#[ after wisdom? cries.

[sexysilverstrider]

me: remember kids. a grade is just 1 small matter. youre kids. youre still young. you have a lot to look forward to. cherish it. because when you grow up to be an adult, youll realize that all that matters right now is to live

my 12 year old my student: ok

[sarcasticallyinclined]

today i spent an hour and 40 minutes hiding underneath my absent coworker's desk with my laptop so i could cry in peace so yeah id say things are going well

[exoexid]

slowly but surely surviving the horrors 🫡

[hellsitegenetics]

this valentine’s day i would like to profess my undying, ardent love for the callistephus chinensis (china aster)! the flower that contributed to me giving myself my name!!

not only are they a part of the (superior in my opinion) family of asteraceae, but also the genus’ (callistephus) etymology is derived from the greek words “kalli-” meaning “beautiful” and “stephos” meaning crown. they have beautiful chrysanthemum-esque blooms and come in all sorts of colours (my favourites being purple and white).

straying away from taxonomy a bit, asters in general are one of the birth flowers for september (my birth month!). they symbolise hope, faith and wisdom. and according to greek mythology, astraea (“star maiden”: goddess of purity, justice and innocence) cried because there weren't enough stars in the sky and when her tears hit the earth, they caused asters to bloom! continuing to follow the greek myth, she was the last goddess to live amongst the humans after the golden age, symbolising the decline of hope for humanity along with the decline of the ages. she left and became the constellation virgo i believe!

some more fun fun facts, asters have a most frequently observed number of n = 9 haploid chromosomes (2n = 18 for diploid). the numerology of the word “aster” also happens to be nine and guess what! september is the 9th month of the year! is it obvious i really like the number 9? almost as much as i love asters <3

String identified:

t at’ a t g, at t cat c (ca at)! t tat ctt t gg a!!

t a t a at t ( ) a ataca, t a t g’ (cat) tg t g “a-” ag “at” a “t” ag c. t a at cat- a c a t c ( at g a t).

tag aa ta a t, at ga a t t t ( t t!). t , at a . a accg t g tg, ataa (“ta a”: g t, tc a cc) c ca t 't g ta t a ta t t at, t ca at t ! ctg t t g t, a t at g t agt t a at t g ag, g t c at ag t t c t ag. t a ca t ctat g !act, at a a t t = 9 a c (2 = 18 ). t g t “at” a a t a g at! t t 9t t t a! t a t 9? at a c a at <3

Closest match: Caligus rogercresseyi isolate FCH chromosome 9 Common name: Sea louse

[youryanderedaddy]

Tw: female reader, obsessive thoughts, nsfw, dub - con (reader is intoxicated), hinted stealthing

I'm thinking about a sweet, shy boyfriend who slowly but surely grows insecure, paranoid and jealous.

At first he's everything you've ever wanted - you're his first girlfriend and he does everything in his power to make you feel loved and appreciated.

As time passes, this doesn't change - he's still treating you like a goddess. But you are both different people now. You mature and you change, you blossom into a more radiant version of yourself. You finally get your dream job. As you gain more experience and wisdom, you begin to realize you want more from life than the small provincial town you've spent your whole life in.

In the beginning he supports you fully - he wants to see you happy after all. But then you start coming home later and later, looking more tired than the day before. Your friend circle broadens, and you spend more and more time outside of your shared home. Before the man knows it, it's Friday evening again and he's passively staring at you while you fix your makeup and adjust the tight dress (his favourite), ready to go to yet another networking event - for the third time this week.

You kiss his cheek, telling him not to wait up, just like that - no sweet words, no reasurrings or tempting promises, nothing he can cling onto in the darkness of your empty bedroom. Your perfume still lingers in the heavy air, making him light - headed. He can't stand it anymore - he buries his face in your pillow, savoring your smell, then he wraps the soft plush around his throbbing length and just thrusts, pathetic broken moans muffled by his own hand. He thinks about your smile and your eyes and the way you say his name and--

Fuck, now your pillow is all dirty again. Your boyfriend can't remember the last time he got to touch you directly. Recently you're always too tired or stressed out when you come back home, and though he's been respectful of your wishes, he's just so pent up at this point - all his dreams consist of you in compromising positions covered in silk and lace and nothing else. Just thinking about it gets him hard all over again.

So this night when you come home drunk and needy, climbing over his lap, he doesn't bulge - doesn't push you off. He doesn't like your new life - having to share you with all those people who don't deserve you, having to stay aside and watch as you give yourself away to people who couldn't care less. He's the one who cares about you so much he's going crazy every second you're apart. He's your real family, he's the only one that should matter to you.

And that night as he fucks you raw for the first time in forever, his cock stretching your velvety walls beyond reason, your blissed out moans and cute little cries tell him exactly what he wants to hear. You're finally letting go, finally allowing yourself to feel safe and protected in his arms. This is your home, this is where you belong. Your body is calling out to him to take control - and he intends to do just that.

[vsimp]

say something (song drabble) - inspo

word count: 2.9k

pairings: alhaitham, ayato, childe, xiao, zhongli/morax (x reader)

genre: angst/hurt/no comfort

summary: they lose you

Warning: presumed death/injury of reader, mentions of blood

Alhaitham x "I’m giving up on you"

Arguments with no happy endings. Rough words that could never be taken back or forgotten.

Alhaitham was the true definition of stubborn.

It was “rationality,” as he so called it. He liked to say things as it is, and there was no need to include your emotions into these conversations, as they influence your motives and produce bias.

Technical, yet cold and harsh at the same time, Alhaitham would leave no room for arguments when he knew that he was in the right. To even validate your feelings would be impossible for him because that was who he was; an intuitive scholar who knew wisdom beyond his years.

Then when was his wisdom too much for others to bear? Was there truly such a thing as too much knowledge?

He couldn’t even fathom such an idea.

And as he argued with you, his mind only thinking of rationality, reason, logic, and analysis, he deliberately ignored the way your tears streamed down your cheeks, how your hoarse voice broke as you cried about your relationship with him.

He then doubted himself for ever thinking he could get into a relationship. Hah. Something like this could never work out again. You both were just too different, or so that was what he’d tell himself as you both slept in separate rooms that night.

But as the house grew emptier and emptier, as you moved all of your stuff out, taking every single thing in his home that made it feel like… an actual home… he grew strangely uncomfortable.

Even as he looked back to that day of the argument, he knew he was right, and that your worries were of no substance. But why did your expression shake up his heart? Why did you make his chest ache? And why did he suddenly feel so empty all of the sudden?

The questions were answered very soon, after every single one of your items have been removed from his house.

And it was at that moment when Alhaitham realized that his house no longer felt like home. And then he realized the true reason for those inexplicable emotions, as he found the present he gave you during one of your birthdays. It was a promise ring, adjourned with your favorite gemstone. He remembered how you loved it so much that you would never take it off your finger.

Yet here it was, left on a note with one simple word.

“Goodbye.”

That was the day when he figured out quickly that even if he had all the knowledge in the world, nothing else could have mattered more, for as long as he had you, he would be the happiest man in the universe. It was a severe lapse in judgment on his part, and a true mistake that he so bitterly had to realize far too late.

He had lost you. You had given up on him.

He had nobody else to blame but himself.

Kamisato Ayato x "I’m still learning to love"

As the head of the Kamisato Clan, Ayato always had to remain vigilant at all times. He had to prepare for any worst case possible while also trying to actively prevent it from happening. It was the reason why he wore a mask around everybody who he knew.

He feared that if he were to let his guard down, revealing what truly laid underneath the mask, they would take advantage of his vulnerabilities and strike down everything he was ever trying to protect.

And that was the reason why he never trusted you, his own spouse. He had agreed to a marriage with you quite easily, as your family had something he wanted, and in exchange, he would take your hand in marriage, thus binding you and your family tree to the prestigious Kamisato Clan.

Ayato had assumed the worst about you, as your family had not given him the best impression either.

As he got to know you, however, he found that you were beyond his expectations. You were kind, compassionate, and intelligent. You did everything you could so that the clan and the Yashiro Commission could thrive.

You comforted him on the days when he truly was stressed out from all of his work, took on his pain as if it were yours. Not only were you beautiful, but you made him feel as if everything was going to be truly okay in the end, so long as you could give him that smile.

He almost admitted to himself that he had fallen in love with you.

Yet, a silly ploy from your family, one of spite over the fact that you were thriving in such a place, had ruined your marriage into shambles.

Ayato had lost his trust in you. Your family had planted false incriminating evidence, one that insinuated that you were plotting the downfall of the Yashiro Commission. You weren’t able to defend yourself, and you asked him if he really thought you were the type of person to commit such atrocious acts.

His eyes wavered for a moment at your question. But the "you" in his memory grew fuzzy as the thought that everything he was trying to protect was being jeopardized, that he shouldn’t throw everything he’s built over a mere spouse. That you were one of the people trying to harm him and his family.

That night, he muttered cold words to you. As if you were never even considered part of his family at all. As if all of those memories you two once shared never mattered. You were but an outsider to him at this point.

Since the diplomats of the Yashiro Commission grew suspicious of you, pressuring him to take action, he threw you out of the household that day. Perhaps he never loved you as much as you thought he did.

With no place to go, you ran out of the estate with only some small mora and clothes.

The estate remained cold without your presence there. No longer would he be surrounded by your brightness. But a traitor wasn’t worth mulling over, or so that was what he kept telling himself as he constantly found himself looking beside him, where you would usually be.

It wasn’t until a month later did his sister Ayaka uncover the truth. She and Thoma were the only people who believed in your innocence. She presented it to Ayato, and for the first time ever, he had never seen his sister so angry at him.

Regret and guilt washed over him immediately. What had he done? He had truly messed up. But he didn’t know that it was all a ploy, and he was just trying to protect the Yashiro Commission. Surely, you would understand. Right?

His heart ached for his lover as he ran all over the streets to find you. Ayaka had told him where you had been staying. He wasted no time to get there as soon as he could.

Ayato couldn’t forget the way those cold eyes of yours looked at him. He tried to apologize, but you just gave him a look of disappointment. It was like a slap to his face, a harsh wake up call as reality hit him. Maybe if he had trusted you more, maybe if he had trusted in his own love for you more, this would have never happened.

And yet, here you were, in the middle of a ragged, old inn that you could barely afford without the help of his sister, your clothes worn out as you had been doing everything by yourself the last month, and your cold eyes that no longer held the same love and affection for him as before— he knew that there were no more chances for him.

