#so like i didn’t even open anything and still haven’t gotten anything from her and then my dad never gives me anything anymore

[earthlyangelbby]

Cupid's Curveball Chapter 3: The Dress

Word Count: 3k

Chapters 1-2.5

Sfw Previous Chapter 2.5 Next Chapter(TBD)

Summary: The lingering memory of a kiss, a perfect dress, and seeing each other in a new light. Will the unspoken feelings of two best friends remain just that?

February 9th 1986; After School

Eddie gripped the steering wheel, tapping his thumb against it with the rhythm of the music. He hadn’t said anything to you about it yet, but he hoped Silas didn’t exist. The thought of you looking at other guys. Guys who weren’t him. It left a strange pit in his stomach. It wasn’t like you two had ever defined things or even made a move beyond friendship. Well, except that one time.

The memory hit him hard as he turned onto your street. 

That kiss… it wasn’t just a kiss. It had started sweet and soft, your lips tasting like cherry chapstick. But it wasn’t just the kiss itself it was everything leading up to it. You had been sitting on his bed, joking around like you always did, when the conversation turned to kissing. Both of you admitted you’d never really had a serious kiss.

You had laughed, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “It’s ridiculous, right? We’re like the last people in the world who haven’t been kissed by this age.”

Eddie had raised an eyebrow, his voice playful but carrying an edge of challenge. “Well, we could always fix that,” he’d said, half-joking, half-curious, though neither of you had expected the suggestion to land so differently.

Your eyes had widened, and in that moment, something shifted. “You mean... we could kiss each other?” You said it casually, but Eddie could tell from the way your voice dropped that you were just as curious as he was.

He’d shrugged, trying to play it off, but inside, his chest had tightened. “Why not? We’ve never kissed anyone else, right? Could be fun.”

And so, it happened. You both leaned in slowly, unsure at first, but then it was just your soft lips meeting his gentle, sweet and then it deepened. You found yourself in his lap before either of you realized how close you had gotten. Your body pressed into his, his hands slipping under your shirt, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. The room closed in around you.

It was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

Uncle Wayne had barged in, swinging the door open with a crash. Eddie’s heart had stopped. Wayne froze in the doorway, eyes wide. “Sorry!” he bellowed before slamming the door shut like he was fleeing for his life.

Eddie winced at the memory, but he could still hear your nervous laugh, the way you had pulled away in embarrassment. It was mortifying, mostly for you. You’d left town the next day to visit your grandparents, and by the time you came back, it felt like too much time had passed. That kiss had slipped into the realm of “a thing that happened once” a beautiful, complicated moment, but one that was now just part of the past. Too much time had passed for you both to pick up where you’d left off.

He pulled into your driveway, shaking the thoughts away just as you came bounding down the steps, your grin lighting up the whole yard. You climbed into the van, and in that moment, everything else seemed to fade away.

By the time you reached the mall, Diana was already waiting at the boutique, her arms crossed but smiling when she spotted you both.

“This is the place,” Diana said, ushering you inside.

The racks of dresses stretched in every direction, and you immediately felt overwhelmed. You had $100 enough for a dress and maybe some accessories if you played your cards right. You and Diana got to work picking out different dresses.

Eddie sat in the plush ornate chair, magazine in hand, feeling like the lone audience member at a private fashion show. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but it felt like an eternity as he waited for you to emerge from the dressing room. The air around him was thick with the buzz of anticipation. This is ridiculous. It’s just a dress. I should’ve brought a book or something.

The first dress you stepped into was a pale yellow number, with over-the-top ruffles and bubble-like layers. You spun around, eyes locked on the mirror, and grimaced.

“I look like a wedding cake,” you muttered, clearly unimpressed.

Eddie laughed, his voice light. “A very pretty wedding cake?”

“Next!” Diana chimed, handing you a short green dress.

He perked up when you emerged in the green dress. “That one’s not bad,” he offered, though his smile faltered when you grimaced.

“It reminds me of baby puke,” you said, wrinkling your nose. Eddie couldn’t help but laugh at your bluntness.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, no. This is a ‘next.’” You disappeared behind the curtain, your voice already fading.

Diana, ever the supportive friend, handed you another dress, a deep navy one with a plunging neckline. As you stepped out, Eddie couldn’t help but notice how it clung to your body in all the right ways, accentuating your curves in a way that made his heart beat a little faster.

You looked at your reflection, shifting uncomfortably. The fabric clung too tightly to your sides, and the neckline felt like it screamed for attention you weren’t sure you wanted. Your smile faltered.

Does Eddie think I’m trying too hard?

“I don’t know,” you said, tugging at the fabric. “It’s just too much, isn’t it?”

Eddie leaned forward. “It’s bold,” he offered carefully, his eyes never leaving you. Why doesn’t she see it? She looks stunning.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Bold? That’s your way of saying ‘too much,’ right?”

He shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “I’m just here for moral support. If it’s not the one, then yeah, maybe it’s not the one.”

“Right,” you said, disappearing behind the curtain again.

Diana, undeterred, passed you a sparkly red dress next. The dress shimmered, all sequins and elegance, and when you stepped out of the dressing room, Eddie was speechless for a moment. The dress hugged you like it was made for you, with a daring slit up the side. You looked like you belonged at the Oscars.

You twisted in the mirror, frowning. “I can’t wear this. I look like I’m trying to win a beauty pageant.”

He’s staring. Is that a good thing? Say something, Eddie. Please.

“Or like you already won,” Eddie muttered under his breath, eyes still locked on you.

“What?” You glanced over your shoulder at him.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. God, she’s gorgeous.

You gave him a skeptical look. “It’s not working for me,” you said, pushing behind the curtain and reaching for something else.

Diana gave an exaggerated sigh but helped you out of the red dress and into a lavender tulle number. “This one’s cute,” she said, adjusting the straps.

You stepped out, looking at yourself in the mirror with a sense of uncertainty. “It’s too�� princessy. Like I’m about to star in a Disney movie or something.”

Eddie grinned. “You’d make a great Disney princess.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not what I’m going for.”

Finally, Diana pulled out the last dress, a powder blue number with an iridescent overlay and a flowy skirt. The fabric caught the light in all the right ways, giving it an almost ethereal glow. You stepped into it, looking at yourself in the mirror with wide eyes.

“Wow,” you said softly, a little breathless as you spun to see yourself from all angles.

Eddie was so caught off guard that he didn’t even register the words you were saying. His jaw went slack as you stepped out of the dressing room. The moment you emerged, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. The blue dress shimmered under the lights, and the iridescent overlay made you look almost like a dream. You looked... perfect. The kind of perfect that took his breath away.

He didn’t even realize he was standing until Diana said something. “Looks like we’ve found the one.”

Eddie barely even processed it. He was too busy staring, still unable to wrap his head around how beautiful you looked. You turned this way and that, the skirt swishing with each move, and he could barely think straight. His mouth had gone dry.

“Wow,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “You look… perfect.”

Your eyes flicked to him, a hint of doubt still in your voice. “You think so?”

Without hesitation, he nodded, his gaze never leaving you. “Yeah. Definitely.”

You seemed to soften at his words, but Diana’s grin was unmistakable. “I think we’ve found the winner.”

You glanced at your reflection one more time, fingers nervously brushing the fabric. “I feel like a princess in this,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie didn’t even try to hide his awe as you turned to face him again. She’s incredible. Why doesn’t she see it? He wanted to tell you how perfect you were, how beautiful, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he just stood there, unable to take his eyes off you, silently wishing you could see yourself the way he saw you.

Diana clapped her hands together. “Alright, I’m having them hold this at the front while we look for accessories.”

Eddie got up, deciding to help out. The walk to the counter was filled with racks of necklaces, tiaras, and earrings just everything you could imagine for a formal look. You were browsing, your fingers running over everything.

You noticed the price tag on the dress. “It’s $65,” you remarked, a relieved smile crossing your face. “That leaves me with $35 for accessories.”

They scanned the jewelry options. You stopped in front of a silver locket, admiring the tiny diamond in the center. The details were intricate, the chain delicate. You showed Eddie, your eyes lighting up.

“It’s so pretty,” you looked at Eddie, smiling.

You ran your hand up the chain, then noticed the price tag. “$55,” you whispered, your smile faltering. You put it back in its case with a soft sigh.

Eddie’s chest tightened. He couldn’t stand seeing that flicker of disappointment in your eyes. You’d told him once, months ago, how you’d always wanted a locket—how you used to imagine putting a picture of your family or your future inside one. The memory had seemed so small at the time, just another thing you’d casually shared, but now, seeing your fingers linger on the silver chain, it felt like the most important thing in the world.

He glanced down at his wallet, already knowing what he had in it. The cash from the party he’d sold at the week before. His easy, careless hustle that had put a few hundred bucks in his pocket. It felt heavier in his hands now. The thought of it unsettled him, but not for the reason most would think. It wasn’t the weed sales or the shady business. it was the idea of you wearing that locket, holding something he’d given you, something that would mean more than money could explain.

I’ve got the cash for this, he thought, the sudden sense of purpose hitting him hard. She deserves this.

You and Diana walked toward the shoes, your conversation fading as Eddie watched you. He didn’t waste any more time. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he darted to the counter, reaching for the locket. The cashier, a girl who had seen enough shady dealings by now to know what was going on, didn’t ask questions. She just nodded, understanding what he needed, and quietly rang up the purchase.

Eddie slid the cash across the counter, his fingers trembling as the transaction went through. He could feel the weight of the locket in his hand, but he didn’t let it show. The last thing he wanted was for you to catch on before he was ready. He stuffed the small box into his pocket, making sure it was safe before taking a deep breath.

He walked over to join you and Diana, his mind already on how he was going to give it to you he just didn’t know when.

On his walk over to you and Diana a store across the way caught his eye. Men’s Suit OutletI could go to the ball. No big deal. Would she want me to? I have to see her then. I’m going. 

“Hey girls, Watching you have so much fun getting ready changed my mind,” he said, his voice warm. 

“Since it took less time than we expected to pick out your dress, how about we go across the hall and get fitted for a suit?”

Your heart skipped a beat, nerves, and excitement crashing through you all at once. “A suit?” 

you asked, barely able to keep the surprise out of your voice.

Diana, already in full support mode, grinned. “You need one anyway!”

As Eddie stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the black suit, he couldn’t help but notice the difference it made. It wasn’t just the tailored fit or the sharp look it was the feeling of confidence he was starting to embrace. He looked... different. Better. And when he turned to face you, he saw your expression change. Your eyes widened as you took him in.

Your gaze didn’t leave him, and for a second, it felt like time had slowed down. You looked at him with that same awe that he had when he first saw you in the dress like you were trying to figure out how to describe what you were seeing.

Say something. Compliment him. Tell him he looks amazing. Don’t just stand here like an idiot.

“Wow,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You took a few steps closer, your eyes scanning him from head to toe. Your lips parted slightly, and Eddie couldn’t help but smile at the way you were looking at him.

He adjusted his tie, trying to play it cool. “You think so?”

You nodded, still in a little bit of shock, but your smile was bright. “You look... amazing, Eddie. I didn’t even know you could look like this.”

Your words hit him harder than he expected, making him feel even more self-conscious, but in a good way. He had no idea why he felt this level of warmth of pride just by hearing you say those things.

"Yeah?" he asked, trying to keep it light. "Guess I clean up good, huh?"

You laughed softly, your eyes never leaving him. “You really do.”

He leaned against the counter, smiling at you, but there was a strange twist in his gut. This feels different. This is more than just a suit. This is... us.

Diana, watching from the side, rolled her eyes with a grin. “Seriously, you two are giving me a sugar rush just by being in the same room.”

Eddie chuckled. He could feel the energy between you two shift like there was some unspoken understanding now. He wasn’t just your friend anymore. There was something more there, and it was starting to feel like it was just a matter of time before it was undeniable.

He turned to the attendant and nodded. “I’ll take it. Let’s do this.”

As they went through the motions of getting the suit ready for pickup, Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about your reaction. He’d never worn anything like this before, and the idea of you seeing him in it was enough to make his heart race. He couldn’t wait for the ball. It felt like an eternity away, but now that he had the suit, the anticipation was somehow even more intense.

He glanced at you, and your eyes met his. 

Your smile grew wider as you realized that this was really happening. “Five days,” you said softly, almost like you couldn’t believe it. “The ball’s in five days…”

Eddie couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah. And I can’t wait for you to see me in this.”

Your smile faltered for a split second, a nervous energy flickering across your face. But then it was back, brighter than ever. “You better be just as good as you look right now,” you teased, your eyes dancing.

Eddie's heart skipped a beat, but he managed to keep his cool. “Oh, I’m planning on looking even better!”

You walked out of the store together, both of you lost in the thought of what was to come. Eddie was already imagining the moment you saw him in the suit at the ball and holding you in a slow dance. This is all he could do because he would not be the guy taking you, and that hurt in a deep part of his chest.

After the mall, the three of you stopped at a small diner for a quick dinner. The place was cozy, with red vinyl booths and a jukebox humming in the corner. Over burgers and milkshakes, the conversation stayed light. Diana chatted about the ball while Eddie chimed in with his usual sarcastic humor that had you both laughing. At one point, Diana leaned over with a teasing grin, nudging you as she joked, “You two really are like an old married couple.” Eddie raised an eyebrow at that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, pretending to focus on your drink instead.

Eddie offered to drive Diana home, the van rumbling softly as you sat up front and Diana sprawled out in the backseat, humming along to the radio. She teased you again, saying the night felt like something out of a movie, but her voice faded into the background as you glanced at Eddie’s profile in the dim light. The winding road around Lovers Lake was quiet, almost peaceful, and you couldn’t help wondering if he felt the same undercurrent of something shifting between you. When you reached Diana’s place, she climbed out with a cheerful goodbye, leaving you and Eddie alone in the van. The air felt heavier now, charged with unsaid words as he turned the van back toward the lake.

To be continued at.......

Thanks for reading! Means so much to me :) Are you excited for the ball?

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[fakeoutbf]

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[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (11)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

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

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Angst, pining

a/n: Omg guysss it's been months but here it is!!! I'm so happy and excited to share this chapter ❤️ Things are slowly coming to a close with this story, but don't you fret because there are still some big plans 👀 The POV bops around a little in the chapter because I just want to capture a lot. Well, enjoy!! Thank you for waiting for me :)

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

Nesta Archeron was glaring at you from the other side of the room. The icy stare was a stark contrast to the warm, jubilant nature of those around you, and you found yourself continuously edging into Azriel’s side to avoid the harshness. If the Shadowsinger noticed your growing distress—which you were sure he did—he didn’t make it known. He only allowed you to get closer, subtly shifting his arm to accommodate your movement. 

Feyre was speaking on the other side of you, retelling a light-hearted story about the creation of her art studio. You had been part of the construction and she was more than happy to share that information with you. 

Meeting her had been immeasurably easier than meeting Nesta. 

“I’m so happy you’ve been feeling well enough to do this,” Feyre smiled, her hand on your arm starling you out of your game of avoidance. “I’ve missed seeing you. I know we all have. Elain was furious that she couldn't make it. She got caught up on the outskirts of the continent with Lucien.” 

You took a calming breath in through your nose and shifted your gaze away from the chair Nesta was occupying. “Lucien?” 

Azirel’s low tone rumbled at your shoulder. “Elain’s mate. He has an interesting story. I’ll tell you more about it later.” 

And you trusted that he would. 

Since the night the two of you shared, Azriel had become an open book. He had spent half of that night making you privy to the story you shared—how you met, how the bond snapped, and his subsequent idiocy of keeping it from you while you knew the entire time. That point had sent you into a fit of laughter because obviously you would have known. Your magic revolved around parsing out lies and secrets. 

Coming to terms with that truth also helped you better understand the bond itself. 

Azriel had explained that the cauldron found mates in equals, pairing the souls of those that matched. It had been confusing for you to make a connection between Azriel and yourself. He was an Illyrian with forceful wings and so much power that it needed to be contained in the azure siphons lining his body.

But then, on a particularly quiet night, Azriel had shared his role in Rhysand’s court. His words had been cloaked in reproach as if sharing that piece of him would send you running. You had listened with rapt attention and pieced together the truth of your bond. 

Azriel was the spymaster, and you were the truthteller. 

It also helped—presumably—that Azriel had gotten into the habit of telling you how much he loved you. Regularly.

He never expected anything following his declarations and never even gave you enough time to think of a response, but he said the words so openly. Handing you breakfast, taking a walk along the Sidra, in between stories from your life; Azriel always said I love you as if he didn’t mean to, like he was making up for lost time. 

You hadn’t said it back yet. 

Maybe you’d thought it. 

“There’s also a book club that I know has been eagerly waiting for your return—” 

“So you’ve really lost your memory?” Nesta’s biting tone cut her sister off. You snapped your gaze over to the piercing eyes you’d been avoiding. 

“Um—”

“Rather convenient, how cuddled up you are with the spymaster when the rest of us haven’t even seen you. What progression does that show?” 

“Nes,” Cassian chided from beside her. 

Something heavy made your chest hurt—embarrassment, you parsed out. You leaned away from the warm chest you found comfort in and glanced at Cassian’s exasperated expression as he stared at his mate. 

“What? You all have been hiding her away with your typical ploy of protecting her. Why hasn’t she been training with the Valkyries? Who gets to decide when she’s let out for a walk? I presume Rhysand is one of her handlers? I’d ask him but he refuses to speak to me about it and doesn’t show his face unless absolutely necessary.” 

“That’s enough,” Azriel cut through. You’d put about an inch of space between the two of you and the missing contact was glaringly apparent. 

“Is it? You’re making her weak.” 

“Nesta, we weren’t here the first time this happened. We have no idea what she needs,” Feyre argued, squaring her shoulders towards her sister. 

Nesta only scoffed. “Well, clearly, she needs something else because she still has no memory.” 

“I don’t know what’s going on with you right now, but cool it,” Cassian commanded. 

Sharp features ran over your form, analyzing your every move as the conflict continued. You felt exposed, belittled under Nesta’s gaze, and the fae only sharpened the lines of her eyes the more you squirmed. Azriel closed the space between you again, covering your knee with his hand, and Nesta’s jaw worked at the movement. 

You wanted to say something, maybe defend yourself, but you were afraid to open your mouth and be ridiculed. Everyone had said you were friends with Nesta. They had described her prickly personality but said you had been fast friends. They said she had been asking about you. 

You breathed through your nose and pressed your lips together. 

“She’s gotten memories back, Nesta. We were told it’s a slow process,” Feyre reasoned, attempting to lower the tone of the room as Azriel’s shadows became restless. 

“Right. And they all happen to be memories of the precious Inner Circle. Another agenda I’m sure was purposeful.” 

That was true. You’d gotten back a handful of memories now, all with either Azriel, Cassian, Rhys, or Mor involved, but those were the only people you knew. And they were all distant memories made centuries ago. You had no new context and had started to assume that this process would be chronological. Sort of. 

“We are introducing things slowly,” Azriel all but gritted out, his presence large and looming at your back. “Even the process of getting those few memories hasn’t been pleasant. Based on what we understood we thought it would be better if—” 

“It’s always what you think. She isn’t yours, Azriel,” Nesta fought, gripping the arms of her chair in a punishing hold. 

“Careful, Nesta—” 

“You’re scared.” Your voice was sure but quiet as it silenced the room. You stared at Nesta, brows furrowed, and watched the tells of her fear emanate from her. “Why are you scared?” 

Nesta looked jarred, affronted. She glowered at you. “I am not scared.”

“I can see it. I don’t understand it, but I can see it.” You met her eyes and something looked different about them—something searching. “Is it about me?” 

The room tensed, air becoming still. 

Nesta stood abruptly. You straightened your back and were halfway up to follow her, a confusing urge leading you to comfort the woman who obviously did not like you, when pain took your breath away. You faltered, feet failing as you shot them out to balance your wavering posture. You fell forward instead, the ground a harsh pain against your knees. 

Azriel 

Azriel was so quick to find your side, any vitriol lingering in the room no longer his concern. He pulled you against him and slotted your head in his neck as a whine left your lips. 

“What’s wrong with her?” Nesta asked, harshness tinged with underlying urgency. 

He had known she was scared—everyone knew that—but you voicing it had made it real, and Nesta was not one to put that out in the open. In another life, just a few months difference, you would have confronted her privately. But you didn’t know. 

“She’s remembering,” Azriel muttered, holding you closer as your body became dead weight against his. This part always sent terror shooting through him, but he was getting better at containing it. You needed him to be calm.

“Does she always collapse? You didn’t think to—” 

“Nesta,” Feyre interrupted, placing a gentle hand on her sister’s arm. The High Lady shook her head with a wince. 

Azriel watched the interaction with lidded eyes, his hands pressed to your head and back. He knew you would come to within a few minutes. Sometimes it took longer and you were far more dazed then, but he’d be willing to sit here for as long as you needed. 

“I’ll get the compress,” Cassian declared, kicking up from his chair with a parting hand on Nesta’s shoulder. “Take it easy. It can be difficult when she wakes up.” 

Nesta crossed her arms and shifted her weight between her feet as Azriel repositioned you on the ground. He looked down at your face, the way your eyes moved behind the lids, and then tucked you back into his chest. He reminded himself that this was something good; last time you remembered the first kiss you had had with him. 

A turn of silence overcame the sitting room and Feyre excused herself to check up on Nyx. Nesta stayed, using Cassian’s return as her weak excuse. 

“How long—” 

“She’s okay, Nesta,” Azriel said, voice low. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but she’s okay. You  need to give her time.” 

Nesta’s brow furrowed and she bit the side of her cheek. “You all have made her weak. She doesn’t need to be coddled.” 

“She does. For now. That doesn’t make her weak—to need people.” 

Azriel moved your hair off your forehead as a harsh breath left your nose. You didn’t wake yet. 

“She would hate it—being treated like glass.” 

“I know,” Azriel admitted. “She hates it now. But, as Feyre said, you weren’t there before. This is nothing compared to how we were then.” 

“I haven’t seen her in months.” Nesta’s voice was smaller as she dropped to the ground beside Azriel. “She looked so… timid when she came in. She was never like that.” 

Azriel let out a sigh and held Nesta’s gaze. “I know how this feels, but you can’t… you can’t blame her for this. You can’t punish her, Nesta. She needs you, too.” 

“She hasn’t needed me this entire time, obviously. That was decided rather quickly.” 

Azriel sighed again, but before he could help his sister sort out the myriad of emotions he knew she was feeling, you groaned and the sound rattled against his skin. The Shadowsinger pulled you away from his body but kept his arms holding you up. Your lashes slowly fluttered before you pressed your palm into your eye socket. 

“Gods, ow,” you complained. “I hate that part.” 

Azriel offered you a melancholy laugh and brushed his lips along your forehead—always stolen touches with him. “I’m sorry, my love.” He paused, sending a sidelong glance toward Nesta. The younger fae was frozen in place. “Can I get you anything?” 

“The cold compress, maybe?” 

“Cass is already on it. He’ll be back soon.” Another pause as you gathered your bearings. Azriel rubbed soothing circles into any skin he could reach. “Share now or later?” 

