into the doorway, your heart flutters despite yourself. He’s a sight to behold—hair damp, shirt slightly clinging to his chest, a towel draped over his shoulders as he dries his hair.

“Hey,” he says, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Why’re you still in here?”

“Got distracted,” you murmur, gesturing to the desk.

“Intriguing, huh?”

“She definitely is,” you reply, almost without thinking.

“I don’t know when he’ll strike next—” he starts, then stops abruptly. His expression shifts, his gaze sharpening as he looks at you. 

“What’d you just say?”

“Hm?” You blink, finally meeting his eyes.

“You said ‘she’s’ intriguing,” he repeats, stepping closer now. “You think the unsub’s a she?”

“Isn’t she?” you say, frowning at the question. “I could definitely use a lot of other words to describe her, but…” your voice uncertain.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, the poems, for one—I mean, they’re all about hurt and enraged women,” you explain. “And signing off with them? That’s definitely not not intriguing…” You trail off, puzzled by the sudden gravity of the conversation. 

Spencer goes rigid, every muscle in his body locking up. “Poems?” 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice small now, “The notes. They’re all closing words of Duffy’s poems. I thought you—Did you not…” 

Your words trail off as you see his face harden, eyes widening as the weight of your words hits him. 

“Oh my god.” Your hands fly to your mouth as the realization hits you, the pieces suddenly falling into place. “You didn’t know.”

Spencer Reid hardly swears, if ever, but the next words out of his mouth are nothing short of explicit. He’s already moving towards the desk, the towel falling unnoticed to the floor. “Show me,” he says, urgency in his voice. You get up quickly, wanting to make room, but he stops you. “No, you sit,” he says, eyes locked on the notes. “Show me.”

“Okay, okay.” You steady yourself before pointing to the first note. “Um, look, this one, ‘I burn.’ It’s from her poem Warming Her Pearls. She’s a maid who secretly pines for her mistress. She loves her but, well, she can’t be with her cause they’re from different societies.” You look up at him expectantly. “It’s about class inequality and…”

“Unrequited love.” Spencer finishes gravely, his voice low but certain.

“Right, exactly.” You glance up at him, searching his face for understanding. Spencer nods, taking it in, and you move on to the next. 

“And then this one, ‘Your knife.’ It’s from Valentine. The speaker, she doesn’t want the usual valentine gifts, so she gives an onion instead. But… she says it’ll make the receiver cry, because well, onions do that. It’s a basically a metaphor for love, how—” You take a deep breath, your throat tightening. “How dangerous it can become.”

Spencer stays quiet, but his eyes are fixed on you. His hand finds your back, giving a reassuring, gentle rub.

You hesitate before pointing to the last note. “And this one, ‘All alone.’” You swivel the chair around to face him fully, the tension in your chest growing. “I wasn’t sure about the first two, but when I saw this, I knew.”

“Little Red Cap,” Spencer finishes for you, his voice tinged with self-reproach. “Your favourite. God, why didn’t I see this?”

You nod, your voice softening. “Yeah. The opening poem of The World’s Wife. She uses Red Riding Hood to explore growing up, losing innocence and… well, you know the rest.”

Spencer’s lips press into a thin line as he nods grimly. “The wolf represents someone older, predatory. A lover.”

“Yeah, and she uh,” you say, barely a whisper. “She kills him.”

Spencer’s jaw tightens, his frustration evident. “How did I not—How’d you—” If the situation weren’t so dire, you might have joked about never expecting to hear those words from Spencer Reid. Instead, you force a shrug, casual, as if your analysis hadn’t just reshaped everything. “TA-ed a few classes on Duffy,” you say grimly.

The silence stretches, heavy and charged, until Spencer crouches down in front of you. His sharp eyes soften as they meet yours. “You’re… you’re incredible, you know that?” His tone is low, reverent. He presses a brief, warm kiss to your forehead before standing, running a hand through his still-damp hair. Then his expression shifts, eyes darkening with urgency. “I need to make a call.” 

You nod silently, still curled up in his chair. You don’t trust your legs to carry you to the bed that’s one room over, not right now. Spencer steps away, his phone already pressed to his ear. It takes only a few moments before he starts speaking.

“Hotch,” he begins, “I think the unsub is a woman.”

The reply on the other end is muffled, but you can follow the conversation through Spencer’s responses.

“Poems, yeah—Carol Ann Duffy,” he says, pacing a few steps. “We’ve been looking for patterns in the wrong places.”

He pauses, listening, before adding, “How’d I—? Just… from a friend.”

His tone is careful, protective. You know Spencer doesn’t want his team knowing about you. When Spencer told you he wanted to keep his professional and personal lives separate, you didn’t understand at first. But after he’d opened up about what happened to his boss—how it shattered everyone—you stopped pushing. You understood then why he was so insistent on drawing those boundaries, even if it meant staying in the shadows of his world. 

You watch him, eyes tracing the way his jaw clenches, the restless motion of his fingers. “This is the lead we need. What—No, we don’t need to bring them in.” ​​You can see the moment his patience snaps.

“What we need is to focus on her work—her themes, her voice. It’ll give us insight into the unsub’s mindset. No, I—” Spencer’s tone sharpens, frustration creeping in as he rakes a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. 

“I know this is important, I’m not saying it isn’t—” He stops mid-sentence, the voice on the other end cutting him off. His lips press into a thin line, and he exhales through his nose, fingers pinching the bridge. “Fine,” he mutters, his tone tense but resigned. 

“Okay.” He pauses for a beat, “We’ll—she’ll be there.”

As he hangs up, Spencer turns back to you, his expression carefully guarded. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks, tentative.

You have two lectures. “Nothing,” you say, the word slipping out easily. He frowns, uncertain. 

“Kristoff’s out sick, and Burton doesn’t care about attendance anyway,” you quickly lie. The tension in his face eases just slightly, but you can still see the hesitation in his eyes.

“Right, um, my boss,” You can sense a hint of nervous energy in the way he shifts his weight. “He wants us in at 8, sharp. I’ll drive.”

The apology is clear in his expression as he crouches down, taking your hands in his. “I know this isn’t exactly what you signed up for,” he says, his voice quieter now. “But... I know he wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.” 

A simple, quiet “I know” is all you can manage.

You can tell he feels bad about dragging you into this. You definitely hadn’t imagined this would be your introduction to his world either—messy, intense, and impossibly heavy. And from this brief glimpse, you’re not sure if you’re ready for it after all.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[alisonwritesimagines]

Picture Perfect ~Batmom Imagine~

Summary: Damien wants to take the perfect photo for you.

Author’s Note: Posting this from my drafts because it is time for it to come out of hiding.

BatFam Masterlist

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: none, fluff

Do not repost this anywhere!

"Dick, sweetie. Please go tell Damian that he's going to be late for school. He's been upstairs for a while," you tell your oldest son as you tried to feed Martha.

"On it!"

Dick found Damian standing in front of the bathroom mirror, combing his hair to his idea of perfection.

"Damian. Mom said you're going to run late for school," Dick tells him.

“I wanna look good for picture day for Ummi,” Damien tells Dick.

“You know mom will love your pictures no matter what.”

“I know that but I want this to be extra special. After she had Martha, she’s been busy,” Damien explains.

“You know mom loves us no matter what. Sure she may be busy with Martha but that’s because Martha’s a newborn. She needs the attention at the moment. But you know mom will give you attention again soon.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Just make sure you’re in the car in ten minutes,” Dick told Damien.

“Of course.”

“You look so handsome, Damien!” You tell your son as he rushed down to the kitchen. “Cassandra, honey. Your ballet is divine but please be careful.”

“Sorry mom.”

“Have a good day at school, Damien! I look forward to seeing your pictures when we get them!” You smile sweetly at him.

“It’ll be the best you’ll have,” Damien tells you as he rushed out of the house with a bagel.

The moment Damien stepped into the school, he felt victorious. He succeeded in going into school without messing up his hair. That was until a student tripped and spilled their water bottle onto Damien.

——

His picture was anything but perfect. Damien handed you the framed photo before looking down in shame.

“Aw. I love it!” You chirped happily as you hugged Damien.

“You do?” Damien asked, looking up at you surprised.

“Trust me Damien. I have at least one awkward photo of all my children and you have added to my collection,” you say as you kissed his head.

“You really like it?” Damien asked you.

“If you want to do a redo picture, that’s fine with me. But I will be keeping this one no matter what,” you tell him.

“So when Martha has an awkward photo…”

“I’ll keep that one too. As long as I continue to have photos of my children, I’ll love them all.”

“I’ll do something even more special for you to make up for this!” Damien promised.

“And I look forward to it. But for now, let’s go ahead and hang this up,” you tell Damien as you put it with your other children’s pictures on your wall. You admired the photo before looking back at Damien.

“As long as I have pictures of you all, I don't mind how they look," you tell him.

---

“Come on. What’s taking so long?” Tim asked as he walked into Martha’s room.

“Martha doesn’t want to wear the bow!” Stephanie tells him.

“Come on Martha. Put on the pretty bow. Please,” Tim asked. Martha stared up at her older brother as she shook her head.

“What’s going on?” Damien asked as he walked into the room.

“Martha doesn’t want to put on the bow,” Tim said.

“Let me try. Come here Martha. Let’s put on the bow,” Damien said as he put the headband on his little sister. Martha smiled up at her older brother before reaching up for him to hold her.

“Why does she like you more?” Stephanie asked.

“Because I spend more time with her. Now let’s hurry. Mom and dad will be home soon and I want this photo to be perfect."

Your birthday was always celebrated lavishly. Bruce would fly in your closest family and friends for a dinner and anything else you wanted to do. So Damien thought this would be the perfect time to make up that horrible picture he took for picture day. As well for his siblings to also make up their own awkward school photos.

“Thank you Bruce for throwing me my birthday party. And thank you all for coming and celebrating with us,” you say out loud to everyone at your party.

“We would actually like to surprise our mom with a present gifted to her by her children,” Dick announced after you. You and Bruce looked at them as the kids brought in a wrapped gift.

“From us to you Ma. Happy birthday,” Jason said. You opened up the gift to see a framed photo of all the kids dressed in suits and dresses with a smile on their faces. You teared up as you stared at the photo.

“I love it!” You say.

“Now you can have all of us in one picture,” Damien said.

“I love it. Thank you sweetie,” you tell him as you kiss his head.

“We also took some individual photos to make up for our awkward school pictures,” Tim mentioned as he handed you another present.

“Thank you. I love it so much,” you say as you cried from happy tears.

Bonus:

“Come on you guys! Damien promised me we’d go to the arcade after this,” Martha said as she dragged two of her older siblings into the room.

“Sorry! Traffic was bad,” Tim said as he stood in between Jason and Damien.

“Remember how Martha didn’t want to put in her bow until Damien asked nicely?” Stephanie asked Tim.

“Those were the good ol days,” Tim sighed.

“Alrighty! Ready?” Cassandra asked.

“Perfect! Okay kids. Smile right over here,” the photographer said before taking the picture of the batkids.

It had been a tradition for the kids to take a picture all together every year for your birthday present. It was to show how each of them have grown over the years. No matter what was going on, each batkid had agreed to meet up one day a year with no excuses to take the photo for you.

"I think this is our best one yet," Damien said as he looked at the photos.

"Aright, see you all next year," Jason joked as he walked out.

"Come on! We gotta go!" Martha told Damien.

"Okay. Okay."

[magnagaruzenmon]

Red Nose

A Christmas gift for @leafostuff

Despite me hoping onto the Chaehyun train late I think you solidified a lot of my love for this particular idol and while our realms and ideas don’t intersect. I wish you well.

I bumped into Chaehyun while she was wandering through the throng of guests, her eyes scanning every face anxiously. It was a little odd to see her here, knowing how hard it had been for both of you since the fallout. She looked like she’d rather be anywhere else, which only made me feel worse for her.

“Oh, Tiger, what’s wrong?” I asked, suppressing the urge to slip away to the guesthouse for a little longer. I wasn’t exactly eager to get involved, but her expression tugged at something in me.

She startled slightly at my voice, then relaxed when she saw me. “Oh, Rexy, it’s nice to see you.” Her tone was soft, like she was trying to mask something—whether it was nerves or sadness, I couldn’t tell. “Have you seen Mikey?”

I frowned. That was the last question I wanted to answer, especially from her. “No, I haven’t,” I admitted reluctantly. “But he was invited, so he’s got to be here somewhere, right?” I tried to sound reassuring, but even I wasn’t entirely convinced.

Chaehyun nodded, though it was clear my words hadn’t done much to ease her mind. “Could you… help me look for him?” she asked hesitantly.

Internally, I groaned. Babysitting an ex at a party was not on my evening’s agenda. But there was something in her voice, a vulnerability that made it impossible to say no. “Yeah, alright,” I said with a sigh, gesturing for her to lead the way.

We wove through the crowds, her small frame darting through gaps that I had to squeeze through. Chaehyun was quiet, her eyes darting around as if you might materialize out of thin air. After ten minutes of fruitless searching, she slowed, her shoulders slumping.

“You know what, Rexy? This was a mistake,” she said quietly. The weariness in her voice made my protective streak flare up.

“No, it’s not, Tiger,” I said firmly. “Let’s look a little longer.” And then, as if the universe finally decided to cut her some slack, I spotted him across the room. “Damn it—there he is.”

Chaehyun froze, her eyes following my gaze. When she saw him, her breath hitched. You were just leaving the bathroom, looking more polished than I’d expected—maybe you were hoping to run into her too. your eyes met, and everything around them seemed to blur, the noise of the party fading into silence.

I chuckled, stepping aside. “Go get ’em, Tiger,” I said, giving her a gentle push forward. She stumbled slightly but caught herself, throwing me a quick, grateful glance before she closed the distance between the two of you.

For a moment, I watched y'all, the air between you two charged with unspoken words. And then I turned away, heading toward the guesthouse. I figured I’d earned that quiet moment now.

Chaehyun looked at you nervously, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. There was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes as if she was summoning all her courage just to speak. Finally, she said softly, “You look nice.”

You nodded, your expression neutral. “You do as well.”

There was a beat of silence that stretched between you, thick with unspoken tension. She shifted on her feet, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. Then, taking a deep breath, she asked the question she dreaded but had to hear the answer to.

“Why did you storm off like that?”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise at her boldness. For a moment, you hesitated, weighing your words, but frustration from that day bubbled to the surface. “Hunny, you were cheating on me with Dinozen,” you said bluntly, your voice edged with a hurt you thought you’d buried.

Chaehyun blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Cheating?” she repeated, almost incredulously. Then something clicked, and her face softened as the memory came rushing back. “No, not cheating. He was helping me get you a Christmas gift.”

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear in your expression. “Really? Prove it,” you demanded, crossing your arms.

She smiled faintly, reaching into her pocket to pull out her phone. “Here,” she said, holding it out to you. “Go through the texts. They’re all there.”

You took the phone warily, scrolling through the messages. What you found wasn’t what you expected. Line after line of texts between Chaehyun and Dinozen, discussing nothing but Pokémon strategies, trades, and gift ideas.

“Why do the two of you talk so much about Pokémon?” you asked, bewildered.

Chaehyun’s lips quirked into a sheepish smile. “I wanted to surprise you for Christmas by learning one of your favorite games,” she explained. “In all its forms—cards, games, whatever. Dino was helping me get a quick grasp so I didn’t look like an idiot. Also, can I just say that Pokémon is way more expensive than I thought it would be?” She sighed dramatically as if the memory of the prices alone was enough to drain her energy.

For a moment, you just stared at her, the tension in your chest loosening with every word. Then, unexpectedly, you burst out laughing—a warm, genuine laugh that made Chaehyun’s worried expression melt into relief.