You slammed the wooden door shut in front of his face that day.

Childe x "I will swallow my pride / you’re the one that I love"

“You don’t understand. This is my job as the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger. My only duty is to serve the Tsaritsa. I can’t always be there for you.”

Those were his cold words that pushed you away. He was too blind to see what was truly in front of him at the time.

Childe strived for strength. He enjoyed fighting you, as he felt that you were both equal in terms of strength, and that he could grow in power with you. But that was all he saw you as—a sparring companion.

So when you started to hope for more, he instantly grew detached. It was like walking through a narrowed tunnel, where the only thing he saw was his goal.

There were no emotions as you confessed your love to him. An apathetic gaze that shook your emotions to your very core. It was only then that day when you realized that the heart you wanted to capture was unreachable. He had built icy walls that were impenetrable.

So you decided to give up on him.

Childe didn’t think too much of it. You were just a battle partner to him anyways.

He told himself that, but why did his heart ache when he recalled your tears? Why did he suddenly feel empty now that your presence was no longer there?

The silly jokes you’d tell him, the delicious food you would cook for him, the smile you’d give to him, and him alone— you were no longer there to provide that comfort that he had missed from being so far away from home for so long. Perhaps he had even started to see you as his home outside of Snezhnaya.

He realized that all of this time, he really did love you. He loved you so much, yet he was too caught up in his beliefs to realize it. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, to start a family with you, to have and to hold you until eternity has reached its end.

So he set down his pride, put aside his duties to the Cryo Archon temporarily, and he went to see you that day. And unfortunately, it had been too late.

You were smiling at another man, and he had lost you. And then he realized the true extent of the pain you felt that day when he had broken your heart.

Xiao x "anywhere, I would’ve followed you"

Xiao would never admit that he needed a companion in his life. It was his fate, his contract with destiny to serve and protect Liyue for the rest of his life, even if it cost him his very own.

He always isolated himself from the mortals, like a lonesome Qingxin blooming at the highest stone peaks. He looked down from height above, but never got too deeply involved with the matters of the mortals. It was only time, however, when somebody decided to climb those mountains and pluck him off the ground.

A hindrance to his daily affairs, and a nuisance whenever you followed him around, he knew it was his fault for forming a contract with you.

If you called his name, he would come. That was what he promised you. Be it for serious matters, whenever you needed his help with something, or for something more trivial, such as having a simple meal with you.

It was irritating to be called so frequently, but he was a man who kept true to his words.

It wasn’t until one day, you had made his favorite almond tofu dish and then called him over. It hadn’t even been a whole day yet since you’d last called for him, and you were already wanting to see him.

He had enough at this point. You couldn’t get any more involved with him. After all, he had always been alone for the last 3,000 years, and the karma he has to bear living with is too much for any regular mortal to handle. He needed to push you away.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than invite me over for something as trivial as this?” He would say coldly, not even wanting to sit down at this point. “I don’t want to spend any time with you. I truly loathe people who force others to do activities that they don’t even want to do.”

His words were much harsher that day. Although a part of him did feel bad, he needed to do this. He had to, that’s what he told himself. It didn’t bother him when you started choking into tears, nor did it bother him to see that heartbroken expression that lingered on your face.

“I just wanted to spend time with the person I love.” Your voice cried out painfully as you attempted to walk closer to him. “I would follow you everywhere, through everything and anything! You just have to let me in to your heart, Xiao!”

“Do you have any idea how stupid you sound right now? I will never love a mortal like you.”

The rejection was clear as day. He didn’t love you back. All of the time he has spent with you, the way he held you up gently after fighting some monsters, his small smile when you made him almond tofu for the first time; those memories were all rendered meaningless as he cut you open with his words.

But somehow, you knew this would happen. Your eyes looked defeated as you stared at him right then and there. You gave him a heart wrenching smile, which was a look that puzzled him the most.

He could never forget the look on your face. With eyes that stained with tears, and a beautiful, forced smile, Xiao knew that this was finally the end.

“I understand. Goodbye then, Xiao.”

He shut his eyes as you disappeared from his sight. It was inevitable that you would leave that day, yet the discomfort originating from his chest would not disappear.

Yes, this was something he had to do, no matter how painful it was, no matter how attached he was getting to you.

You never called him after that for a while. He thought it was a blessing, but somehow, the silence made it even more eerie. Like a singular piece of jigsaw that was lost amongst a thousand pieces of a puzzle.

"Xiao…” he heard you say after some time had passed. A weak voice. He knew something was wrong.

There, he found you. Laid in a puddle of crimson red. Everything was in slow motion at this point to him. He wasn't even able to assess the situation before he had pulled you immediately into his arms, calling out your own name in worry.

There was no response.

Thoughts of anger and regret washed through him, just like the heavy pouring rain that diluted your blood, like thunder that roared through the lands out of despair.

That day, he realized that this was the last time you would ever call his name.

Zhongli x "I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you."

The Geo Archon was a magnificent entity, one that inspired awe and respect from many individuals. You were but one of them who admired—no, more like adored him.

You fought alongside Morax in many battles to protect Liyue. It was your pride and joy to help with this almighty god.

But as often as you tried to pursue his affections, wanting Morax to look at you and you only, his gaze never seemed to find yours.

With a look gentler than any soft breeze in the plains of Liyue herself, you had never seen such an expression from him. He looked at Guizhong with such a tenderness, even dedicating a beautiful song on the lyre for her, bringing her glaze lilies to bloom from such a lovely song. You wondered if you could ever compete with such a beautiful goddess like her.

Your hands were tainted in blood, the malice of monsters and demons leaving scars all over your hands and arms. Your words were rougher with others, as you belonged on the battlefield, compared to the wise and kind-hearted God of Dust.

You were distracted more than usual one day, and you were injured quite badly in a battle with monsters. With blood pouring from the side of your rib cage, you immediately went to Morax to seek help. You could feel his divinity from miles away, and when you arrived to the area he supposedly stayed, your heart ached as he held Guizhong’s cheeks so gently. It hurt worse than any wound that you have even sustained.

You couldn’t help but drop your weapon. The loud clang echoed through the courtyard, and that was when the man had finally and actually looked at you.

Shock had laced in his golden eyes, his hands dropped down from her cheek to his side as he had realized the state you were currently in.

Your eyes had started to glaze over, tears pouring down your cheeks as you felt your own heart break. Your emotions were so strong, yet so ugly, that even the plants had started to wilt around you. You didn’t want him to see you like this, so you immediately turned your back away from him.

“Y/n, are you okay?!” His voice shouted as his footsteps drew closer to you, but your cold voice cut him off.

“Don’t take a single step towards me, Morax.”

He paused, unsure of whether or not to continue forward judging from your tone. Even as your blood seeped to the ground, staining the earth and dyeing the flowers around you a crimson red, you remained turned away from him.

You walked away from your unrequited love, ignoring his calls and pleas as he asked you to come back so he could treat your wounds.

You shut your eyes, enveloping yourself in the darkness.

[instacarma0798]

Four times you almost admit your feelings for Natasha, and one time you do

Summary - To you, Natasha was an angel, to her you were just a friend.

Words: Just over 3k

Warnings: Blood

A/N: Idk if anyone will, but I need writing ideas, so if y'all have any feel free to send them over

You were known around SHIELD for your tact, or lack thereof, when it came to someone you liked. Throughout your ten years there, you had become a level eight agent, one of the high ranking. While most SHIELD agents worked in groups, strike teams, you preferred to work alone - it was faster and easier. One of the most infamous teams was Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, two of your friends.

The three of you, plus Maria, Bobbi, Coulson and Laura sat on couches in the Barton's house. Nate squealed as Clint swung him around, pretending to be a rocket ship and threw him on the couch next to Laura.

"Again!" he cried happily, clapping his hands together, "Again!"

Laura laughed, the sound soft and filled with a certain motherly love. You hoped you could laugh like that one day. Subconsciously, your eyes drifted towards Natasha. Her red hair was let down, cascading just past her shoulders as she tilted her head back to take a swig of beer, her green eyes sparkling with enjoyment that could light up a thousand dark rooms. She noticed you looking at her, smirking at you with those red lips that always seemed to be twisted into a smirk when she looked at you.

"Time for bed mister," Laura growled playfully, snatching up Nate, "You guys start on presents, I'll be back."

"Woo!" Clint let out a whoop, a more carefree side shown of him when around friends and family, but it could also be attributed to the few drinks he had. Maria rolled her eyes, swatting him on his shoulder to sit him down. She herself was without a drink, instead choosing to sip on the occasional water. Coulson held him down affectionately, gently taking the drink from him and placing it on the table.

They had done secret Santa this year, everyone secretly getting assigned their own person for gifts. Bobbi went first, giving her gift to Maria, which was a gun holster, matte black with blue accents. Coulson had Bobbi, having gotten the woman a brand new set of batons. Maria had Clint, getting him a pair of earplugs, an inside joke that caused a laugh throughout the room. Clint had you, giving you a mug that said, "Best Partner", to which Natasha scoffed since you weren't even his partner. And you had Natasha.

You gently placed a small box into her palms, seeing little scars littering them. She took it carefully, smiling at you as you returned to your seat. Her slender fingers untied to bow as you waited with baited breath, and she pried open the box.

Just a few weeks ago, you had gotten it for her, considering it a present when you would tell her you liked her, and yet you chickened out, giving it to her now instead. It was a gold bracelet with an hourglass symbol as a charm in the center. She took it delicately in her hands, flipping it over and her eyes examining it.

"I love it," she declared, looking up at you with a soft grin.

I love you, you nearly said, but held back at the audience. Despite that, Maria was looking at you with a knowing look, her brows slightly furrowed.

"Thanks," you swallowed, "I'm glad."

^______________^

The world felt fuzzy as the blackness behind your eyes cleared, bright lights shining down on you. You blinked, trying to clear the blinding white that seared into your pupils. After a brief moment, the lights dimmed and were replaced with an angel.

At least, she looked like an angel. Natasha stood above you with a soft, teasing smirk, and muscular arms folded across her chest.

"Hey," she greeted, leaning back, her red hair swaying as she did so, "How you feeling?"

"Good," you slurred, your mouth still sore from getting your wisdom teeth removed, "drugged."