The question was routine now. Some memories were easy for you to share, spouting them off as soon as you woke up like in the case of the first kiss you had learned about three days ago. Others hurt as if you were reliving them in the moment, like when Rhys was taken under the mountain or when you remembered the pain of Day Court. 

So Azriel would wait, and then he would ask. 

And if he needed to hold you as you cried afterward, he would do that, too. 

Your tongue darted out to wet your drying lips and then your expression pinched. You sat up fully to examine the room, still disoriented if Azriel could tell anything by the rapid way your eyes moved, but you were looking for something—or someone, maybe. 

When you looked over your shoulder and found Nesta’s frozen form, recognition shone in your hazy eyes. 

“I remembered you,” you revealed. You twisted from Azriel’s grip to sit on the floor before her. “We were talking. Or, I was talking and you were… angry at me for something. We were in a terribly awful apartment. I think it was yours.” Your brows came together as you searched through the memory. You looked back up. “You were afraid then too.” 

Azriel didn’t have a moment to protest before Nesta had her arms thrown around your shoulders, her grip on your sweater visibly unshakeable. You had to stabilize a hand behind you to keep upright, and even though Azriel knew your head throbbed after getting a memory back, you didn’t make a sound. 

“You’re going to be fine,” Nesta angrily demanded, sounding as if she were placing a curse. “You are stronger than this.” 

A minute ticked by, and then another. Azriel sat idly by as Nesta held you against her and you held her back without as much context, but just as tightly. 

“Well,” Cassian re-entered the sitting room, cold compress held loosely in his hand. “This seems to be going better.” 

~~~

A few days after meeting, and somewhat understanding, Nesta Archeron, you found yourself on a walk with Azriel following the resurfacing of a particularly painful memory. It was something from the war—Azriel was hurt, barely alive, and you were helpless and miles away from him. The memory was mostly just remnants of pain and fear, and it had taken Azriel fifteen minutes to calm you down after. 

But that was fine—it was good. Because for every painful memory came several good ones, and those memories made it worth it. You almost felt lucky to experience many of them for the first time again. 

“Can I ask you something?” you posed, swinging your conjoined hands as they intertwined between you. You loved holding Azriel’s hand—especially after the first time you’d initiated the contact and he blushed so furiously it warmed his skin. 

“Of course you can,” came Azriel’s soft reply. 

The low sounds of Velaris winding down laid the background of the conversation. The occasional merchant sweeping outside their shop would wave to the two of you, and although you still didn’t recognize them all, it didn’t hurt as much to grin and greet them. A few of them reintroduced themselves with warm smiles after hearing of your condition, but others just appeared happy to see you in any context. 

“When I remembered us after we were married,” you began. “Where were we? I’ve been in most of the rooms in the House and I can’t find it.” 

“Ah,” Azriel hummed. His mouth curved up in a beautiful half-smile. “I was wondering when you’d ask about that.” 

“You’ve been keeping something from me!” you accused with a playful gasp. 

“No, no, not keeping it from you, angel. I wanted you to find it on your own.” 

“What do you mean find it on my own? I’ve only recently been able to find my study in the House and I lose my way if I start in certain corners.” 

Azriel chuckled, his eyes squinting at the corners. 

This felt so good—so normal. 

This felt like something that could last. 

“How many times have I taken you on this walk?” he asked, gently guiding you forward on cobblestone. 

“Are you changing the subject?” Azriel shot you a knowing look that had you rolling your eyes. “Fine,” you relented. “Almost every other day.” 

“Why do you think that is?” 

“It’s a nice path. The street isn’t too busy but there’s a lot to look at,” you shrugged. “I thought you just liked it.” 

Azriel brought you to a stop away from the street. “Look a little deeper.” He gestured around with his chin. 

There was nothing out of the ordinary, not at first. He had stopped you in a quieter corner of the street, one you always admired each time you passed it. Soft foliage lined each house you passed, purples and blues and muted yellows obviously cared for among old brick and stone. Gentle water could be heard in the distance, most likely from fountains or small wells meant to provide for families. In the setting sun, the houses were peaceful, serene. 

Something called to you. It was inexplicable, but you found yourself without the urge to inspect why you were being called. Your power was usually unexplainable—at least that’s what it felt like—but this was different. 

You turned to look on at the quaint cottage Azriel had stopped you in front of. 

“Does this place mean something?” you asked, knocking your head to the side as you took in the ivy that trailed up tanned stones. 

Azriel could be felt at your back, the Illyrian bringing his hands up to rest on your shoulders. “Yes. What does your intuition tell you?” 

“I don’t think my magic works like that.” 

“Just give it a shot,” Azriel chuckled by your ear. 

It was when his lips pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, stealing your breath away, that you hoped for more. That your intuition prompted you to ask for more. 

“Is this… Do we live here?” 

You could feel Azriel’s smile near your skin. You turned to face him, his hands dropping from your shoulders as your expression shifted into pleasant disbelief. Azriel’s smile was twisted into permanent light on his face, and he brushed your hair behind your ears as you stared up at him. 

“We do. Picked it out right after we were married. We didn’t think raising a family in the House of Wind was very feasible long-term.” Azriel jolted, stuttering for a moment. “Not that we need to raise a family! Now, or ever, actually. That was just something we talked about before, but things are different now and just having you—” 

“Azriel,” you smiled, interrupting his rambling by sliding your arms around his shoulder. “Can I ask you something else?” 

Azriel blushed, closing his eyes with a sigh as he nodded in defeat. 

“Will you kiss me?” 

His eyes snapped open, the hazel searching yours with a quickened intensity. “Are you sure?” he asked. His hands were on your waist and you couldn't remember him putting them there. “You don’t have to—” 

“I remember our first kiss,” you countered. Your eyes flickered down to the ring hanging around his neck. That question would be for another time. “Seems only fair that I’d get to experience one in real-time, don’t you think?”

“You don’t want to go in the house? Go see it?” he whispered, but he was leaning down as he spoke the words, his eyes glued to your lips. 

“I think I’ll have time later.” 

When his lips met yours, Azriel exhaled deeply, the hands on your waist pulling you closer with desperation lining his skin. He deepened the kiss in a way that seemed unintentional, intrinsic, and you saw stars behind your lids as he covered your mouth with his and kissed you harder. You had to take a step back to steady yourself and he only followed, his wings coming around your back to press you tighter. 

Something rumbled in the back of Azriel’s throat as your fingers twined through his hair. You only had the faint memory of a kiss, but that one was much different than this. That kiss had been sweet and tentative. This kiss was desperate and needy and you could feel the way Azriel missed you in each of his touches.

And, Gods, did you miss him, too. Differently—a way you couldn’t even understand—but you missed him. 

When you pulled back, you were met with Azriel’s furrowed brow, his eyes flickering between both of yours. He kept you close as you let out a breathy laugh. 

“Do you always kiss me like that?” 

“I should,” he breathed, and then he kissed you and kissed you until your back met the front door of your home. 

~~~

“Things wouldn’t be so bad, you know,” Mor announced, breaking the silence in the room. “If you didn’t get everything back.” 

You glanced up from the diary you’d been poring over, bookmarking the page as you stared up at your friend. “What do you mean?” 

“I just mean if you had gaps, maybe things you never remembered, that would be okay,” Mor continued, rising to sit beside you on the loveseat. 

She had come to visit you in the cottage—your cottage—bringing you one of your diaries they had hidden in the House of Wind. You had eagerly ripped it from her hands and dove into the contents, barely greeting her as you ushered her in and flipped the door shut. 

“Well, the goal is everything,” you explained. You held up the diary and gave it a small shake. “That’s why Az and I asked for these. And there are still people out looking for the witch.” 

Mor kissed her teeth and sighed. “But it would be okay,” she repeated. “If you never got it all back. It would be okay if you were just like this, all the time.” 

“What, is there something you’re hoping I won’t remember? Something embarrassing?” you teased, but Mor didn’t laugh. 

“I’ve been thinking about something you said a little while ago. It’s been bothering me. I talked to Azriel about it too, and I just… I need you to know that we all love you—that I love you—just as you are now. You aren’t a ghost.” 

The smile fell from your lips. You placed the diary down in your lap and turned to face Mor, taking her hands in yours. “Mor, I know that. I didn’t mean—” 

“No, you were right. We were talking as if you weren’t there and that wasn’t fair. None of this is fair, but especially not that. You have to know, y/n, that the way you are, right now, that’s still you. I’m sorry. We’ve all been idiots.” 

You huffed out a small chuckle. “I mean I wasn’t going to say it.”

Some of the light returned to Mor’s eyes, masking the grief that lingered there. “See, there you are.” 

You gripped her hands tighter, yanking her in for a hug. “I forgive you, Mor.” 

She clutched at your shirt and laughed. “Thank the Mother. Because Azriel wouldn’t shut up about keeping you all to himself. I was sick of the gloating.” 

“Azriel? Gloating?” you feigned a gasp, pulling back with a teasing smile. 

“You bring it out of him.” 

Memories came in different waves as time went on. Sometimes they were quick, difficult rememberings. Other times you were out for much longer and would wake up disoriented and confused. But you were never afraid of them. 

At first, the slow nature of their return did make you afraid. You had feared that this process would take too long and everyone would grow tired of waiting. Maybe Azriel would start rolling his eyes when you lost consciousness or Cassian would start to grumble every time you couldn’t connect the dots in one of his stories. The fear was real and it ate away at you for about one week before it was completely diminished. 

Because this conversation you were having with Mor—you’d had it with Azriel too. 

He had pressed his lips along your forehead and told you that it was fine if you couldn't remember everything, he’d just make you fall in love with him again. 

And maybe you were too afraid to tell him that he’d already succeeded at that feat. 

A comfortable silence fell over the room as you and Mor continued your independent tasks, you reading your diary, Mor flipping through a stack of correspondence she had brought along with her. The sounds of scribbling and creased parchment were reminiscent of the first few days after you lost your memory—Mor would bring work into your room and sit beside you as you nursed a headache. Hearing it in this context, in your home, felt like it had a meaning to it. 

Azriel 

It was later in the afternoon when the front door silently opened, Azriel removing his shoes by the door and setting off to find his mate in the cottage. He could hear someone else and mistakenly thought it to be Nesta before he spotted a head of bright-blonde hair beside you in the sitting room. Mor had been the only one in the family who hadn’t visited the cottage yet and relief filled his chest and the sight of her. 

You had started to worry that she didn’t want to see you. Azriel had reassured you several times that Mor just thought you didn’t want to see her after the way everyone acted, but his sweet words had done little to quell your fears. 

Your relationship with Mor had been different since you woke up; she had been the one person you could trust for a while. When he was afraid and messing everything up, Mor held your hand and talked you through his idiocy. 

He was glad some semblance of a reunion in his sitting room. 

“Hi, girls,” Azriel greeted, keeping his voice low to match the calm of the room. He leaned down beside your place on the loveseat, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Should I get a fire going? It’s cold in here.” 

You turned your head to grin up at him, and Azriel had to calm his heart as it skipped several beats. He was trying to be casual about all of this—about you in the seat you had claimed as yours several years ago, sitting beside your best friend and smiling up at him, looking as if you belonged here because you did—but you were making it very difficult with your pretty smile and the pretty way you blinked at him. 

“Hi, Az. Mor’s here,” you offered. 

“I see that, my love.” 

You smiled again, this time directing it towards Mor. “She brought one of my journals. It’s from before I met you all. I don’t have any memories of that time yet. Very informative.” 

“Thought we could go chronologically,” Mor quipped. She leaned up from the couch and stretched her arms. “I’ll let you guys get to it, then. With… whatever mates do.” 

“Will you be back?” 

Azriel’s heart hurt a little at the question, and he could tell by the softness in Mor’s gaze that she felt the same. 

“Of course. Just not when you and Nesta are having your book club. Made that mistake a few too many times,” she teased, sending parting words out the entryway. 

As soon as Mor had vacated the seat beside you, Azriel was occupying the space, rounding his arm over your shoulders and smashing you into his chest as he pressed kisses to your skin. You laughed and attempted to push him away, the journal now lost in a cushion, but Azriel was unrelenting. 

“I missed you,” he proclaimed. 

“I saw you this morning,” you giggled back, finally giving up and allowing the onslaught of affection. 

“Doesn’t matter. I spent weeks not touching you. You just started letting me kiss you.”

“We’ve been kissing for a few weeks now.” Azriel only hummed at your words and moved his hands to cup your face as he kissed your cheeks. “Gods, we sound like children.” 

“I love you.” 

Main POV

You opened your mouth to reply, but Azriel had already silenced you with his lips. You were breathless when he pulled away, all thoughts emptying from your brain. 

“How was your day?” he asked, removing himself from the tight grip he’d captured you in. But he still kept you glued to his side. 

You took a breath in and blinked. “Um, it was good. Mor came.” 

“You mentioned,” Azriel teased. “Any memories you want to talk about over dinner?” 

“None today. It’s been slow over the past few days, I’ve noticed.” 

Azriel brushed hair from your forehead. “That’s okay. They’ll come with time.” He paused. “Or they won’t.” 

The reminder of Azriel’s promise to you sat behind his words. It echoed Mor’s conversation earlier and you fought the reassurance and dread that battled within you. 

Because he was right. They might come, or they might not. 

Your family would love you either way. 

But, would you have to live with this feeling of… incompleteness forever as well? 

Would that fade with time? 

You offered a soft smile and leaned up to kiss the corner of Azriel’s mouth. “The things in the journal Mor gave me,” you began. “Usually, when one of you tells me about something from the past I feel a connection to it. Or I get a memory back. But I’ve been poring over this book—” you fished it out from the cushions. “—and, nothing. It’s like I’m reading a story and not my own words.” 

Azriel furrowed his brow. “That must be difficult to comprehend.” 

“It is,” you nodded. “And, that’s fine—I guess. Because none of you can really reinforce memories when you weren’t there. I just feel strange about it.” 

“Can I do anything to help?” 

You bit your lip as Azriel stared back at you with concern laced in his features. He was already doing everything he could to help, already pushing aside so much so you could find comfort in this confusing life you’d been dropped into. 

You watched the way he held himself back, the way he always kept himself close to Velaris and refused necessary missions to keep you near. You looked on without the means to help him as he stressed over the memories you’d receive. He spent countless hours retelling your story and holding you through difficult bouts of unconsciousness and taking it so, painfully slow with you. 

Maybe, if you really thought about it, this hole within you wasn’t that big of a deal. 

“Could you get that fire started?” 

[covenofagatha]

Any chance you'd write Agatha x reader fic where Agatha is a teacher/professor but reader looks up to her & also has a crush & Agatha notices it. Maybe some slight manipulation, mommy issues etc etc 😂

I'm so sorry this took so long to write 😅 this one's from November and I apologize to everyone else who submitted requests months ago, I promise I am working on them and I will get to them sooner or later

Shoutout to the two teachers who I would do anything for and may have been used as some inspiration for this one (also I have no clue how this one got so long and I really hope it's good)

The power she holds

You're Agatha's TA for her History of Witchcraft class and you're more than happy to help with whatever she needs

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: manipulative Agatha, mommy issues, massive praise kink, fingering, slight mommy kink, oral (barely)

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna

“Good morning,” you say with a knock on the open door to Professor Harkness’s office. She glances up from her seat at the desk and gives you the hint of a polite smile, beckoning you in with a hand. 

You plop down at the desk in the back of the room, the one closest to hers, and your backpack hits the ground with a thud. 

“You’re here early,” she muses, typing something on her computer without looking at you. 

But your cheeks still grow hot. She hasn’t said anything about your punctuality so far, even though you always try to get to her class at least ten minutes before it starts. Not because you want to impress her or get her to notice you or anything. You’re just being a good Teacher’s Assistant. 

Agatha Harkness was your teacher last semester in History of Witchcraft, and when she sent out applications for TA’s for the spring, you had jumped at the chance. You had gotten one of the highest grades in her class and often attended her office hours, so you had gotten pretty close to her, as far as teacher-student relationships go. 

You would never tell her this, but you strived for her approval. You didn’t try half as hard in your other classes, partly because they were easy, but there was also something about getting validation from her that made it all worth it. 

Your relationship with your mother is tense, with you never feeling like you were good enough for her, so you know where it comes from. It’s happened before, with older female teachers, where you would neglect everything else just for a chance for them to tell you that they were proud of you. 

But it’s a little different with Agatha, because of how attractive she is. She’s also incredibly smart, and when she looks at you, it’s like she really sees you, and that makes you warm inside. 

You know that she likes you, at least more than the average student, but you were still surprised when she had picked you to be her TA.  

It’s only a week into the semester and she hasn’t had you do anything yet. Her class is held on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and both Monday and Wednesday this week, you’ve just been sitting next to her desk while she lectures. 

You’re thankful that she’s not bogging you down with work, you already have enough of it in your other classes, but you wish she’d give you something to do so you could feel like you’re being useful. Except you know there isn’t really anything she needs help with yet, with it being the start of a new class and the students haven’t had any real assignments for you to help with. Seems like you’ll just have to wait.

She mutters something to herself while moving to flip through papers on her desk and you frown. “Is there anything you need help with?” You ask and she turns to face you finally, but in the process, knocks over her mug of coffee. It spills all over the floor and she jumps up to avoid getting wet. 

“Fuck,” she curses under her breath just as the door opens and students start to come in. She looks at the mess on the floor and then up at you, and you spring into motion. 

You practically run down the hallway to the bathroom, pump the lever on the paper towel holder about ten times, and rip the bundle off, ignoring the confused looks from the other girls washing their hands. You sprint back and drop to your knees to soak up the coffee. 

“Who knew I could get my assistant to do other things than just help me grade papers?” Agatha asks rhetorically, voice light and teasing, but you blush. 

After you clean the floor and stand back up, you shake your hair out of your face and nod to her now-empty mug. “Do you want me to get you some more coffee?” 

Agatha’s eyes light up and she holds out the cup for you to take. You ignore the electricity that flares up under your skin when your fingers brush against hers. “Black with two sugars,” she says and you nod. 

She smirks before straightening up and walking to the front of the classroom to begin her lecture while you throw the wet paper towels away in the trash and go down to the student union to the coffee machine. 

You tap your foot impatiently while the maker whirrs to life and starts to spit coffee into the mug. Your nose wrinkles; you’ve never been a big coffee drinker, and even the smell gets to you sometimes. 

Finally, the cup is full and you add in two sugars, stirring delicately, and then carefully walking back to Agatha’s classroom. She’s talking about the Valais Witch Trials in Switzerland, the first systematic European Witch Hunt. You make sure the door closes quietly behind you before walking over to place it on the lectern where she’s standing. 

She pauses to watch you before leaning in close and whispering, “Thanks, hon. Appreciate it,” into your ear and you can feel your heart start to pound. Can she see how flustered you get? It’s just a simple thing, barely any praise at all, and yet – you suddenly have lost the ability to think.

“Of course,” you stammer out quickly and then rush to the back of the classroom, back to your desk, where you can breathe without the heat of her body radiating against yours. 

What is wrong with you? Agatha was just being polite, nothing more than that. You’ve seriously got to get your mommy issues under control. 

You pull out your laptop and try to work on stuff for other classes, but you keep getting drawn into Agatha’s lecture. It’s fascinating, the way she talks about historical events, the way she waves her hands around in the air. 

It’s something you didn’t notice last semester while you were in her class, definitely too busy scrambling to write everything that she said down, but now you can appreciate how much she talks with her hands. Her fingers wave around, curling and flexing, adding extra emphasis to what she’s saying, and for some reason, you can’t look away. 

You’re so entranced by her that you’ve completely zoned out, not even comprehending a word of what she’s saying. And then, for some reason, your eyes flick up to meet hers, and you find – much to your surprise – that she’s already looking at you. 

She winks so fast you think you might’ve imagined it. But what you’re not imagining is the rush of heat that floods through your body. You shift in your seat. It’s possible that your appreciation for the professor has grown into more of a crush. 

The class period ends sooner than you think it should, but you haven’t noticed how much time has passed because of how intently you’ve been watching Agatha. You start to slowly pack up your things so that you won’t have to leave before she comes back to her desk. 

And sure enough, you’re just zipping up your backpack when she drops into her chair and heaves a big sigh. 

“You okay?” You ask, repressing a giggle at her theatrics. 

She spins to face you. “Half of those kids are about to turn in god-awful rough drafts for us to look at next week. We’re going to have our work cut out for us, sweetheart.” The pet name turns you to putty and you have to make a conscious effort to regain your thoughts. 

“Well, I’m happy to help in any way you need,” you say before you can think of the innuendo that might be implied, and then inwardly curse. Will she think you’re offering more than what’s professional? 

Agatha just smiles pleasantly and you relax. Of course she wouldn’t. “I’ll keep that in mind. Have a good weekend, honey. I’ll see you on Monday.” 

You nod in agreement, a bit sad that she’s dismissing you so quickly, but you don’t want to overstay so you leave and go back to your dorm. 

Your thoughts hardly stray from her Saturday and Sunday. 

When the week starts back up again, you’re ten minutes early to her class. She hums a greeting when you open the door but doesn’t look up after, even when you sit next to her. 

“Good weekend?” You ask, trying to make small talk. 

She shrugs. “Just lesson-planning. You?” 

“Oh, yeah, it was all right. Went to the gym, did some homework. Pretty chill.” Agatha does look up at the mention of the gym and runs her eyes over your body, raising an eyebrow in approval. You feel something in your stomach, not entirely unpleasant. 

But she doesn’t say anything else, just turns back to her work and raises her cup to her lips and frowns. She sets down the mug at the edge of the desk closest to you – an invitation. “Be a dear and get me some more coffee?” 

It’s not exactly a question, but there’s no way you’d say no anyway. You jump out of your chair and grab the mug, hurrying to the student union so maybe you can get the drink back to her before class starts. 

“Two sugars?” Agatha asks when you put it down in front of her. She’s still at her desk, only a minute before she has to get up and teach, almost like she was waiting for you. 

“Of course,” you answer and she takes a long sip despite the steam coming off the top. 

She exhales and stands up. “Thanks, hon. You’re the best assistant I could’ve asked for.” And you know she’s just saying that to be nice, an over-exaggeration of course, but it still makes your heart skip a beat. 

On Wednesday, you borrow your roommate’s mug without asking and fill it up with black coffee and two sugars before even getting to Agatha’s class. 

When you place the mug on her desk, her eyes flit up to yours in surprise. “Look at you, sweetheart, bringing me coffee. How thoughtful,” she says, something unrecognizable on her face, and she raises it to her lips to take a drink. When she puts it down, she nods to the mug that’s already sitting there – her mug – which, much to your chagrin, is full. “Why don’t you take that?” 

“Oh, Professor, I couldn’t. I don’t really like coffee anyway,” you say hastily, but she shakes her head, picks it up, and holds it out to you. 

She urges you to take it with a nod. “Try it.” There’s something between the two of you, a thick tension that grows, when you reach out and take it. She watches you slowly lift it up to your mouth and you part your lips around the rim, feeling the hot coffee flood your tastebuds. 

Agatha never breaks eye contact, even when you wince at the bitter taste. You think you’d need at least ten more sugar packets before you’d be able to stomach it. But you swallow it, and her pleased look almost makes up for it. 

“Good girl,” she says in a low voice, and your breath hitches, your mind instantly short-circuiting for a second. She sees it too, but instead of looking disgusted or creeped out by how you react, she looks intrigued, delighted even. 

