#she is thinking about this a lot more than she seemed to when I was diagnosed and started this medication as a teen because my sister is

[woso-dreamzzz]

If You Were My Little Girl II

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Things are looking up

Alexia watches from the stands.

They're mostly empty, like almost all Barcelona B matches.

Women's football has only really started picking up steam recently but only at the top flight. The lower level leagues are still having a bit of a popularity issue.

But Alexia, for once, finds that she doesn't mind.

Because it means she can sit practically alone in the stands as she watches the home match.

A notepad sits on her lap, a pen tapping against the pages thoughtfully as she watches.

Barcelona B are good and Alexia has never expected anything different. She's seen the system at work many times as La Masia churns out players like Aitana and Pina and Jana, and more recently Vicky and Martina.

There's a reason so many clubs wants La Masia products.

They're all good players but even now, Alexia can tell a great player when she sees one.

You rise up among the crowd in the box and slam the ball into the goal, the net rippling with the force of the shot.

The best part, Alexia thinks, is that you didn't even need a moment to control the ball, hitting it in on the volley and grinning as your teammates practically dogpile you.

A hattrick in ten minutes is impressive in any league and Alexia makes another note in her notebook, humming softly to herself.

She rises out of her seat at the end of the match, disappearing into the building and out the doors.

It takes another half an hour for you to appear again, hair damp and an old crew neck sweater that Alexia's pretty sure is Alba's being tugged over your head.

You slip into the passenger seat, throwing your bag into the backseat and Alexia pulls your head down to press a kiss against the side of it.

You smile shyly at her as she offers up the fries she'd bought for a job well done.

"You did good, kid," She says," Very impressive."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. But I think we're going to work on evading slide tackles next," Alexia says as she drives off," We're trying to keep those ankles of yours intact, alright? I'm going to need them this season."

You roll your eyes and Alexia clicks her tongue.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," She says," I've got a good feeling about that meeting later in the week. A great feeling, actually. You should have one too."

"I'm managing expectations."

Alexia looks at you fondly. "Well, we'll see which one of us is right in a few days."

She lets you choose the music in the car, like she always does when you've scored a goal and you pull up to the apartment a lot quicker than you want to seeing as you're in the middle of singing along to your favourite song but, still, you drag yourself out of the car and up the stairs.

"How was the match?" Olga asks as she greets Alexia with a kiss on the lips.

"She did very well," Alexia brags," A hattrick within the first ten minutes and another goal in injury time."

"Exciting," Olga says indulgently as Alexia grins, already giving her running commentary of everything that happened during the match.

You escape though, hurrying to raid the cupboards before Alexia finally comes to her senses and tries to stop you 'spoiling' your dinner.

You don't know if there's any way to thank Alexia for what she's done for you.

Just three months ago, you were convinced that you were going to quit. You had no passion for the game, no hope of what your future was going to be but now all of that had changed.

You had direction. You had a manager. You had new boots and a place to live that wasn't a group home and support and love and everything seemed to be coming together for you.

A toe pokes you in the leg.

"Move."

"Alexia says that if you're trying to nap on her sofa again then I don't have to move," You tell Alba, who huffs and pokes you with her toe again," She also says that you have your own apartment and should stop mooching of us."

"But Olga's a better cook than me," Alba complains and you roll your eyes.

"Aren't you an adult? Even I can cook."

"Yeah but it's not like you could mooch off your sist-"

Alba falls silent quickly and you pretend to not notice what she was going to say for both hers and your own sakes.

The topic of your sister is kind of off limits when you're in the room. It's not completely banned because Alexia's still Jenni's national teammate but she's not really spoken about if you're in the room.

Alba's face flashes with terror for a moment so you pretend you don't notice her slip up ever though it sends a bolt of lightning into your stomach, a deep pit forming there.

It works for the most part, everyone in the house pretending Jenni isn't who she is to you, pretending that she's just Alexia's teammate and not her friend and ex, pretending that Alexia fostering you isn't her walking on a tight rope because Jenni doesn't know.

All Jenni knows is that you didn't quit when she told you to.

Jenni doesn't know that you live with Alexia. Jenni doesn't know anything. You doubt she even thinks about you when she's got a life far away in Mexico.

She lives there, far away from you and your life here in Barcelona.

She lives there and her presence is hardly ever mentioned around you.

Life is good at Alexia and Olga's house. Life is even good at training, though you could do without the smug little smirk Alexia has on her face when she picks you up.

"You already knew!" You accuse her, waving a finger in her face.

"Knew?" She asks, lips curl up in what can only be described as pure smugness," Knew what?"

"Right, who told you? Go on. Who was it?"

Alexia grins. "You do realise I am the captain? Any time they're looking to bring someone in, they ask me my opinion."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah and I'm sure you gave it."

"You're a good player. A great player," Alexia says," All I did was tell them what they already know."

You look down at your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. You want to be mad at her, to yell at her for keeping this from you. Maybe even yell at her for promising to the staff something you're not but you know she hasn't done that.

If she thought you weren't ready, she would have told them that.

But Alexia didn't. She didn't tell them to let you have a bit more time with the B team. She didn't tell them that you don't quite have what it takes.

"Thanks."

Alexia smiles at you as she drives home, a comfortable silence enveloping you both until your hand is on the door handle.

You stop.

"When I open this door, there's going to be a party, isn't there?"

"I may have told Olga...who told Mami...who told Alba...who told the rest of the family..."

"Is that a yes?"

"Possibly..."

"And there's no getting out of this?"

Alexia ruffles your hair, a soft kiss being pressed to the side of your head. "They're here to celebrate you."

You suck in a breath, just ready to turn the handle when the sound of the lift doors opening chimes down the corridor.

Both you and Alexia turn your heads towards.

It's just a fleeting second.

Just a moment.

But your good mood plummets as the door opens.

Alexia's hand tightens on your shoulder, pushing you slightly behind her and putting herself between you and the elevator.

Between you and Jenni.

[gravegoer]

Hello, how about a part 2 of being Sevika's boss maybe when they got together or something like that thankyouuu and i love all of your ficss thank you making them hehe

Sevika's Boss ꩜ part 2

hi anon, sevikas boss fanfic got a lot of love a while ago so im happy to write part 2 !! let me know if you enjoyed i threw in some misunderstandings for fun here..maybe kind of angst?? its okay tho you make up very quickly PART 1 , masterlist

You and Sevika hung around eachother a lot, I mean that was normal right? She is your second in command afterall.

Personally, you didn't see a problem with it, and nor did Sevika.

She had grown accustomed to your presence and didn't mind all your small, loving touches and annoying jokes.

And yes, sometimes she went a little overboard for you, like what kind of subordinate stays at their bosses house to tend to them whilst they are injured? Or goes out for drinks every weekend? But maybe your relationship was starting to exceed the bounds of boss and employee.

She has definitely warmed up to you more than she did with Silco. She thinks it was your charming personality, or cute outfits, your smile...

Some people might say you sitting in Sevikas lap while you fixed up her arm might be indecency in the workplace, but you found it to be a simple and innocent task.

But this begs the question, what exactly is your relationship?

This is also a question Jinx was starting to ask herself.

"So uh...whats with you and Sevika?" Jinx asked in an almost singsongy voice.

She flipped her gun around in her hand haphazardly while she was sprawled out on your (Silcos) desk.

"What do you mean whats with us..?" You shook your head, mimicking her movements with your pen.

"I meaaan, you guys act like a married couple or something!" She threw her two hands in the air with a 'duh' kind of look plastered on her face.

You pushed one of her braids to the side to pull out a paper from under it. One of Sevikas reports from a recent trip. Her handwriting was an imperfect cursive. Sighing, you put your face in your hand while you held the paper, staring at it diligently.

Jinx looked at you quizically at your lack of an answer. She sharply pushes the paper down with the tip of her gun, "Hey, are you— Oh," She let out a nasally laugh at the paper, "Damn, you got it bad, huh, toots?"

"What? I have what bad?" You slid the paper away and tilted your head at her.

The blue-haired girl sat up and rested a spindly arm on her knee, "You're so in L word with her." She snickered at you.

"Im in—" Your face flushed at your realization. "I am not in 'L word' with her." You raised your hands to do finger quotes around 'L word.'

"Hmmmm, are you sure?" She teased, putting her gun to her chin and looking up in mock thought "I mean, you practically cling to her, you always walk home with her, and plus you talk about her all the time– hell! You talk to her all the time."

You stared at Jinx, now zoning out in thought. What were you supposed to tell Sevika? Does Sevika even think the same way about you? Would that relationship even be appropriate?

"You know what?" You stood up and pointed in Jinx' face, "Im going to do it—"

She attempted to cut you off with a meek,

"Sevikas—"

"Im going to tell her I love her," You continued, Jinx' half attempt to save your ass fell on deaf ears.

You looked up, finger still in the girls face to make eye contact with a very familiar set of grey eyes. Fuck.

Sevikas gaze faltered, and she cleared her throat, bringing a fist to her mouth, "Um. I came to ask you if you wanted to grab a drink, but it seems like you have better plans."

Holy shit. She didn't know it was about her. Is that good or bad? You only felt a few seconds of relief before Sevika just turned around and walked out. That was bad.

Jinx whistled, still under the pressure of your pointing finger, "You have some explaining to do."

You fumbled over your words before pushing Jinx' forehead back with your finger. "Ughh.. This is your fault."

You drooped back down into the large chair, putting your head in your hand and heaving a sigh.

"Just go tell her while you still have a chance. She's probably going to be moping around the Last Drop," Jinx got up from her spot on the desk, and some papers fell with her.

"That's my queue to leave, though," She hopped out of the office with a little too much energy, probably on her way to cause more mischief.

You sighed and packed up your stuff, picking up stray papers and shoving them into a random drawer on your desk.

Grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, you pushed open the double doors to your office. It was time to go to the last drop.

poor sevika

Your entrance was signified with the ding of a bell atop the door. Music was playing loudly, and people were swarmed around the bar. Your eyes scanned the nearest areas for Sevika, but as you figures she was nowhere in sight.

She was most definitely in her usual gambling spot. You didn't want to approach her while she was in the middle of a game, so you waited at a nearby table, making sure to stay out of her sight.

You could hear the groans of the men at her table, most definitely losing. Chuckling at this, you watched as a waiter came up to your table asking for your order.

You just asked for a simple whiskey sour, hanging your bag on the back of your chair.

Several minutes (and a few drinks later), you felt someone's eyes on the back of your head. Turning around, you, once again, were met with steely grey eyes. Sevika stood near behind you with her arms crossed. The game had finished.

"You get rejected or something." She deadpanned.

"No—well.. not yet." You turned around in your chair to face her, the metal back of the chair was now settled between your legs.

You held what you thought was your sixth whiskey sour in between your fingers, chin resting on the top of the chair back.

She scoffed at this, turning her head to avoid eye contact. You could have sworn a small blush coated her cheeks. But her frown made you think otherwise, her large forearms tensed before she spoke.

"Oh, so you're waiting for her here."

How cruel of you to profess your love to someone in the place you knew Sevika would be. You probably wanted her to see it, right?

"Yeah, shes already here." You said, still staring at her side profile, tracing the scar on her cheek with your eyes.

The neon lights illuminated her face and brought out every curve and angle. But your thoughts were interrupted by her stern and almost angry voice.

"I should leave then," she started to walk away, but you reached out quickly.

(I dont know why you would do that when she wasn't even in arms length to begin with.) You started to fall forward, you let out a small yelp and held onto the chair, your drink falling onto the ground. You awaited impact, but it never came.

Instead, you were met with strong arms holding the back of your chair up. Sevika was bent over slightly, both mechanical arm and human arm on the metal of the chair. And for the third time, you made eye contact with now very close grey eyes. Her eyebrows were furrowed in shock or frustration- you couldn't tell.

Without another thought, you grabbed her by the collar and pulled her lips into yours. At first, she tried to pull away but eventually melted into the heat of the kiss. She sat your chair back up on four legs, and her elbows lean on the top of the chair, encircling you.

Almost as soon and she relented she pulled away, "What the hell are you doing," She rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of a large hand.

Her lips were still puffy from the kiss, but almost more downturned than before. When you didn't respond she offered a question, "Are you drunk?"

Your lopsided grin told her all she needed to know. She knew she needed to take you home, but she was going to do so reluctantly. Afterall you were going to become someone else's girl, couldn't have her hands all over you like she usually did.

She grabbed you (almost roughly) by the arms and pulled you out of the chair, "How are you going to profess your love now?" She scoffed.

"I just did, was that not enough?" Your words were slurred and you helped her by stepping up with heavy legs.

She furrowed her brows until she came to a not-so-shocking realization. Cursing under her breath she smirked at you. You could almost see the relief wash over her face.

Her thick arm held you by your upper torso as she almost carried you to the doors. She sighed at your stupidness, why not just tell her right away, then you wouldn't have to have gone through all the trouble.

She eyed your glossed over eyes, shaking her head at the dumb smirk that held its place on your face. She could feel the quiver of your body against the cold night wind.

At that she lifted you into her arms, covering you with her cloak. You looked up at her with wide eyes, burying your face in the material. God she wanted to kiss you so bad. But she'd save that for the awkward talk in the morning.

thank you for reading ! yes i see your asks all your fics are on the way I swear !!!! much love

[silverfairywings]

— IN THE WAKE OF FLAMES. PT III

eris vanserra x archeron!reader

summary: even before you became fae, your favourite season was autumn. it’s a little hard to hide this when your least favourite newly appointed high lord has made it his life’s mission to be the most annoying male in your life.

a/n: sorry for such a long break!! pls let me know what u think and again if you’d like to be added to the tag list send me a message or ask as I rarely check my notifs and go back to them. also sorry abt the cliffhanger uhmmmm also unedited ok bye

“You look like crap.”

Your eyes flutter open to see Mor scrunching up her face as she peers at you from her seat across your own at the dining table. It takes a second for her words to register and you throw a belated scowl her way.

“Good morning to you too,” you mumble, sitting up to continue swirling your spoon around your bowl of barely eaten oatmeal. Your appetite seems to have vanished over the past week, but you try and force a spoonful down your throat, nearly gagging.

Mor narrows her eyes at you and her lips press into a thin line of concern. “No, you seriously look like crap. You’re not eating lately and you were literally asleep at the table when I got here.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” you say, defensively. “I was resting my eyes.”

“You sound like Cassian after a three hour afternoon nap.”

“I’m just having a little trouble sleeping.” You set your spoon down and push the offending bowl away from you before slumping in your seat. You brush off her skeptical look with a wave of your hand. “I’m always like this after absorbing Fae magic.”

And over the last few days you’ve been absorbing a lot. All in an attempt to find out as much as you could about the Fae rebel group that had been attacking the borders of multiple Courts, in order to weaken them and make a point against you.

Well, you and your sisters. Not all of Prythian was accepting of Feyre for how she was Made, and even less so of you and Nesta and Elain. Instead, they viewed you as unnatural mutations and the whispers had only become worse after the War. It seemed that the lack of conflict looming over Prythian was unacceptable in their eyes.

With the help of your powers and Azriel’s shadows, you were closer than ever to finding them. Truthfully, the idea that there were Fae out there who hated you didn’t bother you so much in the sense of feeling like outcasts, but you couldn’t lie. They were starting to be a giant pain in your ass.

“You’re never like this,” Mor scoffs, gesturing to the bags under your eyes and the hollowness of your cheeks. As her voice raises, the pounding of your head gets more intense and you attempt to hold back a grimace. “Why is it affecting you so much this time?”

“It’s the type of magic I’m absorbing,” you practically whine, abandoning all pretences of being okay and allowing your shoulders to drop. “It’s so angry and harsh and impure, Mor! It’s literally making me sick because I have nowhere else to redirect it.”

At that moment Rhysand and Feyre walk in to join you at the table.

Rhysand, having overheard you, chimes in as he reaches for a plate of fruit. “Good news, our little Siphon,” he nudges you lightly, the nickname making you scrunch your nose up in mock annoyance. “We have enough information now to move forward using Az and Cass and resources from other Courts. The only thing we need you to do now is rest.”

Rhysand’s upbeat tone brings a weak smile to your face. You know that he’s being flippant to make you feel better, like he always does when you’re stressed or unwell and you’re nothing but appreciative as he whistles under his breath, nonchalantly piling some fruit onto a plate for you.

“You should have been resting days ago,” Feyre eyes you from beside Rhys with furrowed brows, taking in your tired form. “We told you yesterday would be too much.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Give me a couple hours and I’ll be fine for the meeting in Summer.”

Mor snorts and looks up at you, amused. When you raise an eyebrow, her smile drops into an incredulous expression. “You’re not serious.”

“I need to be there to discuss what I siphoned from that knife we found at the border of Dawn,” you say, holding up a hand and rushing out the rest of your words when Feyre opens her mouth to speak. “And Rhys promised me I would be there since it’ll be all the High Lords, Court informants and even soldiers. I couldn’t possibly not go.”

Feyre sighs, sensing that you’re not going to back down. She nods slowly, pointing at your plate. “Finish all of your breakfast and your lunch later on and then you can go.”

You let out a breath, feeling nauseous when Rhys slides your plate closer to you and simply shrugs when you glare at him. Traitor, you speak to him in your mind. He suddenly becomes very interested in a strawberry.

“Watch me,” you say confidently, waving your fork at Feyre who rolls her eyes at you and goes back to her own breakfast.

Summer court is your least favourite court at the best of times, though you’d never admit that to sweet and kind Tarquin, who’s arguably one of your favourite High Lords.

The beautiful, shimmering lagoons aren’t of interest to you as large bodies of water have always unsettled you. The warm breeze that everyone welcomes always reminds you of the times you had to suffer through sweltering heat when foraging for food with Feyre in your adolescence. You’ve always preferred a colder climate and appreciated a more muted daylight.

Considering your current health, the ripples in the water make you dizzy and the light salty breeze nearly brings your breakfast and lunch up.

You’re thankful for the sheer, thin material of the sage coloured dress that Nuala and Cerridwen chose for you because you suddenly feel a sheen of sweat covering your body.

“Are we done sightseeing?” you ask weakly, desperate to be inside already.

Elain turns to you and winces. “You don’t look too good….”

“Aw, thank you, Elain.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she tuts, coming over to fan your face with her hands. You swat them away, sputtering and try to catch Rhysand’s attention to move things along. He reluctantly agrees and gestures everyone to move along, too used to your aversion to Summer.

As you all enter the palace made of gleaming marble, you hang further back to avoid the watchful eyes of Feyre who seems to be waiting to send you right back home to rest.

The palace is beautiful and you push down your nausea to look around and take in the tall arched windows. The jewelled embellishments adorning the frames trail higher and higher and you crane your neck to see them.

This turns out to be a mistake when your vision starts to blur and another wave of nausea causes your steps to falter, the world tilting sharply.

A firm hand grips your elbow in an all too familiar fashion, steadying you before you’re sent flying to the ground. Another hand settles around your waist where the cutout of your dress exposes your now damp skin, glittering with sweat.

You look up and find Eris’ amber eyes locked onto your own.

“Foolish,” he mutters, his voice sharp with irritation, yet his hands remain steady in their position, holding you up. It’s the first word he’s uttered to you since your encounter a couple of weeks ago in the Spring Court where he’d left on frosty terms. You had seen him twice since then, but it was in the middle of meetings and siphoning sessions and he had barely spared you a single glance.

Your lips part but your senses are too overwhelmed to think of a response before he carries on, lightly shaking his head at you. “You overexert yourself all week and then travel here? What are you trying to prove?”

“I’m fine,” you manage to say, pulling away from him, but his grip only tightens. You can’t help glancing around and noticing that the growing crowd of all the Court officials has separated you from the Inner Circle. You huff out a breath as you register his words. You knew Rhysand had to communicate with the other High Lords with updates, but you didn’t know that included your physical state. “Gods, High Lords are such gossips…”

“You’re not fine,” he says, scowling like you’ve dreadfully inconvenienced him by nearly collapsing. His gaze flickers over the pallor of your skin and the way you’ve started to shiver slightly. “You drained yourself dry this week. And for what? To impress Rhysand? To prove something to him?”

“Let go of me, Eris,” you attempt to snap at him, but even you can hear the lack of strength in your voice. His eyes soften slightly when you say his name without your usual bite. “I can’t have this same conversation with you when I’m like this.”

“You think I want to be the one always catching you from falling on your face? Trust me when I say I have things I would rather be doing,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes.

You grit your teeth at the reminder and heat flares in your cheeks, whether it’s from embarrassment, anger or the climate of Summer, you don’t know.

Before you can retort, Eris sighs and straightens you up, still not fully letting you go. Releasing the hand around your waist, he loops your arm in his own and makes you lean on him for support. To your utter surprise, he doesn’t say anything as he starts walking towards the meeting room where everyone else files in. Despite your frustration, you’re grateful for his strength.