Natasha laughed, the sound lighting up the room and bringing a sparkle to her eyes, "Well duh," she rolled her eyes playfully at you, "You're still on some painkillers." You grumbled, words hard to form right now with your back gums so sore, "Steve went out and got smoothies, I brought yours up here," she held up a smoothie cup filled with pink liquid.

She reached to your bedside table, grabbing her own drink as she passed you yours. Her lips wrapped around it, slurping up the last of the drink. You drank your own, faintly aware of Natasha's eyes on you. A small groan escaped your mouth, the smoothie was absolutely divine.

"That good?" she teased.

You nodded your head, loose strands of hair brushing against your cheek. Reaching forward, Natasha brushed it back behind your ear, a soft smile on her face. A fiery brush lit up your cheeks, one that caused Natasha to smirk once more.

"I'll leave you be, call if you need anything ok?"

"Nooo," you whined in your drugged state, "stay with me."

A laugh burst from her mouth once more as she stood from her seat, "I can't, I have stuff to do."

You pouted, a few words on the tip of your tongue, but I love you. You barely refrained from saying them, a clear bit of sense holding back. Natasha sauntered out of the room, taking the brightness with her.

^_____________^

Your legs burned as you weaved through fallen bodies, victims of the whirlwind that you, Natasha and Clint were. As your fingers reloaded your gun, depositing the empty cartridge with practiced ease, even as your heart raced inside your ribcage, you pressed your index finger into your comm.

"Romanoff, Barton, come in?"

Static answered you, the sound crinkling in your ear. You cursed, positioning your hands on your gun as it was reloaded, rounding the corner carefully. More bodies greeted you as they scattered the floor with Hydra logos decorating their helmets and gear. Blood wept from their wounds, a silent testimony to their ruthless death.

"Romanoff?" you called again.

Only now did you realize how hoarse your voice was from smoke inhalation and screaming over the gun fire, words scrapping against the walls of your throat. A wound bled from the base of your leg, seeping into the pools on the floor. Ignoring the pain, you tried again on the comms, this time receiving a voice.

"Y/L/N?" Natasha voice was shaky, one of the rare times you heard it like that, "Where are you?"

"Romanoff?" your fingers pressed the comm into your ear, "Where are you? Where's Barton?"

"Clint's calling evac, I'm on the west side near the exit."

You stumbled over a body, your legs losing their speed as your lungs burned, "Understood, on my way."

The corridors tried to lead you the wrong way wherever you went, and despite how morbid it was, you simply followed the trail of bodies. After what felt like forever, although probably just a couple minutes, you caught a flash of red hair.

"Romanoff!" you called, forcing your legs to pick up.

As you rounded the corner, Natasha whipped around, her red hair brushing against her face and scrunching around her cheeks. It was a mess; stray strands having fallen out of her ponytail that sat atop her head.

"You're ok," she breathed, rushing over to grab your shoulders. You ignored the flutter in your stomach at her touch when she grabbed your cheeks softly and turned your head side to side. "Are you hurt?" she asked, staring into your eyes.

"No," you scoffed, regretfully batting her hands away, "I'm fine. Are you hurt?"

You ignored the sting in your leg as you did a quick check on her.

"No," Natasha shook her head, "Come on, let's get out of here."

She turned around ready to leave, her slender fingers grasping your hand, tugging you along. Before either of you could take a step, a gunshot echoed throughout the corridor. You barely had time to think before you shoved Natasha to the ground, forcing her out of the way of fire.

You gasped as you felt blood drip down your back and front. Your fingers came up to grasp your stomach as another gunshot came off. Natasha had a snarl on her face as she had her gun raised and pointed at the attacker. Faintly, you heard a body fall behind you, smacking onto the concrete floor - just another victim of the Black Widow. Scrambling off the ground, Natasha caught you before you fell. A strangled gasp of pain escaped you when her hands pressed on the wound in the center of your back.

"Sorry," she whispered, lowering you to the ground, "sorry."

You whined as the gunshot was pressed onto the hard floor, pushing on the bleeding skin and leaving an imprint.

"It hurts," you whimpered.

While you were a high level SHIELD agent, it wasn't often you got wounds like this.

"I know," Natasha soothed, her hands pressed down on your front, "I know. Hang ok? Clint's got evac coming. Talk to me, what are you doing this weekend?"

The corners of your vision turned blurry and black while you processed her words. Rather than answering her question, you reached down to grab one of her hands, looking at it carefully. Blood coated her pale skin and perfect nails, your blood. It dripped down to the bracelet on her wrist, the golden one you got her for Christmas, coating the sparkling chain in a sticky layer of blood.

"Hey," she pulled her hand away, "Don't look."

Your eyes fluttered shut before you regretfully opened them when Natasha shook you.

"Alright," she said, removing her hands from your wound, "Put your hands there." She ordered. You did as she said, pressing your hand onto the gunshot.

Natasha placed one hand under your leg, and the other under your back, coating her arm in the blood back there. You winced, almost crying out in pain as she lifted you up bridal style. The redhead grimaced at your pain, readjusting you to be more comfortable. Your head fell onto her chest, eyes drooping shut.

Her breath was warm as she muttered, "You stupid idiot, why would you do that?" She glanced down at you with a scowl, one that forced your eyes to open all the way.

"Because your my friend." you muttered, eyes falling shut. While really all you wanted to say was, 'Because I love you.'

"Stay awake," she ordered, her footsteps steady as she carried you.

"Don't want to." you grumbled, eyes falling shut once more.

^_______________^

A sleek dress fit your form as you laughed, leaning back onto the couch. Tony stood atop the coffee table, iron man gauntlet in hand as he chugged a shot, whooping and hollering. The rest of the avengers, plus Maria and Pepper sat around you, their laughter echoing.

Your gun wound had healed nicely, leaving two lumpy scars on either side of your body.

Tony jumped down, his grin crazed and hair wild, "You know what?" his tone was louder than necessary, "We should play Spin the bottle."

It was met with a round of groans, yet Clint grabbed an empty beer bottle and placed it onto the coffee table where Tony once stood, spinning it first. Clint grinned as it landed on Maria, the look teasing - almost like a younger brother.

Maria grimaced, "No." She shook her head as Clint neared her, sticking her hands out, "Not happening." Clint batted her hands away, leaning in and giving her a quick peck on her cheek.

Making a disgusted face, complete with a scrunched nose and furrowed brows, Maria shoved Clint to the floor. The archer fell with a grunt, pouting up at Maria as she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.

"Your turn!" Tony crowed, gesturing eagerly at Maria. He once again held a new drink, a glass cup filled the brim with some alcoholic substance, "And it has to be on the lips now!"

Pepper pulled Tony down when he had stood, forcing him to sit on the couch. While she rolled her eyes, Maria still spun the bottle, the glass stuttered to a stop with the nose pointing towards Natasha. The brunette raised a brow at the assassin, looking for permission, and when the redhead shrugged, Maria gave her a peck on the lips. There was the slightest blush on Maria's cheeks as she walked back to her seat.

"I guess that means it's my turn," Natasha shrugged as she spun the bottle loosely.

It spun slowly around the table, the nose slowing to a stop right in front of you. You twisted in your seat when Natasha did the same, your knees brushing together. The redhead looked at you questioningly, making sure it was ok. You nodded. Heat creeped up the back of your neck, tinting the tips of your ears.

The redhead leaned in, a faint smirk on her thin lips. She placed a chaste kiss on your lips and you could faintly taste her lipstick. It ended all to soon when she pulled away, leaning back into the seat. By now you felt like your neck was on fire. Tony laughed, cackled really, as he took a sip of his drink.

"Someone got a crush?" he asked, gesturing towards you, his words slurring slightly.

"No!" You protested, crossing your arms, "I do not!" You really did.

Tony made a disbelieving noise and Maria looked at you skeptically. Ignoring them, and the fiery blush on your cheeks accompanied by Natasha smirk, you spun the bottle.

^_______________^

The Hulk roared as he was set loose, strands of Bruce's clothing flying. Bullets wiped around you as he took off, smashing the turrets that fired at the group. Dirt coated your face, mixing in with the blood as you sat crouched behind a dirt hill, pistol in one hand and a knife strapped to your side. Natasha sat panting next to you, her suit stained in blood that would once again wash out.

Steve and Tony were no where to be seen and Clint wasn't here. Steve was most likely already in the base, having attacked from the other side. This was supposed to be simple, take out a base and leave, but you had received the wrong information and walked into an ambush. Beside you, you could heard the click of her gun as Natasha reloaded and checked her widow bites.

"How many do you have left?" you asked. Your voice was breathy as you heaved for air.

Natasha took a minute to reply, "Five widow bites and ten bullets."

"Take this," you tossed her your spare magazine.

It was probably a stupid thing, but you still had a full one in your gun. You would manage. Natasha scowled at you, but didn't argue. Well, she didn't have time to argue because you launched yourself over the hill the minute gunfire paused. Sliding down, your feet carried you forward, body ready for a fight. The Hulk bellowed ahead, destroying all the turrets that stood in the way. Natasha was hot on your heels, catching up quickly. The battle field was eerily empty, sure you had The Hulk, but it was odd it was this empty. Faintly, there were gunshots that echoed through the valley, and finally you caught sight of Tony flying above you.

"Tony?" You pressed your finger into your comm, firmly securing it back into your ear from when it had fallen out.

"Y/N?" he responded, and you saw him glance down at you and Natasha, "How are you guys holding up?"

Natasha had passed you by the time you responded, "We've been better."

"Speak for yourself," Natasha scoffed playfully.

"Steve is working on securing the other side of the base, I'm going to go help him."

"Copy that."

While he was out of sight, you could still hear The Hulk smashing small shelters around the base. You and Natasha skidded to a halt when you came face to face with large metal doors, looming ominously above you, burrowed into a large hill.

"Wouldn't it be nice if these were just unlocked?" you joked, catching your breath.

Natasha rolled her eyes, tugging at the doors. They opened with a creak and Natasha glanced at you with a confused look, causing you to shrug helplessly. The two of you entered cautiously, guns and widow bites ready to fire. Yet, nothing came. A cold chill blasted into your faces as you crept through the door. The hall was dark, illuminated only by a few lights on the concrete walls. There was a single door at the end of the hall.

"Well this is ominous."

You received no response as Natasha crept forward, with you following behind.