You open your mouth with absolutely no plan or knowledge of what you’re about to say, but thankfully the door opens and students strew in, taking their seats. Agatha gives you a wink, for sure a wink this time, and stands up, taking the coffee you brought her up to the front of the room with her. 

This time, you force yourself to work on homework for your other classes and don’t allow yourself to get distracted by Agatha or her hands or the way she talks or walks or breathes in your direction –

Agatha says your name and you jump in your chair, almost knocking your laptop off the desk. 

“Yes?” You squeak, completely embarrassed, especially with the thirty-plus undergraduates looking at you. 

Her smirk is gleeful, like she knows what you were thinking about. “I was just telling the class that if they have any questions about the material, that my brilliant TA is more than happy to help them. After all, you did get one of the highest grades in my class, possibly ever. I have no doubt that she can give you exactly what you need.” You’re not sure you could blush any harder, and you hate how you can feel yourself getting wet. 

Is having a praise kink a little too on the nose for a burnt-out gifted child? There’s something about it coming from Agatha that just makes it affect you even more.

“Um, yeah, just send me an email or talk to me after class. I’ll also read your rough drafts for the papers if you want some feedback on them, but they have to be turned in seventy-two hours before the due date,” you add, trying to keep your voice level. You can’t even be sure that she hasn’t already said that information; you haven’t been listening at all. But she nods in approval and you stare at nothing on your computer screen for the rest of the class, willing your brain to work but it just won’t. 

When the period ends, she walks back slowly to where you are and drums her fingers on your desk. You watch with bated breath as she sits in her chair facing you, and her eyes scrutinize you while you try not to squirm. “Thanks for bringing me coffee, honey. I really appreciate it,” Agatha says.  

And so it becomes the routine: you bring her coffee before every class period in a mug that you take from your dorm because you don’t have any, and she praises you each time. You get better at hiding how much it turns you on, which you swear makes her try even harder to get to you. 

She practically purrs one time about how thankful she is that she has an assistant as good as you. Sometimes, it’s all you can do to barely resist going to the bathroom during her class and shoving a hand into your pants because of how worked up she gets you. 

Masturbating after each class also becomes part of your routine. 

But as the semester progresses, so does your workload, both for your classes and hers. Her students flood your inbox with questions asking for clarification on assignments or about the material, and you spend hours on the weekends pouring over essays and giving feedback. Some of them aren’t terrible, while others have you wondering how they even got into college. 

You spend more time after the class talking to Agatha about her pupils, how you watch some of them shop on Amazon the whole time while she teases you about the boys and girls that blatantly check you out inside of taking notes. 

“I’m not really interested in boys,” you say off-handedly one day. 

Agatha raises an eyebrow and leans in. “Oh, really?” But something in her tone makes it sound like she already knew that. 

You nod slowly, wondering if she’s going to drag any more details about it out of you. You wonder if she’ll ask about your type, in which case, would you admit that your type is brunettes old enough to be your mother? 

It wouldn’t take much to put two and two together then, especially for someone as smart as Agatha. 

Thankfully she doesn’t ask, and you don’t volunteer that information. But now you’re curious – what about her? There’s no pictures on her desk, and in the little over a semester you’ve known her, she’s never mentioned a partner, kids, anything. 

Not that it matters. You’re a student, you’re her teacher’s assistant. That is definitely against some rules. 

Plus she would never think of you in that way. 

Except there’s the way that she tells you what a good girl you are for bringing her coffee and getting all your work as her TA done. The way she’s gotten more touchy with you; what first started as a brush of her skin against yours every now and then has turned into a hand on your shoulder, dragging her fingertips down your arm when she walks past you. The way her eyes find yours all the way from the front of the classroom when she’s teaching and says something funny. The wink she gives you when she catches you watching her. 

She has to know what she’s doing, right? 

“Ugh, I don’t have time to go to this fucking meeting,” she groans after class one day, dropping her head into her hands. 

You’re just about to get up and go, currently texting one of your friends about lunch plans, but you immediately look up at the older woman. “Everything okay?” 

She shakes her head, her dark, curly hair falling and blocking her face from view. “I have to go to this department meeting right now, but I need to finish inputting these grades and it’s taking forever.” You know along with History of Witchcraft, she also teaches at least one other class, a general one with a lot more students. 

And you also know that as a TA, you’re not technically allowed to help with what she’s doing right now. But that doesn’t stop you from asking: “Is there anything I can do?” 

“Oh, you don’t want to do this,” she says, the corners of her mouth quirking up, like she’s pushing. Like she wants to see if you’ll offer again.

You look at her earnestly. “I can help. I know how stressed you are, let me take some things off your plate.” 

It doesn’t take much convincing and she looks thrilled that you’re insisting. She stands up with her laptop and puts it in front of you on your desk, bending over so her mouth is right next to your ear, her arm firm against yours. 

You forget how to breathe. She is so close. 

“All you have to do,” she murmurs and goosebumps explode all down your body. You keep your eyes trained on the screen so you don’t accidentally do something stupid. “is copy the grade from the spreadsheet into the portal. The names aren’t in alphabetical order which is why it’s taking so long. This is the last time I have them submit anything like this. I thought it would be easier because the form they filled out automatically inputs their score into this, but there’s no order. Make sense?” 

You nod stiffly. You can feel her hot breath on your ear and it’s driving you crazy. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. Truly, I don’t know what I would do without you,” she says and it almost makes you melt. “And this has to be our little secret, okay? I’m serious, I could get into serious trouble if anyone found out a TA was putting my grades in for me.” 

There’s a good chance you might combust on the spot. “I won’t say anything, Professor,” you croak and you don’t have to look at her to know she’s smirking. 

“That’s my good girl,” she says and it feels like your entire body is on fire. “And please, call me Agatha.” 

She walks away, but her perfume lingers, vanilla and wood and a hint of something darker. Powerful, even. It makes your mouth water and if you close your eyes, you swear you can still feel her presence next to you. You text your friend that you won’t be able to make it to lunch, and lose yourself in the work. 

You don’t even realize how long it’s been until Agatha comes back from her meeting and is surprised to still find you there. 

“Honey, you’re not finished yet?” She asks. 

You blink and look at her, startled. “Oh — yeah, I’m almost done though.” She puts her hands on either side of your body from behind and her head gently rests atop yours while she looks at her computer. You suddenly lose the ability to move, think, and breathe. 

“God, you’re doing so well,” she says, her hands now moving to stroke up and down your arms. Your mind wishes she was saying that in a different context — you’re on your knees for her, fingers inside her and tongue licking at her while she praises you — but you force yourself to snap out of it. “Think you can finish up for me? I really need to get organized for my next class.” 

You swallow hard and your stomach rumbles. One of Agatha’s eyebrows raise, you can see it in the reflection from the screen, like she’s waiting to see what you’ll do. “Yeah, of course,” you finally agree. You can get food after. 

Her hands squeeze your shoulders. “Thanks, hon, you’re the best.” And you’re only too happy to keep working if it gets her to say more of those things. 

Agatha gets much more comfortable asking you to do things that aren’t specifically in your job description as a TA after that. You start putting in all her final grades. You teach a few classes here and there. She consults you for help with project ideas and lesson plans. 

She knows all she has to do is ask nicely, throw in a bit of praise, and you’ll do anything she wants. 

You know she might be using it to her advantage. But the way you feel when she smiles at you and says “There’s my good girl” makes any reservations you have melt away. 

Halfway through the semester, right after midterms happen, you and Agatha are both in her classroom; you’re already getting a head start on homework for next week while Agatha is tapping a pen against her desk and staring at you. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” She asks. It touches you in a strange way, usually she doesn’t bring up life outside of the classroom unless you do it first. 

Maybe she’s starting to like you, too. You pull up your calendar. “Oh, I’m going out tomorrow night with some friends to celebrate surviving midterms. Probably just go to a bar or a club or something.” You glance at her, expecting to find Agatha nodding in approval at a typical college kid’s night out, but instead she looks pissed. 

“You don’t have work you have to do instead?” She says stiffly, and you wonder what caused this change in her mood. 

You shake your head. “No, we’re just getting back into material in my other classes and I’ve already finished grading my half of your midterms. You saw that I put them into the system, right?” 

“Yes,” Agatha admits and looks like she wants to say more, but doesn’t. “Be careful, then.” She gets up out of her chair, your coffee cup in hand, and leaves the room. 

It’s clear she doesn’t want you to be there when she comes back, so you pack your stuff up, feeling completely confused, and start to go back to your dorm. 

You walk through the student union, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, and your stomach sinks when you see her laughing with one of her students and you grit your teeth as jealousy gnaws at your stomach. Her eyes flit to yours, somehow knowing that you’re there, and she gently pats the student’s arm with her hand, nothing more than a casual touch, but you think you might throw up. 

Why are you having this much of a reaction? You shouldn’t be storming off, there shouldn’t be tears stinging your eyes, but it feels like everything is crashing and burning around you. 

For some reason, it feels like Agatha is upset with you, disappointed even. It shouldn’t be a big deal – it shouldn’t, but you can’t stop your thoughts from spiraling. 

Should you go back and talk to her? Should you text her? Maybe you can make it up to her somehow, you’ll bring her two cups of coffee or volunteer to grade all her work, whatever it takes to get her to look at you with the same light she always did, with the same light she just gave one of her undergrads just now. You’re supposed to be special. Agatha is supposed to think that you’re special. 

You’re going crazy. The logical part in your brain knows it. You take deep breaths on your walk and try to calm yourself down, convince yourself that Agatha still likes you. She’s allowed to be nice to other people. It’s okay. 

And yet, anxious thoughts plague your mind the rest of the day, and you spend practically all of Saturday obsessing over every little thing that you could have possibly done wrong. It’s almost enough to make you cancel your plans with your friends, but then you realize that getting drunk might be exactly what you need. 

It’ll at least be a way to loosen up. This semester has been taking its toll on you, with the workload from your classes and all the extra stuff Agatha has you doing for her. Not that you’d complain about that or ever say no to her, but you do often end up skipping lunch and staying up late in your attempts to get your work for her done as quickly and as perfectly as possible. 

Yes, you think, a few drinks couldn’t hurt one bit. You fish around your closet until you find an acceptable outfit, feeling the best you have since yesterday morning, and you’re getting ready when your phone buzzes with a call. 

It’s Agatha. 

Immediately, your stomach erupts with butterflies and your heart starts to pound almost painfully in your chest. 

“Hello?” You ask after you raise the phone to your ear, clutching it close to you like you don’t want to miss a thing she says. 

There’s a moment of silence and you’re about to repeat yourself when she starts talking. “Hey, honey, listen, I’m really sorry to bother you right now, but do you think you could come to my room? I really need some help with the last of the midterms and then putting the grades in.” 

“Oh,” you say, a little crestfallen that this is all she’s calling about, and you weigh your options. You really want to go out with your friends, and some part of you thinks that maybe you can get her back after yesterday. Will she be as jealous as you were if you blow her off for your friends? “Can it wait until tomorrow or Monday? I’m about to go out.” 

Agatha gives a little hum. “I would really like all this stuff to be done tonight.” 

“Agatha, I–” You don’t know exactly where you’re going with it, you’re not sure exactly what to say. Why is it so hard to say no to her? You have every right to, you should toughen up and tell her that you can’t, you’ve already done enough for her, you’re not even supposed to be doing what she’s asking you to do.

“Please, honey?” She asks, so sincerely that it turns your insides to mush. “I just, I really need you right now. I really need your help.” 

You know what she’s doing. You know and it makes you really fucking angry, but also it makes you feel more wanted than you have in your entire life. “Will it take long?” You ask and listen to her relieved exhale. 

“An hour tops,” she promises, and you know it’ll take longer, but you tell her you’ll be there in ten minutes anyway. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me, sweetheart. You’re my good girl.” She hangs up and you hate yourself a little for letting her control you so easily, but you still text your friends you’ll be late and head across campus. 

You’re still grappling with the conflicted feelings in your head when you push open the door to her classroom. Agatha’s sitting in her normal spot, legs kicked up on her desk, typing on the laptop in her lap. She looks up at you the second she hears you and smiles. Her eyes rake up and down your scantily-clad body in the dress you picked out to wear for the bar. 

“Sorry to drag you away from your plans, but thank you for coming,” she says. “I’m almost done, I just have a few more papers to grade. Thought it would go quicker if it was the two of us.” 

It’s almost enough to make you furious that she called you all the way over here for just a little bit of work that she easily could’ve done herself. “Yeah, of course,” you reply, voice taut with frustration. 

She either doesn’t notice, or just ignores it, and she holds out a small stack of completed midterms. You snatch them and sit down at your desk, stealing a pen from the cup of writing utensils near Agatha. You’ve graded enough of the exams that you don’t even need the answer key and you fly through marking them up before handing them back to her and standing up. 

“Is there anything else?” You ask cooly and she raises an eyebrow at you. It’s not that you intend to sound rude, it’s just the general annoyance at yourself and at her that leaks into your tone. 

“Running off so quickly?” She retorts lightly. “I thought you would stay for a bit, maybe we could order some food or something.” The look on her face shows that she’s expecting you to give in. 

But you scoff. “I have plans. You know I have plans. And for some reason, you made me come here and do work that you would have finished in ten minutes. And now you want to just ‘hang out?’ Why?” 

You’re expecting her to give up the ruse, the pretense. What you’re not expecting is for her to slump down in her chair, eyes falling to the ground. 

“Look, honey,” she starts, and panic spikes through you. Is something wrong? “I’ve just been really stressed lately, and you have been helping me with that so much. You’ve been such a valuable assistant to me, and I deeply apologize if I’ve been taking advantage of that in any way.” 

And now you feel like the worst person ever. “No, no, it’s okay,” you rush to say, and if you were paying closer attention, you might have noticed the glint in her eyes. “I’m happy to help, really. Is there anything else I can do to help you feel less stressed?” 

It’s like you’ve said the magic words. Her head springs up, a smirk on her face. “What all are you offering, sweetheart?” 

You gulp, suddenly feeling like you’re in dangerous territory. “Um, well, I could go get us something to eat, or take some work off your plate, something like that?” 

“Hmm,” she says thoughtfully, tossing the options around in her head. Even though you’re standing above her sitting in her chair, you feel like she’s looking down at you. “You really are such a good girl for me, aren’t you? You know, I really should reward you for all the things you do for me.” 

Is it possible for all the air to get sucked out of a room just from one sentence? “Oh,” you start, your throat suddenly dryer than it’s ever been in your life. Surely she can’t be implying… 

Agatha stands up so she’s nose to nose with you and she cups your cheek, running her thumb over your bottom lip. You shiver under her intense gaze and your pulse quickens. It’s like every nerve inside you is vibrating with anticipation. 

You never thought in a million years that this would be happening. You had hoped, of course. “Agatha,” you say softly and she smirks, tugging at your lip, eyes burning into yours. You can hardly see the blue in them. 

“You take such good care of me,” she purrs. “Let me return the favor, honey? It’ll be such good stress relief for me, too.” 

Nodding breathlessly, you can feel the fire stoking to life in your stomach and her hands trace down your body to grab onto your hips, pulling you firmly against her. 

“You’re such a good girl for me,” Agatha murmurs and your cheeks heat up. Can she see the flush creeping down your neck too? 

She leans in, ghosting her lips over yours, and you chase when she pulls away, needing to feel her. “Ah ah,” she tuts. “Why don’t you get on my desk?” 

You throb when she says that and she slides her laptop and papers out of the way so you can hop onto it. Her hands find your thighs, stroking up and down, enjoying the warmth of your skin. Your head is already spinning with want and you can feel the mess between your legs. 

Agatha comes back in and you think she’s going to kiss you, but her head drops down and she presses her lips to your chin. Your head rolls back, giving her more access, and your eyes close at the sensation. 

Her fingers inch more up your thighs, getting closer to the heat at the juncture and you wrap your hands around her shoulders to get her closer. You bury your fingers in her hair as her lips move down your neck and she sucks, making your hips jerk. There’s a livewire under your skin, connecting the pulse point she flicks her tongue against to your pussy and you’re dripping. 

“Agatha, please,” you groan and she chuckles, her hot breath on your skin making goosebumps appear. 

She scrapes her teeth against your naked collarbone. “Please what, honey? Use your words like a good girl.” 

Your hips roll to try and get her to touch you where you need her. “Please – I need you, please fuck me,” you splutter and she smirks into your neck. 

Her fingertips stroke up your underwear and she gasps when she feels how wet you are. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so needy. “God, sweetheart, is this what I do to you? I call you a good girl and you’re dripping for me.” 

“Like you don’t know,” you whine, struggling to get more stimulation. 

Agatha barks out a laugh. “Oh, I do know, honey. I see how much I affect you. How you’ll do anything I ask as long as I give you a little praise. I love it, sweetheart.” 

You should be insulted that she thinks you’re easy, that you just got confirmation she’s been taking advantage of your mommy issues, but you can’t find it in you to care when she slides your underwear over and buries two fingers in you up to the hilt. 

A gasp tears itself out of your throat when she drags her fingers out and thrusts back in, filling you deliciously. “Fuck,” you swear and she sinks her teeth into your shoulder. 

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” she mumbles and starts to set a slow pace. Your walls grip her, trying to pull her in, and she reaches a thumb up to rub your clit. You clench around her fingers and moan obscenely. 

“Agatha, god, please,” you whimper. “I need more.”

Her grin is wolfish as she takes in the mess you’ve become. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” she says, beginning to go faster, scissoring and twisting and curling her fingers, each movement making you sharply inhale. “You look so fucking pretty like this, honey, you’re taking me like such a good girl. I’m so proud of you.” The praise makes you keen, the tension quickly building in your stomach. You know you’re going to cum embarrassingly fast if she keeps that up. “Say it,” she demands and through the fog in your brain, you can just barely understand what she wants. 

“I’m your good girl,” you cry, hips meeting every thrust, fingers scrambling to hold onto her shoulders for leverage and stability. “Fuck, please, Agatha.” 

Her lips kiss down the expanse of your chest and it’s like fireworks lighting up. Each touch only pushes you further and further towards your release, and you need it more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life. 

“So fucking perfect for me,” Agatha mutters. Your walls pulse around her and she smirks to herself. She has you exactly where she wants you, exactly where she’s been wanting you. “You’re everything I ever wanted. My good girl.” 

“Yes, fuck,” you sob, getting closer, so close you can taste it, you just need a little more. 

Agatha shoves her fingers back inside you as far as they’ll go and curls them so she finds that spot and it makes you moan. She licks up your earlobe, swipes at your clit hard, and whispers, “Mommy’s good girl.” 

And it sends you straight into an orgasm, noises slipping from your lips as you ride through the most explosive one you’ve ever had. She breathes more praises into your ear while still gently moving her fingers inside you and it only prolongs the pleasure you feel. 

How did she know exactly what you needed? 

Once you come down completely, she peppers your face with kisses while you take focus on inhaling and exhaling to slow your racing heart. “You did so good for me, honey, so good,” she says and you smile weakly. 

You examine the professor and see the desire and heat on her face and you know what you have to do. Your fingers release the locks of her hair you were holding onto and fumble with her belt and she helps you undo it and she slides her pants down and kicks them over her shoes. 

Agatha steps back and before you can make a sound of protest, she slinks down into her chair and spreads her legs so you’re able to see the wetness through her underwear, and fuck, she’s almost completely soaked through the fabric. 

As if in a trance, you slide off the desk and drop to your knees in front of her, leaving soft bites up the skin of her inner thigh and getting immense pleasure from the red marks that litter once you’re done. 

You should’ve texted your friends that you weren’t going to make it to the bar at all tonight, but that’s the last thing on your mind when you toy with the hem of her panties and she lifts her ass off the seat so you can take them off. 

“Be a good girl for Mommy,” she says, putting a hand on your head, tangling her fingers in your hair, and leading you to between her legs. 

Your mouth waters at the smell of her and you moan at the taste when you first lick through her folds. Your eyes flick up to watch Agatha’s head loll against the back of the chair. 

“God,” she sighs, looking down appreciatively at you. “You really are the best assistant I could’ve asked for.”

[leaawrites]

Flowers

Percy Jackson x Daughter of Apollo reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of fighting, jealous Percy, mention of Y/n

Wordcount: 2k (this is a long one)

Summary: To get her attenion Percy would even get into fights just to be healed by her.

Masterlist

Percy has been watching her for some time since he came to Camp Half-Blood. Always finding her in a crowd of people. Always letting his eyes drift over heads he couldn’t care less about until his eyes found her face, or her back, or her hair.

Y/n, daughter of Apollo, savior of people’s life. It wasn’t that dramatic, at least for her. Y/n was never given the damaged, just the hurt. A little cut here, a bruise that had to be cooled there, a kid that had to be cared about because it had gotten sick. Never the deep cuts, the bleeding face, the broken bones. It was never that. Not after she asked to take care of those in need of it a thousand times.

Percy knew that. He saw it. At first, he thought his eyes betrayed him, that it wanted to make her look small in his eyes, so that he could save her. But it wasn’t that. His eyes didn’t betray him. It were the people that betrayed her. They didn’t care about how soft her fingers were and how gentle she would take care of the hurt. They knew she was soft, she was sweet, perfect for the small things in life in their eyes.

• • • • • • • •

All eyes turned to him, as he stepped into the infirmary. There were cuts on his face, his knuckles bruised and split open. Blood dripped down from his lips on his orange shirt. It stained the fabric, leaving a mark of the actions he made for people to believe in her.

The sun was already slowly disappearing, leading to most campers be in their cabins already.

“Oh gods, what happened to you?” Laura, a sister of Y/n, asked him, pulling him by his arm to sit him down on one of the cots.

“Nothing bad, just another fight with Clarisse,” the boy shrugged absentmindedly, his gaze searching for a certain someone.

“This girl really has to get herself together,” the red head scoffs as Percy tells her what happened.

After searching for a little longer, his eyes found her body. He smiled as she smiled. His eyes lit up seeing her this happy, a flower twirling in between her fingers. A pink lovely flower, freshly picked from the boy in front of her. A son of Demeter. Percy’s gaze went sour as he saw that she was smiling at him. The red of her cheeks made him want to paint her face in a different color.

“They’re not dating,” Laura spoke, as she saw Percy watching Y/n. It wasn’t a surprise to her that he liked her. Laura knew her sister, she was amazing.

“I don’t care.” The boy quickly covered his jealous eyes with a nonchalant lie. Still they betrayed him, as his gaze found her again.

“Sure, you don’t.” She chuckled.

A loud whistle was heard from Laura’s mouth, making the whole room look at her. Percy saw her hand call for someone across the room and before he could process what she was doing, a bundle of sunshine appeared in front of him.

“What is it?” Y/n smiled at Laura, the flower steady in her hands.

“Can you take care of Percy here? I’ve got to go, Will just called me over,” Laura explained, pointing to a direction where Will apparently was.

“Sure,” she said back and then Laura was gone. Leaving the two alone, Percy cursed and thanked her at the same time. “What have you done to get in such trouble again?” Y/n was well aware of Percy’s reputation around camp. She knew that he was always on the lookout for danger.

“I haven’t done anything, first of all,” Percy defended himself.