“You’re serious?” you said, still chuckling. “You went through all of this just to surprise me?”

She nodded, her cheeks pink. “I wanted to make you happy. Dino was just helping me figure it all out.”

You shook your head, the last remnants of doubt fading away. “I can’t believe I let myself think the worst,” you admitted, the weight of the misunderstanding lifting from your shoulders.

Chaehyun reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing against your hand. “I should’ve explained sooner,” she said softly. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You gave her a small smile, turning your hand to gently take hers. “And I should’ve trusted you,” you replied.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the two of you laughed together, the cracks in your relationship beginning to mend.

Chaehyun smiles as your hand finds her. "Can we go back home?" she asks softly. You notice her cherry nose and say,

"Sure Rudolph" the two of you head to your car that's covered in snow. Chaehyun ever determined hops into the driver seat and expertly navigates your way back home. When the two of you arrive. Chaehyun pounces on you excited beyond belief. You are a bit taken aback as she fervently kisses you up and down as the two of you enter your home.

"I need you," Chaehyun groans as she pushes you to the floor "NOW!" she growls as she lifts your shirt off and dives into your pants.

"Wow, the tiger really came out to play," you say before you watch Chaehyun tear into your pants.

"I HAVE NEEDED YOU FOR TWO WEEKS!!" she growls before freeing her sizable breasts from her bra and forcing you to grab onto them. As always she is delicately soft and pliant under your touch as you knead her mounds. She moans as she sinks into your cock. She groans as she begins to ride you. You moan as her walls clench you tight.

"Fuck! Did you get bigger?" she asks in the throes of pleasure, you chuckle then say,

"I think you got tighter," Chaehyun was about to scold you before you thrust into her causing you to hit her g-spot. She cums on the spot squirting all over you. When she recovers. she calms down and happily gets up. Her legs are a little wobbly but you steady her.

"let's continue this in the bedroom," she says

You smile and say, "Lead the way"

[archangeldyke-all]

hi angel!! how have you been? first request so i’m kinda scared, but do you think you’ll bring back club mom reader? i thought that dynamic was soooo cute, maybe reader and sev go on vacation away from the girls and reader misses them, or anything you’d like!

have the best day ❤️❤️

oh my god i was just thinking about this story!! lets do something sweet and cheesy hehe

men and minors dni

buttercup finds you sulking in the locker room.

"mom, i need a bandaid, one of my blisters just burst-- oh, janna." she groans at the sight of you.

you sniffle, wiping up your tears and throwing your tissue behind your shoulder. "i'm fine!"

"you're so not fine." she coos, wrapping you up in a hug. you sigh and cry against your friend's shoulder. "fuck, you're pathetic. sevika's gonna love hearing about this."

"you can't tell her!" you gasp, scandalized. buttercup pulls away from you with a cackle.

"oh, come on. i bet she's crying on silco's shoulder about you right now, too." she teases. you groan.

"i know it's been less than a week but..."

"you miss her." buttercup says with an understanding nod. she's completely right. you do miss her. you thought you'd be able to make it through ten days with your girlfriend on a buisness trip, but apparently you can't go more than forty eight hours without her now. "you want me to show you my tits to make you feel a bit better?" she offers.

you laugh and open your desk, grabbing a bandaid. "no, that's alright." buttercup raises an eyebrow at you and you laugh. "okay, yeah, show me."

she sits on your desk and takes her pleaser off, before untying the string of her bikini top.

you blink at her tits. they're great tits. buttercup even gives you a bit of a shimmy. but you're horrified to find that it does nothing for you. "'s not workin' buttercup." you whine. "they're just not sevika's tits."

she cackles. "oh janna mom, you've got it bad." she ties her top back up and bandages her blister. "i'm telling her you said that, y'know. you two are just too fuckin' corny, i can't stand it."

"have you taken your break yet?" you ask as buttercup stands. she rolls her eyes.

"yes i've taken my break, that's the third time you've asked tonight. have you taken your break?"

"yeah." you respond sadly, staring down at the framed picture of sevika on your desk-- her one and only mugshot-- gifted to you by ran on your birthday this year. "i spent the whole half hour starin' at this picture of her."

"okay, i need to get out of here before i vomit from all the yearning." buttercup kisses your cheek and pats your back. "she'll be back in five days mom, you can make it! love you!" she calls over her shoulder as she walks back out to the club.

"love you." you grunt, slouching back down in your chair.

most of your girls find your yearning sweet. frosty and crystal are practically running the 'mom-vika' fanclub, always squealing over the two of you together.

mandy, trinity, and star have started calling sevika 'dad', to match your 'mom' title.

but you might actually be driving cherry crazy.

"how is it possible for you to look even worse today than you did yesterday!?" cherry groans as she walks into your tiny office at the start of the evening. you sigh.

"thanks cherry, you're a great friend."

she cackles. "awe, cheer up. she comes home in two days! aren't you excited?!"

"i've been excited for her to come home for eight days now. the excitement is starting to wear off." you pout. cherry groans.

"c'mon mom, you gotta get out of this slump! you think sevika wants to come home to some slimy sad sack!? no!"

"well, whaddya want me to do?"

cherry considers it for a moment, before a smile grows on her face.

"i've got the perfect idea."

forty eight hours, an afternoon of the girls teaching you some dance moves, and one nice long bath later; you're ready for sevika's arrival.

you've got it all planned out. she'll come home and find you in your lingerie (trinity's about your size so she let you look through some of the outfits stored in her locker) you'll push her into her favorite armchair, and you'll give her a little 'welcome home' lap dance.

and then, hopefully, you'll get fucked into next week.

you can hear her heavy boots stomping down the street from the end of the block. you squeak in excitement and light a few candles, before flicking the lights off and playing some music.

sevika stumbles through the door just as you're finished spritzing yourself in your favorite 'sexy' scent.

"welcome home ba--" you freeze. sevika gawks at you. her clothes are tattered, her luggage is missing, and some of the wiring on her mech arm is exposed. "what the fuck!?" you scream, scrambling across the room to cup sevika's face in your hands.

"is this for me?" she asks with a sultry smile. you sputter.

"you're bleeding!" you squeal. "what the fuck happened!?"

sevika shrugs and laughs. "some assshole tried to rob the train we were on. i took care of 'em. to thank me, the trainline lost my fucking luggage."

"wh-- are you okay!?"

"i'm much better now that i'm seeing this." she says with a giggle, snapping the band of your sexy undies against your hip. you snort and then lean into kiss her. sevika sighs against your lips, her arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you tight against her chest. "janna, it's good to see you. i don't think i can go more than two days without you anymore, isn't that fucking insane? you're more essential to me than water."

you laugh and kiss her again. "fuck, i feel the same way. cherry almost strangled me for being so whiny."

"silco threatened to fire me if i kept 'moping.'" she says with air quotes.

you can't stop smiling. your plans for the night are likely ruined-- you'll have to bathe sevika and make sure she's not too injured before you can do any lapdancing, and by then you'll be too tired to be sexy anyways. still though. you can dance for her tomorrow night. you can dance with her for every night from now on, because she's back home. "y' wanna get married?" you ask-- the words slipping off your tongue easily, before you can even think them through.

sevika blinks at you. "wh--what!?"

"i don't have a ring or anything, but..." you trail off, realizing what you've just asked. "fuck, what do you want me to say, sevika? i've got a dozen stripper kids to take care of and you make good money--"

sevika cuts you off with a cackle. "you missed me that bad?" she teases. you grin.

"yeah, i did."

"yeah, me too. i had a ring i picked out for you in my suitcase-- saw it at some jewelry shop we passed."

"are you serious!?"

"why do you think i was so pissed they lost my suitcase?" sevika asks with a laugh.

"oh, janna i love you." you sigh as you lean in for another kiss.

sevika grins. "i love you, too. is this the outfit trinity almost killed that senator in?" you burst into laughter and nod guiltily. you didn't think she'd remember. sevika sighs dreamily. "my beautiful bride."

taglist!

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[wileys-russo]

“i was sleeping” “yeah well now your not” leah williamson

4am wake up II l.williamson

"then there was a magician! babe you know i fucking love magicians." leah slurred as you hummed. "was he as good as the one at your birthday baby?" you questioned hearing a gasp.

"oh i forgot about him! fuck i told this guy he was the best and that was a lie!" leah groaned with a whine and you heard a bump and a mumbled apology.

"tripped over someones stupid table. who the fuck put that in the way!" leah huffed with a small hiccup on the other end of the line.

"how rude of them. hey lee? can you take a break from the rum and drink some water for me baby?" you smiled as your girlfriend let out a deep sigh.

"yeah i guess. but only for you baby girl cause you're the best and i love ya!" leah slurred, grunting as she sat down in a booth. "i love you too sweets. are you back with alex and jess again?" you questioned as leah hummed.

"can i speak with al please?" you asked as leah whined. "why! you're my girlfriend and you're not here. alex has her girlfriend with her she doesn't need mine!" leah scoffed making you chuckle, the blonde out at an event which you had to miss due to a clashing family commitment.

family just as important to leah as it was to you she'd completely understood and encouraged you go, even offering to skip the event herself but you'd never let that happen considering she was set to present.

though it was obvious you both had very different nights.

it was your grandma's 90th birthday so you'd had a couple glasses of wine and everything was nicely wrapped up by about ten in the evening, meanwhile it was now midnight and it seemed leah was just getting started at the after party.

much as she'd begged you to come and join her you were far too comfy wrapped up in bed to bother, so leah had settled for a phone call to 'wish you goodnight' which nearly a half an hour later she was still yet to actually say goodnight.

"oh shut up and give her here leah you idiot!" you heard the blondes best friend scoff and there seemed to be a tussle of sorts before the line cleared. "hi sexy. we miss you!" you heard alex greet, your girlfriend gasping in offence and sternly ordering her to never call you that ever again.

"hi scotty. can you get her a water please? if she doesn't have a couple inbetween drinks she'll wake up tomorrow an absolute nightmare to deal with." you chuckled, your girlfriends hangovers something else let alone when she was dehydrated on top of it.

"on it babe. jess isn't drinking so she'll drive her home, wouldn't dare put her in a taxi at this rate." alex chuckled as you heard leah start to sing along to something in the background. "bub we're gonna go dance. i love you!" leah snatched the phone back and blew you a kiss before the line cut off and you sighed in amusement.

you were sure alex would have fun dealing with that.

~

"babyy girll!" your eyes fluttered open at the sudden sound, wincing at the sharp pain which shot through your neck at the awkward position you'd fallen asleep in, phone tucked beside your head where you'd been watching tiktoks before you had.

you heard a loud thud and suddenly the room lit up as you nearly hissed, shielding your eyes as leah flicked the lights on and fell through the door frame stumbling forward and catching herself on the edge of the bed.

"leah?" you rasped out unsure if you were still dreaming or not as the blondes head popped up at the end of the bed where she'd fallen down to the floor.

"thats my name!" she slurred and pulled herself up onto the mattress with a grunt as you rubbed your eyes tiredly and pulled yourself into a sitting position. "you didn't wait up for me." your girlfriend frowned somewhat adorably.

"i was sleeping." you smiled with a shake of your head. "yeah? well now you're not!" the blonde slurred with a grin crawling toward you.

"oh jesus." you mumbled at the state of your drunken lover, unable to hold back the amused smile at her scruffy state.

"my names leah but you can call me jesus if ya want babe. but i know you prefer oh god! oh god! oh god!" your eyes widened and you lurched forward to cover her mouth now much more awake as your girlfriend started to mock your moans.

"oh i missed you." you were all but tackled back down to the bed by the taller girl, grimacing at the strong smell of alcohol on her breath as she tried to kiss you but missed as her lips instead kissed the pillow beside you.

"i missed you too lee. but time for bed i think!" you smiled, tapping your phone which glared back 3:56am. "i have a favour first." leah smiled charmingly as best as she could, pushing herself up and off of you allowing you to sit up again.

"mmm?" you hummed with a raised eyebrow, slipping out of bed and making your way round to help her get her shoes off where she was struggling with them. "make me some food? please bubba?" the blonde pouted, the term of endearment one that only left her lips when she was absolutely smashed.

"lee, darling its nearly four in the morning. sleep now and i'll make you the best breakfast in bed ever later!" you promised, pushing her hands away and helping her wiggle out of her suit pants next causing her to let out a sigh of relief.

"do you come on the menu?" the defender smirked, eyes starting to droop as you shook your head. "so i see we've had some tequila shots then yeah?" you laughed, the particular alcohol forever making the girl ridiculously horny much to her ongoing frustration that you refused to engage in anything when she was drunk.

"maybe a few. but i had some water! just for you." she pointed to you and attempted a wink which just wound up being an over dramatic blink. "did you now? how responsible you are." you teased, moving away to grab her some comfier clothes to sleep in.

"i am the responsible one in the relationship duh. i'm older and wiser!" leah sighed as you grabbed her hands and tugged her to sit up, struggling to unbutton her shirt as she smacked your hands away.

"i can do it! strip for you any day sexy." she wiggled her eyebrows and flopped back into bed, and sure enough though it took her a few minutes she managed to get the shirt off as you helped her up and into a large baggy t-shirt.

"do you want me to take your makeup off baby?" you asked softly, chuckling as her energy levels seemed to be dropping and she nodded wordlessly and laid back down as you darted into the bathroom.

"you're so pretty. my pretty girl!" leah sighed out, hands resting on your legs as you hovered over her gently wiping away her makeup with the micellar wipes. "you're very pretty too, even a drunken mess." you quickly pecked her lips as you finished and moved off of her.

ignoring the whines for you to come back you hurried into the kitchen grabbing some advil and a bottle of water for the blonde in the morning, checking the door was locked and chuckling at the wake of destruction she'd left in her path toward the bedroom.

"that's a tomorrow problem." you mumbled with a smile at the multitude of knocked over and dropped items all over the ground, only picking up your girlfriends suit jacket and draping it over a chair.

"baby!" leah yelled out with a whine as you quickly returned. "i'm right here." you promised, helping her get into bed properly and gently swatting away her hands which grabbed and poked at you demanding you give her attention.

flicking the lights back off you blinked a few times to adjust, not that you needed to with how your girlfriend was kicking off, easily able to follow her voice back to bed.

"where the fuck-oh hi bubba!" she grinned in the darkness finally feeling the bed dip as you moved in beside her, latching onto you. "cuddles please, love you." leah slurred quietly, patting your thigh affectionately as you shuffled down the bed, her head moving to rest right above your heart with a tired sigh.

"goodnight leah." you chuckled, tangling your hands in her hair and messing about with it like you knew she loved. you heard her mumble something back but had no idea what it was as you smiled pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head.

the only woman you'd let wake you up at four in the morning for a cuddle.

[sunlightmurdock]

Ashes, Ashes | One | Bradley Bradshaw

masterlist | prologue | next chapter

Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

Warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell, age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Crossing the threshold into Maverick’s home doesn’t come naturally to either one of them. This place is something that they had both left behind. Outgrown. It’s solely his. It’s not their home and it has never been, until now. Now, Avery, at least, is stuck here until things are figured out.

On that fourteen hour drive down to San Diego, she’d had a lot of time to think. How long is a person supposed to wait for a body to turn up before they go ahead and throw the funeral without it?

Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, she is met with a smiling family picture. Only, she’s not in it. 

Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.

This picture is of a real family. Hung on the wall opposite the front door is a picture of Nick and Carole Bradshaw holding their infant son. He’s bald and gummy. They’re grinning and showing him off like a prize trophy — so proud of him even though all he did in those days was drool and pee himself. 

These days, their infant son is up to more important things. Their infant son grew to an upsettingly grand height and is carrying two of her bags in one hand behind her today.

“C’mon, Mitchell — these are heavy.” Bradley huffs softly from behind her, reminding her that she’s standing stationary and blocking his path. 

The nickname stings. Avery’s last name isn’t Mitchell because her biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because her mother’s husband knew she wasn’t his and would rather die before letting her take his name.

She shrugs her duffel bag closer to her body and turns left. Bradley huffs under the weight of her luggage, watching her walk her cute butt in completely the wrong direction. “Wait, where are you going?”

Not struggling at all under the weight of her single duffel bag, she turns slowly to face him and frowns slightly. “My room.” 

Avery doesn’t remember Bradley. Not in her own memories, anyway. She knows he was around, she’s seen him in pictures but the image in her head doesn’t match. Not quite right. Like puzzle pieces bent and forced together.

He’s taller than he looked at his high school graduation, which sits pictured and framed above Mav’s mantle. Older, but that’s to be expected. Up close, he looks more like his mother than his father. A slight bump in his nose and scars, nicely healed, but jagged and raised nonetheless dusted his cheek and his throat. 

Even with all those differences, there’s a very slight familiarity to him that makes this all feel a little bit less suffocating.

Bradley’s brows draw together. He gives a small nod in the direction of the spare room. “That’s… I usually stayed in that room.”

“Oh.” Avery realises with a hum. With Bradley being ten years your senior, the room was his long before it was hers. With him growing up so close by, it was probably his much more frequently than it was hers, too. It’s not like she had ever kept anything here anyway. It’s just a guest room that she would occupy every now and again.

There’s a brief quiet between the two of them. 

“I just figured you could take the big room. ‘Til you get settled. I’ll go home once your car is fixed, if that’s what you want.” Bradley adds on. That sad little look on her face, right in front of him, is killing him. 

The big room. The loft room upstairs. Avery thinks about it and finds herself pretty sure that she’s never even been upstairs in this house.

“You’re staying too?” 

Oh. Yeah. He hadn’t addressed that point yet. Truthfully, he hadn’t even been planning to stay. He hasn’t even packed an overnight bag. But, from the second that she had stepped out of the car and looked up at the house with that look on her face, he hadn’t even considered leaving her here alone.

“Just ‘til we get your car fixed,” He offers with a small shrug. “I’ll be here to run you around until then.”

Like he’s doing this for her sake. Natasha has her own life to get back to and Bradley can’t stand the thought of going back to his apartment alone. 

“Okay,” Avery agrees, turning to peer down the hall towards the spare room. It’s nothing special — it really never felt like hers, anyway. “Alright, I’ll take Pete’s room.”

Pete. She calls Maverick ‘Pete’ now. 

Bradley just nods, shifting the weight of her bags and nodding for her to head for the stairs. All the floors in this house are tan oak. The entryway is now herringbone. With the help of a friend, Pete had done the entire thing himself. 

Of course, as they walk silently across it, neither one of them would know that. Neither one of them was speaking to him last May, which was why he had needed a project in the first place.

Natasha’s outside on the phone. Bradley’s footsteps thud on the wood of the stairs behind her, following her up. She stops at the top, leaving just enough room for Bradley to stand there behind her.

The door to Maverick’s room is open. His bed is made. There’s a book thrown on top of it, the spine cracked and used, the pages yellow from years out in the sun.

“No way is he still trying to fucking finish War and Peace.” Bradley steps around her and heads straight for the book. Pete started this book before Bradley finished elementary school. Bradley twists and looks back at her. “He always gets bored and stops reading, then forgets his page and starts again.”

Another slow nod. One foot in front of the other, her shoes along the tan oak floors. Her fingers trail the white walls. Maverick wouldn’t have minded. This place was always messy before. It’s not now. 

This house is vacant and quiet, but it’s far from empty. It’s filled to the brim, practically pulling apart at the seams with everything that Maverick was and planned to be. He was finishing War and Peace — he made it to chapter 253 this time; further than he had ever made it before. 

Suddenly, Avery’s throat is thick with the knowledge that all she knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that she’ll never know.

Four days of knowing, a fourteen hour drive down here, and it’s a book that stings like a cold slap to the face, reminding her of why exactly it is that she’s here.

Fire burns behind her eyes, blistering and stinging as Bradley sets her bags on the floor with a soft thud.

He turns with his attention completely on the book, his fingers extending towards the peeling cover of the paperback. His fingers curl around its weathered pages and he lifts it tenderly, examining the front at first.

It’s too early to start this process bawling her eyes out, and Avery refuses to let Russian Literature be your downfall, again.

That thick feeling sits in her throat like a stack of weights as she sits down on the end of Maverick’s bed. The mattress is soft, taking her weight without a squeak of complaint. Maybe he finally listened to her and got a bed that wasn’t so harsh on his back.

It’s been almost two years since she had even set foot in this house last. If she had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… she sits and thinks to herself about if she would have maybe visited more. Probably not.

“I’ll change the sheets and stuff, then I’ll get out of your hair for a bit.”

Lifting her head, she blinks at him. He has already started to pull back the comforter and strip the bottom sheet from the bed, awkwardly forcing her onto her feet again. 

Mobile once more, Avery turns slowly to take in her surroundings. This is Maverick’s room. It’s his house, she was prepared for that much — but this is his room. The last thing she wants is to be alone in it all night.

“Oh. Sure,” She nods, setting into motion to help take the sheets off.

He’s so methodical about it, like none of this phases him at all. But then, she hasn’t seen how he has been for the past few days.

“I was thinking of just ordering food tonight, since I’m kinda tired — and Pete never had groceries. Would you want… to maybe join?”

“Sure.” Bradley nods, tugging the pillows out of the cases. He glances up to her with a strictly polite, neutral smile. Quiet settles between the two of them until the bed is just a bare mattress and uncovered pillows. 

Then, there’s a moment of total stillness between the two of them. Her gaze flickers up, meeting his, and the realization settles between the two of them.

Maverick’s favourite cologne was a French thing that some woman in the eighties had liked. Citrus in the shade of cypress wood. The scent fills the room like he’s standing between the two of them.

Bradley glances down at the white sheets in his hands. The snowy white peaks of those mountains, Maverick’s aircraft spiralling into them, engulfed in flames. In a sick way, Bradley hopes that he didn’t manage to eject. At least then, it would have been instant. Maverick wouldn’t have felt anything.

Avery watches his adam’s apple bob in his throat from the other side of the bed. The last you had heard, Mav and Bradley weren’t on speaking terms. She wonders if this is as weird for him as it is for you.

“I’ll put these in the washer. You can… unpack, or whatever.” He decides finally, already taking one step backwards, headed for the door. She stands there, blinking at him. Even with those steeped, broad shoulders, he makes it through the doorframe unscathed before he turns to check where he’s going.

He probably knows this house inside and out, just like he knew her dad. Once. 

When it comes to wracking her brain and trying to remember Bradley Bradshaw, Avery can’t ever come up with anything. Maybe a glimpse, here and there. A blue t-shirt with green stripes. His school backpack accidentally left in the backseat of Maverick’s convertible beside her shoddily installed car seat. 

Truthfully, her experience with Bradley Bradshaw is limited. He’s just as real to her as any of the other guys in the stories she grew up hearing about. Her very own Peter Pan is downstairs right now, trying to figure out Maverick’s ancient washing machine, just so that he doesn’t have to stand up here and stare across at her.

He can’t hide from her forever, though. Evening comes, and so does hunger. 

He stares down at the pizza between the two of them as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when she had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.

Natasha has gone home. It’s just the two of them, now. Sitting in this unchanged, all too familiar kitchen. Avery has barely unpacked. She set up a couple of things in Maverick’s bathroom, but it doesn’t feel right to be in the big room upstairs. That wasn’t ever her space to claim.

She chews absentmindedly at the bite she had taken. The TV in the living room is off. The record player is coated in a layer of thin dust already. It’s dead quiet. The kitchen light is dim above their heads.

There’s a chip in the corner of the table on Bradley’s side. It’s there because Bradley was running through this kitchen when he was four years old and had tripped and knocked his front tooth out right here. His thumb trails the tiny mark, wondering how his teeth had ever been that small.

Wondering why she isn’t angry with him, too.

Maverick had picked him up that day, turned him around and held Bradley while he cried, stemming the blood and quickly introducing the concept of the tooth fairy. He had done all that he could, and Bradley still found a way to resent him for what had happened to his own father.

Bradley hasn’t ever done a thing for Avery. Except maybe pay for this pizza. And here she is, calm as can be. 

The sauce base feels tangy and coppery, and the cheese makes him want to puke. He sets the slice down on his plate and wipes his hands on the paper towel beside him.

Finally, he lifts his head and looks at her. Her hair is up differently now, tucked out of your way after an afternoon of manual labour upstairs, tidier than it had been earlier. She’s wearing a stretched out old t-shirt. Bradley assumes she got it from a boyfriend.

Really, he doesn’t think she looks that much like her old man. He would really have to search for the resemblance. But, briefly, when she offers him a polite smile across the table, he knows that you’re Mav’s kid.

“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. They both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken.

“…For what?” Avery asks quietly, lips tugging into a small frown.

“I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows she probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in her spot, and not know how to talk about it.

It’s his fault that Maverick didn’t make it home.

She stops chewing. That last bite sits in her mouth, doughy and dry all of a sudden. She stares across at him, awkwardly making herself swallow down the last of her bite of pizza and picking up the paper towel to wipe at her mouth.

“We weren’t that close.” She tells him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. She’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.

But, he knows what it’s like to be told how to grieve. He just dips his head and nods awkwardly. “Right.” 

“I got a call from an admiral the other day,” She picks up the slice of pizza and pick at its toppings. There’s no one here now to tell her not to play with your food. Mav never really cared anyway. Bradley watches her, unhungry. “Invited me down to Miramar. He said he was a friend of Mav’s and that he could talk me through… this whole thing. How it works.”

Bradley rubs a hand over the neatly trimmed hair above his lip. It feels like he has swallowed a golf ball, sitting here like it’s normal to be discussing the measures.

He knows how it works. It won’t be as simple as it was with his own father. At least Maverick had afforded him something to bury. For her, there’s nothing.

“I’ll have to be there around eleven.” 

“Sure,” Bradley nods, scratching at the back of his neck. His legs tingle with stiffness. Clearing his throat, he shifts in the little wooden chair and stretches, knocking his foot into hers under the table. “Oh. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.

“It’s fine.” She hums, pushing back in her chair and standing up from the table. “Well, I’ve been up since like… four, so I might just hit the hay.”

“Sure.” Bradley breathes out, hands braced on his thighs, eyes focussed on that tiny chip in the corner of the table. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

The downstairs bedroom seemed bigger when he was a kid. The twin-sized bunks on the carrier feel bigger than the wooden-framed bed that Maverick put in here. Bradley’s shoulder is practically hanging off the side, and the old frame creaks with each movement he makes.

It’s not like he would be sleeping much anyway. When he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is the fireball Maverick’s plane had turned into as it fell.

Bradley’s hunched over the coffee pot by the time that Avery wakes up. He hears her coming down the stairs and straightens up like he wasn’t three seconds from throwing the stupid thing at the wall, clearing his throat and turning around.

It occurs to him that he should have put a shirt on. This isn’t his place. It’s hers, now, he guesses — either way, he hadn’t considered making her uncomfortable. He folds his arms over his naked torso as she strolls into the kitchen, hair mussed and rubbing at her eyes.

She’s wearing big socks and the same big t-shirt she had worn to eat the pizza last night. He can’t tell if she’s wearing shorts or not.

“Morning,” He offers up, making her lift her gaze from busily tapping at her phone. Her gaze lands squarely on his navel — more so, how low his shorts sit on his hips and the way a soft trail of brown hair ventures from there to his bellybutton. 

Blinking, she finds his face.

“Coffee machine’s broken, we can stop somewhere on the way to base if you like.” He leans down a little bit, like an awkward teenager shrinking away from a family picture. She locks her gaze on his, trying not to glance back down at his muscles. 

“Oh. That’s not broken — if you hit it hard enough, it’ll work.” She heads right for him, fuzzy socks padding across the floor so softly that it really does startle him when she grabs the copy of War and Peace that now sits on the kitchen counter, and slam the book right into the side of the coffee machine.

He whips around as the machine whirs to life. Avery the book back down gently, and look up at him. He sets his jaw, brows knitted together, searching her face.

Maverick never taught Bradley anything like that. In fact — Bradley always, always was taught the opposite. You never take the easy way out; if something’s worth fixing, then you fix it right.

Then you, you on the other hand, beat the thing with the heaviest book you can find? He just doesn’t get it.

“Well. Thanks.” He guesses, turning his bemused expression back to the brewing coffee. 

He hadn’t been expecting you to do that. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, given the way he’s still glaring at the machine. That coffee pot is older than you are, and Mav never taught him that trick?

“So this guy, the one who called me,” Avery skims her fingers along the cool granite countertop, just to have something to do, “He was the guy calling the shots up there?”

Bradley blinks. He doesn’t know how much she knows about the way all of this works. He knew everything there is to know long before he ever enlisted, but that was because he wanted to know.

“Um,” Bradley grabs his mug and takes a step back for her to get herself one.  “He was our mission command so, kind of. He gives orders — but, y’know, everything happens fast, it’s… it’s hard to call the shots from back on the boat.” 

“Did he like Mav much?” She asks, head tucked inside the fridge door as you scan for anything to make her coffee a little less black. Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese. She swings it shut with a resigned sigh, wondering if she’ll be here long enough to need groceries.

The thought flashes across her mind — what’ll happen to this place when she leaves it behind?

“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.

“Great.” Agitation creeps into her tone as she curls her fingers around a plain white coffee mug. All of his kitchenware is plain white. 

“What?” Bradley tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse at the look on her face, stuck between whether she’s sad or pissed off.

It’s an easy answer, rolling off of her tongue with a shrug of her shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”

That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father. 

He screws his mouth up, shaking his head and reaching for her without thought. His palm claps against her shoulder, platonic and soothing, but the first time he has touched you nonetheless. “I’ll be there. He won’t say a thing.”

Glancing upward, while his palm lingers on her shoulder, her eyes flit across his features. He doesn’t know quite what she’s searching for, or whether she finds it. His fingers squeeze softly against her skin before the touch is gone all together.

They drink their coffees in parallel, both subtly miserable in their silence but comfortable in it anyway. It’s difficult to prepare for a meeting like this — she doesn’t have a clue of what to expect. 

Bradley wears black jeans and boots with a plain white t-shirt, which convinces her not to wear the more formal dress she had thought she’d have to wear. She slips into his passenger seat in a skirt and Mary Janes.

He drives a loud, blue vintage Bronco. It sparkles inside and out, and makes her dusty old car look even worse. 

Bradley settles behind the wheel to the sound of chilled seventies music, the radio turned low. He drives with three fingers curled around the bottom of the wheel and the other hand resting absently on the stick shift.

Even though he seems calm enough behind the wheel, she watches him chew at the inside of his cheek for the duration of the drive. Gears tick away inside his head. His knee only stops bouncing nervously when it’s time to press his foot against the pedal.

He’s not as good at pretending as he thinks he is; she silently appreciates that he tries, either way.

Bradley, truthfully, spends the entire drive thinking about the last time he was face to face with Admiral Simpson. ‘Son, I’m doing this for you.’ He had sworn, face sullen, uttering the exact same words Pete Mitchell once had when delivering the words that had torn Bradley from him the first time.

Only, Admiral Simpson wasn’t pulling Bradley’s papers — he was just putting him on a month long bereavement leave. His protests had fallen on deaf ears once again, as they had fifteen years ago. He’s now a week into that leave, but it feels like longer.

It turns out that when sleep is cut from the equation, everything feels a lot longer. In his own apartment, his routine has been getting up at 2am after hours of tossing and turning, going for a run all the way down to the docks, coming back and showering, then waiting for the sun to rise.

Last night, he’d been awake in that creaky old twin bed, struck by the realisation that if he spent all night tossing and turning — one, he might actually break the old bed frame, and two, the squeaking of it would definitely keep Avery up. 

All it had taken was the focus of trying to sit still for so long to finally knock him out. It was the best that he’d slept since the mission.

He kind of hopes that it’ll take him a while to figure out something to do with her car; at least that way he’ll be able to sleep at night. 

“You ready?” His voice startles Avery from her daydream, the engine cutting out with a jingle of the keys as he stretches forwards in his seat to shove them into his pocket. “We’re headed just over there.”

“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” She’s stepping down and swinging the heavy door shut before she’s taking her next breath, leaving him to catch up to her. 

His long strides have him at her side before long, reaching ahead of her to pull open the glass door to the post headquarters. 

This process has already been easier with him at her side. He’d coolly handed over his service ID and greeted the guard at the gate by name, and he stops her from turning sharply down the wrong hallway with a soft bump of his shoulder against hers.

He catches her forearm as she tries to blow right past the front desk, his grip loose but firm. 

“Rooster.” The woman behind the desk stands up sharply, looking sharp in her service khakis, her entire face creased with a deep worry. She’s older, maybe around Mav’s age. “I heard, I’m so sorry.”

Rooster loosens his hold on her forearm, his lips flattening into a line. He stands up straight, his interaction with the woman nothing if not totally polite. His thumb trails across the bend of her wrist as he nods his head towards her.

“Thank you,” He says softly, seemingly unaware of the way Avery has stiffened in the presence of this woman. “We’re, uh… we’re just here to see Cyclone, Lynn.”

Her warm, brown eyes whip towards Avery, widening. Recognition floods her features as she pieces together who the girl at Bradley's side must be. 

Her boots hit the ground, Avery's lips parting slightly as she realises that this stranger is headed right for her. Bradley feels Avery's arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way she's trying to shrink behind him.

Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch Avery when he can see how unnerved it makes her.

“We’re a little late. I’ll catch you at the O-Bar this weekend?” His fingers uncurl from her forearm and his palm falls flat between her shoulder blades, giving her a gentle nudge and silent permission to avoid Lynn's hug.

The woman stops and there’s another polite, departing exchange between the two of them while Avery continues down the hall.

Bradley catches up to her as she raps her knuckles against the doorframe, fingers trembling when they come to settle back against her thighs.

“Miss Mitchell.” A chair scrapes along the tiled floor, Cyclone’s signature rumbling voice carrying out into the hallway. His boots tap across the ground, his face creased with sincerity and his hand outstretched when he notices Bradley standing behind the young woman he had arranged this meeting with. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

Avery checks back over her shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind her, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression. 

Standing tall, his uniform crisp and his greying black hair combed neatly, Admiral Beau Simpson slips his palm into hers and shakes her hand curtly. The sunlight catches on his shining name badge, his face heavy with lines and sharp angles.

Letting her hand go, he then reaches to her right to shake Bradley’s. Bradley’s chest bumps her back as he leans into the handshake.

Avery steps away from him, angling yourself closer to the doorframe. “He just gave me a ride here. Is it okay if he comes in?”

“Of course,” Cyclone is far more polite to her than he has ever been to Bradley. “Anything you need. Please, take a seat.”

It feels a little bit wrong standing before his boss in jeans, and sitting before him. Everything about this feels a little bit wrong. Bradley rests his chin against his fist.

Avery sits in the chair beside him, shoving your trembling hands under your thighs, straightening up and trying to look as brave as you can. 

It shouldn’t be this stranger sitting beside you in this meeting — your mother should have come with you.

“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.”

Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him, not really.

“We are forever grateful for his service, and the sacrifices he made on behalf of our country. I understand that this is an extremely difficult time, and I’d just like to say that I’m going to personally make sure that this process is as easy as it can possibly be.”

Avery blinks at him. Jet engines rumble on outside of the window. People bustle on outside of the closed office door.

Cyclone glances towards Bradley. 

“When a man is lost in action, our resolve is to initiate a search and rescue effort as soon as possible,” The admiral explains, leaving out the part where that search and rescue effort had been delayed by seventy-two hours after Mav disappeared. “We’ve been working tirelessly, and our efforts to locate your father are ongoing.”

Her brows knit together, lips pursed, unimpressed.

“But— he’s dead.” She frowns abruptly, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?”

Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at her, her words like a jolt of ice-cold water, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in her expression, no fear or sadness. Pete deserved more than that.

“The point is to bring him home.” He bites from her side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.

She shoots him a look. When it’s clear that she isn’t going to say anything else, Cyclone clears his throat to continue. 

“Miss Mitchell, we do have to prepare ourselves for the other outcome. If recovery efforts are unsuccessful, in two weeks time, he will be listed as formally ‘Missing in Action’. If that’s the case, we will honor him with a memorial service and all of his service records and personal effects are delivered to you.”

She drags her teeth across her plush bottom lip, swallowing hard and giving a small nod of her head. Closing her eyes for a moment, she pictures the moment that this is all over. She can get out of here and pretend it never happened.

“Okay. Two weeks?”

“This is going to be a longer process,” Cyclone warns her. He’d heard that she had come down specially for this, and he doesn’t want to mislead her about the time frame. “The recovery mission, if unsuccessful, will be suspended in two weeks’ time. After that, we’d like you to be local for the investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“Of ourselves. To ensure that the Navy had performed its due diligence, that kind of thing… I’d expect us to be here for a good few months.” He explains.

After that, it’s like Bradley can see a switch flip for her. 

She’s biting at the inside of her cheek so hard that she must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of her skirt and breathing like she’s trying not to cry.

He’s still confused when he’s all but chasing her across the parking lot, listening to her try to control her breathing.

“Hey, hey, hey,” He tries, approaching her cautiously as she crowds herself against the passenger side of his car. “It’s alright. We’ll get through it, it’s just a couple of months.”

“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“

“Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around her. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes her bicep, bending his knees so he can catch her eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.”

Avery knows that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, she’s sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left her with no idea of who he really is. “Of what? There’s so much that I have to—“

He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of her plate for her. The idea sparks in him.

“You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at her bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in her eyes not to spill over.

She sniffs, turning her gaze towards the ground. The lump in Avery’s throat burns and bobs as she tries to swallow it away. 

Mav really is never coming back.

“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that she is in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than her. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse.

He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. 

“You could stay at my place, for a night or two.” 

…

[little-diable]

Carnal Sin - Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

I desperately needed to get this out of my system, I ain't sorry for that. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader's mother had begged Priest Riddle to let the reader join his bible study, a bratty woman who wanted to make his life a living hell. Now it was time to finally teach her a lesson.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (m), face fucking, man handling, spanking, religious connotations, Tom being Tom

Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (2k words)

“How can you possibly believe that?” Her laughter echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls as if demons were carrying the sound. All eyes were focused on her, wide eyes that trembled with fear because of the blasphemous words she kept on speaking. But she didn’t care about them, didn’t even remember their names, no, all she cared about was the pair of dark pupils staring her down. 

“Excuse me?” His voice was sharp, urged on by the need to put her in her place. All other eyes snapped back to him, lowering their gazes in fear of the priest who was known for punishing those who didn’t dare listen. But she didn’t fear him, taunting him whenever their paths crossed. 

“Oh, don’t give me that. You and I both know you don’t believe in any of that yourself. Turning water into wine? That’s witchcraft, and witches should be burned, according to your little storybook at least.” Gasps followed her words, sounds that left (y/n) grinning as if she was the Devil herself, joining the bible study to make it a living hell for those who desperately clung to their belief. For a few seconds, he didn’t speak up, holding eye contact with her from his spot, but as she parted her lips to speak, once again set on laughing words she shouldn’t pronounce, he cleared his throat. 

“We’ll end our session here, I need to have a word with (y/n), alone.” She tried not to pay the heat his words shot through her any attention, trying not to squeeze her thighs together as she watched him rise to her feet. Neither of them spoke a word as the others hurriedly left the room, closing the door to give the two some privacy. Her eyes didn’t leave his frame once, the tall figure she’d imagine whenever she let her hands wander, chasing that high she was desperate for. Priest Riddle was dangerously handsome, fooling anybody whenever he wasn’t wearing his collar.

And yet she knew it was nothing more than a game, a game whose rules he was making. But she had never been good at following rules, set on breaking them like branches snapping beneath her shoes. 

“I wasn’t optimistic when your mother begged me to let you join, you know? I knew you’d only cause me more problems. But I promised your mother to try, to give you a chance. Well let me tell you, (y/n), I’ve never been a patient man. I think it’s time you learn a lesson.” The chuckle rumbling through her left him smirking, something she clearly didn’t understand fully to anticipate what he’d do to her tonight. 

“A lesson? What, should I fall to my knees and pray ten Hail Mary’s?” He crossed the room towards (y/n) with fast steps, hand shooting out to grasp her throat before she could flinch away. A shaky gasp left her at the touch, feeling his cold rings burn into her skin. Priest Riddle stared her down as if she was now living through her last judgment, set on taking her down to hell with him.

“A prayer won’t help you no more, God doesn’t answer the calls of sinners like you. The only one you’ll pray to will be me.” She was forced to her feet for a second, lips parted to let an excited sigh leave her. This is what she had been working for, knowing that he would eventually give in, eventually cross that line he had sworn to stay away from. But even a priest had his enemies, the carnal sin calling his name in quiet hours. 

“Let's hope your mouth knows what it’s doing. Onto your knees, let me fuck those bratty words out of you.” She could have sworn that his eyes grew darker as he spoke the words, watching her drop to her knees without a single protest leaving her. “I should have known, you’ll enjoy whatever I’m doing to you. It’s all about the power you think you have, forcing me to do something I promise I never would. Let me tell you, (y/n), even priests can beg for forgiveness, and forgiveness He shall always grant me.”

For the first time since meeting Priest Riddle, she felt some fear swapping through her, wondering if she was finally burning from the reckless play with fire. It was an unfamiliar sensation, yet so awfully exciting, she could only stare up at him with a smirk. 

He did quick work of his trousers, freeing his hard cock from the confines of his clothes. He was beautiful, a man crafted by God, what a shame he was destined to hide away beneath the black suits he wore. (Y/n) followed his ringed fingers, how he grasped his cock to push himself closer to (y/n). 

“Open that mouth of yours, let’s see how much you can take.” It was a dangerous game, and yet (y/n) had always lived for the thrill. She parted her lips, tongue exposed to his dark eyes. Within seconds he had forced his cock into her mouth, to the back of her throat. She gagged around him, had her vision instantly blurred by tears. 

Without waiting for any commands, she hallowed her cheeks, letting her tongue explore his cock for a moment before he began to move. Priest Riddle’s ringed hand found the back of her head, holding her in place as he fucked her mouth, high on the sound of her gasps, chokes, sounds he’d forever remember. She was a pretty sacrifice, worth the trouble she had forced him through, that much he was certain of. 

“How can there be no God when we get to experience something like this?” His raspy voice left her shuddering, words she could barely focus on, too concentrated on the feeling of his cock fucking her mouth. No other man had ever been this rough with her, and yet she knew that she had been addicted to Priest Riddle from the first day, hoping that they’d eventually end up like this. 

“Such pretty sounds for a woman this dangerous, it’s amazing how you try to fool those around you.” He spat his words as he used more speed for his thrusts, enjoying her gasps a tad bit too much, wanting to force his cock down her throat. But he wouldn’t give in, no, he’d only give in when he was buried inside of her, fucking her into oblivion. Perhaps she’d find her way back to God when he showed her the entry to the pearly gates, torn between two worlds as he fucked her breathless. 

Spit dripped from her chin, making a mess on the dark carpet she was kneeling on. She was desperate for some friction, trying to shuffle closer, and yet he didn’t allow her to go far, held in place by his tight grasp. Their eyes met, his full of danger, hers full of desperation, begging the man to finally pull her to her feet, to fuck her like she needed him to. 

“Do you think you deserve to be touched? Do you think you deserve to cum? I should have known you’ll turn into a cock-hungry whore the second I touch you.” A gasp left (y/n) as he pulled away, forcing her to her feet seconds later. She was pushed towards the black leather couch, trying to sit down though it seemed as if she was too slow for him. With his hand finding its way back to her hair, Tom manhandled her down onto the couch, drawing an excited moan from (y/n). 

“Open those legs, show me how wet you are from sucking my cock.” A whine left her at his words, legs spread to expose her soaked panties to him, hidden beneath her skirt. His cold fingers wandered up her legs, he shuffled her skirt up to her waist before he pushed her panties aside. The groan that left him at the sight of her bare cunt shot shudders down (y/n)’s spine, eyes close to falling shut. “Look at me, don’t you dare to even think of looking away.”

His palm came down onto her cunt, spanking the soft skin with more force than anticipated. (Y/n) choked on her gasps, eyes wide as she stared up at the smirking priest. Her lungs were aching, trying to hold onto her breath as she kept choking on the air flushing through her lungs, too excited to even speak up. 

“I can’t wait to fuck you stupid, force you to take every inch.” Priest Riddle’s words were enough to leave her moaning and gasping as he flipped her around. He had her pressed against the armrest while he positioned himself behind her.

“I’m on the pill, just fuck me, please.” His raspy chuckles filled the room, leaving her walls clenching in anticipation. (Y/n) felt him brush the tip of his cock through her slit for a second before he pushed into her, her eyes instantly fell close, fingers tightening their grip on the armrest with her nails clawed into the fabric. 

“God should strike you down for the sinful words you speak, allowing a man to fuck you because you’re selfish, wanting to give in.” She shuddered against him, unable to speak as he fucked her. His hips snapped against her behind with every thrust, forcing himself even deeper into her cunt, enjoying the way she felt wrapped around him all too tightly. 

“Fuck, feels so good.” (Y/n) mumbled the words, not trusting herself to speak up, voice caught in the back of her throat as he fucked her breathless. This is what they have been warned of, the carnal sin, a feeling so intense only those who weren’t allowed to touch one were able to make one feel. 

“And for that, you will submit to me from now on, you won’t go against me no more. You’re mine now, forever mine.” A sob clawed through (y/n), she didn’t understand the depth of the words he spoke, could only choke on a “Yes”, too focused on her high to overthink the consequences she’d have to face. Consequences of actions she had been desperate to go through with. Drunk on the feeling of her priest fucking her breathless. 

“Oh God, I’m so close, don’t stop.” Her words left him chuckling, she felt him near her ear, growling the words that were about to roll off his tongue.

“God can’t help you now.” She choked on her breaths, eyes rolling into her head as she sneaked a hand down her body. Her bundle of nerves pulsed against her fingers, giving herself the last final push to fall over the edge. The white, blinding sensation shot through her, leaving (y/n) trembling as he kept fucking her. 

His breaths grew shallow, she felt him twitch deep inside of her, about to cum with a devilish grin glued to his lips. (Y/n) had to cling to the couch, scared she’d faint from the intensity of her orgasm, unable to think straight as she was panting. The priest pulled out of her seconds before he came, painting her ass with his cum. 

Wordlessly he pulled away to reach for a towel. He cleaned her with a hum leaving him, staring down at her and the fucked-out expression she wore. Only slowly did she dare to turn around, looking up at him with wide eyes. She didn’t flinch as he cupped her cheek, forcing his thumb down on her tongue for a second. 

“I expect you back here tomorrow morning, don’t even dare to think that this was your only lesson.”

[faithisyours]

Skinny Dipping

Chapter 2 of The List

Vi x Fem!reader

Summary: you surprise Vi with a trip to go do something off her list, skinny dipping. + a little extra at the end.

cw: Heavy petting but no actual smut, nudity, mentions to smut, mentions of food, a little emo Vi at the end, overall tooth rotting fluff

Word Count: 2.6k

an: Howdy! Hope everyone’s 2025 is off to a good start. As promised, here is chapter 2. This fic can be read as a stand alone, but it would probably make more sense if you read chapter 1. Also I’d like to mention that the time frame is off in this whole fic but I’m gonna try and speed run through the seasons to match up to what it is where I am. Next week we’re building a blanket fort. And if you have any ideas, let me know. Men and minors dni.

Ch 3

It had been almost a week since you pitched the idea of the list to Vi. She had been taking it very seriously, adding at least one thing every day. She had also been quite protective of it, keeping it close whenever you wanted to see it, moving it away from your gaze, blatantly closing it when you walked in the same room as her. You reminded her that it had been your idea to begin with, and that in order to do all of the things she was writing down, you would eventually have to see it. She simply claimed she wanted to be done writing it before she shared it with you. Fair enough.

Her not sharing it wasn’t an issue, though, considering you supplied the first thing on that list. You remembered the giddy look in her eye when you told her to add it, the way she wrote it as the first thing on the list, the kiss she gave you on the cheek as thanks for the idea. And since it was about the only one you knew for a fact was there, you were determined to surprise her sooner rather than later with it. It was also nearing late fall, and the nights were growing colder. You would have to plan fast in order to make this an actually enjoyable experience and not just turn yourselves into human popsicles.

So, you kept an eye on the weather, thought of a nearby lake that would be a good spot, and planned all the logistics down to the T. And then, you waited.

—

You were sitting at the kitchen island when you heard the sound of a key unlocking the door to your apartment, announcing Vi was finally home.

“How was work?” you asked as you stood up and walked towards her.

“Oh, ya know…same as always,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around you and giving you a quick kiss.

“Well, I was wondering if you maybe, possibly wanted to accompany me this evening for a surprise?” You said it innocently enough, but Vi still gave you the most suspicious look in the history of suspicious looks.

“Did you get your hands on my notebook?” she asked accusingly, squinting her eyes and pulling away from your hug slightly.

“No, I did not. And this has nothing to do with that,” you lied, tilting your nose up in mock-indignation. She squinted her eyes even more at you.

“Right, okay,” she surveyed you, then dropped her suspicion. “Well, yes, I would love to join you. Where are we going?”

“I’m not telling you that, it’s a surprise!” You pushed her lightly on the shoulder, playfully annoyed.

“Okay, okay, fine. Just tell me what I need to do,” she surrendered.

“All you need to do is nothing. And then meet me in the car in ten minutes.” You gave her a kiss on the cheek, grabbed your bag and keys, and hurried your way down to the car.

You wanted to make sure nothing gave away the surprise, so you made sure any damning evidence was in the trunk, and then covered it all with a blanket. When you were satisfied, you plopped down into the driver's seat and waited for Vi, which didn’t take long considering you took a big chunk of that ten minutes finagling the trunk.

When Vi got into the passenger seat, the suspicious look was back on her face. You had your poker face on, however, and would not be giving anything away until you got to your destination.

You were half way into the drive, the sun setting slowly before you, when Vi decided to start grilling you on where you were going.

“Is it something off the list? At least tell me that!” she prodded. You figured there wasn’t any harm in telling her it was. It narrowed the options down, sure, but it would get her excited.

“Okay, yes, it is something off the list. But before you go accusing me, no, I did not go snooping. I remembered some of the things you wrote down and this is one of them. But just stop speculating, alright. It’s supposed to be a surprise.” You squeezed her hand, which was holding yours on her lap.

Your admission settled her speculation, and for the rest of the drive the two of you listened to music and chatted about your day. The conversation seemed to distract her, because when you pulled into the small, blessedly empty, dirt parking lot, indicating you had made it to your destination, her suspicion finally returned. She eyed you up, but you only gave her a smile as you got out of the car and popped the trunk.

Pulling the blanket aside, you grabbed the duffle bag with the towels in it and threw it over your shoulder. Vi finally came around to join you at the back of the car, but by that time you had already fixed the blanket back over everything and were closing the trunk. She eyed the duffle suspiciously, but when you beckoned her to follow you, she did.

You were a little surprised she hadn’t said anything yet. You had taken her to this lake a couple summers ago when everyone came out to celebrate Ekko’s birthday, but you would admit that it looked much different now that autumn was upon it.

You took Vi’s hand in yours as you walked down the short trail towards the lake. And once you rounded that corner and the shore opened up, Vi gasped, gave you a look that said, “oh my god, THIS is what we're doing?!?!” and kissed your cheek so hard you thought it might bruise.

The lake wasn’t big. You could probably swim from one side to the other in less than 5 minutes. But it got the job done. And it was empty, thank goodness. The last rays of light bounced off the water's surface, making it sparkle. And the thick forest surrounding it made for good privacy. It was all absolutely perfect.

You walked your vibrating-with-excitement girlfriend down towards the shore, plopping the duffle bag down next to a big oak that’s canopy arched over the water. And then you began to strip.

It wasn’t super cold out yet, but as you removed layers of clothing, goosebumps spread all across your skin. And you knew the water was guaranteed to be colder. Vi started stripping, too, only when she stopped ogling the fact you were taking your clothes off in front of her. You watched as she peeled her sweatshirt off, pulled her shoes and socks off faster than you’d seen anyone ever do that, took off the worn grey tee-shirt you sometimes slept in cause it smelled so much like her, and stepped out of the black cargo pants she had a million pairs of. She ogled, you ogled.

With both of you left in just your underwear, Vi closed the small space between the two of you and kissed you, hard, with tongue, bringing her warm hands up to caress your face. She pulled away just as fast, but it still left you both a little breathless. You don’t know exactly why you started giggling, but whatever it was, Vi was feeling a similar way, because she giggled right along with you.

“May I?” she asked, pulling lightly on the strap of your bra.

“Of course. May I?” you asked, pointing to her sports bra.

“Well, it's only fair,” she responded, a goofy smile tilting her lips.

She unclasped your bra, which was a hell of a lot easier than you attempting to pull her sports bra off, but you made it, now both topless. You leaned in, kissing her long and deep as you pulled the hem of her boxers down over her hips, getting her completely naked. She mirrored the act, and soon enough you were both completely naked, shivering slightly.

“Okay,” you grabbed her hand and faced the water, “on the count of three, we run in.” Out of the corner of your eye you could see her nodding, albeit reluctantly.

“One,” You took a step forward, “two,” you took another one, this time Vi taking it with you, “three!” and then you were running towards the water, Vi right next to you, laughing breathlessly.

“Holy fuck, its cold.” You were now chest deep in the water, the sandy bottom squishing between your toes. Vi was right next to you, grinning ear to ear, and even though it was fucking cold, you couldn’t help but grin right back at her. Sure, this had been your idea to begin with, but as soon as Vi had added it to her list, it had become one of her goals, one of her dreams. And you couldn’t help but feel over the moon about helping her bring it to life.

After a minute or two in the water, the cold wasn’t as noticeable, but it didn’t really matter considering Vi had started kissing you, again, and you had a hard time considering anything else when that happened. Her hands had come up to your face, pulling you deeper into it. You grabbed her waist, pulling her closer, wrapping your arms around her. One of her hands came down to your chest, cupping your breast, fingers gliding over your nipple. You moaned, the sound getting caught by Vi’s mouth. You needed to be closer, were going to die if you didn’t get closer. One of your hands skated all the way down her back and grabbed her ass, pulling her in, causing legs to tangle. It was her turn to moan, a sound you would kill people to hear again and again. Both of you were frantic to get flistfulls of the other. You were lost in it, nothing unusual, but you had to remember you were in a potentially public place. And that was not a kink you wanted to find out you had today.

So with unbelievable effort, you pulled away, the space between you being filled now with hot, panting breaths. “As much as I would love to fuck you in this lake, I’d like to remind you that we are in a semi-public space,” you said.

She sighed. “Alright. And it is pretty fucking cold, isn’t it?” You nodded in response. “And it's getting pretty dark. Better get back to the car,” she reasoned.

“Only if you want to, babe. This was your surprise, I want you to get everything you want out of it,” you countered. You didn’t want to cut her surprise short just because you were cold. If she wanted to stay longer, you would gaslight yourself into believing you couldn’t feel cold. Anything for her.

“Well, considering I’m naked in a lake, I’d consider this a success. And it is getting late, and I’m getting kinda hungry. I think it’s fair to say we can head back to the car now.”

You nodded in response, giving her an acknowledging smile. Hand-in-hand, you walked out of the water, only to be met with the chilly night air. You rushed over to the duffle bag, flung it open, and cocooned yourself in the first towel within reach. Teeth chattering, you watched Vi follow suit, albeit not as frantic.

“We should do this again,” you said between gritted teeth, “when it’s warmer, though.”

Vi chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m just glad you remembered to bring towels.”

“Oh, I brought a lot more than just towels,” you said, your attempt at cockiness negated by your shivering. “Just wait till you see what else is in the car.”

“Well, now I’m even more excited,” she responded. Vi had been toweling herself dry and was about to get redressed when she surveyed you, still dripping in places and shivering. “Okay, let me help you dry off, since I seem to be more immune to the chill than you.” She gave you a crooked smile, stepping closer and grabbing the edges of your towel.

“Ya, alright,” was all you managed before Vi started patting you down, moving the towel over your arms and belly, then pulling it completely off you to dry your legs. She made sure you were pretty much completely dry before grabbing your shirt and pulling it over your head, forfeiting your bra. She grabbed a sweatshirt next, which happened to be the one she had been wearing earlier, but she didn’t seem to mind when she pulled it down over your head.

“I can manage the rest, I think,” you said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She nodded, then started redressing herself, also forfeiting her bra and eventually pulling on your sweatshirt. Once you both were dressed and adequately warmed up, you shoved the wet towels, dirty socks, and both bras into the duffle bag. And then arm-in-arm, you walked back to the car, giggling as you went.

When the car came into sight, you popped the trunk using the key and watched it slowly rise open. You put the duffle bag down and removed the blanket, revealing a wicker basket, a medium sized cooler, and an extra pile of blankets.

“I figured alongside skinny dipping we could also have a picnic,” you said as you pulled the wicker basket and cooler forward, flipping the top on both to uncover what you had packed. In the basket there were meats, cheeses, crackers, fruit, and veggies, and in the cooler was a bottle of sparkling cider, dip for the veggies, and some ice cream sandwiches you were praying weren’t completely melted yet.

You glanced towards Vi, concerned slightly by her silence, and found her pouting, holding back tears. She scooped you up into a hug, squeezing tight. She was so incredibly thankful, but you knew that if she said it out loud she'd actually start crying, so you just nodded your head, gave her a small, knowing smile, and kissed her on the forehead.

You watched as she took a couple deep breaths and collected her thoughts, then looked around back towards the lake, her eyebrows knitting in concern. Before she could say anything though, you said, “We can eat here, if that's what you're thinking.” She nodded, giving you a knowing smile. You seemed to always be able to read her mind.

Collectively you laid out one of the blankets on the bed of the trunk, turned on the car to blast the heat and provide some toons, and unpacked the food and arranged it between the both of you. You ate, talked, and simply enjoyed each other’s company.

Eventually, though, it came time to pack up, so you reloaded the car, making sure you didn’t leave anything behind, and began the drive back home. With the radio low and a blanket draped across her lap, however, Vi was helpless to the call of sleep, and began softly snoring half way back to the apartment. You watched her out of the corner of your eye, admired how peaceful she looked, and recounted everything that had just happened. You don’t think you had ever seen Vi this happy consecutively ever. This whole list business was going to take some serious effort to complete, but if it was all going to be this fun, all going to make Vi this happy, you’d do it a million times over.

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[thewriterwithnoplan]

Ferrari's Fairytale (1/3)

Summary: World Championships are the most important part of any Formula One team's history. Except perhaps, Ferrari's. Known for their rabid fans, filthy-rich investors, and pretty boy drivers it shouldn't be a surprise that the team has brought together Soulmates from across the globe. And fate, it seems, is working awfully hard to put all the pieces into place for Ferrari's perfect fairytale - one that's been in the works for decades now.

[Part 1 of Pretty Girls and Ferrari Boys]

Soulmate AU: Soulmates share injuries and pain.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader (Eventual)

Word Count: 1650

Warnings: Swearing, no Charles in this first part sorry it's his epic love story and those take time ;)

Masterlist

There was something wrong with your soulmate.

Really there had been something wrong with them since you were eight years old. But right now, there was something particularly wrong with them.

“Just some bruising over the ribcage, but no actual damage internally.” The medic presses a latex covered hand gently against your ribs.

“They feel broken.” You suck in a pained breath and glare over her shoulder, at the little framed picture of her cat, Terror, on her desk. “You’re sure I’m not about to sneeze and puncture a lung?”

“Funny.” Though the look she gives you as she pulls off her gloves is less than amused. “Which one of us went to medical school again?”

“My best friend. You might know her. She’s stunning, generous, gives me free check-ups, did I say stunning? Goes by Sunny.”

“It’s Doctor Sunny to you.” She slingshots one of the gloves at you. “But it’s good to know you only keep me around for the free check-ups.”

“My soulmate would bankrupt me without you.”

Sunny taps at her computer, “The fee isn’t that high.”

“Sure,” You shrug. “If you aren’t in here every other week.”

“Have we ruled out hitman as their profession?”

“Since we were eight?”

“I don’t know much about hitmen, maybe they start them young.”

You lower yourself carefully from the observation table and move stiffly toward her desk. “Give it to me straight Doc. How much longer have I got?”

“I’m afraid you’ll live, ma’am.” Sunny doesn’t even look up. “A tragedy for all, I know. I can give you a moment if you need time to process– Ow! Bitch.”

She rubs at her shoulder and huffs.

“I’m going to have to log that in the database, you know.” She says.

“Good, maybe we can both find our soulmates and be done with it all.”

“Real romantic, dude.”

“Your soulmate hasn’t been terrorising you since you were a kid.”

“I had my fair share of scraped knees,” Sunny wrinkles her nose when you stick your tongue out. “You do know it won’t stop after the two of you meet, right? That’s a schoolyard myth.”

“After the talking to I’m going to give him, you bet your perky ass it’s going to stop.”

“That’s the second instance of workplace harassment I’ve coped from you in the last minute.”

“Fine. Your ass is not perky.”

“Mature.” She hums, “What time did you say the pain started?”

“Ten-thirty-ish?”

“All good then.” Sunny makes a few more clicks before powering down her computer. “Your chest and my arm, all nice and logged.”

“You know, sometimes I think you became a Match Medic specifically so you could put every little thing into the database to make it easier to find your soulmate.”

“Perks of the job.” She scoops up her handbag. “Come on, let’s bounce before the front desk starts scheduling over my lunch break.”

“You remember how I said you were stunning and generous and stunning?”

“I’m not buying you lunch.”

“Could this week get any worse?” You throw your head back dramatically.

Sunny cracks a smile at your antics, “Only a few more hours and we’re free for the weekend.”

“Are we still on for pamper-night tonight?”

“Always. Mine or yours?”

You end up spending the night in Sunny’s apartment, covered in different rejuvenating oils and masks until you look like low-budget horror movie villains. In your fluffy robes with The Princess Bride on in the background Sunny tries to teach you how to make Hainanese Chicken the way her mother did. Terror cries at your feet when you tell him he can’t have raw chicken. Sunny pops a bottle of cheap champagne that makes you both grimace and promise one another that you would find an excuse to get a nicer bottle soon. You take turns washing the excess from the face, foot, and hair masks off. Then curl up together on the couch, sipping broth, digging into rice and slathering chicken in Sunny’s family’s super-secret chilli sauce. You both fall asleep at a very respectable eleven o’clock.

So, it’s fucking strange when you wake up feeling like you had spent the night inside a paint mixer.

“Are you okay?” Sunny frowns as she stands over a pan of eggs. “You look ill.”

You squint over your coffee cup, “Soulmate is playing up.”

She plates the eggs next to a small stack of bacon before turning to put a hand to your forehead. “They shouldn’t be making you feel sick, illness doesn’t transfer like that. Are you sure it’s coming from them? Could you just be hung over?”

“It’s definitely him, third weekend in a row, like clockwork.” You take your plate gratefully, “It’s like I always tell you. It’s not nausea. It’s more like…”

“Impossible to explain for you and every medical practitioner you’ve ever seen?”

You groan, “It’s like my brain spent the night trying to escape my skull and the muscles in my neck were in on it.”

“It’s not unheard of for soulmates to feel the repercussions of an intense work out. There was this study from four years ago on high performance athletes and their partners that–”

You groan again, “Oh god and now there’s a nerd in my ear!”  

She tosses a gelatinous bit of egg onto your plate. It lands with a splat that makes you fake gag. “Oh, grow up.”

“You should be nice to me,” You lament, “I’m wounded!”

“Your soulmate is wounded.”

“And I’m sure their best friend is taking very good care of them!”

She pulls a face at you but still takes your plate to the dishwasher for you. As she’s rinsing them, she asks, “What’s on for the rest of your weekend?”

“I got a call from my parents on Thursday and guess what?” You sipped at the cold dregs of your coffee, “The dentist finally figured out which one of them the toothache is coming from!”

“That’s great,” Sunny’s smile was genuine. “They’re going in to get it fixed?”

“Tomorrow morning, both going under local anaesthesia.”

You hip checked her lightly out of the way to rinse both your cups. “You want another coffee?”

Sunny propped herself up on the counter, “My caffeine addiction is rubbing off on you I fear.”

“Listen, we have to get through the day somehow.” You coaxed the machine back to life before leaning against the counter to look at Sunny. “Anyway, my parents were supposed to go to this race tomorrow. Dad is particularly devastated and has practically ordered me to represent the family ‘at our home race.’ It’s been tradition for him and mum since they got married. It’s kind of a big deal for him. The man is obsessive.”

“My parents had something similar to say about our family legacy and studying medicine.”

“Speaking of… You remember all the times I sat up with you studying, or brought you food when you forgot to eat, or ran errands for you, or made sure you took breaks, or–”

“Fine, I get it, I’ll go to the stupid race.”

“Oh, how kind of you to offer.” You passed her one of the cups. “It won’t be that bad. Motorsports are supposed to be fun live, right?”

Sunny snorted, “Thank God. Motorsports? I thought you meant like a horse race or a marathon. I was getting war-flashbacks to track-and-field.”

You put a hand to your heart, “You were willing to relive cross country for me?”

“I was willing to ogle fit, sweaty men for you, definitely.”

“Alright, first of all – fuck you. But also same,” You clinked mugs and nodded solemnly at one another, “Maybe we can find some fit, sweaty drivers to ogle instead.”

Sunny hummed, “What do I wear? Is it like sprint cars or more like V8s – ooh is it an illegal drag race?”

“Girl, no.” You swatted at her thigh, “It’s Formula 1, which is perfectly legal and safe and much faster than any of those options.”

“Alright, Miss Daddy’s-Girl, go off.”

“Shut up, I’ve had to hear him go on and on about it my whole life.” You pulled a face at your coffee. “The man has had a hard-on for Ferrari since before he met my mother, and then he met her in the Ferrari hospitality at an F1 race, and he’s fucking worshipped them ever since.”

“Oh my god, why am I only just hearing about this?” She grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks and cooing. “You’re a little Ferrari baby.”

You blew a rather unladylike raspberry at her and knocked her hand away, “Because it’s embarrassing! Dad was only there because he and his friend won tickets. So, when Ferrari marketing caught wind that soulmates had met in their pavilion, they practically fell over themselves.”

“Holy shit!” Sunny practically howled in delight, “Is that where all those baby pictures of you in little Ferrari onesies came from?”

“Ferrari’s own little fairytale, Mr-won-his-way-in and Miss-heir-to-a-real-estate-monopoly. It's like Romeo and Juliet; if Romeo and Juliet survived, had a kid and decided to make it the poster child of their love story.”

“Don’t sound so disgusted, that’s cute as fuck.” Sunny snatches up your empty cup and stacks it next to hers in the dishwasher.

You frown, “Not everything has to be a love story.”

“I don’t know, girl, I’m pretty sure you just asked me to play out your parents first meeting with you tomorrow.” She winks at you over her shoulder as she heads toward her room.

“Oh, fuck off, Sunny.”

“I think this calls for new outfits!” She emerges from her room, towel over one shoulder. “What was your Mum wearing when she met your dad?”

“We are not reenacting my parents meet-cute.”

“Who knows, maybe you’ll have your own meet-cute with a certain pain-prone soulmate, hm?” In the moment it takes you to reorientate yourself after her comment, she’s breezing past you with a bright, “I’m having first shower!”

You squark in indignation. Like hell, you’ll let either of those things happen to you this weekend.

(Part 2 : Ferrari's Prince - 03.05.24)

[narraboths]

[inspired in great part though very obliquely by this iconic piece of fanart]

“You must make a good impression, daughter. And take care of the company you keep.”

She has to keep reminding herself of her father's words, to stand tall and smile, dutiful and pleasant, and not to pick at her nails. It is a royal ball, after all. The first in ten years that Lord Otto Hightower has been graciously invited to, recalled to court and to his seat on the Council. A triumphant, joyful return by all measures.

Alicent, as ever, is ill at ease.

She’s never quite gotten used to the Red Keep during the last of the old king’s reign. It’s a queer place, too young, too great, too foul already. Even now, with its great hall all illuminated, the walls reverberating with the sound of music and laughter, it feels dark, suffocating, the twisted shadow of the Iron Throne looming large on its walls. In Oldtown, there’s wisdom and piety at court, in Highgarden, chivalry and grace. Here, she’s only met with the dragonlords’ lewd, alien splendor.

And she faces it alone.

(There was, once, the princess Rhaenyra, then a scrawny, silver-haired menace. Alicent recalls brief flashes, a wide, toothy grin, her brazen tone, the petulant pout when admonished, the little bronze dragon perched on her shoulders, then later padding after her through the court. The enraptured, curious look of blue-violet eyes, listening to Alicent’s reading. It was long ago. It’s Crown Princess now, a woman grown, and wilder still than the Rogue Prince, or so the whispers that reach the Hightower from the ports say. Dragon’s blood, King Viserys is said to jest. Alicent tries to pay just as little mind to their tales as little Rhaenyra must be thinking about her. There must be graver things for the kingdom’s heir to think about than daughters of disgraced courtiers.)

Time passes slowly. Lords and ladies come to welcome her with their honeyed barbs, lordlings and squires ask for a dance and squeeze her hand too tight, all sweaty and overeager to ingratiate themselves with the newly-made Hand’s daughter. Alicent nods and listens and smiles and charms, always gentle and always delightful as her father would wish, until her cheeks hurt and her face feels like a rigid, half-cracked mask. She feels the court’s cold, prying eyes on her, knows how they must be seizing her up, measuring, judging. A good impression.

Yet there’s something else, too, a different gaze that she sometimes meets, the eyes of a lean, pale figure from across the hall, standing in the circle of a gaggle of courtiers. They follow her with such piercing intensity that she feels her face burn. (In confusion, surely. Embarrassment.)

She takes refuge by a pillar in the end, sinking into its shadow. She doesn’t even realize when she starts picking at her nails again. She only knows that suddenly, there’s blood running down her finger and she hisses in pain, almost tearing her handkerchief in her hasty attempt to cover it.

“You have not changed one bit.”

She flinches, shirks away from the unexpected company – or would, but there’s a hand wrapped around her wrist, gentle but firm, holding her in place. A laugh, low and delighted.

Alicent looks up. Her captor is the pale stranger – a youth clad in the royal red-and-black, a mess of short, silver-white hair framing a handsome face, lighting up with amusement as they watch her stammer and squirm. Not Daemon, not one of the Velaryons, certainly, not…

“I did not use to give you such fright.” They grin at her dazed stare, mischievous and eerily familiar, squeezing Alicent’s hand carefully, pressing the handkerchief just tightly enough against the bleeding scratch. “Not just by seeking you out, that is.”

“Rhaenyra.”

The name is half-sighed, half-choked. The world is spinning. There is so little of the bony, bratty child she once knew in the princeling – princess standing now in front of her, half a head taller than Alicent, wide-shouldered, dashing, that Alicent can hardly believe it. But the princess is smiling even wider now, all bright, brash joy, and that sight itself is more achingly familiar than any superficial mark.

“The Hand has hidden you from us for far too long. I could not yet ride Syrax when you went away, do you remember? She’s large enough now to saddle two.” She’s holding Alicent’s hand, still, drawing it closer to her, close enough that Alicent’s knuckles brush against the buttons of her doublet. It is not strange, surely, the Crown Princess talking to the daughter of the Hand like that. No-one should think that unseemly. “I hope your father does not mean to deprive our court from your presence once again. I should take very dim view of it.”

Her gaze is warm still, but her tone drops strangely deep, enough to make Alicent shiver. She casts down her eyes.

“My father has meant no offense, Princess.”

That earns, startlingly, only a scoff.

“None of that, my lady of Hightower. You know me.”

Alicent’s face burns. “I’ve known you once.”

Rhaenyra lets go of her hand. Alicent’s heart sinks, for a second – then Rhaenyra’s fingers wrap around her chin, instead, tilting her head back ever so slightly, gently, until they are eye to eye once more.

“You will know me again.”

[storywriter007]

Hi!! First off, I love your work. You are amazing. Okay so my request is basically I have two, both being Percy Jackson x reader comfort fics. Feel free to do one or both of neither!

1) Percy Jackson x reader where the reader has a lot of mental health struggles and is feeling very anxious and overwhelmed and overworked and dissociates a lot more than normal, but is bottling it all up from everyone and trying so hard to be okay and fine, even to her boyfriend Percy who can definitely tell something is off but doesn't want to push it. Maybe show some times he tries to get her to open up but she brushes him off. Then, she just breaks and has a panic attack and complete breakdown, and she ends up dropping something glass and cutting herself on it, and Percy finds her in the middle of it and helps her and comforts her and then they talk about it after.

2) This one is Percy Jackson x reader who gets seriously injured on the Argo II and tries to act like it's not that bad but then Percy (her boyfriend) forces her to let him look at it and it is really bad and he takes care of her and comforts her (kinda like the Leo fic where he cleans the wound on her back because I love that one so much), and then helps her fall asleep after.

Again feel free to do neither or both or just one, thank you so much I love your work!!

I've Got You - Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader

author's note: thank you for the requests! i will answer them in two seperate posts, this one is the first one you asked for!

author's note 2: i'm so glad you enjoy my work like you have no idea how much it means to me

warnings: cursing, self-doubt, reader is struggling mentally, mentions of blood

genre: fluff

word count: 1.2k

-> heroes of olympus masterlist

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send me requests here! (these are my guidelines)

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"are you okay?" a voice called out, replaying itself in the background.

y/n felt someone shake her and she snapped out of her daze.

"y/n." percy said, looking into her eyes. "are you okay? what's going on? you've been staring at the wall for the past ten minutes."

"nothing." she responded, unconvincingly.

percy gave her that look. like the one a mother gives her child when she catches them with their hand down the cookie jar.

"nothing!" she smiled, cheering up. "i'm fine, just a little tired."

"do you want to sleep in my cabin? maybe visit the hypnos cabin?" he proposed.

he was so sweet.

"no, no. i'm fine, just worn out." she lied. "i'm gonna take a nap."

"okay." he said, his voice doubtful.

he kissed the top of her head before leaving her cabin. as soon as she was alone, y/n's head dropped into her hands as she clutched her hair.

what is wrong with me her mind screamed.

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"are you sure you don't want to go to sleep?" percy asked, sitting on y/n's floor.

"for the hundreth time, yes percy, i'm fine." she said, starting to get annoyed.

she knows, he just cares about her, but she just couldn't right now.

"you don't have to do all of this in one day." he reminded. "all of this is due in a week."

a week isn't enough time her mind yelled.

"percy." she said, looking him in the eye. "i'm fine. i swear."

then she shot her that stupid look again.

"i'm fine!" she defended.

"okay, okay." he said. "i'm going to go to bed. stop by my cabin if you need anything."

now she felt bad. he was just looking out for her.

"i'm sorry." she smiled. "and i will. but trust me, i'm fine."

he gave her a smile back. but, it wasn't a good-luck or i-love-you smile. it was a you're-a-fucking-liar-and-i'll-leave-you-alone-but-i-don't-believe-you. percy left and y/n rested her head on her bunk as she looked up at the wood. tears fell from the corners of her eyes.

how was she going to do it? she felt like the world was on her back even more than usual.

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

y/n stood in percy's cabin after he insisted that she spend the night with him. she picked up a picture frame that was on his nightstand. it was cute, it was a picture of him and y/n laying down in the new york snow.

she smiled, but a feeling of dread crept up on her as she clutched the glass.

you've got so much to do. you have such little time. i mean, you're a weak excuse of a demi-god. i mean, c'mon, who gets this stressed out? who zones out this much? percy doesn't deserve this. he deserves better. he needs better. he needs someone who isn't a borderline psycho. he's a hero. what are you? a wannabe. a parasite. he's going to leave you sooner or later. it's just a matter of time. oh are you going to cry now? you're such a fucking crybaby.

she dropped the glass. shards hit the floor as tears fell from her eyes. she held her knees to her chest and put her head in her bloody hand as she wept.

"y/n?" percy asked, shutting the door behind him.

"oh-oh my god, percy, i'm so so so sorry." she said, cleaning up the glass that had just shattered everywhere. "i'm sorry, i'm so so sorry."

"hey, it's okay." he smiled, dropping down next to her. "it's just a picture, i have it on my computer."

"no, no, i'm such an idiot. i'm so sorry." she said, hiding her teary eyes from him. "i can't do anything right."

"what? that's not true, don't say that."

"but it is true." she whispered, tears falling from her eyes.

"hey hey hey." he said, turning her face so she was forced to look at his sea green eyes. "i've got you."

she couldn't keep it in anymore. wells of tears fell from her eyes as she violently trembled. percy pulled her into him, placing her head on his chest. she wept into him as the familiar smell of salt-water flooded her nose.

"i've got you, it's alright." he said.

his voice was so soft and calming.

"i'm so so sorry." she breathed out. "i've been so mean to you and i, i broke your picture frame and now i'm bleeding all over you floor, and you probably hate me."

he backed up for a minute and looked down at her hands. they were covered in blood.

"it's okay, it's okay, don't worry about it." he said, kissing her forehead. "i've got you. c'mon, let's wrap this up."

he stood up, and basically picked her up so she would stand too.

"i don't want to go to the infirmary-"

"we don't have to." he assured. "let's wash the blood off, and i have gauze in here."

she felt like a baby as percy rinsed her hands off and wrapped the hurt one in gauze. she sat on his bunk as he carefully cleaned up the glass on the floor. after a few minutes, he sat down next to her. she just couldn't help it, tears started falling from her eyes.

he let her cry into him. he just ran his fingers through her hair and kissed the top of her head every now and then. he kept telling her that it was "alright" and that she was "okay" and that "he's got her." there was something about percy that made her feel so safe around him. maybe it was his soothing voice, or the way he smelled, or maybe it was his touch. whatever it was, it made hiding things from him draining. after half-an-hour, y/n's tears ran dry. she pulled back from percy's chest and looked up at him with red eyes.

"hey, i'm here, you're okay." he reassured, wiping her tears with his thumbs. "what's going on?"

he grabbed a water bottle and gave it to her. even he knew she was dehydrated after crying.

"i-i don't know." she sputtered. "i don't know. i've been in my own head. and i just keep feeling like i'm nothing but a screw up and a mess, and i'm so nervous for the next big quest. i-i can't. i feel like i'm just gonna lose you and i don't have enough time to figure it out. i just feel useless, like a failure whose just going to seal everyone's terrible fate."

"y/n." he paused. "you are the most capable, amazing, intelligent, kind, funny, beautiful, person i've ever met. you are more than enough. and you have time and if you can't get to things, so what? it's okay. and when the next big things happens, it happens."

she felt his firm hands around her arms, holding her tightly.

"and i'm not going anywhere." he reassured.

hearing him clear up all of the awful things her mind has been cramming into her head was cathartic.

"i'm sorry." she said, looking up at him. "i've been such a bitch to you when you were just trying to help-"

"don't worry about it. i knew you weren't doing well." he smiled. "it's alright now."

he bent down and kissed her. his arms wrapped around her upper-half as her arms wrapped around his neck. the kiss was slow and gentle. when they finally pulled away, y/n rested her head underneath his chin.

"i love you." she whispered.

"i love you more." he whispered back, kissing the top of her head.

[laiiaaa]

MY LOVE, MINE ALL MINE — CARMEN BERZATTO 1. BUTTERSCOTCH — you finally say hello to a familiar face in the city after a little girl bumps into you. (2.7k) masterlist | next | taglist

Carmen keeps track of the running grocery list in his head:

Green onions? Check. Shallots? Check. Rolled oats? Check.

“Alright,” he huffs into the phone, a stupid thing tucked snug between his shoulder and jaw.

“Carm, I’m serious—”

“Nat, I got it, alright? I’ll call the fuckin’ guy.” Strawberries? Check. Eggs? Check. “I’m at the store, ‘n I’ll be back, ‘n then I’ll call him. It’s fine.” Dino nuggets? Check. That way-too-sugary cereal Sofia likes—? Even though he wishes Richie never gave it to her—? Check, check, check, so fuckin’ checked. “Now, do you wanna talk to—”

He looks to his side, where Sofia once stood with chubby little fingers hooked on the cart, that raggedy old stuffed animal always caught in the other fist. Gone. Carmen’s heart stops and catches in his throat. 

Natalie’s voice again, much quieter now that the phone’s not at his ear. “Hello?”

He doesn’t even hear his sister, doesn’t process her words.

He turns around. “Sof?” But she’s not there.

He tries again, facing forward, a little louder. “Sofia?” Nothing. “Fuck,” he mumbles to himself, ending the call without a second thought. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—” 

He shoves his phone into his pocket, abandons the cart altogether, pokes his head into the aisle over. “Sofia.” Nothing. “Shit—”

He can’t breathe. A closed fist shoots to his chest to try and soothe the droughted ache. The ceiling’s closing in from above, every aisle looks the same, his feet are too heavy to carry him fast enough through the store.

Where’s his fuckin’ kid?

You’re spooked out of a fatigued trance by a clumsy little girl at your feet in the produce section. 

She can’t be older than four, her chubby little face framed by golden brown curls, dressed in a cute little black dress and pink tights, ballet flats to boot. By her hand is a well-loved stuffed animal: an orange tabby cat with lint fuzzies along its body, teetering on the edge of the display about to fall into the lettuce.

“Well, hello,” you start.

She peeks up at you through stray curls with a grin. “Hi.”

You do a quick scan of the immediate area but spot nothing other than a worker stocking bananas twenty feet away, another pushing a cart of mangoes. “Where’d you come from, hm?” You perch down next to her and try to offer a warm smile to keep her calm.

“I’m here with my daddy.”

“Yeah? Where’s he at?”

Her lips, shiny with drool, puff into a pout. “I…” Her little voice wobbles, and you know that fucking wobble, that precursor to something uncontrollable and wretched, and for a split second you consider letting her cry, just on the off chance her dad hears it.

But you come to your senses: it’ll take all but five, no more than ten minutes to cover the entire store ground. You graze your hand by her back and offer her the sorry excuse for a cat. “Hey, don’t worry, it’s alright. I’ll help you.”

“B-But…” Those pretty brown eyes of her turn glassy, ready for tears, and her lip quivers, her cheeks puff out.

“I’ll help you find him, okay? We’ll wait right here, and I promise he’ll find you. We won’t leave this spot til he does.”

She hesitates before she nods, gives you a warbled, “Okay.”

You give her your name—something you read or heard from word of mouth, how putting a name to your face makes you more trustworthy. “What’s yours?”

“...Sofia.”

“Sofia,” you repeat. “That’s a very pretty name.”

The dimples that come through with her smile have you swooning, your chest filling with something sweet. A supercut you’ve long since abandoned flits through one of the best and worst years you’ve endured: kisses at the door for hello and goodbye, chilly Chicago mornings spent in someone else’s sheets, serving coffee in thick handmade mugs and being thanked for it with lips pressed to your cheek. But that was a year ago, and it’s long gone. You’re better off now—occupied with work, and running a business, and trying new things, and finding comfort in the solitude of an apartment that’s filled with nothing but the smell of coffee grounds.

Your pointer finger lifts her toy’s head: “And who’s this?”

“Butterscotch,” she says, Butter sounding a whole lot like Buttah.

“Yeah? Where’d you come up with that name?”

“My daddy’s a chef, he teached it to me.”

A chef, you hum, No wonder he’s here at seven in the morning.

And you do just about everything you’d want someone to do if this were your kid: you keep her right where she is like you promised her, you listen to all her stories she has with Butterscotch, you answer the silly questions she asks while she holds your finger in a squishy hand and bears a gummy smile.

Until—

A man wrought with stress approaches. Fitted white tee, loose denim on his hips, beat up Nikes that’ve probably seen better days. Golden brown curls like the little girl’s, only thicker, darkened with age, and half-straightened, probably from the way he runs his fingers through them like he does as he walks toward you and the girl. Buff arms, built shoulders, and they’re littered with tattoos…

Not what you expected. And he looks so fucking familiar, yet you can’t put your finger on it—

“Sofia,” he huffs, and she scurries over to him in tiny yet quickened steps and jumps into his arms, his eyes closing and brows furrowing with a relief that’s palpable as he tucks his nose into her swirling hair. “What’d I tell you about comin’ to the store w’me, huh?” A veiny hand with the letters S O U inked on the fingers cups the back of her head as he sways her from side to side, failing to give her much of a stern look at all despite his frustration. “You gotta stay by my side, I told you, you’ll get lost.”

“But I wasn’t lost, Daddy,” she pouts, “I was right here, and—and I had to find Butterscotch, and you—you weren’t there—”

“Okay,” he soothes, rubbing his hand along her back before he thumbs away budding tears from her fleshy cheeks. “Okay, hon…” He props her at his hip. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You just scared me ‘s all, alright? Didn’t know where you were, had me lookin’ all over for you.”

“...I’m sorry,” she mumbles, clearly upset, nuzzling into her dad’s shoulder as he presses a sweet kiss to her head.

He looks to you, then, and you lend him a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry about her, she’s, uh…” He peeks at her, so lovingly— “She can be a handful sometimes.”

“No, don’t apologize, she was great.” Your eyes drift to his hands. They’re big, strong, like he knows what to do with them around the house, with a baby girl...with her mother, too, though you wonder where that stands. You try not to. “She’s talkative, makes for a fun conversation. A great storyteller, too.”

He smiles, and it’s hearty, with a twitch of a brow as he draws just a bit closer—it’s slight, so slight you almost think you’re imagining things. “Think so? She doesn’t usually, um…doesn’t usually wanna talk to people, y’know?” He hikes her up again, and she turns so that she’s facing you. “Get all grumpy, don’t ya, Sof? Like with your Uncle Richie?”

“But she’s nice,” she chimes in, lifting her head from his shoulder and leaving the cat’s head peeking through. “Not mean like he is.”

Again with that smile, he looks at her with raised brows, bobs her up and down as he holds her tight, like she’s his entire world. “Yeah?” He shoots you back a look, half-impressed. “You don’t wanna see him today, huh?”

“No,” she grumbles, face smushed into his tee. “Can she come to work with us instead?”

“Sof…” He scoffs, cocking his head to the side, and his eyes dart between you and his girl. “That’s not—we can’t just—”

“Pretty please, Daddy…” She pouts at him, pulls on his neck with her arms looped around it, starts trying to lean back to stir up trouble but his hands hold her firm to his torso. “You said Eva and Vivi can’t play today…”

“I—I know, hon— . . . It’s just— . . .” Kissing his teeth, he contemplates for a moment. “She probably has work to do, y’know? Just like I have to work? And how sometimes you can’t come with me?”

“Where does she work?”

“Uhhh…” In an awkward pause, he seems to realize the dilemma. The expectant glance your way is almost painful. “Shit,” he hisses, holding Sofia with one hand to run fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry, I should’ve—I should introduce myself, right?” The pained look on his face makes you think the question is genuine, and he offers his right hand to you— “I’m Carmen, but, um, most people just call me Carmy.”

It clicks: He’s Carmen Berzatto. Not just some guy or some chef in the grocery store you’ve happened to meet, but the guy. The guy who owns the fine dining joint across the street from your cafe; the guy who showed up to the city a few years ago only to revamp his family-owned sandwich shop in its entirety; the guy you’d heard so much about from the gossip around the block between vendors; the guy who left his roots to be something so much bigger than anyone could’ve imagined; the guy who came back with a reputation with none to rival and a shattered family in its shadow. The prodigal son of Chicago. You heard of him but never met.

“Y-Yeah, right, right,” you nod, stumbling for the right words. “I thought you looked kinda familiar.” You take his hand graciously as you give him your name. His handshake is firm, solid, sure of himself, with a callused palm and dry skin and cracked knuckles, an inked-on hand with a knife through its palm on the back of his hand. “You own The Bear, right?”

“I do.” Sheepish, like it’s embarrassing to be successful.

“Cool, cool, I’ve, um, I’ve heard a lot of good things about it, but I’ve never been.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Something warm in your belly comes to the surface and you try to drown it. “I own the cafe across the street—? Just a, uh, a smaller place—” You shake your head as if to dismiss the thought of him even knowing about it. “I dunno if—”

“No, no, yeah, I know that one, a few doors down—” he nods, fervently— “Etta’s, right?”

You smile. He knew of it so quick, with so little detail you want to think it means something. “Yeah, that’s the one.” For fuck’s sake, the guy probably just likes to support his local businesses. Get a grip.

“My sister loves that place, goes there all the time. But I, uh…” A soft smile at his girl. “I don’t usually have much time to go myself…”

“Yeah, I can imagine you’re pretty busy with her.” Unless her mom is in the picture…?

But he doesn’t take the bait—he only smiles, hums with a subtle nod, gives Sofia a pat on the back to get her attention, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Hey, cub, guess what?”

She comes to only slightly, with pale blonde locks like angel’s hair tickling Carmen’s neck. Grumbles something akin to a Hm?

“You know those chocolate chip muffins you like? The ones your Aunt Natalie gets for you?”

Her curls are already caught in her eyelashes. “With the sparkles on top?”

He gives you a knowing look: sugar, not sparkles. “Yes, with the sparkles. Did you know our new friend here runs that shop?”

Her head perks up with a gasp. “What?” Her excitement is so soft, and she can’t even stave off a smile now, tiny teeth shining through to show the dimples in her cheeks again.

“You heard me.”

From her mouth is only a whisper, a doe-eyed look targeted right at you. “No way.”

You smile at her. “Yes way.”

She puts on those puppy dog eyes, looks at Carmen with a pout as she tugs on him again. “Daddy, can we please—”

 In one fell swoop, his hand whisks her hair out of her face. “Uh-uh. Nice try.”

Oh, but she’s a stubborn one. “But please—”

“Not today, baby, we gotta finish shopping, hm? Then go to work?” His eyes dart to meet yours in a knowing glance, a silent apology and excuse to leave. “Maybe I’ll ask Aunt Natalie to get them for you tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

She huffs and buries herself into his neck again, turning away from you now that she’s in a surly mood.

“Okay,” he sighs, smiling to himself, and you can’t deny the comfort in seeing his little girl so cozy with him, like he’s either the only parent around, or he’s really just that good of a father—and husband, or fiancé, or boyfriend, or whatever he might be. You don’t know if you should feel guilty for wanting to pry.

The conversation lulls to a hesitant stop, like neither one of you is sure how to bid farewell—or whether you want to do so at all.

“Y’know,” he starts, with a finality to his tone, “I’ve still gotta—”

“Yeah, me too—”

“And I left the cart in the other aisle—”

“Right, right, of course—”

“And they need me at the—”

“Same here, I need to, uh—”

“Right, yeah, so um—”

“Yeah—”

“I guess I should—”

“Probably—”

“And, uh—…”

“It was nice to meet you, though,” you finish, maybe a little too enthusiastic for only having just done so minutes ago.

But if it were, Carmen doesn’t show it. “Yeah, it was nice to meet you, too. I’ll, uh…I’ll see you around.”

You offer a softened smile. “Guess so.”

And he leaves you with a curt nod before he turns around with Sofia’s face smushed into his shoulder, her arms loosely wrapped around his neck to leave Butterscotch hugged to the nape of it. That’s all you see, then: just a beaten up stuffed animal and springy golden curls as Carmen rounds the corner of the aisle, your breath gone short and face gone warm by the end of it.

Half of it, you’re sure, is the simple brevity of it all: consoling a lost child, to chatting with her father, to finding out he’s a business neighbor. And against your better judgment, the other half of it is a twinge of attraction to him.  Even though he has a kid, and he may very well be married, or at least in a relationship, and by the looks of it, stressed out of his goddamn mind…

But there’s just something about him.

The way he was worried about his daughter like he’s supposed to be, the way he holds her and dotes on her and rubs her back like it’s nothing but natural to him, the heartwarming smile that reaches his eyes just by looking at his precious girl. The hard-earned strength in his hands and arms, the symbolic imagery of his tattoos that you’ve yet to dwell upon in late night hours, the awkward demeanor about him like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to talk to you—or if he even knows how. And all this, you see in a man working down the street, a man you’ve never spoken to until today, who could be the worst person in the world for all you know.

You don’t, is the thing. You don’t know his middle name, or his favorite color, or favorite food, or where he’s even worked, really, other than here in Chicago. You don’t know if Sofia’s mother is still around, or whatever happened to her if she isn’t, or if it’s a topic he breaches freely or not at all.

You don’t know enough about him yet to judge. You don’t know much at all. You don’t know if you want to, whether it’ll send you head first into a mess of pasts not unlike the one you’ve been trying to crawl out of alone for the past grueling months, if it’d upturn all the good you’ve tried to make stick.

But if there’s one thing you do know, it’s that you want to see him again. 

And that you’ll have to make a batch or two of muffins first.

masterlist | next | taglist

@knight4xmas @ajourneyforjoy @penguin876

[bvnniz]

AHHH

How about either Vox’s or Val’s assistant got mad at bunny cuz she ran into him and knocked papers out of his hands and she pushed her down the stairs and told her if she tells Vox or Val about it he’ll hurt her and when Vox finds her and asks what’s wrong and what happens she’s to scared so he looks at the cameras and ya

Sorry it’s a long one 😝

i feel like u just own my requests atp but i ᥫ᭡ it

𝜗𝜚 warnings: dd/lg dynamic with bunny & vox , bunny calls vox daddy

you had woken up like every morning, running to the tower then running up the stairs except this time you had ran into valentino’s assistant, max. everyone at valentino’s studio had loved you but max was not a fan of you. you expected it was because max had a relationship with valentino before she was practically thrown out because valentino was spending most of his time with you.

“oh if it isn’t the little bunny brat.” you just started up at her a little scared. “first, you make my life with my boss a living hell, then you make me drop all the damn papers valentino sent me to get from vox. is all you do is ruin things.” you just shook your head no, absolutely terrified. max nodded, before she smiled down at you. “guess i can make it so you can’t.” she said before pushing you backwards, making you fall down the first set of stairs, which was roughly ten steps.

“oh and don’t think about telling vox or valentino. if you did your life is gonna be way worse, and believe me i will make them turn against you if you even try to say something.” you nodded waiting for her to leave before walking up the stairs and heading towards vox’s office.

“hey little one, i missed you.” he smiled at you as he saw your ears in the door frame, starting to get a little confused as you didn’t immediately run into the room. “oh how i do miss my little princess, i do wonder where she is.” you walked into the door frame, vox immediately opening his arms up for you. “c’mere princess.”

you walked over sitting in his lap, putting your back against him to hide your face of pain. he immediately kissed your head “hi princess.”

“hi daddy”

he looked at you confused, before noticing the bruises forming on your legs and immediately turning you to face him. “what happened.” you laid your head on his chest trying to give him false security that you were fine. “nothing happened daddy, i just fell, you know i’m clumsy.” he nodded. “okay princess if you say so, why don’t you go take a nap on the couch?” you nodded back before going and laying on the couch before drifting off to sleep

the second he saw that your small body was asleep he immediately checked his cameras, immediately seeing his little princess get pushed down the stairs by valentinos assistant max.

first thing he did, after being done with seeing red was send the cam footage to valentino, almost immediately getting a phone call from valentino “is that my little conejita being pushed down the stairs by my assistant?” vox let out a mhm “she’ll be dead within the hour.” was all valentino said before hanging up.

vox turned to you smiling, before picking up your smaller form and pulling you back onto his lap as you stirred awake. “it’s being taken care of princess.” he said kissing you on the cheek. “don’t worry, i’ll start working later so that you can get here at the same time as me so you don’t need to be alone again princess.”

[anim-ttrpgs]

Mage Player Character Rules in Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

Eureka has six playable "monster" types, and about ten total supernatural character options all together. Each supernatural trait is taken basically as if it is a normal trait like the ones you have been seeing us post. You cannot give a character more than one supernatural trait--and from what you are about to read, you probably wouldn't want to. Playing monsters is recommended for "advanced" players only, people who like a lot of "crunch" in their games, as require you to keep track of a lot more mechanics than playing a normal human.

Here is the Mage Trait. Mage aren't actually classified as Monsters, they're classified as "Misc. Supernatural," but even then their mechanics can be crunchy. This is going under a Read More because it's long as hell but we really hope that you will check it out and comment. This is, like, the whole entire ruleset for playing a mage in Eureka.

You may also have read about "mage powers" in the Changeling, Fairy, and Fairytale Witch rulesets. Well, this is where those come from.

Mage (Misc. Supernatural Trait) 

A “mage”[2] in Eureka is an otherwise normal person with one or more inexplicable powers.[1] Unlike the Fairytale Witch, a Mage’s powers are always innate. They may or may not know where this supernatural ability came from, and having it may or may not have indirectly influenced the direction their life has taken, but it is easy enough to hide without structuring any of their day-to-day life around actively hiding it.

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] Though it is usually only one.

[2 off to the side in the final formatting] Though they are more likely to call themselves “something-kinetic,” “mutant,” or “freak.”

A mage has one or more Mage Powers [change mage traits to mage abilities], with their body under more strain the more of them they were born with. This strain is represented by the Composure roll they make when putting a non-skill supernatural ability to use. They cannot have more than six. [make it clear in the witch section that witches can only have one Mage ability at once.]

One Mage Power: +3

Two Mage Powers: +1

Three Mage Powers: +0

Four Mage Powers: -1

Five Mage Powers: -2

Six Mage Powers: -3

[snoop: A Genevya snoopette hovering while machetes are floating around her. Ask blue for more details]

Mage Power List

Glamor (Mage Power)

This character can make themselves appear supernaturally attractive for the duration of one scene. Turning on this power counts as using a supernatural ability and takes one Movement. While this power is active, apply a +2 Base bonus to this character’s Charm and Seduce skills. This investigator can also spend 1 Eureka! Point to completely alter their outward appearance and voice to look like someone else, so long as their general body frame and height are not altered significantly. This investigator can spend 2 Eureka! Points to completely alter their appearance, including height, apparent weight, and sex. In order to match a specific person’s look, the investigator must either have a reference to study, such as the person themself or a high-quality photograph, to make their disguise match a specific person’s appearance. Either way, this counts as use of a non-skill supernatural ability and only lasts for the duration of one Scene. 

Healing Touch (Mage Power)

This character’s touch has the power to restore and revitalize living flesh. Add +2 to the number of HP restored by any Medicine roll, even a Failure. Does not heal undead.

Incredible Strength (Mage Power) 

This character’s physical prowess far exceeds their apparent musculature. This character is considered to have superhuman strength, as well as a +2 Base bonus to Athletics and +1 Base bonus Close Combat. 

[snoop: A snoop lifting a barbell meant for two hands with only one “hand”.]

Invisibility (Mage Power) 

The character in question can make themselves impossible to see with the naked eye. There are a number of ways to interpret this, and it is important to decide in no uncertain terms how it works beforehand. Does it include the character’s clothes, or do they have to strip naked to avoid looking like a floating outfit? Do they have to leave their own eyes visible to catch light, or do they not need to worry about that? Is this true invisibility, or are they merely changing the color of their skin to match the environment, and does it work while they are moving? Make sure to consider all of these things before the first session. Regardless, this character may turn invisible or turn visible again at any time, each of which count as use of a supernatural ability, and takes 1 Movement if in combat. While invisible, apply a +10 Base bonus to their Stealth skill.

[off to the side in the final formatting] Our recommended drawback for this ability is that the user must be naked in order to not be given away by their clothes floating in the air.

[Snoop: One snoop looking around confused while an invisible snoop represented by nothing but a pair of eyes sneaks past. ]

Lightning Powers (Mage Power) 

This investigator can generate high-voltage shocks in their body. It takes a short amount of time, or one Turn, counting as an action, to build up a charge, and also counts as use of a supernatural ability. After building up a charge, they can power, or short out, an electronic device that they touch, within reason.[1] In order to power an electronic device, they must actually touch the wires or other components that would normally touch the power supply.[2] For each minute or Round of combat that the investigator powers a device, they must make the supernatural ability Composure roll.

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] They could not take the place of a nuclear power plant and power an entire city, for instance, but jumping a car, keeping the lights of a house on, etc. would be within their limits.

[2 off to the side in the final formatting] For instance, they could not power a flashlight just by holding it by the handle, they must actually touch the components that the battery would touch. The investigator is essentially acting as the battery, and if they stop touching the device, it will be as if the battery was removed.

This investigator ability can use this ability in combat as well. After charging up, the next person to touch this investigator either with their own body or any kind of highly conductive weapon will be dealt a powerful electric shock for 4 Superficial Damage if the incoming attack is a Full Success and 2 Superficial Damage if the incoming attack is a Partial Success. This can be used offensively by combining it with any unarmed melee attack, or with a weapon made of a highly conductive material.[1] When attacking like this, only one roll is made, counting for both damage sources.[2]

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] The investigator must be actually touching the same conductive material that is impacting the target for this to work. For instance, a knife with a metal blade but a rubber handle would not deliver a charge.

[2 off to the side in the final formatting] Full Success = Full regular attack damage + 4 Superficial Damage from electricity.

Partial Success = Half regular attack damage + 2 Superficial Damage from electricity.

Failure = No damage, as usual.

Once an electric charge has been discharged, it must be built up again.

For 1 Eureka! Point, this investigator can build up a massive charge.[1] This massive charge can be unleashed in a direction of the investigator’s choice where it will jump up to 15 feet towards the nearest conductive thing in that direction. This lightning will jump 1D6 times, alway jumping to the next nearest point of conduction starting from the investigator. It does not discriminate between friend and foe.

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] This takes the same amount of time to generate as a normal charge, and takes an action.

Manifest Weaponry (Mage Power) 

This character is able to produce 2 short semi-transparent hovering blades about the size of machetes at will, which they can control without touching them. This counts as one Movement. At the cost of one Eureka! Point, 4 blades can be summoned instead. For combat purposes, each pair of blades counts as a separate single dual-wielding combatant independent of the character who summoned them, with their own actions and place in the turn-order. A pair of blades can only make Basic Melee Attacks, but cannot be attacked themselves, and uses their owner’s Close Combat skill. They can also benefit from the Ambidextrous trait if their owner has this trait.

Their Speed will always be twice the Speed of their owner, however, they will vanish when out of the owner’s line of sight, and suffer an attack penalty of -1 for every 15 feet they travel away from their owner.

0-14 feet: -0

15-29 feet: -1

30-44 feet: -2

45-59 feet: -3

60-74 feet: -4

75-89 feet: -5

90-104 feet: -6

105-120 feet: -7

etc.

[snoop: A snoopette with four hovering machetes around her shoulders.]

Psychic Detective (Mage Power)

When this investigator is about to make an Investigative Roll with any skill they can, as a supernatural ability, instead replace the skill they were going to use to investigate with the Blacked Out skill, and it is otherwise treated like a regular Investigative Roll and gives the same information as the skill it is replacing. If one of these Investigative Rolls is made towards either a weapon the use of which is relevant to the investigation, or a wound that is relevant to the investigation, then regardless of the roll’s outcome this investigator will take Superficial Damage equivalent to half of the weapon’s regular damage, and must make a Composure Check as if they had been hit by this weapon. However, the Narrator does not tell the player exactly what the weapon is, just its damage and its category for the purpose of Composure Checks. The Narrator will also tell the player whether the damage dealt was Superficial or Penetrative, though the actual damage taken to this investigator will always be Superficial.

[off to the side in the final formatting] For example, if the investigator uses this ability to make an Investigative Roll towards a murder victim’s body to determine the cause of death, and the cause of death was a gunshot wound, the Narrator would tell his player that this investigator takes 2 Superficial Damage (Bullets normally deal 4 Penetrative Damage, but this Trait converts that to Superficial Damage and cuts it in half.) and must make a Gunfight Composure Check.

[off to the side in the final formatting] Wearing armor does not reduce this damage.

Pyrokinesis (Mage Power) 

This character can start small fires with their mind. In order to do this, the target must be reasonably flammable, such that it would ignite if a match was held to it, and also be visible to the character. If time is measured in Turns this counts as a Movement. “Visible” usually means that it is in the character’s immediate vicinity. The Narrator should be very careful if allowing this power to target things seen in video feeds or photographs. We generally do not recommend this interpretation. If attempted in combat or any other situation where time is being measured in rounds, this takes one action. Anything highly flammable, such as paper, flammable gas, or kindling will catch fire guaranteed. For anything marginally flammable, such as hair, most clothing, and thicker wood, roll 1D6. On a 1-3, the targeted object will not catch fire; on a 4-6, it will catch fire. Subtract -1 for each factor present that would make it harder for something to catch fire, such as if the object is wet or if there is high wind speed. If fire is set to someone’s hair or clothes in this way, they will have 1 round to extinguish it before it starts to cause damage. After the first round, it will deal 1 Superficial Damage on the burning character’s turn until extinguished.

In addition, rather than just starting a small fire, this investigator can spend a Eureka! Point to instantly set something ablaze in a burning inferno, so long as it is at all reasonably flammable. If this is done to a character, the burning character will take 2 Superficial Damage each time it is their own turn until extinguished. See: Splash Explosions for more rules regarding burning damage.

[off to the side in the final formatting] Unlike a true Splash Explosion, however, this ability can only target one character or object at a time.

[Snoop: One snoop shooting ‘mind beams’ at another snoop’s butt who is running around with their butt on fire.]

Telekinesis (Mage Power)

This character can affect, push, pull, lift, etc. objects without physically touching them. Anything a character could do with their hand, this character can do with telekinesis, unless the action somehow requires a hand specifically, such as using a thumbprint recognition scanner. For any usage of this ability that would require an Athletics check if it were to be done with the physical body, use an Athletics modifier of +2, regardless of the investigator’s actual Athletics stat. This investigator can use this ability to lift themselves and/or others into the air, though their speed while hovering cannot exceed a walking pace. This investigator can use their telekinesis to make a Grab attack against another character from a distance. All Grabbing and Holding rules apply, including Submission, except that the Grabber and the Target do not have to be touching. This investigator can spend 1 Eureka! Point to exert up to 500 pounds of pressure on an object for 1 round. This takes an action. This pressure could be used for a variety of purposes, such as lifting, crushing, etc. If used to crush a character, this deals 4 Penetrative Damage and ignores Armor. 

[off to the side in the final formatting] When Grabbing with the telekinesis, this does not use the investigator’s own Athletics, it will always be a total modifier of +1; +2 from the telekinesis, -1 from the Grab action.

[off to the side in the final formatting] If this is being done from outside the range of the target’s weapon, the target cannot make a Counter-Attack. Additionally, the target must know who is attempting to Grab them in order to make a Counter-Attack.

[Snoop: A snoopette hovering in a lazy/smug relaxed position looking at another snoop who is significantly more distressed about being lifted into the air.]

Teleportation (Mage Power) 

This character can teleport, instantly transporting themselves to their destination. They can teleport to any location they can clearly see within 100 yards. If done in combat, this takes an action. At the cost of 3 flat composure points per additional person, this investigator can teleport with other people so long as they are touching them.

At the cost of 1 Eureka! Point, this investigator can teleport to anywhere in the world that they have been before and can clearly picture in their mind. This costs 1 additional Eureka! Point per additional person they are bringing with, in addition to the Composure cost.

Superhuman Speed (Mage Power) 

When this ability is activated, this investigator���s body is capable of moving faster than regular physics dictate it should, but not faster than the human eye can track. This ability must be activated on a per-Scene basis, and doing so confers a +3 Composure check. This takes a Movement. While this ability is active, add a +3 Base to this investigator’s Reflexes skill, a +3 Base bonus to any melee attack roll, and a -3 penalty to any other character’s melee attack roll targeting this character, and a -1 to any other character’s firearm or projectile attack roll targeting this character if this character is ducking or running perpendicular to the shooter. While this ability is active this investigator also has an Acceleration of +8. 

Werewolf (Mage Power)

The character may transform into a large, tailless wolf. This takes 1 Action if done in combat. In this form, they can only attack with their jaws. To attack with jaws, make a Grab attack. So long as the target is Grabbed, all other aspects of Grabbing apply, but they also take 2 Penetrative damage each time it is the character’s turn with no roll needed. This damage can be reduced by armor or by any other damage reduction such as that of the Unkillable trait. They gain a +4 Contextual bonus to Senses rolls involving hearing and smell. They also gain a +1 Base bonus to Close Combat, and a +4 Base bonus to Stealth. +4 Acceleration.

While in wolf form, werewolves are capable of Scent Tracking. (See p.xx “Scent Tracking”.) 

[Snoop: An image of a tree with a wolf tail sticking out from one side and a snoop ‘skin’ hanging from a coat hanger right next to it.]

Note: ‘Werewolves’ as they appear in most historical folklore do not really fit into the Monster category. They don’t have any particular weaknesses besides the weaknesses that regular humans have, nor are they really even that dangerous compared to other Monster types. For this reason, this Trait is considered a Mage Power. For a more ‘hollywood’ take on werewolves, see Wolfman.