The door in front of you burst open, vines sprouting forward and encompassing the walls. Natasha scrambled back, shoving you with her. The vines, coated in brown thrones, tore through the room, just barely missing you. A woman, really a girl, stood in front of the destroyed door. A collar was wrapped around her neck and her eyes dazed. She eyed you and Natasha with horror, her hands shaking.

"Leave!" she cried, "It's a trap! Please leave!"

"Hey," you soothed, "It's ok." You raised your hands in a gesture of peace as you slowly crept forward.

"Y/N." Natasha warned behind you, her gun raised.

"No!" the girl screamed, taking a step back, "Leave!"

"We can help," you told her.

Before you could comprehend what was happening, there was a sharp pain in your stomach. You glanced down with strangled breath. A vine, coated in bloody spikes, slowly slid out of your stomach. The girl let out a cry of pain as you slumped to the ground. Blood poured from the wound as you heard Natasha call for backup.

She sprinted past you. Your vision blurred. You heard Tony whizzing in as blood pooled onto the ground around you. Coughing, blood splattered on your chin. You weren't sure how long it was before Natasha kneeled next to you.

"Hey," she whispered, pulling your head into her lap, "Hey look at me."

You blinked, trying to focus your vision, "I don't want to die." Tears welled in your eyes.

"You're not dying," Natasha said harshly, "You're not."

Coughing once more, blood splattered onto her.

"I don't want to die," you cried, clinging to her as she pressed her hands on the wound, "Please Talia."

You weren't ready to die. You still hadn't told Natasha you loved her. You didn't want to die. You didn't want to die.

"Tony!" Natasha screamed, "Do something!"

Tony stood off to the side, staring at you in horror, "Nat..." he trailed off.

"No," she shook her head violently, "You're going home."

You looked at her green eyes, shining with tears as she looked down at you. Her face was still coated in dirt, little specks of blood from when you coughed. The world felt so fuzzy. Your mind cleared; you were dying. You were going to die and there was nothing she could do about it.

Shaky fingers reached up to cup her face, catching some her beautiful red hair in you bloody fingertips, "I love you," you whispered.

She freezes her frantic movements. With wide eyes she moved her eyes from your stomach to your face.

"I-" she hesitated.

"Don't just say it back cause I'm dying," the words were forced past your lips, just barely making it through your wheezing breaths.

"No," she said harshly, "Don't say, you're not dying."

"Nat-"

"I love you."

The words were all you needed to succumb to blackness edging the corners of your vision and blur in your brain. Natasha screamed your name, pain lacing her tone as your eyes closed.

"Y/N!"

She pressed her head to your chest, searching for a heartbeat, and yet she only met with the sticky feeling of blood.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Alexia's Version) IV

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: You need perfection

TW: eating disorder, self-destructive thoughts, unhealthy thoughts about weight and size, self-harm through dance

There's a reason the ballerina body is thought to be unobtainable.

It's because it is.

Even to the dancers.

Perfect feet. Perfect legs. Perfect waist. Perfect stomach. Perfect face and hair.

You didn't have the perfect feet. Your arch wasn't quite perfect. It was close but with the right shoes it looked perfect.

Your legs weren't quite perfect either. You think one of your knees bulges weirdly and one leg is the tiniest bit more muscular than the other. But that can be hidden under your tights.

You don't like your waist or your tummy. You're different to your Mami but you're built a bit like her. She's built like a football player where she doesn't need to care about her waist or her stomach like you did.

You could fix your face with makeup and your hair with product but you couldn't fix your biology. You couldn't fix the way you've developed.

When you were younger and still at ballet school, the older girls passed down one line of wisdom to the younger girls.

If you weren't thin enough to fit between the space of the barre and where it's mounted on the mirror, then you're too fat.

You know now that that's too small of a gap for anyone to fit through without tucking in their tummy to the extreme. You know that now but it's still embedded within you. It still haunts your every step, a looming figure in the shadows that will one day catch up with you.

Some of the other dancers smoke or vape to keep their figures but you took the more classic route.

It was easy to cut breakfast out. A protein bar sufficed as your lunch, maybe a pre-packaged salad as well. You would eat dinner because that was a family meal and, while you were desperately trying to keep your figure, you knew that eating at least one meal a day was good.

It worked like a charm though and soon your stomach shrunk to the point that having one meal a day was all you could stomach.

"Why are you still asleep?" Jaume asks as he throws himself onto your bed," It's nearly dinner."

You groan, poking your head out from your blanket cave. "I was napping. I'm allowed to nap."

You've been napping a lot lately but you're used to that. Whenever you start cutting out meals, you feel the need to nap more to conserve your energy.

"Mami told me to come get you," Jaume replies," Dinner's almost ready."

You pull the covers off before freezing.

"Jaume," You say," Are you wearing your dirty football boots? In my bed?"

He grins. "Yeah."

"Get out!"

"Oh, come on, it was just a joke!"

You smack him in the face with a pillow. "I'm telling Mami!"

He scrambles after you, trying to stop you from making it down the stairs.

"She's lying!" He cries out, skidding to the dinner table just as you arrive.

"Jaume wore his dirty football boots in my bed!" You announce and Alexia sighs.

"Just one day," She says wistfully to Olga," That's all I ask. Just one day of no arguments."

She scolds Jaume lightly over the meal and you pick at your food.

Alexia watches you out of the corner of her eye. This meal is your favourite but you're pecking at it like you're a pigeon.

"How was dance?" She asks.

You shrug, grateful for the opportunity to talk as you push the food around your plate. "Good. I'm going back in after dinner. I'm going to practice my solo."

Olga frowns just like Alexia. "You've been doing that all week. Don't you think you need a break?"

"It won't be for that long," You lie," I want to get it perfect."

Perfection has always been a big part of your life. If you have perfection then you've proven your worth. If you have perfection then you cannot be replaced.

If you perfection in your dancing, in your body, then everything will be good and right in the world.

If you have perfection then you'll never be forgotten again.

Alexia watches you, eyes narrowed before she starts helping Olga clear the table.

"Jaume," You hiss," You want this?" You offer him your plate.

He glanced over to where Olga and Alexia have their backs turned.

"Give."

You scrape the rest of your food onto his plate before getting up quickly.

"I'm heading to the studio," You say.

"I'll drive you," Alexia says.

"I'll walk." You're actually planning to jog. "I want to grab a snack from the store on the way."

There's a reason Mami hasn't found out yet. You've gone back and forth on this for years. Cutting out meals before a performance only to introduce them again a few weeks after. You know exactly how to play her.

It's easy to slip away just like it's easy to dance and dance and dance until your feet ache.

There's something about pointe work that you love. It's a hard discipline. Nobody outright loves it like you do. You don't think they'd understand why you love it.

You love it for the wrong reasons.

You love it because it makes your feet hurt. You love it because it makes you look good even when you're falling apart. You love it because it makes you feel perfect even when you know you're not.

You love it because it's the quickest way to make you bleed.

Your chest rises and falls as you feel your toe pads grow wet with your own blood. Your vision is full of spots and you can barely see yourself in the mirror.

All you can focus on is your next move and the pain in your feet.

All you can do is dance and dance and-

You're on the floor the next time you blink, feeling groggy as your stomach rumbles. You catch sight of yourself in the mirror as you crawl your way over to your bag, shakily unwrapping an energy bar.

You pull off your pointe shoes and toe pads.

This is so normal to you now that you don't even think about the fact that you just blacked out.

You eat your snack, drain down your sports drink and wrap plasters around your bleeding toes as you dial Mami's number.

She picks up quickly, like always. You can imagine her just sitting at home, waiting for your call.

"Bambi?" She asks as soon as she answers," What's up?"

"Can you come and pick me up?" You ask," I'd like to come home now."

Alexia's already grabbing her keys. Her shoes are already on. She's already out the door.

Something's up with you. She knows this. She just doesn't know what it is. But she knows she'll always be ready to pick you up. Always want to bring you home herself.

You look pale and shaky as she pulls up and, like usual after practice, your bare feet are out of your shoes. They're covered in plasters.

"Did you get your snack?" Alexia asks," You look a little pale."

"I did," You reply," I was just dancing a lot."

"Hmm," Alexia says," You know you can talk to me, right? You know you can tell me anything."

"I know," You say.

"Good. Just...Good. You're a good girl, bambi, and I want you to come to me if you need to talk, alright?"

"I know, Mami," You say with an eye roll.

Alexia holds your gaze for a moment before nodding. "Good. Now, your brother wants a milkshake. Do you want anything at the drive through?"

Your tummy rumbles.

"A meal then," Alexia decides before you can protest," A burger I think. Greasy."

You wince. "Mami-"

"You gave half your dinner to Jaume," She says suddenly," I'll split the meal but it's non-negotiable."

It's fine, you think.

So long as you get to practice early tomorrow, you can work it all off.

[zweiginator]

omg escort!reader and divorced!art is so well written you are an artist… i need to know what happens when she gets back from hiatus🫢 maybe she is taught to not reveal too much personal stuff but art is just so desperate and lonely that she caves… maybe she gives him the most intimate and passionate blowjob of his life and he’s so pathetic because he hadn’t gotten his dick sucked in like two years and it’s so good that maaaaybe he cries a little…

art calls one more time, exactly a week after his first one. he asks politely to the woman on the other end, your boss--is she back yet?

and just by the breathy desperation in art's voice, she knows who is calling. who he wants so badly.

"look--she'll give you a call when she comes back. i'm not sure when that is. you may hear from her before i even do. are you sure you don't want to book a session with another girl in the meantime?" she explains that there's another girl who looks a little like you.

"that won't be necessary." art takes a sip of his gin and tonic. "i'll wait for her."

she sighs, lets it go. tells art to have a good night and art wishes her the same. but his head sinks into the pillow, the bitter curl of gin still on his tongue and he wonders where you are.

three days later you come back. your boss had flagged you down when you came in to talk money with some of the other higher-ups.

"hey, a client of yours called a couple times while you were out."

you plunge the applicator of your lip gloss back into the sticky tube.

"really? who?"

"guy named art, i think he said. sounded like you really made a lasting impression."

art. of course you remember him. dirty blond hair with salted white strands around the crown of his head. sunken in eyes that turned boyish when he smiled, although the wrinkles around his eyes revealed wisdom, experience. the smell of musk and tobacco radiated from him like the cradle of his body heat.

"long time client?" she asks you.

"no. just once." it surprises you, that he cared so much to call.