Y/n hummed in sarcastic agreement, before her voice got lower and a sweet tone escaped from her lungs. The feeling of her skin against his made me Percy shiver in his bones. A sweet laugh appeared in between the humming when she felt Percy’s body shake as she brushed her hand against his face.

The cuts were healed, but the dried blood still decorated his face like a stamp of shame. When he was attacked by Clarisse, after he provoked her to do it, he didn’t fight back. When Poseidon wanted to rescue him he told him off. Running from the water, not wanting to be healed by a simple touch of water on his skin. Y/n took a cloth from one of the stacks, wetting it under the water to wash his shame away.

When Y/n approached Percy again, she couldn’t get a good look at his face. His eyes were fixed on his fidgeting hands, one finger tapping against his leg. A small touch and his face shot up to her. Y/n was laying her finger and his chin, softly touching his jaw to keep him in place as she brushed the cloth over his face, like he was her most precious painting that she still had to finish.

The silence between the two laid over them like a blanket over a child that tried to hide from the monster under his bed. The air around them was warm and comforting, they were wrapped in each others presence, but they couldn’t breath normally. It was stuffy, and suppressing them from being able to breath in properly. Her breath was warm against his face.

“That’s a nice flower,” Percy noticed, cutting the tension between them.

“It’s really nice,” the girl agreed with him, smiling at the memory of receiving it. It wasn’t about the boy who gave it to her, but rather about the gesture as it. She liked that someone cared.

“Do you like him?” His questions got bolder, as well as his tone. Percy Jackson would never admit that he was wrong. He would never agree that someone actually had him wrapped around their finger.

“I don’t know. Maybe sometime in the future,” she answered, not wanting to keep talking about it.

But Percy kept going. “Well, he certainly likes you. He cares about your happiness as it seems.”

“Why do you care?” Y/n stopped moving her hand, but held it in place to hold on to the possibility of touching him.

“I don’t.” Percy shrugged it off, his eyes going over to Laura who was watching the pair in anticipation.

Laura knew about Y/n’s slight crush on the son of Poseidon. She knew about how Y/n always wished that she could take care of the troublemaker for once. But she also knew, that the girl started to lose hope of ever being noticed by the demigod. She wanted to move on, so when a boy asked her out and later brought her a flower, she couldn’t deny his offer. Not if it meant that she showed Laura in the process of rejecting him, how she still liked the same guy for too long.

“Okay.” Percy looked back at her when the cloth moved again, a bit harsher this time. She didn’t hurt him. Percy was convinced that she could never hurt anyone. Not even her worst enemy. He saw a glistening shimmer in her eyes and the more focused look in them now that she actually looked at the task at hand and not the boy in front of her.

“What are your favorite flowers?” His question surprised her. His whole presence and interest surprised her.

“Why does it matter?” She asked back, finishing up with cleaning his face.

“What are your favorite flowers?” He asked again, a shimmer of something flickered in her eyes.

“I like Carnations,” the girl answered. She smiled at his question. Nobody asked her before, just if she liked flowers or not, or what flowers she would suggest to get someone on a first date. All these questions. But never what her favorite was.

“But these are roses,” Percy pointed out, motioning to the flower that now laid beside him. When she didn’t answer his statement, unsure of what to answer at all, he continued. “Didn’t that guy ask you about it before getting you one?”

“No,” she answered truthfully. “He only asked if I liked them and I said yes. I guess, it’s just because they aren’t that easy to get around here.”

“If a guy wouldn’t move mountains to get you even only a flower, he won’t move rocks to save your life,” Percy said, making the girl laugh at his quote. She liked the look on his face, like he was actually confused and embarrassed for that guy.

“That’s very sweet,” she said. Percy’s face turned red after he noticed how corny that sounded.

“I’m a very sweet guy,” Percy answered, holding his chin up in pride.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows in amusement of his sudden confidence. “Oh, is that so?” She tried to play his game, but just one look into his green eyes made her swallow back the rest of her words.

“Yeah, you should go out with me instead.”

All of her assumptions about what he would say were thrown out the window after he said that. Her eyes widened a bit, her heart stopped before beating rapidly. Percy saw the color draining from her face and jumped from the cot, ignoring the pain in his ankle as he landed.

“What’s wrong?” He asked concerned, thinking something might took over her body. His hands found her waist to stabilize her body. He didn’t want her to fall to the ground inside the infirmary, like he did something to her.

“Are you playing with me?” She whispered, blinking her surprise away. Her head felt dizzy and patterns started to appear on the walls and everywhere else around her. In fear of blacking out, Y/n put her hands on Percy’s arms, tapping her finger against his skin to keep her mind occupied.

“What? No.” The boy was more worried than shocked at her assumption. Noticing her state, he called Laura over. The red head looked concerned at her friend.

“I will handle her, you should probably go,” she told Percy. He knew better than arguing in this moment, so he nodded and slowly bagged out of the big house.

When Y/n woke up the next day, Laura was already by her side. Waiting with breakfast next to her.

“Oh gods, finally, you’re awake.” Laura threw her arms around the girls body, knocking her back down on the pillow.

The morning was filled with the two girls talking about what happened after she blacked out. Laura was telling her how Percy used to look at her when he came into the infirmary, when a knock on the door sounded. Laura wandered over to the door, opening it. Her eyes lit up when she saw who was stood in the doorway.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said to the person in front of her.

Y/n looked confused at first, not knowing who was at the door. Until a blonde teenage boy with a lanky figure was pushed into the room. Percy stood in front of her for a moment, remembering every little thing in her cabin. Her body found his gaze again and they softened for a second when he saw her messy hair and exhausted posture.

“You brought me flowers?” Y/n asked the boy, noticing the flowers in his hand.

“I did, yeah.” He walked over to her, standing beside her bed, handing the Carnations over to her.

“Thank you.” Tears began to prickle in her eyes again. She mostly hated how easily it was to get her to tear up and cry.

“Look, I’m sorry if I did anything to you or something, I don’t know. If I did, please let me know so I can change that.” Percy stopped talking when Y/n moved up to hug the boy in front of her.

“You did nothing wrong, Percy,” she assured him with her head on his shoulder. When she lifted her head up, she pecked his cheek before pulling him down to sit onto her bed.

They sat beside each other the whole day, talking and becoming closer over time. The flowers shining beside them.

[jjscrybaby]

thinking about being in a long term relationship with rafe and being so in love & happy him.

you have made a home together with love & warmth — and you’ve given him a secure home where his siblings come over. you’re a natural hostess and you love having wheezie, Sarah & John b (and their baby) over

thinking about how grateful he is to you for creating a home that he and his siblings haven’t had 🥹

rafe cameron x fem!reader | fluff | (i named sarah’s baby, not after jj because in ALL my fics he is still alive and thriving, just fluff tbh)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Christmas in Tannyhill has always been magical. There were always expensive gifts under the tree, lights covering the building and an all-you-can-eat buffet on the dining table for lunch. The sight of it was something out of a fairytale, something only rich kids would be able to afford.

The problem was that Ward was never there. He was working. He didn’t buy the gifts, the maids did. He didn’t put up the lights, he hired someone else to do it. He didn’t go to church with the kids, he didn’t help them write their letters to Santa, he didn’t do anything.

Rafe can remember the Christmas that he realised Santa wasn’t real, because the only thing he’d written on his list was for his dad to spend the day with him and his sisters. He’d woken up bright and early and ran down the stairs, expecting for Ward to be sat beside the tree with a grin on his face as he got ready to watch the kids open their presents, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, the maid was there waiting with a bored expression on her face as she waited for the kids to wake up.

You’d always adored Christmas. Your family wasn’t perfect, you didn’t have over-the-top gifts or lights surrounding the entire house but you had the thing the Cameron’s didn’t; you had love. Rafe remembers the first Christmas you spent together, three years ago, you hadn’t spent an entire month’s paycheck on his present, you’d gotten him something meaningful, a scrapbook you’d spent hours making. He cried, he cried for hours, because for the first time ever he felt that love you’re supposed to feel at Christmas time.

“You look beautiful,” he complimented, walking into the kitchen where you were in the middle of pouring cocktails. He wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your cheek.

“Gonna ruin my makeup,” you warned, but there was a soft smile on your face as you looked back at him. You turned around to face him, hands looping around his shoulders. “How are you feeling?”

“In love,” he smirked, leaning down to kiss your red painted lips.

You giggled, shoving at his chest. “I’m serious. I know this is gonna be a bit weird for you, and for Sarah.”

“We’ve been getting on a lot better, and I didn’t invite them to see Sarah, I invited them to see our niece,” Rafe explained, making you grin.

“Are the cookies ready?” Wheezie appeared in the kitchen, wearing the purple dress you’d forced on her. Rose had finally allowed for her to come visit, so she was staying with you and Rafe for the holidays.

“On the table,” you replied, nodding to the dining room that you and Rafe had never used before.

Half an hour later the doorbell rang, you pretty much ran to get it. Sarah, John B and one-year old Mimi stood there with smiles on their faces. You squealed, taking the chubby baby from Sarah’s arms.

“Merry Christmas,” John B greeted, holding a bottle of wine.

“Merry Christmas, lovebirds,” you replied, leading them inside the house. You kissed Mimi’s cheek before handing her to John B, wanting to greet your boyfriend’s sister properly. You hugged her and she eagerly hugged you back.

Even when Rafe and Sarah didn’t get along, all for good reasons, you and her were always friends. You’d gone to school together, you helped the Pogues out countless times, it was impossible for any of them not to like you. She truly believed that if it weren’t for you Rafe may have never changed, you didn’t believe that; he just needed a push in the right direction.

“Give me her.” Rafe demanded, making you laugh as he held his hands out expectantly for the baby. John B chuckled too, passing her over. It was something you never thought you’d see, John B and Rafe having a civil conversation. John B giving him his child. “Her presents are under the tree.”

“Oh, God,” Sarah laughed. “How many did you get her? We’re trying not to raise her spoilt.”

“Don’t want another one of you, huh?” Rafe asked, a smirk on his face as Sarah stuck her tongue out at him. “The other one’s eating all the cookies.”

Sarah and John B left to go and say hi to Wheezie, leaving you, Rafe and Mimi in the hallway. He was rocking the baby, talking to her about her presents as if she could understand a word he was saying.

“What do you think about… havin’ one of our own of these?” Rafe asked, looking over at you. He looked nervous, something you didn’t see often.

“A baby?” You replied softly. He nodded his head, looking between you and her. “We could just steal that one.”

“We could, not sure Sarah would be too happy about that,” Rafe smirked.

You walked closer to him, his arm gravitating towards your waist to pull you into him. “I’d love to have a baby with you, Rafe. You know that. I’ve wanted that since I was fifteen.”

“Damn, someone’s obsessed,” he teased. You rolled your eyes, poking his cheek. “I love you, a lot. We ain’t ever had someone do stuff like this for us, I mean, you pretty much brought the family back together.”

“No, I didn’t,” you argued. “You did that, baby. You sorted things out with Sarah, you called Rose and demanded her to let Wheez come. You did all this, okay? Don’t give me the credit, all I did was put on a pretty dress and make some cookies.”

“Maybe… maybe we could do this next year, too. If tonight goes well, that is,” he suggested, that nervous tone back.

“It will go well,” you reassured. “Maybe next year we’ll have someone for Mimi to hang out with.”

He looked down at you, eyes full of love. His lips met yours, but only a few seconds later you were interrupted. “Can you not make out in front of my baby?” John B snorted, coming over. “I want to see these presents you got her.”

“We got you something, too,” you laughed, starting to follow him out the room.

“Even better.”

You looked back at Rafe, blowing him a kiss as you went. He stayed put for a moment longer, looking down at his niece. If every Christmas was going to be like this from now on, then maybe he’d stop being such a grinch.

[yandere-daydreams]

Screening: Rosemary's Baby (1968)

Pairing: Yandere!Ieiri Shoko x Reader (JJK).

Runtime: 3.2k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con (False Pretenses), Mentions of Pregnancy, Cheating (Reader is in an Established Relationship With Gojo), Fingering, Medical Malpractice, Manipulation, and Overstimulation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

The examination table was cold as ice against your back.

She’d been nice enough to put down a sheet of sterilizing parchment, but not much more. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt as you waited, too nervous to check your phone and risk seeing the newest addition to Satoru’s never-ending barrage of texts, too obedient to do anything other than stay where you were and stare blankly at the chipped, white tiles of her ceiling. That was what she told you to do – or, at least, what you thought she’d told you to do. It’d been difficult to understand her through her surgical mask, only pulled down slightly to accommodate the cigarette she was holding up to her lips, and come to think if it, she might’ve just meant to wait near the table, not strictly on—

The door opened, creating a break in the silence just long enough for you to pull yourself back together, and you bolted upright before your thoughts could start to slip, again – the stiff parchment crackling in protest underneath you. Your eyes found Shoko just as she slipped inside, letting the door fall shut on its own behind her.

Out of all of Satoru’s friends, Shoko had always been your favorite. There was obviously the gender bias (you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t have gravitated towards any woman in Satoru’s overall civil, but absolutely male-dominated social sphere), but even if that hadn’t been the case, you liked to think that you would’ve gotten along with Shoko, regardless. She was always so calm, always so level-headed, rarely smiling but slow to lose her temper, too. Being around her made you feel a little less like the awkward, oblivious non-sorcerer who’d stumbled into a world you still didn’t completely understand and a little more like someone who knew what they’d gotten into and who to rely on, when your own limited abilities fell short. You trusted Shoko, even if you’d only talked to her alone a handful of times. If you didn’t, you never would’ve come to her for something like this.

She stopped at the nearest counter, retrieving a pair of latex gloves from a nearly empty container, before coming to stand next to your table. You knew she’d been smoking, but the heavy scent of disinfect and rubbing alcohol smothered any traces of lingering smoke there might’ve been. You were thankful. You’d been sick with nerves for the better part of the past week, and you didn’t need another reason to feel like you were on the verge of throwing up.

(In the back of your skull, something cruel and vile whispered that there might be another explanation for your sudden bouts of nausea – something less ignorable than pure, ungrounded anxiety. You drowned it out before it could reach your conscious mind.)

Shoko broke the silence without prompting. You were grateful for that, too – you really didn’t have the courage to speak up first. “So,” she started, leaning on the edge of your metal slab. “You wanted to see me because of a… late period?”

Her mask hid most her expression, but you could make out the faint hint of a chuckle underneath her bedside manner. Your eyes fell into your lap. “A missed period,” you corrected. “I haven’t gotten it this month, either.”

She hummed, but didn’t respond. You sighed. Shoko was grounded, but she wasn’t kind. You should’ve known she wouldn’t make this easy for you.

“I’m worried I might be pregnant.”

To her credit, if she was surprised, it was impossible to tell. “Have you been taking your birth control?”

“Yeah, obviously, but I’m terrible about remembering condoms and Satoru never manages to pull out.” It felt strange to describe your sex life to your boyfriend’s closest friend, but you soldiered on. She was a medical professional, a doctor. Your preferred methods of protection (or lack thereof) couldn’t have been the worst thing she’d heard that day. “I’ve already taken a test, but I just want to make sure. Cursed energy is already so complicated, and I know Satoru exceeds a lot of expectations. I don’t know if he, like, has—”

This time, she cut you off with an airy, but blatant laugh. “You think he’s got magic sperm?”

“He fights invisible monsters and teleports,” you snapped, your anxiety turning into irritation in the blink of an eye. “I don’t think ‘magic sperm’ is that unrealistic!”

For a moment, she seemed to regard you – her dark eyes boring into your wrinkled clothes, your disheveled hair, the bags under your eyes nearly deep enough to match her own. Even if she didn’t understand why you were worried, she’d have to recognize that you were, in fact, worried. And, if she really was your friend, she’d at least offer to help.

You held your breath until finally, she cracked, straightening her back with and audible sigh. “And why, exactly, couldn’t you go to a standard obstetrician about this?”

“Because you’re the best doctor I know and I’d trust you with my life?”

“Try again.”

“Because I can’t afford the co-pay and if I use Satoru’s card, he’ll find out.” You deflated after finishing, crossing your arms over your chest. “I… I really just want to know. If it turns out I did have a reason to worry, I’ll figure out what to do next, but—” This time, your voice cut out all on its own. You forced yourself to swallow before going on. “I just want to know, first. Satoru doesn’t have to be involved.”

It was an awful position to put her in, you knew. For as much as you trusted her, she’d known Satoru for years. She had every right to go to him about this, even if you really, really wished she wouldn’t. She didn’t owe you anything, much less her help. Much less her silence.

But there was a reason you trusted Shoko, that you felt as unreasonable close to her as you did. Above her mask, you saw her eyes soften before they flickered away from you, landing on the counter she’d already visited. “Lay down and take off what you need to,” she said, her gruff professionalism back in full force. “It might not be conclusive, but the most I can do is a physical examination. It’s not much, but if you don’t trust a real test, it’s the best thing I can offer you.”

You couldn’t help yourself – nearly falling off the table as you pulled her into a bone-crushing, lung-flattening hug. “Ieiri, you’re the best,” you nearly shouted, your voice bouncing off the blank walls of her office. You moved to thank her again, and again, and again, but she pried you off of her before you had the chance, muttering a curt ‘you’re welcome’ before turning away to make her preparations and escape your unwanted gratitude. You managed to stop yourself from chasing after her, and yet, you were still smiling as you settled back onto the table.

Still, embarrassment quickly dampened the brighter edges of your relief as Shoko glanced over her shoulder. “Are you comfortable with undressing here, or would you rather leave the room?”

You blanched, and Shoko was kind enough not to laugh before going on. “You did know you were basically coming to be for a gynecological exam, right?”

“I mean, yes, but—” You hadn’t, but then again, you weren’t sure what else you’d expected. This made sense, even if it was leagues beyond anything you thought to brace yourself for. If Shoko thought it would help, then it’d help. “Do I get a gown, or…?”

Her eyes fell to your skirt, long enough to fall just an inch or so above your knee. “That won’t be necessary. Take off your panties and lay down – I’ll be over in a second.”

Your face burnt, but you nodded, and she turned away. Biting your inner cheek, you swung your legs over the side of the table and kicked off your shoes. Shoko pretended to be preoccupied while you shrugged your panties down your legs and, with no other option, stuffed them into the pocket of your jacket. It was awkward – lying down and spreading your legs with Shoko less than a full ten feet away. It was one thing to ask your acquaintance for medical advice, and another to let your boyfriend’s friend act as your pro-bono gynecologist.

You heard a few tools clatter onto a metal tray, the padded feet of a stool scrape across the tiled floor, and wordlessly, Shoko positioned herself at the foot of the examination table. “This should only take a few minutes,” she said, as her gloved fingers skirted along the inside of your knee, then your thigh, before reaching your pussy. Your labia, you corrected, internally. If she could be a professional about this, so could you. “Let me know if you feel any pain.”

You nodded, keeping your eyes focused intently on the ceiling above you. Even if you had looked down, your skirt would’ve blocked most of your view, which was how you preferred it. You couldn’t see Shoko, and hopefully, she couldn’t see the way you flinched as she spread a cold, pricking sort of lubricant over your entrance, as she eased two fingers into your otherwise dry cunt. You’d assumed she would use a tool, but then again, you couldn’t imagine what kind. And besides, you really shouldn’t have been questioning a doctor.

Shoko’s voice was gruff, distracted. “How’s that?”

“F-Fine,” you squeaked. “Please, do whatever you need to.”

“Satoru’s got you that worn down, huh?” She let out a breath of a laugh, but leaned in, easing her digits into until she was knuckle deep. Her fingers were thin, but long and graceful in a way that made them difficult to ignore when paired with the strange tactility of her gloves. Her free hand curled around your ankle, as if to hold you in place. “I’m going start the test. It might feel a little strange, so try not to move.”

She gave you a moment to brace yourself before spreading her fingers apart, inadvertently pressing against the sensitive walls of your pussy. On reflex, you snapped your thighs shut, but Shoko caught you by the knee before you could attempt to break her arm. “Easy there.” And then, as her thumb pushed slow circles into your skin, “Think you can hold these open for me?”

You didn’t try to say anything, but with more than a little effort, you spread your legs – planting your feet more firmly on either corner of the table. “Thatta girl,” Shoko muttered, seemingly more used to comforting scared pets than nervous patients. “Remember – we’re here because you wanted to be. If you want to back out, just say the word.”

You shook your head furiously, instinctually. You’d never do that to Shoko, and she seemed to know that – not waiting for verbal confirmation before starting to move. She seemed to need to stretch you open, judging by the repetitive, scissor-like motions of her fingers, the way she huffed in irritation as she slipped yet another digit inside of you. You knew it was inappropriate, but it would’ve been impossible to stop yourself from heating up, from squirming, from dampening around her in a way that you couldn’t entirely separate from arousal. You kept your hips still and dug your teeth into your bottom lip with enough force to break the skin (you would’ve rather died than moaned during a medical exam), but your cunt wasn’t as easily reigned in. It wasn’t long before a sickeningly slick clicking-type noise accompanied every little movement of her fingers. Hopefully, she’d just assume she’d used more lube than she’d meant to. You didn’t know what you’d do with yourself, if she didn’t.

“Like I said – it’s a quick procedure, not a comfortable one. Most patients have a difficult time staying still.” It was humiliating – how steady her voice was while you were falling apart, fighting just to keep yourself from bucking into a medical professional’s hand. It took everything you had not to whimper when the scissoring slowed, then stopped altogether, only to be immediately replaced by the awful, terrible, embarrassingly wonderful feeling of her fingers curling inside of you, grinding against the most vulnerable part of your cunt. “It’s important to be thorough, though. I’m sure you understand why this is necessary.”

She couldn’t have done it on purpose. Nothing about this could’ve ever been intentional, and yet, when her wrist slipped, the heel of her palm seemed to land perfectly onto your neglected clit. It wasn’t much, just the hint of stimulation, but it was enough for you to seize-up – your nails scrambling helplessly over smooth titanium as you came, silently, around her fingers. Shoko, ever the professional, didn’t so much as slow down.

She only hummed, keeping her hand where it was – her palm now grinding broad, harsh patterns into your clit. “Are you usually this easily stimulated?”

You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to choke out was a single, jagged whimper. Shoko clicked her tongue. “I’m sorry, I should’ve phrased that in a way you’d understand.” And then, as she spread her fingers apart cruelly, “Do you normally cum in less than a minute with Satoru?”

This time, a strangled cry was as much of an answer as you could’ve possibly given. You weren’t sure why she was asking, but… this wasn’t normal for you, was it? And now that she mentioned it, you did feel more stimulated than you should’ve during anything remotely medical. Your skin felt hotter, more sensitive where it’d come into contact with her lubricant, and it was getting hard to think, hard to justify not grinding into her hand as she curled and twisted her fingers inside of you. God. You knew you’d been a wreck, lately, but you never would’ve thought that it gotten this bad.

The nails of Shoko’s free hand bit into your ankle, and too strung-out to stop yourself, you let out a whine by way of protest. She chuckled, and suddenly, you were empty, left bucking your hips into vacant air as she drew back. “Poor thing,” she muttered, her sympathy tinged with a sardonic sort of condescension. “I’ve got one last test. Think you can bear with me?”