The moment of blissful silence doesn’t last too long, however. As he begins to lead you to where your family is stood and clearly looking around frantically for you, Eris leans in to whisper in your ear. “You need to sit down at the table,” he orders quietly, High Lord behaviour on full display.

You’re about to argue that no one else is going to be sat and he immediately catches this, cutting you off. “Don’t be stubborn for once in your life,” he murmurs, breath warm against your ear, making you shiver more than you already were. “Please?”

You quickly turn your head to meet his, shocked at the pleading in his voice. You didn’t realise how close this would bring your own face to his and words leave you. Thankfully, you’ve reached your family as you hear Cassian’s loud voice and it snaps you out of your little bubble.

“Finally!” he exclaims, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “We were about to send a search and rescue team, thinking you’d finally collapsed.”

“Why didn’t you?” Eris asks, coldly.

Cassian merely rolls his eyes at Eris’ attitude and gestures at Azriel.

Feyre comes forward to take your other arm in hers and explains. “Azriel’s shadows informed us that you were with her, Eris.” She smiles warmly and sincerely at him and Rhysand nods at him in recognition of his actions. “Thank you for looking after my sister.”

Eris shakes his head. “Don’t thank me yet. I foresee many falls in her near future that I’m sure I won’t be present for.”

Feyre’s mouth twitches, but she quickly smoothes her face into an expressionless one when you frown at her and she busies herself with disentangling you from Eris.

He takes a step back, dark and fiery hair catching the sunlight through the tall windows and glances at you once more, not breaking eye contact, yet his words are directed towards Feyre. “Just make sure she sits down. The Night Court doesn’t need a martyr,” he says drily, before walking away.

Your mouth goes dry at the double meaning in his words, but you can’t shake off the shock at seeing genuine concern in his eyes. You must have looked practically near death, but you appreciated it all the same and you don’t even realise your eyes are lingering on him as he walks away until Feyre sits you down next to Nesta.

Your older sister raises an eyebrow at you, always so intuitive and you swat weakly at her to look away from you. Cassian’s eyes flit back and forth between you two, confused.

Before he can say anything, the meeting commences and you feel a shift in the energy of the room, full to the brim of Court officials, emissaries, a few warriors and of course, the High Lords around the table.

Your turn to speak comes fairly quickly since the most information regarding the Rebels is from you and Azriel. As per Rhysand’s instructions, you don’t go into any details regarding your siphoning powers, instead just sharing the information you gained due to them. You try to ignore the way people are staring at your weak form, but you continue to speak with all the strength you can muster. Evidently, you’re doing a convincing job as people start to nod, satisfied and scribble things down.

When Azriel’s turn arrives, you zone out a little, already having heard everything a few times over. Your ears only perk up when everyone is discussing plans of action against the Rebels and a question is asked in your general direction.

“Who are we thinking is to be at the front lines of this hypothetical mission?” The question comes from one of the Spring Court advisors, Vaelith, an older Fae with silver hair gathered in one long braid down his back.

His gaze lingers on you for only a split second before moving onto Rhysand and you feel compelled to answer. “Myself and Azriel,” you blurt out, before you can think twice. “And others of course, but the two of us are the most familiar with-”

“We’re all aware of the Shadowsinger’s abilities,” Vaelith interrupts you, holding up a hand to stop you from talking. You hold back a scowl. “What makes you suitable to lead such a mission aside from your… familiarity with a selection of items left behind by these Rebels?”

“I’m more than able to-” you cut yourself off and swallow, gaining yourself a second to think of a way to defend yourself without giving away your powers, as per your High Lord’s request.

Careful, Y/N

Rhysand’s voice sounds clear as day in your head and you try not to wince at the volume considering the silence of the rest of the room. The other High Lords knew of your powers, but Rhysand had requested they keep it to themselves, even from their own Court officials. Whether or not Rhysand had used his Daemati abilities to ensure this, you didn’t want to know.

“I’m more than able to assist in a plan of action,” you continue firmly, voice hardening. “I’m not sure if you remember a certain War we just had, but you may wish to remind yourself who was at the front lines of that.”

A few laughs break the tense silence and some people start muttering, slowly raising the volume of the room. You almost don’t hear Vaelith’s next words. “You haven’t really answered my question.”

“Let’s use our senses, Vaelith,” a voice rings out from further down the table and you’re startled to realise that Eris is speaking up. The room finally quietens down and you sit up impossibly straight, surprised that Eris is about to defend you.

You couldn’t be more wrong.

He only spares you a fleeting glance, but even from your seat you could see it’s full of amusement and mocking. The thing that surprises you is that the mocking is directed at you. “Look at her. Are you really questioning the abilities of a female who barely has the strength to sit up in her seat, let alone fight?”

Your stomach drops, a ball of humiliation unfurling in your chest as he continues to speak.

“I’d like to believe Rhysand has more sense than to send someone on the frontlines who would just be doing the rebels a favour,” Eris drawls, raising an eyebrow at Rhys, still avoiding your gaze.

Rhysand nods. “I can assure you I’ll only be sending my strongest soldiers, Vaelith,” he smirks, faintly, as though the implication he’d do anything to suggest otherwise is laughable. “Now may we discuss matters of actual importance? Tarquin, what have your soldiers been preparing?”

The tension dissolves almost immediately, but you’re still shellshocked, shaking with anger rather than weakness now. It’s as though you’ve been pumped with a burst of adrenaline and it doesn’t seem to be dampening.

After the conversation has shifted to a completely different subject, you shift from your seat as discretly as possible and mutter to Nesta that you need some air before standing up.

You look at the High Lord of Autumn before you walk away, but it only infuriates you more. Eris doesn’t look anywhere near you, but his jaw is clenched all the same, as though he can feel you glaring at him.

Mor catches your arm as you’re walking out and hisses in your ear. “You’re still not well,” she turns her body fully towards you. “Wait for me to come with you.”

“Don’t worry,” you say, shaking your head and clenching your fists to keep them from trembling as you speak through gritted teeth. “I feel suddenly energised. I’ll only be outside.”

Mor gives you a once over and is clearly satisfied with the fact that you’re unlikely to collapse again as she nods and releases your arm, allowing you to rush through the crowd of people and push through the guards.

You walk briskly away from the doors of the meeting room and further down the empty hallway until you’re satisfied that no one will hear your heavy breathing.

You lean against a pillar, exhaling in and out to control your anger and keep the tears at bay. Gods, you feel so stupid. Of course, Eris is incapable of being a decent male to anyone, let alone to you. Damn him and his cruel smirk and damn Rhysand too for allowing it to happen.

Brushing away the tears that have managed to fall, you curse yourself for not just pushing him away and allowing yourself to collapse on the hard marble flooring. It was giving you whiplash the way he could be so full of concern one second and practically call you useless in front of a room full of officials the next.

The longer you stand against the marble pillar, the weaker you begin to feel and that burst of adrenaline you previously felt is no longer present. The anger that fuelled you mere seconds ago is now winding you and a rising sense of panic begins to consume you.

You decide to turn around to walk back so you’re closer to the doors of the meeting room in case you embarrassingly do collapse.

However, the second you take a step, a flash of movement in the corner of your eye is all the warning you get before strong arms clamp around you from behind and a cloth is pressed against your mouth and nose, preventing you from breathing. You can’t even scream as the scent of something strong and chemical floods your senses, making your vision blur.

You thrash around in an attempt to use the little strength you have left to escape, but the arms only grip you harder and the world begins to spin. The last thing you feel is the cool marble floor as your knees give out and no one bothers to catch you as you hit the ground, darkness swallowing you whole.

tag list: @fabulouslyflamboyant @deepestmentalityperson @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @abysshaven @nayaniasworld @rcarbo1 @paleidiot @tenshis-cake @bunnyredgirl @goldenmagnolias @whydohumansss @fandomtrash465 @mrsbarnes32557038 @aaprilshowers @scarsandallaz @-im-fantastic- @cat-or-kitten @annamariereads16 @adelina-127 @onlymexsarah @puddlesplasher17 @eyes-capone @hermaeuswhora

[alchemistc]

The call comes in just after 2 PM, and Tommy's in the air five minutes later. White male, early thirties, took a tumble off the incline at one of the intermediate hiking points near Griffith Park, the engine can't winch him up without exacerbating his injuries.

It's a quick flight. Nothing remarkable at all, until Hurst has been down on the ground for a few minutes too long and then Tommy's captain is on the radio asking him to hand over the controls to his copilot the moment he lands at Presbyterian.

He's pissed about it the entire length of time it takes for the winch to pull up Hurst and their new passenger - time and a half for a 48 hour stretch isn't anything to scoff at.

And then he hears Hurst rattling off information as the door shuts, and he's desperately trying to remind himself that no amount of outside noise has ever distracted him before.

Evan Buckley, 33, moderate concussion, sprained ankle, three broken fingers, possible broken ribs, pulse is steady but BP is trending high.

Happy fucking Thanksgiving.

---

Tommy's phone rings as they're making the handoff at, and he answers more out of habit than anything else. It's Cap again.

"You can either ride shotgun back and be man behind or I can shift your time and a half somewhere else because you've had a family emergency," Hobbes says, and Tommy would love to have a snappy retort but he's still thinking about the way Buck had come out of it enough to tell Hurst his boyfriend - "ex-boyfriend, sorry" - flies for 217 too. Hobbes clears his throat. "Considering your last family emergency was when I forced you to take a holiday off, I know which one I'd choose."

Tommy blinks. They're almost to the doors.

"I'll see you in a few days, Captain," Tommy murmurs and hauls ass towards the retreating medical team wheeling Buck into the hospital.

---

He'd listened while Hurst and her partner - a loan from 136 he still hasn't actually been introduced to - pumped some pain meds to keep Buck from hurting himself more, but it's still a surprise to see how zonked he looks, pupils wide and eyes glassy as he blinks slow blinks up at the ceiling, the doctors, and Tommy.

Buck tries to tip his head sideways when he catches sight of him, and pulls a face when the C collar impedes the movement. A hand snags out, catches on the seam of Tommy's flight suit, and Tommy can't quite help himself. He reaches out and holds the hand in place.

It's easy to keep pace with the orderly as they leave the elevator, and Tommy knows exactly how many doors he's allowed through before he's got to make his way to the waiting room and figure out where the fuck to go from there.

Buck's face is scraped up good on one side, and the hand not in Tommy's is splinted too much for him to catch the full damage. There's more blood than Tommy can consciously account for in the moment, although most of it looks to be drying. The hand in his squeezes. "S-someone should ca-." He winces. Seems to lose his train of thought. Rolls back around to it right before the final set of doors. "You'll call Tommy?" he asks, a desperation on his face that does something ruinous to Tommy's gut, but the orderly has already slowed down and now she's looking a little like she'll shove Tommy off if he doesn't let go of her patient.

Tommy nods. Squeezes. "I'll call Tommy."

Buck's smile is lopsided and loopy as Tommy lets go of his hand.

"Good," he murmurs, and the doors swing wide and then shut behind him, and Tommy spends a solid five minutes staring at the spot where the red striping in the tile at his feet doesn't quite match up to its neighboring tiles.

---

He's a coward, so he calls Eddie first and puts his foot in it immediately.

"Why was Buck alone on a hike on Thanksgiving?" he asks, before Eddie's even finished his greeting, and he's glad he's stepped outside to make this call. He's not moderating his volume at all.

Eddie pauses. Seems to reboot. "Wait, what?"

Tommy recounts what he knows, which isn't a whole hell of a lot, if he's being honest. "So. When can I expect the cavalry?"

Eddie's silent for a beat too long. "I'm in Texas, Tommy. Is he - is it serious? How bad -?"

"He was conscious. Slightly more than superficial injuries. He'll - recover."

He'll be fine doesn't have the right ring to it, when he's just watched the man wheeled away without even recognizing Tommy.

"He went on a hike? What kind of idiot -?" Eddie asks, and then he's silent for a beat too long. "Tommy, don't take this the wrong way, but if there's even a small part of you telling you to make a break for it, do it now before he has a chance to get his hopes up."

Tommy feels it like the knife it's meant to be. It'd be shutting the door, really - in the short term, he'll remember asking someone to let Tommy know, and he'll assume Tommy didn't show. In the long term he'll remember exactly who he'd spoken to and he'll be pissed enough to make it a clean break.

It hasn't even been a month, and Tommy's out of distractions. No work, no house to clean and reorganize, no engines to tinker with, a phone on half battery.

"I need to call Maddie," he says, and he can hear the echo as Eddie shifts to speaker.

"No need. She's on her way. With like, half the station, apparently." He rattles off what must be a text from the group chat.

Tommy shoves down that familiar ache while Eddie sounds off everyone who is currently in the process of abandoning their holiday dinners to come sit in uncomfortable waiting room chairs and twiddle their thumbs. He should leave. Cut the loose threads, take an Uber home, convince his captain he doesn't need Friday off.

He's silent long enough that Eddie feels the need to check and make sure he's still there. There's an ambulance swinging into the bay thirty feet from where Tommy stands.

"You screwed up," Eddie says, and Tommy grimaces, swallows, ignores the thrum of anxiety pooling in his gut. "Showing up for him now would go a long way towards making a reconciliation viable. If that's something you want."

Tommy doesn't know what the fuck he wants, anymore. He's never allowed himself to have it long enough for it to settle. But he knows how it'd felt to know the first person on Evan's mind in the midst of his pain medication haze was Tommy.

Tommy pulls up the first delivery service app he sees and wonders how big a tip he should give for ordering a dozen coffees an hour before closing time on a national holiday. "You know what everyone's usual coffee order is?"

Eddie adds him to a group chat that's going to drain the rest of his battery before Evan's out of surgery.

>>>Part Two

[beforetimes]

my headcanon about the alternate timeline we see in s2ep7 is that instead of ekko and powder being close friends throughout their childhoods who became lovers with no friction, it actually took a while for them to bridge the gap that vi's death caused.

when we see ekko and powder go to vi's memorial for the first time and ekko asks if she was the one who caused their death, powder very quickly retorts that it was ekko's tip that ended up sending them on the job that killed her. i think that this is important not just because the writers wanted to explicitly say that the chain of events that led to the original timeline hinged on ekko's tip but also because in how quickly she said it, we can assume that this is something that's come up between them before.

ekko already is seen as a character who carries a lot of responsibilities on his shoulders, mostly self-ascribed, which i tend to characterize as being born partially of guilt. i think guilt is a large part of his character and it would be somewhat irresponsible to shrug that off when speaking about his character in the alternate timeline that the original ekko drops in on.

powder is characterized as brighter and happier than jinx when she grows up in this universe with a support system, obviously, but she still has a tendency to anger. this is shown through how she tells ekko to get out before she does something she'll regret rather than rolling over in the face of his interrogation and insensitive statements. she also holds a grudge, as we see it takes ekko physically taking her to see vi's painted memorial in the firelight lair before she stops scowling at him in the bar and warms up to him again.

looking at all of these things, i think it's a fair assumption to make that following vi's death, there was a period of time where powder directly blamed ekko for what happened, and that ekko blamed himself as well. this, in my opinion, doesn't cheapen their relationship when they grow up into the people we see in s2ep7, but deepens it.

i think the act of forgiving is something that takes a long time, whether you're forgiving yourself or someone else, and ekko and powder's relationship being as comfortable and easy as it is in s2ep7 speaks to the fact that they had a long stretch of time to get to that space where they could move past the circumstances that led to vi's death. at least, they both do until original timeline ekko drops in and reopens that wound, which in turn leads powder to throw blame back in his face, similarly to how i assume she must have done directly following vi's passing.

the idea that powder and ekko in this alternate timeline had to move past anger, grief, guilt, and blame makes their relationship feel more heartfelt than if they were locked in since day one and there was no more work to be done. love as something that has to be earned and worked for even in a world where things seem mostly ideal shows that it wasn't just a fluke that they got together but a deliberate continuous choice to work through trauma to allow themselves to be together.

it also legitimizes the idea that original timeline ekko and jinx could hypothetically be together as well. not just because we see "oh, one version of powder and ekko can get together so this one can, too" but because both versions have baggage to work past before getting together, but the universe we see displays how this pair managed that with the luxury of a support system and a kinder environment that original timeline ekko and jinx unfortunately weren't afforded.

i think this also makes their team-up in s2ep9 more heartfelt because we can see ekko move past blame when he comes back for jinx to help in the fight, similarly to how i assume ekko in the alternate timeline had to work through his own to eventually get together with powder. both relationships hinge on the fact that they have to put effort in to get comfortable with each other following the consequences of the job that ekko sent them on rather than letting the alternate universe relationship ultimately act as a fluke that can't be replicated because of how drastically different that world is.

[xxsquiddkiddxx]

Heels ~ Viktor x Reader

Pronouns for reader: She/Her

Relationship type: Platonic, romantic feelings, slight enemies to lovers if you unfocus your eyes a bit

General Idea: Viktor used to hate the sound of those damn boots of hers, but now he's grown to find an odd sense of comfort in the noise. Along with... a series of other feelings.

Content Warnings: Fluff, swearing, Viktor being sassy, s1 Viktor, Takes place between S1E3~E4, Viktor's kinda down bad but in a denial way, Viktor also isn't good at realizing he has feelings for the reader, Jayce needs a 32hr nap

A/N: My Viktor headcanons got a LOT more love than I thought they would... so I decided to write some more Viktor XD

(Nobody's POV, but it's mostly told. through Viktor's thoughts)

~☆~

The lab was pretty much silent. The only sounds heard were the sounds of Viktor tinkering with a Hextech device and the occasional flipping of pages as (Y/N) read some notes that Jayce had written. It was late, definetly past midnight as the two worked.

"(Y/N)," Viktor says, breaking the silence. The girl's head pops up at the sound of her name. "Come here for a second? I need a second pair of hands."

"Be right there." She says, finishing the page she was on. She stands up and walks towards him, the sound of her boots hitting the tile as she walks.

Clack

Click

Clack

Viktor used to hate the sound of her boots. "Those damn boots are so annoying," He had complained to Jayce during the first week of (Y/N) working as a part-time assistant. "Click clack click clack, drives me insane!" He had mocked before sighing.

"Viktor... don't both your boots AND your cane make that noise as well?"Jayce had responded, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smile. This made Viktor at a loss for words.

"Well... It's annoying when she does it!" He had sassed back in response, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

That was 3 years ago. Now, he found a weird sense of comfort in hearing the sound of her boots hit the floor. He couldn't explain why, enjoyment of familiarity maybe?

"What's up?" (Y/N) says, standing behind Viktor. The smell of her perfume was almost overwhelming to him, overloading his senses. Which was weird, seeings as it must've been almost 13 hours since she'd last applied perfume. And that doesn't last long... was he delusional? Or maybe just tired? Whatever. It doesn't matter.

"Yeah, I just need you to hold this in place." Viktor says, not even looking up from what he's doing. He gestures to a little piece of metal he's holding. (Y/N) leans over Viktor and holds the piece in place as requested. The scientist trys his best to ignore the feeling of her closeness and the racing of his heart... holy crap was it warm in here? It must've been. Although it seemed strange to him that it was magically warm in here all of a sudden. This spirals him into a memory, a memory that took place a little less than a week prior to now.

Viktor sat at his desk, for once not to work on Hextech, but to run his hands through his hair and stay deep in thought.

"Viktor?" Jayce asked. "Are you OK? You haven't been as focused as you normally are today. Did something happen?"

"I think... I think there's something genuinely wrong with me." Viktor says. "Like... maybe I'm coming down with something?? I don't know." Viktor stands up, leaning on his cane slightly for support.

"Oh?" Jayce asks, raising an eyebrow. "Could you, uh, possibly elaborate on that?"

"Well, for one everytime Ms.(L/N) comes near me I about have a damn heart attack." Viktor says, his cane clacking softly on the floor as he paces. "Like yesterday, perfect example. She accidently brushed my hand when she was passing me a paper and I actually thought I was dying."

Jayce suppresses a smile, trying not to laugh. Was Viktor really getting THIS worked up... over a little crush? "Oh?" Jayce says, still suppressing a smile. "Is that it?"

"Whenever she's near me, I swear to the gods that I become hyperaware of... like... everything." Viktor says. "Like the room feels warmer, her perfume or her shampoo is ALL I can smell, I'm almost convinced I know every single speckle of color in her eyes... I think I might actually be going crazy." Viktor says, stopping his pacing. "I'm positive. I've actually hit the breaking point and am decending into insanity."

Jayce now can't help but laugh. Maybe it was his lack of sleep from working on Hextech for days on end, maybe it was the seriousness in Viktor's voice about his "decent to madness." Jayce's laughter came out as almost wheezes due to how hard he was laughing.

Viktor throws his hands up in exasperatedness. "Jayce!" Viktor scolds. "This ISN'T funny! There's-"

This just makes Jayce laugh more and more. "Yes it is, Viktor." Jayce manages to say through wheezes. He's holding onto the desk for support as he laughs. It gets to the point where passersby become mildly concerned for the scientist's wellbeing. "I assure you you're not decending to madness."

"Then what the hell is going on????" Viktor exclaims, collapsing into his chair.

"Relax you just have a little crush, it's fine." Jayce says, wiping the tears of laughter away as he tries to steady his breathing.

"Viktor?" The sound of his name snaps him out of the memory. "You good? I think I said your name like five times." (Y/N) says with a chuckle. Viktor shakes his head slightly.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." Viktor says, continuing what he was doing. He tried to ignore the slight shake in his hands, the side of his own hand pressed against Ms. (L/N)'s own hand. When he's done. He about throws the screwdriver down. "Thank you for your assistance." Viktor says, the weight off his shoulders earning a little sigh of relief.

"Was that all you needed?" (Y/N) asks.

"I'm pretty sure, yeah." Viktor says. (Y/N) hums in response, walking over to her desk. Click, clack, click, clack. Her boots echo in the room. She grabs her coat and walks towards Viktor again.

"I'm gonna head out then." She says. Click, clack, click, clack. The sound of her boots ring in Viktor's head, a haunting sound that he didn't actually mind having on replay in his brain. "You should too soon." She says, her voice kind and soft.

Viktor's stomach feels like it's about to leap out of his body. Even though it was scientifically impossible, he couldn't help but worry about it. "I will soon." He says, the softness in his voice actually shocking him. Normally he'd just lie out his teeth and sleep in the lab, or not sleep at all. However, when he said that he would... he truly meant it. His eyes move away from the project and to (Y/N). "I'm just gonna finish this little bit up."

(Y/N) smiles, it's tired and small, but it's still a smile nonetheless. Seeing her smile along made the corners of his lips feel like they were moving on their own. He suppresses a smile the best he can, but it still shows on his face. "Goodnight, Viktor." She says, her voice still soft. She didn't speak full volume, and that for some reason made Viktor's heart rate skyrocket.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)." He says, the same tone and volume as (Y/N). She turns and walks out of the room. Click, clack, click, clack. He listens to the sound of her shoes until they completely fade out.

"Relax you just have a little crush, it's fine."

Viktor didn't have a crush on (Y/N)... did he?

~☆~

For more fics: my masterlist

Feel free to request fics!!!

~Squeed

[covenofagatha]

Sugar, spice, and everything nice (Part 3)

Word count: 3100

Warnings: semi-public sex, sex toys, masturbation

You spend almost all of Saturday and Sunday at the bakery, just waiting for Agatha to walk in. 

She never does. 

It was especially hard on Saturday, opening up the box full of sex toys she had sent you and then having to come into work just an hour later, being more turned on than you ever had in your life. The only thing you were looking forward to was Agatha walking in and smirking at you. You were sorely disappointed.

So much so that you hadn’t even found it in yourself to use the toys she had sent. The vibrator, dildo, clit-sucker (you had finally figured out what it was), and the long distance vibrator had sat in the box on your floor for the whole weekend, you trying to not look at it whenever you walked in. 

Was Agatha worried she had made a mistake? You hadn’t texted her Saturday morning upon receiving the package, assuming she’d be in the bakery that morning, but now it seemed too late to send a message. 

Now it’s Monday and you’re supposed to go on a date tomorrow. Maybe you can wear the vibrator on Tuesday. Even just thinking about her letter sends thrills down your spine. 

Is the date still on though? 

And then the door opens and in walks Agatha. Your breath catches in your throat and you stand up off your stool. She is stunning. 

She shoots you her signature smirk and all of your worries and doubts just melt away. 

“Hey, doll,” she says, coming to a stop in front of the register. 

“Agatha,” you sigh. “I haven’t seen you all weekend.” 

She runs a hand through her hair and you find yourself transfixed. “Sorry, sweetheart. I got a new case and it’s very time-consuming. I kept trying to get away but I just couldn’t.” 

And then you feel bad, because of course the excellent lawyer was working and wasn’t avoiding you. 

A glint appears in her eyes. “Did you have a busy weekend?” 

There’s only one thing she could be possibly talking about in that tone with that look on her face. Your cheeks redden and you look at the counter, wiping an imaginary speck of dust off it. 

“I-uh-haven’t actually used any of them yet,” you answer sheepishly. You dare to meet her eyes to see that her smile has gotten bigger if possible. 

“You haven’t? Why not?” 

You shrug, too embarrassed to tell her that you were worried she was icing you out. It sounds stupid now, with her standing right there, but your thoughts tend to get the best of you when you’re alone. 

“Do you need some help with them?” Agatha asks and you choke on nothing. You open and close your mouth a few times, not able to think straight but trying to formulate some kind of response, when she tosses her head back with a laugh. “I’m just joking, doll.” 

“Do you really want me to wear the vibrator tomorrow?” Your voice falls to a hush even though it’s only the two of you in the store. 

“You aren’t wearing it right now?” She teases and you gasp at the thought of her toying with you while you try to make coffee and talk to customers. 

“No,” you squeak and shake your head furiously. “I didn’t know-”

“I’m kidding, doll,” she assures you. “Wear it tomorrow only if you want to. It connects to an app so you’ll have to send me the code on the manual once you open it. If you want to, of course.”

“I do,” you say hoarsely, feeling a flush all over your cheeks and neck. She smiles triumphantly and taps the counter. 

“So, where are you taking me on our next date?” 

You had actually spent a lot of time trying to figure it out. Obviously, as a college student making just above minimum wage, you couldn’t really treat her to a nice restaurant and you weren’t quite sure what she liked to do. 

So you were settling for something simple. 

A nice picnic in the park to watch the sunset. Maybe go for a walk after. Quality time is very important to you and you wanted to just be with the older woman. 

You hoped it would be good enough for her. 

“It’s a surprise. Pick me up at 6 tomorrow?” Not super classy to make her come get you, but you’d much rather ride in her slick, black Range Rover than have to pick her up in your ten year old Subaru. 

“Any plans for after the date?” She asks casually. 

Your mouth opens in mock outrage. “Do you think I’m the kind of girl to have sex after two dates?” With her, you are. You hope she says yes. 

She smirks. “You seemed pretty desperate for sex after the first date, sweetheart. We don’t have to do anything though. We could always go back to my place and just watch a movie.”

“That would be nice,” you admit, even though you know you want her hands on your body. Fuck, if she wanted to come around the counter and slip her fingers into your pants right there and then, you wouldn’t be opposed. 

She seems to know where your head is at and by the darkening in her eyes, she is feeling a similar sort of way. “And if you wanted to, you know, bring those toys…maybe we could finally put them to good use.” 

Your eyes widen and you nod eagerly before you can stop yourself. She chuckles. 

“Alright, well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night at 6,” she says, drumming her fingernails on the counter one last time before shooting you a wink and leaving the bakery. 

“Don’t you want-” Your attempt to ask if she wants coffee or cake falls upon deaf ears as the door opens and she’s gone. 

You breathe a sigh of relief that she was just busy the past two days. And you’re sort of mad that you wasted those last two days not using the toys she had sent. 

But that would end tomorrow. 

Heat was already igniting in your stomach at the thought of it. You had never used a toy before and you were especially looking forward to trying the long-distance vibrator. 

The rest of your shift is pretty quiet, not too many customers either on Mondays. 

When you get back to your dorm, though, you realize that you are positively dripping. You guess your interaction with Agatha had more of an effect on you than you realize. 

You chew on your lip and your eyes keep darting back and forth between your bed and the box of toys on the floor. 

It couldn’t hurt to test one out, could it?

You grab the box with the vibrator and open it. Glancing at the instructions, you press the power button and gasp as the purple toy buzzes to life in your palm. You turn it off, heart pounding, and lay down. 

You close your eyes and remember what it was like to kiss Agatha at the Winter Wonderland the other night. Her tongue in your mouth, her sucking your lip, her hand under your shirt. You shift and hike up the skirt you were wearing and place the vibrator on your clit over your underwear. 

A whimper is forced out of your throat and your back arches off the bed. Quickly, you pull it away. 

Holy fuck. 

You’ve never felt anything so intense. 

You take a deep breath and slowly place it against you again, mind wandering to Agatha. 

Her veiny hands, her mouth, her confidence, the way she fluffs her hair. You imagine the way her fingers and tongue would feel on you. Your hips are rolling against the vibrator – that she gave you – and you’re already close. You truly cannot believe you’ve never used one before. 

You cum harder than you ever have by your own hand at the wishful thought of Agatha laughing as she holds the vibrator against you. 

It takes you a second to calm down and when you turn the toy off, you can still feel the rumbling in your hand. 

And then you reach for your phone. Just used the vibrator. You click send before you can second-guess yourself. 

Agatha’s response comes immediately after. And? 

Changed my life lol. 

She doesn’t reply for a few minutes so you go wash the toy, but when you come back, there’s a new message. 

Just wait for tomorrow night, doll. 

Heat flashes through you and you seriously consider using the vibrator again. 

But you want to wait. You can wait. 

However, the next 24 hours pass so slowly that you think time might have stopped. 

There are countless times you look at the clock, expecting an hour to have passed, only to find that it was three minutes. 

It’s like being a child on Christmas Eve again. Except instead of presents, you’re waiting to get fucked by an older woman. 

Finally, finally, she texts you that she’s on her way and to get ready (she sends a winky face, as if there’s any doubt what she means). 

You’re wearing a short lilac skirt so you bunch it up with one hand and slide your underwear to the side. You’re already wet just at the thought of seeing Agatha so you’re able to slide the bulb easily into you. It’s not too big but you can definitely feel it deep inside you. The other piece rests against your clit and you can only imagine what it will feel like when she turns it on. 

You find the bluetooth connection instructions on the instruction manual and text it to her. 

Barely a second later, she texts back Good girl. I’m about to turn into the parking lot. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

You wait until you see her car pull up before exiting the building, and as you’re walking to the car with the basket of food and a backpack with all the toys and some extra clothes, she turns it on. You almost fall to the ground. Thankfully you were holding onto the dinner tight.  

If you thought the vibrator from yesterday was intense, it’s nothing compared to the sensation of it against your clit and inside you. 

And just as quickly as the feeling came, it’s gone. You gasp and stumble hurriedly the rest of the way to the car before she can do it again. 

Agatha’s smirk is dripping with smugness. “How does it feel?” 

“Fuck,” is all you can say and she laughs. 

“Fuck, indeed. Now, where are we going?” 

You give her directions to the park. It’s in a pretty secluded area and there’s never really anyone there when it starts to get dark, so it should be empty. Even if it’s not, you’re just having a picnic. 

And just as you suspected, there’s no other cars in the lot when Agatha pulls up to park.

“What are we going here, sweetheart?” She asks, curiosity tinging her voice. She’s not judging though. You knew she wouldn’t. 

You hold up the basket. “I thought we could have a picnic?” 

She smiles. “I think that’s an excellent idea, honey.” You lead her over to a spot by the perimeter by the hand and don’t let her do anything while you shake out the blanket and take out two plates of sushi and a bottle of wine. You pour her a glass while you finish making everything perfect and she watches you amusedly while sipping on the Rosé. 

Dinner is so comfortable and filled with laughter and jokes and questions, and once you both are done with the food, you lay down on the blanket, Agatha’s arm around your shoulders and her other hand pointing out the constellations to you. 

She shows you how to always be able to find the North Star, which is in Ursa Minor, and then points out the Big Dipper, and you lose yourself in watching her point to all the stars and hearing her tell you the stories. You’re having so much fun with her and she makes you feel at peace. 

“I didn’t realize you knew so much about astronomy,” you say in awe, focusing on her face rather than what she’s showing you. She turns her head down so she’s looking at you. 

“Have you been listening or have you been staring at me the whole time?” She jokes, kissing your nose and chuckling as you scrunch it at her. 

“I’ve been listening!” 

“Oh yeah? What’s that one then?” She points at a star and as you peer at it, her finger fumbles with something and the vibrator inside of you turns on, turning your thoughts to mush. 

You had honestly forgotten that you were wearing it. 

But it’s impossible to forget now, and your fingers dig into her side and you let out a quiet moan. 

“Agatha,” you whine when it turns off. 

“What constellation is that?” She turns it on again and your hips start undulating involuntarily as you rack your brain. Your eyes frantically dart to the surrounding stars as you start whimpering. 

“Andromeda?” It’s partly a guess but you do remember her saying something about that one. You can vaguely remember the story too. Something about her mom being vain and then Andromeda being chained for a sea monster but Perseus rescues her. 

The toy turns off and you gasp for breath. Your hips are still gently riding against nothing, missing the stimulation. 

“Very good,” Agatha muses. “How are you feeling?” 

“Why don’t you feel for yourself?” You challenge but your smirk turns into a gasp when she reaches over, pushes up your skirt, and rubs your slit over your underwear. Your hips chase her fingers but she pulls away. 

You are throbbing. 

She holds her fingertips up to the lamp and you both can see them glistening. You have soaked through your panties. Before you can say anything or be too embarrassed, she sucks them into her mouth and your jaw drops. She moans at your taste and when she opens her eyes, you can barely see the blue with how blown out her pupils are. 

“Can we go?” You rasp. 

“Sure, doll,” she says and helps you pack up so the two of you can get in the car faster. You’re checking the spot one last time just to make sure you have everything when Agatha turns the vibrator on. Your knees buckle this time because of how needy you are, but she catches you. 

“Agatha,” you breathe, pleasure overtaking your body. 

“Thought you wanted to leave?” She teases innocently and you wrap your arms around her so you can try to walk because she hasn’t turned it off. 

You’ve become a moaning mess, face pressed hotly into Agatha’s neck while she basically drags you to the car. You can see goosebumps on the older woman and you can hear her breathing get heavier so you know she’s at least a little affected too. 

“Please, please, Aggie, so close,” you babble and it seems like the car is a mile away. 

“Aw, does my baby need some relief right now?” She asks, and as pathetic as it is, you nod your head eagerly. She turns it off and you’re able to stand on your own, but Agatha takes off in a different direction of the car. 

“Where are you going?” You call after her, but then you realize she’s making a beeline towards a bench. You follow in a daze, not really sure what’s going on. She sits and pats her thighs. 

“Since you’re so desperate,” she says with a smirk. You think you might cum right then and there. She spreads her legs when you get closer so you’re able to straddle one of her legs. “Grind.” 

She doesn't have to tell you twice. You wrap your arms around her neck and bury your head back into her, moving your hips experimentally. 

And then she turns the toy back on and you rip your face out of her shoulder to bite your hand before you moan loudly. 

“Fuck,” you keen, rhythm getting sloppy but she moves her hands to her waist to help you out. 

“You like this?” She pants into your ear and your resounding moan is all the answer she needs. “You like riding my thigh in a park where anyone could walk by and see how much you need me?”

You nod frantically, every single drag against her leg pushing the vibration against your clit. It feels so delicious and you’ve been on edge all day. 

“So desperate for me, so desperate for mommy,” she whispers and her voice shakes a little on the last word, almost like she was nervous. Clearly she had nothing to be nervous about though, because your walls clench even more and you let out a loud whine. You can practically hear her smirking at you. 

“Mommy,” you gasp, moving your hips faster, chasing your high. “Need to cum, so close.” 

“Do you want to cum all over my leg right now?” She says lowly, peppering your jaw with kisses. 

“Please, please, yes, mommy,” you beg. Agatha grabs your chin and tilts it up to lean in for a kiss, but she stops a breath away from your lips. 

And then the vibrations stop. 

“No, no,” you cry, furiously grinding against her leg, trying to regain the stimulation that you just lost. It’s no use; it’s not the same. Her fingernails dig into your hip to stop your movements. 

Your head drops against her shoulder in frustration and you can feel her body shake with contained laughter.

“Why?” You ask and you’re almost ashamed of how needy you sound. Her thumb swipes your bottom lip and then brushes your sweaty hair off your forehead. 

“I’m not having the first time I make you cum be on a park bench using a vibrator,” she says matter-of-factly. “It’s going to be in my bed, with either my fingers or my mouth.” You bite your lip at the thought and your hips give another weak jump. She smirks. “After that, we’ll have all the time for toys in the world.” 

And with that, she stands you back up and pulls you to the car, intending to make good on her promise. 

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ━━ Swimming in Sin

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 6.6K

☆ ━ warnings: homophobia, religious themes, mentions of conversation therapy, emotional & physical abuse (it’s not much but if you’re uncomfortable reading it, don’t)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: imma just leave this here

IT’S MONDAY now, and Dani sits in the passenger seat of Paige’s car, the engine off but the faint hum of life around them in the parking lot loud enough to feel present. Students mill about the edges of the lot, but the two of them are hidden away in Paige’s old car. The smell of Paige’s half-eaten sandwich lingers between them, mingling with the faint scent of Dani’s lavender hand lotion.

Paige slouches dramatically in the driver’s seat, her legs stretched out so far her sneakered feet almost hit the pedals. Her sandwich sits abandoned in her lap, crumbs dotting the fabric of her sweatpants, and her face is twisted into a scowl.

“I mean, two and a half weeks,” Paige groans, leaning her head back against the seat. “It’s so dumb. No leaving the house, no seeing any of my friends, no hanging out with you. What am I, bro, twelve?”

Dani picks at the edges of the granola bar in her hand, peeling back the wrapper bit by bit. She keeps her voice light as she says, “What’d you think was gonna happen? He just lets you off the hook? You threw a party, Paige—and never even tried to get permission. And you were completely wasted.”

Paige rolls her eyes so hard Dani thinks she might actually sprain something. “It’s not like I killed someone,” she mutters. “And it’s not like I wasn’t gonna clean up after. Besides, you were there to take care of me. He should’ve been thanking you, not grounding me.”

Dani shakes her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite herself. “I don’t think that’s how he sees it.”

“Well, he’s being dramatic,” Paige insists, sitting up now, her hands gesturing wildly as she speaks. “Two and a half weeks of this? How am I supposed to not hang out with you for that long? I get separation anxiety!”

Dani shrugs, fighting a smile at the last sentence, though the thought tugs at her too. She’s upset about it, of course she is, but she’d seen this coming. In fact, she’d half-expected Bob to ban her from their house altogether after Saturday. Two weeks of grounding, in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t seem so bad.

“You’ll survive,” Dani says, trying to sound casual even though she knows Paige won’t let it drop that easily. “Besides, it’s only two weeks. And we can still hang out at lunch and in Lit every day. And we can FaceTime whenever you want.”

Paige groans dramatically, as if the suggestion alone is an insult. “But it’s not the same,” she whines, slumping back against the seat again. “I can’t cuddle you over FaceTime, Dani. Or kiss you.” She leans over suddenly, draping herself across the center console so that her head lands against Dani’s shoulder. Dani stiffens for a moment, glancing out the window to make sure no one’s looking, before relaxing.

“It’s not the same,” Paige repeats, her voice muffled against Dani’s jacket.

Dani sighs, tilting her head down to rest her cheek against the top of Paige’s head. She feels the familiar weight of her girlfriend pressing against her, grounding her, even as Paige continues to pout. “I know it’s not the same,” Dani says softly.

She shifts, her free hand moving to tilt Paige’s face up toward hers. Paige’s blue eyes, always so clear and striking, look impossibly—and dramatically—sad now, and it tugs at something deep in Dani’s chest. She leans in, pressing a light kiss to Paige’s lips. It’s quick, barely more than a brush, but it’s enough to feel the way Paige melts against her.

When Dani pulls back, Paige lets out a little whine, her lips still parted as though she’s waiting for more. Dani grins despite herself, resting her forehead against Paige’s for a moment. “Only two weeks,” she murmurs.

“Two weeks too long,” Paige mutters, her eyes closing as she leans into Dani’s touch.

Dani chuckles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Paige’s face. “You’ll survive,” she repeats, though this time it feels more like a promise than a statement.

THE DRIVEWAY is quiet as Dani parks, the hum of the engine cutting off abruptly and leaving her in stillness. She exhales, her breath visible in the icy Minnesota night air, and slouches forward for a moment, forehead pressed against the steering wheel. The gymnastics meet had been a long one—nearly three hours of standing, crouching, and angling for the perfect shots. Her back aches, her legs are sore, and all she wants is to crawl into bed and disappear under her blankets.

But there’s homework waiting, a mountain of it she’s been putting off. AP Calculus, a Lit essay, and some editing work for the yearbook photos she’d taken tonight. Dani groans quietly to herself, leaning back in her seat before finally mustering the energy to grab her photography bag from the passenger seat.

The cold hits her immediately as she steps out of the car, sharp and unforgiving, slicing through her sweatshirt and sinking into her skin. She hurries up the walkway, her sneakers crunching against the thin layer of frost on the ground. Her fingers fumble with the keys, and she’s relieved when the door finally swings open, the familiar warmth of home enveloping her.

Dani kicks off her shoes, letting them fall in a heap by the door, and shrugs off her coat, tossing it onto the rack. Her keys find their place on the hook by the wall, and she drops her photography bag by the entryway, too tired to care about putting it away properly. Her stomach grumbles softly as she pads toward the kitchen, craving something quick and easy before she tackles the rest of her night.

But the second she steps into the kitchen, she freezes.

Her dad is sitting at the table, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes already locked on hers.

The look he gives her is unyielding, sharp enough to cut through the fog of her exhaustion. His mouth is set in a firm line, his jaw tight, and there’s a weight to his gaze that makes Dani’s stomach twist.

She knows.

She immediately knows.

She doesn’t need him to say anything. She doesn’t need an explanation. She can feel it in the air between them, heavy and suffocating.

He knows about her and Paige.

Dani’s body goes cold. It’s not just the March air still clinging to her from outside, nor the exhaustion weighing her limbs from the long day. This is something else entirely—something that feels like dread pooling in the pit of her stomach, clawing its way up her throat.

She forces herself to meet her dad’s eyes, but it’s like staring into a storm—chaos barely contained behind the sharp lines of his face, his clenched jaw, his rigid posture. He’s keeping his tone measured, his voice low, but somehow that makes it worse. Scarier, almost, than if he were yelling at her.

When he gestures to the chair across from him and says, “I think we should have a talk,” her legs nearly buckle.

Her hands are trembling as she pulls out the chair and sinks into it. She sits on the edge of the seat, stiff and awkward, her fingers finding their way to the edge of the table to anchor herself. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real. This isn’t happening—not here, not now. But the look on his face tells her otherwise.

It feels like an out-of-body experience, that the thing she’s feared the worst over the past few months is finally coming true.

“I was talking to Beau’s father earlier today,” Dani’s father begins, his voice cool and detached. “You know—your apparent boyfriend.”

The way he spits the word out makes Dani flinch, her nails digging into the underside of the table. Her heart pounds so loudly she’s sure he can hear it. She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing.

“I hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him since the fall,” he continues. “You know, since he switched companies and we no longer worked together. But today, he told me some very… interesting things.”

His eyes are sharp as they pin her in place, his words deliberate. “Do you want to know what they are?”

Dani can’t respond. Her throat is dry, her chest tight, and the room feels like it’s closing in on her. She can only stare at the table, her fingers now nervously picking at her nails beneath it.

When she doesn’t answer, he presses, his voice dropping to something sharper. “Except, I think you already know what they are, Danielle. So, do you want to tell me yourself?”

Dani’s breath catches. Every instinct tells her to run, to get up and leave before this gets worse, but her body is frozen, glued to the chair. Her father is watching her so intently, waiting for her to break, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can hold it together.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she swallows the lump in her throat and forces herself to speak. Her voice is small, barely audible. “Beau and I broke up.”

The admission feels like a death sentence, but she can’t take it back now.

Her dad’s laugh is cold, devoid of any humor, and it makes her stomach churn. “Yeah, you did,” he says, his tone dripping with disdain. “In November, apparently. Over four fucking months ago, Danielle!”

He slams his fist against the table, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. Dani jumps, her pulse skyrocketing, and the first sting of tears pricks at her eyes.

“I just…” she begins, her voice breaking, “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” he repeats, his laughter sharper this time, almost unhinged. “Oh, we haven’t even scratched the surface on that.”

Dani can’t bring herself to look at him anymore. She stares at her lap, blinking back tears, wishing she could disappear.

“You want to know the most interesting thing Mr. Hudson told me today?” he says, his voice cutting through the silence.

Dani doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“He told me that Beau said you broke up with him for a girl.”

The words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. He lets them settle, lets them twist like a knife in her chest before he repeats himself, his voice dripping with disgust.

“A girl.”

Paige.

Dani’s lungs constrict as her dad’s words pile onto her like stones, each one heavier than the last. Her heart pounds so loudly in her ears she can barely hear him, but the venom in his voice is unmistakable.

“I didn’t want to believe him. Not even a little bit,” he says, his voice trembling now, teetering on the edge of something raw. He shakes his head, as if trying to erase the very idea from his mind. “I couldn’t help but think to myself that no, my little girl wouldn’t do this—not again. I thought you’d learned your lesson, gotten past these types of things.”

Her stomach twists violently at the phrase these types of things, a wave of shame and dread crashing over her. She can’t meet his eyes anymore. She focuses on a crack in the table, blinking furiously to keep her vision clear. But it doesn’t work. A tear slips down her cheek, then another. She wipes at them quickly, desperate to hide any sign of weakness.

“I thought that maybe the Hudson boy made this up,” he continues, his tone brittle, almost pleading. “To save face, you know? To make himself feel better about the breakup. I refused to believe it because I’ve been so proud of you, Danielle. So proud of all the progress you’ve made.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and it’s like a knife twisting in her gut. She feels the weight of his disappointment like an iron shackle around her neck, dragging her down.

And then he drops the pretense of restraint entirely. “But I came home,” he says, his voice growing sharper, harder. “I needed to figure it out for myself. So I went up to your bedroom and looked around. And sure enough, Beau Hudson was telling the truth. You did leave him for a girl. The same girl you nearly ruined your life for last summer!”

Dani’s breath hitches, panic clawing at her chest as he pulls items off the chair beside him, tossing them onto the table like damning evidence in a courtroom.

A Hopkins basketball sweatshirt. Paige’s sweatshirt. He must’ve found it in her closet.

The printed photo from last week’s state championship, where Paige’s mom had insisted on taking a picture of the two of them. In it, Dani and Paige are standing close, too close, their smiles wide and happy, the kind that only come from people who are comfortable in each other’s orbit. Their shoulders are pressed together, and Paige’s hand is wrapped around Dani’s waist.

A folded note with the initials PB scribbled on the front, the one Paige had slipped into her photography bag last week after practice.

More things follow: a pressed flower Paige had given her after a walk in the park, a ticket stub from the movie they’d gone to see together last month, a journal entry about Paige that Dani had foolishly written—her father must’ve ripped the page from the notebook. It’s all so mundane, these little artifacts of their relationship, but to her dad, they’re something else entirely.

All the air seems to leave Dani’s body as she stares at the pile. There’s no way out of this. None. He’s found everything.

Her dad begins pacing, his hand dragging down his face as his breathing grows heavier. His movements are frantic now, like he’s trying to physically outrun his own fury. He seems to be losing himself, his voice starting to rise, too.

“I thought we were past all of this!” he shouts, octaves echoing off the walls. “I thought you’d learned! I thought you’d grown! But here we are, right back at square one, and you’re still the same little sinner, getting caught up in all this gay bullshit again. It’s disgusting, Danielle.”

The words hit her like a slap to the face. She feels her cheeks burn, but it’s not from anger. It’s from humiliation, from the sheer weight of hearing him say the words out loud, like her existence is something filthy, something shameful.

Her breathing quickens, shallow and erratic, as he barrels on.

“I sent you to camp!” he yells, gesturing wildly as if the memory of it alone should be enough to set her straight. Truthfully, it might. “They told me they fixed you. They told me you got better, that you understood the weight of your actions, the power of God.” He pauses, running both hands through his hair, his eyes wide and wild. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Dani, I’m really gonna have to send you back there. Do you know how fucking embarrassing that is for you? That you’re gonna have to be sent back for a round two because you couldn’t get it through your thick fucking skull the first time?”

“No,” Dani whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears.

Her dad doesn’t hear her—or doesn’t care.

“I sacrificed so much to send you there!” he continues, his voice rising again. “And for what? For you to come back and make a mockery of this family all over again?”

“Please, no,” Dani says again, louder this time, but her voice wavers and cracks.

She can feel herself spiraling. Her hands shake uncontrollably as she grips the edge of the chair, her knuckles white. She can’t go back to camp. She can’t.

The memory of it flashes in her mind—cold, sterile rooms; endless hours of lectures about sin and shame; the suffocating, unrelenting pressure to repent for something she doesn’t even think is wrong. The thought of being trapped there again, of losing herself completely this time, is unbearable.

Dani feels herself sinking, her father’s tirade muffling into a dull roar as the panic grips her fully. Her breaths are shallow, too quick, and the edges of her vision start to darken. She clutches at the back of the chair, trying to steady herself, but the weight of his words is unbearable.

Not again. I can’t go back.

But his voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts like a blade. “Do you hear me, Danielle?” he shouts, slamming a hand onto the counter. “You’re going back. I don’t care what it takes. You need to fucking learn the severity of the sins you’ve been swimming in! I’ll send you on the next flight if I have to!”

The words snap something in her, a thread pulled too tight finally breaking. Her mind drags her back, unwillingly, to that first day at camp.

JUNE 2019

The air inside Mrs. Keating’s office is thick and stifling, a mix of lavender and cleaning solution that seems calculated to force calm. Dani sits in the chair across from her assigned counselor, her shoulders curled inward and her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She doesn’t meet Mrs. Keating’s eyes, instead keeping her gaze fixed on the wall behind her.

Mrs. Keating looks calm, unnervingly so. She’s an older woman, her hair pinned back into a severe bun, her glasses perched neatly on her nose. There’s nothing about her that invites warmth or softness.

She’s quiet for a moment, studying Dani like she’s some kind of puzzle to be solved. “Do you know why you’re here, Danielle?” she asks finally, her voice calm and deliberate.

Dani shrugs, her movements small and tense. “Not sure,” she says, her tone clipped.

Mrs. Keating tilts her head slightly, like she’s trying to peer inside Dani’s mind. “You’re here because your actions have led you down a path of sin. A path that separates you from your family, from your faith, and from God.”

The words sit heavily in the room, and Dani shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Her pulse is steady but loud in her ears, and she can feel the way her body tightens at the mention of God. It’s always God with them. Like He’s some weapon to wield against her, not some presence she’s ever known to feel safe or loved by.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Dani says after a long pause. Her voice is soft, almost apologetic, but there’s a firmness beneath it.

Mrs. Keating nods slowly, as though she expected the answer. “You believe that because the enemy—the Devil—has planted lies in your heart, Danielle. Lies that make what you’ve done feel natural, even good. But deep down, you know that it’s not. That’s why you feel guilt, isn’t it?”

Dani swallows hard. She doesn’t feel guilt—not about Paige, anyway. There’s guilt about other things, sure. About being sent here. About what it’s doing to her dad, about how she’s made everything so messy and complicated. But not about Paige.

Still, the way Mrs. Keating speaks gets under her skin. It’s calm, calculated. Like she’s dissecting Dani piece by piece and cataloging her flaws for some case study. Dani hates it. It makes her feel small. Exposed.

“I don’t feel guilty,” Dani says, but the words come out quieter than she intended. She’s not sure she even believes them.

“Of course you do,” Mrs. Keating counters smoothly, leaning forward slightly. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. Your father wouldn’t have sent you.”

That makes Dani flinch. Her father. The sharp sting of his disappointment still weighs heavily on her chest, pressing down in a way she can’t escape. His face when he’d told her she was going to camp had been full of anger, yes, but there had been something worse beneath it—something that looked like shame.

He hadn’t even looked at her when he dropped her off.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Dani mutters, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We’re going to talk about it, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating says, her tone firm but still devoid of emotion. “Because this is the first step. You have to face the reality of your actions if you’re ever going to heal.”

Dani’s hands tighten in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. “There’s nothing to heal from,” she says, more forcefully this time before repeating, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mrs. Keating doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she sits back in her chair, her sharp eyes fixed on Dani like she’s waiting for something. Dani shifts under the weight of her gaze, but she doesn’t break the silence.

Finally, Mrs. Keating speaks. “Tell me about the girl.”

Dani’s chest tightens. She doesn’t look up.

“The one your father mentioned,” Mrs. Keating presses. “The one who led you astray.”

“She didn’t lead me astray,” Dani protests quickly, the words tumbling out before she can stop them.

Mrs. Keating doesn’t react to the outburst. “So you do feel something for her, then.”

Dani freezes, her stomach twisting into knots. She doesn’t know how to navigate this, doesn’t know what answer won’t be used against her later.

After a moment, she settles for, “There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing. Paige isn’t wrong. What we had isn’t wrong.” Her tone is slightly more argumentative, more confrontational than usual. But she’s been sent to this unfamiliar, scary fucking place so she supposes she has a right to.

“What you had,” Mrs. Keating repeats, leaning forward slightly. “You speak as though it’s in the past. Is that because you already know it cannot last? That it is not sustainable?”

Dani’s jaw tightens, her teeth grinding together. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t trust herself to speak without snapping. She can feel her nails biting into her skin, but the sharp pain is grounding. It keeps her from falling apart completely.

Mrs. Keating takes the silence as an opening. “This is a safe space, Danielle. You can be honest here. Talk to me.”

Dani doesn’t talk to her. She doesn’t talk at all. She looks away, her gaze zeroing in on a jagged pattern on the wood flooring, eyes wide and unblinking. Her eyes burn, but she won’t let Keating see her cry. She won’t give her that satisfaction. She refuses.

Eventually, Mrs. Keating stands, the movement slow and deliberate. She walks around the desk and stops in front of Dani, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Dani stiffens at the contact, trying to shrug the hand off, but Mrs. Keating’s grip is firm. It doesn’t hurt, not quite, but it feels invasive.

“You have a lot to learn here, Danielle Callan,” Mrs. Keating says quietly, her voice unshakable. “But that’s why you’re here. To learn. And you will.”

THE MEMORY lingers in Dani’s mind like a weight she can’t shake, thick and suffocating. Mrs. Keating’s calm voice echoes in her head, the grip on her shoulder a phantom pressure she swears she can still feel. She shakes her head slightly, trying to dislodge the thought, but it refuses to leave.

She can’t do it.

She can’t do it again.

Her dad’s voice cuts through her thoughts, sharp and furious. He’s been yelling for what feels like forever, pacing the length of the living room with heavy, deliberate steps. Every word he spits out feels like a lash against her skin, each syllable steeped in anger, in disbelief, in the kind of disappointment that makes Dani feel impossibly small.

“How could you do this to us again?” he barks, throwing his arms up. “After everything we went through, after everything you went through—this is how you repay us? By… by flaunting it like this? You didn’t even try to hide it this time, Danielle!”

Dani winces at his words, each one sinking into her chest like a stone. She stays seated on the hard chair, her hands balling into fists on her thighs. Her fingernails bite into her palms, the sharp sting grounding her, keeping her from unraveling completely.

He stops pacing suddenly, turning to face her with his hands on his hips. His eyes burn with conviction, his expression a mixture of frustration and bewilderment. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he demands.

Dani’s breath catches in her throat. She can’t hold his gaze for long, can’t stand the way he’s looking at her, like she’s some broken thing he can’t figure out how to fix. Her eyes drop to her lap, and she shifts uncomfortably in the chair.

Her throat feels tight, her eyes burning with the threat of tears she refuses to let fall. She swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t—I…” she starts, trying to force the words out. “I can’t be fixed, Dad. This isn’t something that’s fixable.”

The silence that follows is heavy, almost unbearable. She risks a glance at him, but his face is unreadable now, his mouth a firm line, his eyes locked on her.

So she keeps going, her voice trembling but steady enough to push through. “I didn’t choose to like other girls—like Paige—like that. It just… happened. I was born like this. I’ve had these thoughts since I was little. I can’t be fixed, can’t be changed. The—the ‘gay’ stuff you’re talking about can’t just be prayed away.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, Dani thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s heard her. But then he straightens, his expression hardening, and he shakes his head. “You didn’t try hard enough,” he says firmly, his voice like steel. “You weren’t at camp long enough.”

The words ignite something in Dani, something sharp and bitter and raw. Her head snaps up, and for the first time, she meets his gaze head-on, her eyes flashing. Her voice is louder now, trembling with emotion she can’t contain.

“I did try!” she says, standing up as the chair scrapes against the wooden floor. “I tried so hard! I didn’t talk to Paige for months; I completely pushed her away. I dated Beau like you wanted me to. I did everything that was supposed to be right! And I was miserable for every second of it!”

Her voice cracks, and she feels the tears spill over now, hot and relentless. She swipes at them angrily but keeps going, because she has to. Because if she doesn’t, she might never say it again.

“I wasn’t happy that way!” she cries, her voice breaking with the weight of it all. “Can’t you just let me be happy, Dad?”

The tears come harder now, blurring her vision as she stares at him, her chest heaving with every breath. She’s willing him to understand, willing him to hear her, because all she wants—all she wants—is to be happy.

But the silence stretches on, suffocating, and Dani’s heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.

Dani’s dad stares at her, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as if he’s physically restraining himself from exploding again. His gaze feels like it’s drilling into her, searching for something, as if the right words might pull her back into the version of herself he’s convinced she’s lost.

Dani meets his eyes, even though everything in her screams to look away. They’re both standing now, face to face, close enough that she can see the tight lines of his jaw, the furrow between his brows that only deepens the longer he looks at her.

For a moment, she thinks maybe he’s going to soften, maybe he’ll finally hear her. But then his face hardens all over again, and his voice comes out sharp, slicing through the fragile silence.

“This is a sin,” he snaps, the words like venom on his tongue. “You think you know better than God? You think this is how He made you?” He throws up his hands, his voice rising with every word. “No, Danielle, you were not born this way. You were fine until… until her.”

Dani’s stomach drops. She doesn’t have to ask who he means.

He doesn’t stop. “It’s that Bueckers girl! She did this to you—she’s the one who ruined you!”

“No, she wasn’t!” Dani yells, her voice breaking halfway through. Her hands shake at her sides as she takes a step closer, her eyes wide and pleading. “Dad, no! Everything she did, I did too! There was no… no influence, no manipulation! I’m telling you, this isn’t something you or anyone else can fix!”

But he’s already shaking his head furiously, his expression twisting into something cruel. “It can be fixed!” he shouts back, his voice booming in the small space. “I refuse to watch you go to hell over this! I refuse, do you hear me? You’re gonna go back to that camp, and they’re gonna help you, and you’re gonna stay long enough this time to be saved, I swear it!”

Dani feels like the floor is falling out from under her. “I’m not going back there!” she protests, her voice cracking with desperation. She thinks her nails might be digging so harsh into her that it’ll draw blood. She doesn’t care.

“Oh, yes, you will!” he yells back, his eyes flashing with a fire she’s never seen before.

“You can’t make me!” she throws back, her voice raw.

For all his negative words directed at her, all the screaming and yelling, all the accusations—there’s always been something that’s held him back from ever going past using his words. He’s never dared lay a hand on his daughter. But whatever that something was that stopped him has clearly been thrown out the window.

It’s so fast she almost doesn’t process it. His hand comes down, hard, across her face. The sound of the slap reverberates in the room, sharp and deafening, cutting through the air like a whip.

Her head jerks to the side from the force of it, her cheek immediately stinging, a fiery burn spreading across her skin. For a second, she can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but stand there, frozen.

Her hand comes up slowly, almost instinctively, to press against the spot where he struck her. Her palm is shaking as it touches her face, as if to confirm the reality of what just happened.

She stares at him, wide-eyed, her vision blurring with tears she refuses to let fall. There’s something unfamiliar in his eyes now, a look she’s never seen before, and it chills her to her core.

Disbelief crashes over her like a wave, drowning out everything else. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stands there, her heart pounding in her ears, the sting on her cheek the only thing grounding her in the moment.

For a moment, Dani stands frozen, her mind struggling to catch up with her body. Her breath is shallow and ragged, her chest heaving like she’s run a marathon. Some people freeze in fear, others run. Fight or flight—it’s instinctual. And Dani has always been the kind to freeze up.

But the fear in her now is different, deeper, and it sinks into her chest like a weight she can’t dislodge. It’s not the kind of fear that paralyzes—it’s the kind that propels. She can’t stay here. Not with him like this. Not when she doesn’t know what he’ll do next.

Her gaze darts to the table, where her phone lies just within reach, and she finally forces her limbs into action. Her hand trembles as she lunges for it, but before her fingers can graze the sleek surface, her dad’s hand intercepts her.

“Dad—wait—”

Her words barely leave her mouth before he wrenches the phone away. She watches, helpless, as he hurls it across the kitchen with a furious motion. The phone hits the tile floor with a sickening crack, the sound cutting through her like a blade. Bits of glass scatter, catching the light, and the air feels heavier, oppressive, as if the walls themselves are closing in.

Dani lets out a strangled sob, the sound escaping her throat without permission. She takes a step back, and then another, her hands coming up instinctively to shield herself. Her back bumps against the edge of the counter, and she feels trapped, like an animal cornered by its predator.

Her father’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and commanding. “Do you hear me, Danielle?”

His tone isn’t loud anymore, but it’s worse that way. The quiet intensity of it crawls under her skin and wraps around her chest like a vice. She can’t look at him. She’s too scared of what she might see. Instead, her eyes dart toward the shattered remnants of her phone, then back to the floor, her body trembling.

“Dad, please,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. Her throat feels raw, her words choked by the tears she’s holding back. “You’re scaring me. Please, just—just stop.”

But he doesn’t stop. He moves closer, his footsteps deliberate, until he’s towering over her. Dani flinches as his hands reach out, but he doesn’t hit her again. Instead, his fingers clamp down on her shoulders, firm and unyielding.

“You’re going back tomorrow,” he says, his face mere inches from hers. His voice is calm now, too calm, but every syllable lands like a blow. “You’re going back. And you’re staying there until they fix you.”

Dani tries to shake her head, tries to move away from his grip, but he holds her in place. Her tears spill freely now, hot trails streaking down her cheeks.

“I can’t,” she chokes out, her voice cracking. “I can’t go back there. You don’t understand. I can’t do it again.”

“You don’t have a choice,” he snaps, his grip tightening. “Go upstairs. Pack your things.”

His words slam into her like a physical force, and she feels herself crumbling beneath the weight of them. She’s trembling, her knees weak, but she doesn’t move.

“Dad, I—”

“No.” His voice is steel. “Do you hear me, Danielle? Do what I said. Now.”

The intensity in his eyes pierces through her, and for a moment, all she can do is stare back at him, tears blurring her vision. She feels so small, so powerless, her body shrinking under the weight of his anger. The room is suffocating, the air thick and unrelenting.

When she finally finds her voice again, it comes out soft and broken. “I don’t want to go back.”

Her father doesn’t answer. He just stares at her, his expression set, his hands still gripping her shoulders as if holding her in place. The silence stretches between them, heavy and unyielding, and Dani feels herself breaking under it.

Dani doesn’t think; she just moves. Her father’s grip isn’t as strong as his words, and she twists out of it with a force she didn’t know she had. Her pulse pounds in her ears as she spots the keys hanging on the small hook by the door. They’re so close—just a couple of feet away.

She can make it. She has to make it.

Her body acts before her mind can catch up, surging forward. Her dad’s hands grab at her, but she slips free, adrenaline pushing her faster than his reaction time. Her fingers curl around the cool metal of her car keys, and she yanks the front door open in one motion. The air outside is cold and sharp, but she barely notices as she sprints out onto the porch and down the driveway, her socks sliding slightly on the concrete.

“Dani!” her father’s voice bellows behind her, furious and disbelieving.

She doesn’t stop. She can’t. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, and the ache in her chest is overwhelming, but her body doesn’t let her pause. The car is right there.

She reaches it just as he does, her hands fumbling to open the door. Her father’s voice is louder now, closer, almost on top of her. “Danielle! Stop this right now!”

But she doesn’t stop. She slides into the driver’s seat, slams the door shut, and locks it in one fluid motion. Her hands are shaking so violently she can barely grip the steering wheel, but she manages to press the ignition button.

Her dad is at the window now, his face red and furious, his voice muffled but still terrifyingly clear through the glass. “This is my car!” he yells, banging on the window. “I pay for it! Get out right now!”

Dani can’t look at him. She keeps her eyes straight ahead, her vision blurred with tears. Her whole body is trembling, her hands slipping on the wheel as she shifts into reverse.

“Danielle!” His fist slams against the glass again, making her jump, but she doesn’t let it stop her.

The car jerks as she pulls out of the driveway too fast, the tires screeching slightly against the pavement. She doesn’t care. Her dad’s voice fades into the background as she speeds down the street, her hands gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles turn white.

She doesn’t look back. Not at him, not at the house, not at the neighborhood she’s known her entire life.

Her chest feels like it’s caving in, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She’s crying so hard she can barely see, her tears mixing with the streaks of rain on the windshield. Everything feels blurry, distorted, like she’s underwater and the world is pressing in on all sides.

Her mind races as fast as the car. The words he said replay over and over, looping endlessly until they feel burned into her brain. You’re going back. You need to be fixed. I refuse to watch you go to hell.

Her dad’s voice has always been loud, always sharp, but this… this was different. Because for the first time in her life, Dani was scared of him. Truly, bone-deep scared. Not just of what he might have said to her, but what he might have done to her.

The thought of going back to camp makes her stomach churn violently. She can still hear the echo of Mrs. Keating’s voice in her head, those sickly sweet tones that masked something far darker. She can feel the weight of the prayers, the way they crushed her under their expectations, as if forcing her into a mold she could never fit.

I can’t go back there, she thinks, the words looping through her head like a desperate mantra. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

Her fingers tighten on the wheel, and she forces herself to focus on the road in front of her, though she has no idea where she’s going. The streets blur together, familiar landmarks passing by unnoticed. In the back of her mind, she knows she should have a plan, but right now, all she can do is drive.

In an ideal world, she’d go to Paige’s. Paige would know what to do. Paige always knows what to do. But Dani can’t. Paige’s house is too close, just one door down. Her dad would’ve followed her there in a heartbeat, and Paige is already in trouble enough as it is.

She lets out a shaky sob, her shoulders heaving as she turns onto a random street. The car feels too big and too small all at once, the silence inside it deafening. She’s not even sure how far she’s gone, but it doesn’t matter. The tears don’t stop.

Her hands are shaking so badly that she has to pull over, the car screeching to a halt on the side of a dimly lit road. She sits there, gripping the wheel as though it’s the only thing tethering her to reality, her body trembling with the force of her sobs.

Dani feels lost—nowhere to go, nothing in front of her.

[jmkjournalblog]

Sweet thing (Part 2)

Part 1

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Word count: 4000+

Warnings: Smut, Power dynamics, Mommy kink, manipulation, mild Dom/sub elements, a lot of talking. 

A/n: I couldn't forget this plot that came to me after watching AAA so, here we go. Btw English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

It started with Wanda’s persistent nudging. The woman seemed determined to weave Y/N into the very fabric of Westview, her matchmaking efforts growing more elaborate by the day. When Wanda suggested that Y/N stay with Agatha for a while to "bond" and "learn a few things about life in Westview" Y/N had blushed profusely, her eyes darting to the floor as though the very idea embarrassed her.

Agatha had played along, smiling tightly and shrugging. “Well, if you insist, Wanda,” she said, her tone light, though she was inwardly wary.

Now, as Y/N stood on her doorstep with a small bag, Agatha found herself studying the girl more closely than ever.

“You’re sure about this?” Agatha asked, one brow raised.

Y/N nodded quickly, her cheeks pink. “I don’t want to be a bother,” she said softly. “Wanda just thought…” She trailed off, wringing her hands.

“Oh, don’t worry about Wanda,” Agatha said with a wry smile. “She’s always got some scheme or another. Come on in, sweetie.”

Y/N stepped inside, her movements hesitant as she looked around the cozy living room. Agatha watched her, noting the way her fingers brushed the edge of a chair, her gaze lingering on the trinkets scattered about.

“Make yourself at home,” Agatha said, gesturing toward the couch. “I don’t bite. Usually.”

Y/N laughed softly, though her blush deepened. “Thank you,” she said, sitting on the edge of the couch and folding her hands in her lap.

Agatha leaned against the arm of a chair, crossing her arms as she studied the girl. “So, what’s Wanda got planned for us? Baking cookies? Knitting scarves? Or is this just her way of keeping us both busy?”

Y/N smiled shyly, her gaze dropping. “I think she just wants us to… get along,” she said.

Agatha chuckled. “Oh, we’ll get along just fine, sweetie. As long as you don’t burn the house down.”

The girl was irresistible in her own way—timid, bashful, eager to please. She fluttered around Agatha’s house like a nervous sparrow, her wide eyes full of gratitude and uncertainty. It was disarming, this sweetness that seemed to radiate from her with every clumsy gesture and quiet laugh.

At first, Agatha had kept her distance, watching Y/N from behind her sharp smirks and probing comments. But as the day wore on, the girl’s earnestness began to wear her down.

By evening, Agatha found herself leaning back on the couch, a glass of wine in hand as she watched Y/N kneeling on the floor in front of her, sorting through an old box of books.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Agatha said, her tone warm with amusement.

Y/N looked up, her green eyes wide and innocent. “I don’t mind,” she said quickly, her hands pausing over a dusty tome. “I want to help. You’ve been so nice, letting me stay here and all.”

Agatha chuckled, swirling her wine. “Sweetheart, you’re practically falling over yourself to please me. You don’t need to try so hard.”

Y/N hesitated, her hands faltering as a blush crept up her cheeks. “I just… I want you to like me,” she murmured, her voice soft.

Agatha’s smirk softened, her gaze lingering on the girl. She set her wine down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Oh, honey. I already like you,” she said, her voice rich and velvety. “Maybe a little too much.”

Y/N’s blush deepened, her eyes darting away as she fidgeted with the book in her lap. “You’re teasing me again,” she mumbled.

“Of course I am,” Agatha replied with a grin. “It’s adorable how flustered you get.”

Y/N let out a nervous laugh, the sound shaky but endearing. She set the book aside and shifted onto her knees, her movements hesitant. “You… you really think I’m adorable?”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, sensing the shy vulnerability in the question. She leaned back, her smirk widening. “Oh, absolutely. You’re like a little kitten, all wide eyes and nervous energy. Makes me want to… pet you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her hands twisting in her lap as she looked up at Agatha, her cheeks burning. “I… I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha leaned forward, her hands resting on her knees as she studied the girl. There was something intoxicating about Y/N’s deference, the way she seemed to hang on Agatha’s every word, every glance. It sparked a possessive warmth deep in her chest, a need to see how far she could push this timid little thing.

“You don’t have to say anything, sweetie,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and smooth. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against Y/N’s cheek.

The girl’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch, her breath catching as Agatha’s thumb traced the curve of her jaw. She leaned into the caress, her lips parting slightly as if to say something, but no words came.

Agatha’s smirk softened into something more indulgent, her gaze lingering on Y/N’s flushed face. “You’re too cute for your own good,” she said, her voice a husky murmur.

Y/N opened her eyes, her gaze meeting Agatha’s with a mixture of nervousness and longing. “Agnes…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Agatha’s name on her lips sent a shiver down her spine. She leaned closer, her hand slipping behind Y/N’s neck as she drew the girl toward her. Their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, the warmth of Y/N’s mouth sending a surge of heat through Agatha’s veins.

Y/N gasped against her, her hands flying to Agatha’s arms as she clung to her, her body trembling. Agatha deepened the kiss, her fingers tangling in Y/N’s hair as she pulled her closer.

When they broke apart, Y/N’s cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven as she stared up at Agatha with wide, wondering eyes. “I… I’ve never…” she began, but the words caught in her throat.

Agatha’s lips curved into a slow smile, her eyes dark with intrigue as she leaned closer, the warmth of the moment building between them. Her voice softened, dropping to a soothing murmur. "Oh, honey. Is that what’s got you so worked up?"

Y/N nodded, her gaze flitting nervously between Agatha’s eyes and her hands. "I just… I didn’t want you to think I was stupid or… or something." Her voice wavered, tinged with both embarrassment and vulnerability.

"Stupid?" Agatha let out a low, genuine laugh, her chest warming at the sheer adorableness of the girl’s nervousness. She reached out, her fingers brushing gently against Y/N’s cheek before tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Y/N flinched slightly at the touch, her lips parting in a soft gasp, and the vulnerability in that small reaction made Agatha’s heart skip.

"Sweetheart," she said, her voice a velvet murmur, "there’s nothing stupid about not knowing. It’s… charming, really." Her smile turned sly, a wicked gleam flickering in her eyes. "Besides," she added, her fingers tracing a slow line down Y/N’s jaw, "I happen to be an excellent teacher."

Y/N’s breath hitched, her wide eyes locking onto Agatha’s. There was a flicker of uncertainty there, but it was layered beneath something else—something that made Agatha’s pulse quicken. Y/N swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she asked, "You’d… teach me?"

Agatha’s smile deepened, satisfaction thrumming in her chest as she leaned closer, their faces mere inches apart. Her thumb brushed lightly over Y/N’s flushed cheek, the skin warm beneath her touch. "Oh, darling," she purred, her tone dripping with promise, "I’d love to teach you. But only if you want me to."

Y/N hesitated, her lips parting as though she were about to speak, but no words came. Instead, she nodded faintly, her eyes fluttering closed as her breathing grew shallow.

The moment stretched, thick with tension, until Y/N whispered, "I… I think I’d like that." Her words were so quiet that Agatha almost didn’t hear them, but the tremor in her voice sent a thrill racing through her.

"Good girl," Agatha murmured, her thumb brushing gently over Y/N’s bottom lip. Her hand tilted Y/N’s chin up, and she leaned in, her lips grazing Y/N’s in a kiss that was soft, tentative—testing the waters.

Y/N whimpered softly, the sound sending a jolt of heat through Agatha as she pressed more firmly against her. She guided Y/N’s chin with her fingers, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and Y/N’s lips parted under the pressure, trembling but eager. Agatha slid her tongue past the girl’s lips, tasting her, savoring the soft, unsure noises that escaped her throat.

Y/N gasped into the kiss, her hands fluttering uncertainly before resting on Agatha’s shoulders. Her fingers clutched the fabric of Agatha’s cardigan, her body trembling as she leaned into the older woman’s touch.

"Relax, sweetheart," Agatha whispered against Y/N’s lips, her voice low and soothing. "Just let me take care of you."

Y/N nodded shakily, her wide eyes brimming with nervous anticipation. Agatha leaned back slightly, her gaze raking over Y/N’s flushed face, the way her lips were slightly parted, her chest rising and falling with each uneven breath.

Agatha’s hand drifted down, her fingertips tracing the curve of Y/N’s neck, the delicate line of her collarbone, before coming to rest on her trembling hands. "Give me your hand," she murmured.

Y/N obeyed immediately, her fingers light and hesitant in Agatha’s grasp. Agatha lifted the girl’s hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles before trailing her mouth down to the tips of her fingers.

"Have you ever thought about how sensitive your hands are, darling?" Agatha asked, her voice teasing.

"N-No," Y/N stammered, her gaze fixed on Agatha as the older woman took her index finger into her mouth.

Agatha sucked lightly, her tongue swirling around the digit, and Y/N shuddered, a soft gasp slipping from her lips. "You’d be surprised what a little attention here can do," Agatha murmured, releasing the finger with a soft pop and grinning at Y/N’s reaction.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her cheeks a brilliant shade of red as she stammered, "I-I didn’t know…"

Agatha chuckled, her hands slipping to Y/N’s waist as she drew her closer. "Oh, honey, there’s so much you don’t know," she said, her voice low and affectionate. "But don’t worry—I’ll teach you everything."

Her fingers slid beneath the fabric of Y/N’s sweater, palms meeting warm, smooth skin. Y/N inhaled sharply, her body tensing for a moment before melting under Agatha’s touch.

"That’s it," Agatha murmured, her hands traveling upward, exploring the gentle curve of Y/N’s waist, the swell of her ribs.

Y/N whimpered, her head falling forward to rest against Agatha’s shoulder. "It feels… different," she admitted, her voice trembling.

"Good different?" Agatha teased, her fingers brushing just beneath the hem of Y/N’s bra.

Y/N nodded, her breath warm against Agatha’s neck. "Y-Yeah. Good."

"Good girl," Agatha whispered, her hands sliding higher to cup Y/N’s breasts over her bra. The fabric was soft, yielding under her touch, and Y/N arched instinctively into her hands.

Y/N gasped, her hands clutching at Agatha’s sleeves as she trembled in her grasp. "Agnes, I… I don’t…"

"Shh," Agatha soothed, her grin widened as her hands skimmed along Y/N’s waist, her thumbs brushing slow, teasing circles over the soft fabric of her sweater. The girl trembled beneath her touch, her breath quickening, her chest rising and falling in shallow waves.

“You’re so tense,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and coaxing. “Relax for me, sweetheart.”

Y/N nodded, her lips parting slightly as Agatha’s hands slipped beneath her sweater, fingertips meeting warm, bare skin. The soft gasp that escaped Y/N sent a thrill through Agatha, her smirk deepening as she pressed her palms against Y/N’s ribs, sliding upward with deliberate slowness.

“That’s better,” Agatha whispered, her lips brushing against the curve of Y/N’s jaw. “Just let go. You’re safe with me.”

Y/N shivered, her head tilting instinctively to the side, exposing more of her neck. Agatha didn’t hesitate, her lips trailing along the delicate skin, leaving light kisses that grew firmer with every lingering touch. Her hands explored further, fingers curling under the hem of Y/N’s bra, testing the boundary before slipping beneath it.

Y/N whimpered, her body arching slightly into Agatha’s touch as her thumbs brushed over the sensitive skin. “Agnes…” she gasped, her voice catching on the name.

The girl’s breath came in shallow, trembling bursts, her hands clutching at the fabric of Agatha’s cardigan as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. Agatha savored every reaction—the way Y/N’s body moved, the soft, stuttered sounds that spilled from her lips like a melody meant just for her.

“You’re so sensitive,” Agatha murmured, her lips brushing against Y/N’s temple. “So perfect. You feel how good this is, don’t you?”

Y/N could only nod, her cheeks burning as she whispered, “Y-Yes… It’s so much…”

“That’s the idea, darling,” Agatha said with a low chuckle. “It’s supposed to feel like this.”

She kissed Y/N again, deeper this time, her tongue coaxing the girl’s lips apart. Y/N moaned softly into the kiss, her body melting against Agatha’s as her hands moved to clutch at the older woman’s shoulders.

Agatha’s touch grew bolder, her hands skimming down Y/N’s sides, exploring every curve before settling on her hips. Her fingers teased at the waistband of Y/N’s skirt, brushing lightly against the bare skin just beneath it.

“Can I touch you here?” Agatha whispered against Y/N’s lips, her tone dark with intent.

Y/N hesitated, her breath catching, before nodding shyly. “Yes… Please.”

The eagerness in her voice sent a jolt of heat through Agatha, and she wasted no time, her hand slipping beneath the fabric to cup Y/N over her panties. The warmth, the slickness she felt there, made her smirk as she murmured, “Oh, darling, you’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?”

Y/N whimpered, her face burying in Agatha’s neck as her hips shifted instinctively toward her touch. “I… I don’t know what to do…” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

“You don’t have to do anything, honey,” Agatha reassured her, her fingers stroking gently, coaxing soft moans from the girl’s lips. “Just feel. Let me guide you.”

Y/N’s breathing quickened, her body trembling as Agatha slipped her hand beneath the thin barrier of fabric, her fingers meeting slick, heated skin. The first touch drew a sharp gasp from Y/N, her hips jerking involuntarily.

“So wet for me,” Agatha murmured, her voice laced with satisfaction. “You really are my good girl, aren’t you?”

The words made Y/N whimper, her hands gripping tightly at Agatha’s arms. Her head fell back against the couch, exposing her flushed face, her parted lips, as Agatha’s fingers moved in slow, deliberate strokes.

“You’re doing so well,” Agatha crooned, her thumb finding Y/N’s clit and circling it lightly. “You’re beautiful like this, you know that? Absolutely stunning.”

Y/N moaned, her body arching as she struggled to process the overwhelming sensations. “It’s… It’s too much,” she breathed, her hands clutching at Agatha’s sleeves.

“You can take it, sweetheart,” Agatha murmured, her lips brushing against Y/N’s ear. “Just let it happen.”

Y/N’s hips bucked against her hand, the heat building between them until every movement, every sound, seemed to reverberate in Agatha’s chest. Then it happened—Y/N’s voice broke on a trembling word, soft and desperate.

“Mommy…”

The room stilled for a beat. Y/N’s eyes widened in horror as the realization of what she’d said sank in. “I—I didn’t mean to—” she stammered, her face burning with mortification.

Agatha paused, then a slow, wicked grin spread across her face. “Mommy?” she repeated, her voice dripping with amusement.

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Please, forget I said that!”

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” Agatha said, chuckling as she gently pried Y/N’s hands away. “You can’t just say something like that and expect me to let it go.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Y/N squeaked, her face crimson. “It just… slipped out!”

Agatha’s smirk softened, her hand stroking Y/N’s cheek as she murmured, “Relax, honey. I’m not mad. In fact…” Her lips brushed against Y/N’s ear, her voice a low purr. “I think I like it.”

Y/N froze, her breath catching. “You… you do?” she whispered.

“Mm-hmm,” Agatha hummed, her hand slipping back to rest on Y/N’s hip. “It suits you, darling. And me, too, don’t you think?”

Y/N hesitated, her blush deepening, before nodding shyly. “Okay… Mommy.”

Agatha’s fingers continued their slow, deliberate rhythm, tracing lazy circles over the girl’s clit. Each stroke drew a soft gasp or trembling moan from Y/N’s lips, her body arching into Agatha’s touch as if chasing more. The heat between them was electric, crackling with every shift of Y/N’s hips, every stuttered breath that escaped her throat. Agatha reveled in the power she wielded, her hand slipping lower to explore the slick, inviting folds beneath her fingertips.

Y/N’s thighs trembled as Agatha’s fingers teased her entrance, her movements unhurried but purposeful, testing her reaction with every touch. The girl’s wetness coated Agatha’s fingers, the tangible proof of her arousal sending a thrill through the older woman. With a deliberate slowness, Agatha slid a finger inside, the heat and tightness wrapping around her making her exhale sharply. Y/N tensed for a moment, a sharp intake of breath escaping her, before her body relaxed again, adjusting to the new sensation.

“That’s it,” Agatha murmured, her lips brushing against Y/N’s ear as she began to move her finger in slow, shallow strokes. Her thumb continued its lazy circles over Y/N’s clit, coaxing soft, breathless whimpers from her.

Y/N’s hands clung to Agatha’s arms, her nails pressing lightly into her skin as her body writhed beneath her touch. Her head fell back, her lips parted as quiet, desperate moans spilled freely from her.

Agatha took her time, savoring every moment, every reaction. She added a second finger, sliding them deeper, her pace measured but firm. The way Y/N’s walls clenched around her, the soft cries that escaped her lips—it was intoxicating, a symphony Agatha wanted to play forever.

The girl’s hips began to move in rhythm with Agatha’s hand, her body instinctively chasing the pleasure. Agatha leaned down, her lips finding Y/N’s neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin before soothing it with a kiss. Y/N whimpered, her hands fisting in Agatha’s cardigan as the sensations overwhelmed her. The steady, relentless motion of Agatha’s fingers against that sweet spot inside her combined with the teasing pressure on her clit to push her closer to the edge.

The tension in Y/N’s body built with every stroke, her moans growing louder, more desperate. Agatha’s grin widened as she felt the girl tremble beneath her, her thighs quaking as the pressure mounted.

“That’s it,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and soothing, though her fingers never faltered. She curled them slightly, pressing against that sensitive spot that made Y/N cry out, her back arching. Her thumb circling Y/N’s clit with just enough pressure to make her whimper. “Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

The words were all it took. Y/N’s body tensed, her thighs clamping around Agatha’s hand as the wave of pleasure crashed over her. A strangled moan tore from her lips, her hips bucking as the orgasm took hold, overwhelming her with its intensity.

Agatha didn’t stop, her fingers moving gently to guide Y/N through it, her touch steady and reassuring. She kissed Y/N’s temple, her hand cradling her head as the girl’s body shuddered in her arms, her moans softening into breathless whimpers.

When Y/N finally stilled, her body going limp against the couch, Agatha withdrew her hand carefully, her touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. She looked at Y/N, her face flushed and her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, and couldn’t help the satisfied smile that tugged at her lips.

“Good girl,” Agatha murmured, her thumb brushing over Y/N’s cheek. The words were soft, almost tender, as she leaned down to press a lingering kiss to the corner of Y/N’s mouth.

Y/N barely managed a nod, her hands weakly clutching at Agatha’s cardigan as she whispered, “Thank you…”

Agatha’s hand lingered on Y/N’s cheek for a moment longer before she leaned back, brushing her hair away from her face. “Come on, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice warm but firm. “Let’s get you settled upstairs. You’ve had quite the night.”

Y/N nodded sleepily, her face still flushed, her body pliant as Agatha helped her to her feet. The younger woman swayed slightly, and Agatha steadied her with a firm grip on her arm, guiding her toward the staircase.

The walk upstairs was unhurried, the house bathed in the soft, golden glow of dimly lit sconces. Agatha’s hand remained on Y/N’s waist, steadying her, the closeness oddly comforting. The stairs creaked faintly beneath their steps, the sound blending with the faint hum of the nighttime stillness.

At the top of the stairs, Agatha turned toward her bedroom. She pushed open the door, revealing a cozy space with dark wood furnishings and a bed neatly made with a deep plum-colored quilt. The air smelled faintly of lavender and aged books, a mix uniquely hers.

“You’ll stay in here,” Agatha said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She crossed to a dresser, pulling open a drawer and rummaging for something suitable. “Can’t have you sleeping in your day clothes.”

She returned with a pair of soft, well-worn pajama pants and a loose button-up shirt. Agatha handed them to Y/N with a smirk, her eyes flicking down to the girl’s legs. “These might be a little short on you, honey. You’ve got a few inches on me, but they’ll do.”

Y/N took the clothes with a shy smile, the faint pink still lingering in her cheeks. “Thank you,” she murmured, holding the bundle close.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Agatha said, gesturing toward a door on the side of the room. “Get changed and come back. I’ll grab some extra blankets.”

Y/N nodded and disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking softly shut behind her. Agatha busied herself gathering an extra pillow and a quilt from the closet, her mind lingering on the events of the evening. The girl had melted so sweetly under her touch, her reactions raw and unfiltered. There was something deeply satisfying about coaxing such vulnerability out of her.

When Y/N returned, she was wearing the borrowed clothes, the pajama pants ending just above her ankles, the hem of the shirt brushing against her thighs. The fabric hung loosely on her frame, giving her an air of casual innocence that made Agatha’s smirk return.

“Not bad,” Agatha teased, tossing the quilt onto the bed.

Y/N ducked her head, a soft laugh escaping her. “It’s perfect,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha chuckled, patting the space beside her on the bed. “Come on, hop in.”

Y/N obeyed, slipping under the covers and settling on her side of the bed. Agatha slid in beside her, adjusting the quilt before resting her head against the pillows. The space between them felt charged, but not uncomfortably so.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Agatha murmured, her voice softened by the dark.

“Goodnight, Agnes,” Y/N replied, her voice small but content.

Agatha closed her eyes, her breathing evening out as the house settled into silence. Her body relaxed, lulled by the warmth of the girl beside her, her usual wariness dulled by the exhaustion of the day.

Y/N, however, lay awake. Her gaze flicked to Agatha, the older woman’s peaceful face illuminated faintly by the moonlight slipping through the curtains. Slowly, Y/N’s lips curved into a grin—a sharp, wicked expression that twisted her previously innocent features.

Agatha’s trust, her affection—it was all falling perfectly into place.

[chocoqtelle]

inner child pac reading

🦀 pile one,,

I know we're used to being super helpful, but it's good to help yourself too. you should always make sure you're okay first. It's important for us to be okay, even if other people don't think so. we should think so. things are gonna be okay for us. they always are. I want to do the things we like. I don't understand why you care about what people think now. I think we should try doing what we like more, even if it's embarrassing. it doesn't have to take a lot of time. it's just good to have fun sometimes. maybe you can get back into some of our old interests if you want?

it seems like this pile had to mature quickly and was overly generous in childhood. this likely led to some people pleaser habits. when the world said "be nice" and "care about others" you took it to heart, but it felt like you were the only one who did. you felt like you had to be the adult in your childhood and care for other people around you. for some of you, you may have had to care for a parental/older familiar figure or your siblings. you're used to changing your words and your personality to be more digestible and gentle because this strong fear of conflict. you were scared of people being mean to you, so you avoided making anyone mad. it was like you were always tiptoeing over eggshells. now, you don't have to, so there's no point in worrying about people who don't worry about you. you'd be doing yourself and your inner child a favor by doing what you want. it might feel wrong to be yourself, but at least try. I won't delve too much into this part, but I believe some people in this pile also dealt with being oversexualized or being hyper sexual at a young age. I think it's important to know you're more than what you can give others for this pile. please also take a break for the love of god.

🐸 pile two,,

It's hard to feel loved if nobody shows you. at the same time, i don't think I'd want to be loved. it seems weird and uncomfortable. I'm not used to it so it's scary. I still wish that someone would care at least. it feels like nobody else cares. I'm really tired of things being silent and boring all the time. I want to do something fun. I want friends but I want to be by myself. people think I'm weird, but I think they're the weird ones. they can avoid me but I wouldn't wanna be friends with them anyway. it doesn't matter if it's lonely, I don't feel less lonely around people anyway. some people think I'm mean. I don't think I'm mean. i heard I look mean or I act mean sometimes, but what if that's just who I am? I don't try to be mean to people. I just don't want people to hurt me.

holy neglect trauma... there's a lot to unpack here 😓 first off, I hope you're alright. it seems like this pile never really learned how to interact with people and is probably still a bit of a people hater. this pile has had to keep strong boundaries and walls on to protect themselves from unfamiliar experiences (being spoken to positively.) if you've never experienced something, it can be scary but you have to stop thinking every little thing is gonna go wrong in your life. it's fine. separate note but I think someone's ancestors are very present here, might want to connect with them if you don't already. you can try to shut down the feelings of loneliness and pretend connection won't help but it does. you're probably not connected with your inner child or you're ashamed of yourself for some reason. trying to be cold won't undo anything or save you from the feelings you're hiding. you'll have to acknowledge them at some point. escapism and forcing ignorance wont help forever. hopefully it'll be sooner than later, but that's your choice. it's okay to be soft, btw.

🐕 pile three,,

I know what I'm talking about. I'm serious. I wish people would take me more seriously. i get good grades, I study hard, I always prove how smart I am. for some reason, people still act like I'm too young and stupid to have opinions or that what I say is just silly, especially with emotions. they act like having emotions makes you a less rational person. some people look down on me for who I am, too. it's not something I can change. whether it's gender, age, or whatever, people always want an excuse to ignore how I feel or what I have to say. I know I'm right though. I don't want us to stop expressing ourselves. I wanna share how I feel to the world.

this pile is extremely opinionated and knows how to share their emotions. this pile is for the "bossy" kids who "should have been lawyers" or "a CEO" according to every adult around them. you were emotional as a child and it was always ignored or joked off as if your feelings were invalid. this pile is definitely natural-born leaders so if you aren't/never have been aspiration-driven or "extra" this pile probably isn't yours. the most healing thing you can do for yourself at this point is speak up. continue to speak about everything. share your opinion more, it's safe now and people will actually take you seriously. be emotional, be too much, be annoying, be talkative, be over-opinionated, be everything you feel like being and don't let anyone talk you out of it. lead your life how you want to. call everything out, even if it means being weird. I definitely feel like some people in this pile had the gifted kid experience or liked to read a lot when they were younger. there's also some unresolved anger that might need to be taken care of. I think speaking up more instead of bottling feelings up will definitely help that, though. you're not stupid or weak for being emotional. just be yourself unapologetically and that's the best thing you can do for your younger self.

[hannieehaee]

Hello,how are you,hope everything is going well in your life ☺️

May I ask please for SVT reaction if their SO is serious and always wears poker face person but she has soft spot only for him🙏🏻

And may I add God bless all tumblr writers, thanks to you guys I’m learning English language 🫶🏻

their cold s/o having a soft spot for them

content: established relationship implied, fluff, etc.

wc: 633

a/n: i hope things are going well for you too! sorry this took so long. i hope you like it!!

masterlist

seungcheol -

good. it's exactly as it should be. he's a little possessive, so this just works perfectly for him! everyone who knows you knows about your soft spot for him and he thrives in it.

jeonghan -

jokes and teases you about being obsessed with him as soon as he notices how differently you act around him in comparison to everyone else. would constantly use this as leverage to get you to do or say things. can't really blame you, though. so many people have a soft spot for him.

joshua -

he thinks its the cutest thing. sometimes he cant help but laugh when he sees you light up at his presence. your soft spot for him is such a serotonin boost for him. like damn you must really like him!

jun -

he gets a little flustered when he realizes you have a soft spot specifically for him and no one else. is he that fun to be around? is he that much of a light in your life? won't ever actually question it, but rather just grow to enjoy it.

soonyoung -

he probably doesnt even realize you tend to have a poker face or be perceived as cold for other people. he mostly pays attention to how you treat him and is too distracted by your existence to realize he's the only person you ever smile around.

wonwoo -

he thinks its adorable. loves how you could look like you're having the worst time of your life up until you spot him, lighting up immediately. he knows you're not actually miserable unless he's there, but he still finds it cute that there's such a contrast in your attitude between when he's with you and when he's not.

jihoon -

you guys are twins!! he gets told a lot that he seems cold, that some people are put off by his closed-off exterior sometimes. when he met you, he'd completely understand how most people felt around him. except he'd soon realize that you'd made an exception for him, being the sweetest person alive to him in specific. he'd just have to return the favor.

seokmin -

he kind of loves it. it just means he gets to try and make you crack a smile or a laugh while in public. he knows you have a soft spot for him, but he'd want to show it off to everyone else, show them that you're whipped for him as he is for you.

mingyu -

he also tries to get you to smile more often in public. he makes it his own personal mission to make sure how pretty your smile is since most of the time you have a poker face. but at the same time, he also enjoys keeping you to himself sometimes.

minghao -

he's known to appear more serious than he actually is, so he relates. you'd have a very specific dynamic where you both have a soft spot for the other while keeping a safe distance from most other people. he'd really enjoy this.

seungkwan -

you'd kind of remind him of vernon lol. he'd find it cute, same as he does with vernon. he's such a bright person, always smiling and making others smile, making him the exact opposite of you. you'd balance each other out pretty well.

vernon -

you're both misinterpreted for being cold sometimes, even though its just a case of having a poker face. it'd be a funny sight to see for everyone else, how you'd both instantly light up any time you were together.

chan -

it makes him feel special. it's like there's a whole side of you only he gets to have and it's a huge privilege he doesn't take for granted. sometimes he'll even go out of his way to ensure you're extra smiley and happy when you're with him.

[meazalykov]

thanks for your help

kika nazareth x platonic!aitana bonmati x reader

summary: aitana does you a huge favor

after two seasons at barcelona, you had finally found your rhythm. adjusting to a new city, a new club, and a new pace thanks to aitana.

she had taken you in when you transferred from psg, and now, she was like the big sister you never had. she had been there for you through it all—whether it was the pressures of the game or the simple moments off the pitch. the two of you spent countless evenings together, whether it was eating out or at her place with her girlfriend, the christmas when you didn’t fly home being one of your favorite memories.

aitana’s home was warm, welcoming, and filled with love, the way her girlfriend looked after you both like family.

that bond grew even deeper when you were there to witness one of her biggest achievements—the ballon d’or. you’d never forget that night. watching aitana step onto the stage, the joy in her eyes, your chest swelled with pride. 

you clapped until your hands hurt. she deserved every bit of that recognition. afterward, at the celebration dinner, aitana had pulled you aside and hugged you tightly.

when you played benfica in the champions league towards the end of the 23/24 season, your thoughts were far from distractions. at least, that was until you noticed one of benfica’s players during warmups—a girl whose presence seemed to command the pitch. kika nazareth. 

even from a distance, she stood out. there was something about her—the way she carried herself, her confidence, her undeniable talent. she was beautiful, that much was clear, but you weren’t the type to let yourself get carried away by a crush, especially with football at the forefront of your mind.

after the match, as you walked back to the locker room, something caught your eye—aitana, talking animatedly with kika, laughing like they had known each other for years. you blinked in surprise, wondering how aitana knew her. curiosity getting the best of you, you approached them hesitantly.

"oh! y/n, come here," aitana called out when she spotted you, a smile on her face as she gestured for you to join them. 

"i want you to meet kika."

you swallowed the nervous lump in your throat, stepping closer to them. kika turned her attention to you, her eyes sparkling with amusement as aitana continued, 

"y/n, this is kika. kika, this is y/n."

“nice to meet you,” kika said, her voice smooth, playful even, as she extended her hand. instead of the quick handshake you expected, her fingers lingered against yours, sending a jolt of warmth up your arm. 

“i’ve heard a lot about you.”

you felt your cheeks heat up, the sudden rush of shyness catching you off guard. 

“uh, yeah, nice to meet you too,” you mumbled, glancing between kika and aitana.

"oh, she’s cute when she’s shy," kika teased, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips. she didn’t let go of your hand right away, and the contact made your heart race faster than any match had.

aitana chuckled, clearly amused by the entire situation. 

“y/n is never this shy. i wonder what’s going on.”

you tried to laugh it off, but your voice came out weaker than you intended. after exchanging a few more pleasantries, you and aitana headed back to the locker room. as you both walked in silence for a moment, aitana nudged your arm with her elbow, a teasing smile still on her lips.

“you okay?”

“yeah,” you replied quickly, maybe too quickly.

aitana raised an eyebrow. 

“you sure? because i’ve never seen you get that shy around someone before. you like her, don’t you?”

you hesitated, then shrugged. 

“maybe… i think i might.”

aitana’s grin widened. 

“i knew it!” 

“how do you know her?” you asked, trying to steer the conversation away from your flustered state.

“mutual friends,” she answered, her tone casual but her smirk suggested she knew more than she was letting on. 

“i can put you on to her, you know.”

you laughed, shaking your head. 

“sure, if you think it’ll work.”

what you didn’t know was that kika was already planning on moving to barcelona at the end of the season. aitana knew, of course, but she decided not to tell you just yet, figuring it’d be more fun to let things unfold naturally.

when the new season came and kika officially joined the team, it didn’t take long for you to feel the pull between you two. she was outgoing, charming, and effortlessly funny, which made it easy to be friends despite your initial nervousness. 

you were the same age, which helped a lot, and with aitana in the mix, you spent more and more time together on and off the pitch.

one day after training, aitana cornered you with that same mischievous smile. 

"so, when are you going to tell kika how you feel?"

you blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. 

“what? it’s too early for that.”

aitana crossed her arms, giving you a knowing look. 

“too early, huh? i don’t think so. besides, she feels the same way.”

your eyes widened in surprise. 

“wait, how do you know that?”

aitana’s smirk faltered for a second as she realized she had slipped up. 

“uh… well, I mean, I just… you know, I have my ways.”

you stared at her, speechless. 

“you’ve known this whole time?”

aitana shrugged, grinning like a cat who received churu. 

“oops?”

weeks later, at a dinner with aitana, ingrid, mapi, esmee, frido, and ellie, you found yourself sitting beside kika. it was one of those cozy evenings where the conversation flowed easily, laughter filling the air. 

the restaurant had benches instead of chairs, and at some point during the night, kika casually placed her hand on your knee. the gesture was so natural, so intimate, that it took you a moment to realize what was happening.

you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach, but at the same time, you didn’t want her to move her hand. you glanced at her, trying to keep your expression neutral, but you knew your face must have been giving you away. 

kika, on the other hand, acted like nothing was out of the ordinary, continuing to joke with the group as if she wasn’t driving you a little crazy with her touch.

just as you were starting to relax, your phone buzzed. it was your mom, calling from home. you excused yourself and went outside to take the call, the cool evening air helping to calm your nerves.

the call lasted longer than expected—almost twenty minutes. when you finally hung up, you turned around to see kika standing in the doorway, concern in her eyes.

"everything okay?" she asked, stepping closer to you.

you nodded, trying to steady your breath. 

“yeah, just my mom checking in.”

kika studied you for a moment, her gaze softer than usual. 

“you look beautiful tonight, by the way.”

her words caught you off guard, and you glanced down at your outfit—simple levi jeans and a brown cashmere sweater. 

“thanks,” you replied, your voice quieter. “you look beautiful too.”

there was a pause, the air between you thick with something unspoken. kika stepped closer, her hand brushing yours as she looked into your eyes. 

“i… i can’t keep this in anymore. i really like you, y/n. more than a friend.”

your heart skipped a beat, the confession sending your mind into a whirl. “i… i like you too,” you admitted, feeling the weight of the moment between you both.

without another word, you both leaned in, your lips meeting in a soft, tender kiss. it was slow, sweet, filled with all the emotions that had been building for months. 

when you pulled back, you shared a shy smile, the world around you fading as the connection between you deepened.

“we should probably head back inside, its chilly” you whispered, though neither of you moved right away.

back inside, you and kika sat closer than before, your legs brushing under the table as you rejoined the group. you pretended like nothing had happened, but aitana’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the way you were now sitting practically glued to kika’s side.

later, as you dropped aitana off at her place, she turned to you with a grin. 

"so… you and kika?"

you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. 

“yeah, we’re dating now. thanks to you."

aitana laughed, leaning back in her seat. "i knew it. you're welcome!"

“yeah ha, thanks for your help!”

masterlist

[captainsophiestark]

Worth The Risk

Jason Todd x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: DC

Day Twenty-Eight Prompt: "Just say what you want"

Summary: Jason's teammate has been trying to ask him out for a long time now, but he's always ducked the question before it's officially been asked. Now, it seems he's finally ready to talk about why.

Word Count: 1,955

Category: Fluff, little bit of Angst?

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"I'm telling you, Art, I'm starting to go a little crazy! He'll flirt with me all day long, but the minute I try to turn it into a date or a kiss or even a fucking conversation, he pulls back like he's been shocked!"

I could hear Artemis, one of my best friends, trying to stifle a laugh on the other end of the line. I narrowed my eyes, but didn't call her out on it. I had bigger problems right now, as far as I was concerned.

"Okay, when you say you've tried to turn it into a conversation...?"

"I mean I've gotten as far as 'so, Jason, I've been thinking' before he suddenly has a call coming in from Bruce or an urgent cramp in his leg or a super interesting bird outside the window that he has to go look at right now!"

This time, Artemis didn't bother trying to hold back her laugh. I scowled even though she couldn't see it.

Jason Todd and I had been friends for a while now, working together as vigilantes. We'd hit it off from the first time we met, and our relationship had always been a little flirty. More recently, though, it had felt on the verge of something more. And I wanted that. I liked Jason, a lot, and I wanted to see where we might be able to go, if he was interested too.

Most of the time, it did seem like he was interested. But for whatever reason, he kept pulling a 180 on me and defaulting to more platonic behavior than we'd ever had with each other any time I tried to bring it up. I'd decided to talk to Artemis about it, to see if she could give me any advice or anything, but so far she'd been absolutely no help.

"Alright, Art, I'm glad I've been able to entertain you tonight, but can you please-"

I stopped short at the sound of a knock on my door. I frowned. I hadn't ordered anything, and I wasn't expecting anyone. So who the hell was at my apartment?

"Hey, you still there? You alright?"

I hummed, standing from my seat in the kitchen and heading for the door.

"I'm fine. Somebody just knocked on my door, hold on."

I leaned forward to peer through the peep hole, and to my immense shock, I saw Jason Todd standing on my doormat. After a few moments of stunned silence, I finally managed a few words into the phone.

"Yeah, Art? I think I'm gonna have to call you back."

I hung up without waiting for her reply. I'd owe her an explanation later, but I knew she'd understand. Whatever this was about, it seemed pretty serious. Jason had never once shown up at my civilian residence, despite both knowing each other's identities.

I cleared my throat and stuck my phone in my pocket, trying to get a handle on the nerves that had suddenly exploded in my chest. After a moment, I couldn't stall anymore. I took a deep breath and opened the door to find Jason fidgeting almost as much as I was.

"Hey," I said, giving him a weak smile. "What's... what's up? Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine," Jason said, glancing down and rubbing at the back of his neck. "I just... wanted to talk to you. About something. Didn't want to wait till the next time I saw you on the rooftops, hunting somebody down. I hope that's okay."

"Yeah! Of course, yeah. Come on in."

I took a quick step back from the door, holding it open for Jason and trying not to let him see my nerves. He walked through, but stopped in the entryway between the kitchen and the living room, looking a little lost. All I could do was stare at him for a moment as I shut the door. It was strange to see Jason in the middle of my civilian apartment like this, but it was also the kind of strange I could get used to.

"Here, take a seat," I said, heading to the kitchen and motioning towards one of the stools at the counter. "Can I get you a water or something?"

Jason cleared his throat, moving with me after a moment's delay.

"A water would be great, actually. Thanks."

"Sure thing."

I used the time it took me to get some water from the fridge, with my back turned to Jason, to take a few deep breaths. I was a vigilante, for god's sake, I knew how to keep myself from panicking in stressful situations. I wasn't going to let this impromtu visit unravel me.

I returned to Jason with a water for each of us, then sat down at the stool next to his. I was still a little nervous, but my heart had at least stopped pounding quite so quickly, and my hands weren't shaking when I set down the waters.

"So... you wanna tell me what's up?"

Jason cleared his throat, shifting in his seat before meeting my eyes. I gave him a little smile, and it seemed to help him relax, at least slightly. He smiled back.

"Listen... I really like spending time with you. And working with you and talking to you and... and everything. And Roy has been telling me he's sick of listening to me talk about you, so I'm taking his advice and coming to talk to you."

My heart did a backflip in my chest, but I refused to get too far ahead of myself. Jason still looked grim and stressed out of his mind, like he did when I tried to ask him out, which didn't exactly match the positive topic I was hoping this conversation might have.

"So... what are you saying?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light. "Because it sounds like you're building up to one thing, but your tone and your body language is pointing to something very different. Are you trying to ask me on a date, or trying to tell me you're not interested."

"I'm not not interested," Jason responded quickly. I raised an eyebrow, but he looked more stressed than before.

"Okay... so then, what is it? Just say what you want, Jay."

Jason took a long, deep breath in, closing his eyes for a minute and apparently trying to get in the right headspace. When he finally opened his eyes again and met my gaze, he at least looked marginally calmer.

"I want to ask you out."

"...I feel like there's a but coming."

"...But... I don't know, I just feel like you should be fully informed. I'm not necesserily the most... stable potential partner. I'm still working through a lot of shit from before and after the Lazurus Pit, and I'm a regular letdown to my family. That whole experience... I think it broke something in me. And I've been trying to fix what it broke, but I'm not sure I can. I don't want you agreeing to a date or anything else without knowing exactly what you're getting into."

I frowned, which Jason seemed to take as an expected bad sign. His shoulders slumped a little, and he looked resigned. I shook my head.

"Jason... what the hell are you talking about?" Jason opened his mouth like he intended to speak, but I held up a hand to cut him off. "That was mostly a rhetorical question. Believe it or not, I've gotten to know you pretty well in the time we've spent together, working side by side in life and death situations and passing days upon days with each other. And frankly? I like you. A lot. If you hadn't sent up the signals for a hard no everytime I tried, I would've asked you out a long time ago."

Jason sighed. "I still feel like you don't know what you're getting into. I don't want to go down this road and have you end up regretting it and hating me."

"Okay," I said, letting out a sigh of my own. "First of all, let's clear something up. Not once have you disappointed me or let me down, not in all the time we've known each other and worked together, even though you've had plenty of opportunities. And Jay, I didn't know you as Robin. I don't know the old you that you're so intent on comparing yourself to. But the guy sitting in front of me right now? He refuses to see it, but he's a wonderful person and friend, and anyone would be lucky to date him."

Jason flushed and looked down at his lap, but I didn't stop.

"Second, if I ever hear Batman or another one of your family members calling you a disappointment, it's game over for them. I'm punching them in the mouth like they deserve, and that's the end of that."

Jason snorted, briefly picking his head up to give me a look. I grinned back at him.

"And third..." I let the smile fall from my face, adopting a serious expression instead as I gently reached out to take one of Jason's hands. To my delight, he let me. "Third, nobody knows how things're gonna go when they go on a date with somebody. There's no real predicting that, there's no garuntees that we'll be perfectly matched and instantly work out and never have trouble forever and ever. But I know you're a good person, and I love spending time with you, and I trust you with my life, and my heart likes to do a gymnastics routine whenever you're in the same room as me. So if you feel similarly about me, and you want to give it a shot...?"

Jason sighed, chewing on his lip for a moment as he stared at me. Finally, he nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I really do."

"Good. Then that's that, Jay. There's no garuntees of anything, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't try. The only way to really lose is to let fear keep us from taking a shot at happiness, right?"

Jason shook his head, but he was smiling all the same as he took my other hand in his, too.

"I guess you do make a pretty convincing argument. But seriously, are you sure you want to do this? It... feels like it could lead to a lot of complications."

"Jason, I'm sure." I laughed. "Honestly, I have been for a long time now. Are you sure?"

I saw Jason take another bracing breath. Then he straightened, shoulders back, and gave me a genuine smile.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Great! Then what do you say we turn tonight into our first official date? I was just about to make dinner, and I've got some good movies we can pick from."

Jason's smile grew, taking on a little bit of an edge.

"That sounds perfect to me. As long as you promise to let me take you out for our second date. Somewhere nice."

"Believe it or not, that's not going to take too much convincing."

The two of us shared a smile again, and I gave Jason's hands a squeeze before standing and heading for the kitchen. He joined me, and when I stood at the counter to lay things out, Jason only hesitated for a second before coming up behind me to wrap his hands around my waist. He leaned in to place a soft kiss on my temple, and I leaned back, a smile on my face.

This time, my heart didn't do a backflip. Instead it radiated warmth through my chest and into the rest of my body. I knew we were at the beginning of our road, and there were no garuntees about what might be at the end of it. Still. I couldn't help having a good feeling.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @samreich @misshale21

DC Taglist: @gaychaosgremlin @v1ckycheesue @lavender-dinos @g0atmansbridge182

[poguehearted77]

Between The Lines

Summary-> It's the little things that go on behind the scenes between you and Drew that makes your chemistry electric.

Belongs to my: OBX Season 5: Payback for Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

"Park place." Maddison narrates where Drew lands his dog piece across the monopoly board. "I'll buy it." He says but your hand is in his face, "Not so fast. I'm sure you would love to buy it if I didn't already have a hotel on it. You owe me $1500. Pay up." You show him your open palm, ready for lots and lots of cash.

"He's so cooked. Look at that pathetic stack of cash Drew has. I've got piggy banks with more than that." Jonathan's comments send the four of you erupting into a fit of laughter which eventually dies down to a patient silence. "Sometime today would be great." Madison clears her throat.

"Josh is coming!" Drew points, appealing to our gullibility and youall fell for it. By the time you realized he was bluffing, the board was tossed and the pieces were all out of place. He gets up and runs off as if he already knew you'd be hot on his heels.

Your outburts left JD and Madison alone to pick up the pieces, but not without an interesting conversation. "50 bucks they're together by the time we finish the season." Madison says it so casually as she reaches underneath the couch for the pieces.

"So I'm not crazy? You see it too?" He looks almost relieved. "Trust me, I've got a knack for these things." JD seems skeptical about the timeline of the bet. "I dunno, we finish filming in four months. That might be too soon, I say by the premiere."

The both of them look up so Carlacia who seemed to have been streaming live on her istagram. She enters the room mumbling something about getting winded by you and Drew sprinting past her.

Madison scoffs, "That's like nine months from now. They could get together and break up by then, but you know what-- If that's what you wanna bet, then be my guest." She holds out her hand and JD shakes on it. "You're on."

"We're ready for you guys." One of the assistants notifys them that it was time to head to the screening room where the weekly table reads were held.

Today would be your first look at the script for the second episode, and to say you were shocked was an understatement.

Script Summary:

Eventually the pogues put their trust in Piper and she gives them a fair exchange of some arms that they can handle, while she opts for her weapon of choice, a steel pipe.

"How do you think I got the name and the scar?" She says and it puts an odd sense of comfort among the group, minus a skeptical Rafe, to know you were confident enough in your skills that you didn't need a gun.

They beleived they were in good hands, until they realized they weren't. There was movement coming from the bushes and it made the pogues stand on guard, beckoning them to come out. Soon, the figures finally revealed themsleves. More mercenaries.

"Nicely, done Piper. It seems you can still make yourself useful after all." The red-headed woman speaks up, tossing you a pouch of money that you caught with one hand effortlessly.

"Never doubt my capabilities, it's insulting." You warn, tucking the pouch into the bag strapped across your back. The british woman continues, "Y'know, Mr. Finch could use your talents again. Once we're done tying up loose ends, we're headed back to home base in Lisbon."

Rafe is livid. He knew he couldn't trust you. It couldn't be by pure coincidence that the mercenaries popped up in the middle of this oasis when you were leading. "Lisbon? You told us Finch was here-" Kiara exclaims and Rafe interrupts.

"It was all a lie, from the very beginning. Mr. Alami, the merchant from Agapenta, he was working with you, wasn't he? You knew he'd send us to you, and now you got your sad little payout from these dipshits for bringing us to them." Rafe seethes.

"I'll neither confirm nor deny that claim, love the enthusiasm though." Your attitude remains unbothered throughout the ordeal until Pope demands, "What do you want from us? We don't have the crown! Groff took it." The red head shrugs casually, sharpening her blades as she approaches the group.

"Don't you worry, Groff will get what's coming to him. For now, it's time to repay the debt that is owed. You get blood on your hands, I get blood on mine." Your eyes bulge, "Hang on, you never said you wanted to kill them." You step in and the woman pays you no mind.

"Perhaps because It's none of your concern. You've got your cut, now's a good time as ever to leave. It's about to get messy." She retracts her hand, about to plunge the blade into Pope when she's knocked out cold by a flying piece of steel.

The group looks over to you in shock, fear, and a hint of gratitude, but there's no time to gush about it when there's suddenly a brawl that breaks out between the mercenaries and the pogues.

You all hardly take them out before escaping.

"Piper, what the hell?!" John B yells and his anger is heavily agreed on in the group, you take it on the chin before offering the most sincere apology you could come up with. They're unconvinced. "I deserve that. Everything you heard back there is true. Finch's Fortress is in Lisbon. If you find him, you'll find Groff," You trail off, reaching into your bag, handing Cleo the pouch of money you'd just gotten.

"Take this. It's more than enough to get you a boat big enough to get across the atlantic and even have some leftover for food for a few days. When you arrive on the coast of Cascais, you'll need to head north in-land."

There's silence.

A long silence, nervous glances between the pogues and Rafe's eyes roll. "You guys cannot seriously be considering trusting her. She almost had us killed! Am I the only one who cares about making it back home?"

"Just shut up, Rafe!" John B silences him, and Pope speaks up. "Listen, I don't know about you guys but Piper just saved my life when she didn't have to. We've already lost someone. Going after Groff could be a suicide missison for all we know. But we all know this isn't about our safety, it's about revenge. For JJ." His speech is moving, the expressions agree.

"For JJ." They all agree.

"To Lisbon we go." Cleo chimes, and the group moves on.

End of Script*

You had just finished reading the script and you were blown away. The cast never knows what to expect whenevfer a new script is dropped in front of them.

"Wait a minute... If the pogues are going to Lisbon in the next episode then," Madison trails off and the director ties in, "So are we. Pack your bags, flights are booked for Saturday morning at 5am, please do not miss these flights, we're not opposed to writing you out!" Josh jokes and there's excited and shock all around the table.

You knew that the last season of the show had implied that the pogues would be on their way to Lisbon but it never dawned on you that it would be so soon, even though it made sense.

"You ever been to Portugal?" Drew leans in, a soft whisper in your ear tickled your skin and made the hairs on the back of your neck at attention. "Never, have you?" He thinks about it, "If a layover counts then yes, yes I have." You're not sure if the joke was funny or if it just left the mouth of an incredibly attractive man, nonetheless, it made you giggle.

Madison kicks JD from under the table, jutting her chin towards the two of you giggling in secret and he rolls his eyes. "Patience." He says it calmly, but Madison is impatient, she knows she'll reign triumphant by the end of it all.

-

It’s a Friday night—or, more accurately, the early hours of Saturday morning. The world outside your accommodations complex is still cloaked in sleep, and you should be too. But no. The responsibility of making your flight in two hours has ripped you from the warmth of your bed. Groggy but determined, you scrambled to gather your belongings, knowing you wouldn’t be back.

After a last sweep of the room, you opened the door with a flicker of confidence—only to jump at the sight of a six-foot-two figure standing in your doorway.

“Drew! Oh my god, you scared me.” Your hand flew to your chest in a theatrical gesture, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

A small smile tugged at his lips, his eyes crinkling slightly. “Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were actually up. Everyone else already left. There’s one driver still waiting downstairs.” His voice was smooth, annoyingly easy to listen to this early in the morning. Too easy.

“You sound oddly refreshed for 3 a.m.,” you quipped, your own voice still husky from sleep as you grabbed your suitcase.

“That’s the beauty of insomnia.” He shrugged, gesturing to his temples with a finger like it was some kind of genius life hack. “You can’t wake up tired if you never really sleep.”

The elevator dinged open, and the two of you stepped inside. The silence that settled was heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite define. It hung there until you both spoke at once:

“So where are you—” “How did you—”

You broke into quiet laughter, and Drew’s mouth twitched with amusement. “You first,” he said, giving you a slight nod.

“How did you know I hadn’t already left with the others?” you asked, tilting your head curiously. For a moment, something flickered across his face—an emotion too quick to name—before a light blush dusted his cheeks. He masked it with an easy tone.

“I did some askin' around,” he replied, the answer short and almost vague. It was just enough to spark your teasing instincts.

“Ah,” you said with a smirk, “so you missed me?”

Instant regret settled within you. The elevator seemed too small, too still as Drew turned to look at you, his gaze steady and disarming. For a heartbeat, he didn’t respond, and your cheeks grew warm under his stare.

“You could say that,” he finally said, the ghost of a smirk curling the corner of his lips. His attention shifted to the elevator doors as they slid open, leaving you to wonder if you’d imagined the whole thing.

The ride to the airport was longer than expected thanks to roadwork that forced a detour. You should've been annoyed, but at some point, your head found its way to Drew’s shoulder, and your eyes fluttered shut. The fabric of his hoodie was soft against your temple, and his warmth lulled you into a half-dream state.

Drew didn’t dare move. The weight of your head against him was almost too perfect, and he fought the sudden urge to reach for your hand resting on your lap. Instead, he focused on the ticking clock in the back of his mind and the quiet hum of the car.

When you arrived, he sprang into action. “C’mon, we don’t have time to waste,” he murmured, grabbing your suitcase and his carry-on in one hand while ushering you toward the terminal with the other.

You barely had to lift a finger. Drew handled everything—tickets, baggage check, even navigating customs—with practiced efficiency, his jaw set and his movements quick. He wasn’t just organized; he was determined.

“Do you always walk as fast as a drill sergeant?” you teased as you reached the gate, breathing a little easier now.

He shot you a look, his lips twitching. “I'm not a huge fan of being late,” was all he said. But the way his eyes lingered on yours for half a second longer than necessary told you there was more to it than that.

Finally, you made it to your seats in first class. You settled across the aisle from Madelyn, who flashed you a bright smile.

“I was starting to think you two wouldn’t make it,” she teased, leaning toward you with a glint in her eye. There was an underlying subtext to her words but you were too tired to decipher it.

“Drew made sure that didn’t happen,” you replied with a soft laugh. The words were simple, but they carried a warmth you couldn’t quite suppress.

From behind your seat, Drew caught the sound of his name on your lips--and god did he love the way it sounds. He didn’t know what you’d said, but it didn’t matter. The fact that you were talking about him stirred something in his chest.

As the flight began, you glanced back once, meeting his gaze. He held it for a fraction of a moment before looking away, his expression unreadable.

And yet, for the rest of the flight, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop replaying the memory of the weight of your head on his shoulder—or wondering what it might feel like to hold your hand in his.

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza, @wearemadeofstardust0, @cadhlabear, @thepopcultureaddict, @citr0us, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account, @madi44444,

[dsireland86]

Requesting Noah x reader where the reader experiences post partum depression after giving birth to their newborn baby girl.

Post partum depression is no joke and something so many women, including myself, have had to deal with. I wish it on no new mom. But, when you have a good partner who supports you entirely, it makes all the difference🥰

PostPartum

Tag list: @philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @thisbicc @lma1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @mrsnoahsebastian @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @rumoured-whispers @myownthoughts12 @sister-sebastian @nyxthedestroyerofworlds-deactiv @missduffsblog @bngurngheart  @somebodyllelse @xxkittenkissesxx @fadingangelwisp @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

I held her in my arms like she was the most valuable thing in the world. To me she was. She was my daughter. She was the best part of me and her mother put together, a treasure created out of pure love.

I looked over at my wife, watching as she delivered the remaining proof of her pregnancy, feeling nothing but pride and respect for her. What I had just witnessed in the last thirteen hours was nothing short of an absolute miracle.

I had no idea how difficult it was for a woman to give birth until now. The strength and resilience I saw in her made me see her and all women in a whole new light. It was an indescribable yet incredible feeling.

She looked up at me, smiling her beautiful yet exhausted smile. She looked completely different now; she was a mother. I grinned back, offering her our daughter and gently laid her on her chest when she said yes.

"Noah, she has your nose and your eyes," my wife gushed, kissing our little girl's rosy forehead.

"She really does, doesn't she?" I marveled, unable to hide my grin. I kissed my wife's forehead, praising her over and over for what she went through for us. I had what I'd always wanted. I had my family.

Days after we came home were a struggle. The nights were sleepless, the days exhausting. The constant feeding and changing diapers was a lot of work I wasn't prepared for. But neither was my wife.

She started crying more than usual. At first, it was simple little tears, but then there were days where those tears lingered all day and sometimes into the night, too. They would lead into spurts of her doubting her ability to be a mother and caring for our baby the way she needed to be cared for.

That's when she would say things like, "Our daughter does better when I'm not around. Maybe it's for the best", or "I just want to disappear. All of this is too much."

I knew she was exhausted, not mentally prepared for any of this, so I did my best to help take the burden off her shoulders, hoping it would help. Sometimes it did, but most of the time I think it only made things worse.

A few weeks went by, and things began to mellow out some; with our daughter at least. We got into a routine and a schedule of sleep, making the nights more bearable.

But my wife would still have her spouts of irritability, sometimes waking up and starting things for no reason. It was usually over little things like dishes or clothes, but then it started to become bigger. She accused me of not being home enough and not helping out enough which would always end with her falling apart and crying again. It broke me.

I didn't know what to do, except hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay, even though I wasn't so sure.

I would watch her during feedings and how she seemed distant from our baby, looking away, never making that mother to baby eye contact I read about in the "What to Expect When Your Wife is Expanding" book Jolly bought me for my first "father's day". She was physically there, but not mentally.

Days after our daughter turned a month old, I came home to find her sitting on the couch in the living room, staring into nothing. She had the most distant spaced out look on her face, her eyes completely void of anything.

"Baby, are you alright?" I gently shook her. She finally snapped out of whatever daze she was in, shaking her head.

"Noah," smiling weakly at me.

"Baby, I'm really worried about you. You're not looking or acting like yourself," I finally admitted to her.

"I feel okay," she said weakly.

"When was the last time you ate?" I brushed some loose hair out of her eyes, running my hand down her cheek.

She thought for a moment then shrugged.

"Come on, I sighed, taking her hand and pulling her towards the kitchen. That's when the baby monitor went off, signaling our little girl was awake.

"Why don't you go get her, and I'll make us something to eat." My wife shook her head.

"No, you get her. She wants her daddy."

Letting go of my hand she made her way into the kitchen, leaving me in a bit of shock. I thought this was the worst of it, but I didn't know how much worse it could get.

Sex was out of the question. Not just for the first six weeks of course, but even past that. She closed herself off to me, not wanting me to touch her or be around her. It got to the point that she was sleeping on the couch and whenever I came into the room she would leave. I didn't understand any of it.

I eventually had to stay home from the studio and recording with the guys, having everyone bring everything to my house because I was too scared to leave her and the baby alone. Something was off with my wife, and I couldn't figure it out. I was taking it personally, thinking that the end of us had come and what was meant to be the happiest time in our lives was now becoming the hardest and most hurtful. I was done. I couldn't go through with it anymore.

One night, after our little one fell asleep after her feeding, my wife laid her in her bassinet then turned to leave the room.

"Don't leave. Please. Just stay with me for a minute," I asked, trying not to sound too desperate.

She turned and looked at me with tears in her eyes.

All the color was gone from her beautiful face, her complexion dull. Her hair, normally shiny and in her wavy ponytail, was unkept, piled high on the top of her head in a messy bun. Her sleep clothes were the same ones she'd worn for almost a week.

This was nothing but a shell of my wife and it killed me seeing her this way.

"Come sit with me, baby, please," patting the bed next to me. At first she hesitated, but then, surprisingly, she came and partially sat on the bed.

I tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling at her when she looked at me so sadly. I leaned in to kiss her, slowly so as to not startle her, and felt relieved when she kissed me back. Her hands found the back of my neck, twisting the longer pieces of hair at the nape of it. Her touch sent shivers down my spine. I was longing for her in ways I didn't even realize.

"I miss you," I confessed, placing my forehead to hers and holding her head between my hands.

"I know," she sniffed and I wiped away the tears that slid down her cheeks with the pads of my thumbs.

"I miss you, too, Noah."

"Then talk to me," I whispered, "tell me what you're feeling. Even if you can't make sense out of it. Just tell me anyway. I'll listen."

And she did.

I ran a hot bubble bath and for the first time in months I held my wife's beautiful naked body against mine, listening as she told me everything she had been going through.

I washed her hair, scrubbed her back, and helped her shave her legs, and in return, she gave me the best sex I'd had in a while.

Watching her face as she came on my cock buried up inside her made me cum, the feeling taking us both to a higher place we hadn't been in a while. It was euphoric.

Once out of the bath and fully dressed, she checked on our little angel still fast asleep, and for the first time since we brought her home, I watched the brightest, sweetest smile grace my wife's face as she looked down on her. It made my heart swell with joy.

We discovered that night, after some slight research that what she was experiencing was called postpartum depression.

It's something most new mother's get, some more extreme than others. We weren't throwing all our eggs into the basket of self diagnosis, but she promised to call her doctor the next morning and schedule an appointment.

Seven months old. Time flies when you're having fun. I watched my wife as she attempted to feed our angel sweet potatoes for the first time. Surprisingly, she liked them. A quarter of the jar later and we had a happy, sleepy little baby.

I cleaned her up and handed her to mama as she willingly and lovingly took her and cradled her just the way she liked it. With some warm milk, a soft blanket, and mama's arms, our little girl was out like a light.

My wife looked up at me, smiling brightly. She was herself again and there was no better feeling than to see her return. With a mild medication and a little therapy, postpartum depression slowly made its way out of our lives, restoring to me the woman I loved.

She apologized, over and over, time and time again, but I always reminded her there was nothing to apologize for. None of it was ever her fault.

"Thank you for sticking it out with me, Noah. Thank you for not running away."

I took her hand and kissed it, rubbing her growing belly carrying baby Davis number two. Now that we knew what to mostly expect, this little gem would be easier to handle.

"For better or for worse, Princess. You've got me and them, forever."

[fxstpace]

in the spirit of matrimony

summary: iwaizumi hajime is getting married and you and your ex, oikawa tooru, must pretend you’re still together to avoid ruining his big day. the charade, however, proves to be a lot more complicated than you thought.

pairing: oikawa tooru x fem!reader genres: romance, angst, exes to lovers!au, fake dating!au word count: 3.0k

↳ warnings: profanity, alcohol consumption ↳ a/n: reposted from my old blog (@/sokuroo). a little bit of info on some terms used: an izakaya is a type of informal japanese bar; oshibori is a wet towel offered at dining places used to clean one’s hands before eating; otoshi is an appetizer offered at izakaya

Oikawa Tooru is currently using the shower in your hotel room, and you are running late for dinner with Iwaizumi Hajime because of this.

You sit on the plush armchair in the corner of the room, picking at the raised swirls and curlicues embroidered on the cushion. You’re supposed to be meeting with Iwaizumi for dinner in fifteen minutes, but Oikawa seems to be taking his own sweet time getting ready. You can’t say you’re surprised. 

Irritated? Yes.

When he finally bursts out of the bathroom, looking like a Louis Vuitton model, you simply grab your purse and hotel card, and stride out the door without a second glance. Oikawa Tooru isn’t worth your time or energy—for now.

He catches up with you quickly—volleyball legs, and all that—and you can smell his perfume: Cremo spice and black vanilla. You hate the fact that you remember; you’d rather not, but he hasn’t changed the scent in five years and it’s always the little things that are the hardest to forget. In his black button down shirt and with his hair styled carefully with gel, Oikawa definitely looks attractive. He knows it, too, probably, and it gives you a twisted sort of satisfaction knowing that he can’t go about flirting with every person who catches his eye.

He simply cannot, because as far as Iwaizumi Hajime is concerned, you and Oikawa are still together.

“Don’t forget,” you mutter, just low enough that only he can hear you.

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand dismissively before tucking it back into his pocket. “It’s just Hajime. Don’t worry.”

You bite back a sigh. It would do you no good to appear so visibly vexed—and it would cause Hajime to worry unnecessarily, which does a lot more harm to everyone involved. The only thing you want him to be worried about is wedding preparations and becoming a husband in three days. 

Your old friend meets you at the hotel lobby, right before Oikawa furtively slips his hand into yours. Iwaizumi looks tired—his clothes look rumpled and he has dark circles under his eyes—but he still smiles at you and Oikawa in the same way: boyish and crooked. You grin back at him.

“Hey, you two.” Iwaizumi opens his arms and pulls you in for a hug. His stubble brushes against your cheek, and you frown. 

“You’re growing a beard?” you ask incredulously, when you pull away.

He chuckles. “I wish. I need to look handsome on the day of the wedding. Akari thinks it makes me look rugged.” He shrugs and adds, “Personally, I can’t tell the difference.”

“How’s Mrs. Iwaizumi doing?” Oikawa cuts in. He smiles at his best friend, a quick flash of his teeth that you haven’t seen in ages. It almost makes you wish he still smiled at you like that. Almost.

“Akari’s great,” Hajime answers, the edges of his smile turning fond. His fiancé is truly the sweetest, and she’s perfect for Iwaizumi in ways no one else ever could be. It’s difficult to doubt their love, and you consider yourself lucky to have witnessed them falling for each other in college. “Really great, actually. She told me to tell you she’s sorry she couldn’t make it today, but she can’t wait to see you both tomorrow.”

Your ex-boyfriend sighs dramatically. “Iwa-chan. The only entertaining person of the evening is missing. Whatever shall I do?”

“I’m sure your girlfriend will provide ample entertainment, Oikawa,” Hajime deadpans.

Your cheeks flood with heat at the implication. You’re the furthest thing from being Oikawa Tooru’s entertainment tonight, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s laughing internally at the predicament.

“She’s good at entertaining me with other things,” he retorts, waggling his eyebrows in that infuriating way of his. “Not funny enough, unfortunately.”

You bristle. “Uncalled for, Oikawa.”

He turns to you—the first time he’s looked at you properly since you arrived at the hotel in their hometown—and, taking your hand in his, rubs his thumb along the back of your palm. You nearly shiver; Oikawa used to do that all the time when you were still together, and the small gesture now makes a lump form in your throat. 

“Just kidding, babe,” he says indulgently. “You know I make up for the lack of humour on your part.”

You have to give it to him. Oikawa Tooru is a magnificent actor. 

The way he talks to you, as though both of you hadn’t walked out of the hotel room without saying a word to each other is a feat in itself. He speaks to you as though nothing has changed, as though everything about the way you’re projecting yourselves to your friend is completely natural. You close the hole in your chest where Oikawa used to reside; you will not fall for his little antics—not when he chose to leave you alone.

You roll your eyes, meeting Hajime’s fond—if exasperated—gaze. “Ignore him.”

“I’ve been doing it my entire life,” he responds.

“You are mean and I hate you both,” Oikawa whines. Both of you ignore him.

“Let’s go,” Hajime says. “The izakaya gets really crowded later in the night.”

You wipe your hands on the soft cotton of the oshibori, scanning the menu taped onto the wall. Next to you, Oikawa digs into the otoshi, and in front of you, Hajime sips on his glass of beer. 

“Yakisoba noodles sounds good,” you murmur, “don’t you think?”

“I wan’ the chmmkn kraagh,” Oikawa says immediately through a mouthful of potato salad.

Iwaizumi sighs and translates, “He wants the chicken karaage.”

You scowl. You and Oikawa Tooru can never agree about things. You’re both too stubborn and hot-headed to budge from your opinions, and towards the end of your relationship, the number of petty arguments that were a result of your clashing personalities was high. At one point of time, you might have said that it was one of Oikawa’s qualities that you admired.

Right now, it just irks you to no end.

“We can order both,” you suggest. “Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. He makes a show of swallowing, exaggerating the bob of his throat, before he turns to you and states, “I want the chicken karaage, and I know Iwa-chan likes it more than yakisoba noodles.”

“Actually,” Hajime says mildly, “I kind of want the sashimi.”

“Let’s just order all three.” You bring your glass of beer to your lips and take a sip.

Iwaizumi looks curiously between you both. You take another sip of your beer, and you come to the realisation that for an outsider—like Hajime—you and Oikawa look absolutely nothing like a couple.

The fault is yours: You didn’t tell Hajime about your break up with Oikawa, and neither did he. Hajime still thinks you’re together. Neither you nor your ex-boyfriend are tactless enough to tell him that you aren’t dating anymore three days before he’s getting married. Iwaizumi is excited, and you aren’t about to dampen his happiness by telling him his two best friends haven’t spoken to each other in months.

That’s how, for the first time in ages, you and Oikawa Tooru decided that you couldn’t ruin Iwaizumi Hajime’s Big Day, and it was also how Operation: Pretend Like You’re Madly In Love So Your Surprisingly Intuitive Best Friend Doesn’t Feel Bad came about.

You set your beer down again, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Can I try some of that?” you ask, nudging Oikawa’s shoulder with yours.

He pauses mid-chew, chopsticks held high in the air. ���Sure.”

You nudge his shoulder again, a little bit more forcefully this time. Oikawa glares at you. You narrow your eyes at him, trying to send him some sort of telepathic signal. His eyes widen.

“Here, babe,” he says, plastering a grin on his face. He picks up a chunk of the creamy potato salad that was served as the otoshi and holds it up. He uses his thumb and pointer finger to gently bring your face closer to his chopsticks. You fist your fingers, nails cutting crescents into your palms, and accept the mouthful he holds out to you.

“Good?” Oikawa murmurs, his eyes not leaving your face.

You hum. It is good, rich and tart with a touch of sweetness, but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to verbalise it. Your gaze flits downwards as you gently pull away from his grasp. Your jaw tingles where he held it.

Iwaizumi grins at you—almost knowingly—when you pick up your beer again. He holds a hand up, calling for the waiter to take your orders.

The alcohol washes down the taste of the food, but your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

It is always alcohol that loosens your tongue, and it’s the same for Oikawa Tooru as well. The beer you had at the izakaya lowers the towering walls between you both somewhat. It’s easier to speak to him, now, and after you switch on the lights in the hotel room and kick off your sandals, you whirl around and face Oikawa.

“What the hell was that?” you seethe, glaring at your ex-boyfriend.

He pauses in the middle of taking off his shoes. “What the hell was what?”

“You almost blew our cover! Didn’t you see the way Hajime looked at us?”

Oikawa cocks his head to the side, and his cluelessness only infuriates you even more.

“God, you haven’t changed one bit!” you rant. Your chest heaves with emotion—you’re not sure what emotion, exactly. Anger? Resentment? Foolish hope? Or perhaps a cocktail of all three that causes you to feel nothing but confusion. “Hajime is getting married in two days, and I know you couldn’t care less, but for his sake, can’t you make this whole—whole act more believable?”

“You— What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Oikawa’s eyebrows raise upwards incredulously. “You think I don’t care about Iwaizumi’s wedding? I met him before I even knew you existed.” He scoffs. “Of fucking course I care!”

“Then would it kill you to act like you still love me?” You take a step forward, eyes narrowed and index finger pointing at him. “Is that it? Is it so repulsive to pretend like you still have feelings for me, so that your best friend doesn’t worry about us?”

“That’s not it, and you know it,” Oikawa snarls, a frown marring his features. “We should’ve told him as soon as it happened.”

Hearing him refer to your relationship as it feels like a slap to the face. You falter, cursing yourself inwardly.

Of course he doesn’t care for you now. Why would he, after he decided that long-distance relationships were too much effort? I don’t see us working out in the long run, he’d explained over FaceTime. I’m sorry.

Two days later, you declared yourself officially single. You burrowed yourself in piles of work and forgot to tell Iwaizumi Hajime because talking to Hajime would remind you of Oikawa, and you weren’t ready for that yet. Eventually, you just… didn’t tell him.

That’s why it came as an unwelcome surprise to you when you walked into the hotel lobby and found Oikawa Tooru waiting there, with his arms crossed over his chest and his suitcase by his feet. You’re here, he’d said, and you wanted to punch yourself for the way your heart somersaulted in your chest.

You finally find your voice again. “But we didn’t, so would it kill you to just… not be so fucking obvious?”

Oikawa remains stoic, though you suspect he’s just as agitated as you are. “Yes. I don’t want to do this at all.”

Something in you breaks. How easy it is for Oikawa to break your heart. You’d given him the fragile thing, made of glass, and he had knocked it over like it was a house of cards more than once. 

“Fine,” you grit out, bending down and picking up your footwear again. The alcohol buzzing in your head isn’t enough—you need to stop thinking, need to find some way to stop yourself from constantly imagining him. “See if I care.”

You shoulder past him and place your hand on the doorknob.

“Where are you going?”

If you really strained your ears, you could almost hear the imperceptible concern in Oikawa’s voice. You brush it off; he doesn’t have any feelings towards you, as he’s made so amply clear.

“Why do you care?” you retort, before pushing open the door and heading in the direction of the hotel restaurant’s bar.

The room is dark when you open the door.

It’s a little past one in the morning—or so one of the bellhops had said when he kindly escorted you back to your room. Your mind is swirling.

It seems even getting yourself batshit drunk isn’t enough to eradicate all thoughts of Oikawa.

The walls spin. You stumble inside. Your hip bumps against something solid—a table, probably—and you let out a startled yelp. 

Oikawa’s voice is like a balm, soothing your feverish forehead, when he says your name.

How are you supposed to get over him? How are you supposed to go back to living alone when you’ve had this taste of what it could be like, regardless of how authentic it is?

The answer is clear as day: You cannot.

A pair of hands guides you by the shoulders to the bed. Oikawa is careful, gentle with his hold on you. You sprawl on the bed sheets, the fabric cool against your cheek. He appears like an outline in the darkness. 

“Are you okay?”

“God,” you mumble, screwing your eyes shut. “You can’t keep doing this to me, Oikawa.”

He remains silent for a moment, before he clears his throat and says, “You asked me why I care about where you go.”

You don’t say anything.

“I just do,” he continues, “and I don’t know how to explain it. But I do care.”

His fingers are warm when he caresses your cheek. The last thing you do before succumbing to sleep is murmur his name—a curse, but somehow reverent.

When you wake up the next morning, the sheets next to you are rumpled. There is no sign of Oikawa anywhere in the room, but there is a tall glass of water placed on the bedside table.

Through the pounding of your head, you squint at the note written using the hotel stationery placed beside it. 

Drink up. Hajime and Akari are bringing us breakfast.

Breakfast is a lively affair. You’re glad to see Akari again, happy to see the to-be-newlyweds so patently in love with each other.

Oikawa keeps his hand on your thigh, steady and comforting, and offers you golden smiles whenever you catch his eye, and you swallow down the awful lump in your throat.

The day passes by in a blur.

It’s on the day before Iwaizumi’s wedding that Oikawa Tooru kisses you.

Wedding photos are unnecessary, you think. After all, you’re not the one getting married. But Akari had been insistent that you and Oikawa take some pictures together, and you couldn’t refuse her beseeching gaze.

Oikawa, clad in his dapper suit, with his hair styled using copious amounts of hair gel, places his hands on your waist and draws you in. His fingers bunch up the material of your dress. The photographer asks you to place your hands on his chest. His heartbeat is a steady thrum underneath the pads of your fingertips. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, leaning in. 

You nod.

His mouth tastes like spearmint and the chocolate muffins he’d shared with you at breakfast. 

The afternoon passes by in a daze.

As you walk through the wedding venue, noting all the decorations and the flower arrangements, Oikawa slips his hand into yours. 

“You don’t have to,” you say. “No one’s here to see us.”

“I want to,” he replies simply. He is serious now, not his usual boisterous self, the way he is around Hajime and Akari. “It’s a nice place, no?”

You press your lips together. His words are oddly reminiscent of what he said the night you were drunk. Your stomach twists into knots, but if you don’t ask him the one question that has been nagging at you since then, who will do it for you?

“Tooru,” you say.

He stiffens. It’s the first time you’ve used his first name since you broke up with him.

“Why didn’t you tell Hajime we broke up?” you ask.

His shoulders loosen and his mouth twists upwards in a crooked, sad sort of smile. 

“Because I love you, and breaking up with you broke me in some way.”

Your voice is quiet when you ask, “Why did you?”

“I didn’t want to be the one holding you back,” he says, just as quietly. “I didn’t want you to be constantly worrying about someone who didn’t even live in the same country as you. You deserve someone who will be there for you. Someone you can come home to after work, and talk about your day, and cook dinner together with. I couldn’t give you that.”

You want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. What a stupid, idiotic fool you’re in love with.

“Silly,” you say. “I only want you.”

The wedding happens on a sunny afternoon, and it is beautiful. Akari is radiant, and Hajime tells her that he’s the luckiest man ever. They are in love, and looking at them doesn’t hurt anymore. Your ex-boyfriend turned current boyfriend presses his shoulder against yours and gives you a small, knowing smile when he catches you almost tearing up. You nudge him back, and his smile grows into a grin that envelops his face in gold.

(“You’re the golden one,” he’ll tell you later, pressing feather-light kisses to your collarbones and cheeks. You’ll say he’s wrong.)

Right before the crowd disperses, Oikawa takes your hand and brings it to his lips. He presses a soft kiss against the knuckle of your ring finger.

Later, he whispers to you that it’s all in the spirit of matrimony.

Oikawa Tooru is using the shower in your bedroom, and he’s running late to catch his flight back to Argentina, and everything is perfect.