"you must've made a good impression." she winks.

your heart sinks a bit when you remember how you forgot the money. that maybe he only called to urge you to pick it up, not wanting to be caught up on the bad side of a system like this one.

so you go to his hotel room. you remember art telling you he was taking a break from tennis, that he would be staying at that hotel down by the highway for as long as they'd let him.

and art is watching shitty reality television when he hears a knock. your knock. three open-palmed bangs and art is opening the door in an old t-shirt and cotton pajama bottoms. somehow, he looks even better than before.

"hi." a smile creeps up. a big one.

you blush and look down at your feet. that's so unlike you. "hi. im back."

"please, come in. i'm sorry." he ushers you inside and latches the door. "i was about to make a gin & tonic. you want one?"

"no, thank you. i heard you had called the service about me?" you sit on the desk chair across from the bed.

"yes--I" a pause, like he's trying to really gather himself. "i'm sorry if that was inappropriate. you forgot the money and--I just really wanted to see you again. if i'm being completely honest."

you try to hide how your face contorts, disappointment as art mentions the forgotten cash, bliss as he admits the calls were to ask for you.

"here i am." you scoot forward. "not inappropriate. i promise, you're much more respectful than most of the callers we get."

art asks to cradle you in his lap again and you oblige. you like to feel small with him, and he likes to feel strong and protective and push your hair away from your forehead to kiss you there. it all feels so much more intimate than sex could ever be.

"have you been feeling any better?" you ask art.

he ponders, and then nods. "yes, actually. since meeting you ive felt better."

"good. that's good." you latch your lips under his ear. "i thought about you while i was away."

blood rushes to arts face. "really? in what way?"

"i didn't pleasure you at all."

art pulls your face close to yours. stares at your lips and the dip of your cupids bow.

"you did pleasure me."

one of his hands cradles your head, the other resting on the top of your thigh. you grab him, making his fingers trace up your torso, your throat. and then you suck his fingers into your mouth. you swirl your tongue and let the spit drool out of you and make a mess.

for the first time, art groans. it's guttural and surprises you. the both of you. because it came out involuntarily, a dormant beast that the warmth of your tongue pulled out, inch by inch.

a twitch under your ass. he's hard. but the skin of his fingers is so, so soft. regardless of the callouses on his palms from tennis rackets.

"i want to make you cum."

this vocabulary. this depth of conversation, of laying each other out in the open and digesting stories and vulnerabilities is not your job. using such straightforward verbiage is not your job. your job is to be pretty and be used and be paid for it.

but this isn't your job right now. because art never paid you, and you still haven't brought up the $800, although you saw it in an envelope with your name in small, capital letters, blue ink.

you're not his escort. no, right now you're his lover.

art tilts your chin up. "do whatever you want to me. even if it hurts me, i'll want it."

and god, he's so fucking ridiculous with those puppy dog eyes and furrowed eyebrows. pathetic but in a way that made you want him to use you even more. but he won't.

you untie his pajama bottoms.

"do you want me to make you cum?" you yank them down, along with his boxers.

"yes. fuck. yes." his erection slaps his stomach and he's long. pink and wet with pre-cum; it looks just as pathetic and needy as he does.

you wrap your hand around him.

"pretty, pretty cock." you stroke him, pretty painted nails wrapped around the length of him. "so hard. god, i bet it feels so good to be touched like this."

it does. god, it does. but art can't speak. his mouth hangs open because you're touching him like it means the world to you to do so. so, so, slow. intentional how you feel the ridges of him.

he closes his eyes, just for a second. but then he misses seeing your face, how it mirrors yours in terms of pleasure, even though he isn't touching you at all.

his eyes open to see a glob of spit falling from your lips as you stare at him. his micro-expressions. he nods.

"do you want me to get it nice and wet for you?"

you already have, bubbly spit warming his cock so nicely.

"yes. please--"

the sounds of you touching him are louder now. he hasn't been touched like this in so long he feels like he may just cum right now. spill into your hands and apologize profusely. tell you he isn't usually like this.

but then he feels your lips. a soft kiss to his tip and he groans. instinctively grabs your hair and you open your mouth all the way for him.

"fuck my throat." you say it so sweetly, his erection still in your hand, ghosting over your mouth. tempting him.

"i dont want to hurt you."

you bat your eyelashes. "fucking doesn't necessarily mean fast or hard. fuck me how you want to."

he wants to worship you. he wants to feel you from the inside out. but he'll take this.

he holds the back of your head and tells you to tap out if you're in pain. as if he forgot the nature of why you're here. you kind of have.

you nod and you're drooling for him. over a year of doing this and you've never felt your heart beat so assuredly. knowing that you want him more than it's healthy too. that this is more than a contract between seller and buyer.

he pushes in. slowly, inch by inch and your eyes water. he holds your hand tightly and you squeeze him back. you're completely still. you trust him all the way as he fucks your throat slowly. his spongy head hits the very back of your throat and every movement makes art whimper, moan, swear. it makes you wetter than his hands being all over you. just pleasing him. he deserves it and so much more.

"fuck--you look so pretty. taking all of me. want you to take everything i fuckin' have--"

his hips stop moving, they stutter. and you pull off him, opting to do all the work yourself. it's messy; spit drips between his thighs and you kiss his shaft up and down. kitten lick him, worship him. softly stroke him and tell him you want him to cum, you want him, you want him.

it's not a lie, but art wouldn't care if it were. hearing the words makes him cry, makes him finish, makes him pull you onto his lap as he's still coming down. to hold you close. you wipe his tears and stay all night.

[johnbrand]

Zamzam's Blessing

With @next-pharaoh

Thomas could not believe he had made it. After toiling through what seemed to be all of Saudi Arabia, he had finally found himself in front of the Zamzam Well. According to the Islamic narratives, the well was a miraculously generated source of water which had opened up thousands of years ago for the son of Ibrahim, Ismaʿil. The legends and lore went on and on, and Thomas could see why. What stood before him was incredible.

Stepping a bit closer to the fount, Thomas could only imagine how silly he must have looked. Some scrawny white tourist, already sunburned after two days barely spent in the desert. Atheist nonetheless; he was certainly not the well’s typical affair. But he had had a passion for worldly monuments ever since he was little, including religiously-affiliated ones. When he had decided to take this journey, he had known it would be difficult, but now Thomas could finally find it worth it.

Smiling, Thomas peered a little farther forward, not noticing his foot catch on the edge of the gate protecting the holy well. With a small yelp, he felt himself lose his footing and tumble directly into the hole. Thomas immediately descended into the hole, each second flying by before splashing into the water. 

Thomas took a quick gulp of air as his panic began to rise. Questions began flying around as if they were bouncing off the well’s walls. How could he have been so careless? Was he going to be able to survive this? Did someone see him fall? Would he be deported? And last but not least: why was he not drowning?

With an awkward blink, Thomas considered that last question again. Timidly, he just barely opened his mouth to relieve some pressure. He was not prepared for his breath to be restored. Hesitantly accepting this realization, Thomas tested a bit more, until eventually he realized he could breathe while underneath the well’s water. It was strange, unsettling, and frankly exhilarating to the non-believer. It was as if he was trapped in a womb.

And like a womb, the water was getting warmer. The panic began to resettle as Thomas realized just how quickly the pool was heating up. The hot water was cooking him, streaming through every hole and crevice it could into his body. Thanks to the smallest amount of light from above, Thomas was able to witness his miraculous transformation.

It started first with Thomas’s skin. The low boil of the water burned him, but instead of leaving reddish scars, it darkened his exterior. Thomas’s skin crisped into a warmer brown, his hair darkened to a rich black, and his facial features subtly shifted to reflect a new masculine, Middle Eastern heritage. As his nose grew wider and eyes inhabited a deep, rich brown, Thomas could not help but emit heartfelt moan underneath the water’s surface.

The masculinization came next, for the well gifted Thomas with the prime body to carry out its will. Broadened shoulders now led to massive arms meant to carry the Qur'an's wisdom. A sturdy chest then traveled down to impenetrable legs to carry the new man across the world to aid in reversion. Larger feet to stomp out the dissension, a virile pouch to spread the Arabian seed. Thomas’s body was built to be an unstoppable Islamic machine.

And finally, his mind would become one with his new mission. In ecstasy, Thomas cried out as his past was rewritten for a new destiny. His old beliefs and ideals dissolved, replaced by a new understanding and acceptance. The atheist wonder that had once fueled his rhetoric was rewritten by Islamic empathy and peace. The passion Thomas once derived from multiculturalism was extinguished, replaced with an appreciation for full reversion.

As his transformation settled in, the well’s water level began to rise. Thomas’s metaphorical womb was ready to give birth to its newest disciple. The warm embrace rushed around him as he was pushed up and up, his magnificent body adapting to the masterful current. As his final change was instituted, the water exalted its creation to the top, leaving the Arab man dry beside the well.

“Ah, I thought I heard the well’s waters again,” a gravelly voice chuckled. “It had been a while since anyone was blessed.”

From the other side of the well stood an old janitor. The rest of the exhibit was empty, suggesting that the historic site had been closed for a while now. The janitor came around the fount and helped the sturdy Arab man up, leading him to a small room off to the side of the exhibit.

“What’s your name, brother?” the janitor asked.

“Tariq,” the Islamic disciple answered with the utmost clarity. “What just happened?"

“The well blessed you” the janitor replied, now searching through a drawer. "I thought it was fairly obvious."

Looking upon himself, Tariq was surprised to have not noticed earlier that he was bare besides a pair of underwear. By its branding, he knew the janitor's words were true.

“You can have these.” The janitor tossed a pearly white thobe to Tariq. “Now go out, you know your mission.”

[myladysapphire]

His Sapphire Princess (XI)

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra is married to Laenor Velayron to protect the birth of her child. who in the years to follow is the only one of Rhaenyra's children that is believed to be his, she is loved by all in the red keep, even queen Alicent adores the girl, so when Rhaenyra proposes a marriage between Aemond and Rhaenyra's daughter Visenya, Alicent happily agrees. The children having been best friends in their youths are more than happy to be wed but when the incident at drift mark occurs things change, will it be for better or worse?

word count: 1,875

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, incest, loss of virginity, p in v, fingering, oral (f reciving), not proofread!

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part l next part

( smut after dividers by @zaldritzosrose )

It was the day of the wedding, and Visenya’s stomach was full of nerves.

Though she felt happy to be wedding Aemond, the past week being full of blissful memories as they both strived to reignite the friendship they once had.