“Ye—Yes,” you chirped. At that point, it was meaningless – you would’ve agreed to anything so long as she was the one suggesting it. You’d shut your eyes at some point, but you could still hear Shoko’s footsteps, feel her standing above you as she positioned herself at your side. One gloved hand cupped your cheek while the other pressed something blunt and thick against your cunt and, with no warning other than a mumbled reminder to ‘breathe, pretty girl, breathe’, thrust it inside of you.

Her reminder, sadly, proved useless. The air hitched in your lungs as a ribbed shaft filled your overeager pussy, the object curved in a way that made it feel like it was pressing into every fucking part of you at the exact same fucking time. Your hands shot to Shoko’s wrist, searching for something more forgiving than cold metal to ground yourself with. You tried to pull yourself together, and you might’ve been able to if two distinct, silicone-wrapped prongs hadn’t slotted against your clit or, even more damningly, if whatever tool Shoko was using hadn’t started to shake.

Saying you came embarrassingly quickly would’ve been an understatement. There was no pretense of dignity, this time; just grit teeth and twitching legs and one long, miserable sob. Shoko nursed you through it, rocking her vibrating tool inside of you gently until your climax had died into total limpness and the occasional, unsteady gasp. The tool was drawn back, but Shoko’s hand lingered, her thumb tracing patterns into your cheek. “Such a good girl,” she mumbled, and you melted into her touch. “Feeling a little tired?”

It was sickeningly guilt-inducing, just how nice she was being to you after you’d done nothing but humiliate yourself in front of her. “A little,” you admitted, smiling sheepishly. Shoko smiled back. You couldn’t remember when she’d taken off her mask.

“Close your eyes and catch your breath. I’ll finish up while you get a little rest.”

It was all you could do to nod before slumping into yourself, your body going slack despite your best attempts to hold yourself up. Her reassurance was nice, but unnecessary.

In less than a full second, you were out like a light.

~

In Shoko’s defense, she did actually take the time to check. After you passed out, as delicate as Satoru had always bragged you were, she tested the blood sample taken prior to your “exam”. It took a total of three minutes, and left her with good news and bad news to deliver when you woke up.

The good news was, predictably, that you’d been right. You were pregnant. About a month along, in fact. Congratulations, mazel tov, etc.

The bad news was, of course, that you were pregnant, and that Satoru had finally managed to knock you up. Thoughts and prayers, get well soon, etc.

 From her make-shift desk on the far side of the room, she spared a glance to where you were still sleeping on her autopsy table. You’d rolled onto your side since she last checked on you, your pleated shirt bunching at your waist as you used your arms as a rudimentary pillow. It’d be a lie to say she didn’t understand why Satoru had gone so crazy about you so quickly. What you were – an ordinary human with enough cursed energy to see, but not act – was rare, your continuous ability to gloss over the uglier parts of their world in favor of perpetual, delusional optimism even more so. It’d be impressive, if she didn’t know it was going to get you fucked over eventually.

You were cute. It’s surprised her when she first met you in-person, when she first realized that.

It’d surprised her a little less when she realized that you even cuter mumbling gibberish as you came around her fingers.

Her eyes fell back to the phone in her hand. Her messages with Satoru were already open, what she’d been deliberating on telling him already typed out. She sighed, checked the picture she’d taken of you sprawled out on her table, three of her fingers buried in your cunt, and hit send.

[1 attachment]

your girlfriend has something to tell you.

sending a bill for my time btw.

Three dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, signaling that Satoru was typing a response, before disappearing just as quickly. He tried calling her a second later, and she muted her phone before tossing it half-heartedly in the nearest drawer and turning back to you. Judging by your durability (or lack thereof), she’d have a few more minutes before you woke up, and another half an hour before the aphrodisiac gel she’d used on you started to wear off. You’d likely want to rush home to Satoru, when you finally got your hard-earned results.

Again, Shoko sighed, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

It’d just be a waste not to have a little fun while she could, right?

[lcriedlastnight]

Enemies to lovers with Lando. Someone says something bad / criticises Lando in front of reader and she immediately defends him without knowing he’s behind her and can hear everything. And maybe as she’s defending him she’s also unknowingly/ without realizing / accidentally admitting her feelings for him

i love this idea! thank you so much anon, love!

tw: fem!reader, swears, logan hate (do not support!), little lando hate, not spellchecked or proof read, lmk if you want me to add anything else.

w/c: 2k

you and lando had never gotten along. you’d never gotten along and you’d never tried to. it was just one of those things, you supposed. you didn’t make a big deal out of it as the two of you shared a friend group and didn’t want to cause any issues between the group. lando however, well it seemed like he had a serious issue with you.

at first you did try to get along with him, his ego was massive and that really did put you off wanting to be friends with him but you could be fake a friendship with him. a friendship out of convenience was perfectly fine with you. lando was just having none of it. he’d ignore any conversation you would try to have with him - even in a group setting. you had tried just not talking to him but even that left you on the receiving end of dirty looks and mean comments. you’d had enough with it so you stopped caring about him entirely.

well that’s what you told your friends. in reality; you cared what he thought, you looked for his reaction to any story that was told in the room and you looked to see if he laughed at your jokes. every single time you were left with blank stares and bored expressions.

your friends noticed this and tried their best to ease the tension between the two of you but because of lando’s stubbornness, there was nothing they could really do. he really did make things difficult sometimes.

you had all gathered around the drivers house to celebrate a mutual close friend’s birthday. you and you close girl friends had gotten ready for the get together at your house and headed to the party together.

“so is the vibe for tonight party or chilled?” your friend asks as you jump out of the taxi outside lando’s apartment complex. your other friend snorts in amusement before she replies.

“girl, we’re at lando’s what do you think the vibe is?”. you frown. the party vibe wasn’t really what the birthday boy enjoyed so you hoped for his sake it was more a chilled, hanging with friends vibe. you also didn’t really dress for a party, your favourite pair of jeans on as well as one of those cute baby tee’s you found on tiktok.

“i hope not. fin doesn’t really like parties.” you remind them as you press the buzzer for lando’s. it rings for a second then you hear his crackly voice through the speaker. “hello?”. he sounded sober. good start.

“can you let us in please?” you ask into the intercom. there is a pause before lando replies.

“no. we’re full.”

your friend rolls her eyes at his words, knowing all this is was because he was talking to you. if he would just stop acting like a dickhead for more than two seconds people could maybe get things done. meanwhile, you huff at lando’s words opening your mouth to complain to him but your friend cuts in. “just let us in, norris.”.

she sounds fed up enough already that lando immediately tells them to “head on up, then.” she storms ahead of you and your other friend. you look at each other with annoyed looks.

“to be fair it’s a good thing she did that because you haven’t fell into his traps in months.” she reminds you as you reach his door which was open waiting on you and your friend. you nod. it was true, ignoring lando was really going well for you… from your friends point of view anyways. your mind was still plagued with thoughts of him.

your friend walks in before you so make sure to close the door behind you.

“so i guess we were wrong. looks like it is a chill night.” you friend says as she sees your friends dotted around the place, conversing. it looked very adult. weird for something lando was in charge of planning. you didn’t know he was capable of being anything except snide and rude. maybe he could be thoughtful and caring to the people he loved. the thought makes you frown but before you can linger on it for too long your friend grabs you both a drink and you take seats on his couch.

you notice you’re the last ones to arrive and try to find your friend that stormed off earlier. your eyes rake around the room until they land on her sitting with fin, the birthday boy. they looked cosy. ‘good for them’ you think as you take a sip of your drink. you notice lando sitting with his friend, max, on the couch next to you. you glance in his direction then redirect your eyes.

after maybe half an hour of socialising and drinking, fin announces (with your other friend hanging off his arm) that he wants to play a game of truth or dare. you thought it was a bit childish but everyone agreed so you did too. you all sit in a circle and decide to place a bottle in the middle.

“this is so high school.” you say to your friend, who just laughs in agreement. you had ended up sitting next to max on one side and your friend on the other. you quite liked max, he was nothing like lando, which helped you like him a lot more.

“since it’s my birthday, i’ll go first!” fin says as he spins the bottle. it lands on max. fin grins before asking the question you know you’re going to be tired of hearing after tonight.

after a couple of rounds a few of you disperse to get drinks and use the toilet. you were pretty sure some went for a smoke break. you didn’t even know anyone where smoked. lando was one of the people that had left, he went to the kitchen to get a drink for him and max. the good thing about not being able to let anyone know you were staring at lando was that you got good at lip reading and hearing things from a distance. you also got good at seeing things out of the corner of your eye. it was during your turn when lando asked max if he wanted another drink. you felt like you were keeping tabs on the boy, you were starting to feel a bit creepy as you answered your question.

the game continues as people (lando) leave. it was your friend turn but she was a bit more than drunk and would only accept a question from fin, the man she was clinging to all night.

you can all see the wheels turning in fin’s mind as he thinks up a question. “how good of a driver do you think lando actually is?” he finally asks.

everyone perks up at the question, wanting to see if your friend had any unpopular opinions on lando’s driving skills.

“he’s shit. like- that’s him just won his first race? after racing for like five years? that doesn’t really scream future world champion does it?” she criticised, words slurred. your face is screwed up in disagreement. you bite your tongue though, knowing she was drunk and probably just wanted to start something. you’re sure you heard someone gasp.

“you don’t really mean that?” another one of your friends asks in shock. your drunk friend only nods.

“i do. he’s bad. like he’s not logan sargent bad but he’s mid at best and i don’t understand the hype. i never have and i don’t think i ever will.” she smiles a little and that’s what gets you.

“i’m sorry are you being serious right now? firstly the audacity you have to sit there, shitfaced, bashing on the person who’s house you’re inside and who bought you the drinks in the first place is absurd,” you start, bring her down a peg. you hear footsteps behind you but you’re too pent up to acknowledge them right now.

“secondly, have you even watched a race? ever? or even recently? because if you had then you would know just how good he actually is. you’re sitting there talking about him like you know exactly how hard he worked to get to where he is and to achieve that win. millions of people - who actually watch the races, by the way - have said how difficult it is to end verstappen’s win streak and lando was the first person to do so this season.” you rant, enraged that she spoke about lando like that.

her mouth opens and closes a few times before she says, almost cockily. “carlos sainz won before lando did, in australia. you act like i don’t know shit about f1.”

“lando’s win means way more than carlos’ because max was still in the race in miami. he had the chance to actually win it, whereas in australia he dnf’d. so do you actually know what you’re talking about? i, along with like a million other people like lando and think he’s going to go very far the rest of the season.” you educate her. she should really know all of this seeing as you always told her every detail about the races on the mondays following.

“bitch.” she has nothing to retaliate with so she chooses to resort to name calling. you don’t even give her a reply and stand up to go outside to get some air. you stand up so quickly you don’t see the feet standing directly behind you or the hard chest you smash into. you could tell it was lando from the scent. was it weird? maybe but you didn’t care much. you’re embarrassed that he probably heard your rant defending him and that you just smashed right into his chest so you step backwards and head to lando’s balcony to sit outside with the smokers.

you rush outside and sit down in the far corner next to the railing. you watch the streets below for a few minutes, trying to forget what you had just done and who you had done it in front of. you feel lando looming over you a few minutes later.

“y’alright?” he asks as he takes a seat next to you. you feel uncomfortable a little, you’ve never been this close to him, even though that’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted for the past three years. and he’s being nice to you. lando have never been nice to you. ever. you’d seen him be nice to others, hundreds of times before so you knew what it was like, but you could only have dreamed of being on the receiving end of it.

“yeah.” you reply. you move your head from watching the cars pass on the road to rest your forehead on your tucked up knees.

“thank you for what you did… well said i guess. it was really nice of you.” lando starts, his hand sits awfully close to the edge of your shoe. it’s not touching but if you shuffled your foot a few times towards him, it would be.

“i know i don’t really deserve it. not from you anyways. you’ve always been so sweet to me and i’ve kinda been- well a dick.” you let out a breathy giggle at his choice of words.

“yeah. you have been a dick.” lando grins as you agree with him.

“what if i said i didn’t wanna be a dick to you anymore?” he said, you’re sure you heard a hint of shyness in his voice.

you move you’re head from it’s resting place to look at him in confusion. “you don’t? how do you want to treat me then?” you ask.

lando smiles. “like i should’ve been for the past god knows how long.” you give him your own smile back.

“for the record i like you too.” lando teases, his hand coming to clutch at your thigh. you groan.

“i hate you.” he laughs that laugh.

“no you don’t.” you rest your head on your shoulder and listen to the traffic. lando’s thumb rubs across your skin. his touch is soothing. this is the first nice memory you have with lando.

[sinofwriting]

Not Quite Temptation - Max Verstappen

Words: 874 Summary: Christian introduces Max to his daughter. Note(s): This was requested months ago and I apologize to the requester that it took so long for me to write it, but I hope you enjoy! Also, I’m aware of the complaint that has been filed on Horner (the complaint from what I understand (and seen from majority sources) is about aggressive management i.e. controlling behavior). I understand if seeing this makes people uncomfortable and if it does, I urge you to scroll past and ignore this.

Masterlist | Support Me!

Christian had been thrilled when his oldest child, his daughter, had finally wanted to come to a race. He wasn’t delusional. He knew it wasn’t because she had finally gained a larger interest in the sport, no matter how much he had tried over the years. It was simply to spend time with him. Which as much as he pretended to complain to Geri about it (because honestly if she wanted to spend time with him, it’d be much easier not during a race weekend) he loved it.

He hadn’t gotten to really be a part of her life as she grew up, custody arrangement strict due to all of his traveling. It was only later when she turned sixteen that really she and him truly got to spend time together. Her mother allowing her to spend weeks at his house, more comfortable as well with Geri being there. There was a little part of him however that was bitter that it took this long for her to attend a race, that her mother had been so insistent on her not going to races when she was underage.

He pushed away the thought, just happy that finally wanted to go to one, even if it was just to see and spend time with him.

Introducing her around, he laughs when Adrian’s eyes go a little wide.

“Why, that can’t be little Y/N? You were twelve the last time I saw you. And this high.” He raises his hand to just a little above his waist.

“Eight years changes a lot.” She laughs. “What dad doesn’t show a picture of me around?” It’s a joke, but a few people overhearing flinch, exchanging looks.

“If you’d let me show pictures of you, I would. I’m very proud.” Christian says, wrapping an arm around her and kissing the top of her head, still in disbelief that he had a twenty-year-old daughter. It didn’t feel right or real.

“I know.”

He smiles, nodding at Adrian before directing to where the driver’s rooms are. “C’mon, I want you to meet Max. It’s nearly a crime you haven’t met him till now.”

“Aw, your golden child. Or second golden child.”

He mock scowls at her. “You need to stop talking to Seb.”

“No way. His girls call me Auntie.”

Christian makes a humming noise, stopping in front of a closed door and raising his fist to knock.

“Max. Do you have a moment? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

He hears the driver groan through the door. “Christian, I really don’t want to meet a sponsor right now, okay. I’m not feeling well.”

“Not a sponsor, I promise.”

“Pleasant.” She murmurs when Max doesn’t say anything else. It makes him glance down and he’s relieved to see an amused smile on her face. “How often are you forcing him to meet sponsors?”

“You sound like him right now.” He tells her.

As she starts to laugh, the door opens.

“Max,” Christian smiles. “This is my daughter, Y/N. Y/N, Max Verstappen.”

“Your golden child.” She teases, before reaching out to shake Max’s hand that he had extended. “Nice to meet you, Max. My dad is quite fond of you.”

“Lovely to meet you.” He tells her, before looking at Christian for a brief second with a raised eyebrow. “Is this your first race?”

“It is.”

“Let me give you a tour, introduce you to a few drivers. Any minute now, Christian will have to go to a meeting.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” She says, leaning just the slightest bit into him and he knows that Max picks up on it with the way his eyes soften a bit.

“It’s no problem really. Besides, this means your dad will owe me a favor.” He winks.

Christian wants to protest, but she laughs and he nods. “One favor and my meeting should only be an hour, darling.” He presses another kiss to her head. “Careful with my daughter, Max and don’t take her around Toto or Esteban. That’s the last thing I need.”

“Got it, boss.”

A little over an hour later, as Christian enters the garage, his eyes quickly spot his daughter who’s talking to Adrian again, her hands moving around as she explains something to him. He considers going over, but Adrian has that look on his face. The one where he’s fully paying attention and getting some sort of idea from what the other person is telling him.

Letting his eyes wander around the garage, they pause on Max and he nearly freezes because that is the look of a man clearly checking someone out and a sick sort of feeling forms in his stomach. Following his line of sight, his fists clench and he struggles not to yell. Because it was his daughter that Max was looking at. His fucking daughter.

Looking at her, he takes a few deep breaths, comforting himself with the fact that she’d never be interested in someone like Max. Completely missing how her hair is no longer up but down and carefully covering parts of her neck and how she keeps shifting her weight. He also completely misses the small glances and smiles Max and her exchange.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)wife

Chapter I: The Chain 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Three months after leaving him, your inevitable reunion with your soon-to-be ex-husband Aemond isn’t as bad as you thought it’d be.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, toxic relationship dynamic, possessive Aemond, depictions of anxiety, allusions to smut

Word count: 3000

A/N: Edited and done, please enjoy 🩵 Thank you my love @theoneeyedprince for giving this a look-through for me 🫶

Breathe.

In. Hold three seconds. Out. Hold three seconds. In. Hold three seconds. Out.

You haven’t been able to eat anything all morning, far too nauseous to keep even a piece of toast down.

The breathing exercise your therapist had taught you does little to help you calm down.

You’ve felt anxious before, but rarely this intense.

It’s so physical.

You feel it in your stomach turning, chest contracting, hands tingling, head spinning.

You knew you’d have to meet him sooner or later.

Afterall, you’d both decided to stay in the band. You’d just started to gain traction, embarking on your first ever tour across the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

A once in a lifetime opportunity for an up-and-coming band.

Still, knowing that didn’t make it easier to turn the handle of the door and walk into the studio.

Knowing he’ll be there.

You hadn’t seen your husband, Aemond, in over three months now.

Soon to be ex-husband.

You’d honestly expected the process to be speedier; you hadn’t demanded anything from him, the only thing important to you was that you kept all legal rights you had in relation to the band; the rights to your songs. And he hadn’t really given any conditions himself, yet his solicitors took ages contacting yours.

That’s all you’d heard from him over the summer. Updates from your legal advisers about his.

You’d blocked his number after leaving the divorce papers at your shared flat and moved out, tired of your phone overheating from the amount of times he’d tried calling you.

In the end, Alicent, your mother-in-law, had phoned you, begging you to please meet with her son and talk it out. You told her that you’d already talked plenty and there was no point in continuing indulging in pointless discussion. You’d always gotten along well with Alicent, so having her call you to do her son’s bidding felt so unbelievably awkward. He’d always been such a mama’s boy.

With one final, shaky exhale, you turn the handle of the door and push it open, stepping into the hallway.

With the door ajar, you can hear chatter from the studio.

Everyone’s already here.

Good, then you’d just have to suck it up and face them. Like ripping off a band-aid; only painful for a second.

You spot Helaena first. She gives you a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and straightens up slightly.

You’d met her a few times in the last months; brainstorming song ideas and recording vocals together in the studio.

Besides playing the piano, she wrote songs and sang for the band, just like you and Aemond. She hadn’t asked you anything about him, which you were thankful for. You know she’s anxious about how the dynamic in the band will shift now that the two of you have separated. And her anxiety materialises in the way she starts picking at her nail beds as soon as she sees you emerge through the door.

Next to Helaena sits Jace, who plays bass for the band. He gives you a half-hearted smile, accompanied by tense shoulders and a murmured greeting.

Across the table from him is Erryk, drummer and the newest addition to the band. He seems to not sense the tension that hangs heavy in the room and smiles at you until his eyes crinkle.

His obliviousness almost makes you laugh. It nearly manages to cut through the uncomfortable tension, until your eyes travel to lock with the last person in the room.

You knew that Aemond wouldn’t cause a scene and act infuriatingly indifferent towards you.

You knew that he’d give you a nod and get straight down to business.

Still, you feel a sliver of satisfaction when your predictions turn out to be true.

“So, everyone’s done with recording their parts?”, he asks the room.

He’s already pulled out his laptop, quick fingers typing as he waits for confirmation.

Though the tense atmosphere never really leaves the room, you all collectively try to power through as you discuss how recording went and what else needs to be fixed before the album is ready.

Due to your and Aemond’s separation, and the tumultuous events leading up to it, the band had agreed that everyone would record their vocals and instruments separately; putting everything together in production later. This had slowed down the process significantly, resulting in you being far from done with the album your label wanted you to release at the end of the month.

“As you know, the label isn’t too pleased with the fact that we haven’t finished the album yet-”, Aemond says, eyes still on the screen of his laptop; both his seeing eye and the unmoving one covered by a layer of white mist,

“-But they’ve asked us if we’d be willing to perform some new songs during the tour, to boost sales and get the hype up”

His voice is stoic, every utterance straight to the point. You sit on his blind side, with Helaena between your chair and his, and you take the opportunity of knowing he can’t clearly see you to examine him, searching for any changes since you last laid eyes on him, when his knuckles were bloody and panic reflected in his lilac eye.

He looks exactly like he always does; infuriatingly handsome.

His long, silvery hair hangs loose over his shoulders. His long eyelashes cast down as he inspects the screen of his laptop. His aquiline nose slopes beautifully to meet his perfectly pouty lips, begging to be kissed-

Fuck, stop!

Truth be told, you’d put extra effort into looking your best today, spending an hour on doing your makeup and picking out the perfect outfit. Hopefully you’d succeeded in making it appear much less intentional than it was, suddenly feeling a flash of embarrassment wash over you.

Why do you care what he thinks anymore?

The meeting goes on for another hour. The band’s manager, Tyland Lannister, joins in after 20 minutes, briefing the band members on the upcoming tour. Opening night’s in one week, on Dragonstone, and you’ll all fly out the morning of the show.

As the members of the band prepare to leave the studio, the tension that had previously felt so crushing is now only lingering in the periphery.

Jace and Erryk talk excitedly about all the places they’ll visit during the tour; what they wanted to eat and what they wanted to see. For a second it almost feels like things are back to normal, like the last three months never happened.

As everyone makes their separate ways home, you spot Aemond walk up to a black car and quickly jump in the passenger seat.

Your stomach turns.

You only see a flash of her black hair before the car drives away. The mask of indifference you’d put on cracks slightly at the sight of them together.

You wanted the divorce, idiot.

It still hurts seeing him move on though. He’d done it so quickly; uncharacteristically so.

The first week after you’d left, he blew up your phone trying to get a hold of you.

Despite his inexcusable behaviour, there had been times when you felt guilty for leaving him so abruptly. Even though you knew he deserved it, you also knew that leaving him and refusing to talk to him would drive him insane. What you hadn’t expected was that he’d go and get a new girl a mere week after Alicent had called you.

Seeing them together in real life made you feel exactly as you did when your friend Alysanne had sent you the link to the 30 second video two and a half months ago.

Nauseous.

The video showed Aemond getting out of a taxi in front of a new and chic Braavosi bistro downtown. It was opening night and a few local news sources were there to report. One of the journalists had recognised Aemond, clearly intrigued by the fact that the still-married bandman rounded the taxi and offered his hand to a beautiful dark-haired woman stepping out. As they walked towards the entrance, the reporter chased them down, microphone in hand and cameraman in tow.

“Aemond Targaryen? Already moving on after the separation I see?”, the reporter half-shouts behind Aemond to get his attention.

His date turns around in response to the comment, smiling as her emerald gaze observes the reporter. The news of your separation had been speculated on a few minor fansites after someone leaked an email from your solicitor's office, but neither you nor Aemond had made any statement about it.

He wasn’t planning on giving one now either, unimpressed eye giving the reporter a once-over before huffing in amusement and gesturing for his date to follow him inside.

The reporter, set on getting an answer from the rising star, chuckles before forcefully shoving the microphone in Aemond’s face,

“Women come and go, is that the case?”, he presses with a cheeky wink.

Aemond huffs out a laugh, “Yeah, something like that”, he says, wrapping his arm around his date’s shoulders as he leads her into the restaurant.

You’d later learn that the date from that night was his new manager, Alys Rivers.

Funny how he’d gotten a manager to handle his possible solo work.

Six months prior, when you’d been approached by a talent scout asking if you’d ever thought of doing solo stuff on the side, Aemond had been absolutely livid. After giving the agent a few well-chosen words, he had stormed off, leaving you upset and confused.

It was ultimately his jealousy and possessiveness that broke your marriage, getting to a point where you felt like you couldn’t be with him any longer. Neither as a lover nor a friend.

Now, the only place he can take in your life is as your bandmate; business partner, and nothing more.

You’d seriously considered leaving the band when you decided on leaving him. Still, somewhere deep inside you can’t shake this feeling that what your band has is something unique; something you won’t find anywhere else.

You and Aemond had started the band with Helaena right around the time you’d first met.

The three of you quickly bonded over your shared vision of what kind of music you’d like to make. On top of that, your voices sounded so good together, Aemond providing structure with his precision while you focused on conveying raw emotions.

So you decided to stick it out, work with your ex-husband in order to make the music that you wanted.

You’re an artist. All artists suffered for their art, right? You’d just have to suck this up and get on with it; continue to create art. And the pain would be worth it.

Besides, truth be told, you’d never met anyone quite as talented as Aemond. You’d never met anyone else who understood the music you wanted to create quite like he did.

When it came to music, you two almost had a telepathic connection. As someone who relies a lot on intuition and ‘that feeling in your gut’, you found it hard to describe music and your visions for it in general. But with Aemond you never needed to; he understood. Two minds wired the same.

Unfortunately, that wordless communication only stretched as far as music.

You think back to one of the last conversations you had before you left him.

You’d tried to confront him about his temper and inability to keep his jealousy in check, and he’d promptly ignored you; defaulting into shutting you out.

Exhausted, you resorted to the only solution you could come up with.

“Maybe we should spend some time apart, let things cool down a bit”, you try, purposefully making your voice as gentle as possible.

Aemond, who’d been staring out the window of your apartment in contemplative rage, quickly turns to face you, expression impassive but one eye furious.

“If you want some ‘time apart’ you might as well get on with it and leave”, he says, voice chilly. Sometimes when he’s angry, he sounds so hateful it hurts your heart.

“What do you want me to do Aemond?”, you reply, patience running thin as anger overcomes you, “You don’t allow me to live my life, you hinder any chance of growth I have-”,

“Growth!? What else do you need?”, he spits back. “Do you understand what it means to be married to someone? I do fucking everything for you, you’re my wife!”

“Sure, chain me to our marriage. Keep me shackled to you forever, that’s what you want, isn’t it? While you fuck around town, relishing in the freedom you never allow me”

Your agitated voice matches his. You know your words will hurt him.

Aemond exhales loudly. His jaw’s shut tight and misty gaze piercing. He has a tendency to shut down during fights, especially when he doesn't have a snide remark waiting at the back of his mind.

Aemond’s eyes, locking yours in a death stare, narrow,

“So you want out?”

The flight to Dragonstone goes by in a flash, and after a quick soundcheck at the venue, the five members of Dragon Dreamers start getting ready for the show. 

You and Helaena do your usual routine of getting ready together, checking each other’s makeup and hair.

As the venue starts to fill up, the band gathers backstage, quickly running through your set one last time. You try to shoot a covert glance at Aemond, but he immediately finds your eyes. As always, he looks impeccable.

“Since we’ve finished ‘The Chain’ in production, I suggest we play that as our opening number tonight. It’s fast-paced and will get the crowd moving”, Aemond states, looking at his bandmates for approval.

They all nod knowingly, catching you by surprise.

“I’m not sure I’m familiar with ‘The Chain’”, you say, trying to sound neutral though you suspect he chose a song you don’t know on purpose.

“It’s the one you did some backup vocals on in the studio”, Aemond replies, throwing you a quick look, “Me and Helaena can sing the verses and you can join in during the chorus”, he offers, moving to pick up his guitar, signalling that he’s done with the conversation.

Great, first song on opening night and you’ll stand there like a deer in headlights.

You sigh quietly and grab your tambourine. If you’re not going to sing you’ll at least try to join in by jamming a bit to the beat. Only one thing echoes in your mind,

Don’t let him get to you!

‘The Chain’ starts playing. Steady drums beat in a slow rhythm as Aemond plays a bluesy melody on his guitar, and you realise that it is one of the songs that you and he had worked on when you were still together.

Last time you heard it, you had worked out the melody, but not really pinned down the lyrics. Aemond must’ve taken it upon himself to finish it, completely steering away from the direction you thought the song would take.

‘Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise’

Why haven't you heard anything about this new edit?

A chill runs down your spine.

Has he re-written it to be about you?

‘Run in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies’

Yes he has.

You and Aemond got married at sunrise by the Hightower summer house in Highgarden in June two years ago.

Aemond had proposed to you only five weeks prior, and being so in love that you couldn’t possibly imagine being separated for more than 15 minutes, you decided to tie the knot as quickly as possible.

You just wanted to be his.

That had been one of your fondest memories together; a small ceremony that was only yours.

Now, it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

Memories rotting from within.

You hate it. You don’t want to think about that now.

Damn him. Damn his love. Damn his lies.

‘And if you don’t love me now, you will never love me again’

‘I can still hear you saying, “you would never break the chain”’

As he sings, he sounds so angry, his voice is almost foreign to you.

He usually tries to keep his emotions in check, even when performing. Probably too scared to be vulnerable enough to let people know he actually has feelings, you reckon.

You remember the song and the rapid pace it picks up. Trying to ignore what you think is Aemond staring at you from the side of the stage, you dance and sing to the song about your heartbreak.

You let the music consume you as you work the tambourine, dancing and spinning, trying to relish in the feeling of knowing your band had made a killer song.

The audience is loving it. You have never heard them this rowdy before, and you can see the entire venue dancing.

You keep going, trying to distract yourself so your gaze won’t travel to Aemond.

He had played a rough first version of the guitar solo he wanted to incorporate in the song for you when you were still together. It really was phenomenal, fitting perfectly with the climax of the song.

He’s an insanely skilled guitarist, never missing a note and always instinctively knowing exactly what melody will match the feel of a song.

The audience is loving it, screaming and dancing with you.

Feeling braver and with the adrenaline from the performance running through your veins, you come up to your mic and sing along with Aemond and Helaena, chanting in unison.

The three of you sound good, like you always do.

The realisation gives you comfort; there’s still hope for your band.

‘Chain, keep us together’

‘Running in the shadows’

You can do this.

A/N: Thank you for reading! 🫶

[writingroom21]

Our Secret

Pairing: Stepdad!Rafe x stepdaughter!Reader

Summary: This is a part 2 of this story

Warinings:18+, smut, nipple play, fingering, p in v, pregnancy sex, unprotected sex, (let me know if I missed any)

Wc: 1.9K

“Shouldn’t be in here. The fumes aren’t good for the baby.”

You stand in the middle of the nursery looking at the powder blue walls Rafe just got done painting. The furniture is piled on one side that's already dry keeping it from the wet paint. “I just wanted to see how it was looking.” Looking around you envision how you are going to decorate the walls. You want the theme to be Alice in Wonderland so one of your friends is going to paint a mural on the wall. Rafe said he was going to do it but you don’t think he has the artistic skills for that.

He’s been really big on giving you anything and everything that you want. You’re seven months pregnant and about to reach your eighth month. It’s been a wild couple of months since you found out. The two of you were so happy living in a bubble until you had to tell your mom. She was pissed off with you, calling you every name under the sun. “Do you really not know the dad? How stupid can you be?” You know it was due to her wanting a better life than she had. Your dad had left as soon as you came into the picture and here you are repeating history.

Well at least in her eyes you are.

Rafe was the voice of reason, convincing your mom that they needed to help you out. Then a week after that conversation he was clearing out the room next to yours for the nursery. Your mom found it sweet how much Rafe wanted to help you. Even going as far as joking that he should just be dad when the baby comes. You had all laughed brushing it under the rug but you and Rafe shared a look. It was so brief that your mom didn’t think anything of it but you two knew you had to be careful.

Which wasn’t really hard since she was still traveling for work. She was gone weeks on end allowing you two to be alone. You’ve even moved into the master bedroom with him and she never noticed. The only time you were in your room was when she was here. You know things have not been going smoothly with them. Sometimes you can hear them arguing when they think you aren’t around.

“Why are you always defending her? She should find her own place.” You sat on the daybed in the backyard listening to them through the open windows. Your mom had just gotten back from another work trip to find the house littered with baby things. Rafe had just taken you shopping so everything was a mess. “She’s pregnant, I'm not kicking her out. You’re barely here anyway so why should it matter.” 

Their voices carry outside filling your ears. You feel bad for causing so many problems, maybe you and Rafe should stop. It wouldn’t be that bad to just end it here. The lie tasted foul. You know if this ever ended it would break you but you could live with it. “I’m working Rafe, what do you want me to do? Just because you would rather have fun than work doesn’t mean I want to.” There was her go to line. She’s older than Rafe by ten years and always throws it back in his face. Always reminding him that she has more experience in life.

“No, I want a wife that’s here and to have a family. Not a wife that thinks I’m too stupid to notice her sleeping around. Next time you have a work trip make sure your company is aware of it.” There was complete silence after his words rang in the air. You sat up from the chair looking at the bedroom window. You can see them standing there just as your mom slapped him across the face. “Maybe I was tired of having a husband who couldn’t meet my needs.” Rafe just laughed. “Hard to meet them when half of the world already had a chance.”

You haven’t seen her since. She came down telling you she had to go back for work and never came back. Rafe refused to talk about it stating there wasn’t anything to worry about. But you can’t help but to feel like this is all your fault. “What are you thinking about?” Rafe’s arms wrap around your waist, his hands spreading across your bump. He’s been so affectionate, making you feel so loved. “Do you ever feel bad? Like about what we are doing to my mom.” Slowly he turns to face him. “No. Do you?”

You go to speak but footsteps in the hallway catch both your attention. “Rafe?” Your moms voice echos. The two of you detach yourselves and stare at the door when she emerges. “Wow this looks nice.” She looks at the paint stains on his shirt. Her eyes pinch together, looking between the two of you. “You painted the room? Should have just hired someone.” Rafe clears his throat, shrugging as he looks around. “Thought it would be nice. Plus I don't need this one going crazy on the workers.” You slap his arm, offended at his accusation. “I’m not that bad.”

Your mom just watches the two of you interact, nodding her head along. Sucking her teeth she grabs your attention again. “Well I’m glad to see the two of you getting along. I’m going to go unpack.” Rafe’s head snaps over to her, his feet following her retreating body. “What do you mean?” She grabs the bag she left by the master bedroom and enters. You watch from the hallway as Rafe follows. “Well I decided I should be here since the due date is getting closer. She’s going to need me.” Not wanting to hear more, you just lock yourself in your room for the rest of the night.

The routine follows for the next few weeks. Your mom seems to never leave the house anymore. Usually Rafe goes to your appointments with you but when he mentioned it last night your mom jumped at the opportunity. “Don’t stress yourself with something that doesn’t concern you. I’ll bring her, I want to see my grandbaby.” You tried to go by yourself but she wouldn’t let you. The car ride and waiting room were awkward since she wouldn’t speak to you. You mentioned things about the baby and your life but she didn’t seem interested. 

“No dad today? We’ll make him an extra copy to have.” Your obgyn says as she walks in the room. You froze in your spot, looking at your mom who didn’t react at all. “Oh no, that's my husband. He’s been helping her out while I was gone.” The doctor looks between the two of you. Her eyes are suspicious and you can tell the moment that it clicked. “Gee my sincere apology. I just assumed.” The rest of the appointment was okay. The baby was looking good and you were excited to hear their little heartbeat. 

When you had gotten home she went straight to the kitchen grabbing some wine before disappearing to her room. You waited a few moments before sneaking your way to Rafe’s office. “Hi baby.” He looked up, leaning back in his chair as he smiled at you. Rounding the desk you sit on the edge in front of him. “Hi sweetie. How’s our little princess doing?” His fingers brush against your bump, catching the blunt end of a kick. “Think she’s going to be a soccer star with that leg of hers.” You giggle, pulling out a copy of the ultrasound. Rafe takes it and places it next to the frame with your first one. He’s been collecting each one and displaying them on his desk. 

“Everything is good. Just need to get through these last few weeks and she’ll be here.” Dragging his chair close, Rafe traps himself between your thighs. His fingers make their way down to the hem of your dress, finding their way under the fabric. “That’s good. Can’t wait to hold our baby girl.” He places a kiss on your bump at the same time his fingers find the soaked material of your panties. “And how’s my baby doing, hm? Been missing her.”

Since your moms been back the two of you haven’t been with each other. Going to fucking each other’s brains out to not getting to touch each other has been torture. “I’ve missed you too.” When they say pregnancy makes you super horny they aren’t wrong. You were jumping his bones any chance you got. Not being able to get that fix has you winded up to the point his fingers slide right in. Rafe stares intently at your face, looking at how pleasure consumes you as his fingers play you like a violin.

Pulling the top of your dress he frees your breast, tugging at your nipples harshly. Since being pregnant your breasts have been extra sensitive. You could probably get off just from him playing with them. Standing he takes one of them in his mouth, sucking at the pebbled nipple. He takes his time, taking his finger out to play with your clit just to slide them back in. Moving to the other nipple he bites down on it. A moan slips from your lips, maybe a little too loud but you don’t care. “Hear how wet you are? Bet you’re soaking my desk right now.”

Straining your ears you can hear the squelch your pussy makes every time he pushes his fingers back in. You clench around them, a hand finding his shoulder to stable yourself. “You gonna drench me baby? I know you want to.” He attaches to your nipple again, his free hand finding the other to pinch. He keeps the actions going. Sucking and pinching on your nipples as he fucks you with his fingers. The pressure in your lower stomach gets more intense and you feel like you are going to explode. All of a sudden you are gushing everywhere, moans filling the room as you come down from the feeling.

“Fuck. How come you’ve never done that before? Would have had you do that for me all the time if I knew.” He kisses your lips and rubs your legs to soothe you. “Mmm never knew either.” He helps you down and tells you to go take a shower. Looking at him and his desk you can see how much you actually squirted. His papers were all wet and his shirt was soaked. You apologized but he didn’t want to hear it since he thought it was hot. Leaving the room you don’t notice how the previously closed door was left open. “Maybe I was tired of having a wife who I didn’t love.” He threw her words back at her. 

Huffing your mom grabs her things, grabbing her phone to text someone. “You know what? The two of you can go together, I don’t need this.” Getting something from her bag she walks to the island and throws a stack of papers on it. “Those better be signed by the end of the week.” She walks out the house, leaving the divorce papers staring back at you. Rafe picks them up with a smile. “Looks like I’ll be a free man. It’s just us now sweetie.”

There’s a sound of water hitting something. Rafe looks over his shoulder at you noticing the far away look you have. “Hey it’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out together.” He goes to comfort you but slips. Looking down he sees that the floor is wet. “What the fuck?” 

“I think my water just broke.”

✧✧✧✧✧

“Come on sweetie, give me one more. Just one and we can be done.” Rafe breathe’s out as he thrusts into you. A whine leaves your lips as you claw at his shoulders. Your mom had gone on a “girls trip" with her friends, leaving you two alone. Rafe didn’t waste a moment dragging you into every room in the house. Which is why you are leaning over the kitchen counter with him behind you. 

“I can’t.” You moan out. One of his hands gathers your hair, pulling your head up slightly. “Told you if you wore that dress you’d regret it. Don’t whine now because you got exactly what you asked for.” He’s made you cum four times by now. The two of you have been at it for a while at this point and he can’t seem to stop. First he needed you squirting all over him. Then he needed to taste you as you cum. It was just a never ending cycle leading you back to him pounding the life out of you. Not to mention he’s excusing it as helping you induce labor since your already past your due date.

Your skin lights on fire as his fingers dance along it. Everything is just overwhelming and you’re so close. “Come on mama.” He twists a nipple causing the flood gates to open. You slump over the counter as you moan. Soon the feeling of a rushing warmth fills you letting you know that Rafe just cummed. Slowly he pulls out, lifting your dress and spreading your ass cheeks to watch his cum drip out of you. “Fuck sweet heart. Look great with my cum seeping out of you.”

“What the fuck.” The sound of a voice and things hitting the floor causes the two of you to look up. Your mom stands in the doorway staring at the scene in front of her. “Mom I ca-” “Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear it.” Rafe covers you up, tucking himself back into his pants. “Don’t ever talk to her like that again. Be mad at me all you want but you won’t speak to her like that in my house.” There’s a shocked look on her face, not expecting Rafe to speak back to her. “Seriously, could have been anyone else. Why my kid?” 

He laughs at her audacity. “You lost all room to talk when you were sneaking off at our wedding reception to screw your boss. What was it that you said ‘can’t help who you fall for’.” He places a hand on your shoulder bringing you to his side.

Taglist: @rafedaddy01 @theeternaloptimistt @laniirackssss

let me know if you want to be added

[just-jordie-things]

just like my crush - fushiguro megumi

word count: 3.8k warnings: swearing, reader is doped up from anesthesia summary: confessing that you have a crush on someone really isn't that hard. all it takes is anesthesia clouding your judgment. a/n: brought to you by my lovely nanami flowershop anon's beautiful brain !!!

___

Injuries in this line work wasn’t unusual.  Someone was always occupying Shoko’s little infirmary and keeping her busy.  Nasty gashes, sprained wrists, broken bones- it was practically a part of the job description.  No, it wasn’t pretty, but at least with a master of the Reverse Cursed Technique on site, the mishaps that came with assignments never lasted too long.

Because of this expectation, Megumi had never been put in a position where he worried over someone’s well being after an exorcism gone awry.  He’d had life threatening wounds get healed more times than he could count on both hands, hell, Yuji lost a hand and got that back! 

So why did he feel sick to his stomach when she took a bad hit during an assignment? Why did his throat close up too tight for him to explain the situation to the manager on the assignment? Or to Ieiri when he got her back to campus? Why was there a cold sweat racing down his spine, but his insides felt like they were on fire? 

Despite all of Ieiri’s insisting that (y/n) was fine, that she’d gotten here just in time, that she was healed and would wake up at any time- likely without the memory of what happened- and that she would still be fine then… Megumi didn’t tear himself out of that room in the infirmary even once.  

When she does wake up- two days and a couple hours later- he doesn’t look too good.  He’d pale and he’s been bouncing his leg for so long it’s gone numb, but the relief that washes over him brings some color back to his face.

Her eyelashes flicker about a few times before she finally opens her eyes, but his attention is drawn to the way her hand twitches above the stark white sheets.

“Hey,” He murmurs, as quiet as he can stand to speak.  He didn’t want to startle her, and he thinks that if she were to flinch back at him, he’d flinch too.  “(y/n), you awake?” He asks when she doesn’t say anything right away.

Then her eyes finally find him, and with a hazy gloss over her blown pupils, she smiles.  It’s slow, and so, so impaired, but it’s pretty nonetheless.

“Oh, wow,” 

Her voice is strained, likely from not having been used for a couple days, but the light and breezy way in which she speaks is enough for him to know that her anesthetics haven’t worn off.  The stoner-like smile also tipped him off pretty well, but Megumi’s sure now.

“You know who you look like?” 

It’s not the question Megumi’s expecting, and his confusion is obvious in the way a tiny knot forms between his brows.  He would’ve thought  ‘where am I?’ or ‘what happened?’ would be in order, but maybe the anesthesia was more on top of her than he would’ve thought, so he hums in response and waits for her explanation.  Surely she’ll have something silly to say, it wouldn’t be the first time she called him a sea urchin for his messy hair.

“You look jus’ like my crush” (y/n) half-slurs back.  She tilted her head in his direction, trying to get a better look at him from where she was laying, but the rest of her body felt too heavy to move.

Megumi’s eyes widen, and before he can stop himself a small laugh comes out.  Confusion, humor, and disbelief blend into the overwhelming relief in knowing that Ieiri hadn’t been lying to him to protect his feelings.  (y/n) would be completely fine.

Maybe a little bit high, but still, completely fine.

Her shoulders shake in the slightest when she laughs in response to his own little chuckle, delighted purely by his reaction.

“I’m serious,” She mumbles out, eyes falling heavy for a minute the longer she stares at him.  “And it’s a compliment too, b’cause he’s, like, really cute”  “I didn’t know you were crushing on anyone” Megumi hums, leaning his elbows against the edge of her cot so that he could prop his chin in his hands.  Amusement flickers in his eyes when her expression noticeably shifts.  Her eyes widen and her lips part but no words come out.  Was he actually making her nervous? Who the hell did he look like in her eyes right now that had her reacting like this? 

Megumi can’t recall a time she’d ever talked to him about crushing on anyone.  Nothing of the sort, not even a hint.  And he’d definitely never seen the ruthless sorcerer appear so… 

Well, she looked like a girl with a crush.  A blush was forming on her cheeks the longer he held eye contact with her, and the way the corners of her mouth twitched and betrayed her as she tried to bite back a smile.

“Y-yeah, duh,” She stammers back at him with a sassy roll of her eyes.  Megumi’s quick to push his hand against his mouth to stifle his laughter.  “The point of a crush is it’s secret” 

“So you’re not gonna tell me then?” He asks curiously.

She probably didn’t know it, but (y/l/n) (y/n) was the only person in the world that got to see the playful side of him.  It was hard not to act on his intrigue, though.  It was too entertaining to see her in this state… and the rapid beating of his heart in his ribcage made him ache to know more.

But she shakes her head against her pillow, sealing her lips shut to further prove her point.  She’s still smiling, though, and she hasn’t torn her eyes off of his since she woke up.

“How’re you feeling, anyways?” Megumi decides to steer the topic back to one of more importance.  “Anything hurt? Can I get you anything-?” 

“Even your eyes are pretty like his,” She interrupts him, and then sighs as though this was a large inconvenience for her.  “You must be related,” She says matter-of-factly.

He hopes that when the drugs wear off she doesn’t remember this moment, because Megumi knows his face is as red as a tomato with how fiery his skin feels.  A nervous laugh bubbles out of him before he could choke it down, and her whole face lights up in response.

“You must not get compliments often, huh?” She teases in a slow drawl.

“I… I guess not,” He says, followed by more nervous laughter that happens against his will.  “But thank you, (y/n).  That’s very… kind” 

He’s painfully awkward, and he knows that as soon as he leaves this room he’s going to overthink this entire interaction, but for now he tries to bask in the warmth that sparks from knowing she thinks he has pretty eyes.  Or at least, she does when she’s so doped up she can’t quite focus on a conversation.

But at least she's obviously not in any pain.  Megumi’s worries begin to melt away, but that might just be the work of her flattery.

“You’re welcome,” She grins back at him, but she just as soon furrows her brows and regards him curiously.  Even after staring at him so shamelessly, she suddenly doesn’t appear to recognize him one bit.  “I thought Megumi only had a sister, though”

It comes out in a mumble, and he’s sure that she’s talking to herself in her deluded state, but the rush of heat that floods his chest and shoots up his neck is nearly too much to bear.

She actually didn’t recognize him this whole time? Was she talking about him this whole time? Was the flattery not a drug-induced misconception and actually-?

Before he can settle on a question to ask her to clear his confusion, she’s settling back into her pillow and her eyes are falling shut.  Megumi opens his mouth, ready to force out the first thing that comes to mind, but she drifts off almost immediately.  Her chest rising and falling in slow, steady movements.

It felt like a cruel prank.

Now he was left sitting and gaping at her unconscious form.  His heart is racing and his leg is bouncing again, and Megumi thinks he might be even more anxious for her to wake up this time.

He decides then and there that when she does, and when she’s of sound mind again, he’ll ask her about it.  Because if she really did have a crush on him he’d have to finally get over his ridiculous anxiety and make a move. ___

A week after making a full recovery, (y/n) comes to the decision that if she wants Megumi to talk to her, she’ll just have to corner him.

She’s not sure why he hasn’t been talking to her- hence her cornering plan- but ever since her last assignment had gone awry and she’d been put on a minor hold, he’d been dodging her.  And sure, Megumi wasn’t always the most sociable guy, but he was a friend and even if he didn’t feel like hanging out, he wouldn’t completely ghost her like this.

Of course she’d tried asking Yuji and Nobara about it, but they were a dead end.  They’d been just as surprised as she was that he’d been avoiding her.

I thought you were best friends, Yuji had frowned at the idea of a falling out between his two friends that he cared about so much.

Maybe he realized you have a crush on him and pussied out, Nobara had cackled at the scenario, not feeling an ounce of worry that this weird bump wouldn’t get resolved.

Needless to say, (y/n) was quick to steer her investigation far away from them, before the blabbermouths could do what they do best and blab around the wrong people.

She corners him while doing laundry, of all things.

“Hey,” 

And when she walks into the room while he’s tossing his freshly washed laundry into the dryer, Megumi hits his head on the lid when he swivels around in shock to see her there.

“Oh god, are you alright?” 

“I’m fine- it’s fine,” He answers all too quickly, before she’s even finished her question.  “I’m almost done with the washing machine” 

(y/n) can’t help but chuckle a little bit, seeing as she wasn’t currently holding a basket of laundry, but Megumi’s already back to filling up the dryer.  It appears every piece of clothing he tosses in is monochrome- mostly black, but a few gray pieces here and there.  This shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it is a bit funny.

“I actually was looking for you,” She tells him, leaning against the doorframe.  It’s half casual, and half to block his only escape.  Megumi responds with a small hum, still putting all of his focus on moving the laundry.  “Are you upset with me?” 

The question has him swiveling again, finally giving her his undivided attention.  It’s a bit unnerving, the way he straightens up and goes rigid as he stares back at her in bewilderment.  She wants to be annoyed that he has the audacity to look confused when he was the one that had been avoiding her for days, but she gives him the benefit of the doubt 

“Upset? No.  No of course not” He answers, and his words are so certain, that she believes him straight away.  But the small bit of truth doesn’t provide much relief.

“Then how come you’ve been dodging me?” She asks, unable to help her frown.  What other reason could there be? If he’s not mad at something, why would act so flaky?

“I haven’t been dodging you” 

“That’s a lie” 

“It’s not?” 

“It is,” She crosses her arms defensively.  “You haven’t been answering your phone and you always have some excuse to not talk to me.  Did I do something?” 

“Not really” 

He winces as soon as the answer leaves his mouth.  It wasn’t like him to get so careless- but it also wasn’t like him to avoid her.  Really, he was falling apart at the seams and trying quite desperately to appear as though everything was normal.  

It wasn’t working.  (y/n) could see the panic in his eyes as clear as day.  Not to mention the way his lips twitched like he was holding back further explanation.  She narrows her eyes as she studies him carefully.

“Not really?” She repeats his lame answer.  “So sort of? So I did do something?” 

Megumi’s certain that she chose to stand in the doorway so he couldn’t make an easy escape.  Would it be immature to summon the rabbits? 

“(y/n) it’s- it’s fine.  It’s me, alright?” He’s not very convincing.

“So you did something?” Another question he doesn’t want to answer.

“No- just- not really- it was just-” He stammers, and then groans, tilting his head back and glaring at the fluorescent light hanging over him.  

He recalls the way he’d sworn to himself that he’d talk to her about her little anesthesia-induced confession, and kicks himself now for cowering out of it.  Megumi never really ran away from a challenge, even when he knew he was in over his head.  But something about standing before her now and explaining how she’d inadvertently confessed to having a crush on him makes his heart beat out of sync and his throat go dry.

“Look I just don’t want things to be weird between us,” (y/n) sighs, giving up on interrogating him so heavily.  “So just… whatever it is, can we talk about it?” 

And he swoons, actually swoons.  His knees physically feel weak and he has to resist the urge to let all of his muscles relax and sink towards the ground.  It was so sweet, so considerate of her to want to mend the nonexistent conflict between them.  Megumi didn’t think it was possible to like her more than he already did, but she had a knack for proving him wrong.

So with an anxious breath, he thinks screw it and just lets it out.

“Do you remember waking up and talking to me in the infirmary?”

Her brows furrow, giving him her answer, and then her features soften with realization.

“You visited me in the infirmary?” She asks, almost in a whisper.  No, she didn’t remember, and no one had told her she’d had any visitors during her short stay there.

Megumi nods his head.

“Yeah, I… I stayed till you woke up.  And you did, for a couple minutes anyways, but you were pretty out of it.  Anesthesia and all” He explains.

She tries to rack her memory for any hazy glimpse of talking to Megumi in Shoko’s clinic, but nothing comes to mind.  She feels a little guilty now, having forgotten so easily.

“Okay…” She trails off, waiting for the rest of his explanation.  “So… something happened then?” 

Megumi hesitates, his expression twisted in mild displeasure, like he just stubbed his toe or has to deliver an oral presentation.  (y/n) tries to be patient, she really does, but the longer he draws this out the larger the pit in her stomach grows.

“Yeah,” The word comes out through a heavy breath, and he pauses for just a moment longer before admitting the last detail.  “You… you sort of confessed that you have a crush on me” 

“Oh,” 

Relief settles into her bones, and then a spike of panic.

“Oh” 

Her eyes are widening and her arms wrap tighter around herself, fingers digging into the sides of her ribs as if she could possibly ground herself with her anxiety reaching an all time high.

For fuck’s sake, she wasn’t this anxious when that Grade One tried to take a massive bite out of her body.

“You were really out of it, though,” Megumi says quickly.  “You were just… high.  You probably just couldn’t see or think straight-” 

“No, I wasn’t just high,” She cuts him off with surprising calmness in her voice, and a short shake of her head.  “I do.  Have a crush on you, I mean.  I didn’t… obviously I didn’t intend to tell you that, but, I guess high-me can’t keep a secret, so…” 

She trails off with a bashful giggle that would have embarrassed her if she wasn’t already filled to the brim with embarrassment.  Megumi’s lips part, but he doesn’t say anything.  The corner of his mouth twitches a few times too, and still, he’s standing in bewildered silence before her.

It’s not that he didn’t believe her, he was eighty-five percent sure that she’d meant what she said while she was still under the influence of the anesthetics, but that fifteen percent of uncertainty was his paranoia getting the best of him.  But now she was of sound mind, dead sober, and dead serious as she stared at him and awaited some sort of reaction.

No real reaction came, unless you counted the drumming of his fingers against his side, slow at first, but picking up speed the longer they both stood there and waited for the other to say something.

Megumi knows he should say something, and probably something along the lines of; well that’s a relief because I’m actually crushing on you so hard I don’t know what to do with myself… but unfortunately, he really didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Do I even want to know how badly I embarrassed myself?” (y/n) breaks the silence with a nervous but curious smile.

“You said I looked just like your crush,” He explained, heat flooding to his face as he recalled the other things she said.  “It was actually the first thing you said when you woke up,” 

She has to laugh at that a little, to which Megumi feels some of the tension in his shoulders disappear.  The tension in the room also starts to thin out, much to his relief.

“Then you went on about how cute your crush was.  And when I tried to ask how you were feeling, after, you know, surgery and all that, you ignored me and said…” He rubs the back of his neck, growing shy as he realized he was rambling and the subject matter already had his heart racing.

“Oh god… what?” (y/n) gasps, eyes widening, hoping she didn’t let out some dirty thought that she worked very hard to keep in the back of her mind.

“You said I had pretty eyes, and then you sorta let it slip that I was your crush, so I guess you didn’t realize you were talking to me the whole time… and then you passed back out” 

She’s laughing again, but this time she covers her face with her hands in a pitiful attempt to hide her blush until it goes away.  A small groan dies at the back of her throat.  The second hand embarrassment from her past-inebriated-self was just too much.

After all this time she's done so well at keeping her feelings under wraps, of never letting it be known with a slip of tongue or lingering touch, only to tell him so brazenly while in a hospital cot… it was ridiculous.

“God… I’m so sorry, that’s… wow, that’s probably the most humiliating thing I’ve ever done” She starts off looking at him, but ends up muttering to herself and looks away, still overwhelmed by the mortification of it all.

A small smile graces Megumi’s face, and in a moment of being true to his word, he musters up the courage to speak up before she could walk away and pretend this didn’t happen.

“It was more cute than humiliating,” He tells her, and she peeks back up at him in soft surprise.  “Maybe just a little embarrassing, just a little… but… still cute” His voice gets softer the longer she looks at him and he starts to lose the confidence he started out so strong with, but he still holds her gaze, hoping that she’ll know he means it.

“Cute?” She repeats in quiet disbelief.  Megumi nods back at her with absolute certainty and sincerity.

He gives into another bout of a confidence boost and takes a few steps forward, closing some of the space between them.  (y/n) practically scrambles to straighten up away from the doorframe, her shoulders squaring and her eyes widening as she watches him move towards her.

“And for what it’s worth, I think you have pretty eyes, too,” 

It’s quieter than he intends, but his words are effective in replacing the nervous tension in the room with something much more palpable.  The electricity buzzing between them was so thick they were practically choking on it.

(y/n) smiles, slow at first, processing the sudden compliment, and then all once.  Every inch of her skin warmed from the sweet words, and she’s not sure she’s ever felt flattery like this before.  She’s never taken a compliment so to heart, never known that she was going to go to sleep that night playing it over and over in her head.

Megumi’s eyes flicker between hers for a moment, admiring the way she lights up with delight before him, and then he opens his mouth again.

“They look just like my crush’s” 

Her brows furrow and despite that feeling of embarrassment spiking in her chest again, the corner of her lips curl into a smirk that gives into a smile almost immediately after.  Megumi’s clearly amused by this reaction, laughing to himself like he was so proud of his own tease.

“That’s so corny” She mutters, before stepping away from the doorway and closing the last bit of distance between them.

Despite his nerves he anticipates her movements, large hands finding purchase on her hips and practically yanking her the rest of the way that it takes to have her body against his.  There’s no extra time for words before their lips crash fast.  The kiss is surprisingly tender for how rushed their movements were, but it had them both melting into the other right away.

Her hands are gentle as they smooth over his shoulders before wrapping lightly at the nape of his neck.  Her fingers poke into the dark strands of hair that hang there, and when she curls a few locks between her index and middle finger, he presses his lips against hers with a little more fervor.

Even once they part from one another, neither one goes very far.  Gasping for air with lips still brushing each other’s, noses bumping, and hands still holding on tight all in the name of not putting an inch of distance between them.

Still no words are exchanged as they share a look before both glancing at the open doorway behind them.  It doesn’t take verbal communication for Megumi to reach behind her to grab the door by the handle and swing it shut.  The only sound that fills the room is the white noise buzzing from the dryer cycle, and the soft giggle that’s immediately suppressed by warm, inviting lips pressing against hers again.

___

a/n: thank u again my amazing nanami flowershop anon for this really fun idea. also i just love playful megumi. he's so cute n shy <3

xoxo ~ jordie

[djmaliksmix]

Where the Light Enters

Lucius Verus x Aelia (healer at the colosseum)

warnings: angst, fluff, violence, maybe some cursing??

A/n: Hey guys! Ik it’s been months since I’ve written anything but so much has been going on and I haven’t had the time to do any writings but I’m back ! I just watched gladiator 2 yesterday and loved it (and Paul) so yall already know I had to make this one! Lmk if you guys want a series for this! I’ve been debating but I can’t decide lol. Anyways yes I’m back and enjoy this fic!

The overbearing heat of the sun was so intense that her eyes could barely open, sweat dripping down from her head to her brows then onto the ground. Her sweat hydrated the ground of the colosseum more than rain ever could. Her breaths were getting heavier and the crowds antics and cheers were becoming more deafening.

Gladiators. Her mom and dad. Two of the most bravest, honorable people she knew, had to fight against the worst, most dangerous gladiator of them all. And she had to watch. Her mother and father had gotten into some trouble by senate, which was at the time ran with almost full force of the emperor, and they were forced to fight in the death oval (what Aelia called it).

The senate figured out they had a daughter and forced her to watch. In the senators watch box. They tied her down to a chair in the front row of the box and made her watch everything.

Her mother and father told her to always be strong and keep a positive mind. But how was she supposed to in a situation like this? She looked down at her necklace, the one her parents prepared for her before she was born. It was always a little too big on her as a kid.

Seeing that necklace made her want to cry. She internally knew what was going to happen, even if she didn’t want to admit it to herself.

But she remembered what her father preached to her about being brave. She was always told by her parents that they would get out of there some day and live a peaceful life. That was a lie.

Her heart pounded so fast she thought it might burst. Below, her mother and father clashed swords with the gladiator, their movements desperate yet determined. For a moment, it seemed they might win. Until her father was thrown into the wall.

She screamed. “PAPA!”

His body slumped to the ground, lifeless.

She wailed in agony.

Her mother turned to her at the box and mouthed “I love you Aelia” she was impaled by the blade of the enemy and fell to the ground.

“NO!” “MAMA!” She was mad, hurt, and afraid.

Aelia sat in the chair, feeling numb and undetermined, as the desensitized crowd cheered at her parent’s bodies getting dragged out of the colosseum.

After the crowd left, she was still in the chair.

She heard footsteps approach from behind her.

“Do you see what happens when people defy me?” The emperor yelled in her face.

He came all the way down from his box just to yell in a girl’s face. He was a horrible man.

Aelia already crying just cried more. But this time not a screaming cry just silently.

He grinned, his voice cold and sharp. He mimicked Aelia’s mother’s death, driving an imaginary sword into his gut and stumbling dramatically. “Just like that. Gone.”

Aelia’s nails dug into her palms. She pulled at the ropes until her wrists burned, but it was no use. She refused to look at him, her body shaking with fury.

He laughed and walked off. “Guards!” The guards untied the ropes from Aelia’s wrists and ankles and dragged her all the way out of the colosseum, she didn’t really even notice that she was being put out.

She was in so much pain, mentally and physically, she didn’t even care what would happen to her now. She was left outside the colosseum like she was trash, like she was nothing.

She lay on the ground for what felt like days, and as the night was taking over day, her eyes were closing more and more. Cheeks dry from the tears that streamed down.

“Child.” The voice was soft yet stable.

She looked up, blinking through her tears. A woman knelt before her, older, with graying hair tied back and calloused hands that smelled faintly of herbs.

“Leave me alone,” Aelia whispered, her voice cracked.

The woman didn’t leave. Instead, she reached into a pouch at her waist and pulled out a small vial. “Drink this.” When Aelia hesitated, she added, “It’s for the pain. You’re bleeding.”

Aelia glanced down at her wrists, the raw, skin stinging. She took the vial and sipped. It was bitter, but the throbbing in her wrists began to dull.

“Who are you?” Aelia asked.

“Call me Iona,” the woman said. “I’m a healer. And I think you could use someone to teach you how to survive.”

~~~~~

Present Day

“Aelia! We need more vials! And more cots!”

The shout echoed through the cramped, chaotic healer’s station. Aelia didn’t look up, her focus locked on the gladiator before her. His leg was torn open, blood spilling onto the table like a river. Her hands worked quickly, needle glinting in the dim light as she stitched the wound closed.

The necklace around her neck—once her parent’s promise of love to her, now her anchor, thumped softly against her chest with each movement. She barely noticed it anymore, its weight a part of her now.

“I wish someone like you would always work on me,” the gladiator slurred, his lips curling into a lopsided grin.

Aelia glanced up briefly, smiling despite herself. The drug they gave him was already doing its job, dulling his pain and loosening his tongue. “Thank you,” she said lightly. “That’s very sweet of you.”

He chuckled weakly, his head lolling to one side. “You’re an angel. A goddess.”

She bit back a laugh, tying off the last stitch and pressing a fresh bandage over the wound. “I’m just a healer. And you’re just delirious.”

He chuckled and her assistant walked the gladiator off back to his cell.

The station door slammed open, the heavy wood cracking against the wall. Aelia’s head shot up, her heart skipping a beat. A gladiator stumbled in, his face pale and his arm drenched in blood.

“Help him!” someone shouted from behind.

Aelia’s assistant, a young girl barely out of her teens, rushed forward but stopped short, her hands shaking. Aelia quickly pushed past her, her voice sharp. “Lay him down here!”

The injured man staggered to the nearest cot, blood dripping onto the floor. His breathing was ragged, his eyes wild with pain. Aelia grabbed a cloth, pressing it to the wound. The cut was deep—too deep for anything less than immediate care.

“Hold this,” she ordered the assistant, who obeyed without question, though her hands still trembled.

She turned back to the gladiator, her tone steady but urgent. “This is going to hurt. A lot.”

Then, as she started working, he looked up at her, his gaze locking with hers. His expression was fierce, but there was something else there—a hint of weariness that didn’t belong to the typical gladiator she treated.

“I’m Lucius,” he rasped, his voice rough from the pain. “And you’re the one who keeps all of us alive down here.”

Aelia paused, glancing up at him. Lucius. She of course knew he was a gladiator, but she had never expected to treat him. Knowing that he was one of the best upcoming gladiators the colosseum had ever seen. She felt like she knew that name even be for this. Before he was a known name around the colosseum.

Even though everyone is human, he always seemed not human sometimes. The way he fought it was like nothing she had ever seen.

“I do my best,” she replied with a nod, working to stop the blood flow. “Stay with me, Lucius.”

“What’s your name?” he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.

Aelia hesitated for a moment. It was rare for a gladiator to ask for something personal from her, and usually, she didn’t share such details. “Aelia.”

He gave a small smile, despite the pain in his features. “Aelia. Beautiful name for a healer.”

She concentrated on his wound, not acknowledging his compliment. “This will take a while. You’re going to feel a lot of pain.”

He chuckled, a weak sound. “Pain is what I know best.”

After she finished patching him up, it was night time and she had to clean up everything. Aelia wss so tired she felt like collapsing against the wall.

Lucius got up from the cot and stood up.

You’re strong,” Lucius says softly, his gaze heavy with respect.

Aelia lets out a sigh. “I have to be. I don’t have a choice.”

“It’s more than that,” he replies, “Strength isn’t just about surviving. It’s about not giving in to the system... even when it’s crushing you from the inside.”

Aelia finally un-tensed, the tightness in her shoulders loosening as she gazed into Lucius’s eyes. There was a rawness to them, a mixture of pain and strength that made her heart ache. For a long moment, she could only look at him, as though trying to understand the person behind the fighter.

“You have striking eyes,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Lucius blinked, taken aback by the unexpected compliment. His lips quirked into a faint smile. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice low, almost surprised.

He then shifted on the floor, his body leaning against the stone wall as he sat beside her. For a few moments, the two of them shared the quiet—something rare in the chaos of the colosseum’s healer station. Aelia couldn't help but notice how his presence seemed to fill the space around them, like a force of nature. There was a certain energy to him; brave, broken, yet undeniably powerful.

She glanced at him again, her thoughts drifting. It was as if he’d stepped out of one of those ancient tales her mother used to tell her as a child, those stories of gods and warriors, larger than life.

Except Lucius was no myth. He was real. And he was sitting beside her, in the quiet aftermath of a battle, just a man.

"I never thought I’d be sitting here, talking with a gladiator," she said, breaking the silence. Her voice was gentle but held an edge of wonder, a quiet admission.

Lucius chuckled, the sound warm, though a hint of sadness lingered in his tone. "Most people don’t, I suppose." His eyes softened, though there was still a distant look in them, as though something heavy was pressing on his mind. "I’m not much for small talk, but I’m not always the monster they make me out to be either."

Aelia nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I know. There’s always more to the story, isn’t there? It’s just hard to see it sometimes.”

"Yeah, it is," he agreed quietly. He leaned back, his shoulders relaxing against the cold stone of the wall. “But you, Aelia... you don’t just see the surface, do you? You’re not like the others who pass by, not really caring. You see people. That’s a rare thing around here.”

Aelia felt her heart beat a little faster at the sincerity in his words. She wasn’t used to being seen that way, not in the colosseum. Not by anyone who truly mattered.

She looked away for a moment, trying to steady her racing thoughts. "Maybe it’s because I understand what it feels like... to lose someone you love. To be forced into a life you don’t want."

Lucius was silent for a long moment, his gaze focused somewhere far off in the distance. “I know what that feels like too,” he murmured. Then he turned to her, his eyes soft but firm. “But we fight. We keep going, even when it seems like we don’t have a choice.”

Aelia felt a lump form in her throat at the weight of his words. She nodded, her voice a little more fragile than she intended when she responded. "Yeah. I suppose we do."

The two sat in quiet understanding for a while, the connection between them growing despite the silence. The world outside seemed a little less harsh, a little less overwhelming, as long as they were together in that moment.

A/n: AHHH I HOPE YOU GUYS LOVE THIS STORY AS MUCH AS I DO. I THINK ITS SO SWEET HOW AELIA AND LUCIUS CAN ALREADY FIND PEACE WITHIN EACH OTher. So I have decided there will be chapters to this! hope you guys enjoyed and more chapters to this series coming sooner than later!! pls comment and tell me what I should improve/what I did good on! Love you guys! 😆🤍

[niyafics]

ᯓᡣ𐭩better every time˖ ݁𖥔

paige x reader (18+)

𐙚 part 1🐈‍⬛

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ wc : 2.5k

𖥔 ݁˖ cw : SMUT, first person p.o.v, petplay ahhh, the word sl*t, swearing, all that great stuff

˖ ݁𖥔 summary : a package arrives from paige, what could it be?

˖ ݁ a/n : hii srry if this sucks i haven’t written smut in years. not rlly edited.

p.b

did you get my gift,kitten?

me

yes, but i haven’t opened it

this kitten thing is just forever now huh :/

p.b

lol open the box and you tell me

We hadn’t seen each other in a week now, and even our last time was brief. Practice, games, school preoccupied all Paiges’ time, and I was getting swamped with work and my demanding minimum wage job. Still managing to slip a suggestive message or picture in between.

We had responsibilities. It was best for it to stay that way. For me to stay busy. That time apart would help me ground myself from getting completely enthralled in the tall girls icey eyes.

I felt embarrassingly moody last month when we didn’t meet up for a week opposed to our normal 2-4 times throughout it. Which in truthfulness, was too often. A few times us not having the sex our relationship was supposed to be exclusive to.

Like when she invited me over her place to watch the worst movies we could find on Netflix, intertwined lazily on her couch until I had to go to work.

Staring sleepily at the ceiling in the dark talking to each other about anything. Everything. Until one of our tired states doesn’t let us respond anymore.

Or when she’d pleaded to come over after a long practice, showering and plopping into my bed like it was hers. I had been the big spoon, combing my hands through her hair that was still damp, until she fell asleep. This one happened more than once.

I sat up on my elbow and watched her breathe slowly, my arm wrapped around her waist from behind, thinking how she was so effortlessly cute, and sexy.How she smelled good. How she blurted out my name without me giving it to her, our first night together.

I still haven’t gathered the courage to ask how she knew it.

“God, (y/n), you’re even prettier up close...”

It rolled out like she moaned it a million times.

By now, she probably has.

I wondered, if our meeting was such a coincidence after all.

My theory made me feel full of myself. How could have Paige known me? No mutual friends, and mine sure as hell wouldn’t have forgotten to tell me Paige Bueckers asked about me. We had no classes. Paige was a year ahead of me. Sure, I seen her on campus. She never seen me. Had she? I’d have to ask if I wanted to know.

Regardless of why we saw each other, we were getting dangerously closer than usual fuck-buddies. Pushing past the boundaries of friends with benefits. The special time together, the vulnerability.

Especially now, with her sending me stuff. First, it was [your fav flower] which I offhandedly mentioned I liked. We hadn’t talked in days and then, there was a delivery guy holding them in a vase of my favorite color outside my door.

She was thinking of me. couldn’t she just text it? No, this was way more sentimental than a text. It was meant to leave me thinking about her even more than I was. To show me she was thinking of me. It wasn’t just store bought, she had to have gotten it from a florist.

I almost knocked her over the next time i saw her, saying it was the sweetest thing anyone had done for me, because it was. Paige held me while I gushed, swaying me slightly, with a smirk that read I successfully stroked her ego.

“A good way to say ‘thank you’ is for you to let me between those pretty thighs, kitty.” A chuckle escaped as she said it, though she was serious, she lets me know this with a firm grip behind me. That damn nickname. Whenever I wasn’t completely under her spell, I felt almost embarrassed hearing her say it. Responding to it. Then wasn’t one of those times. I was on my back with her perfect mouth wet from me in minutes.

p.b

omg y/n

p.b

open it alreadyyy

My phone snapped me out of my thoughts. I shuffled to my kitchen counter to open the package waiting for me. I took a picture of me from above so the box was also in frame. Smiling to myself before I hit send, knowing the sight of me in her hoodie with nothing but panties she couldn’t see underneath would drive her crazy.

me

[image]

patienceee, i’m about to rn

p.b

[hearted an attachment]

oh yea? i’ll teach u alllll abt patience ;p

Blush crept to my cheeks with a grin I couldn’t help, while I wondered what she meant.

I tore the tape down the middle and the box opened slightly on its own before I peeled both tabs back all the way. My mouth slowly falling and flustered giggles erupting from me.

It was a pink collar with a silver bell hanging from it. Next to it was a shiny chain leash, with a handle to match waiting to be attached.

me

ohmygoodness

p.b

:) yeahhhh???

p.b

you like it or you luv it ??

me

you’re insane

p.b

insanely attracted to you. yes.

p.b

now be a goodgirl & put the collar on, i’ll be there to hook the leash to it later <3

She was coming tonight? I felt nervous as if I hadn’t been on my knees for her a few nights ago, congratulating her on a win. I looked closely at what I was getting myself into.

That tingling feeling came while I went lifted it near my neck.

This girl was awakening things in me.

I’m up to the door in seconds when I hear a knock against it. It’s in a goofy rhythm, so I know exactly who it is. My hands go to fix my hair even though whatever condition it’s in is going to be gone in a minute anyway. I open it a little, then step away, and Paige happily invites herself the rest of the way in.

“My kitty.” Her pink lips give me a smile that’s so warm I feel it. That could be something else. She’s in sweatpants, air forces that always seemed to look new, and another graphic hoodie I’m eager to collect. I’m in the skimpiest nightgown I could find, with the collar snug around my neck.

She opens her arms beckoning me to hug her, it’s tight and I melt in, getting a whiff of her shampoo, her laundry detergent. Paige pulls me back and runs her hands to my butt while she takes my appearance in.

I know she’s pleased from the way she licks her top lip slightly, while her slim fingers slip underneath the fabric that stopped at the beginning of my thighs.

“Look at you, such an obedient sweetheart for me, aren’t you, mamas?” Her voice hums in my ear. “So gorgeous. I knew it’d be perfect on you.” I’m pulled into a deep kiss that makes a thick smack when we pull away, I can’t help but whimper. She goes at the crook of my neck, which is her favorite place when we see each other. Well, one of them.

Paige leaves hickies on me that I stopped bothering to cover up since the second time she proved she couldn’t help herself. I remember her telling me how it turns her on knowing I walked around with her love bites all over me. The way she knows my friends will ask, and I’ll just blush in response.

Pulling away like it pains her to, she admires her work. Her muscular body pressed against me still.

“Missed you so bad..” She says in an innocent tone, flicking the bell on my neck and mouth curling into a mischievous expression when it rings back in response. “Where’s the leash, hm?”

“Bedroom.” I tilt my head towards its direction. Blood starting to rush thinking of which scenario in my head was about to happen next. I knew she’d surprise me anyway. She grabs my hand and gently guides me there, and I follow, unapologetically looking at her with needy eyes.

As soon as we walk in it’s like a switch flips in Paige. Pushing me onto the bed, her lashes low, and her ponytail falling over her shoulder as she stares down at me, eyes full of lust, and ideas. Both her hands hold my face then they move down my neck to my shoulders, so she can push the straps to the gown away. Her mouth is on mine again as she slides it down, beyond ready to feel what’s underneath.

Traveling down my neck again with her lips that seem to get softer every-time I feel them, but this time she stops and pays special attention to my nipples that are already hard from her touch and the air. When she’s not sucking, running her tongue over, and slightly biting one she’s fondling the other gently. Moaning even as she’s doing that, which is making deep inside me stir knowing she’s just as wet as I am right now. I can’t take the teasing anymore. I need her.

“Paige..” I drag her name out with a soft whine. “I..” Stopping because she knows what it is. Her clothed body is pressing against my heat, I roll my hips so she feels it. That’s the only way she snaps out of her trance with my breasts, she gives me a mocking pout.

“Aw, what, kitty?” Her full bottom lip pokes out, but the smile she fights back still curls in the corner. “hmm? tell me, ma..”

“Fuck me,” I breathe. Her smile is full fledged now. But she waits for more. “Ugh, please, baby..I need you..” my body loved the way she forced words out of me. If she opened my legs right now the teasing wouldn’t stop, it’d just move to how wet I am.

She doesn’t open them. Paige gets up and grabs the leash from my dresser, before returning back to standing over me, legs pressed tightly together on the bed, dress down my chest nearly off.

“Turn around.” Paige says. Not asking. More than happily, I sit up. Before I can turn over she flips me herself by my hips. I let out a gasp, it turns grows into a giggle that doesn’t hide how much that turned me on. Turning to look at her, my hands and knees on the mattress, batting my lashes, my back arching. From how she mumbled profanities, as she crawled near me, my taunting did what it was supposed to.

Her fingers go in my hair to pull it to the side, and the other hand loops the collar to the leash with a satisfying click. I start to squirm.

“Too cute...” She slides the dress further down my legs, I’m basically naked, getting unreasonably flustered at her staring at my wet slit. I hear an amused grin in her voice. “Don’t you dare move.” Paige mumbles. I feel a tug on the collar, the bell chimes, a moan hums in my mouth. My eyes closing, immersing into her taking care of me.

I hear her start to slide her clothes off, them dropping to the floor. Then she’s back hovering over me, and her finger slides down me slowly. I can’t help but let my head lower down, Paige grabs the leash up.

“Noo, I wanna to hear you kitty…” She coos, leaning down near my ear. The leash making me arch until I see her face, upside down, eyes still visible against the darkness. She slides her index inside of me, I sharply inhale, and breathe out a low moan.

More are pounded out of me as she adds another digit into where I’m now practically drooling from, twisting and curling them, trying to coax my orgasm out of me. Paige stares down at me, entertained, her mouth slightly open while she works inside me. Fingers so close to her lap she’s moving her hips and hand, bouncing me up and down off them, with the help of the leash.

My eyes are hitting the back of my head, I have to concentrate to focus back in on her gaze. Her expression making my sounds of pleasure louder, closer together. I hear her grunts in her throat each time my ass hits her hips, coming down on her hand.

A knot ties tight inside me. It’s about to snap. Paige doesn’t lighten up on the leash or her strokes. The collar chokes me, and instead of complaining, I wish she’d pull tighter.

“You’re such a slut..gripping me like this…” She huffs. Her fingers rub profusely on my G spot. “About to cum, hm kitten?” Paige breaths out with a small chuckle, leaning down to kiss my back, sweat on her upper lip.

I yelp in response, barley able to grip the covers anymore, reaching back to put my hand on her hip, it makes her add another.

“P-paige, I love-“ I force myself to stop and squeal instead.

“I know, baby. Me too.” She grunts lowly back. My head is spinning, even though we probably thought the sentence ended in different ways.

My legs start trembling as a wave relief and instant exhaustion ripple through me. I feel myself go limp, the third finger sending me over the edge.

Paige lets me face plant into the duvet, letting go of the leash, cold metal hitting my sweaty back. We’re both panting, I hear Paige’s stop in between while she’s licking herself clean of me. She rubs my back with her free hand, an exhausted satisfied laugh comes from behind me. I’m not looking, I just know a smug look is plastered.

Rolling over to look at her, and she’s undoing her hair tie with the facial expression I predicted, blonde strands falling down her back, studying my flushed face. She was still naked, which makes me giddy for some reason, knowing she used to rush to throw her clothes back on.

“Come here..” I lazily wave her over. This time she does what I say. I think about saying it to tease her, but she looks so cute when she crawls on top of my chest and looks up to me, doe eyed, I kiss her forehead instead.

“It was good?” Paige asks soft, seeking reassurance, like I’m not still feeling the after effects of her hands on me. I stroke her hair tenderly, getting turned on by her warm body pressed against mine, her face on my chest.

“Great. Amazing.” I chirp back with confidence. “It gets better every time.”

“Really? I dunno if I believe that…” A toothy grin stretches on her face instead. “I guess we’ll have to go again to test it out..” she shrugs, watching me as she glided her palm up my stomach to my chest again.

I nod eagerly in agreement. I had something to ask her. I can’t remember what.

niyafics©️

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Mentions of being drunk.

Thinking about baby daddy!Miguel O’Hara who showed up at your work in the morning with your bagel and coffee like he did every time when you had Gabriella for the week. Knowing how you hadn’t eaten anything, waving off your concern about him going out of his way to bring it to you.

Baby daddy!Miguel who, despite knowing he will probably be late to work due to traffic this morning being abysmal, he still lingered around your work desk after dropping off your food. Not-so subtly hinting about talking about what happened during the weekend. Shooting him a glare to shush because you know how nosy your coworkers can be.

Baby daddy!Miguel who finally leaves for work, but not before you agree to discuss the unignorable conversation, later on of course, away from the ears of your coworkers and definitely not around the nosy girl that was your daughter.

—

Once the elevator doors closed behind him, you haven’t even gotten a chance to blink, let alone gather your bearings before your coworkers started up.

“Who was thaaaat?”

“Her ex-husband.”

“No, they never got married, remember? That’s her baby daddy.”

“Giiiirl, a man like him? One can dream.”

“I know right? Those muscles put my husband to shame, and he’s a firefighter. Why does a scientist need to be that jacked anyways.”

“Okay are you guys done ogling at my ex?” You finally spoke up, irrational so apparent that it made the other three girls quiet down almost immediately. You couldn’t help but feel your chest burning a bit as you took a bite of your bagel.

—

Baby mommy!Reader who finally got to clock out after a long day of work. One foot already out the door once the clock struck 5pm so she could go pick up Gabriella from after school soccer practice.

Baby mommy!Reader who listened to her daughter rambling about her day at school and practice, telling her all the juicy middle school gossip she learned on her first day while the two sat in the afternoon traffic.

Baby mommy!Reader who felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up when she turned the corner into her hallway and saw her ex sitting in front of her front door. Clearly not sober.

No, not Miguel, the other ex.

Baby mommy!Reader who hurriedly guided her daughter back towards where she came off the elevator, thankfully he didn’t see either of them turn the corner. Ignoring Gabi’s voice questioning why she turned away once she saw Henry, rather than walk up to him and greet him with a hug and a peck on the lips like Gabi had grown used to.

Baby mommy!Reader who assured her little girl that she’ll explain later. Before pulling out her phone, and opening up the messages app.

—

Miguel. -You

?? -Miguel

can you do me a favor? -You

What’s the favor? -Miguel

Henry is camping outside of my front door and me and Gabriella can’t go inside without facing him. He looks drunk. -You

I’ll be there in 20, stay in the lobby. -Miguel

—

Ten minutes later, Miguel came marching through the front door of the apartment building. Letting his scowl fade away so as to not let his daughter catch it. She didn’t need to know what he was about to do to Henry.

“Hey honey,” he scooped down to give Gabriella a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, before standing up straight to look at you. Pulling you into a hug as well so he can whisper his next words. “He didn’t touch either of you, did he?” You quickly shook your head no.

“Didn’t even see us.” You whispered back.

“Good.” He finally let his arm leave the small of your back, leaving the cold air to hit your back once more. “ Gabriella, you and mom are gonna go down to that nail salon down the street, and get some manicures and pedicures. We’ll explain everything when you get back.” He explained calmly, too calmly, as he reached for his wallet and pulled out a few twentys from it, handing it to you. You didn’t even get a chance to protest the action because he started to gently push you both back out of the complex building.

Now I can deal with this stupid rat once and for all.

—

Part 7<

Part 9<

Not proofread.

Word count: 700

TAGLIST IS CLOSED!!

Taglist: : @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st @mcmiracles @mangoslushcrush @queerponcho @yournextbimbogf @tinybirdhideout @reader-1290 @laysmt @migueloharasoulmate @fruityfucker @pigeonmama @scaryplanetdestroyer @migueloharastruelove @krentkova19 @genny1019 @maiyart @stressed-cherry @scaleniusrm @ginnysculture @mishaglass @wusyanmee @bunnibitez @miguelzslvtz @dahehow @sinners-98-world @othersideoftheparadise @toyfortoji @yeshajane @yvesbi @hanjisgf @deljojeisbackagain @safixiovi @emmalandry @maxinemus3 @lauraolar14 @aaaaslaaaan @kenz-ee @esmedelacroix @whattheshock @syler-griffin @comeonatmebruh @xwonderlandresidentx @m4dyy @the-pan-liquid @lilbrababe99 @jxstanemo @badbitchhour @freehentai @sillysillygoofygoose @nj452896 @jadeloverxd @faretheeoscar @ce3stvu @scorpihoooe @blossomofbismuths @nxxav3rs3 @ilovespiderverseeee @ghost-lantern @saaaaaaaaaaaamiiiiiiiiiiiira @lavenderslemonade @rinnako @reirain @nommingonfood @miguelsfavwife

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Daughter Problems

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader, John Winchester & daughter!reader

Requested by Anonymous (x2)

Synopsis: you get your very first period, and the boys are unequipped to deal with it

A/N: I tried to make John comforting but still in character, I hope you guys like it! (PS—I’m on my period so this was perfect)

“Dad!”

The slam of the motel door and the sound of your voice jolted Dean out of his dozing and had his head shooting up from the lore book he was reading.

“Jeez kid,” he grumbled. “Do you have to be so loud?”

“Where’s dad?” You demanded.

“On a hunt.” Dean gestured to the book in front of him. “I’m researching for him. You got back just in time to help.”

“Not now, Dean.” You huffed. “I need dad.”

Dean was suddenly stiffer and more alert.

“Why? Something happen?”

You groaned. “No, De, I just need him.” You rubbed your arms. “Can—can I call him?”

Dean stared at you for a moment, realizing that your flannel was tied around your waist rather than covering your arms, despite the cold air outside and in the motel.

“What’s with the shirt?” He questioned.

“It doesn’t matter!” You snapped, and Dean’s eyes widened.

“Alright, c’mon, spill.”

“Dean, forget it, I need—“

“Dad’s busy. I’m all you’ve got. Now tell me what’s going on.”

“Is something wrong?” Sam’s voice came right after he stepped into the motel room.

“I need to call dad!” You insisted.

“We’re not calling dad,” Dean said. “You don’t have a choice here, kid. If you need something, then—“

You didn’t let him finish. With a dramatic huff, you took hold of your flannel and untied it, revealing the bloodstain on your jeans.

The silence was dramatic, long, and extremely uncomfortable.

“Um…I take it you haven’t gotten this before,” Dean said. “But I mean…you know what it is, right? Like you know—“

“Yes, Dean! I know what it is!” You retied your flannel, fidgeting uncomfortably. “And no, I’ve never had it before.”

“We could, uh—“ Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, we could try to get you some stuff…do you know what you need?”

“Not really,” you mumbled. “I mean, I know there’s different options but I don’t know what…”

“Oh boy,” Dean grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. You felt your face heat up at Dean’s embarrassment.

“You know what, never mind,” you huffed, turning and heading for the bathroom. “Just forget it.”

“No no, wait—“ Sam tried to stop you, but you brushed past him.

“I said forget it!”

The slam of the bathroom door ended your demand for you.

…

“Do you think we should go to the store?”

“I don’t know, man, I mean I don’t even know what she nee-“

The brothers’ twenty-minute long argument was cut short by the door opening, and the imposing form of John Winchester entered the room.

“Hey boys,” he greeted, frowning when he was met with awkward silence. “What’s going on? Where’s your sister?”

“Um…the bathroom,” Dean answered. “She uh…she got…she’s on her first…”

“Would you spit it out?” John snapped.

“She got her period,” Sam whispered as if it were a secret.

“Oh boy.” John rolled his eyes, and Sam and Dean were taken aback when he chuckled. “And you two idiots have been standing around trying to figure out what to do?”

“Well…” Dean looked defensive, but he couldn’t think of anything to say to defend himself.

“Alright, alright.” John shook his head. “Apparently health class taught you guys nothing. Here.” He grabbed a notepad and started writing up a list. “I want you two to go out and get these, and I’ll deal with your sister.” He handed the list to Dean, whose eyes widened at the sight.

“She needs all that?”

“Just get going,” John demanded.

Once the boys were gone, he knocked hesitantly on the bathroom door.

“Hey sweetheart? It’s dad, can I come in?”

He was met with silence for a few seconds, before a weak “ok” prodded him to open the door. His whole figure seemed to soften when he saw you sitting in the bathtub fully dressed, your clothes and hair soaked.

“I wanted to wash the blood off, but I didn’t want to see Sam and Dean again just to get clean clothes,” you mumbled. “So I just showered with them on.” You rubbed at your tear-stained face, and kept your gaze purposefully averted from John.

“Oh kiddo…” John sighed, coming to sit by you. His pitying reply seemed to just upset you further, and you started to cry. “Hey, hey,” John soothed. “It’s ok, really. Your brothers are off getting a list of stuff, and I can help show you what you need.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You sniffled. “I got blood everywhere, and-and I’m a mess and I can’t stop crying…”

John had to admit, his little girl crying in a bathtub and questioning his sympathy felt like a punch to the gut. Was he really so bad?

“Look, I…I know I can be tough on you kids,” John admitted. “But I also know that this is a lot for you. This isn’t your fault, none of it—not the blood everywhere, or the crazy emotions, or anything. I’m just trying to make this easy for all of us, ok?”

“Ok.” You nodded, your tears finally subsiding.

“Ok,” John breathed. “Which means you’re gonna have to help me. Talk to me, what are you feeling?”

“My stomach really hurts,” you admitted.

“But you’re not…” John hesitated, then he huffed. “I mean you don’t feel like—“

“Like killing anyone?” You asked, struggling hard to resist rolling your eyes. “No…I kinda just feel like crying.”

“I’ll take it over the alternative,” John decided. A faint, nostalgic smile flitted over his features. “Your mother used to bite everyone’s heads off when—“ John shook his head, blinking hard as if blinking away the memory. “Um, anyway. I know you’re feeling pretty bad, but we’ve got enough enemies without you trying to kill us too.” John tried to smile again to indicate that he was—kind of—kidding, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. You smiled back anyway, if only to take pity on him, and he seemed relieved.

“I won’t,” you promised.

“We’re back!” Dean yelled as he entered the motel room.

“In here!” John announced, but when he saw you squirming and shrinking down as if you could disappear down the drain, he stood and went to meet Dean at the bathroom door instead. He took the bag Dean offered him and shut the door in his face.

“Ok.” John started laying everything out on the bathroom counter, and you felt like you would die if your face got any hotter. John noticed your face, and he stopped. “Right, uhh…” he put the bag down. “I’m just gonna leave this here and let you figure it out. Knock if you have any questions and I’ll come help you. I’m gonna get you some dry clothes, and you just…just come out when you’re done I guess.” John started to turn the door handle, but your voice stopped him.

“Dad?”

“Yeah kiddo?”

“Thanks.”

John grinned at you—a rare occurrence that you filed away in your memory—and walked out.

You stood up, laying a towel down on the bathroom floor so you wouldn’t get water everywhere, and took hold of the bag. It looked like the guys had gotten you just about every option of everything you could possibly need, including chocolate, which you munched on while you tried to decide what you wanted to use.

…

Ten minutes later, you were dried off and in clean clothes and hesitantly leaving the bathroom. You were surprised to see just your dad when entered the room.

“I sent the guys off to get some food,” John explained. “You feeling ok?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, shuffling your feet. “Are you, um…are you gonna be around?”

“I finished off the hunt,” John assured you. “I should be here for at least a few days.”

“Thank you.” You felt your dad stiffen in surprise when you hugged him, but he quickly relaxed.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “You know your brothers we’re just trying to help, right?”

“They’re idiots.” Your words—muffled by John’s jacket—make him chuckle.

“Yeah, sometimes they are. But hey, that’s what I’m here for, right?”

You grinned, your arms tightening around your dad. “Right.”

And John hugged you back tightly, a smile on his face as he realized that even as you got older, there were some things you still needed your dad for.

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