#i would love for that to do something to them

[parkerslatte]

Different

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none

Summary: Ever since Feyre arrived at Velaris, they have only ever known Azriel a stoic and mostly serious. But once his wife comes home, she sees a different side to him.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Feyre watched as Azriel stood by the window. His shadows moved over his shoulders and around his ear as if whispering something to him. The expression on Azriel’s face was his same neutral one that only ever seemed to change the smallest amount. And only ever in the presence of the Inner Circle and even then there would only be a small hint of a smile. 

It was late at night and everyone was enjoying a relaxing night with a few bottles of Rhys’s expensive alcohol. So far, Azriel hadn’t moved from his place at the window, his back was rigid as if he was expecting something, though that was the only indicator that he was. His face was his usual stoicism, giving nothing away. 

“Az, are you ever going to get away from that window anytime soon?” Cassian complained. 

Azriel turned his attention to Cassian and scowled. “I’m busy.”

“Not busy enough to spend time with the people you love,” Cassian teased. 

“Az, sit down, you won’t miss anything,” Rhys chimed in. 

With a final look through the window, Azriel walked over to the rest of the Inner Circle and sat in the armchair. His back was tense and he was not fully relaxed. Ever since Feyre had known him he had always been somewhat alert to everything. 

While everyone continues with the card game, Feyre couldn’t help but pay more attention to Azriel than to the game. Like Feyre, Azriel didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the game either. Instead he stared at the table in front of him completely lost in thought. 

Elain, who was sitting on the floor beside Mor, looked up to Azriel. “It’s your turn,” she said. 

“Oh,” Azriel said before picking a card out of his hand and placing it on top of the pile. 

“That isn’t a card you can even put on top,” Cassian complained. 

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Does it matter? You change the rules when you’re losing anyway.”

“I do not!” Cassian exclaimed. “I take this game seriously.”

“Until you are losing,” Nesta mumbled under her breath. 

Cassian began to argue back, clearly becoming outnumbered in his argument. Feyre only watched on with amusement. 

However everything was quickly interrupted by a new voice, one Feyre had never heated before, cut through the argument. 

“I leave you all alone for a few years and everything goes to shit?” 

Everything goes silent as everyone stares at the beautiful female who had just entered the room. Before Feyre could even process everything, Azriel threw his cards back down on the table and rushed up to the female.

The female giggled in delight as Azriel’s arms wrapped around her and swung her around. Feyre looked at her two sisters, each of them held the same expression she did. Confusion. 

What shocked Feyre the most about the situation was the bright and wide smile stretching across Azriel’s face. She had only noticed now that he had dimples. 

“I missed you so much,” Azriel mumbled. 

“It has only been a few months for you,” the female replied. 

“That is too long for me. I always wish for you to be next to me,” Azriel replied and pressed his lips against the females. His arms circled her waist, making sure there wasn’t a single gap between their bodies. The female threaded her fingers through his hair, causing Azriel to sigh in delight. Feyre couldn’t help but feel surprised by this display of affection from Azriel. 

Feyre leaned back against Rhys. “Who is that?”

“Azriel’s mate and wife,” Rhys answered.

“What?” Feyre exclaimed. “None of you have ever mentioned her before.”

“That was Azriel’s decision,” Rhys replied, filling up his glass. “You see, Y/N works as a researcher all over the continent for me so she is rarely ever here so none of us can protect her. Azriel has made a lot of enemies over the years and if he were tied to her, she could be put in even more danger.”

“When was the last time they saw each other?” Elain interjected. 

“For Azriel a few months ago,” Rhys answered. “Those two weeks just before Solstice when Azriel wasn’t here, he was on the continent with her.”

Feyre watched as Azriel buried his head into Y/N’s  neck, holding her against him tightly. Feyre smiled at the sight. 

“It has been at least two years since the rest of us have last seen Y/N,” Cassian chimed in. “It would be nice of her to greet the rest of us.”

Y/N pulled away from Azriel to smile at everyone else. “Give me a break, Cass. If you were to go without a hug from your mate in a few months, you wouldn't be jumping to greet everyone else first.”

“She knows about us?” Nesta asked. 

Cassian nodded. “Whenever Azriel meets up with her, she always asks about you all. Apparently she has been excited to meet you all.” 

Feyre watched as Azriel and Y/N walked over to join the group. Azriel’s gaze never left Y/N for a single second. Feyre’s gaze shifted down to their joined hands. She hid her smile behind her glass. 

Y/N quickly greeted Rhys, Cassian and Mor with a hug and she gave a small nod to Amren. 

Azriel sat down on the armchair first and as Y/N was about to sit in the arm of it, Azriel pulled her down so she sat in his lap instead. His arms locked around her waist as his chin rested on her shoulder. Feyre was sure she had never seen him look so happy before, so at ease. The smile on his face was one Feyre had never seen. 

“It is great to finally meet you three,” Y/N said, her gaze flicking between Feyre, Nesta and Elain. “This one here,” she said, reaching to cup Azriel’s cheek, “has told me a lot about you.”

“It is great to meet you,” Feyre said with a smile. 

“So now that introductions have finished,” Cassian begins, “can we get back to the game now? I was about to win.”

“Is that because you changed the rules halfway through the game?” Y/N teased. 

Cassian rolled his eyes. “You know what, Y/N. I don’t think I missed you at all.”

Y/N chuckled. “We both know that’s a lie.”

Azriel laughed along with Y/N and placed a soft kiss to her shoulder. He looked completely different to the stoic and serious shadowsinger Feyre was used to. With Y/N, Azriel seemed like a completely different person. The tension had vanished from his body and his shadows, which were once sliding over his shoulders, were now caressing Y/N legs and arms. One of his hands caressed her thigh while the other threaded with hers. Feyre could see the goosebumps appear on Y/N’s skin wherever he caressed. 

Azriel whispered something into Y/N’s ear which caused her to turn to him, smiling wide, her lips hovering just above his. The glimmer in Azriel’s eyes was prominent as he looked at her. It was as if she hung the stars. There was so much love and tenderness in his eyes that it could only be described as something out of a romance novel. She had never seen him look so at ease before. It was if everything else had melted away and the only thing left was Y/N.

Feyre couldn’t help but feel giddy at the sight. 

“How long have they been mates for?” Feyre asked Rhys. 

“Nearly three hundred years,” Rhys replied, wrapping an arm around Feyre. “They have been married for longer, the bond snapped nearly fifty years after they were married.”

“They seem happy,” Feyre said, her eyes not shifting from where Azriel and Y/N sat. 

Rhys smiled at his two friends, friends he considered family. “They are. Azriel is always his happiest when Y/N is around. He always has been ever since they met.”

“Why does she go away for long periods of time?” Feyre questioned. “It feels like torture when I’m away from you for too long. I cannot imagine being mates to someone for three hundred years and only being able to see them every few months.”

“That is the way it has been through their whole relationship,” Rhys explains. “They both knew what each other did for a job and neither of them wanted the other to give it up.” 

“How long is she back for this time?” Feyre asked. 

“I hadn’t asked,” Rhys said. “But I have a small feeling she will be here for a while this time.”

Feyre frowned. “How so?”

“Because if I know anything about Y/N, it is that she would never decline a glass of my finest wine and so far she has declined every glass Mor has offered her,” Rhys observed. 

Feyre looked at Rhys excitedly. “Does that mean—?”

Rhys smiled. “They haven’t said anything so I assume that they wish to keep the news between them for a little while longer.”

Feyre smiled over at Y/N and Azriel. She caught Y/N’s eye. The beautiful female only sent a wink Feyre’s way, a clear indication that she had overheard her and Rhys’s conversation. 

“Az, it’s your turn,” Nesta said. 

Azriel throws all of his cards onto the table. “I think I am done for the night.”

Cassian groaned . “Really?”

“Really,” Azriel said. “I want to spend time with my gorgeous mate and wife.”

Cassian chuckled. “That is only an excuse because you are losing,” the general teased. 

Azriel rolled his eyes and swooped Y/N up in his arms. Her arms locked around his neck. “If you need us— actually don’t even try to contact us at all.”

Y/N threw her head back and laughed as Azriel carried her out of the room. Feyre could hear them laughing loudly even when the door was firmly closed behind them. Feyre leaned into Rhys and linked her fingers with his.

“I am happy for them,” Feyre said, her eyes staring at the door where Azriel and Y/N had left. 

Rhys kissed the top of Feyre’s head. “Me too.”

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( ninth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; profanity , alcohol consumption , inebriation , sexual harassment , violence , vomit

୨୧˚ an; i love nami kempo (dis shit like 4k werdssss) ALSO i’ve been getting comments that my tag list isn’t working for me dumb someone help me pls tell me what im doing wrong

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

“Why am I here?” Nanami thinks out loud, glaring pointedly around the unlit dive bar. It’s unglamorous, walls garbed in eclectic music paraphernalia, references that go right past him. Flurries of reds and yellows and oranges in the decor cut brightly, shining through the dim atmosphere. Seriously, would it kill them to switch a light on? It bustles with life; university kids, Nanami is subjected to think based on the… unique fashion sense present in the room. Street wear, torn jeans, crop tops way too short to be considered shirts anymore. He cringes, feeling entirely too dated to be hanging amongst this kind of crowd. His leg bounces restlessly under the ledge of the bar, and he turns to look at you. “Why are we here?”

You’re smiling—actually smiling—flagging down the bartender. “You knew we were coming to a bar,” you cut yourself short, holding up a single finger to him whilst you relayed your order to the older gentleman behind the bar. A rum and coke, you asked politely before glancing toward Nanami. It took a moment for him to realize what that look meant. 

“I’ll have scotch, neat. Thanks.”

“As I was saying,” you steal back his attention, “I made it clear we were coming to a bar. What’s the problem?”

There was a hint of an attitude catching at your words, and Nanami felt his brow twitch in frustration. “You failed to tell me that we’d be in…” He grimaces, peeking back over his shoulder to the sea of youthful patrons slinging over nearly every stool and booth. “ . . . Mixed company.” God awful pop music fizzles through the speakers, twisting and crackling with pops of static; fuel to the billowing flames of Nanami’s overstimulation. “I was expecting something a bit more sophisticated.”

“I can tell,” you’re laughing as you give him a once over, and he gets a shiver of Deja Vu from the coffee shop where you pulled the same exact move. You tweeze at the expensive cotton button down, plucking the bunched fabric of a sleeve at the crease of his elbow. “Thought we said no more fancy clothes?”

Tonight he threw together a plain white shirt and a pair of slim fit khaki pants; the quintessential dad outfit, sure, but fancy? Nanami didn’t think so. “I’m dressed down.”

“Nixing the suit jacket and tie didn’t do much. You still look stiff, man.” Two glasses are brought over, one placed before either of you respectively. Nanami stares down into the glass, a foggy, brown abyss. His alcohol looks watered down and piss cheap. “You stick out, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Oh please, you’re too kind.” Nanami rolls his eyes, hunching over the bar and downing a swig from the scotch. Yeah, It was definitely watered down. Fuck this place. 

Your hand slaps his back. “So dramatic. I was kidding Nanami, you look fine.” A cheeky laugh reaches his ears before you tack on, “very handsome.” 

Now he knows you’re messing with him. 

You grin into your cup. “Stop sulking. It’s not so bad here.” Nanami would beg to differ. A debate that isn’t worth having because frankly, it’s a Saturday night and he doesn’t have nearly enough energy to draft a list of all the cons that this joint has to offer. “We got booze,” you raise your glass. “Booze makes everything better.”

His forehead wrinkles. “That’s a horrible mindset to have, Y/n.”

Your boisterous laugh outweighs the ambient chatter, and you take a hearty gulp. Nanami follows suit, albeit a bit awkwardly, tipping more spirits down his throat. You look surprisingly comfortable, slinking against the bar counter with a hazy smile that welcomes strangers in. This time, you weren’t wearing a flowery dress; instead, a low cut shirt and jeans, both equal parts dark and tight. The neckline plummeted deep, exposing slivers of your bra cups and entirely too much cleavage. By God, was his self restraint something to write home about. 

It was easy to fall into comfortable conversation. All in all, Nanami enjoys talking to you now, even if once upon a time the thought of engaging with you evoked such dread that he’d outwardly avoid your presence around the office. Passing along orders specifically meant for you to other colleagues and entrusting them to deliver the message, lengthening the conveyor belt of relation simply because you got him in a tizzy. Back then, all Nanami could see when he looked at you was that cowardly girl in the bathroom with smeared lipstick and a trembling pout. How shameful, he thinks, that it took him this long to see past that terrible first impression. 

“So there I was, balancing ten cups of coffee, shaking like a little bitch,” you laughed as you shared an anecdote from an internship in your university years. Nanami listened intently, head propped up on his fist as he watched your theatrics. Your cheeks flushed with the evidence of alcohol, eyes lidded, smile wobbly. Nanami was feeling the edge of his buzz coming on too, an amazing revelation considering the diluted alcohol this place served. “And I’m walking up ten flights of stairs–”

“Ten flights?” He gawks, feeling looser and matching you with melodrama. “What, did your office not have an elevator?”

You laughed. “It was out of order.”

“Your luck astounds me.”

You flip him off playfully. “I finally get to the last stair and my heel catches on the floor and I eat total shit in front of the entire room!” Nanami can’t stop his own tittering, cupping a palm over his grin. “Spilled the coffee everywhere, twisted my ankle, too. I probably laid in that puddle for ten minutes.”

“That’s why you don’t wear high heels anymore?”

There’s a grimace on your face when you nod, topping off the rest of your glass. “Mm.”

Nanami swaps his own story, of a time when he was in his third year of college and his work laptop got stolen. “I think I cried,” and you guffawed at his misery. “I’m serious, I really think I cried. Alone, on the floor of my dormitory. It was finals week, and I had written my dissertation on that laptop.”

“So what did you do?”

“I pulled an all-nighter in the library on campus and rewrote my entire thesis.” Merely remembering that chaotically stressful night had Nanami huffing a sigh of anguish and dragging an exasperated hand down his face. 

The bartender slides you another drink. Gosh, he was lagging behind. “I would’ve dropped out.” You spoke over the rim of the glass.

“Trust me, I was really close.” Nanami’s eyes narrow, gaging the swell of your throat as you knock back a few swigs. “How many have you had?” 

“A few.” Your answer was blunt, and from that Nanami could gather that his question had rendered you the slightest bit irritated. He understood why; you were a grown woman, who was he to regulate how many rounds you decide to have? But even with this understanding, the man couldn’t shake his concern. “More than you, old timer. Keep up.”

He shakes his head, scratching at his cheek. “This is my last for the night.” Any more, and Nanami would wake up the next morning nauseous with a pounding headache. He took precautions to avoid breaching his limits, he really disliked that hungover feeling. 

You gawk at the declaration. “How lame.” Then you hiccup.

“You can call me lame now, but which one of us will wake up tomorrow not in pain?”

You wave a hand through the air, brushing off his very astute observation. “Hush, that’s for future me to deal with. Present me doesn’t have a care in the world.”

You’re immature, but it’s amusing, so he doesn’t offer any rebuttals. The way you are so insistent on living in the moment is fascinating, almost inspiring even. Nanami feels as though he’s ever crushed by the impending future, always so concerned with what the next day, next week, next month, next year brings. He thinks ahead to a fault, and because of that, forgets to enjoy the little things. But you always stop and smell the roses. It’s admirable. 

“Bartender!” You wag a finger in the air, slamming down your empty glass. Fiending for yet another drink. 

Okay, maybe your ability to live in the now is to a fault as well. Nanami holds a hand up, signaling the barkeep to halt. “Sorry,” he apologizes politely, “she’s all good for now, thanks.” Ain’t that the truth. Your face looked tacky with sweat, pupils scarily dilated. Your words come out dimly slurred, and your gestures uncoordinated. As your business associate, he feels obligated to intervene at this point.

A hand slaps his down. Your hand. “Hey what gives?” You’re upset with him. “Just because you’re done doesn’t mean I am.”

“You’re three sips away from throwing up on yourself,” Nanami deadpans, unphased by your drunken outburst. Unbeknownst to the two of you, another patron had taken up the stool opposite of you. To be expected; the bar was decently crowded, that being said neither of you paid much mind to the man. He was younger than Nanami for sure, his hair unkempt and shaggy, swept back by sweat and something that looked like grease. He was smiling, probably on some brand of dope that Nanami was unfamiliar with. The stranger interrupts, leaning over with his elbow planted on the countertop. 

“You her father or some shit?” He speaks without any warning, catching both you and Nanami’s attention. 

Father? Nanami internally grimaces, jaw tightening. Just how old does he think I am? Trying not to be offended by the inquiry, he corrects the man. “Just a concerned friend, that’s all.” You have yet to speak, still a tad caught off guard by the unexpected company. 

The stranger’s grin widens, reaching shit-eating status. “Then hop the fuck off her case, man.” He shoots a pair of lidded, droopy eyes toward you, eyebrows jumping in a manner that is entirely too suggestive for Nanami’s liking. “If the lady wants another drink, then let her have another drink.”

Nanami feels the awkward tension thicken the air between this interaction. For all the shit you talked about getting hit on in bars, he would have never expected you to act so timid when put in a position like this. Nanami fully expected you to side with the latter party, to order another round of vodka-whatever and then leave with your newfound knight in shining armor. What actually happened: “No, er, my friend might be right actually,” followed by an incredibly strained chuckle. Your shoulders stiffen, Nanami can practically feel the way you harden up beside him. “I should probably take it easy.”

The man feigns grief. “Aw, c’mon. You seemed so eager before. Let me buy you another?”

“She just said—”

“I was talking to her, not you.”

Nanami was utterly shocked by the sheer gall this young man possessed. Was he trying to intimidate him? It was painfully ineffective. “I don’t want one,” you said with a little more oomph this time, fiercely hanging on the urge to defend Nanami. It made him feel strangely prideful. 

The stranger’s smile never retreated, but something sinister glinted in the ocean of his dark eyes. He gave a sniff, brushing the point of his nose with the pad of his thumb before hurling yet another unwanted flirtation your way. “Baby, hey, what’s one more drink? I saw you from across the room, I’ve been dyin’ to chat you up.” Under the table, his hand slips into your personal space. Nanami sees it unfold in his peripherals; the pallor hand slithering over your lap, grabbing a handful of your denim-clad thigh. You yelped in surprise, wincing. Nanami saw it all.  

He was not a violent man. In fact, he could count the number of times he’s thrown a punch in his life on one hand. Physical fights were pointless, a waste of time and energy because Nanami wholeheartedly believed that altercations were best settled with words. But the moment your nervous squeak found his ears, Nanami couldn’t control the urge to beat this guy’s face in. So that’s what he did; sliding out of his seat to round you and pull the stranger off his stool by the collar of his faux leather jacket. The material felt cheap and mingy, not something Nanami would ever be caught dead wearing. Without so much as a second thought, Nanami sends a heavy fist barreling into the meat of his cheek. One good, solid punch, and the sinewy gentleman was tumbling to the ground, walking the thin line between consciousness. “Shit…” Nanami breathes, chest heaving with barely concealed rage, knuckles throbbing to the beat of his racing heart. The bar went dead, too many pairs of eyes locked onto him to count, but the only ones he could care about were yours. 

You looked at Nanami with such astonishment, with your eyes pried wide as dinner plates and your mouth ajar. He was ready for you to yell at him, to curse him for embarrassing you in a pub you frequented, but nothing came. Well, almost nothing. 

“Security!” The bartender hollered thick and deep, slapping a damp rag onto the counter with a wet plap. 

“Shit!” Nanami repeated, cuffing a hand around the thinnest part of your wrist, tugging you into his side as you both raced toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

You’re gurgling and grumbling, latching onto the material of his shirt as little bouts of complaining bubbled past your lips. “Not so fast!” and “Oh God, my stomach” and “I don’t feel good.” Nanami had been reduced to your crutch at this point; he bore the entirety of your weight without batting an eye because your own legs were too wobbly to do it yourself. 

“I know,” he murmured, maneuvering through the crowd. “Hold it together, we’re almost there.”

The first step outside felt like entering Heaven. Nanami basked in the cleanliness of the chilly night air, gulping down a big breath of fresh oxygen that hadn’t been tainted by marijuana smoke. But suddenly, you’re detaching yourself from his hip and he’s bewildered by your sudden need for proximity. “Y/n—”

He turns to face you, only to be met with the crown of your head. Doubled over at the waist, hands on the lower fraction of your thighs, you vomit onto the dewy pavement… and his shoes. Nanami’s cursing once more, drawing closer despite how much you obviously don’t want him to. “Alright,” he coos in exasperation, gathering your hair into a bundle and holding it away from the splash zone. “It’s alright, get it out.”

“You’re… Did I just puke on y-your feet?” Your voice is croaky, something of a mixture of embarrassment and illness. You can’t even look at him. 

“Stand up,” Nanami tells you. He’s unbending you, straightening your body upright with a hand pressing your back in from his bowed shape. “Can you look at me?”

You pout, childlike. “No.” You’re looking at his shoes, the toes slick with remnants of your stomach acid. 

“They’re just shoes, I have a million pairs.” His head cocks to a tilt. “Would you look at me, please?”

You’re sighing, but looking up to him nonetheless. Gazing up with big, glossy eyes and wet lashes that clumped together through tears. Eyeliner diluted and cradling your undereyes in a dark embrace. You wipe your mouth with the back of a palm, smearing shimmery gloss out of the confines of your lip line. It’s all so nauseatingly familiar, this pitiful display. Nanami decides he hates seeing you like this. 

“I’m sorry,” you chirp. 

“Don’t apologize.” 

“I’ll pay for them.”

Nanami puts a hand on your shoulder when he notices the slant in your posture. “Cut it out, that’s entirely unnecessary.” He looks around the parking lot, full of vehicles. They catch the glint from the yellowish street lamps. “Did you drive here?” He thinks it’s unlikely, seeing as you let yourself fall under such intoxication. You weren’t so irresponsible; if you drove here, you would’ve made sure you’d be able to drive home too, like he did. 

You’re shaking your head. “Caught a train.”

Nanami nods, pleased. “Good. That’s good.” With all the grace and gentleness in the world, the man loops your limp arm back around his nape, securing you against his oblique with a sturdy arm snaked around your waist. Everything is ginger, lest he upset your stomach again. “Are you good to walk?”

“Yeah, I think I’m alright.”

“Then let me take you to my car.”

That pulls a frown from you. “You don’t need—need to drive me there, Nana’. The station—” Hiccup “It’s just down the road.”

The blonde glowers. “You can barely stand on your own, public transportation is out of the question.” Like Hell he’s going to let an obviously inebriated, attractive young woman such as yourself ride the subway alone. Please, don’t make him laugh. “I’m driving you home.”

“It’s out of your way.”

“I don’t care.”

It’s a slow race, but Nanami eventually hauls you to his car parked at the entrance of the lot. A midnight shade Maserati; he doesn’t miss the way you gawk at his luxurious ride. “If I had a car like this, I’d never leave it.” He laughs. You smack his bicep. “I’m not kidding, I’d sleep in this thing. She’s gorgeous.”

“She says thank you,” he huffs his response. Nanami leans you up against the side of his car, pinning you between its door and his thigh while he opens the passenger door. “Watch your head.” His hand curls around the roof’s ledge, a makeshift cushion to protect your skull as you duck into the car seat. Immediately, you’re slumping back into the comfortable leather interior, moaning out quiet mewls of exhaustion. 

“Yeah, I’d definitely sleep in here.”

“Keep those eyes open.” The door swings shut, and Nanami makes haste when rounding the rear of his car to the driver’s side. He had barely toed the line of sobriety anyways, but knocking a stranger on his ass was definitely more than enough to woosh any semblance of haziness from his veins. Nanami wouldn’t think about driving—wouldn’t think about putting you or anyone else on the road in danger—if he felt even the slightest bit impaired by the scotch. Behind the wheel, the man leans across the center console to grab your seat’s safety belt, carefully dragging it over your chest and clipping it into the buckle. “I need your address first, then you can knock out.”

“My address…” You ponder, lips pursed and eyes blinking at a snail’s pace. Sleepiness prevails, and you fall in and out of slumber, head lolling and cheek mashed up against your shoulder. 

Nanami carps, unappreciative of your inability to stay awake long enough for this much needed conversation. “Hey,” he bleats, patting the top of your thigh. “Come on, Y/n. I need to know where you live.”

You whine, rolling your eyes at his persistence. “The city.”

“You live in the city.” Nanami deadpans at the useless information you’ve just spared. 

“Mm.” And then you’re drifting back to sleep. 

Nanami pinches high on the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger, over the permanent divets where his glasses have drilled into his skin. The contortment of his fingers sends another spike of pain over his bruising knuckles. “Wake up and give me a proper address.” He supposes his heated seats aren’t doing much to stave off your tiredness, so he presses his knuckle into the off button. You whine. 

“I don’t remember, okay?”

That’s how you ended up at Nanami’s home, tucked under his lavish sheets in his bed that’s entirely too big for one person. Your outfit had been neatly folded and piled upon his dresser, exchanged for one of his tee shirts and a pair of sweatpants that were cinched at the waist. He helped you into his clothes—with your undivided consent, of course. A completely clinical and respectful process; Nanami looked elsewhere, acting as a handle for you to hold onto as you stepped into the oversized pants he held open for you. They were far too wide, falling off your hips, so he took the time to tie a precious, little bow with the drawstrings. 

“Comfy?” He asks upon his return to the bedroom, holding a glass of tap water in one hand, a bottle of pills rattling in the other. You’re exactly where he left you; swimming in his bedsheets, the comforter hoisted up to your chest. Nanami sets the water down on the bedside table, then takes a seat on the edge of his mattress, working the bottle open. 

“I’ve never been more comfortable,” you sigh blissfully, taking a deep inhale. “Your blankets smell good.”

The blonde can’t help his chuckle. “I’ll give you the name of the laundry detergent I use tomorrow.” With deft fingers, he plucks two small tablets, light pain medication, and sets the pair on the table next to your water glass. 

“Promise?” Your tongue pokes out from between your teeth, playful. He chides an airy yes, snapping the tylenol bottle shut. Then, your smile fades; you’re averting your eyes, fixing them somewhere over to the blank canvas of Nanami’s gray, bedroom wall. “Hey, um…” He watched the side of your face, watches the flex of your jawline and the tension in your neck. “Did I—I didn’t really throw up on you, right?”

You rub at your temple, like you’re trying to find the memory but it’s just out of reach. “No,” he replies instantly, steadily, like it’s not a complete lie. Like his bile-ridden shoes aren’t sitting outside on his front door step, waiting to be cleaned. “You don’t remember?”

“It’s fuzzy,” you grumble, frustrated with yourself. “I had too much.”

Normal circumstances permitted, Nanami would’ve totally took this opportunity to have his I told you so moment. But you already looked  upset, maybe a little bit sick still, so he bit his tongue for you. “Some drunk imbecile interrupted us. We shared words, and then he got sick on us.” He was pleased with himself, his story must’ve been believable with the way you nodded along. 

“And then you punched him, right?”

His face drops. “That’s what you remember?”

Your shrug. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it, Nanami. Not for my entire life.”

“Kento.” You hum, confused, so he reiterates, “I mean, call me Kento. I just clothed you, I’d say we’re close enough.” It’s true, you guys were getting more and more comfortable together by the day. Even outside of work and the management project, Nanami and you share text conversations more frequently than he would’ve ever imagined. And these little hangouts—granted, only two have been executed thus far—have been the most fun he’s had in ages. More fun than he’d ever hope to have with his ‘friendly’ business colleagues. You’re his friend. 

You, Y/n L/n, are his friend. What a strange fucking twist of events, it nearly gives Nanami whiplash. 

“Ken… To…” You speak each syllable slowly, peeking up at him through your eyelashes. He nods, grinning easily. Happy. “Kento, Kento, Ken—”

“Okay, okay enough.” He rises, arms raised as he gives a hearty stretch to his back. “It’s bedtime. Over there,” Nanami points at a door, “is the bathroom if you need it. You’ve got water here, and make sure you take the medicine in the mornings. You’re going to have a terrible migraine.”

“Wait, where are you gonna go?”

“I’ll take the couch for tonight.”

“Kento…” You whine, and he really wished you wouldn’t do that. “C’mere. There’s room.”

You’re patting the expansive open space beside you, peeling back the heavy blankets. It’s an enticing offer, to slip in beside you and feed off your body heat. To hold you to him and— Stop, what are you thinking? Stupid. “I think it’s best we don’t. Sorry.” And then he’s fleeing to the door because the way in which he worded that made the depths of his soul curl with cringe. Nanami bids you a polite sleep well before leaving you to the darkness, though he has enough sense left to keep the door cracked just in case you should yell for him in the night. 

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

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[benevolentbones]

Hi ✨️✨️

Emily's sister likes Reid and flirts with him a lot before asking him out and he's all shy.

your type | spencer reid x prentiss!reader

warnings: none really, alcohol consumption, flirting

word count: 1.7k

a/n: hi!! hope you enjoy nervous spencer :) love him. reblogs and comments appreciated <3

half team were sitting around the office, finishing off the last of their paperwork for the night, it was a friday night and a certain member of the team was growing bored of filing away the never ending pile of reports. hotch, jj and gideon had already left for the night, leaving the rest of the team to finish off the workload.

emily leaned back in her desk chair, her red long sleeve shirt complimenting her complexion as she tucked her dark locks behind her ears.

“it’s friday night- we should go out and do something fun. lets go to a bar.” emily spoke, interrupting the sound of keyboards clacking and paper shuffling.

“i agree, let’s get out of here.” derek grinned, standing up from his seated position to have a well deserved stretch, his shoulder making a popping sound as he did so.

“reid, you in?”

spencer adjusted his posture at the sound of his name, his head turning towards his colleagues.

“i don’t know guys- i kind of wanted to read ‘the history of torture’ by george riley scott.” he responded, scratching the back of his head.

“the history of torture? on a friday night?” derek shot spencer a confused expression.

“just a bit of light reading.” spencer shrugged.

“nope, i want you guys to meet my sister, she’s a bartender at this new place down the road. it’ll be fun.” emily stood up, grabbing her bag that sat under her desk.

“but-“

“you can read tomorrow, right now it’s time for you to socialise. morgan text garcia, let’s go.”

spencer found himself sitting in the backseat of emily’s car as she drove downtown, derek sat in the front. penelope had replied saying she would meet everyone there.

“i don’t see why the child locks were necessary.” spencer mumbled, pulling on the inside door handle.

“shh. we’re almost here.” emily pulled up next to bar, there was a group of people standing outside cigarettes resting between their index and middle fingers. clouds of smoke plumed into the night sky, through the hazy air a neon sign read ‘the wine seller’.

emily unlocked the car, stepping out and strutting her way to the entrance, derek and spencer following close behind. in the midst of all the smoke stood garcia, her blonde hair tied in space buns with a blue polkadot dress adorning her form.

“are we ready to party!” she exclaimed, clearly she had already had a drink or two.

everyone stumbled into the bar, immediately a wave of noise washed over them. i’m the centre of it all, people were dancing on each other flashing lights casting rays of colour over their sweaty bodies.

“is your sister cute?” derek questioned emily over the loud music.

she rolled her eyes in response. “you could say that.”

“what’s her type?” he grinned, scanning the bar.

“oh you’ll see.” emily chuckled.

spencer rolled his shoulders nervously, trailing behind emily who was making a b line for the bar. she called out to a girl who was facing the shelves full of liquor.

“y/n!”

you whipped your head around to see where the voice had come from, a grin immediately forming when you saw your older sister stood at the bar.

“emily! finally made it out of the office i see.” you chuckled, grabbing a bottle of vodka from the shelf and pouring it into a shot glass for the man that stood at the bar. he nodded as a thank you and made his way back to the dance floor.

“it’s busy in here wow.” emily muttered, eyes scanning the room as she rested her hands on the bar counter.

“mhm i sure know how to bring in a crowd, what can i get for you and… you lot?” you peered around at the three people behind you. penelope rushed to emily’s side giving you a big smile.

“oh right, this is penelope, derek and spencer, from the bau.” you gave everyone a small smile, your eyes lingering on the taller hazel eyed man who stood awkwardly behind emily.

“i’ll take a pink gin and lemonade.” she shouted over the music, you nodded with a smile and reached for the gin.

derek strolled over to the counter, eyeing you as you picked up a gin glass.

“i’ll just have a whiskey.” he shot you a grin which you returned.

“make that two.” emily added, rooting in her bag for her wallet.

you made the drinks and laid them out along the counter for the team to take.

“and for the cutie in the back?” your voice travelled to spencer who seemed caught off guard by your comment.

“uh- me? uh i’ll have i uh- vodka soda.” he stuttered out, heat rising to his face.

“whatever you want sweetheart.” you shot him a wink and began to make his drink.

emily turned her focus to derek who was sipping at his drink.

“i see why you wanted to bring reid here so bad.” he laughed, and then dragged garcia to the dance floor.

“y/n what time do you get off, will you have a drink with us?” emily asked, taking a gulp of her drink immediately feeling the alcohol’s warmth spread through her body.

“twenty minutes em, then i’m all yours.”

“come find me later!” your older sister yelled out, disappearing into a crowd of warm bodies.

you served up spencer’s drink, passing it to him. he tucked his hair behind his ear before reaching for his wallet to pay.

“don’t worry, it’s on me.” you shot him a charming smile which he returned.

“t-thanks y/n.” he reached for the drink, taking a small sip, before taking a seat at the bar. you raised your eyebrow slightly in surprise, not expecting him to take a seat.

you could tell he was very much out of his element, that everyone had just come from the office. he wore a white striped button up shirt paired with a pair of suit trousers, his tie hung loose around his neck. his big eyes wandered around the room before falling back on you, you had already moved on to making cocktails for a bridal party to his left.

spencer studied your form, your quick movements and ability to multitask in such a busy environment impressed him. you wore a tight black tank top along with a black miniskirt the ended just above your mid thigh, and a small black apron was tied around your waist.

he couldn’t help but stare at your figure as you rushed around the bar, your form fitting clothing showing off every curve to your body, in all honestly he was infatuated.

finally the rush had died down and you were making your way back to your side of the bar to polish more glasses, you noticed spencer’s intense gaze on you and smiled to yourself.

“you like what you see, dr.reid?” you questioned, poking fun.

he immediately pulled his fixed look from your body and up to your eyes.

“i- uh sorry.” he nervously sipped at his drink, feeling embarrassed.

“don’t be, you’re pretty cute yourself.” you shot him a small wink and he felt his face flush.

“so spencer, how are you liking working at the bau?” you quizzed, carrying a stack of glasses to the shelf behind you.

“uh- it’s good, i like that i can help people.” he muttered out a vague answer, which he followed with a question.

“a-and do you like being a bartender?”

you shrugged, wandering back to stand in front of spencer.

“it’s just a part time job, i’m studying criminal psychology right now in college, im in my third year.” this got his attention, he straightened his posture, taking another sip of his drink.

“oh really? that’s so interesting- what do you plan on doing after?” he seemed less anxious now.

“i’m not really sure, might do a masters- it was emily’s suggestion.” you let out a small laugh, spencer longed to hear you laugh more.

“i take it this isn’t really your vibe?” you stated, looking around the bar at people making out and dancing, spencer followed your stare. emily and penelope were in the middle of the dance floor cheering derek on who had now taken his shirt off and was swinging it above his head.

“uh- no not really, i didn’t really plan on coming here tonight, but prentiss- your sister, she kind of child locked me in her car.” he mumbled out, an awkward laugh leaving his mouth.

you pinched your eyebrows, shaking your head and letting out a joking sigh. “she’s trying to set me up.”

“set you up?” he repeated what you had said.

your face warmed as you began to speak, “i broke up with my ex over a year ago and was recently complaining about how i can never meet any decent guys at the bar, because- i mean look.” you gestured to a corner where a group of frat bros were downing their beers.

“and em said she knew someone who would be great for me.” you eyes landing back on spencer.

“you mean me?” he pointed to himself, still somewhat confused.

you nodded. “i mean she managed to guess my type exactly, can’t blame her there.” you now gestured to spencer, his face burning a dark crimson, and it wasn’t the alcohol’s fault.

“i mean i hope you’re single- and i’m not just aimlessly flirting with a taken man. that would be a little embarrassing..” you trailed off, rubbing the nape of your neck, your tank top lifted slightly revealing your midriff.

“i- i yeah i’m single.” spencer couldn’t quite grasp the fact you were flirting with him, on purpose. he honestly thought someone like you would either be in a relationship or have a line of much more attractive men just waiting to take you out.

you smiled at his flustered state, you thought he was adorable.

“well then, dr.reid, would you like to go on a date with me sometime? maybe a café or the park, somewhere not as chaotic as this?” you questioned, you were pretty confident in yourself, which was something that ran in your family.

“yeah…i would like that, a lot.” he smiled at you, you quickly jotted down your number on a piece of paper, passing it to spencer.

your eyes flickered to the watch on your wrist, a smile spreading across your face.

“time for me to clock out, darlin. i’ll be right back.” and with that you skipped off into the back of the bar to grab your things, your heart beating twice as quick.

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[sourcherryandsprinkles]

I have a request for Jacaerys Velaryon x reader. They have been married for some time, but Jace still had feelings for Baela. He has never cheated and was always respectful towards reader, though. Jacaerys and her performed their duties and eventually she got pregnant. The fact that reader is now carrying his child makes them grow closer and Jace starts to fall in love with his wife.

For this one, the legitimacy of Rhaenyra’s children was called into question and there was no betrothals between Rhaenyra’s boys and Daemon’s twins.

Warnings: pregnancy (I don't like pregnancies when I read/write, but this one was okay and mostly a small part of the story)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When King Viserys fell, a prince showed up to your home and asked your mother, Jeyne Arryn, for her support to Princess — now Queen — Rhaenyra’s claim. In her message, Rhaenyra didn’t fail to mention her mother, Aemma of House Arryn, and remind Lady Jeyne that she shared Arryn blood through her. Your mother was hesitant, knowing her support would make Daemon Targaryen king consort, but she couldn’t give her support to the Greens. So, she agreed but demanded to get something in exchange: a husband for her only daughter.

You didn’t like the idea of being sold for politics, but according to your mother it was part of being a woman. 

Married life wasn’t bad like you thought. Jacaerys was a respectful and kind man, but there was one problem: he had feelings for another. 

You didn’t take long to notice that his heart was elsewhere. It was written in the silence. The way he looked at Baela, the way he smiled at her — a special smile he kept just for her. He had undeniable feelings for her. You begged for attention, time, acknowledgment, but Jacaerys was never fully with you. Him and Baela spent a lot of time together riding their dragons together or practicing High Valyrian in the great hall, which left you hurt and jealous. Other than the red gem on your finger that matched the one of his cloak-pin, you had nothing in common. 

Sitting in your chamber, you held a necklace of your house’s sigil. The gold was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth. You hadn't seen your mother since the beginning of the war and you missed her dearly. You exchanged messages by raven, but it wasn’t the same as seeing her in person. 

A tear slipped down your cheek, wishing for this war to be over soon. 

The door of your chambers creaked open, snapping you out of your sorrowful reverie. You glanced over your shoulder and saw Jacaerys in his armor after a day spent teaching the dragonseeds. It was a smart idea to get more dragons and riders on their side, but also a lot of work. 

‘’What are you doing?’’ he asked, his voice a mix of concern and curiosity.  

‘’Missing home, that’s all,’’ you replied, quickly wiping the tear away and forcing a smile. The weight of the necklace seemed heavier than ever as you clutched it in your hand.

Jacaerys stepped further into the room, running a hand through his tousled hair. He crossed the space between you in a few strides, his expression softening. ‘’Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.’’ He wiped your tear and sat next to you. ‘’I’ll take you to the Vale when it’s safe,’’ Jacaerys promised, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. ‘’I would take you now if it wasn’t so dangerous to fly over Kingsroad. The Greens have taken Harrenhal and—’’ 

‘’Is my mother okay? You promised you would send a dragon to watch over my home.’’  

He nodded. ‘’Rhaena left this morning with Joffrey and three dragon eggs. They should hatch soon and assure more protection to the Vale.’’ 

You let out a shaky breath, the news offering a small measure of relief. 

A few moons later, you announced to Jacaerys that you were pregnant. It was a surprise as you only had the occasion to lay together two times, but it’s been two moons since you last bled and the maester confirmed your suspicions. You were with child. 

The timing was not ideal, but the Queen was beyond happy for you and Jacaerys. She hosted a small feast in your honor, and made everyone keep your pregnancy a secret. Jacaerys was her heir, making your baby his heir. If the news got to their ears, she feared you would become a target for the Greens.

At the table, Baela congratulated you with a smile. You thought she would be bitter, but she was genuinely happy for you. 

As the weeks went by, the walls that once stood between you began to crumble and you and Jacaerys started getting closer. He would spend more time in the evening in your chambers, talking by the hearth while eating lemon tarts. And ask how the baby was although your stomach was barely round every time he returned from teaching the dragonseeds. 

You’ll never forget the look on his face when felt the baby move for the first time. The stars of complete amazement. He kissed you that night — a real kiss. 

On the seventh moon, as you were getting ready for your bath, you felt blood dripping down your leg.  Terrified, you asked one of the servants to fetch the maester and the Queen. She had other — more pressing — business to take care of, but you needed the reassurance of a mother by your side.

The news ran through the castle and made it way to Jacaerys, who dropped everything he was doing and ran through the corridors of Dragonstone to get to you. 

His face pale with worry when he bursted in your chamber, thinking you were going to lose the baby like his mother did. An early bleeding was how it started. 

‘’I’m fine, Jace. Maester Gerardys said bleeding can happen,’’ you said, taking his hand and pressing it over your belly. ‘’Our baby is fine.’’

—

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[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (9)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, pining

a/n: Thank you so much for sticking around. I had to reread this entire series to write this part and it made me remember how much I love sharing it with you all ♡ Italics indicate memories (oooooo👀).

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

One of the many downsides to losing your memory was your lack of card game knowledge. An inconsequential tidbit when you took a step back and evaluated the hardships that plagued you, but a fact that was currently causing you a massive headache and a massive loss, all the same. 

“This is just completely unfair,” you huffed, tossing your cards on the table and leaning back in your chair. “I can barely even remember what you said the rules were.” 

“Hardly my fault, sweetheart. I gave you a run down before we started,” Cassian slyly grinned. 

You scoffed. “There were over fifteen steps to this game! And I feel like you made up half of them!” 

“While that would definitely be something he’d pull,” Mor piped in, an accusatory glance in Cassian’s direction. “He’s innocent, this time. This is just a really complicated game.” 

“Oh yeah, great. Make the amnesiac play the complicated game so she’ll lose. That's really classy, Cassian. Great sportsmanship.” 

Cassian had the gall to look offended, a hand placed at his heart. “You used to be great at this game, I’ll have you know. You won every time. We banned you, actually.” 

“You banned me from playing a card game?” 

Azriel, who had been fighting off a laugh with his tongue against his cheek, spoke up from beside you. “Very strictly banned, as well. For the last hundred years. You’re lucky we’re letting you play now.” 

Your mouth dropped open in the most wounded expression you could manage, mirth dancing in your eyes as you turned your head to catch the shadowsinger’s blush-tinted cheeks. 

Things were… good between the two of you. The same, but good, mostly because you had refrained from even alluding to his mate. When you didn’t talk about her, or look at anything that might have belonged to her, or question Azriel on the sadness in his eyes, he stayed glued to your side. It was a wonderful friendship the two of you were cultivating—one built on one-sided secrets where the answers were locked in your brain. 

“What could I have possibly done to get banned from a card game for a hundred years?” you gaped.

Azriel’s wings rustled behind him, unfurling to cloak your back in warmth. He laughed. “You cheat.” 

“I cheat?” 

“I wouldn’t call it cheating, exactly,” Mor defended, sliding her cards face-down on the table in favor of the snack plate in the center. “Not when it’s not your fault.” 

“Bullshit!” Cassian exclaimed, fist coming down in a loud bang. “She knows how to control her magic. She chooses to use it during the game and that makes it cheating.” 

Mor pointed an accusing finger in Azriel’s direction. “And what about his shadows, then? You’ve never had a problem with him playing, oh great game warden.” 

Cassian narrowed his eyes as if looking at Azriel for the first time. “Brother, you cheat as well?” 

In the most jovial tone you’d heard Azriel take, he refuted, “I absolutely do not.” 

That had spiraled into another argument you were not part of, and you took the opportunity to pick your cards back up and attempt to run through the rules again. It was a game of chance, really, but it was also a game of wit and that wasn’t your strongest suit at the moment. 

Maybe if you tried a little bit harder—

“Okay, your turn, y/n,” Azirel called you out of your fruitless thoughts. “Just try to pick one.” 

Your lips twisted to the side as you examined your cards and looked up at your opponent. Cassian appeared quite average, no shifting eyes or telling sighs. He was very good at this game, allegedly. 

You flicked your eyes back down to your cards, but, no—something didn’t feel right about that. 

You looked back up at Cassian, and something shifted. 

Something… seemed off. Like he was—

“You’re lying,” you stated as if it were a well-known fact. “You’re lying so hard right now. So that means I should take this and…” 

Your last words trailed off as you slapped a pair of cards on the table. You looked up to Cassian with a smug expression, the general narrowing his eyes and swiping his own cards aside. He scoffed, and then scoffed again, the second time paired with his arms across his chest. 

“Yeah? And how would you know?” he challenged. 

Your head jutted back in disbelief. You gazed around the table but none of your opponents offered the same look. “Are you kidding? It’s practically pouring off of you.” 

“What is?” Azriel softly asked. 

“His lie!” you exclaimed, hands raised in shock. 

“How so?” Mor posed. 

“All around him.” You shook your hand in the direction of the General, making some form of a circle. “He’s just a terrible liar and you can see it. I thought you all said he was undefeated?” 

“I was,” Cassian huffed out with a laugh. “Against everyone other than you.” 

His words sobered up your competitive mood, the rest of the table having come to a conclusion you only just realized. Azriel sat beside you with bated breath, tenseness apparent in the coil of his wings and shadows. Mor tried and failed to hide her smile behind her lips. Cassian didn’t even attempt to hide; his smile was vibrant without a hint of defeat. 

“Does this mean—” 

“Yes!” Mor gave a small cheer. “Something is happening in that beautiful brain of yours and you’re coming back to us!”

Coming back to them. 

As if you weren’t sitting right there. 

“We should ask her questions,” Cassian boomed with another laugh. “See what else is in there.” 

“Oh! We should. Think of something, Cass.” 

“What about…” 

The air around you felt suffocating as those at the table began talking as if you weren’t there. Any joy you felt at the revelation was washed, evaporated—creating a somber resolve that made your skin feel dull. 

“Maybe ask her things associated with her magic. Maybe that’s coming through first,” Mor offered. Walnut shells and wine glasses lay empty and scattered beside discarded cards. 

“I don’t think—” Azriel’s response was muted by a buzzing in your ears. 

It would never be enough. You were a full person sitting before them, but you weren’t. You weren’t the person they expected—not the person they wanted. You had been stuck in this limbo for weeks now, living under pitying eyes and hopeful half-smiles that never met their eyes. Secrets were kept because they hoped you—the real you—would eventually return and save them from sharing the hard things. 

You blinked away the dryness in your eyes. 

“We should get Rhys. He might find an opening now that her magic is—” 

“I’m right here,” you interrupted, the gravel of your tone barely audible below Cassian’s excited tone. The table fell silent, anyway. “I don’t know why you all insist on speaking about me and not to me.” 

Mor’s voice was still light as she replied, “Y/n, we don’t mean—” 

“You don’t mean what?” you laughed, the sound bordering hysterical. You caught Azriel turning his head down towards you in your peripheral. You ignored it. “You don’t mean to make me feel like half a person? Like a ghost? Because I’m right here and I have been for weeks but you all are so concerned with what I’m going to be in some undetermined amount of time that you seem to forget I’m alive now.” 

Cassian’s lips parted to speak, but words continued to spill from your mouth. “I mean, I wasn’t even allowed to know about most of my life until recently. You all expect me to get better instantly, making decisions and keeping secrets as if this isn’t part of my life—as if when I get my memories back… if I get them back… all these weeks will just disappear.

“But I’ve been here,” you stressed. Your fingers were tingling and your neck felt hot. “I’ve been here and all of you—you all talk over my head. I finally get some semblance of myself back and all you can think about is what more I can do. You don’t care about me. You care about some version of me that I’ve never met.” 

You rose from the table, hands coming down harshly as you stood. Mor quickly mimicked your action, but you held a hand up, dismissing the person who had been your safe space at the start of this mess—at the start of your memory, really. 

“I need—I need,” you choked. Dim colors and minute vibrations emanated from each person in the room, making your head hurt as you looked at them. You didn’t have the capacity to analyze that development. “I need to be alone.” 

You heard yourself mutter an apology as you went, unsure what exactly it was for. Your feet stumbled out of the room, getting stuck in cracks and shuffling on marble flooring. A small prickle of embarrassment made you flinch as you went, but it was nothing compared to the harrowing emptiness that guided you out to the balcony. 

Maybe it would be better if you spent your time alone—at least until you got your memories back. You loved being around everyone, but even that was a half-truth. You hadn’t even met everyone that was supposed to be in your life.

Gripping the railing of the balcony, you sucked in a deep breath, greedy for any kind of reprieve. A soft wind met the heat of your cheeks, but it did little to soothe you. If you could just become who they wanted you to be… if you could just know everything they wanted you to know. 

Everything felt like too much. 

You had so little to go off of, but somehow that was to your detriment. 

You thought the first sign of your old self would have been a cause for celebration, but instead, it was only a call for more. More, more, more—you weren’t enough now. 

You heard your name in the wind, a soft sound that carried delicately past your ears. For reasons you could not place, the single word sent anger pulsing in your veins. 

You whipped around, unsurprised to see Azriel standing beneath the archway to the house, his expression unguarded and his shadows reaching and reaching and reaching towards you. 

He seemed to recoil at your furious gaze. 

“What?” you asked, still breathless from the way panic had taken control of your chest. “What, Azriel?” 

But words seemed to fail him as he stood there. He blinked more than necessary, shaking his head and then righting it, unsure of the direction he wanted to take. 

It infuriated you. 

“What could you have to say?” you instigated, and the harsh words made you sick. “You of all people treat me as a stranger. You say we’re close—that we are the closest of anyone—but you keep secrets, Azriel. You keep secrets and you make it impossible to get to know you. What happens if I never get my memory back, huh?”

The notion of that reality set the Shadowsinger into motion. “Don’t say that,” he almost begged, desperation lost behind gritted teeth. “We are still looking—” 

“Would it be that terrible for you? Truly, Azriel. You slink around me, afraid to share things I don’t even know are there! How am I—What am I supposed to do if this is just me now?” You tugged at your hair as frustration captured your voice. You hadn’t meant to say any of this, hadn’t planned on even hinting at your displeasure, but something snapped today. 

Something snapped and there was nothing you could do to cope with the breakage. Because you were a stranger to everyone—most of all yourself. 

“That won’t happen,” Azriel attempted to reassure, taking small steps towards your pacing figure. “We are going to figure this out and everything will be—” 

“It won’t!” 

You screamed. 

You hadn’t meant to. 

Azriel stopped in his tracks. 

“It won’t be fine, Azriel.” Back to a normal volume, your voice sounded hoarse. “I can’t keep living like this—like a ghost. It’s been weeks and there are no leads. All I have now is this hint of my powers that I’m not even sure how to parse out. They don’t make sense. None of this makes sense.” 

Your eyes were glued to your feet as Azriel’s words broke at the syllables. “I know.” 

“None of you will want me if I can’t be her.” 

“I will always want you,” he was quick to respond. 

When you raised your head, the stray tears held captive by your waterline fell. Azriel stared back at you in earnest but it felt incomplete. 

“You keep things from me still,” you said, words thick in your throat. “It’s like you’re waiting for her—for someone else. With Mor and them, it’s different. It feels different with you.”

Azriel whispered a broken rendition of your name. The color you saw reflecting from his shoulders was sharp against the backdrop of the dark house, and you had no idea its significance, but something within you told you it wasn’t going to get you what you so desperately wanted. 

“Stop,” you begged, chin wobbling. “Stop… formulating what you’re going to say to me. This is worse, now that I have my magic. I see your every indecision around me.” 

Azriel’s expression pinched and the color fizzled out as he stepped forward and held your face in his textured hands. Your anger dissipated as he titled your head up to meet his gaze, replaced by the uncertainty that often mingled with regret when he was near. 

What you were regretting, you didn’t know. 

“You are the one sure thing in my life,” he confessed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I’ve made you feel this way—that we all have. I—I have been keeping something from you. I’ve been afraid it would be too much, that I would lose you if you knew. But I’m only losing you now.” 

You gave no reply, unblinking, short breaths escaping you. 

Azriel licked his lips and slid his hands down until his thumbs rested along your jaw. 

“You have asked about my mate.” Discomfort panged within your chest as he spoke, but you needed to hear this. Azriel closed his eyes for a pause, brows furrowed, before he met your eye once more. “It’s you.” 

Your shock came second to the blinding pain creeping up your neck. It fought with you, edging closer and closer to your brain before it fell behind your eyes and shattered all comprehensible thought. Another beat and hazel eyes were lost to darkness. 

You heard your name, felt your body go slack and arms brace your fall, but then there was laughing. You were laughing, but the sound wasn’t coming from your body. 

“We have to go back,” you heard yourself admonish in a breathless tone. “They’re all waiting for us.” 

“Let me be alone with my wife for a while longer.” 

Figures materialized in the dark space of your mind.

A purple dress. 

A ring around your finger. 

Flowers woven into the lapel of a jacket. 

“I have only been your wife for about….” you saw yourself gaze up to the ceiling of a room you did not recognize in feigned contemplation. “An hour?” 

Azriel bit back a grin and nuzzled his face into your neck. “But you have been my mate for my entire life.” 

“That’s not even true. It snapped a few months ago.”

You stood in the corner of the room as the scene unfolded, feeling like a stranger in some iteration of your life. You looked so at ease, wrapped up in the man who had caused you so much inner turmoil over the last few weeks. 

He had said you were mates. 

Was this…

“That’s not how mates work, my love,” Azriel hummed closing the distance between the skin of your cheek and his lips. “When we were created, we were created for each other. There has never been a time in my life that I did not belong to you.” 

You watched yourself smile—watched yourself curl your fingers in your mate’s hair and press your forehead to his. “Gods, you’re the biggest sap.” 

Azriel laughed. The sound was light and free and everything you had sought after these past few weeks. But you heard it here as he laid with you in his arms. 

“I can’t believe you married me,” he whispered, his nose brushing yours. 

“Of course I married you.” 

A pause. 

“Do you think you would have married me if things hadn’t worked out—after Day I mean.” 

From the corner of the room, you analyzed how your body seemed to recoil at the question. 

“Azriel, nothing could have kept me from you. Not even that monster from Day. If I hadn’t gotten my memory back—if I had to live with forgetting you—” Azriel shuddered, taking a long breath through his nose. You only brushed your fingers softly against his temple. “—I would have found you again. It probably would have been a pain in the ass to get me to listen but…” 

Azriel scoffed and pulled you closer. “You’re already a pain in my ass.” 

“That was the goal.” 

Another soft round of laughter. 

You felt like an intruder, flinching at the gleam of the ring on Azriel’s finger, hesitant to gaze around the room you had no recollection of. By the door, you could hear others in the hall. You made out Cassian and Mor’s voices, but others sparked no recognition within you. Curiosity pulled you in that direction, but before you could touch the doorknob, Azriel spoke again. 

“You wouldn’t have had to find me.” He paused. “I never would have left your side.”

And then the scream of your name woke you. 

[amaranthineghost]

Hi! Can I request an angst abt Lando Norris and Margarida Corceiro being seen together? No cheating, miscommunications with reader. Or FWB!reader.

FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS COMPLICATIONS ( lando norris. )

lando norris x reader

after lando and margarida were seen in public together, she isn't sure that her feelings were reciprocated by the brit. despite having been friends with benefits for months, swearing they wouldn't develop feelings, they seemed to have failed.

warnings: minimal smut, mentions of sex, friends with benefits relationship, miscommunications, angst.

authors note: I loved this so much, it was actually really fun to make and I wanted to combine a smau and just a normal writing imagine so 🫶🏼 apologies for my absence, summer break hit and i wanted nothing more than to just lay in bed and sleep all day (sob)

“FUCK, DON'T LET IT BE TRUE, PLEASE don't let it be true,” she whispered into her hand, basically pleading to the universe, if it was even listening. her palm covered her lips as a sick feeling brewed in the pit of her stomach. she felt she could throw up any moment. the hand over her mouth was subconscious, an involuntary movement as she felt the cold rings on her fingers press against her skin. she swallowed thickly as she scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled to find hope—false hope. no amount of scrolling could calm the nausea that crashed like waves during a storm in the open ocean. if anything, it only worsened the feeling.

f1wags

liked by magui_corceiro and 214,485 others

f1wags lando norris and margarida corceiro spotted together in monaco getting into the mclaren driver’s car

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she kept bringing herself back to it. she looked over the outlines of their figures; she scoured the internet to find the same silhouettes, hoping to find pictures of them wearing the same outfits, just on a different day. she wanted to find proof it was photoshopped, but she knew in her heart that it wasn’t. she was only letting herself down by allowing herself to hope that it wasn’t true, but it was. probably.

she sat on the toilet in the bathroom stall of a nightclub she went to with lando. in her party dress that he had complimented her on numerous times that night, it felt too tight for her body all of a sudden. her tongue grazed over her teeth as she now went to twitter, scrolling through countless twitter threads of the new ‘couple.’ her stomach churned with unease—how could she compete with her? she's stunning—literally a model.

besides, margarida was winning the competition she didn't even know she was apart of, managing to one-up her by potentially dating lando. she couldn't even get close.

her and lando were complicated in comparison. their relationship could never compare. they were friends with benefits, and with it was the silent agreement that they'd never be anything more. it would be too awkward if they were, and years of friendship would be ruined. they were friends with benefits, but at times, it felt like the opposite. she started calling their relationship ‘friends with complications,’ but he didn't know that.

she should've cut it off the second she felt anything more than platonic with him, but what they were doing was far from that to begin with. she would've had to cut him off way before their fwb relationship began—because she had felt something for him for a while, and this is the closest she could come to having him. not anymore though.

she had secretly been hoping that her feelings were reciprocated—it was already heart-wrenching enough to think that he might think their meaningless hook-ups were just that—meaningless. they were supposed to be.

to him, maybe they always were.

he probably saw her only as a friend because that's what she was. his friend that he had approached and asked to fuck because he couldn't risk it hooking up with someone from a random club. her heart skipped when he asked, but dread loomed over her shoulder. friends with benefits—complications—never ended with anything more than heartbreak. it was supposed to be meaningless, and she could only hope he didn't feel it was.

to her, they never were.

when his lips kissed down her skin before slipping between her thighs, he practically drank her up, her hands grasping at his curls to pull him impossibly closer. she felt his nose pressing against her, his breaths deep and labored against her skin that only added to the pure bliss he gave her. the groans leaving his lips at the taste of her, sending vibrations through her cunt while she let out hoarse moans. he wouldn't resurface until he was pussydrunk and hazy, multiple orgasms later. her slick coating his chin as his tongue licked it from his skin, he watched as her chest rose and fell quickly; sweat coated her skin, her hair matting to her forehead. his fingers teased over her folds, thumb pressing against her overstimulated clit. she squirmed under his hand, grasping at his wrist with strangled moans.

“c’mon, baby,” he would coax, his voice heavy and manipulative, but not malicious, “giv’me another, please?”

he would ask that of her, lowly groaning at the sight of his fingers being swallowed by her wet pussy, disappearing beyond her glistening folds. she couldn't deny him when he sounded like that. he slowly pumped his middle finger against her slick walls that clenched around him, seamlessly slipping in his ring finger alongside as he stretched her walls out, manipulating her flesh under his fingers as he parted his digits. he watched her face writhe in pleasure, the way her skin creased and her brows furrowed as her jaw went slack at the simple actions.

“so wet f’me,” he marveled, sucking in a sharp breath, “such a pretty pussy all f’me, hm?”

surely, he reciprocated some feelings. with the way he spoke to her, practically worshiping her body while depriving his own of the same pleasure—he claimed he got just as much by getting her off.

but now she didn't know.

she would be lying if she said she didn't know what she was doing when she first agreed to it. she just wished she knew how much it would hurt.

now she wished she could've set that boundary. she didn't then because the desire to just have him—in a way friends don't, and shouldn't—was greater than any thoughts telling her it was a bad idea—that it would only end with it breaking her heart. unfortunately, she had a tendency to follow her heart, not her head. maybe he knew that, but he probably didn't. guys never know.

so here she is, her leg bouncing up and down, and her heel clicked on the floor. she nervously bit at the skin around her fingers, she even drew blood. she cursed herself under her breath before scrolling again.

she sighed, looking at herself with the reflection of her phone screen, a frown on her face as she pursed her lips. her makeup was smudged, her skin had a sheen to it from all the dancing she had been doing in the crowded club. it wasn't her fault the room was stuffed with drunk, sweaty people that made the room rise a few degrees.

when the night was still young, she'd happily walk into the club, lando following behind her like a lost puppy and a look of admiration on his face—taking appreciative glances down her figure. but when the night had long gone on, she loathed being in the club as she'd try to push her way past the sweaty, way too drunk club-goers to get outside for a breath of fresh air. she'd always regret going by the end of the night.

she stared at the image again, like she hadn't already done so for the last three minutes. reluctantly, she scrolled on.

her heart paused at a certain thread, holding her breath involuntarily as she scrolled back for a double take. her brows knit creases on her forehead as her eyes narrowed at the words—her astigmatism and a few too many drinks didn't help her ability to read the text on her phone.

if only they knew, she thought, a scoff slipping past her lips as her eyes lingered on the tweets. she read them over again, secretly wishing the same thing the fans did. a frown settled on her features once again, her head resting on her hands as she huffed out a sigh. her eyes grew heavy, feeling tipsy from the few drinks lando had begged her to let him pay for—she had obliged.

maybe all the signs were there, but with her hazy vision, she failed to read them. her brain that was starting to feel like mush failed to comprehend them too. regardless, her eyes lingered on the phone screen. she rubbed her tired eyes, most likely smudging the mascara across her skin. she’d end up resembling a racoon, but she didn’t care. she was tired, tipsy—she would have somewhat of a hangover— and the bathroom was too hot for her liking.

she didn't know how long she had sat there for, only she knew it was long enough for another person to bang on the door on the other side of the stall. she cursed herself again under her breath, hurriedly standing up from the toilet while simultaneously wiping away the ‘sweat’ from under her eyes and any smeared makeup. she pulled down the scratchy, black material of her dress that had ridden up her thighs before unlocking and pulling open the stall door.

she stood face to face with the girl who banged on the door. she gave a nervous smile, followed by a short chuckle, “sorry,” she mumbled an apology breathlessly, slipping past her with a slight graze against her shoulder.

she bit her lip as she scolded herself for hogging the stall; she had really lost track of time then. as she washed her hands in the sink, vision focused on the suds that washed away the dirtiness of the club that surrounded her. she felt eyes on her. a silhouette in the mirror standing still where the girl had. she had been too zoned out to hear the voice that spoke to her.

it was like her ears had popped when focus came back to her, suddenly she could hear the club music blaring through the air, and she glanced up in the mirror at the girl, flicking her vision back and forth between her and her hands.

“ ‘m so sorry, were you sayin’ something?” she flicked her wrists, water droplets flew from her wettened skin as she looked back down at them, grabbing a paper towel. Her heart beat heavy against her ribcage. she was partially scared the girl was angry with her for hogging the stall, but her relax demeanor told her otherwise.

“girl, ‘s all good,” she chuckled with the shake of her head, the smile lingering on her face as she crossed her arms against her chest, “li’le boy outside askin’ f’you, asked me t’ see if you were still ‘ere.”

she closed her eyes with a sigh, a tongue rolling across the insides of her cheeks as she shook her head with slight guilt and annoyance before opening her eyes again, “tan guy with dark curls?”

“sad excuse f’ some facial hair?” the girl asked jokingly, which incited an involuntary laugh to sneak past her lips. she stepped closer to the sink, her arms falling towards her sides as she leaned against the wall next to the mirror. “yeah, tha’s the one.”

“was he talkin’ a lot?” she stifled her laughs at the girl’s previous comment, pursing her lips as she tossed the horrible quality paper towel into the bin. her eyes were dark as she looked at the girl, the smudged mascara making it look like she had dark bags under her eyes. she reached for another paper towel, wetting it this time.

“jus’ ‘bout you, girl,” she spoke quieter now, seemingly more relaxed compared to the heavy hand she gave the door. “he looked real worried, tha’s some man you got.”

her heart flipped in her chest. If she had thought that he was hers, how many others did? he was asking about her too, he was worried about her. her heart wanted to believe that he really did like her, that this relationship was more than ‘friends with complications.’ her head told her that he was just being a good enough friend to make sure she was alright after she had disappeared 10 minutes ago after having said that she was going to the bathroom.

she scoffed, shaking her head as she swallowed the saliva that pooled in her mouth thickly, “he’s not my man.”

her tone was reluctant because even though she said that he wasn’t hers, she deeply wished for it to be true. she wanted to call him hers, and she wanted him to call her his.

“fooled me,” she commented with a tone of disbelief laced into her words. she took a pause, watching her expression as she wiped the smudged makeup from her under eyes before speaking again, “so wha's goin’ on that he’s not ‘ur man?”

she let out a long and deep exaggerated sigh as she moved onto the other eyes, “way more complicated than i care to admit,” she said, chuckling dryly, though she didn’t entirely mean to sound so closed-off. her emotions tended to heighten with alcohol intake and it didn’t help that she had this whole fucked relationship with one of her best friends. she looked at the girl again, seeing the raised brows and an expression that told her ‘go on.’

“friends with benefits,” she relented.

she let out a huffed groan, “tha's rough,” she shook her head at the thought “but that man sure don’t act like it. clearly he cares ‘bout you.”

“ ‘s complicated.” she said flatly, not elaborating anymore as she tossed the dirtied paper towel in the bin, turning her back to the mirror as she leaned against the porcelain. her hands felt the rough underside of the unfinished sink, contrasting the smooth exterior of the exposed material.

she watched her for a moment longer as she leaned against the sink, her face flushed and red. she knew she had to report back to the worried brit who stood leaning outside against the wall, waiting for either her to return with an answer, or the girl he had been so concerned about.

“take a moment, girl,” she pushed herself from the wall, walking towards the fancy, heavy door of the club bathroom, “i’ll tell ‘im you’ll be ‘nother minute.”

she nodded in thanks as she watched her leave. her heart still heavy in her chest. she just wished she could escape, slip through the thin window that let in the moonlight, casting a glow across the dimly illuminated bathroom tile.

it brought her back to the numerous late-night hook-up calls she took. the moon casting a silver glow across his tanned skin, cascading down his abs. the shadows emphasized the muscles across his body as she watched them with hazy vision taut with each buck of his hips into her throbbing pussy, the room filled with lewd sounds that only got him harder. muttered praises fell from his lips with every passing second as he buried his cock deeper into her cunt, hitting spots against her gummy walls that elicited strangled squeaks that escaped her pink, swollen lips. her throat red and hoarse as she worked up a release for the nth time. paired with his thumb toying with her over-sensitized clit, he practically bullied her pussy with how much he exhausted from her, milking orgasm after orgasm from her poor, debilitated body.

so much so that he was fucking his releases back into her overstimulated cunt while it dripped down the back of her reddened thighs, pooling onto the bedsheets as it smeared across his hips. he groaned lowly in the back of his throat, his hands clawing at the fat on her hips. he bit his lip at the thought of bruising her skin just from how harshly he fucked himself into her.

“fuck,” he had growled under his breath, pressing his thumb further down on her clit which caused another strained whimper to slip from her lips, “ ‘ur pussy‘s fuckin’ made f’me, ain’t it? hm?”

his voice was cocky, he knew she couldn’t speak. she was a babbling mess under his tanned body, eyes hazy and glossed over as he watched her fucked-over expression—so blissfully cockdrunk all because of him and only him. the noises that filled the room were downright pornographic with the low string of groans constantly falling from his lips and the desperate gasps of breath as he fucked her senseless.

he watched her body writhe under him, her walls clenching around him as she desperately reached for release. he felt it too, pooling at the bottom of his abdomen, the addictive feeling he could only find resolve in buried deep in her sopping pussy, all for him as he filled her again.

it’d be too much to hope that he would make her feel like that again tonight, or any other in the future, especially with magui around now. she could expect their ‘friends with complications’ relationship to finally come to an end after a few months shy of a year. she sighed deeply, pushing herself from the sink finally as she trudged to the bathroom door, heelings clicking against the hard tile. her palms were sweaty and slick against the cold metal bar as she pulled open the door.

her eyes instinctively searched for the tan brit, soon finding him leaning against the wall to the right of the door. his head was leaned back, eyes closed as he waited—she felt guilty, he must’ve been waiting for a while. she glanced over his attire, the navy shirt complimenting his skin, and the veins on his arms more prominent as ever. his curls were messy with sweat from all his partying, and his face was flushed red. his throat bobbed as he swallowed, a breath escaping his lips.

the door of the bathroom closed behind her, grabbing his attention and pulling it to where she stood. her arms were crossed against her chest, pushing her tits together in an insatiable visual. drunk thoughts ran wild in his head, the drinks getting to his brain as his eyes swept over her figure appreciatively—but also in concern.

he pushed himself from the wall, “you ‘kay?” he broke the silent tension between them—because there was music blasting in the back, it wasn’t truly silent.

she nodded simply, closing her eyes as she let out an exasperated sigh before opening them again to look at him, “yeah, think i’ll just get some fresh air ‘nd head home,” she told him as she started to walk past where he stood.

“do you want me to come with you?” he offered, following her through the club as she pushed past numerous bodies too occupied with the music.

“no, ‘s fine,” she mumbled, though she wasn’t sure he heard. besides, it wouldn’t look good for him to be seen with her while the post about magui is floating around social media. she didn't need to be painted as the side chick—she was there first anyways.

“are you sure?” he stopped her, grabbing the back of her arm with a firm grip, his palm hot against her skin as she sucked in a breath. she couldn't fold now, she wouldn't allow herself too, even if he was so caring, or appeared to be.

she shrugged his hand off her arm, ignoring the pang of hurt that flashed across his features as he retracted his hand to his pocket, “no, you just have fun, I'll get a cab home.”

with that, she turned and started walking away. she left him standing there, confusion on his face as he watched her figure slowly fade into the club, merging into the crowd as he lost sight of her. he stood there for a few moments longer before he felt an arm around his shoulders, tugging him back into the party atmosphere. he put on a face, taking whatever drink—non-alcoholic—was handed to him, but he couldn't help the unease that lingered in his tummy.

she pushed open the door of the club, feverishly pushing past the people that congregated by the entrance as the fresh air hit her like a splash of room temperature water. she wasn't sure it was any better than the stuffy, stale air that reeked throughout the club because of the sweaty bodies that came and went (literally). the air was warm, adding to the redness that blushed her features, and it was humid. she could feel the frizz in her hair already as strands stuck to her forehead and cheeks. she should’ve expected the air wasn’t going to be a cold splash against her feverishly flushed face, but at least it was better than the club air—she had decided.

she needed to get out of this heat—it was unbearable on top of all of the night’s events that she wished she could just drink away, and maybe she would. she knew the location of the nearest liquor store from where she stood, and she was about to up and walk there when she realized. other than the phone she clutched in her palm, she was empty-handed. she huffed out a breath when she remembered she had given lando her wallet to pocket for her. he still had it, and in it was some cash, cards and her id. she bit her tongue at the thought of having to go back in there—she considered it for a moment.

she couldn’t. she couldn’t bear the thought of facing him after shrugging him off. she couldn’t bear facing him when that flash of hurt cursed his flushed features was branded in her brain. she grimaced at the thought. maybe she had been a little harsh, but she felt it was somewhat justified.

he potentially had a girlfriend, and here he was, complimenting her, ghosting his hands over her waist and back, paying for her drinks.

“pretty girls shouldn’t ‘ave t’ pay for their own drinks,” he claimed after sliding his card across the bartop, calling out to the bartender to start a tab, and to put any drinks she ordered on his. she had tried to grab hold of his wrist; she didn’t want him to pay for her drinks when she was fully capable of doing it herself, but he only repeated his earlier claim.

“ ‘specially after spendin’ so much time dollin’ themselves up,” he only added to his statement before sliding a vodka cranberry across the bartop, “a drink to start the night.”

ultimately, she decided to ditch the idea of getting her wallet back. she would wait until the next time she saw him, or until he showed up on her doorstep like a lost puppy bearing a treasure. she pulled up the uber app on her phone, but frowned at the wait times. she ditched that idea too, opting to walk the way back to her apartment. her frown deepened, the creases more prominent as she glanced downwards at her heels. she could feel the blisters at the back of her feet begin to form and the aching muscle throughout. she glanced at the sidewalk next to it, the concrete not looking like the best thing to walk on barefooted.

she groaned under her breath, feeling the scratchy fabric of her dress clinging to her. her body itched and ached; she wanted nothing more than to peel this stupid dress from her body, or rather have lando do it for her. no, she couldn't think like that anymore. she couldn’t count on him to come to her rescue now—she was all alone again.

she had just began her walk, turning her back to the club as she trudged her heels across the sidewalk, the sound echoing into the night air. her head hung low as she focused her vision on her achy feet. she hadn’t gotten far when a sleek, black car had pulled into a parking spot just ahead of where she was currently walking. she squinted, her vision hazy which flashed memories in her mind when lando brought her to tears from how well he fucked her—took care of her, he stated the next morning.

she may not have been able to recognize the car through blurred vision, but she sure as hell recognized the driver—tanned skin, loose curls all messy and slightly sweaty, dark shirt with few too many buttons undone—lando.

her lips slightly parted in shock—partly because she didn’t believe it was him. maybe it was some random person who happened to look exactly like him, or it was her drunken imagination just wanting to see him—wanted it to be him.

she watched his blurry curls bounce ever so slightly as he walked towards her. her hazy vision coming into focus on him, only him. everything in her vision faded into the back of her mind as she only saw him. She couldn’t tell, but her pupils had dilated at the sight of him.

“c’mon, darlin’, let’s get you ‘ome,” he muttered as his hand ghosted down her back across her bare skin, goosebumps following at his fingers. thumb caressing the low of her back as he pushed her towards the open car door, just waiting for her. it was too inviting.

she felt the air conditioning leaking into the much warmer night air. she sighed at the feeling as she ducked into the car, his hand preventing her from bumping her head, “watch ‘ur head, love.” he cooed before kneeling down off the curb.

his hands touched her with a feather-like weight as he carefully slipped the heels from her feet, listening to the sigh of relief that spilled from her lips as he gently massaged her muscles before standing back up. he gave her a small, warm smile before closing the door again.

when he made his way back around the car, only then did he notice the gaggle of fans that had begun to gather, most holding phones that were probably recording. he brushed them off, smiling to a few as he then ducked into the car as well.

it wasn’t long before he had pulled out of the parking spot—that he did in a rush job and still did better than a certain resident ferrari driver. the drive was short, yet his hand slithered its way to her thigh, squeezing the fatty flesh under his palms subconsciously while his thumb caressed her skin.

his palm was hot against the fat of her thigh, burning into her skin as if their flesh would fuse together and he would be stuck to her until death—and after too. she wanted to shove his hand off because she felt his hands didn’t belong on her. it wasn’t right, but it sure as hell felt right. she was too exhausted anyway.

instead, she just leaned back in the seat as she watched the fuzzy night lights outside the window, that was cracked open, pass by in a blur. the breeze flew through her hair—it felt nice, refreshing.

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she fumbled with the key in her hand, having gotten her wallet and keychain back from the depths of lando’s pockets. he watched from behind her. amusement written into the creases of his face with a smug smile pulling at his lips. he watched her struggle before gently guiding her aside as he took the keys from her hands.

“‘ve got it, jus’ stand there and look pretty,” he muttered with a chuckle, effortlessly twisting the key in the knob before pushing the door open. his hand found her waist again as he supported her stumbled steps into her apartment. he dropped her keys and wallet into the little bowl by the door before walking her through the halls and into her bedroom.

he sat her on the bed, smirking at the disheveled state of her hair from it blowing in the night breeze before slipping into the bathroom. he reemerged with makeup wipes in hand to smear away her carefully constructed makeup routine.

his knee nudged hers aside as he stood between her legs, looking down at the heavy-lidded gaze that stared back at him. his free hand grasped her jaw tenderly as he tentatively wiped away her hard work, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. her eyes fluttered shut, and it tugged at his heartstrings. she looked so peaceful in his hands.

he hummed in satisfaction once her face was bare, slightly red underneath the slathered cosmetics. he dropped his grasp on her jaw, stepping back to the bathroom, but not before his eyes caught on the hamper in her room, hanging over the edge was his shirt. the shirt he had lost months ago, the shirt that he had asked her to look for because he was so sure that he left it at her place. she had it this whole time. his heart swelled at the thought she had been wearing it behind closed doors this whole time, the image in his mind of her in his clothes sent blood rushing through his body. his cheeks warmed, but he cleared his throat before walking back into the bathroom.

he came back to her slumped body on the bed, exhaustion written on her body as he walked back over to her. he could see her irritated skin under the dress, tsk’ing with the shake of his head. he grasped one of the straps between the pads of his fingers, hesitating.

he had no ill intention, he would never, but he knew she was sober enough to at least give him allowance to do it for her. his hand slipped across her cheek, his warm palm against her skin as he tilted her head to look at him.

“think you can change, or y’want me t’ do it?” he asked lowly, his thumb brushing her under-eyes, swiping away a fallen lash.

she hummed, a heavy exhale falling from her lips. she knew it was wrong to ask it of him, not knowing truly if he was off the market or not. regardless, she couldn’t deny the offer. it was lando, after all. “you do it,” her voice was laced with exhaustion.

with her confirmation, a lazy smirk found its way to his lips as his hand found its way around her waist, his fingers tenderly grasping the zipper of the dress before tugging it down slowly. his breath hitching in his throat at the gradual, increased exposure of the bare skin of her back. his eyes darted between the moles he had memorized, probably traced in a memory. he watched the straps fall from her shoulders, the curve of her bare shoulder was the first thing he set his eyes on. smoothness of her skin, interrupted by faint tan lines that made his heart warm—domestic almost—before his eyes reached the carved skin of her collarbone.

of course, she wasn't wearing a bra, he thought, but there was no maliciousness behind it—and it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, but the circumstances were different. before the material fell from her chest, he stepped back to grab the shirt from the hamper; he knew it was unwashed, but another wear wouldn't hurt. it certainly wouldn't when it was his shirt. she raised her brow at his action.

he held the shirt in his hands, placing a hand on his chin in an exaggerated thinking pose as she looked at him funny, but it was quickly hidden with the shirt he shoved on her head. it sat over the dress as he pulled her arms through, and eventually pulling the dress down so she could finally lay back in bed.

he watched her crawl under her cover, a feeling tugged his heart, one that pumped blood to his brain with the thought ‘stay with her.’

but he couldn't—shouldn’t. this was strictly platonic—done a great job of that so far, hasn't he? he stood there, looking like an idiot as he muses the thought over in his head.

he sighed, taking a step towards the door. before he could even fully turn his back on her exhausted figure laying in bed, a muffled voice spoke sleepily from behind the covers.

“lando?”

his heart jumped in his chest as his entire body froze mid-walk. he bit his tongue, slowly turning his body to look where the voice originated from—right where he was going to leave her for the night.

“yeah?”

he cursed himself for his voice sounding strained—surprised. he licked his chapped lips, his mouth becoming dry as he waited for the words to leave her lips.

“can you stay?”

something in the tone of her voice made his heart wrench. for some reason, guilt riddled his body as soon as the slightly slurred words left her pretty lips.

“ ‘course,” he spoke, but it was raspy—hoarse. he cleared his throat, beginning to undo the remaining buttons on his shirt while he slipped off his shoes, “yeah, of course.”

he tossed the shirt mindlessly in the direction of the hamper, working on undoing his pants and kicking them aside. he walked with uncertainty to the side of the bed she hadn't been occupying. he stood hesitantly before peeling back the covers and slipping into the comfort that beckoned him in. despite the distance between them, he felt the heat radiating from her feverish, tipsy body.

he swallowed nervously, pulling the covers over him as he laid flat on his back awkwardly. poor guy didn't move an inch, he didn't want to risk doing anything she wouldn't have wanted him to—especially since she wasn't exactly sober.

his body tensed as he heard her stirring in bed, sheets ruffling and bed creaking under the shifting weight. his muscle remained still when he felt that weight distribute across his body. her warmth tangled his own as she laid halfway on his body, cheek pressed against his bicep and arm across his abdomen. he let out a strained, uneven breath, slowly relaxing under her body as he adjusted his position to comfort hers better.

he was nervous, they hadn't experienced this level of domesticity together in a long time. his palm became slick and his body was pulsating heat in waves as if it was trying to cool him off. he really couldn't play it cool. he stretched an arm around her shoulder, his fingers running down the drop of her shoulders in a comforting manner. he felt her warm breaths against his bare skin, noticing how they became shallow and even. her body relaxing against him, but he couldn’t. he laid on his back, tense.

it was going to be a long night.

she woke up the next morning to rapid knocks against the front door of her apartment. she groaned lowly as she turned over in bed, but the knocks still hasn’t faltered. she thought they would, but whoever it was was insistent on her presence. she opened her eyes but quickly clenched them shut, an arm instinctively going up to block the rays of light that her eyes had yet to adjust to. she sat up with a sniffle, her arm still shielding her eyes as she turned to look down at the covers beside her. they were ruffled, messed up as if someone had stayed the night—because someone had. her shoulders dropped with a groan as the remembrance of her asking lando to stay, but it seems to her that he had already left.

part of her was disappointed, but she expected it. she hadn’t even expected him to stay when she asked him to. he was just being nice, she told herself. He was just being a good friend. but even she didn’t believe herself.

maybe he just pitied her—yeah that’s surely it.

nonetheless, she had to get the door before the person on the other side would end up busting it down with their incessant knocking, and before her head would split open. the combination of loud raps against the door, eye-blinding sunlight into the room, and the soft, splitting pain through her head from her hangover that only seemed to worsen.

throwing her bedding off her body, she got up from the bed with a wince. her feet padded against the cold, wood tiled floors as she dragged her feet through her apartment. her palms rubbed against her tired eyes in an effort to wake her up even more before she would open the door, though she didn’t quite think it helped. regarding, she unlocked the lock on the handle, not knowing what to expect when she opened the door—and who she saw was the last person she would’ve thought to see.

her lips parted, and her eyes dilated as her heart grew fuzzy because standing in front of her was the familiar curly-haired brit that had come back. her eyes raked over her appearance—and vice versa—as she noticed the changed clothes, refreshed face, phone in one hand, and a plastic bag in the other. she stood in shock, jaw dropping more ever so slightly as she struggled to find what words to say—what to even begin with. thankfully, he spoke first.

“locked m’self out,” he said with a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck with the hand that held his phone. his eyes shamelessly looked her over, appreciating the sight of her in his shirt—that she had yet to realize she was wearing.

she let out a huffed sigh, ignoring his words as her eyes falling to the bag in his hands with confusion, “lando, what is all that?” she questioned curiously, glancing back up to his face that followed her gaze to his—very nice—hands.

“sweets, mostly,” he said so nonchalantly, it made her tummy do a flip.

She pursed her lips, not fully understanding why he’d go out of his way to get things for her, “but why?”

“figured 's that time of the month.”

she scoffed, “first, rude," her tone straight-forward, which he responded to with a shrug and a look that said ‘debateable,’ "second, lando, 'm on the pill, remember? it was the first thing we talked about.”

“yeah, well, 'ur attitude was there, maybe 's there in spirit, 'right?" he raised his hands defensively, shaking his head with a smug smirk, "besides, you were pissy anyway so figured I might as well get y’somethin'.”

“you’re insufferable, lando,” she rolled her eyes dramatically.

she heard a breathless chuckle leave his lips and saw the smile that lingered as he looked at her in a way she couldn’t decipher, only knowing he’d looked at her like this plenty of times before. she felt her heart race, her palms becoming slick, and if she tried to speak, her words would surely be stuck in her throat.

“you love me.”

yeah, she does. he won't know though—can’t.

he peered into her apartment, forehead creasing with raised brows as he asks, "you gon' let me in, love?”

yeah, she is. she could never deny him, she could never shut him out—no matter how much she needed to. no matter how much she should, she would let him in again—a vicious, endless cycle that left her heart broken. it would crush at her glass heart until the shards turned to dust—she would let it happen. she would let him unknowingly crush her—the soft supple skin of her body—into a fine powder in his mortar and pestle—his rough, calloused hands.

his brows quirked up again, waiting for her answer as he watched her look at him like a deer in headlights. she stumbled with words, ultimately giving up as she stepped aside to let him in—again.

his eyes watched her closely, clear confusion indented into his skin as he stepped into the open kitchen. the bag rustled as he set it down on the counter before he turned and leaned against hit. he wore a shirt sleeve shirt—that bastard—so she had full view of his arms. she watched as they crossed against his chest, subconsciously flexing the muscles and veins under his skin.

the tension was thick, and the silence was awkward as she watched him closely—and he watched her just as, if not more, closely. his throat bobbed with a nervous swallow at the thought—more like sight—of her eyes on him. at least he knew she probably found him attractive.

“so, what's goin' on?" he spoke in a whisper, but so casually. his tone was gentle, but he seemed laid-back, nonchalant. maybe he couldn’t actually care about the answer to the question he asked, maybe he just wanted a segway into getting her back in her bed and under him. she feared she would let him—she really needs more self-respect.

she shrugged with a slight frown, her lower lip jutting out slightly, "nothing much, really," she answered back in that same whispery tone, "just dealing with a slight hangover-"

"y'know what i meant, love," he cut her off, which caused the frown on her face to deepen, "what's really goin' on, hm?"

she gulped, her face heating up at his bluntness—maybe he did care. as a friend, of course. right?

she stood in stunned silence as she mulled the words over in her head, trying to think of something that would satisfy what he needed to hear. should she be honest? no, the little voice in the back of her head shouted.

she watched his head tilt downwards slightly, as if saying ‘go on,’ when she hadn’t even answered him to begin with. the way his eyes looked through his lashes, brows slightly raised, she just wanted to spill the truth to him, to tell him every little thought and feeling and hurt she had been cycling through for months; she couldn’t.

she shrugged against, her posture matching his as she slid her arms over her chest. she felt the soft recognizable material under her skin, “nothing, lando, everything is fine.”

“bullshit.” his tone was harsh and blunt. He just wanted the truth.

she groaned, rolling her eyes as she fired back, “well, why do you even care? shouldn't you be off with your little girlfriend?”

that's it, that's what he wanted. she had just exposed herself with a simple sentence—she just showed she cared. she just showed that she was bothered by the fact that he was potentially taken—not hers.

“girlfriend?” his tone was laced with amusement and mockery, a smug smile plastered on his lips, “where’d y’hear that, darlin’?” his head tilt was lethal, as if urging her to spill her guts to him—she just might.

she stayed silent for a moment, trying to find the right phrasing to not give him what he was looking for, but he had her right where she wanted.

“there’s pictures all over social media, lando!” she threw her arms down to her sides with a slap that filled the room, frustration weaved into her words. fuck, she was this close to just breaking down to him, deconstructing everything she had built to keep him at an arms-length—but he was always within reach.

“really? you’re gon’ believe fan-made social media accounts? y’know you could’ve just asked me,” he told her, shaking his head as he pulled himself from the counter. his expression softly at the clear frustration that laced her nerves and muscles.

“well, y’never mentioned anything about it!” she was grasping at straws, anything for the upper hand—the upper hand she never had.

“because there wasn't anything to it,” his hands slipped into his pockets as he looked down on her, she watched his pupils dilated under his heavy-lidded gaze. His lips were slightly parted and she could see every crack of his chapped lips—she would force chapstick into his hand every time she saw him. “she’s jus’ a friend.”

“besides, the girl i want as my girlfriend,” he began—another shatter in her heart. A hand lifted to the side of her face, fingers grazing against her skin as he brushed stray hairs from her face, “is right in front of me.”

his voice was hushed, words only meant for her—even if they were the only people in the apartment. the hand that hovered over the side of her face—that had pushed back the stray strands that would later be stuck to her skin—pressed against her cheek. his thumb dragged back and forth over her textured face—he had never seen anyone more pretty. his palm was hot against her face—burning like it had done her thigh, but it felt right. it felt right—it was right.

it felt right as his lips tentatively pressed against hers, cracked lips against her plush pink lips as his hand slid across her cheek into her hand. it felt right to have him now—because it was.

—

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proofread by @foreveralbon <333

[cordeliawhohung]

the prowl - single dad! Price x teacher! stripper! Reader (fem) taglist

[2] Room 7

You pity every poor woman whose husband has made a quick run to The Florists just for him to return home with glitter on his clothes instead of a bouquet.

It’s been proven time and time again that the only flowers men enjoy are the ones that dance. Soft stems swaying in the faux wind of the club, eye catching color hypnotizing them into staying for the show. They enjoy the layers. Those soft stigmas that protrude from the core. They enjoy toying with them; picking the petals off one by one until they get the answer to their question.

“Chrysanthemum! You’re up!” 

Rich ochre flashes behind you in the mirror as Chrys passes by to get to the stage, and she takes care to playfully slap the exposed flesh of your ass on her way. Grinning, you twist in your scanty attire, teeth framed perfectly with blood-red lipstick. 

“Keep doing that and I’ll have to follow you home,” you tease. 

Looking over her shoulder, Chrys chuckles. “Yeah, says you and everyone else in this joint. Don’t worry, love, I’ll warm them up for you.” 

She vanishes from the room just in time for someone to douse themselves in thick, expensive perfume as if it’s disinfectant. It’s thick and floral — which is fitting, considering the theme of the club — but it’s utterly unwelcomed. It invades your lungs, and you fight the urge to cough lest you ruin your perfectly applied lipstick. 

Fog grows on the full length mirror as you huff against it, fixing the corner of your false lashes before stepping back to take a look at yourself. Having worked as an exotic dancer for some time now, there is very little you’re self conscious about. Red, yellow, and periwinkle lingerie press your tits together and compliment your ass to turn you into the perfect sex toy — beautiful petals to be gawked at by the men surrounding the stage you’re about to dance on. Caked on makeup coats your features so thickly your own face can hardly shine through, and the synthetic curls of icy blue hair down your back render you unrecognizable.

Right now, you are not Miss. Lolly. You are not the darling primary school teacher in a pretty dress, lecturing students about dinosaurs and maths. You are something else — someone else.

“Why don’t you just date him? You guys are already shagging in the back anyway.” 

“Are you trying to get me fired? Keep your fucking voice low.” 

There’s no need to look behind you in order to see who’s talking; you’re more than well aware of Daisy’s… situation. A secret lover with cash to burn and emotions to spew. Borderline prostitution isn’t exactly highly regarded in this industry. It could get the club in severe legal trouble if it was found out one of the dancers gave away more than a quick grope, but all the flowers at The Florists know how to keep their pretty lips sealed shut. 

“The only reason we fuck is because he has good dick and gives amazing tips,” Daisy explains as she twirls her bleach blonde hair around her finger. 

“In more ways than one, apparently,” Dahlia chimes in as she applies fresh lip gloss. 

“Oh, aren’t you cheeky.” Daisy rolls her eyes. “And the reason I refuse to date him, despite how drop dead gorgeous he is, is because I think I would rather die than listen to his woe-is-me moaning, groaning, and complaining every waking moment of the day if I had to live with the man.” 

“No amount of looks can drown out self centeredness,” Dahlia concurs. 

Closing your eyes, you drown out their conversation in favor of letting your mind rest for a moment. It’s the only moment you’ve been able to capture for yourself all day. Nerves are still fried deep in your brain, and though the throbbing has subsided into a gentle hum, it’s still there. Pulsing with the music, squeezing the blood from your brain until you can hardly hold a coherent thought. Pain twinges throughout your feet, exacerbated by the too-thin straps of your heels. You’ve been standing for too long, teaching and smiling jovially at your primary students with marker stained fingers from joint art projects you keep pinned to the corkboard next to your desk. 

No, you don’t have time to think about Miss Lolly. 

You are not Miss Lolly.

“Saffron! Go time!” 

That’s you. 

Figures shrouded in shadows surround the stage when you saunter up. It’s impossible to make out the features of their faces, but you can see their eyes. There’s always a glint. A fervid shine that shows just how closely you’re being watched. An eerie bloodlust to smell the center of the pretty flower about to perform in front of them. 

Hips sway with illecebrous aura drawing out slack jawed expressions from patrons as ushers collect generous tips from them. A nymph come to life, they cheer and whistle at you like dogs — or rather, insects waiting to feast on the flesh of your fibers, pretty petals and all. Still, you dance in the synthetic breeze as you bend and twist for their viewing pleasure. Hips bucking. Sliding on your knees. Tits cupped together with your hands as you press your face against the floor of the stage, ass high in the air. 

Your head pounds when you sit back up, blue waves of hair spraying around you like mist. Prismatic lights have you bathing in a wonderland of sexual desires and dreams, and still all you can focus on is the pain. No matter how many sultry smiles you flash, or how long Saffron can hang on the poll in center stage, Miss Lolly is still crying over the marcid grip on her ankles. 

If it wasn’t for the rank scent of alcohol and cologne, you would have taken a deep breath in relief after you got off that stage. Instead, you keep up the act. This perfectly crafted persona. Expertly sewn second skin. The ushers quickly hand you the cash you earned for your show, and as you slink back into the dressing room, you find yourself praying you attracted enough attention to earn yourself a few requests for private dances. 

Back in the dressing room, you’re quickly counting the cash you’ve earned so far while the girls whistle at your earnings. It’s a good start to what’s bound to be a long, torturous night. Though it’s not as much as you’d like to see by the end of your shift, it’s enough to cover the house fees. 

You’re stowing away fresh, hard earned cash into your locker when there’s a sharp knock on the dressing room door. Once the girls give the all clear — meaning that they’re as decent as they can be in lingerie and not buttass naked — one of the coordinators opens the door. Tired eyes scan the dressing room, until they land on you.

“Saffron,” he says, waving a black ticket.

Gold floral embellishments glint in the dim lighting of the room, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head in recognition. You haven’t just earned the opportunity to give a few simple private dances — you’re wanted for a VIP session. A long, private dance filled with booze, special requests, and a high payout for you. 

You’re about to make half your rent tonight. 

It’s not entirely rare that someone seeks you out for a VIP session, so the hallway that leads to the room isn’t unfamiliar to you. Dark paint coupled with erotic photographs line the walls as your heels click against the marble flooring. Muffled music fades into the background the closer you are to approaching the room. You look down at the card in your hand: Room 7. 

Its swirling gold letters match the same font on the door in front of you. With a deep breath, you quickly fix the stray strands of your wig before your hand reaches for the knob on the door. 

Rich maroon walls close in on a comfortable room with a lone chandelier as the only source of light. As the door closes behind you, any hint of music dies behind it, and you’re left with nothing but silence and your own breathing as you take in the sight in front of you. 

Thick, powerful thighs spread wide in pressed dress pants on a large leather sofa. Their circumference is bigger than your head, you’re sure of it. A wide-palmed hand lazily caresses a glass of bourbon on the side table; your patron has been given special treatment with his own bottle of whiskey and bucket of ice, which means extra cash in your pocket. You trace his body, sizing him up with hooded eyes. His broad chest is hardly contained by his slightly unbuttoned dress shirt, allowing thick curls of dark hair to peek above the fabric. 

When you get to his face, you freeze. 

Neatly trimmed facial hair, alluring blue eyes — you’ve seen him before. He tilts his head at you, hips shuffling forward to lean further back in his seat, belt buckle catching the light just like it did earlier in the afternoon. He even gives you a quiet smile, one that doesn’t quite curl as much as it usually does, and you feel your stomach twist with bubbling bile. 

This is no patron; this is John Price.  Your student’s dad.

[sonolynn]

Forbidden Fruit

summary | Jace didn't want her, but Aemond did.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

tags | 18+ MDNI, Jealously, Aemond yearning, explicit sexual content, mentions of bastards, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, size kink (?), oral f!receiving, Angst if you squint. "Technical" infidelity but is it really if Jace started it? (yes). ooc!Aemond (probably). NOT PROOF READ (its one am, leave me alone).

w.c | 3.8k

note(s) | My first smut fic!! Ah I'm scared...I also think I have a problem with making Aemond want fem!reader when he rightfully can't have her. Also I swear I'm not a Jace hater!! I love Jace, but in this fic specifically I made him long and wish for Baela.

____________________________________________

“Why don’t you marry her then?” 

Aegon’s voice was taunting, as if pushing Aemond to say something. Aemond stared down at the cup in front of him; even with a stoic expression, his mannerisms betrayed him. He tapped his finger against the edge of the cup, he picked at the skin around his nails on the opposite hand-all the tell tale signs of thinking, a mind that cannot be stopped. 

“Because she is betrothed to Rhaenyra’s bastard.” His voice dripped with malice as he spoke. Aemond hated that Jacerys would inherit the throne enough; What his bastard nephew didn’t need was the girl Aemond had wished for his entire life. Ever since the two of them were children Aemond had a…weird infatuation with her. When he was a boy, he would pick flowers from the garden and he would purposely do good deeds for her, just to have her hug him or smile graciously at him. 

But now, everything was different. She was a woman grown, and him a man grown. She was to be engaged to his bastard nephew, and he would have to sit and watch as they shared a kiss, held hands, smiled and danced as newlyweds. He’d have to hold a straight face as the two of them left to Jacerys’ bed chamber, only knowing the connotations that came with what would happen on their wedding night. 

Ignoring his brother's tedious rants about hells knows what, Aemond stood from his chair, opting for a walk in the gardens.

____________________________________________

Aemond walked, hands clasped behind his back, and his gaze drifted into nothingness as he walked with just his thoughts, and the cool breeze that accompanied the summer evenings. He tried to distract himself from the thoughts of her, for they were all almost too painful to ever truly think about. 

But he couldn’t help himself. He thought of her as a sickness, one that lingered and grew stronger by the day until it fully consumed your every waking moment. He thought of her laugh just as contagious as the plague, her eyes as intoxicating as the finest of wines. He thought her to be a type of sickness, and he so desperately wanted to be affected. 

Aemond was never one to smile-one to truly-smile, his half smirks or half smiles were only ever in a sarcastic sense, but for some reason his smiles were real with her. With her he laughed a little more, with her he walked a little faster. He knew it was stupid, perhaps perpetually idiotic-to ever think, let alone long for such a pure and innocent creature. 

As Aemond walked, he noticed her sitting by one of the fountains in the garden. She looked breathtaking, he thought to himself. Her hair was down and cascaded down her shoulders, her face was just the perfect amount of shaded with the moon's light. And above all, she held that intoxicating smile that she always held. He never knew why she was always smiling, nor did he wish to find out. 

She turned her head, her smile widening at the sight of Aemond. 

“Aemond!” Her voice was cheerful, slowly standing as he walked towards her. 

“Princess,” Aemond smiled-a half smile-at her as he looked around, then slowly back at her. “It’s quite late. Should you not be in your chambers?” 

She always thought the way he cared for her, even if he didn’t show it outright, was extremely enticing. She knew how he was with others, but she knew the differences he had with almost everyone in court-so what made her so different? Why her, the object of the second son's affection. 

“Perhaps I do not wish to sleep. Perhaps…I quite like the quietness of the garden.” She smiled innocently, looking back towards the fountain as she started to walk. Aemond knew her well enough to see that this was a quiet plea for him to join her; Because no matter how much she enjoyed the quietness of the garden, she enjoyed it much more when he was with her. 

Aemond stared at her, as he often did, but this time, it was different. The stare he held was nothing short of primal. He watched the light in her eyes as she smiled up at him and for some reason, now, he wished to watch as the innocent light in her eyes slowly dwindled as he claimed her. 

“Aemond? Is something wrong?” Her voice snapped his thoughts back, if only for a moment. She stopped walking to look up at him and she crossed her arms underneath her chest. His eye trailed down slowly, fixating on the way that her cleavage just slightly out of her dress. He was like a man starved; Clinging to the littlest of details that would make his imagination run wild. 

She seemed to notice the way that his eye raked over her chest like a starving man, and her face flushed with embarrassment. She-though subconsciously-reached up to place her arm over her chest, but to her surprise, Aemond gently took her hand, and when she looked up, his one sapphire eye was locked with hers. 

“You needn’t cover up. Not around me.” He spoke calmly, though his heart was racing and his head spinning. He let out a shaky breath as he lowered her hand and looked into her eyes. 

She watched him carefully, searching his gaze for anything that would betray him. In truth she didn’t know what she was searching for, but she felt as if she should be searching for something. 

Aemond lifted a hand, placing the back of his knuckles against her hot cheek. The gesture was gentle, and slow, something he was not known for. His eye slowly trailed down her face, and his eye caught on her lips, his breath heavy as he reached his hand up and gently placed his thumb over her plush bottom lip. 

Her eyes followed his, big, and full of longing. She stared at him as his thumb pushed against her lip. She didn’t know exactly what to do; She knew that this moment was intimate, far too intimate to be happening between a betrothed woman and a bachelor. But, the way he gazed at her made her feel hot, and the way he trailed his hand over her face and body made her want to see where this could lead. 

His free hand shakily went up to her waist, cupping it firmly as he brought her closer. He leaned forward, just slightly, till his nose was pressed against hers. Her breath hitched, and her eyes instinctively closed. She waited for him to press his lips against hers, to feel his mouth on hers like she had (shamefully) always wished for. But, it never came. 

When she opened her eyes again, she saw Aemond breathing heavily, desperately trying to restrain himself. He pulled away slightly, and he shook his head,

“I shouldn’t take advantage of you…not like this.” Though his words held conviction, it seemed his body betrayed him. His hand stayed on her waist, slowly trailing up and cupping her breast in his hand. She gasped softly at the feeling, and his thumb went to her lip again before he connected his lips to hers. She responded immediately, putting her hands on his arms. 

He kissed her like he was dying, his body subconsciously reacting more to the kiss then he’d wish it to. He pulled her flush against him, his strong hands coming to cup her face, his shoulders shrugging in a futile attempt to have her closer. He opened his mouth, causing her to gasp at the feeling of his tongue against hers. Her mouth moved with his as if it was known to her; As if this was a dance she had practiced for years to perfect, as if the dance of her lips was a song that Aemond had mastered just for her. 

She practically melted in his arms. She had been kissed before; Jace was a good kisser but he was soft, and the kisses were never not chaste. But, kissing Aemond was like walking through fire. Her entire body reacted to the way he clung to her body, how he pulled her impossibly closer. It was like a fire had escaped through his lips and was now coursing through her veins and settling in her abdomen. 

Even though she didn’t know exactly what to do, it seemed her body did. Her hands slid down his arms and slowly made their way to his chest as she moaned softly. 

The moan grounded him, like he had been falling from the heavens and down to earth. He suddenly pulled away, breathless as he stared down at her. Her eyes opened steadily, and she looked up at him with confusion while a frown graced her kiss swollen lips. 

“We shouldn’t have done that.” He spoke breathlessly, his hand still gently stroking her side. 

“Maybe not..but it felt good.” Gods, the way she spoke held him in a chokehold. He wished desperately to dive back into her; To drown in her lips and never come up for air, but.. 

“Not again. You are to be married.” He suddenly pulled away and at the feeling of his hands leaving her body, she frowned deeper. 

“Aemond-” “Goodnight, Princess.” 

And with that, the prince turned and rushed back into the keep. 

____________________________________________

Aemond couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in bed, picking at his nails, biting his lip-genuinely anything to help stop the incessant thoughts of her lips. 

The thoughts started off sweet and innocent. The way she looked up at him as he trailed his thumb over her lip, the way her lips pursed just slightly when he leaned forward. 

But then the thoughts got venereal fast. He thought about how he felt to finally kiss her. The way his lips practically burned when they pulled away. He knew that as he gazed at her kiss swollen lips his night would be harbored with thoughts of what they’d look like doing gods knows what else. 

His hand slid down underneath the sheets, firmly grasping at his length as he let out a shuddering breath. He hated doing this; Feeling so pent up and so desperate that he had to resort to using himself. But as of right now he couldn’t care less. 

He imagined her lips around his cock, her innocent eyes gazing up into his. He’d imagine the way she’d gag around him, how her lips would look kissing the head of his cock. 

He groaned at the thought, his head tipping back as he closed his eye and let his thoughts wander more. He’d think about how she’d look with his seed covering her lips and her chin, how she’d moan his name as he devoured her between her legs-

He peaked with a gasp, and a low moan of her name. The minute his orgasm washed over him, and he started to slowly come down, he felt an intense feeling of guilt, shame, but most of all pain. 

Guilt and shame because he hated himself for touching himself to someone who couldn’t be his. 

Pain because she’d never be his. Pain because he knew that no matter what he did, she’d still be betrothed to Jacerys. 

____________________________________________

The next morning, she sat alone at breakfast, supposedly liking it more that way. With her fiance practically ignoring her, and her father too entranced with kissing the king's ass, she learned to enjoy the solitude of just…nothing. 

Plus, she always had her thoughts. Even if they were only occupied with Aemond. 

She played around with the food on her plate as her mind trailed. She remembered the way he kissed her, how he held her. She felt happy, something she so rarely felt with Jacerys. 

She knew how he felt, how he longed for and wished for Baela. She did not blame him, she was beautiful, but she also didn’t feel sad, which, at a point did bother her but, not so much. 

At least, not after last night. 

She smiled to herself as she thought about the kiss, wishing that he would do it again, longing for the way the heat escalated through her body. 

She didn’t register the voice next to her until it spoke her name. 

She looked up, surprised. But, when her eyes met with Aemond’s, her heartbeat quickened, and she smiled. 

“Aemond.”

“You’re not hungry?”

“What?” “You’re not eating.” “Oh,” Her cheeks flushed red for a reason unbeknownst to her, and with a soft huff, she pushed the plate away, “It seems as though I have lost my appetite.” 

Aemond looked concerned at that, and he looked down at her. Despite himself, he found himself worrying yet again for her comfort, her needs. 

“Is something the matter?” She shakes her head, but for some reason, Aemond was persistent. “If this is about what happened last night, then I should apologize-” 

“Apologize?” She interrupted, sitting up straighter at the mention of the word. “Why?” 

“Yes…apologize. Because we should not have done that-”

“But I wanted it to happen.” 

Aemomd stopped and he slowly looked towards her. His eye pierced into hers as if to read every thought and emotion that crossed her brain. He just simply couldn’t believe her. 

“You shouldn’t say things you do not mean, Princess.”

“You don’t know that I don’t mean it.”

“Princess-”

“Aemond.” She said his name as if to challenge him, and he knew that he truly could never challenge her. He saw it in her eyes, he saw by the way she looked at him and smiled that she wished for him just as he wished for her. But these feelings-these blockages-would only cause unnecessary trouble. 

“Please, do not give me a hope that cannot be upheld.” Her heart broke a little at that, and, as he stood to leave, she instinctively stood with him, taking his wrist in her hand as she pulled on his arm. As if the small gesture would stop him from walking, (it did). 

“Aemond please..You do not know what I wish for.” 

His lip curled down into a small frown as he looked at her. He knew what she felt-at least he thought he did-but even if his suspicions were right, even if she did wish for him like how he longed for her, he couldn’t. He may dislike, perhaps even hate his nephew, but he was better than stealing his fiance. 

Right?

“We cannot. To be with you would disgrace your family and the alliance-” 

“Fuck the alliance!” She swore, her eyes boring into his as she studied his face. “Fuck the alliances Aemond, I wish for you. Desperately, I wish for you. Jace does not see me like how you do. Jace does not make me feel the way that you do-”

“It does not matter if Jace makes you happy or if he makes you feel desired-” “He does not wish for me as you do!”

“Princess-” “You do not understand! We are speaking of breaking it off. Neither of us wish for this.” Aemond went quiet at this and he sighed heavily, turning his full body towards her. He pried his arm away from her, staring at her incredulously, his body language giving no open window to how he was truly feeling. With no words coming from him, she continued. 

“I love you.” At those words Aemond showed his shock. He took a step back from her and he raised an eyebrow. 

“You do not mean-”

“Oh for the love of-Yes! I mean it! I love you, Aemond! I love you as if it is breathing! Instinctively, not thinking about it….I love you.” 

Aemond couldn’t hold it anymore, he walked to her and gripped her face tightly, her cheeks squishing slightly in his grasp as he smashed his lips against hers. She initially was shocked at the sudden kiss, but she kissed him back fiercely, holding his wrists as she leaned up to kiss him deeper. 

He led her back until he pressed her back against the table, holding her thighs as he pushed her onto the table. His body fit perfectly in between her thighs, just like he imagined it would. His hands gripped her thighs, one of his hands traveling up, feeling and savoring the soft skin as he groaned. 

She pulled away from the kiss to leave small kisses along his jaw. He bit his lip at the feeling, the action presumably so innocent and so sweet it almost made him chuckle. 

He pulled back slightly, his gaze intense and lust filled as his hand trailed underneath her breasts. 

“Tell me to stop.” He demanded. His head was spinning with the lust that clouded it. He waited for her to push him away, or to whimper a soft “I do not think myself ready”- But she shook her head, bringing his head back to hers swiftly to connect their lips in another passionate kiss. 

He pulled away from the kiss, groaning to himself as he left hot, open mouthed kisses against her jaw and neck. He looked down, his breath heavy as he stared down into her cleavage. He wished for nothing more than to rip her dress open and kiss every inch of her body, but being in the dining room came with its disadvantages. So, he settled for kissing her cleavage, before trailing his lips down the fabric of her dress till he came to her thighs.

Aemond pushed her dress up as far as he could, staring at her the whole time. He slowly pushed her thighs about, giving her time to stop him but she never did. Gently kissing the inner side of her thigh, he tried to reassure her. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes; The way she looked at him with both anxiety and lust. He stared up at her searching for any sign or signal that would make him stop. 

“Is this okay?” Once he saw the light nod of her head, he disappeared underneath her dress. 

She had never been intimate with a man-courtesy of her father, enforcing the “Women should be pure” melodramatic speech into her head ever since she could stand. She always thought it to be a chore, only having heard stories from unhappy married women who hated their husbands, and much less disliked their children a little less, but this? This was exciting, this felt good. 

She placed a hand on his head, moaning his name under her breath as he ate her like a beast. His hands gripped her thighs as if to ground himself-He had tasted women before but for some reason she was so much sweeter, so much more divine. His eyes practically rolled back just from pushing his tongue into her heat, sucking gently on her flit before he pulled away slightly, focusing his attention on her clit as he dipped a finger inside of her. 

The sudden stretch made her jump, and gasp loudly. She may have pleasured herself before but it really never felt like what Aemond was doing to her. He eased his finger in slowly, dragging it back out, and then slowly pushing it back in. Hearing the moans that graced her lips, he continued the slow thrust of his finger for a moment before he added another one. 

She let out a loud moan, a hand on the back of his head as she pushed his head closer to her heat. She felt him chuckle against her, the vibrations only adding to the pleasure. She moaned loudly, perhaps too loudly for comfort, but Aemond only seemed to want more of those noises to come from her. 

He slowly curled his fingers, his mouth praising her clit. The added pressure with the curl of his fingers, and the sucking of her clit made her eyes squeeze shut. 

“Oh gods Aemond, I’m going to-” Just as her orgasm was going to consume her, it stopped. With her heavy breathing, and slightly shaky legs, she slowly sat up. Aemond smirked up at her, holding her gaze as he nipped at her inner thighs. “You stopped..” 

“Yes. Because if you are going to peak it should be on my cock.” 

Her face flushed at the words, and she stared at him with wide eyes as he pulled his trousers down slightly to free his throbbing cock. As their eyes met, he seemed to notice the slight anxiety in her eyes, because he pressed his forehead against hers and lined himself up with her entrance. 

“Tell me to stop if it hurts too much.” She nodded in response, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders as he pushed into her. She let out a gasp; The feeling was new, discomfiting but..new. Her face scrunched up at the stretch, and Aemond shushed her quietly as he started to move. After a few thrusts, her body relaxed, and she started to moan his name. 

Hearing his name fall from her lips was like a prayer answered, like a lifelong dream he had been waiting for. He grunted as he started to rock his hips back and forth into her slowly. It took everything inside of him to not pound into her, to fuck her like he had fantized about. He wished that her father could see her now, her maidenhood gone and her body fully submitting to the pleasure he so gracefully gave her. 

“Aemond..Aemond oh gods-” Her voice broke as he went faster, her moans only getting louder. She tried to wrap her mind around the pleasure he was giving her, the way his hips moved slowly yet deeply, the way the tip of his thick cock rubbed against the spot so deliciously. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she held him close to her. 

One of his hands was on her thigh, the other on the table as he thrusted into her, as if holding the edge of the table would stop the creaking sounds, or the way she moaned his name, or how his groans got louder as his climax approached. 

White splattered her vision as her orgasm washed over. She cried out his name in pleasure, holding him close as his legs trapped him inside of her. The feeling of her core pulsating and tightening made Aemond’s head spin, and he grunted out a moan of her name as he came himself, spilling his seed inside of her. 

As the two sat there, basking in the afterglow of being intimate, neither of them would move for what felt like hours. Even though the position that they were in was compromising, they smiled, and laughed softly at the situation itself. 

Once they both got cleaned up-the best they could get cleaned up for just having sex on the dining room table-Aemond took her hand. She smiled softly at Aemond, her heart racing in a new, and exciting way. The two stared at each other for a while, trying to wrap their minds around the fact that now, they could truly be together, or at least, now, they had a hope that they could be together.

____________________________________________

[writersblockedx]

Hi there!

I really love your fanfics!

I couldn’t use the link to submit a request so I’m sending it here !

What about a fanfic where Ried has a family but he’s kept it secret for so many years so they wouldn’t get hurt. He has a small daughter and a young son. One day at the office, he gets pictures of someone taking pictures of them with a threat so he has to come clean to the team and bring his family to the office to keep them safe and they are all shocked

Please no pressure for this fic! Love your work!!!

Securing Secrets / S.R.

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary - Spencer has always attempted to keep his family safe. So much so, they had become a secret. But when their lives are threatened, he has no choice but to come clean and ask for the help of his team. Warnings - Stalking, mentions of violence and death Words - 3.8K 

A/n - I hope this is okay for you - I wrote a little more than I intended to but I still hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

It was no wonder why Spencer had kept his family to himself. When he had faced killers like Cat Adams and Tobias Hankle, he knew what humans were capable of - if he dared to even compare them to anything humane. So, he made the decision when he met Y/n to forever keep her a secret from his work. And when they started growing a little family with two children, he kept them a secret too.

Sometimes it killed him inside. As much as he loved his team, risking the lives of his family just wasn't enough for him. He had lost his first love, had his mother held captive, he wasn't about to risk his family too. He had learnt from his past - at least he thought he had done.

"Morgan, hey, no, you can't-" Y/n called towards their seven year old daughter whose sticky fingers had grasped a hold of a copy of fifty shades of grade. When she thought taking the kids on a day trip out to the book store would be easy, she hadn't imagined her seven year old reading smut. "You can't read that." She scolded before placing the book back on its shelf.

The bushy-haired girl gazed up at her mother, "Why not?" She huffed.

Her arm wrapped around Jay, their more reserved, four (and a half) year old. "Because it's an adult book. When you're old enough, you can read it."

"I am old enough, Daddy said I've got an advanced reading age!" Of course, she did - she was the daughter of the guy who could read 20,000 words a minute. Not to mention, she was going through the 'I'm old enough to do what I want' phase.

"Ask me again when you're 18, how about that?" She suggested before the child wrapped at her torso and stared up at her.

"Will Dada be home?" He asked.

Jay always liked coming home from their day trips to find Spencer already there, his head deep in another book or a case file. But days like that were rare - as much as both the parents hated such. "Erm-" Before she could give her son an answer, her phone started to ring. "That should be him." She gave the boy a smile before pulling out her mobile and seeing Spencer's contact staring back at her.

The man, from the moment they made it official, had always made sure to call her at the end of his working day. Whether he was in a hotel somewhere in the country, on the jet or if he was simply in his car, travelling home. "Hey, Spence, you should hear what Morgan wants to read-"

She could barely finish her breath, "Where are you?" He asked, his tone ever so stern that it was already making her nervous.

"The bookstore down town." She answered, already glancing around like she suddenly felt as if she was being watched. "Why?"

The girl could hear his uneven breaths on the other side of the phone, "I- Shit-" That's when Y/n knew something was wrong - her husband never swore...ever. "Can you come to the office? With the kids, we need you here."

"The office? Spencer, what are you talking about? I thought they didn't know."

"Yeah, well something's changed." Her heart started beating so fast that she wondered if Jay would be able to feel it. "Please, I need to know you're all safe."

She nodded and gazed over at her two children whom were waiting to hear about what Daddy had told her. "We'll be right over," She assured.

"And Y/n," He spoke, "In your car, in the glove compartment, there's a pistol, please, take it." What the hell had happened? Spencer could barely use a gun himself, never mind her. "I put it in there just in case and, just keep it on you until you get here."

"Okay, yeah." She didn't like the idea but, if someone was threatening them, if someone was putting her and her children at risk, she would do whatever was needed.

"I'll see you soon." Spencer huffed, "I love you."

"I love you too."

And with that, she ended the call. Only a single exhale dared to leave her lips before she stood. "Is Dada home?" Jay nagged.

She scooped the boy up into her arms, "No, but we're gonna visit him at work, okay?" Jay didn't seem happy about the idea but she'd rather the boy be safe than happy. "Come on," With her free hand, she grasped Morgan's finger tips tightly. "We need to go."

She rushed her and the kids into her parked car outside, making sure to look over her shoulder. Once she was seated in the driver's seat with the engine running, her gaze glanced to the glove compartment. Y/n needed to. Her hand leaned over, pushing it open and finding the gun stuffed behind a thick car manual. She grasped it for a moment before placing it on the passangers seat for easy access.

From there, she didn't take her foot off the gas. She was usually an ulta-safe driver. But, tonight, everything was different.

When they arrived to the BAU, Y/n pressed the button for the sixth floor and waited for the doors to glide open. With two children at either side of her, she wandered into the office. Her eyes instantly searched for Spencer. Instead, a blonde, colourful girl came running over to them. Well, walking as fast as she could in her thick heels. Garcia, Y/n assumed.

"Oh, you must be the lovely Mrs Reid," She sighed in relief when she came face to face with Y/n.

She glanced her up and down; there was no way this was JJ or Emily. "Penelope, right?"

The girl almost seemed surprised, "You- you know me?"

Y/n's face softened ever so slightly, "Of course."

"Y/n!" Her head turned from Garcia to see Spencer jogging over to her. Once he was close enough, he instantly engulfed the girl into a tight hug. "You okay?" He asked before pulling away and hugging his two children.

She nodded, "Yeah, we're okay, don't worry." When Spencer stood from hugging his kids, he gazed back over at his wife. She had grasped her hand from the back hem of her jeans, pulling out the pistol he had made sure she take. "Here, I've no idea what I'm doing with it anyway." Spencer took the weapon from her before her expression turned stern, "Now, what the hell is going on?"

Spencer's eyes instantly glanced down at their children; they didn't need to hear this. "Morgan, Jay," He spoke ever so softly to them as he leaned down, "Why don't you go with Garcia, she'll show you all her funky toys?" He glanced back at Penelope who was gleaming with a smile as she offer a hand for each child.

"Oh, yeah! I've got unicorns, fairies, fluffy pens, everything." She gleamed, trying to hide her fear for the true reason Spencer's family had been bought into the BAU. Once the kids took the woman's hand she gave one last look at the couple, "Let me know if you need anything."

The boy nodded before Garcia began leading the children towards her cave, "Someone- someone found you." He started to explain as he interlocked his hand with her, guiding the two over towards the conference room where the rest of the team were waiting. "I don't know how and I don't know who but- but around 30 minutes ago I had email to my work address. There's photos, almost a months worth."

Her brows narrowed at him, "Of what?"

"Of you."

Oh god. Despite all the effort the two had put in to keep their family personal, someone had still connected her and the kids to Spencer. And for whatever reason, they had become a target.

Spencer opened the door to the conference room, where the team were waiting. Most of them sat at the round table where they had several files and papers scattered in front of them. But at the entrance of Reid and his secret wife, they each turned. She offered them a weak smile before the man, whom she assumed was Hotch, spoke up, "Sadly we don't have much time for small talk, but we all want to help." He stood over towards Y/n and offered her his hand, "Aaron Hotchner."

She shook his hand, "Hotch, I should have known." And then she glanced around the table at the rest of the agents. Without hesitation, she named them all, "JJ, Emily, Rossi and Morgan." She smiled at each of them. "Spencer talks about you all a lot."

The boy next to her grinned every so slightly. "I wish we could have met differently." Morgan offered as he stood up, "Take a seat, we'll run you through what we know."

Y/n followed Spencer as the two sat at the round table and the tv screen in front of them started filling with papazzi-style photographs of the woman. Her grocery shopping, her at a bar with some friends, and even one from this morning: hand in hand with Jay as she led the two children into the bookstore they adored.

"You said this has been going on for a month?" How could that have been the case and she had no idea?

Hotch nodded, "We believe so yes."

"Who would want to do this?" She questioned; she wasn't exactly an interesting person. She had a normal life - as the pictures had proven.

Spencer took her hand, "We erm, we're not sure yet. We have one theory."

The tv screen clicked onto another slide. A woman's face filled the screen. A woman whom Y/n had heard far too much about: Cat Adams. "We know Adams has an obsession with Reid, and well, we know she likes to target his personal life," JJ informed as Y/n recalled the days in which Diana had been held captive. "If she somehow found out about you, it would have set her off."

"But she's in prison." Y/n pointed out.

Emily shrugged, "She was in prison when she found Reid's mother. She's- She's a master manipulator and ever since Reid first encountered her, he was the first man to challenge her." All of which Y/n already knew.

"If you really think it's her then-" Her eyes gazed over at Spencer, filled with worry, "You're going to have to talk to her aren't you?" It wasn't a question; she knew it.

Spencer sucked in a breath before he dared to nod.

It didn't take them long. Before Y/n realised it, she was watching out the window of the conference room as two prison guards held Cat by either one of her arms. She was smiling- no, she was smirking. She knew exactly what she was doing. Her eyes gazed around the office until she was forced into an interrogation room.

All they needed to know was who her contact was. Once they had a name, they could find them and put whoever that was in prison too.

Y/n stood next to Spencer as they stared at the woman through the double-sided mirror. "If she's done all this to get to you, why are we letting her talk to you?" The girl questioned.

"She always slips up in front of Reid." Emily answered - despite how much they all hated the idea.

Rossi was the first to pose another opinion, "What if we give her something she isn't expecting?" He suggested, "What if we don't give her Reid?" Surely, if the team sent in someone Cat Adams didn't expect, then maybe she would slip up just as easily - if not more so.

The older man shared a glance with Emily. A glance of which allowed them to silently suggest something; the two had an idea that wasn't yet shared with the rest of the group. It wasn't until Emily's eyes landed on Y/n that they started to understand what the two were thinking, "What if- What if we sent Y/n in?"

The girl scoffed; that must have been a joke. "You're kidding, right?" She laughed. "I mean, I'm not- I'm an agent. I'm a normal person. I can't talk to a criminal!"

"That's exactly what we need," Spencer spoke aloud without even realising, "She's expecting me, she's expecting FBI, send in someone different and it might just make her slip." Spencer turned to face Y/n, one hand gently cupping her cheek as he spoke, "Especially if we send in the very girl she's jealous of."

Y/n's head shook; she couldn't. She was with Spencer, but she wasn't a part of his world, "I can't."

"You can," His voice soothed, "You can do anything."

"We'll be right here," Emily assured.

Y/n glanced back at the window, at the criminal who had targetted her. If this was their best shot, then she might have to take it. Her family was at risk for goodness sake. Once they figured out who  her partner on the otherside, all this would be over. The girl sighed, "Fine," She finally agreed. "But if anything happens, if she does anything, please-"

Spencer was already nodding, "We'll get you out of there, don't worry." He promised.

His hands fell from her skin before she glanced between the other two agents, "How do I do  this then?" She asked.

"Go in there, vague questions, act better than she is, because you are," Emily mentored, "We need to figure out how she's orchestrated this."

With those instructions, the girl nodded and Rossi handed her the file. The one of which was filled with the stalker photos of herself and the kids, "See what happens if you show her these too, it might tell us a lot." He explained.

And with that, with that grace of a nod, a peck to Spencer's lips, the girl headed into the interrogation room.

Cat Adams was nonchalant. She had learnt a lot. She had learnt the best way to not let BAU agents know what she was thinking. But sending Y/n in certainly hadn't been what she expected.

The girl swallowed as she took the seat across from Cat with a very weak smile. She gazed up at the woman who had suddenly grown a sickly smile which made Y/n become nervous. She wanted to leave already, "Hi," Cat shrugged her shoulders and gazed softly at Y/n.

But the other girl was staring back with narrowed eyes, "Do you know who I am?" She questioned.

Cat leaned back and shrugged, letting out nothing but a hum. So Y/n leaned forward and placed one of the photos in front of the girl. It was just of her - no Jay or Morgan present. Just her, exiting her car as she headed to the store, "So you don't recognise this?".

She barely glanced at it, "Should I?"

"You know Doctor Reid though, don't you?"

Instantly, her demeanour shifted. But she desperately tried to hide it, "Bumped into him...sure." She shrugged it off.

Y/n thought for a moment before raising her left hand, wiggling her ring finger to show off her wedding ring to the girl, "Yeah well, I know him quite well." She said, watching as Cat's smile completely dissipated, "And he, well, he sort of mentioned you. I mean I sort of remember your name...remind me again? Carol? Cath-?"

"Cat." She cut in.

The girl faked a shock of realisation; this was exactly what Emily had asked: make herself look better than Cat.  "And you don't know me?" She glanced back to her wedding ring, "Wife." She spoke.

The girl huffed and smiled to herself like something was funny, "Yeah, good luck with that."

Y/n glared back at her, tilting her head. The words from Emily echoed through her mind. "And what do you mean by that?"

Cat doesn't want to answer that. More specifically, she doesn't want to answer Y/n. "He- he's complicated, I'm sure you're aware right? Girlfriend died, no dad around, mum got kidnapped, and well, god knows everything that's happened to his team." She almost finds it funny.

Y/n leaned her elbows against the metal table, "And you were the very person who took his mother. I know you, Cat. I know all you want is to win against my husband but tough luck, it's not going to happen." The girl tried to keep up her straight face but when facing Cat Adams, it seemed to be proving difficult.

She shrugged, "Maybe not before, but now I have you." Her eyes narrowed and suddenly Y/n grew nervous; she was behind this. All of it. "And of course, you two little munchkins." Her shoulders squeezed and she smiled sickly.

"So you do know them."

"I know everything."

A shiver flew down her spine. She was behind all of this. And Y/n couldn't help but ask: "And what do you want?" Y/n had some idea. This had nothing to do with her or the kids; it was all about getting back at Spencer.

She giggled, "Well there would be no fun in telling you, would there?"

"You can't do this myself yourself," Y/n stated. Once they had the name of whoever it was on the outside, they could get over this: they could move on.

The girl on the other side of the metal table simply shrugged, "Who says I am?" And like that, it was confirmed. Not only the fact that she was behind this, but that she had partner and the outsider. And that was all they needed  - for now, anyway.

With narrowed eyes, Y/n glared at the girl and started to stand from the chair. She didn't need anything else. She took a breath before turning her back, "You might want to look over your shoulder." Cat taunted.

Something of which, the girl had ignored as she continued out of the interrogation room. An exhale fell from her lips as she found herself back in the company of people she trusted. Of people she knew...with Spencer.

His hand instantly reached at her waist, pulling her close. The feeling of her skin at his releasing a relief she couldn't stop. He was safe. He was loving. He was her husband, "Are you okay?" He questioned before anyone else had the chance to speak.

The girl nodded but gave no words. What was she meant to say after a face to face with Cat Adams? "She's definitely behind this," Emily confirmed.

"She's working with someone too," Y/n added as she eased into the familiar feeling of Spencer.

"So now we know that," Y/n started as she gazed between the three agents, "What do we do now?"

"Now," Answered Rossi, "We get Garcia."

And so the group of them wandered over from the interrogation room and headed to what they called Garcia's 'cave'. And safe tp say was. No windows, just a lot of screens and several different sparkly things. Plush teddies, framed stock photos of puppies and a slingy which Jay was playing with.

"Hi," Y/n gleamed as she greeted her kids once more, "You two been good for Garcia?"

The woman stood from her chair, "They're angels," She smiled.

"We need your help now," Spencer said as they quickly entered back into the situation at hand. They didn't have time for small talk.

"Of course, anything."

And so she sat back at her chair as Spencer came to her side, beginning to list the profile they had started, "Look for names that pop up in the guest book of the hotel Montana, it's the building next to our house." Spencer informed and Garcia became manically typing. "They'll have been a guest for at least a month, cross check that with anyone from Cat's old life, work, college, high school, anything-"

"Nothing."

"What if- I mean surely whoever this person is would be using an alias," Y/n suggested.

A theory of which Spencer agreed with, "Bring up a photo of the guests who have stayed for a month."

Garcia followed: there were three. As they scrolled through high school pictures and then college- "There!"

A photo matched. A woman, same age as Cat, sickly sweet smile, fire red hair and geeky glasses. And then the name: Amy Duke. They had a name. They had everything Garcia could find. "That's got to be her," Emily confirmed.

"Garcia, send us everything." And like that, everything was go-go-go.

Y/n barely had a chance to speak before her hand was reaching out to stop Spencer from running off, "Hey," She called.

His hands cupped at her cheeks, "It'll be alright, I promise." He gave a smile which could ease her nervous a million times over. "Go home, I'll be there soon."

And like that, he was gone.

Y/n said her goodbyes to Garcia before taking her kids hand in hand and heading for the exit. She tried to not think about what Spencer was doing, about the woman he was facing. It was all too overwhelming. Instead, she focused on feeding her kids and getting them dressed for bed. It was horrible when they asked about where Daddy was - if he was coming home. All she could tell them was that it was going to be fine...even if she wasn't so sure of such herself.

She perched at the end of Morgan's bed, her door open, giving the woman a view of a sleeping Jay in the room across the hall. She didn't dare to leave her children when there was danger still looming over them. The girl watched as her daughter's chest rose and fell with her breaths. And after what felt like hours, the front door rustled open.

Y/n became alert, she flew up to her feet and wandered carefully out of Morgan's room. She lingered at the top of the stairs; what if it wasn't her husband? "Spence?" She called, worrisome.

He was already rushing up the stairs at the sound of her voice, "Hey, it's me don't worry." He met her at the top of the landing, engulfing his body around her. "It's over, I swear, she's been arrested, Cat is back in prison." Relief flooded her. "It's all over."

Her head gazed up at him, a slight grin brushing over her lips, "What a way to meet your second family, hey?" She giggled. And while the day had been horrid, there was some good out of it - she wasn't a secret anymore.

[moonstruckme]

hi Mae! I've never requested anything before, so forgive me if I'm doing this wrong. Can I request poly!marauders x reader who has a cold? I've just gotten sick and I feel icky, and these type of stories always make me feel better 😅 no worries if you can't, thank you!

Thanks for requesting lovely! You nailed it don't worry <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Your home is suspiciously quiet when Sirius enters. You and James ordinarily beat him there, but there’s no blaring TV or sound of something sizzling in the kitchen, he can’t even hear the shower running upstairs. The only evidence of either of you are your shoes by the front door, yours lined up neatly as they always are and James’ strewn a couple of feet from the doormat (as they always are). 

Sirius kicks his own shoes off, leaving them amongst James’, and starts to go in search of you upstairs. Only, as he passes the couch, he does hear something. A quiet whistling. 

He turns, and there you both are. Slumped where he couldn’t see you from the door, your body laid over James’ and his head propped at a painful-looking angle against the arm of the couch, the both of you covered in blankets. Your breath wheezes in and out of you. 

An unintentional tsking noise comes from Sirius’ mouth as he crouches beside you. He slots a hand underneath James’ neck, trying to alleviate the cruel bend. 

His boyfriend makes a sulky groaning sound. Mile-long lashes (which go sorely unappreciated by their owner, by the way; Sirius would do much better with them) flutter reluctantly as James turns his head towards Sirius. 

“Hello,” Sirius says softly, a smile tugging at his lips at the sight of the other boy’s sleep-glazed eyes. “Are you very comfortable like that?” 

“M’sweltering,” James admits, “but she’s cold.” 

Sirius feels his brows furrow. “I meant your neck, Jamie.” But it is odd that you’d be cold, considering that he’s a bit warm and he has no blankets. You don’t usually get so chilled. “She’s cold?” 

James makes a face that’s half pout, half frown. “She’s ill.” 

Sirius frowns harder, and only then does he realize how unusual it is for you not to have woken while they’re talking right above you like this. He sets the back of a hand to your forehead and finds it scorching. 

“Oh.” The coo drops from his lips almost without his notice. He feels your cheek with his other palm as if that will change things, but it’s the same. “Since when?” 

“She was home when I got here,” says James. “Don’t think she ever made it to work this morning. I gave her some paracetamol.” 

That had to have been hours ago. Sirius is about to ask if James is feverish himself, or what other delusion caused him to nap with you instead of calling him and Remus home, but you start to stir, saving your boyfriend a berating. Sirius’ attention goes to you. 

“Hey, sweetness.” He strokes his thumb along your cheekbone, hoping to wake you gently. “You’re not feeling well?” 

You make an unhappy humming sound Sirius takes to mean No. Sniffle wetly. James grabs a box of tissues from beside him on the floor and offers them to you like it’s a routine.

“When did this start?” 

You blow your nose before replying. It sounds awful, and when you’re done Sirius can see that the tip of your poor nose already looks chapped. “I think it set in overnight,” you croak. James winces at the sound of your voice. 

Sirius strokes your cheek again, doing his best not to look too severe. “And why didn’t you call us, lovely girl?” 

Over the top of your head, James mouths emphatically, She wouldn’t let me. 

You only shrug, burrowing further into your blankets. “No point. Why should you come home just because I’ve got the sniffles?” 

Sirius sighs. He gives your cheek a mean little squeeze, standing and pulling out his phone. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask suspiciously. 

“Hush, don’t hurt your throat.” 

You pout, but Sirius is not James, and while he’s far from immune to your sweetheart face, he won’t be swayed by it. Remus picks up on the third ring. 

“Hi, love.” He answers already sounding weary, albeit lovingly so, used to Sirius getting home around this time and calling him impatiently. Remus works too much, Sirius comes home every day itching for a kiss from all three of you; it’s a routine they both love to hate. “I’m just about to wrap up here.” 

“Right, I totally believe you,” Sirius scoffs (affectionately). Remus is always ‘wrapping up’ when Sirius calls, one chapter bleeding into the next until it’s dark and one of you goes to collect him. “I just wanted to let you know that our bird never made it to work today; she’s come down with something.” 

He can practically hear Remus’ frown forming. “She didn’t say?” 

“What do you think?” 

A sigh crackles through the line. “And bad enough that she stayed home, hm?” 

Sirius looks at you, finding your eyes still big and expression pouty. He pouts back. “Yeah, she’s got a wicked fever and whatever it is has turned her nose into a poorly tuned woodwind instrument.” 

Your expression sours. James hides a smile in your hair. “It’s only a cold,” you say. 

“Honestly, Rem, she’s incoherent.” 

Sirius can hear movement on the other end of the line, the quiet snap of his boyfriend’s laptop shutting. “I’m coming. Try to get her to drink something, please?”

He appraises you. You don’t look particularly happy with him. “I’ll try.” 

“Thanks, love. I’ll be there soon.” 

“Alright, drive safe. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.” 

“That was so unnecessary,” you complain as soon as he hangs up. 

“Sorry, I can’t understand you when you’re all stuffed up like that,” Sirius replies flippantly, pocketing his phone and crouching in front of you again. “All your consonants sound like ds and bs.” 

He uses his cold hands to his advantage, pressing them to your cheeks and allowing his genuine sympathy to surface in his expression. It wins you over quickly; you tilt your face into his touch. Fever glazed eyes droop indulgently. 

“Now, my lovely snot monster, would you like ice in your water or do you want it plain?” 

Remus bustles in when you’ve halfway drained your cup. Sirius can tell he’s worried because he hardly kicks his shoes into alignment next to each other, not taking the time to bend over and arrange them as neatly as he always does. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says in his most dulcet tone, dropping a kiss on your temple while he feels your fever with his knuckles. “Jamie, you’re not ill too, are you?” 

“No, I’m just here in solidarity,” James assures him from beneath you. “I’m tip-top, promise.” 

Remus nods, his mouth an unhappy line as he appraises the two of you. “I think you need to lose the blankets, dove. We need to get your fever down.” 

“But it’s cold,” you whine. 

“It’s not,” Sirius promises you. “It’s just that you could roast a marshmallow on your forehead right now.” 

“You can still have Jamie,” negotiates Remus, already peeling the blankets off you and balling them up out of reach. 

“S’all you really need,” James says agreeably. You look unsure, but you relax a little when he cuddles you closer. 

“And how about some tea?” Remus palms the side of your face, frowning slightly at the heat while he drags his thumb across your cheek. “It’ll help with your throat and keep you warm, yeah?” 

“Okay, yeah.” You take Remus’ hand, bringing it to your lips. Your eyes are fever bright. “Thanks, Rem. I’m sorry you came home.” 

“Now, what kind of thing is that to say?” Sirius teases. “I, for one, am very glad to have Remus home.” 

You attempt a glare; it’s poorly executed. “I meant I was sorry you called him.” 

“Well, I’m not,” Remus says firmly. Sirius fights the urge to stick his tongue out at you. “You should always call me, sweetheart. Or just any of us, but we can talk about that later.” (Oh, Sirius cannot wait. The scolding he wants to give you would have paled in comparison.) Remus gives your cheek a little pat. “I’m going to make your tea. Try to finish your water before I get back, please.” 

Sirius follows him into the kitchen, pleased to hear you asking James to pass you your water behind him. 

“Hey,” he says, coming up behind Remus at the stove. 

Remus sighs, turning around and looping his arms around Sirius’ shoulders. “Hi.” He rests his chin atop his boyfriend’s head. It’s a welcome weight. “Sorry.” 

“Sorry for what? Don’t be.” Sirius runs a hand up his spine, feeling each knob. “Sorry I worried you on the phone. I was freaked when I found her like this. She’s alright, though.” 

“She’s alright,” Remus agrees. “I just hate to see her so poorly. Her throat sounds awful, poor love.” 

“I hate that she didn’t tell anyone.” Sirius intends to sound a tad bitter, maybe with an edge of teasing, but his voice comes out whiny and wounded. 

Remus kisses his hair silently. He knows Sirius has trouble with the people he loves suffering in silence, even when it comes to things like this. “That, too.” 

“I hope you lecture her into never doing it again.” 

“That’s the hope.” 

“James aided and abetted, too.” 

The faintest traces of a smile in Remus’ voice. “You want me to do something about that, do you?” 

“If you think so.” 

“Mm. I think you just want me to be the bad guy.” 

The kettle starts to whistle, and Sirius steps out from his boyfriend’s arms, pecking him on the cheek as he gets it. “I mean, you’re already so good at it.”

[lymtw]

Thinking of Toji coming home to you after a rough day at work.

On a normal day he would call out to you the second he steps through the front door, but today he's not in the mood to be loud. He silently walks through the living room, into the hallway where he directs himself towards the bedroom, where he knows you are. He's dirty and sweaty and there's somebody's blood drying on the fabric of his shirt. Luckily, it's just a small area. You won't spot it on your own, and Toji won't be showing it off to you.

The door creaks open and you're there, lying on your stomach, in bed. You're distracted by your phone, too zoned into your own serene little world to notice that Toji was home. He can smell your shampoo and the lotion you used, in the air, the smell getting stronger as he makes his way towards the bed. His stealthiness is a threat, never to you, but the fact that you didn't turn around once really had him thinking about your safety.

He didn't waste another second just looming over you. Slowly, he crawled onto the bed and before you managed to shriek or say something about how he scared the crap out of you, he laid right on top of you, crushing you and revoking your ability to make any sounds but groans under his weight.

"Toji?" you call, once you get accustomed to the pressure your bear of a man added onto you. He doesn't respond, and instead buries his face into the crook of your neck, getting a deeper whiff of the scent that emanated off of you. "Toji?" You try again, turning your head slightly.

"You smell pretty, doll. Could smell you the second I walked in the room," he hums, inhaling your clean scent.

"Yeah, I just showered. Don't you wanna go get cleaned up, too? Dinner's ready."

"Of course I do. Thanks, doll. Just let me have you like this for a sec."

You had no argument for that. You laid there, flat on the bed beneath him, and allowed him all the time necessary to relax. He was quiet, and his hold on you was a little tighter than usual. That wasn't what brought you to your conclusion, but it was clear that he wasn't his usual self.

Something about being able to wrap himself around your entire body was comforting to Toji. It made him feel like he was keeping you safe, like he was the soft blanket you cover yourself with at night, rather than a man who comes home with blood stains on his clothes.

You were the one thing he was positive he would come home to, and that was enough. You were more than enough for him. He always felt there was no way to pay back for every day you spent accepting him as he is. All those nights when you let him hold you, even after he made you cry. Those mornings when you woke up with a heavy heart, alone, only to find out through a text message that he had to leave for work early.

Undeserving was a small word to Toji. It was you still finding it in yourself to give him the warmest of welcomes every day—a greeting normally dedicated to heroes, that made him obsess over finding a word that was more fitting for him.

He loves you and he's serious about it. He knows the infinite range of his love for you and regardless of how small his heart seems compared to yours, you decorate every inch of space within it, and when it reaches its maximum capacity, you go to his head. The space is littered with images of you, like posters on a wall. The space is so crowded that some of them are hanging on to the walls of his mind for dear life. There are images of your guilty smile after you knock a glass of water over and it shatters, another of the look on your face as you try not to laugh when he tries on a shirt that clearly isn't his size, and memories of the times when you would pamper him when he wasn't feeling well, insisting on still sleeping next to him, incase he needs something in the middle of the night.

It all adds up to this clingy behavior he reserves for you. When the day treats him like trash being kicked around by everyone on a sidewalk, he comes home to appreciate the one who embraces him and unconditionally loves him.

He knows his weight on your back must be unbearable and he definitely doesn't smell as good as you, either, but he can't move. Not yet.

"I could stay like this forever, doll. Would you let me?" He smiles for the first time in a bit when he sees your shoulders shaking, paired with the sweet sound of your laugh.

"Of course, baby. I'd willingly stay like this for you."

And he groans. It's like a form of cuteness aggression, but it derives from the fact that he can't believe that you're with him, and that you're so saintly, and he can't for the life of him stop thinking of you. He kisses your jaw and strongly resists the urge to bite your cheek and squeeze you until you can't breathe at all.

His breathing quickens a little when he thinks of how detrimental it would be to his life if you walked away for good, one day. Things are so good, but he can't help but think that the next time they aren't, it'll be an enormous hit to everything he has with you. Maybe you're waiting for the next argument to drop everything. Maybe you secretly can't stand him. Maybe you don't need him. Maybe-

His overthinking is cut off by a low growl, followed by a nervous giggle that is muffled by the pillow you buried your face in.

"Sorry," you lift your head to say, fighting the laughter bubbling in your throat.

"You're hungry." There's a barely there crease between his brows. It's late and your stomach is growling. He doesn't want to think about you skipping meals.

"I wanted to wait for you," you chirp, turning your head the slightest bit to give him a beaming smile.

"Baby." The second he sees the corners of your lips begin to straighten out, he stifles the scolding he was about to hit you with. "I can't even be mad at you. Have you eaten anything at all today?"

Your silence was all he needed to understand that you were running on fumes. He sighs, mentally cursing you for being so careless with yourself for his sake.

"I'm gonna shower, and you're gonna meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes. Will you survive that long? I don't know, but you have to." He kisses your temple a couple times, rolling off of you and directing himself to his clothing drawers.

Your lungs expand and you feel so much lighter without his weight on you. You flip over onto your back, stretching for a moment before you turn over to watch Toji rummage through his drawers. His sixth sense kicks in and he can feel your gaze on the back of his head.

"I love you, doll." He stands still, waiting seconds too long for your response. He turns his head to the side, facing the blank wall of the room. His ear is turned in your direction as to not miss the sound of your voice.

You sit up, prepared to say it back with every fiber of your being. You can see his fingers tapping against the top of the dresser. You don't mean to bring unease to his mind, your intention is to do the exact opposite. "I love you so, sooo much, Toji."

He lets the clothes he picked out plop onto the dresser, and he turns around to head back to you. He holds your gaze until he reaches you. It's the first good look you've gotten at him since he got home. You can't help but smile at the familiar sight of those green eyes and that pretty nose, and that scarred lip. He never failed to make you swoon, even during times when there was a lack of words.

His hands cupped your jaw before he leaned down to kiss you. The duration of his kisses weren't thought out, let alone planned. What was supposed to be ten minutes until you met him in the kitchen, turned into double the amount of time, because he wouldn't let you go. You were just as guilty for the delay, feeling so much ease and comfort with the words he imbedded into his kisses. Eventually you started telling him to go, between kisses and laughter, reminding him that you would be there when he got out. He ignored you until your stomach growled again.

"Fine," he grumbled, placing one more peck on your lips before he left you alone.

[babyleostuff]

calling them your boyfriend when you’re married | ot13

[ ☁️] when you call them your husband version

warnings: generally gn!reader, but mention of "wife" and "girlfriend" with minghao

𝜗𝜚 choi seungcheol

just… don’t do this. he would get offended as hell, probably would give you a whole ass silent treatment, being extra pissy and mean, like - HE’S YOUR HUSBAND, HE DIDN’T MARRY YOU FOR YOU TO GO AROUND AND CALL HIM YOUR BOYFRIEND!!! i mean, he kind of gets it that you said it as a joke to tease him, but it doesn’t make it any funnier for cheol, he’s like a lil puppy anytime you call him your husband, so don’t use the b-word around him, please. you’d really have to give him lots and lots of kisses and pouts for him to forgive you.

𝜗𝜚 yoon jeonghan

for some reason turns into a mum, and scolds you? “yah, i’m not your boyfriend anymore, why are you calling me that?” like, jeonghan would give you a whole ass lecture on why he does not want to be called “boyfriend”, and why you should only use the term “husband". he’d be extra petty too, if you asked him to help you with something he’d be like: “oh, so now you need your boyfriend’s help, hm?” and he would not let this go quickly, he’d make your life extra harder that day because he. is. not. your. boyfriend.

𝜗𝜚 joshua hong

takes this very personally because he's the epitome of husband material, and he didn’t marry you to be called “boyfriend” again??? he’d turn his sassy shua mode on, and become a whole ass drama queen because he does not want to be called the b-word - he’s literally right there, in his husband glory, ring on his ring finger with your wedding date engraved underneath, so why is he being called “boyfriend”, hm? so don’t expect shua to be all lovey dovey for the day, he’ll need some pampering to forgive you for the outrageous act of calling him your boyfriend.

𝜗𝜚 wen junhui

pookie is sad, don’t calm him “boyfriend”, please? jun wouldn’t be overly emotional over not being called “husband” a few times, it’s not like it would be the end of the world, but at the same time whenever you call him your boyfriend he feels a weak pang in his chest, almost as if his body physically reacts to the lack of “husband”. he would stare at you trying to convey his dear request of: “baby, i’m your husband, remember??? please call me husband???” the word husband coming form you is just very reassuring, and it makes him feel very loved. 

𝜗𝜚 kwon soonyoung

so so offended, WHAT DO YOU MEAN BOYFRIEND??? OH YEAH, SO THE RING ON YOUR FINGER IS WHAT??? JUST AN ACCESSORY??? AND THE WEDDING WAS JUST FOR FUN??? does not take the whole “boyfriend” calling lightly, being a husband is very serious for soonyoung AND HE WILL NOT TOLERATE THE B-WORD. Why would you even think of calling him your boyfriend, like we went from “boyfriend” to “fiance” to “husband” for a reason, SO LET’S NOT FORGET HOSHI’S YOUR HUBBY NOW!!!

𝜗𝜚 jeon wonwoo

at first he’s really taken aback because what do you mean “boyfriend”, you always refer to him as your husband ever since you got married (because duh - you’re married). would just kind of stare at you in confusion with question marks above his head, trying to figure out if you were actually talking about him, and why the hell you just called him your boyfriend. didn’t realise until a bit later how hurt ? he felt when he figured you were seriously talking about him, which was so weird because he used to love when you called him your boyfriend in the past, so what changed? (marriage happened you simp, he just adores it when you call him your husband).

𝜗𝜚 lee jihoon

would just roll his eyes, because he’s not the one to fall for your jokes. he knows that there is no way you’d call him anything but your husband if it wasn’t for a prank, so you wouldn’t get a big reaction out of jihoon. would just give you head pats and nod his head saying “whatever you want baby”. BUT, deep inside he’s crying. being your husband is one of woozi's biggest blessings, so hearing the word “boyfriend” when you are in fact married is a bit of a no no.

𝜗𝜚 lee seokmin

don’t call him boyfriend??? don’t break his heart??? why would you do this??? would immediately assume you’re unhappy in your marriage because why is he suddenly reduced to “boyfriend”? seokmin would stare at you with big (and sad) puppy eyes until you wouldn’t have explained why you used the forbidden b-word, because there is no way he would move on from that without hearing a proper explanation (and a proper apology). he just really really loves being your husband and being called “husband” - there’s just something magical about it, he loves hearing that word from you.

𝜗𝜚 kim mingyu

at first he wouldn’t pay much attention, because he’s not “boyfriend” anymore - he’s “husband” *cue in a proud mingoo smile*, so he thinks you’re talking about someone else? but then… WHO ARE YOU CALLING BOYFRIEND??? turns into a sulky and whiny mess, because “babyyyy, i’m your husband remember?” would follow you around and just whine, oh my god, it’d be so annoying you’d immediately regret calling him anything except “my dearest, loveliest, most precious husband” because how can a grown man sulk like that? over something you said as a joke. he would go on a whole ass rant about your engagement and the wedding to make a point i guess? as if he was trying to remind you that you’re in fact married.

𝜗𝜚 xu minghao

okay, then no more “wife” for you. would make sure to go around and tell everyone about his “girlfriend”, loud enough for you to hear. hao treasures his “husband” status very dearly, so when you suddenly start calling him your boyfriend he’s having none of that, thus will tease you right back, because he knows how you always go low-key crazy over him calling you his wife. your hubby is just so so petty he won’t forget this one quickly, and he’d want you to beg for him to stop, because as much as he wants to tease you back it truly breaks his hear hearing the b-word from you.

𝜗𝜚 boo seungkwan

would throw a tantrum because he’s dramatic like that. he takes his role as your husband very seriously, so you calling him “boyfriend”? not happening. the second seungkwan hears the b-word that he used to love so much (now he hates it because HE’S YOUR HUSBAND) he gives you the silent treatment in the pettiest way possible, which is funny because his clingy nature doesn not allow for him to ignore people, especially not you. and when he sees you struggling with unscrewing the cap from the water bottle he literally has to walk out of the room and lock himself in the bathroom so he wouldn’t walk up to you and help you. 

𝜗𝜚 vernon chwe

it’s not that he doesn’t care, because he does, but at the same time he’s fairly fine with anything you call him as long as you put “mine (insert name)” before it. of course he loves it when you refer to him as your husband, but he wouldn’t throw a tantrum just because you called him “boyfriend” once or twice. as i said, as long as you call him “yours” it’s all good (it makes him shy as hell, and him blushing is guaranteed, but it’s such a nice, silent way of saying how much you love him).

𝜗𝜚 lee chan

sad, sad, sad. don’t break his heart like that - “what do you mean boyfriend?” he wouldn’t outwardly mention how sad he got over you calling him your boyfriend instead of husband, but ohmygod it’d be so visible, chan would look like a puppy who was just denied a treat, it’d be so so adorable if not for the heartbreaking pout. there’s just something about you calling him your husband, and hearing those words coming from your mouth that always make him so happy that suddenly hearing “boyfriend” would be so upsetting.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @hoichi02 @aaa-sia @haneulparadx @minvrsev @zozojella @wonootnoot @kimingyuslover @wntrei @honglynights @jihoonsbbygirl @uhdrienne @bloodcanbehot 

[azsazz]

Brr-eakdown

Hockey Player!Azriel x Figure Skater!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I love love LOVE your Hockey!Azriel x Ice skater reader series! So good! 😍 I just read the one where Azriel gets in a fight on the ice and the reader is worried about him getting hurt and I can just imagine how upset Azriel would be if it was the opposite and you didn’t hit the landing or something during practice on the ice and you end up in the ER and everyone’s talking about how there was so much blood so Az is worried and trying to get to you and he wants to punch something so bad while he’s waiting to hear about your condition but there’s no one to fight. He’s so soft and takes care of you while you get better though ❤️🥹 (I need a hockey player Azriel in real life asap… seriously thank you for bringing him to life ❤️)

Warnings: Mentions of an accident (reader falls and cracks her head open) and blood.

Word Count: 1,475

Notes: Okay, I didn't quite hit everything, but hopefully I did it justice with what I was able to add 💙

_________________________________________

“Again,” your coach demands, and you want to melt into a puddle of tears.

Your limbs are aching, legs quivering from practicing the same jump over and over and over again, but you still haven’t mastered it and the championship is only three weeks away. If you don’t land this trick during your routine, you’re never going to nationals.

“I can’t, Coach,” you pant, graciously accepting the water bottle she passes you. Coach Weaver is the most decorated figure skating trainer in the country, and not only is it a privilege for her to be an employee at your university, but to be working on your solo routine with her is an opportunity not many receive. “My legs are shot for the day.”

The water is crisp and fresh on your tongue, wetting your parched throat. If you focus on that, you’re almost able to forget about the quivering muscles of your legs from so many attempted—and failed—jumps today. You’ve been running your routine for the past hour and for once, you’re saddened by the lack of presence from the university’s hockey team, who are usually bombarding your ice time by now, you notice as you peek at the clock on the timeboard pinned to the side of the stadium.

“If you want to make it to nationals this year, you need to spend all of your free time practicing, not chasing around those hockey players,” Coach Weaver says. She doesn’t look up from her phone, eyes glued to the most recent video of one of your many unsuccessful runs. Her eyes are narrowed, scrutinizing, and all you want right now is for her phone to run out of battery. “Are you doing enough core work on your time out of practice?” She finally lifts that inspecting gaze to your stomach and it makes you want to squirm. “Your edge work could use some practice, too. Your control isn’t nearly as strong as it should be.” 

Again, because my legs feel like fucking jello, you think sourly, clenching your teeth. You don’t respond. It’s futile, anyway. All Coach Weaver would do is come back at you with another demand, wondering why you seem to have so many excuses, and you can do without today. 

“Yes, Coach,” you agree, because it’ll be the quickest way to get you out of here. All you want to do is collapse on your couch with some much needed dinner and kick your feet up into Azriel’s lap, praying for a massage. You’ll beg if you have to, but there’s no way you can get down on your knees for him tonight. No, it’s pillow princess night for you, if you don’t fall asleep on the couch first.

“Run it again,” Coach Weaver says, straying away from nitpicking you. “And make sure that air position is tight this time, I don’t want a hair out of place.” 

Spoke too soon.

There’s no point in arguing, even if you know there’s no possible way you’re going to be able to land this jump today. Coach won’t quit until you’re unable to move, until she sees that you’ve had enough. 

Other skaters whiz by and you envy them. A girl and her partner glide past looking like two graceful gazelles, and in an intricate jumble of limbs, he throws her into the air, catching her, and they spin in tight circles, quicker than your eye can follow. 

Maybe you should’ve done partnered skating instead.

“Let’s go,” Coach barks. She’s looking at her watch like she has some place to be, which you know is untrue because of the rumors you’ve heard the other skaters whispering about her. How she drove off her second husband the same way she did the first, how all she has at home is a bottle of rum and a karaoke machine. 

You quickly take position, and then you’re off. You try to clear your mind of all of your earlier attempts but your legs are screaming in protest. You press your lips together, gaining speed, making sure your edges are set and your core is tight.

You don’t even notice Azriel sneaking into the rink. Well, he’s not sneaking, because he’s been in here more times in the past few years at college than you have. He catches you as you glide past, a determined look to your eye that makes his chest tight with pride.

You lift, spin once, twice, and it’s euphoric. Surely, you must almost have it this time. Something blooms warm in your chest, but halfway through your third rotation everything comes crashing down. You nearly would have had it that time, if your lethargic leg didn’t give out as soon as your blade makes contact with the ice again. 

You don’t have time to scream, to brace as you come smashing into the ice with the force of a bull.

The sound of your skull cracking against the ice rings through the arena, silencing everyone except for the distressed shout of your name that follows you into the blackness.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Oh my Gods,” Azriel sighs in relief. His brows are furrowed deeply, the same frown you’ve come to know and love deeper, more sad as he stares at you in relief. His fingers tighten around yours and you squeeze back gently, blinking groggily. “Thank fuck you’re awake, sweetheart.” 

“What happened?” You ask, but you don’t know why. You remember everything clearly, up until you slipped into the ice. You remember Coach Weaver demanding you try your trick again, despite your protests not to. You remember feeling confident in the air, even though your legs were an aching pile of muscle that gave out with your landing. From then, it’s all fuzzy. All you know is that Azriel was there. He still is.

“You didn’t land your fall,” he explains wearily, like he’s not sure he should be the one explaining this. Fuck it, he doesn’t care. You’re here and you’re hurt, but you’re okay. You’re going to be. Azriel will see to it himself. “Your body  just crumpled, sweetheart, and you—” He takes a shuddering breath that has you reaching out to caress his cheek. He leans into your touch, kissing your palm before continuing the haunting story. “You hit your head. There was blood everywhere. Please, don’t ever scare me like that again.”

You groan in response, reluctantly removing your hand from the warm skin of your boyfriend, reaching up to finger at the bandages wrapped around your head. You grimace at the thought of what you must look like right now, worse for wear.

Azriel gently takes your hand, removing it from where you’re still poking at your head, trying to find the wound. You don’t feel anything, probably because of the numbing the doctors used when fixing you up. 

You suspect you’re not going to feel all that great later.

“You have five staples in your head,” Azriel answers your unspoken question. If it will keep you from dislodging your bandage, he’ll tell you what you want to know.

You hum softly. “What did Coach say?”

You don’t miss the way Azriel clenches his teeth. “She called the ambulance. She actually insisted that she be the one to ride with you but I shut that down right fucking quick,” he spits, and he’s getting all worked up again. It was hard seeing you fall, his stomach dropping to the floor, but once he saw the blood weeping from your skull, he’d only seen red.

Your shoulders sag. It’s a relief that she isn’t here right now, though a part of you wants to shove this in her face. Hopefully, it will be the last time she ignores her student’s limits.

Leaning your head back against the pillow propped behind you, you ask the question you’re dreading. Swallowing harshly, you inquire, “How long am I going to be off ice?”

Your boyfriend is silent for a long moment, two. It makes your heart twist in your chest, bracing for the terrible news.

“Doc says you’re out for two weeks,” Azriel says, brushing his lips across your knuckles in an apologetic manner. He knows how much skating means to you, and hates to be the one to break the news to you, but he’d rather be the one doing it than you having to hear it from the doctor.

“Two weeks?” you exclaim, eyes nearly bugging out of your head. You wince at the sudden movement and when the roaring of your voice makes your headache. Maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea, but there’s only three weeks until the championship, and if you aren’t able to land your trick within one week returning to the ice, your entire season is fucked.

Azriel cringes, and the bad news isn’t over yet. “Minimum.” 

And your season is officially down the drain.

_________________________________________

Hockey!AU Tag (will be tagged for any hockey fic, no matter paring):

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @blackthorngirl @i-am-infinite @feerique @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke

[ham1lton]

if we were a movie.

pairings: charles leclerc x actress!reader.

faceclaim: zendaya <3

summary: need for speed, out in cinemas feb 31st 2026, follows emma, a coffee shop owner, who falls in love with christopher, a formula one driver. the film's marketing manager decides to take you and your co-stars to the next f1 race where you meet the original inspiration for christopher and maybe, find a love story of your own.

author's note: hi. this was the most voted post on the poll so i hope you enjoy it! don't forget to read until the end so you can vote on the next post! also shout out to ms hannah montana for this banger which inspired the title!

FEEDBACK + REQUESTS. TIP JAR. MASTERLIST. TAGLIST.

❛･━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━･❜

❛･━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━･❜

liked by yourbestie, charles_leclerc and 2,928,927 others.

yourusername: days on set with these losers. thank god i get free and unlimited coffee!!!

view all 283,838 comments

nicholasgalitzine: who is that sexy guy in the last pic 😍

-> yourusername: taylor 😍

user3: yn did they make u cry?? 😭

-> yourusername: i laughed so hard i cried 😔

user8: if nicholas is supposed to be charles, who is taylor supposed to be? also why is he going blond? charles is a brunet 😭

-> user10: evil carlos 😭 in the original plot, charles gets with emma and to ‘bring him down’, carlos exposes the relationship thinking that it would make charles lose goodwill with his fans which would then be bad pr for ferrari. so he does it so that he can be the first driver.

-> user8: thats so insane 💀

-> user10: girl its a fanfiction, that’s why 😭 also in the published version, they changed charles’ name to christopher, made him british and gave him blond hair to lessen any comparisons to charles. i mean, there is only one monegasque driver on the grid rn.

-> user8: that makes sense lowkey. also i love blond nicholas so its a win for me!

❛･━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━･❜

liked by charles_leclerc, ynfan1 and 248,973 others.

needforspeedupdates: our protagonists were at the most recent grand prix in austin! nicholas met with race car driver charles leclerc! <3

tagged: yourusername nicholasgalitzine charles_leclerc

view all 10,728 comments

user9: omg did you guys see charles run away from yn??

-> user5: she seemed so hurt omg :(((

-> user7: i thought he had a crush on her? maybe he was being awkward. i know people have done worse in front of their crushes 🤷🏼‍♀️

-> user5: i know but still. poor yn :(((

user23: last pic….. EIFFEL TOWER WHEN?!

-> user1: i need them both biblically.

❛･━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━･❜

❛･━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━･❜

liked by ynupdates, charlesfan1 and 639,683 others

ham1ltonshaderoom: actress and it girl yn yln was spotted out to lunch with formula one star charles leclerc at a brunch cafe in austin. leclerc has formally stated that yln was his celebrity crush many times and witnesses say they spotted them looking ‘very cozy’ at lunch. one onlooker said that charles was very ‘apologetic’ at the beginning but yn had clearly forgiven him by the end of the outing. what do you think ham1ltons?

view all 20,728 comments

user1: yn would be the most iconic wag ever.

-> user7: like come on now. this would be so cute. i can already imagine her fits.

ynhater: as if he’d date her 😒

-> user6: as if he’d date YOU 😭😭😭

user5: i think they’re so cute but it’s probably just a friendship thing. i mean… he’s the original person that chris was based off of so it’s probably pr or something.

-> user2: no i agree. 100% pr.

user4: no offence but i just don’t see it. i mean… he’s not ugly? but it’s yn.

-> user9: ?? and he’s thee charles leclerc. idk why you’re shocked. they’re both young, famous and attractive.

user34: yn be wary girl…. you know how these athletes be.

user98: charles man… how can you date a girl who’s job it is to kiss other guys lol 🤢

user55: but how was her hair blonde before and now it’s brunette?

-> user89: could have been a wig or extensions to get the blonde? this is her natural hair!

❛･━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━･❜

liked by ynswifey, charles_leclerc and 829,928 others

needforspeedupdates: yn was on good morning america to promote the film, which is out this week! she spoke about her forage into formula one. i’ll transcribe the clip attached!

interviewer: you’ve obviously dipped your toes into formula one before as you’ve been friends with lewis hamilton for a while, right?

yn: you’d think so! but i actually hadn’t. i was similar to emma in a lot of ways. both of us obsessed with coffee and clueless about motorsports! i did meet up with a friend who promised to teach me more. so that’s a bonus!

view all 9,728 comments

user7: she HAS to mean charles by the friend. lewis had already been mentioned so she would have said his name.

-> user8: charles’ rizz is just asking girls if they wanna look at his car.

-> user3: he’s lucky he’s got that pretty face 😭

user9: CHARLES WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE 😭

-> user1: not him snooping in the likes 😭😭

charleshater1: how about we ship her with an attractive driver like lewis or carlos. this is disrespectful to her brand.

-> user45: girl SHUT UP 😭

❛･━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━･❜

liked by yourusername, taylorzakharperez and 1,828,233 others.

nicholasgalitzine: the feeling when your bestie gets a f1 boyfriend so you have unlimited paddock passes.

view all 238,829 others

user1: DID HE JUST EXPOSE CHARLESYN 😭

-> user2: all those secret meetings and shit only to be exposed by a twink 😭

-> user3: he is nawt a twink. he’s too muscular. get your terminology right.

user4: NOOOOOOOOOO PLEASE SAY THIS IS PR

user5: i don’t believe this. yn is so notoriously private about her relationships that i doubt she’d like a post that is exposing her.

user6: i want nicholas, taylor, yn AND charles 🤷🏼‍♀️

-> user7: this is the kind of greed they warned about in the bible.

taylorzakharperez: yes guys. i am dating an f1 driver. sorry to burst your bubble.

-> landonorris: it’s me :D

-> user8: lando dating taylor is less believable than true famous f1 couple taylor and fernando.

user9: PLEASE SOMEONE JUST TELL ME IF THEY’RE DATING I CAN’T DO ALL THIS SPECULATION ANYMOREEEEEE

❛･━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━･❜

liked by ynswifey, charlesfan1 and 789,827 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: bad day for fans of actress yn yln! as she is seen strolling with her alleged boyfriend, f1 driver charles leclerc, in the streets of london. the new couple are very much boo’d up after the release of her newest rom com ‘need for speed’ that is taking the box office by storm. according to family and friends, the couple is very much ‘in love’ and excited to see where the future will take them. how do we feel about this new couple ham1ltons?

view all 34,737 comments

user1: hate them!

user2: LOVE THEM 😍

user6: HER HAND AROUND HIS WAIST OMG

-> user7: charles is yn’s wife.

-> user8: STOP IM SO JEALOUS OF HIM

user3: are you sure this isn’t just pr? i mean… come on now. she does a film about a f1 driver. now she’s dating one. it could all just be a pr relationship to drum up interest for the film.

-> user4: or… they could actually be into each other?

-> user3: i won’t believe it until one of them post about it.

user5: months of speculation but neither of them have said a thing or been at a public event together. i mean… nicholas has been at more f1 races than yn 😭

user9: lewis is influencing charles already with the cuppa in london.

-> user10: y’know yn likes a london boy 😍

❛･━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━･❜

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 1,927,938 others

charles_leclerc: happy birthday to the funniest, prettiest and most incredible girl in the world. thank you for sharing your world with me. i hope to stay with you forever. 💕

tagged: yourusername.

view all 348,838 comments

user1: OMG ITS OFFICIAL

lewishamilton: so happy for you both! 💐

-> charles_leclerc: thank you lewis! wouldn’t have been possible without you.

-> user5: 1644 aka MY goats

user2: THIS IS SO CUTE IM JUMPING INTO THE SEA

yourusername: i love you <3

-> charles_leclerc: i love you more.

landonorris: BOO I HATE COUPLES

-> taylorzakharperez: 😔

-> landonorris: doesn’t apply to us sweetcheeks 😘

-> taylorzakharperez: 😍

nicholasgalitzine: thank god. tired of being yn’s excuse to attend f1 games.

-> yourusername: you loved it really don’t lie.

-> nicholasgalitzine: 🤭😏

maxverstappen1: does this mean the groupchat can be dismantled?

-> charles_leclerc: no :)

-> pierregasly: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

user3: WE WON!!!!

user4: NOOOOO YN PLEASE DATE ME!!!! I CAN DRIVE FAST TOO 😭😭 WHAT DOES HE HAVE THAT I DONT 😭😭😭

❛･━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━･❜

❛･━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━･❜

— taglist: @23victoria @maxlarens @m1892 @stinkyjax @yelenasloverrrrr @tsireyasgf @landososcar @ourlifeforchaos @itseightbeats @xylinasdiary @chelle1306 @velentine @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @f1kenzzz @lavisenri @namgification @hiireadstuff @km-23mr @theblueblub @lifeless-firefly @papayadays @maxverstappendefender @assholeinatrenchcoat @liberty-barnes @starz4me1 @mvk1ma @dear-fifi @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @whyamireadingthis @halleest @rlalliehayes @flowergirl1134 @s4misbetter @llando4norris @chezmardybum @isthatacandle (want to be tagged for future works? fill out my new taglist!)

[slvttyplum]

sneaking around and doing shit you weren't supposed to be doing was one of the things you were good at; in fact, you were an expert at it. you knew you weren't supposed to be fucking him, but there you were, spread out in all your glory like a meal on a plate, ready to be devoured.

your friends had a sixth sense; every person you dated, they were right about, and you dated a lot of people. when it came to nanami, they couldn't put a finger on why they didn't like him or what it was that threw them off, but they were going to warn and nag you until you stopped talking to him, and that was never, in a million years, going to happen.

so what'd you do? you kept talking to him, and talking didn't last for long. he was a sweet talker; he knew his way around things and knew how to get what he wanted. in this exact moment, what he wanted was you, and he was going to stop at nothing to get you.

neither of y'all was planning on having sex; sex is just one of those things that happen unless there's a clear boundary that it wasn't going to happen, but with two glasses of wine and him eyeing you down like he hadn't eaten in weeks, he had you in bed so fast that when you took another blink, it was all over.

what you thought was a one-time thing with this sexy man turned into an everyday thing. he couldn't keep his hands off of you, and you couldn't keep your pussy off his face. it was a win-win situation for the both of you. the more you kept going behind your friends and fucking him, the more they got suspicious if you actually stopped talking to him.

the suspicion didn't start until you started bailing on plans and leaving places early just so nanami could flip you on your back and spread you out like scissors so he could fuck you so good you didn't even want to go home.

theres no way you could ever leave him alone after he fucked you so many times you lost count, or at least that's what you tried to tell yourself until you actually started tracking and got to forty. this man fucked you senseless forty fucking times.

the way he whispered sweet things into your ears while he was inside of you made everything worse. his soft voice sliding into your ears as his hands were roaming and cupping over your breast, and his dick was buried deep inside of you, softly pressing on your sweet spot, his lips kissing over your jaw as he slams into you, putting in every inch bit by bit.

whether this was a phenomenon or things just playing out in your head, but… everything felt ten times better when you knew you weren't supposed to be doing it. doing something in secret makes you feel good. doing him especially felt good.

nanami knew about your little problem and couldn't understand why they would think such things, but he made sure to turn the situation around to his advantage so you weren't sneaking around and leaving events early in vein.

making sure to start off slow, kissing down your neck and stopping right at your stomach before rubbing all over you, making sure you're comfortable before he makes you take him. that's all nanami was concerned with, not with what was going on around the both of you, his job, or your friends, the only thing he was worried about was you and making you feel good, even if that meant having to sneak around for you.

"i don't want you to be this person just so you can sneak around with me." a put on your lips as you look down at your hands, nanami's coming up to cup your cheek, making you look at him, those big eyes that he fell in love with looking back at him.

"i'll be whatever you want me to be, baby." that's when you knew that he wasn't like those exes who put you through hell; he was much more than that. he cared about you, and it was evident not only through his words but also through his actions.

[miirohs]

sore wa hanabi [k.s]

pairing: Ken Sato x GN!Reader wc: 1.4k cw: n/a an: this was inspired by hanabi by ikimonogakari and motospeed 24 by bibi, i fucking love those songs so much UGH. pls ignore the plot holes i was tired and it was like 12 when i started!!! i love writing chat

The last of the sunlight rippled across the water, a slow breeze blowing past you on the steps of the house, watching as the city seemed to come alive.

The sounds of a motorcycle in the distance distracted you, head shooting up from your knees as Professor Sato limped out of the front door, gently setting down his walking stick as he sat next to you.

“He’s coming back home then?”

It wasn’t really a question, rather a statement.

“I believe so. He was out for interviews almost all day.”

He didn’t respond, digging into the pocket of his khaki vest, pulling out a worn flyer and handing it to you.

“What is this?” You asked, gently unfolding the colorful paper.

“It was a fireworks festival. I’m sure they still hold them yearly around here, and Emiko took Kenji often when he was younger. I’ve seen it myself from the apartments sometimes, and they’re a sight to see.” He explained softly, smiling into the distance as your eyes flitted over the contents.

“I see, but what exactly-”

“I think you should go see them, you and Kenji need some alone time as well,” He didn’t let you finish, poking your leg with his walking stick, “Plus, it would be good for me and Mina because we need to get more data on Emi, and Ken won’t let us do that without breath down my shoulders about us hurting her.” 

You could barely respond as he got up, limping his way back to the door without further explanation. “But Ken is going to want to see Emi and-”

“Me and Mina can take care of her if anything happens. If the boy troubles you about that, tell him I told you he was to do so. He may be Ultraman now, but I'm still his father!” He cackled, shaking his head affectionately as he closed the door gently.

The light was gone now, but you could hear the sound of his bike getting closer, rubbing your arms to regain your warmth as you waited. Soon enough, Ken appeared against the twilight sky, silhouette illuminated by the headlights of his parked bike.

“Hey baby, what are you doing out here?” he greeted, tone filled with a mixture of exhaustion and relief upon seeing you.

“The weather was nice out, and the view was gorgeous.” You responded, turning to him as he sat down next to you. “The view is gorgeous from inside too,” He joked, intertwining a hand into yours, “I don’t get why you wanna sit out here, it’s cold and you don’t even have a jacket on.”

You clutched the paper in your other, taking a deep breath in. You had no reason not to, it could be a good surprise.

“You know, i was thinking we haven’t had a proper date night since we moved here and-”

“We had a movie night though!” Ken chimed in, staring at you, confused. It was like he couldn’t see where you were going with it. “Yes, we had a movie night honey, but it was interrupted every ten minutes by the loud baby we happen to be taking care of, remember?” You said, exasperated. 

“I would baby, but what about Emi?” 

“Your dad and Mina can take care of her. He said you’d trouble me about it, and that I should tell you that he insists.” You tilted your head towards the city.

Ken chuckled, shaking his head. “That sounds like him honestly, but where do you wanna go? You gotta have something planned if you’re insisting on dragging me out.”

“I was thinking we could ride through the city, I'm pretty sure the seaside looks gorgeous at night.” You could barely hold back your smile as he wrinkled his nose, it was almost like you could see the gears turning in his head.

The exhaustion almost seemed to leave his face, a smile taking its place. “Alright, you win. Go get your jacket and meet me out here in… five?” You nodded, getting up from your spot.

“Five minutes,” you repeated to yourself softly, heading inside to grab your jacket. The excitement was building as you folded up the paper, gently hiding it in your pocket as you grabbed your helmet.

He was already near the motorcycle, leaned over the dashboard as you approached him, barely able to contain the excitement.

“I think you remember how to ride a bike, right baby?” You nodded, allowing him to put your helmet on for you, securing it till you felt comfortable. “Of course. I’m ready when you are.”

Ken winked, helping you onto the bike before climbing on himself. The engine roared to life and you wrapped your arms around his waist, adrenaline running through your veins as you started down the path. The wind was fast, seawater blowing into your face as you both skirted across the water.

​​The city was a blur of nightlights as you weaved through the streets, laughs of delight leaving your mouth as you turned and sped down the straights. The neon signs and billboards created a colorful mosaic, a dazzling display of light. 

Ken glanced back at you briefly, shouting something at you, a wide smile on his face as he pressed down on the accelerator.

“This feels so familiar, what are you doing to make this happen baby?!” You pressed your face into his face, barely hiding the grin on your face as you shouted back. “A magician never tells Ji!” 

You slowed near the city limits, allowing for you to nudge him in the direction you wanted to go. The city faded into quieter roads, riding on the outskirts of the city, the smell of the sea intermingling with the scent of his perfume. The waves crashed against the seawall, spraying you with water.

You looked up, narrowed eyes growing wide as bright lights went off in the sky.

“There, look!” you exclaimed, your voice barely audible over the rush of wind and the distant explosions of the fireworks. You squeezed Ken’s waist, taking one hand off to point up at the sky.

He followed your hand, relaxing in awe as he watched the colorful display unfold above you. It wasn’t long until you found a place to park, Ken eagerly pulling you off the motorcycle, running down to the beach with you in hand.

“Sup- Whoa, surprise Ji!” You laughed as you both stumbled, pulling closer to the source of the lights. The sand was surprisingly cool beneath your feet as you stood on the shore, fireworks exploding in a variety of colors.

Greens, pinks and golds colored the sky, painting the dark with bangs of light, fizzling out just as quickly as they came up.

“Your mom used to bring you here before you moved, didn’t she?” You looked at him, the light reflecting in his glassy eyes, softened by nostalgia.

"Yeah, she did. How did you know?"

“I’ve heard a thing or two about your trips.” You commented to the side, allowing him to lead you aimlessly, "I thought you might like to revisit those memories." You squeezed his hand as he paused once more, turning to look at you.

“She used to call them something else- hanabi. It was the Japanese word for fireworks, I think.” He brought up a hand, wiping his eye on his free arm.

“That sounds beautiful,” You turned to him, floating closer and closer every second.

There was nothing more to be said, holding his hand with as much affection as you could, fireworks exploding somewhere in the background. The light illuminated the sharpness of his features, and you leaned in, closing the distance between you and Ken. 

His lips met yours, soft yet firm. The fireworks seemed to pause for that brief moment, allowing you to be trapped in the bubble you’d made for yourselves. Ken's arms were wrapped around you, holding you close as if he was never going to let go.

en rested his forehead against yours as you pulled apart. His eyes scanned yours, as if trying to capture every detail of the moment to memory.

"I've missed this," Ken murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as you pulled away.

“No kidding, we should do this more often shouldn’t we?” You giggled, running your finger down the ridges of his nose, booping the tip.

Ken nodded quietly, allowing you to lean in closer once more. "Definitely. It's moments like these that make life more bearable."

You leaned in again, brushing your lips against his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder. The last of the embers faded into the sky, pieces of your heart drifting off with them as you watched Ken.

"Let's come back here again," Ken suggested softly, his voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the waves. "Definitely," you agreed. You could get used to it.