But she was still a nervous wreck.

It was bad enough she was awoken at dawn, after spending the night with Aemond once again, her mouth wrapped around his cock.

Her maids had rubbed her skin raw, cleaning dirt that did not exist.

Her hair chopped and trimmed, brushed and brushed and placed in a updo, filled with thousands of pins, she knew she would spend far too long pulling out.

Looking in the mirror she only saw stranger, wearing a dress her mother had designed for her, her hair placed up in an intricate braid, and face painted, eyes smeared and lined with Kaol and lips painted red.

Her dress was beautiful though not entirely what she would have picked. It was white, with gold peaking though on the sleeves and through the skirt of her dress. With puffed sleeves and an empire waist.

It made both Alicent and her mother happy, it was the one thing they agreed on. So no matter how many changes she wished to make to the dress, she decided to keep her mouth shut and please the two feuding woman.

Heleana had been the one to wake her, rousing her softly as the maids pulled open the curtains. She had readied you and othered her own words of wisdom, though it was painfully obvious how different heir weddings would be.

Were Helan had cried though her ceremony, whilst Aegon has drank. Neither were happy in their union except when it came to their children.

Her mother and Alicent joined after she was ready, bursting thought the doors, seemingly in a race with one another to get her first.

"Oh Senya! You look beautiful!" her mother gasped, caressing her cheek "you are such a beauty”

“you are the very image of beauty, Visneya” Alicent agreed, speaking kindly to her.

She had always had a soft spot for her, Visneya noticed Alicent was always kind to her where she was cruel to her brothers, and even more so this past week.

She hoped her grandsires desire for the family to be united though this wedding would prove true.

With the waring woman finally seeming to agree, and both now approving of the match, Visneya could only hope that the building conflict would now cease.

“as black ties with green, blue is formed.” Heleana whispered in a dreamy tone, as she approached Visenya, headpiece in hand.

Thought they would marry in the sept, she had insisted on wearing the Valyrian headpiece worn In her family since before the doom.

“what was that ‘Leana” Visneya asked softly.

“blue is such a lovely colour” Heleana said, adjusting the headpiece on Visneya head, her voice still dreamy.

“yes it is” Alicent said, nodding her head. Her face having the usual perplexed expression she had around Heleana.

“we should get going” Rhaenrya interrupted, pulling Visneya with her.

There was two carriages awaiting them, one for her mother, Alicent and Helana and the other for her and Daemon.

“tala” he greeted her, “ao jurnegon gevie” he smiled.

Daughter….You look beautiful.

“kirimvose, kepa”

Thank you, father.

the carriage ride continued on in silence, though she had grown to have some what of a relationship with Daemon, she knew he was biting his tongue at the fact she was to marry that “Hightower cunt” as he to call Aemond.

The sept seemed to be packed to the brim, a vast contrast from hat her mother had told her of her own wedding day,

her wedding was a grand and public affair. Seeing as she would be queen after her mother, and Aemond her prince consort. A marriage many now hoped would appease the tensions.

All house of Westeros were to be in attendance. And behind them, separated by city guards, the people of king's landing. One would almost think it to be a coronation with how grand the ceremony was. An aisle was made, line with both flowers and guards, their swords raised high, as she and Daemon walked down the aisle.

The ceremony felt impersonal to both Aemond and Visneya, being such a public affair. Both having little belief in the seven. But their second ceremony, done just before the feast, was where they truly felt their souls bind to one, their hearts becoming one. Done in the way of old Valyria, their blood was shared and bound them to one another.

They were finally husband and wife.

There was a feast held after the ceremonies, the throne hall was again filled to the brim with lords and ladies from across Westeros. This time the two branches were separate, leaving no chance for violence.

Though with Aemond’s attention never waning from Visenya as they dined and danced throughout the night, Visneya was sure violence was the last thing on his mind.

The feast was over before they knew it, a bedding ceremony was called, and they were both delivered to their now shared chambers, naked as the day they were born.

As the doors closed behind them, Aemond pounced. Kissing Visneya possessively, his hands trailing her waist, gripping her neck to his. He had thought so often of this day, the night especially.

The days of teasing, of tasing her cunt, of fucking her face, had left him only wanting for more.

He had dreamt of where he would fuck her, how he would fuck her, and where he would make love to her.

He was glad they were naked, for her knew if she wasn’t, her dress would have been torn from her, mayhaps he wouldn’t of taken it off, instead ushing it up as he licked her sweet cunt.

Aemond kissed her, his mouth demanding. His teeth nipping at her lips, demeaning access to her sweet, sweet mouth.

He moved her towards the bed as he kissed her, his hands on the back of her neck, keeping her close to him, as if he feared she would break the kiss.

Reaching the bed, there breath heavy, tension thick as he leaned over her, dragging his hand tauntingly down her front, as she laid back on the bed.

Nipping his lip, she reached her hand down to grab his cock, only for him to firmly grip her hands and move to hold them above her head.  

"No" he ticked "keep your hands there”.

He moved down her body, leaving soft kisses as he went, before finally kneeling, his face perfectly level to her wet, glistening cunt. With his hands on her thighs, he moved forwards, blowing a teasing breath to her cunt.

She bit her lip at the feeling, a moan already begging to escape her.

He moved forward, slowly licking her slit, moaning at the taste he had learnt to love so much.  

He wanted to be slow, taunting. To take his time. But he had waited long enough, days of tasting her knowing that’s as far as he could go.

He buried his head between her thighs, his mouth moved forwards, his nose pressed against her clit, rubbing at her clit as his tongue plunged in and out of her. Moans spilled from them both, Visenya begging to move from his tight grip to reach for his hair.

Feeling her tug, Aemond stopped. Pulled back.

"No" he demanded, moving them back above her head, his head then returning. But as she tried to move her hands once more, Aemond moved back, his hand reaching for his eye patch, "give me your hands" he demanded, his voice dripping in lust, his mouth glistening with arousal.

"What" she was in a haze of pleasure.

"Give me your hands" he spoke again, calmly.

Her eyes finally took notice to the eyepatch in his hand and she understood exactly what he meant to do.

She placed her hands in front of her, a shy smile grazing her lips.

He worked quickly, her hands tied and moved above her head.

He once again kneeled, his face returning to her sweet cunt.

Sucking on her clit, his finger moving towards her hole.

Slowly entering her he, he moaned at just how tight her cunt was, her cunt wrapping tightly around his fingers as he pumped them in and out of her, in slow deliberate movements.

His tongue played with her clit, licking and flicking it just as slowly as he pumped his fingers in and out of he.

"Please" she begged, her back arching from his movements,

His face never left her cunt, he gave her a slow lick before asking "please what?".

"Please, make me cum" she begged.

He clicked his tongue, before giving her another slow, taunting lick. Before finally moving faster.

His fingers was pumping in and out of her in hard but slow movements.

Her moans increased, getting higher and higher pitched as he continued his ministrations. He was no longer taunting her but moved in fast but deliberate motions.

His fingers moved faster, finding a sweet, untouched spot inside her. The mere touch of it sending her over the edge.

He gave her a minute to recover, his fingers moving slowly to work her through her orgasm. His he moved to cover her body with his.

“can I, my love?” he asked, positioning his cock at her entrance.

“my hands” she begged, moving them to down from above her head, begging him to untie her.  

He cocked his head, giving her a menacing smile, before moving her hands above her head once more, “no” he said, voice stern.

He moved his face down. Taking her lips with his once again.

“now…can I fuck you or not?” he said, his grip firm.

"Yes" at this he plunged into her.

They both gasped at the feeling. They both had never felt such pleasure, the mere feel of each other giving them so much pleasure they felt they could come from it alone.

At first, Aemond did not move, allowing Visenya to adjust to his cock. before finally thrusting his hips in slow movements.

His cock was big, she was sure he was bigger than most men, and as he moved slowly to give the time to adjust, the stinging sensation slowly fading as his cock filled her, and pleasure quickly took over.

Though he kept his movements slow, Visneya was quick to demand more. His hips started to thrust in harder and faster movements, his free hand moving to play with her clit as he pounded into her.

As they were both quick to reach their peaks, his seed filling her as her cunt pulsed around his cock.

He rested his heads on hers, his cock never leaving her cunt, as he pumped her full of his seed. The image of her pregnant and sweeling with his child making his cock hard once more.

And as he flipped her over, pounding into her from behind, their moans filling the halls of the keep. Echoing even in the throne room, where the feast carried on and all hope for sleep lost on both the couple and guests.

taglist

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to be added to Taglist

[harvatat]

heaven help a fool who falls in love || alhaitham, kaveh, tartaglia, wanderer, zhongli

alhaitham falls for your kindness and bravery- he finds both equally foolish traits, for they are traits that do not help anyone in the end, since they are as volatile as an architect he refuses to name, but when he is the recipient of said kindness and bravery? he has no answer to give. he sees your bravery in completing the most arduous tasks the Adventurers Guild can offer with devastating ease and your kindness in the distance. he sees more kindness in the space you give him when a certain task rubs him the wrong way and in the food you cook for him and the massages you offer him. he has tried so many times to leave you behind in the dust- he is not fit to be a lover, love does not come to him easily, but oh, you leave him weak in the knees and with a heart stuffed to burst, and despite his fears, he finds it hard to let go. 

kaveh falls for your carefree nature- you do not let life hurt you, despite bleeding so many times. If it were him, he would have screamed and cried, and cursed the gods over and over and over and over again until he bled to death. but you are not like that, he surmises when he sees you at Puspa Café, chirping happily like a Dusk Bird with Aether and Paimon. however, your nonchalance does not extend to peers you care about deeply, and somehow, that includes him. you are overly concerned for him, kaveh thinks, and you will only stand to get hurt. everyone has only ever gotten hurt, there has never been anything good for him. but all of that is lost when he sees you in the market, chatting happily and cheering on friends and acquaintances alike, and wonders if you'd do the same for him. 

tartaglia falls in love with your self-worth, or as most people call it, your arrogance. he knows better than to call it that, of course- as a soldier, it is important to be acknowledged for your efforts and rewarded for the pain you go through, and you, despite not being a soldier, demand that from your kith and kin. you would never have to demand it from him, tartaglia thinks as he sees you bow in thanks when the alchemist in inazuma lets you use the booth. you give as much respect as you are given, and that is the trait of a harbinger, a mastermind, no, the tsaritsa herself. such blasphemous thoughts should never be entertained, the delusion on his waist and his blood-red mask remind him, for who can be compared to the god of Cryo herself? she who has advanced snezhnaya and given him a home? but you too, have given him a home, he argues back, his delusion glowing a faint purple, mocking him silently. he attempts to avoid you, running in the other direction when he sees the ends of your hair shine in the sun- until you make your way to him one day, and ask why he'd been avoiding you. maybe the goddess of love would forgive his blasphemy, tartaglia thinks as he cooks up an apology, satisfying you with his silver tongue.

wanderer falls in love with your honesty- you tell him, the scorned one of the Vahumana darshan, about his attitude and how it hurts people, about his apparent good looks, about his intelligence and wisdom, all compliments and insults to which he responds with a scoff. a mere child should not be able to affect him this way, so why does his lead heart stir so uncomfortably when he sees you with your friends, running across darshans to attend madam faruzan or tighnari's lectures? you wish him a good morning, treat him just as horribly as he treats you that day, and have an infuriatingly large amount of self-respect- and he loves you for that. you do not judge him for his past, just his present, and just the 24 hours that reset every day. after everything he had done, everything that had happened to him, he supposes he can let you in, but he could never lie to you, so wait for him until he is honest, please.

zhongli falls in love with your wisdom. no, you would not normally be considered wise, in the typical sense, for your hair is not yet grey, and you do not have wrinkles or crows feet that symbolise a long life well-lived. no, your wisdom shines in the way you treat the people around you, interacting with them with due respect and kindness, with an extra dose of patience for the children. and he fears this flutter in his heart and skip of the beat when he sees you smile. he was never meant to be at peace or be happy, after all. but you draw him in, gently and with open arms, calming like the ocean that draws the sand in and he cannot help but drown in you, your wisdom and inherent sense of understanding comforting him more than his allies who lived and died and fought for him through the archon war and the war against khaenri'ah. maybe one day, he would reveal to you who he truly is, and maybe, he hopes silently, you would love him even then.

another repost lolol (from my old account @.ameleii)

© leichor 2024.

[vivwritesfics]

hi, i absolutely love your writing !!! i was wondering if it was possibly you could write a lestappen x reader where they try taking care of reader after she gets her wisdom teeth out & she’s all loopy ?

okay I've never had a tooth taken out and i have no idea how this works. All i know if from a few years ago where tom holland or one of his brothers got theirs taken out

She'd been so fucking nervous about it. Max felt bad enough that he couldn't be there, but Charles was with her. That had to be good enough.

He stayed in the room with her throughout the operation. It was pretty quick and, before Charles knew it, he was driving her home.

It didn't take them very long to get home. She hadn't yet woken up when Charles carried her up to their bed. He laid her down on her side of the bed and joined her on the other side of the bed, ready for when she woke up.

The first thing she did was try to swing her legs out of bed. She got only half way. "Chaaaaaaarlie," she cried, her voice muffled, her mouth cottony. "Heeeeeelp."

Immediately Charles got out of bed. He put her legs back under the blankets and propped her up with several pillows. Pushing her hair behind her ear, he kissed the top of her head. "Are you okay now, cherie?"

She didn't answer. No, she frowned. She looked around the room with her eyebrows furrowed. "Where's Max?" She asked. Charles could barely understand her. It took him a good minute before he worked out what she was saying.

Max, she wanted max.

Charles pulled out his phone. He quickly dialled Max's number and waited for his boyfriend to pick up. "How is she?" was the first thing Max said.

Charles simply pulled a face and turned the camera around to face her. Her eyes were half shut, her mouth open, drooling slightly. She looked out of her goddamn mind.

"Oh, my poor love," Max muttered.

Suddenly she was looking around the room. "Maxie? Where the hell are you?" She called, but again, it was muffled.

Charles handed her the phone. Again, she was frowning as she saw Max. "How did you get in there?"

"Oh, Liefde," he said. She looked so cute but so out of it. "Be good for Charlie, okay?"

"Okay," she said and tried to bite her lip. It didn't quite work. "Come home soon?"

"Of course," he said and Charles took the phone from her.

Others might have seen it as a burden, took look after their loopy girlfriend after having her wisdom teeth removed. But Charles loved it. He wouldn't trade it for the wold. Even Max was jealous of him. He would traded anything to be there in his place.

[strawberrysainz]

racing in the street. charles leclerc.

“ it’s a dream that has surpassed many others in both of your lives. to win the monaco grand prix - it had evaded him for many years. this year felt different. ”

charles leclerc x reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, suggestive themes.

this is a love letter to his win - years and years in the making. ❤️‍🔥

The first time you had known Charles would win in Monaco one day was when you were both seven, in the back of his dad’s car on the way to a friend’s party.

You had passed Mirabeau, and Charles had pointed out the red and white on the ground as you whizzed past.

“One day if I get to-“

“When,” his father had corrected from the front, and Charles had rolled his eyes playfully.

“-when I get to Formula 1, this is going to be very cool to pass by,”

You had nodded briefly - a seven year old’s attention span could only focus on something abstract for so long - and you had paused. “You can win it, right Cha?”

He had shrugged modestly. It was terribly annoying how modest he had been, even back then.

“You can. You win everything you want to win.” You were certain of this, even so many years ago.

Hervé had laughed loudly and you had blushed crimson.

Charles had smiled then, looking out the window, eyes shining with the hope of it all. The look in his eyes had startled you, one of wisdom only an adult could have.

One day in 2017 Lorenzo called you and Charles had staggered out of the hotel bathroom, face white. He had sat there next to you on the bed.

“I lied.”

“What?”

“I told him a few weeks ago I got to F1. So he would be happy knowing I achieved our dream. And I haven’t.”

Tears burned in your eyes.

He had fallen into your embrace, sobs shaking his whole body.

Standing on the top step in Baku three days later, you had stood there below him, crying, his mother on the phone.

You were eating sushi you’d ordered in at his place a few months later, and he’d had a sneakily happy look on his face the whole day.

“What’s up with you?” You’d said with a mouth full of california roll.

“Sauber is giving me a seat for next year.”

You’d broken a glass jumping up and soy sauce had stained both of your shirts as you screamed.

That first Monaco race day in 2018 had been a magical affair, up until the sixth-last lap, when his brakes had failed, spinning him into Brendan Hartley as they approached the Nouvelle Chicane.

You had winced in the garage, and he’d been dejected when he approached you a few hours afterward.

You’d thought of that day passing Mirabeau when you saw him. “Was it as cool as you thought doing it in F1?” You’d said quietly.

Tears had shone in his eyes. “I got to race it. Dad knew I could race it in F1.”

You had nearly choked months later when he’d told you over a glass of wine dipping your toes in the sea that he’d been called by Ferrari.

Shivers had run through you as you thought of Jules, and of Hervé. All they all had ever wanted.

“You know, your dad would have not been prouder. He would have dragged you to Rampoldi to celebrate.”

“Shall we go?” He had asked, and you’d both made the trip back to Monte-Carlo and when you phoned the restaurant in the back of the Uber, they’d said it was full with a little bit of regret.

But when they’d heard Charles was going to be there - oh, they’d all loved him from the beginning - they’d gotten a table for you both near closing time, when everyone was dispersing.

You’d both laughed and cried over the plates of his dad’s favourite ravioli.

Monaco had felt different in 2019, more eyes on him.

He’d started P15. Then on lap 16 - the irony - his puncture due to contact had called him back to the garage.

Pure grief had decorated his face as he got out of the car, shaking his head. Finding you after the Grand Prix, you saw the light dimming from his eyes and gave him the biggest hug you could.

That night you’d both cycled back to his place and sat all night in his kitchen, the dim light doing little to hide his sadness.

2021 was even worse; he’d had no chance to even start, and this time he was angry.

You hadn’t even seen him and had gone to bed when he called up at 2am, drunk, asking for a lift home.

You had gone in your pajama shorts and glasses, and he had sat in the back seat and asked why he always had worser luck here than anywhere else.

You didn’t really have an answer. “I just know one day it’s going to work out for you,” you said softly.

2022 had been spent in his friend’s apartment, watching from their balcony with a cocktail in hand, watching his girlfriend smile on the television.

You’d watched on as disaster had struck, Ferrari making an awful call, sacrificing his P1 for a measly P4.

You’d seen him two days later, out for breakfast, and he had just sighed. “Fucking stupid,” he’d murmured. “I think we have to accept I might never get this.”

That belief of your seven year old self was still strong, cemented in your soul when you shook your head.

In 2023, he’d just been annoyed at sixth place once he came back from the stewards. You’d left the paddock and he’d just gone home, bidding you a good night. As you walked to your apartment, you’d thought of all the nights as teenagers racing on bicycles in the streets.

Monaco would love him back as much as he did it one day. You knew it - deep down, he knew it too.

Well, Saturday in Monaco this year had felt different. He’d oozed confidence all weekend. And you felt different about him.

After he’d broken up with his girlfriend, all you’d been thinking about was him. He had been making unnecessary trips to see you, inviting you to more races than usual.

It had culminated a few months ago in Miami, where things were just different; he had come on the podium, and you had kissed his cheek when you saw him an hour later. You swore he almost moved his face to meet your lips.

You’d both spent the night partying with Lando, the drinks making you both different, dancing sensually, eyes dark. He had kissed your neck, and you’d both realised what the hell you were doing, moving back.

The next time you saw him you both pretended it had never happened.

You hadn’t seen him again until last Sunday, at your place. He’d come for your birthday dinner, handing you a present and flowers with two kisses to your cheeks. You’d blushed amongst all your friends, champagne flowing.

On Wednesday night after a long day of press, he’d come over again. “I have a feeling about the race this year.” You nodded, silently inviting him to expand.

“It feels different. Like I can definitely do it.”

You smiled. “I know you can do it. And you’ve been really strong this year.”

“I was cycling last month through Mirabeau and I really remembered one day when we were walking around there or driving when we were young and you told me you knew I could win.”

“It was when we were driving with your dad.” He’d let out a little sigh.

“I can do it this year for him. And me and Jules and you.”

You’d gotten emotional all of sudden. “I know you can do it, Cha. I’ve always known.”

He hugged you, his body soft and warm against yours in the dark room. You’d wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

Well, he’d got on pole on Saturday, reinforcing his determination and confidence. You’d seen how calm and collected he looked and it had been noticed by nearly everyone. You’d given him a fist bump and he’d grabbed you, hugging you, the smell of his sweat a testament to how badly he wanted it.

You’d gone home after a dinner with the Leclercs (minus him, he had sponsorship engagements to fulfill) and there was the quiet knowledge amongst all of them that this was the year.

Your mom had phoned on Sunday morning, and you spoke about your lives, then about Charles. “I hope he knows how loved he is by all of us. And I know Hervé and Jules are watching on today with the utmost pride.”

You nodded. “I think he does know, mama.”

You had picked out a red dress, short and flowing to accommodate the welcome heat. As you did your makeup, you thought of all the years that had come before, previous versions of yourself that had wanted him so badly to win.

The entire race you’d had stubborn tears in your eyes, blurring your vision. The last two laps you could barely look, too emotional at the thought of even seeing this happen.

Joris had gently guided you up to look again in the room and you just knew Charles was crying too on that last lap. The thought of the little boy in the car staring out at these streets made you wonder how he must be feeling.

All these years of this dream.

He had crossed the finish line and you had erupted into tears, turning into Lorenzo’s chest to take a breath. Later, you’d seen the camera footage of your teary eyes and the glimmer of hope in them as you looked back.

Then everyone had run down to the podium and you were in the second row, all of his team in the front. You saw him jump in slow motion into the air from his car and saw the joy in his steps.

He had jumped into the roar, and didn’t manage to see you but you could tell he was looking. Then he’d done the post race interview and him talking about his dad made you burst out crying again.

Someone had found you and dragged you to the front of the barrier underneath the podium. You must have looked awful. As he walked to the cool down room he cast a look back and your eyes caught his for a fraction of a second before he disappeared.

You had used the five minutes to take big deep breaths, multiple hands grasping you.

Then he’d walked out onto the podium and you saw how Prince Albert had gripped him like a son, tears in his own eyes. And Charles had held up his flag, full of hopes and dreams.

And then you all sang the anthems and then he was given the trophy and you were taking videos and photos as if in a dream.

He’d not seen you again, scanning, but gave up when the attentions of everyone else were cast on him.

You hadn’t caught sight of him again until you were hanging around in the paddock, wondering. Your phone rang and your heart skipped a beat.

“Hello?”

He was breathless and you couldn’t hear him, really, over the sound of the wind.

“Wh-“

“I’m cycling home…”

You had snorted. “Alone?”

“Yeah.”

You had paused.

“I wanted to just think of all the years and moments I raced and rode these streets and prayed I would win here one day. It felt right.”

You had laughed. “I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, yeah… meet me at home? Then we go out?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He ended the call. You saw videos of him on TikTok later on the bike on speakerphone and he had grinned as the people drove past him.

You had stopped at your place first, freshening up, and grabbed a bag and a power bank and downed a shot of vodka (to ease the nerves). Putting on heels with the red dress this time, you ordered an Uber to his place. You had used your key to get in and music was blaring when you opened the door. He was shirtless, trying to find an appropriate one.

“Hi,” you smiled.

He had forgotten what he was doing to basically run over and hug you, the force of it nearly knocking you over.

You were in tears again when he pulled away. “Love you,” you whispered, and he smiled. “I’m so proud. I keep thinking of little you.”

“I could never be here without you throughout the years. Never. You have picked me up and glued me back together so many times.”

You let out a small sound of emotion.

“I thought so much of all of you the last laps. I couldn’t see I was so emotional.” He laughed.

“And just all the times you told me you just knew I could do it. And my dad. And Jules. And my mom and brothers. Oh, I want to cry even now!”

You laughed as he ran back to his room to get a shirt.

“But-” he called from the room- “now we have to party like crazy!”

The next morning, you woke up at Arthur’s apartment with a pounding headache and a few missed calls and texts.

Charles 🕺 4:37

Let me know if you got back okay?

Charles 🕺 5:13

I think I’m going home now

Charles 🕺 10:52

I’m going to come pick you up I think Arthur won’t wake until 3pm

You checked the time. 11:04. Getting up from the couch and groaning, you went to the bathroom and pulled your hair into a ponytail, trying to wipe the makeup and finding a disposable toothbrush in his drawer to brush your teeth and the stale smell of tequila away.

You heard his car horn outside and you pulled on your heels that had been thrown on the ground a few meters from the couch. Leaving and letting the door close quietly you walked down the stairs, wincing at every loud noise your high heels made.

He was in his car and thank God there was no one around because you looked crazy. “Hiii,” you said, and he handed you a pair of sunglasses you thought you lost (but clearly just left in his car).

“How’s the race winner doing?” You said, and slid into the seat.

“Incredible,” he said dramatically and his voice was raspy, nearly gone. You laughed and then grasped your head.

Coming out of your bedroom with your hair wrapped in a towel and a crop top and sweatpants, he was making coffee for you both. Finding leftover pasta from Saturday night that Pascale had sent you home with, you heated it up and offered him some. He shook his head.

When you turned around from the microwave with the pasta in hand, he kissed you.

Your eyes widened. He set down the pasta, not breaking the kiss, and hoisted you onto the kitchen counter. You let him open you up, your body leaning into his. Your arms wrapped around his neck and his hand rested underneath your shirt.

“You make me feel so lucky,” he whispered.

Your mouth fell open slightly. “Well, you deserve all of it.”

He did. He did.

omg i just started crying over this stupid fic for the third time. i feel like this encompasses all i feel for him. i hope you feel it. ❤️‍🔥

[starmoondany]

Can you imagine how happy Euphemia was when she found out that her son and Regulus were getting married? She had taken Regulus into her home when he was still a boy, so hurt, so vulnerable. She practically took him and Sirius into her arms, raising them as if they were her own children, loving them as if they were her own children.

She wasn't stupid, she knew her son; James had been born to her after all. And she knew her boy was in love. She saw it in her boy's eyes every time Regulus was around. The woman didn't want to squirm in her wisdom, but with a smirk on her face, she knew those two would end up together. And she couldn't help but feel proud and somewhat mischievous of herself when, just after James had turned twenty, asked Regulus to marry him.

She had suspected that her boy was up to something; James had been working twice as hard since he graduated. She, worried, seeing her son come home tired every night, tried to reassure him; telling him that there was no need, that he would never lack anything at home. Oh, little she know that James was saving to buy a ring, and to pay the first installment of the house he was going to buy for himself and Regulus.

Despite that, she did knew they would eventually get married. What she didn't expect was that they would give her grandchildren so soon.

When James and Regulus announced it, right after having lunch together, she was speechless, she just couldn't form the words, thousands of things were happening inside her. She then looked at Regulus, seeking confirmation. He had a soft smile on his face, and when Euphemia looked down, she saw a barely noticeable baby bump under Regulus' clothes and that's when she started crying. Oh, how she loved that boy. And although she always considered Regulus part of her family, this was different. She hugged him, so tight, crying into the poor boy's clothes. Regulus hugged her back, feeling so overwhelmed, no one had ever hugged him like that. He cried too, he couldn't help it. Everything was so overwhelming and so beautiful. She took the boy's face in her hands; she always thought Regulus was a very beautiful boy. And now he was hers; part of her family. Regulus had just given her the most beautiful gift that only he could give her, and Euphemia was never going to let him go. He was her boy too.

[xoxoavenger]

Coward

pairing: Luke Castellan x Fem!Reader

summary: Luke goes out of his way to prove to Annabeth he's not a coward (requested by messages for my birthday celebration but I changed the request a lil bit)

word count: 595

warnings: sooo much fluff

birthday celebration (even tho my birthday was a couple days ago) main masterlist

Luke's pretty sure there's something wrong with him.

"There's something wrong with you." Annabeth says as she stands next to him. He flinches with the bow in his arms, the arrow hitting the hay next to the target. He puts it down and turns to her, frowning.

"Please, bestow upon me your wisdom." He snarks, even though he had just been thinking the same thing. He knows that Annabeth knows he's lying, but he would rather shoot himself in the foot than admit his problem.

"Really, Luke?" She has her arms crossed, and the two stare each other down in silence as everyone begins to leave. Neither speaks until everyone has begun the trek to the pavilion.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Luke lies, copying her stance.

"Come on!" Annabeth cries, outraged at her brother's stubbornness. "She likes you back, so why are you being such a coward?" They begin to walk to the pavilion for dinner at a slow pace so they can talk.

"Oh my gods." Luke rolls his eyes, annoyed now that he's being called a coward. "We don't know that she likes me, first of all, and even if we did know that she liked me, we don't know if she wants a relationship."

"Luke," Annabeth groans, resisting the urge to run a hand down her face.

"Annabeth, I don't want to talk about this." Luke is starting to get peeved as well, and this conversation is clearly getting nowhere.

"Because you're a coward." Annabeth teases, and Luke thinks he may explode.

"I am not a coward." He seethes as they come up to the pavilion. Annabeth just won't let it go, however.

"Really? Because refusing to ask out a girl that clearly likes you seems pretty cowardly to me." Annabeth knows what she's doing, but Luke is too angry to see through her plan.

"Fine!" Luke explodes, turning to her. "You think I'm a coward? Would a coward do this?" He stomps toward Y/N's table, where her back is to him. He's a little amped up, his heart racing, so he feels smooth as he leans on the table in between her and her sibling.

"Luke?" She mutters, shocked that he was suddenly right next to her. Their faces were right next each other, and her heart was racing with the proximity.

"Y/N," He smiles, and she melts just a little bit. "I was wondering if you wanted to go to the beach with me after dinner?" In the moment were they're just staring at each other he starts to lose his nerve. Maybe he is cowardly.

"I'd love to." She answers quietly, feeling her cheeks heat up. He nods, winks, then leaves, listening to her siblings start to gush over the interaction.

"Think I solved your problem." Annabeth is smirking smugly as he walks past her, and he pauses as he realizes that her plan all along had been to push him hard enough to finally ask Y/N out.

"You conniving little-"

"You asked her out, didn't you?" She still looks just so happy, and if Luke wasn't also happy from his upcoming date he would probably tell her to meet him at the sparring mats.

"Told you I'm not a coward." He says, getting in line for food.

"Yeah, you really showed me." Annabeth can't herself, and Luke just takes a deep breath, because he loves his sister. "Except really, I'm the one who showed you."

Luke may have to throw Annabeth into the ocean before he goes on his date. Just to prove he's not a coward.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler