#how to counter offer salary

[calliopechild]

Children, gather close and listen to me. There are two types of untrustworthy scoundrels that you must always be wary of: employers that post a job without listing the salary, and landlords that list a rental without showing the kitchen.

Do not trust them, for they will play you false.

[4unnyr0se]

❥ being satoru gojo's sugar baby

warnings: rich asf gojo, reader is a bitch in the first part, fem! reader, lingerie, riding, cunnilingus, doggystyle, breeding, mentions of pregnancy, gojo hates stupid people, not proofread, reader gets so spoiled, spanking, asphyxiation

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 1.6k

Being Satoru fucking Gojo wasn’t easy. Being handsome, rich, and popular with the ladies? Talk about a workout. He had so much money he didn’t know what to do with it all. It’s only the result of being fucking brilliant at business practices, always knowing when to strike a perfect deal. And that bore the fruit of luxury cars, Italian jackets, and beautiful women aplenty. Gojo liked fucking the pretty girls he met in the clubs, sure. They were good for a decent cock-sucking, their expensive lipstick always forming a nice little ring around his dick. Poor things, it was probably the only nice lipstick they owned. Gojo felt bad for them in a way, they would never know what it was like to be spoiled by a man such as himself. They were so fucking fake, expecting to be spoiled just for having a decent pussy to fuck. Don’t get him wrong, Gojo liked fucking the college girls he met in the clubs, but he wanted something that was real. He wanted a good girl to spend his infinite cashflow on, not a whore who didn’t know what a fucking tax bracket was. 

He met you at his usual club, not recognizing your face from behind the bar. Hm, you must have been new there, Gojo would never ignore a pretty face like that, even though you were so grumpy looking. Did you hate your job like he hated bimbos? Gojo wasted no time in sitting himself down in your section of the bar counter, ordering a shot of the most expensive vodka the club offered. You called him an asshole and Gojo could have proposed right then and there. 

Gojo attended the club every night, sitting at the exact same spot and ordering a different, expensive drink each time. He noticed how you softly smiled when he told the local club bimbos to piss off, no doubt enjoying him shooing away drunken, stupid girls. Eventually you finally caved and gave him your number, resulting in him giving you a kiss on the back of your hand like a prince would.

Every day he would call you, text you, ask about your day. Did anyone give you trouble at the club? If it was a shitty coworker of yours, Gojo would have them fired. It didn’t matter if he didn’t own the club, he was half of the club’s monthly revenue. Gojo could do whatever the hell he wanted, he was practically paying everyone's salaries. His texts brightened your day, along with his visits to the club when you worked long evening shifts. He had stopped ordering drinks altogether, just slipping you a healthy $300 every hour or two. You had refused at first, but Gojo had this really annoying habit of being able to convince anyone of anything. It got to a point where you just held out your hand for the money at the start of every hour, which made his cock throb with desire. You were growing accustom to being spoiled and he fucking loved that. You were spoiled without being stupid, that was so fucking sexy to him.

One night, after a very annoying shift, you invited him to visit your crappy apartment downtown. Gojo jumped at the opportunity and practically threw you into his Bently, no doubt breaking a couple of traffic laws to make it to your place in record time. It was so humbling, your apartment. There were cracks in the fall and the faucet had the most annoying drip, this would absolutely not do. You deserved to live in a fucking castle in the sky, not in this shithole.

Gojo bought you a townhouse a stone's throw away from his penthouse. You protested and groaned at him not to, claiming you weren’t worth it. Gojo quickly shut you up with a passionate and longing kiss, whispering against your plush lips that he would buy you the moon and the stars. After that, you really couldn’t complain. Everything was paid off for the fifty-year lease that Gojo had signed; he was so disgustingly rich. Why did you have to go back to working at that sleazy club? Oh, right, you had to afford to eat and shop. Don’t worry; Gojo gave you a ridiculously large sum of money every week to buy whatever the hell you wanted, sending you more money if you run out. You only spend a couple of hundred dollars a week on groceries, but then there was this stunning vintage Dior dress in a shop window, and you simply had to have it. You sent Gojo a picture that displayed the price tag, and he swore he came in his pants. Fuck, you looked amazing wearing designer dresses. And you were modeling for him; he wanted to marry you so badly.

You bought lingerie one time, lacy and black, and so fucking expensive. Garters and stockings and the works, a gorgeous French design. Gojo just about lost his mind when he saw that photo you sent, driving over to your townhouse as soon as he had an opening. He tackled you in a passionate and longing kiss, ripping off the lingerie with his hands. Whatever, he’d buy you another set. No, twenty more sets.

His lips trailed across your body, leaving searing, hot kisses in their wake. You were covered in Gojo’s bites and bruises, looking like an ancient Greek sculpture. Gojo fucked you right on the floor of your living room, not bothering to carry you up the flight of stairs to your bed. You just looked so good in the lingerie you purchased with his money. His money, his lingerie, his sugar baby. Your sobbing pussy was squeezing his massive fucking cock, sucking him into you like a vortex. Your manicured fingernails left angry crescent-shaped prints on his back, his Italian jacket, and other expensive clothes long forgotten about in a pile next to the door. His cock slammed into you over and over again, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix until you were screaming his name, swearing you were gonna cum all over his cock. Gojo fucking loved hearing your moans; they sounded so expensive when his ringed fingers were wrapped around your throat, squeezing it ever so gently. He moaned into your ear as your orgasm washed over you once more, the third one in the hour. He still wasn’t finished, oh no. He had you folded into a mating press, begging and whining to be cummed in by one of the wealthiest men in the world. And who was he to deny his princess? Gojo shot himself deep inside of you, painting your womb with his seed. It looked so pretty seeping out of who; he just had to take a picture. You wouldn’t mind, right? He’d just give you another five grand for a few more dresses. 

Oh, even his aftercare was expensive. Running you a bath infused with freshly-pressed lavender and rose oil, soaking into your skin beautifully. Your fucked-out face was flush from the steam in the bathroom, making your already perfect skin so smooth. Gojo never wanted to stop touching you, not for a moment. He wrapped you in your Egyptian cotton sheets and held you tightly in his arms, thanking you for being his baby. As he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his precious baby’s ear, you drifted off.

After that perfect night, Gojo basically lived in your luxury townhouse. He would be there when you opened your eyes and when you closed them. There to take you out on romantic restaurant dates and feed you the highest quality sushi there was. He was there to buy half the fucking boutique if you wanted him to. Those dresses were too pretty for anyone else to wear besides you. You no longer protested when he bought you stuff, only kissing his chest while humming a thank you in his ear. The expensive lipstick you wore stained his cheek, not that he minded one bit.

Apart from the expensive gifts, dates, and other such things, Gojo loved fucking you. You modeled every single set of lingerie he wanted you to, especially black and blue sets. He loved your little fashion shows, the way you would always sit on his lap and grind down on his thigh, your arousal soaking the delicate fabrics. His hand would slap your ass, commanding you cum on his thigh and ruin your panties. He’d fuck you face down ass up with an expensive vibrator on your puffy clit, smirking sadistically as you sobbed that it was too much, you couldn’t take it. He’d make you ride him in his home office, making sure his video camera was always off during meetings so no one except for him could see that pretty ass bouncing up and down on his cock, milking it for all it was worth. He’d demand you sit on his face, not letting you off until he had his fill, your cum covering his mouth and face. Gojo would command you to lick it off him, hands squeezing your waist, and was adorned with a leather garter belt.

God, he wanted to breed you. He never wanted to use protection, which you objected to at first. But he whined and pleaded, claiming it would only be once. Well, once turned into always. He always came inside of you multiple times a day. He wouldn’t stop until he was sure that he had fucked his cum inside of your pussy, sticking a finger inside just to make sure it was still there. He would babble on about how you two would have the most perfect wedding and have such cute babies, how he would take care of you. You would be so pretty, all swollen with his child. 

Satoru Gojo took care of you from the moment the two of you met, your companionship being the most valuable asset he had. To him, you were the most precious thing, and he would take care of you until the day that he died.

[dotster001]

For Tuna

Summary:Grim does some interviews to find the perfect sugar dad for him you gn!reader x all boys in one way or another.

A/N:I haven't unpacked my tag list yet, so hopefully this is everyone!

Part Two Part Three choose your ending...

"Grim, we can't afford the bougie tuna. Put it back."

You'd missed it before when you were loading your basket at Sam's shop, but Grim had snuck in the expensive tuna. Now you were at the counter, trying to hide your embarrassment as you told Grim to put it back. Sam gave you a sympathetic smile, but still. You didn't need to add his pity to your plate of worries.

"Prefect, don't worry about it. I can take care of it."

You jumped. You hadn't realized Ruggie had lined up behind you with his own basket full of stuff.

"Yeah! Let Ruggie-"

"I couldn't do that, Ruggie, but thanks for the offer."

Ruggie grinned, "oh please, it's on Leona. He said I could get whatever I want as long as I come back with his energy drinks."

You made an unconvinced face, and Ruggie gave a playful wink.

"Trust me, your tuna won't even make a dent in his wallet. I could pay for your entire load, and still be able to pay off my student loans. In fact," he slapped down Leona's wallet, "Sam, add Y/N's groceries to mine, I'll take care of it."

Before you could protest further, Sam was ringing you both up.

And then Grim got an idea. A terribly, wonderful, awful idea.

"There, all settled. Plus now you can afford to fix your windows this month, or…." He looked at the cash in your hand, "well you can fix one window at least. And don't feel too bad for Leona. Eat the rich and what not," Ruggie patted your back comfortingly then left with his groceries.

"C'mon Grimmy, let's go," you said with a heavy sigh.

"Actually, I have something to do, Henchhuman. You go on home, I'll see ya later."

"Okay, but if you need me…."

"I'll be okay! Geeze you get so anxious without the great Grim. It's embarrassing."

You rolled your eyes and left. You would be so proud of him once he had finished though. He was excited already.

Heartslaybul Dorm….

"Mr. Rosehearts. Thank you for meeting with me."

Grim primly took out his pen and began to scribble on a clipboard.

"I didn't meet with you. You barged into my office," Riddle said, his arms crossed along his chest.

"I think you will find this meeting beneficial. It pertains to Y/N L/N."

Riddle relaxed a little, and raised a single curious eyebrow.

"You see, It has come to my attention, that Y/N and I do not have the funds to live comfortably. In fact, Y/N is practically starving to death! It has also come to my attention that you harbor some feelings for the prefect, and are in possession of a great deal of funds. Now," Grim dramatically looked up at Riddle, who's face was a shade of dark red. "How do you intend to provide for Y/N?"

Riddle opened his mouth, and Grim prepared himself for the worst, but…

"Wait, Y/N's on the market?!?!!"

Grim turned over his shoulder just in time to see Cater run in, tea tray in hand.

"He's only taking applications from rich people."

"Not a concern, housewarden!" Cater cleared his throat. "Hi, I'm Cater Diamond, and my dad is a banker."

"Oh!" Grim made a note on his paper. Riddle stood up abruptly.

"You only talk to your family on holidays, I wouldn't call that a solid source of income-"

"Yes but I'm a people pleaser, so I'll probably follow in his footsteps. So I will also have a banker's salary."

Riddle turned to Grim in a panic.

"I'm going to be a doctor!"

"Oh!" Scribble scribble.

"Oh please!" Cater rolled his eyes before conspiratorially leaning into Grim. "We both know Riddle. He'll work long shifts, day in and day out, and he'll never come home. Meaning poor Y/N will be trapped in a lonely loveless marriage. Meanwhile, I'll work my nine to five, and be home in time to gift you tuna, and keep Y/N warm at night."

"You think Grim cares about that?" Riddle shoved Cater out of the way. "I'll make time for Y/N. Plus my salary will provide double the tuna for you."

"What's all the yelling about?" Trey entered the room, followed by Ace and Deuce.

"Don't look at them, those three are poor as fuck. I mean a baker? Blech, disgusting," Cater apologetically smiled at Trey. "No offense."

"What?" Trey said, feeling more confused than he ever had been.

Grim clicked his pen closed.

"Thank you for your time. I have more interviews to conduct, but I will be in contact if you get through to the second round."

He scampered out of the room as Riddle and Cater nodded after him.

Savannaclaw Dorm….

Grim sat at the foot of Leona's bed as he tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"How can I provide for Y/N, huh? You mean the little demonstration Ruggie gave this morning wasn't enough?"

Grim tapped the pen impatiently against the clipboard.

"Mr. Kingscholar, it is important that you participate fully, or I will remove you from the list entirely."

Leona groaned.

"I receive a….certain amount of, shall we say, an allowance."

"And how much can I expect from that? I have a lot of people to interview. Please don't waste my time."

Leona looked over at Ruggie, who was folding laundry, then gestured Grim closer, before whispering a number into his ear.

Grim gasped, then hastily scribbled something onto his clipboard.

"We will be in contact with you when the second round of interviews begins." Grim stood up and hopped off the bed.

"Ruggie," Leona snapped, "Ensure my future relative makes it out of here safely. Let no one stop you."

Ruggie nodded in understanding as he escorted a proud looking Grim out.

Once they were halfway through the dorm, Ruggie began to speak.

"Leona has promised me a job with an excellent salary once I graduate. Just sayin."

"Won't he just take back the job if he finds out you're competing with him?"

Ruggie rolled his eyes, "Nevermind."

Jack left his room, and noticed the two of them, and began to walk towards them.

"Jack will make you get a job if you pick him," Ruggie whispered hastily. Grim hissed and sprinted the rest of the way out of the dorm.

"What's wrong with Grim?" Jack asked.

"Shi hi hi who knows?"

As Grim made his way to his second location, he was picked up by the scruff of his neck.

"Hey! What's the big idea?!?!?"

"Aw little sealie you're so cute!"

Grim stiffened.

"Fu fu fu," Jade laughed next to him. "our boss would like to have a word with you."

Grim gulped.

Octavinelle Dorm….

"Thank you for agreeing to see me," Azul said smugly.

"I didn't. Your scary twins picked me up and dragged me here."

"You see," Azul pushed his glasses up his nose, expertly ignoring Grim, "We got word that you were interviewing potential candidates for Y/N's future husband. I prepared some charts for you."

Azul pulled out several charts. Grim understood exactly zero of them. But he nodded thoughtfully and pretended to make a note on his clipboard.

"As you can see, my income is projected to continually go up until retirement. Plus my assets will continue to be of value, and my investments will be bringing in money for many years to come. I can safely say, money is no object. Plus, I am an excellent cook. You will never have to eat poor person's tuna ever again."

Grim made a real note this time just as the twins roughly turned his chair around.

"Now that Azul has had his turn, we would like to give our pitch," Jade said with an eerie grin. 

"You see, our parents run a certain…. organization," Floyd and Jade shared a grin before turning to Grim again. "Jade and I are the sole inheritors of this empire when they pass. Just keep that in mind."

"Also, people who oppose this organization have a tendency to, shall we say, disappear."

Grim shivered as he made a skull and crossbones picture on his clipboard.

"Awesome. Great. I'll be taking Grim now…."

"Sea Snake!" Floyd shouted, wrapping his arms around Jamil, who had silently snuck into the room. 

"Let go," Jamil hissed, wriggling away from Floyd. "Give me the cat."

"Aw, but we were playing with him…."

"It's alright Floyd. I think the three of us have made our point quite clear," Jade hummed, before the octotrio shared a laugh.

Jamil rolled his eyes before carefully picking up Grim.

Scarabia Dorm….

"Look, Kalim isn't going to brag for himself so I thought I'd bring you here and remind you that this entire dorm was funded by his family. And he will be inheriting said funds."

Grim nodded and made a note.

"What about you? I mean, I already know you aren't getting picked cause, well, " Grim pointedly looked him up and down. "But the other broke losers have tried to participate."

Jamil leaned down and gave a dark smile.

"I don't need money to win over Y/N," eyes flashing red as he spoke.

"Monsieur Fuzzball!" 

Grim and Jamil both groaned. It only took two seconds for him to be scooped up by the hunter.

"Non, non, do not struggle. I only wish to prove myself as a proper caretaker!"

Pomefiore Dorm…

Grim had never been so pampered, well fed, and relaxed in his entire life. Rook had provided snacks galore, given Grim the full on spa treatment, brushed out his fur, and was now massaging his sore kitty back.

"Monsieur Fuzzball, doesn't this feel wonderful?"

Grim nodded as Rook continued his massage.

"Just think, you could have this everyday!"

Grim groaned happily as Rook hit a tough knot.

Suddenly, Rook's voice was directly in his ear.

"All you have to do is give me the Trickster."

In that moment, Grim knew he would sell you for this life without a second thought.

But before he could do that…

"For heaven's sake I told you to find Epel, not this rodent!"

Rook immediately stopped the massage, to turn to his Queen.

"Roi du poison! I was simply-"

"Spare me," Vil snapped, before handing a struggling Epel over to Rook. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, gracefully handing it to Grim between two fingers. 

"I believe you are aware of my financial situation, but should you have questions, you can reach my manager on that card."

Then he left the room with a flourish, and the lingering scent of apple blossoms.

"You know I am willing to share the trickster with you," Rook whispered to Vil in the hallway.

"Ew," Epel groaned.

"As if I'd ever share," Vil smirked.

Outside the Ignihyde Dorm…

Ortho stood next to the tablet, holding Grin up so he could see what it said.

"So as  you can see from my bank account," Idia's voice said from the tablet, "Money is not and never will be an issue."

"It all looks good," Grim muttered as he made a note, "but I have to say it's a red flag that you couldn't come here in person…"

"Hey! Big brother is just busy with his experiment!"

"Yeah, exactly, thank you Ortho, for being the only one who appreciates genius. In fact this conversation is over. If he doesn't get it, then that's his loss. Ditch the noob, Ortho!" And the tablet floated back into the dorm.

Ortho gently set Grim down. "Look, big brother gets nervous around the prefect, that's all. But I think they'd make a great couple."

He gently patted Grim's head, then floated back in. Grim sighed, made a note about how Idia was a package deal, then continued to the final dorm.

Diasomnia Dorm…

"Small kitten, I am to be king of a country. Not only that, but I have spent centuries curating my hoard. Our nest will be always warm, and my perfect child of man will want for nothing," Malleus finished with a smug grin, as he leaned back in his throne. Then he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Now you three can make your offers, or whatever."

"Me next! Me next!" Lilia said, cradling Grim like a baby. "I'm not as young as I look, and am on the best of terms with the queen and future king. I also have a great fortune built up! Kay, who's next?"

Silver timidly raised his hand.

"I just want to say, what about what Y/N wants? What if Y/N doesn't like any of us? What if Y/N doesn't even want to get married in the end? Or maybe they'll be just as happy with or without money?"

There was a long pause. Then…

"Silver's father is loaded and will do anything to see his children married and happy!"

"Fa-Lilia!" Silver hid his face in his hands in embarrassment.

"Same with Sebek. And his dad's a dentist!"

For once Sebek had nothing to say.

"Excellent, this looks very promising for you four," Grim nodded scribbling his final notes, "Now to-"

"GRIM!" 

Uh oh. He turned around and saw you storming in.

"Child of man!"

"Save it Mal Mal! I'm here for my rat," You scooped up Grim, placing him under your arm as you left the room.

"When will we hear about the second round of interviews?" Lilia giggled.

You answered by flipping them the middle finger without looking back.

The Hallway….

"What the hell, Grim? I'm not for sale!"

"I'm not selling you! I'm just trying to get you provided for!"

"Please! This is about tuna and you know it!"

"Who even told you?"

"Jack called me about an-"

"Ah! Prefect!" 

You and Grim groaned as you heard Crowley call to you both.

"Yes, headmage?" You asked through gritted teeth. You turned and saw Crewel was with him….wearing a bigger coat than normal.

"That coat looks so soft," Grim muttered.

"Yeah," you whispered back. "Wait, headmage, what do you need?"

"I heard your current allowance is no longer sufficient," he gently traced your jawline, settling below your chin, tapping up against it thoughtfully. "How does a little extra sound?"

You nodded dumbly.

"Good good, I'm too generous, I know," he hummed and walked off.

Before Crewel followed him, he smirked and patted the top of your head.  

"Good pup."

He stalked off. You stood frozen for a moment. Grim smirked up at you.

"You know, they look like they…."

"You keep that thought to yourself, Grim."

....

Tag list-@shytastemakerthing @stygianoir @leonia0 @lleoll @eccedentesiast-sapphic

[neptuneiris]

Behind the Scenes (03/05)

Behind the Negotiation

pairing: actor!aemond × fem!reader

summary: knowing that you can't run away from your past forever, you receive unexpected visitors in your home that make you fear for your son's future.

word counter: 8.9k

previous part • next part • series masterlist

warnings: angst, arguments, language,mention of abortion.

guys, I'm sorry for the delay, with this chapter a lot of unexpected things came across my way, but I've finally finished it and I'm satisfied with the result, although I'm not sure if you will like it, it might bore you but I don't know, please let me know :)

without more to say, enjoy it and thanks for all the support, really! let me know your comments too, I'll be waiting for them!

You still remember it all too well.

You remember how you accepted Aemond's terms, the terms of his agent Criston and also of his entire team.

You agreed to keep the existence of your child a secret, to hide in the shadows with him and to keep a low profile until it was "safe" for Aemond's career to publicly and legally acknowledge the baby.

But you only accepted to take that worry off everyone's mind and especially his, so you could run away. Although the reality is that you were scared.

At first, Aemond's power, influence and connections kept you paralyzed, thinking about the consequences of breaking all ties with him.

And running away from him, disappearing from his life along with your son was a decision you had to make carefully and then had to live with in fear and dread of being found someday.

And the fear of possible legal reprisals for your escape and uncertainty about the consequences were present at every turn. But you did everything to live in freedom, not to destroy Aemond's career and to protect your son from all public exposure.

You always knew that Aemond with his celebrity status possesses power, not only in the entertainment industry, but also in the media and social sphere, that was obvious, just like any other celebrity.

So finding you could be as easy as snapping his fingers.

So to prevent Aemond from tracking your movements so he could find you, you began by discarding any means of transportation that could be easily monitored or tracked.

You avoided airports and bus terminals, opting instead for small train stations and local buses, always paying with cash. You left King's Landing and the entire state, going all the way to the Iron Islands.

In Pike, with the money you had left over, you were able to rent a room to yourself in a cheap hotel, then quickly began to look around for a job in the surrounding area in search of an opportunity that could provide you with support and stability.

You knew you couldn't get a job like the one you had before, on a recording set with a big salary. So downtown, you found a job at a beauty salon.

Not only does she own a beauty salon, she also owns a few small apartments in the city and offered you one of them at a lower price, considering you were just starting out with a new job.

The owner of the place, Becca Waters, a kind and understanding woman, saw potential and also the need in you.

Knowing your condition and that you practically came to live in a place where you knew nothing and no one, she also offered you a place to live and be safe.

Mrs. Waters became a fundamental support for you, providing guidance, encouragement, flexibility and stability in your financial need and also in your pregnancy.

With her you felt completely safe and supported at a time when you needed it most. After all you had gone through to get here, leaving your life behind and pregnant, she was your reward.

But still nothing was easy after that.

Your pregnancy process was a roller coaster of emotions, challenges and moments. Facing motherhood as a single mom was an overwhelming reality.

On the one hand, even though the baby was unplanned, you were excited to know that you would soon be holding him in your arms, but on the other hand, you also felt fear and anxiety at the responsibility of raising a child alone with no knowledge of anything really.

The first few months of pregnancy were especially difficult.

You experienced pain, symptoms and discomforts that you had no idea about and had to endure, as well as a slight state of depression and anxiety about dealing with all of this on your own.

But through it all, Becca was your pillar of support at all times, who became your confidant, giving you comfort and encouragement in difficult times. And she was the one who helped you throughout your pregnancy and also the one who was by your side when you gave birth to your child.

And even though you didn't want to, being in a very vulnerable state, you couldn't help but feel lonely and miss Aemond, just as you missed everything you once used to be.

But remembering everything that happened the last time you saw him, even though the feeling disappeared, you also couldn't help but start crying.

And to protect yourself emotionally, you decided to stay away from news about Aemond.

You avoided social media and any content that could remind you of your past with him. Your determination was great to be able to raise your child alone, without relying on Aemond's presence or acknowledgement.

And the day your son finally came into the world, it was a moment of joy and wonder that could not be compared to any other moment in life, filling your heart with indescribable happiness.

However, the birth also brought with it a torrent of new worries and challenges.

Childbirth was exhausting and intense. Nothing you've ever experienced before. And in the days that followed, the constant care of the newborn, the lack of sleep and the adjustment to your new life were heavy challenges that pushed you to the limit many times.

But in spite of that, every smile, every little gesture of your son filled your world with immense love, as well as Mrs. James' help in guiding you in practical aspects of motherhood increased your unwavering determination to go forward for him, being your driving force.

Although also the arrival of your son into the world increased your fear in you.

The fear that Aemond and his team might find you and take your son away from you was a constant worry. But despite this, there were moments of uncertainty when you thought too much about it.

You wondered why Aemond would bother looking for you and your child. Clearly the baby was a risk to his career and he didn't even want to support you from the start, only accepting it later because that was your decision.

You knew he wouldn't but you were still afraid.

Would Aemond really seek you out after he initially supported the idea of abortion?

Would he really seek you out after he supported your decision even if he didn't want to but in the shadows, avoiding any public acknowledgement and hiding you and your son?

But just when you had gotten used to it, had found stability with a job and a permanent refuge in the beauty salon with Mrs. Waters, a few months after the birth of your son, Mrs. Waters was forced to close the salon due to unforeseen financial problems.

That place that had been your refuge and where you found support and friendship, suddenly disappeared, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness, uncertainty and nostalgia.

Mrs. Waters would have to leave town and although you didn't want to, you also decided to do the same, convinced that you would be safer with your son in a place you knew well, avoiding at all times the places you used to go with Aemond and where you knew you could meet him.

So after looking for a job, with your resume and previous excellent references, in the city where the entire film industry resides, you got a job as a makeup artist in a different recording studio than the one you had worked in before.

There was no way you could meet Aemond, or so you thought.

Previously the TV network was BBC, now it was HBO for whom you would be working on a new TV show, so you really had nothing to worry about, especially since the pay was very good and you could survive just fine on that for you and your child.

But right on your first day of work, life decided to surprise you.

And now you are here, in your new apartment where you were planning to live temporarily until you find a better one, but now with you running away on your first day it means definite dismissal for sure, so you have no idea how you are going to pay for a better one or how you are going to pay for this one next month so you won't get kicked to the street.

But you can't even think straight as you are still shaking, your emotions are running high, you have no idea what really happened, it was all very fast between talking and remembering the past.

And the only thing that gives you some peace in the midst of your own thoughts and everything you're feeling, are the sounds of Aenar's toys and babbling in the living room, playing on the floor and touching everything he can.

His silver hair shines from the sunlight coming through the windows and he giggles as his colorful toys bump into each other, showing a world of happiness and innocent curiosity, completely filling your heart but you still feel that sharp ache in your chest.

You move towards him with a soft sigh and take a seat next to him, keeping a small genuine smile on your lips but with some melancholy, when he starts showing you all his toys and asks you between babbling and giggles to play with him.

You move the toys back and forth, ask him questions in honeyed tones and he laughs, making you laugh too, but you continue with the tumult of your overwhelming thoughts.

You think about what you will do now, that you should probably look for a job at a new beauty salon, which is what you should have done as soon as you got back, find a subtle job instead of going back to what you were doing before so suddenly.

However the paycheck was what made you take it and you need it too much, so you'll have to look for other alternatives.

You find yourself thinking about it when you suddenly hear the sound of the door completely interrupting your thoughts and also your game with Aenar.

You look towards the entrance, confused, with a strange feeling growing in your chest, immediately giving you a bad feeling. For who would come knocking at your door?

No one knows you're back… except Aemond.

Oh Gods.

The thought makes you paralyzed, feeling your whole body tense up, your heart starts beating fast and fear invades you completely.

Could it be him?

You wonder, struggling to stay calm, even though there's no way he could have figured out so quickly where you're living.

Or has he?

The thought leaves you completely paralyzed, with a mixture of anxiety and fear flowing inside you.

The knocking on the door becomes more insistent and you carefully get up and leave Aenar still amused in his game on the floor, then walk towards the door feeling a lump in your throat and a growing uneasiness.

You reach for the doorknob and as you turn it to open, your heart skips a beat when you find Aemond's agent standing in front of you, Criston Cole.

A trace of surprise and confusion flashes across your face, feeling your body tighten further and the fear linger.

How did he know where you were?

What is he doing here?

Criston returns you a serious but understanding look, beginning to feel the tension between the two of you, while you feel the fear invade you again because of the old memories and being him one of the main reasons why you decided to run away.

His mere presence triggers a series of emotions that take you by surprise. With no trace of Aemond or anyone else around you, yet your mind races.

Nervousness invades every fiber of your being, while your heart beats faster and stronger than usual. A sense of discomfort invades you and you also feel alert, afraid, unable to control it.

"Y/N."

He pronounces your name with a slight nod. His tone tries to be reassuring, but confusion and bewilderment wash over you.

You say nothing for a few seconds, feeling unable to speak and unable to formulate any words, barely trying at that moment to process the situation. Anxiety creeps through your chest, as he gives you and respects your space, aware of your unease.

"I understand that you're surprised by my visit and I don't want to make you uncomfortable, I really don't. But we need to talk."

The confusion inside you increases and so does the fear, to watch him completely bewildered and on the verge of collapse.

"H-how—

You try to ask with your voice cracking in the midst of all your emotions, but he interrupts you in response, knowing what you're going to ask.

"My team," he lets you know, "They handled finding you."

He tells you seriously and with that touch of professionalism in his tone, but his response only surprises and puzzles you more, to which Criston notices.

You feel the questions pile up in your head, but you barely manage to articulate a word, besides all the emotions you're feeling, fear mainly.

"Aemond informed us of your return," he adds, "After he didn't find you again, he asked us to look for you," he tells you calmly, trying to make his eyes convey an attempt at empathy for you.

But you don't believe that one bit. Not after what happened the last time you saw him and his entire team.

You feel a surge of vulnerability wash over you, leaving you suddenly helpless before him. You don't have the slightest idea how you will be able to cope with that situation, how to get away from them again now that they have found you, especially him.

"What have you really come for?" you question, not hiding your distrust.

Criston keeps a serene attitude and look, seeking to soften the tension, but notices your demeanor and posture, of fear and alertness altogether.

"Just to talk," he tells you softly, "Believe me the last thing I want and Aemond too is to cause you trouble. We just want to talk and nothing more," he explains, but you are having none of it, "He was going to come himself, but he had to film some scenes. But he'll come as soon as he can."

This just adds more weight to the anxiety and nervousness you're already feeling, so it triggers an alert in you that makes you feel completely freaked out, definitely not wanting that.

"No," you try to retort with a firm tone, but your vulnerability shows in your trembling voice and nervous expression, "Please leave."

Concern flashes across Criston's face for an instant, unconsciously taking a step towards you.

"Y/N–

"Please," you plead, "Just go away and don't come back, none of you, not even him."

"Y/N, please, just let me—

"No," you interrupt him again, more desperate than before, "Please," you repeat.

The atmosphere is filled with a silence full of tension, where your words, full of desperation and longing to get away from the situation, float in the air, also asking for urgent distance and tranquility.

And Criston lets out a sigh.

"Just a few minutes," he says, struggling to find some control in the situation, "Just-let us talk to you, Aemond and me."

"If it's to talk about his career and his son, I'm not interested," you say firmly, but your trembling voice gives away your emotions, "We've talked about that before," you say with some bitterness and sadness in your tone, "You can go now. I don't plan on staying anyway."

Without having let go of the door frame, you try to close the door, ending all of this, but he instantly speaks again, stopping you.

"Please Y/N, Aemond is very worried and wishes to speak with you," he insists, "He hasn't been the same since you left, you should know that," he adds in a persuasive tone.

You let out a snort in disbelief and with some bitterness, as you look away from his gaze for a moment.

"I highly doubt that."

"Y/N—

The sound of Aenar's innocent laughter while playing with his toys catches Criston's attention, stopping his words, who unconsciously catches a glimpse inside your living room where Aenar is playing and also catches a glimpse of his small figure on the floor with his characteristic silver hair.

This immediately triggers your concern and increases your protective mode and you quickly close the door a little behind you, blocking his view, while your heart is pounding.

This is what you meant.

You don't want anything bad to happen to your son, in any way. And you will do anything to protect him, because they decided everything except to protect you and now you will not allow them to intervene in your son's life now that they know he is here.

"Y/N," he calls to you in a softer voice, watching you completely intently and desperately asking you with his gaze for a moment.

"Please don't," you plead with him, at the point of collapsing from worry and frustration.

Again you enter the apartment as you hold the door frame tightly to close it, but Criston stops you again.

"You must understand the gravity of what happened," he tells you seriously, "Your disappearance put Aemond's relationship with his son in danger. There are legal implications for you to consider, such as custody," he says and your heart flips, "I can explain all of this to you and resolve it in the best way possible," he looks at you in insistence, "But only if you let me in so we can talk."

And there they are again. Your greatest fears.

The word 'custody' repeats over and over in your mind, like a loop, causing you greater fear, worry and pressure than before, the gravity of the situation and the looming legal implications being clear.

The air weighs on you, heavy with uncertainty and intense tension, as well as you are overcome with the urge to cry because of your doubts and fear.

"Wh-what-" you try to speak in a whisper, your voice cracking and your heart in a fist, "Custody?" you repeat under your breath.

Criston watches you with some pity and understanding, then lowers his gaze, lets out a sigh and watches you with that sympathy and also a little expectant.

"May I come in?"

Try one more time and maybe it's because of his words that your mind is in a state of alarm that makes you recognize that you can't run away again or else things will get worse. And you don't want that. You are afraid for yourself and Aenar.

Feeling more of your anxiety, you finally allow him to enter and Criston at this thanks you with his gaze and moves carefully, noticing your visible discomfort and also your fear, not wanting to alter you any further with absolutely nothing.

And once the door closes, you immediately stand in front of Aenar with a weak and vulnerable posture trying to look strong, this catching his attention and feeling something warm in his chest at the presence of the little one.

But he also knows exactly why you react this way and he doesn't blame you for it, much less does it bother him because he understands you.

"I'm very honest when I tell you that we really don't want to create more trouble, Y/N," he tells you in a soft tone, "Aemond…. he really is very worried. And since he is my client, we don't want any legal implications or further conflict."

You try to keep your composure, but your thoughts are a storm of confused emotions. The very idea of dealing with legal issues, especially regarding your son, is overwhelming to you.

"Why now?" you ask in a trembling voice, your gaze searching for answers, "All this… why?"

Criston exhales slowly, trying to find the right words.

"The situation has changed, basically since you left. Aemond was wrong at the time and I admit I was too, so now he's willing to acknowledge your son, in every way possible."

You can't help but look incredulous and bitter once again.

"It's already too late for that, don't you think?" you ask him in a bitter tone.

Criston looks down for a moment, his expression one of compassion and understanding towards your perspective.

"Yes, we know," he nods to you, "And that's why we're here, trying to keep all this from becoming a bigger problem. But please Y/N, understand that Aemond doesn't want to hurt you or cause you any more trouble than he's already caused."

"And until now you say that?" you inquire sad, worried, fearful and indignant, "That's what I needed to hear before when I was scared, because I was scared too Criston, not just Aemond," you let him know, with tears in the corners of your eyes, "But you treated me like a problem you needed to get rid of, you and him."

Criston listens to your words with a gesture in his eyes that reflects the heaviness of the situation, just as you see shame and regret wash over him, suddenly seeing him as the vulnerable one and you as the strong one compared to years ago, the roles reversing for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. We didn't mean to make you feel that way," he says in a regret-laden tone.

"Sorry doesn't change anything," you say, fighting back tears.

You watch him with your hard stare and sad eyes, feeling several tears fall down your cheeks, making you remember once again.

And once again without letting it drown you, you force yourself to push those memories away, all your moments of uncertainty, fear and pain, to brush your tears away from your cheeks with a strong look of determination.

"I will accept any legal consequences if there are any," you say suddenly, trying to keep your composure, "If there are legal actions, I'm willing to face them. But for now, I just want to be left alone, please."

"Y/N," Criston calls you cautiously, "I just want you to understand that we want to do the right thing now. And what we want to do is find a solution that works for you and for Aemond regarding him," he points to Aenar with his gaze behind you, "Something that guarantees your privacy while not damaging his public image."

Then all the effect of his words completely disappear on you.

You feel a surge of frustration, annoyance and despair at the realization that still the main concern remains Aemond's career.

"Do you still think about his career?" you ask with disappointment and resentment in your tone.

"Y/N—

"The most important thing here is my son," you stand strong, "But he seems to be only one aspect of Aemond's image, doesn't he?"

"Even after all this time that has passed, Aemond's career is more successful and even promising than before, that is something that neither you, him nor I should forget, let alone ignore," he tries to explain to you, "Aemond wants to fix things but his career must also be contemplated, please understand this Y/N."

"Then why do you say you want to do things the right way now if that is not true?" you inquire.

"Yes it is true," he clarifies, "But within all of this, his career must still be contemplated."

You shake your head in disbelief, unable to believe it.

"You say a lot of things Criston, but it's clear what matters most to you," you say with no emotion in your voice, "And sure, why shouldn't his career matter most to you? After all… you don't know what it's like to get pregnant, without support and go through the whole process by yourself, and then raise a child on your own, without the support of his father."

"I don't mean to—

"Please go away," you plead once more and this again alerts him.

"Y/N—

He tries to speak but the sound of the door echoes throughout the living room, drawing your full attention and Criston's as well.

The atmosphere again becomes heavier than before, as well as all your confidence disappears, already knowing who it is and you are confirmed by the fact that the person behind the door knocks more insistently, sounding desperate.

With your fearful gaze and your whole body tense, you quickly move towards Aenar, who is still playing completely oblivious to everything that is happening on the floor and you take him in your arms with haste but also care.

You hold him tightly against your body, as a way to protect him from everything outside and also from all people especially while trying to contain all your emotions.

And Criston, who also knows who it is, rushes to the door to open it.

And there on the doorway, the figure of Aemond comes into view, with all the desperation and longing in his gaze, the worry and anguish too, as you muster the courage to be able to look him in the eye again, holding Aenar a little more firmly against your chest.

But your son's body is visible to the eye and that's what makes Aemond completely paralyzed at the sight of you with his son in your arms.

Surprise is completely reflected in his whole look, immediately followed by a bunch of emotions that start to pile up in his whole being and want to come out, as he feels his whole body tense up and a feeling in his stomach invades him.

This leaves him and you in a state of momentary restlessness, where time seems to stand still and the silence is too loud. You, with your gaze fixed on him, try to keep your composure with a mixture of fear, insecurity and some determination to protect your son at all costs.

It didn't take long for Aemond's surprise to turn into a moment of awe and a surge of overwhelming emotions. The mere sight of you with his child in your arms triggers disbelief, pent-up longing and a feeling of suppressed joy.

"Y/N," Aemond calls your name in a whisper, his tone laden with surprise and visible regret, where his gaze can't tear away from you and Aenar.

You say nothing, just watch him back without saying anything, with all your emotions reflecting in your eyes.

The moment is just the three of you, so Criston turns away completely, not interfering and saying absolutely nothing, while you continue in your protective mode and Aemond is still processing this whole moment.

With excitement clashing against the surprise in his eyes, he tries to process the reality of having his son before him for the first time.

He searches for the right words to speak, but his stuck mind won't let him, nor will the lump in his throat and stomach as he continues to watch the scene in front of him; you with his son in your arms.

He tries to say something, but his lips barely half open and the words won't come out, feeling his heart beating too fast and hard.

And you with your gaze full of expectation, fear and caution, Aemond finally looks at you again, aware of all the emotional charge you feel, just like him, as well as your fear and distrust after everything that happened.

"C-can… can I come closer?"

He finally asks cautiously, his voice with a tone of longing and nervousness barely contained.

You hesitate at that moment.

Feeling the weight of the situation and the emotions that are triggered at that moment, despite everything, you feel very vulnerable and you also feel his vulnerability, also that longing to touch Aenar and hold him.

And despite the way he acted with you almost two years ago and also the way Criston and all his team treated you, you don't feel able to be as cruel as they were with you back then.

You don't want to be like them and also aware that this day would come sooner or later, you watch Aenar for a moment, leave a soft kiss on his forehead and again watch Aemond, then nod in his direction with a barely perceptible gesture.

You allow Aemond your closeness and he with extreme care begins to approach you slowly, as if fearing that a sudden movement could fade the magical and longing moment.

Aemond's heartbeat echoes in your ears as he finally stands in front of your son.

Aenar, completely oblivious to everything, senses the nearness of someone else and raises his curious gaze to Aemond, watching him with those bright blue eyes.

And upon seeing that man with the same hair color as his own, his eyes light up with a gleam of curiosity, lightly waving his arms and also his body.

With his teary eye, he watches you for a moment, to again focus on Aenar and with a mixture of excitement and awe, he extends one of his trembling hands towards his small, delicate face.

And when the touch of his fingers against his soft skin of his cheek makes itself felt, Aemond feels an unfamiliar sensation invade him completely.

A sad but honest smile full of melancholy appears on his lips as he gently and carefully traces his face, running his hand up to his silver hair, gazing intently into those blue eyes just like his own as Aenar watches him with that playful innocence but also just as curious as his own.

You, unsure of exactly what to feel or think, watch as he carefully reaches out both arms and begins to hold his body, feeling the warmth and weight of his small body now resting in his arms.

That unfamiliar, overwhelming feeling from before comes over him even more strongly as he holds his son for the first time, when Aenar lifts one of his hands and touches his left cheek, where his scar is.

The emotion makes his breath hitch as he struggles to hold back the tears of restrained happiness that will come at any moment.

It was a moment he had imagined countless times, but had never believed possible until this instant.

Aenar, captivated by the newness and warmth in the arms of Aemond, his father, laughs innocently, his eyes dazzling a happiness as he notices the familiarity in that new face above him. And at his gesture, Aemond lets out a choked laugh, completely captivated by him.

And unable to contain himself any longer, the first sob escapes his throat and the tears fall, instantly pulling his son's face to his chest, embracing him with gentleness and that security that makes him feel so vulnerable when Aenar settles perfectly in his arms.

Guilt, sadness, joy, emotion, everything invades him in that moment.

And he lets out more tears for the comfort that Aenar gives him in his arms, that feeling of protection and even… love, that makes him feel even more vulnerable.

And you are still there, close to them but giving Aemond his space, watching everything attentively with your heart in a fist and feeling sensations you had not felt before at the scene, with tears also wanting to slide down your cheeks.

After a few more seconds, Aemond slurps his nose and looks over Aenar's small shoulder at you with all the vulnerability in his gaze.

"I-I know I don't deserve this," he says with his voice cracking, trying to control himself but he can't.

And he is about to say something else but you watching his expression, a mixture of regret and deep sadness, you step forward to speak.

"In spite of everything, he deserves to know his father," you murmur with your trembling voice and teary eyes, "Aenar deserves this," you assure him, accepting it as you watch the scene of the two of them.

Aemond nods, unable to articulate words, still feeling the lump in his throat, his face reflecting pain, regret and a sadness you have never seen in him before, as his tears continue to fall as he embraces his son.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, unable to contain the emotion, turning to him and to you. "I'm so sorry. I-I didn't know how to face it…how to be there."

Silence again settles throughout the apartment, only being filled by Aemond's soft crying, as you silently weep and continue to watch the two of them.

A few minutes have passed since Aemond and your son met for the first time.

Aenar laughs with delight as Aemond plays with him with one of his toys. They are both immersed in a little world of fun where it's just the two of them, surrounded by Legos blocks, small plastic cars and puppets.

You watch everything, or almost everything, without interfering and giving them both their space, watching your son enjoy a special moment that on another occasion, could have been a daily routine with a different life.

Criston doesn't say or do anything either, he at all times stands in the corner watching the whole interaction, letting Aemond have his moment with his son, genuinely feeling happy for him.

And even though the scene makes you feel warm in your heart, being a scene you longed for before, you still still feel insecure, afraid and overwhelmed by this whole situation.

This doesn't really change anything. You have only given Aemond the opportunity to meet his son because your son deserves it, nothing more.

Inside you are still just as scared and in expectation that at any moment this whole 'beautiful' moment will fade away. And that's exactly what happens when you hear Criston's voice all over the living room.

"I wouldn't want to ruin the moment, truly," he says seriously and honestly, "But it's important that we talk about all this so we can resolve it properly."

This immediately catches your attention and also Aemond's, with whom you exchange a quick glance, again feeling your whole body tremble and out of the same nervousness you are overcome with the impulse to take your son in your arms to feel safe.

"It is important that we talk about the child, about what you are going to do now," he turns to Aemond, "Custody is important and all that goes with it."

"I don't understand why you keep talking about custody," you look at him nervously and annoyed, "I alone have cared for and raised Aenar all this time."

"I know this is complicated and sudden, Y/N," Criston tells you, "But we need to approach this whole thing responsibly."

"Responsibility?" you repeat incredulously, "What responsibility are you exactly talking about?"

"Y/N," Aemond immediately interjects, "Listen to me, please," he gets up from the floor leaving Aenar playing alone and walks towards you, "It's not my intention to take our son away from you, truly. But we must make sure we have legal rights to be in his life," he explains to you, "You were the one who ran away, who disappeared without a word. I didn't know what happened to you."

You look at him uncomprehendingly, with your hurt and desperate gaze.

"You talk about custody and rights when in the beginning that was the last thing on your mind, Aemond," you observe him incredulously, "And you keep reproaching me for running away when you know perfectly well that I did it so I could live and so I wouldn't ruin your career, which was all you were thinking about."

Regret again invades Aemond's face, as the atmosphere becomes denser, full of mixed emotions where fear and anger resurfaces with everything else.

Any trace of calm and peace, has ceased to exist, only being perceived by Aenar, who continues oblivious and innocent to all this in his games.

"I-I…" Aemond tries to speak, "I'm sorry for everything, Y/N. But back then...

His sentence hangs in suspense, not knowing what else to say, trying to find the right words without wanting to generate more tension, but that's what he involuntarily does.

"Back then," you repeat, your emotions running high, "Back then you were too busy taking care of your public image, supporting the idea of an abortion without consulting me, then supporting the idea of hiding me and my child as if we were a problem, which in fact we were and as if it was my only option, leaving me with no alternatives," you express with frustration and pain marked in every word.

Regret remains in Aemond's facial expressions, looking visibly affected by your words, grief-stricken and with a regret throughout his body that affirms to him that you are absolutely right, each word being like a dagger straight to his heart.

"Y-you don't know how much I regret and blame myself for all of that, Y/N," he tells you with vulnerability in his tone, "And I know I don't deserve it, any of this, not even that you allowed me to meet him and that I'm now in the same place as him," he says with regret, "But I want to find a solution that works for both of us," he whispers sadly.

The room is again consumed by silence, except for the sound of Aenar's toy movements, which is what catches Aemond's attention for a moment to smile a little more melancholy.

The situation becomes increasingly complex as your emotions continue to run high between anger and sadness, with the memory of past times still latent, but also with the uncertainty of the future.

And Criston, trying to keep calm, intervenes again.

"I understand that you both have different perspectives on what happened. But now we need to think about the future, of your son," he says seriously, "It's not just about custody, it's about finding a way to strike a fair balance, but… thinking about your career too, Aemond."

You let out a disbelieving, ironic snort again, shaking your head.

"His career,'" you repeat with a bitter tone, your voice a mixture of sarcasm and disappointment.

Aemond, watching you sadly and remorsefully, speaks in a calm but regret-laden voice.

"I don't want you to look at this that way, Y/N—

"That's just the way I see it," you interrupt him, serious and sad, "This is exactly why I left. This is why when I saw you again, I decided to run away again," you say hurt, "Now that you've met him, you want to be in his life, but you still prefer to hide us. This kind of life is the one you wanted to give us at the beginning and now you still do too."

Your revelations Aemond had already heard, but at that moment, again that sharp pain in his chest becomes present, as well as guilt, remorse and regret at seeing your sad face with such honest words.

"All I want is to come to an agreement, Y/N, please—

"You're not going to hide us," you interrupt him firmly.

"Aemond," he calls him seriously.

"No, that's not my intention—

He insists desperately but Criston intervenes.

"Don't," Aemond interrupts him instantly, turning serious and with an annoyed expression towards him, "We can't hide the truth anymore, Criston. Things must change."

"Look, I understand that this is difficult for you," he begins in a serious and cautious tone, "But still, we must consider the consequences. There's a lot at stake here, your career," he reminds him, "You have numerous job offers. Your show on HBO is the most famous show on the platform and the most watched show on television so far. How do you think people are going to react when they find out about your son?"

The room sinks into another silence, as you watch him with your hard, sad face, frustration, annoyance and irritation inside you, watching as Criston continues to treat your son like he's a problem.

And it hurts you.

Because Aemond doesn't even say anything.

"We can find a way to handle all this without putting at risk everything you have achieved, Aemond. And if you get a share of the custody, your son will be under your protection without harming your image," he proposes with an insistent look, seeking his approval.

You look away again, completely incredulous and with helplessness all over you.

It's not Aemond, it's Criston.

It is he who continues to manipulate Aemond to prioritize his career over his son, so that everything revolves around public image and fame, diverting attention from the well-being of your son.

And what can you really do there?

He is his agent, the person who has positioned him where he is now, making him famous, relevant, telling him what roles to take in movies or TV shows that are going to ensure one more success to his career.

"If you listen to him…" you begin to say in his direction with a trembling but firm tone, "If you do what he tells you, I swear I won't care what I have to do, even go into debt to get a good lawyer," you warn, "I will fight for the custody of Aenar and when I get it, I assure you that you will never see him again, ever."

Your words slip from your lips with a determination that completely surprises Aemond, surprise and concern visible on his face, watching you hurt for a moment, his mind a complete mess.

But it is not he who speaks, but Criston who takes the floor once more.

"If that's what you want, Y/N… that's fine," he tells you seriously, his gaze cold and calculating. "But let me warn you, we're trying to come to an agreement—

"The two of you or you specifically?" you snap at him.

"That doesn't matter, Aemond is my client and my job is to secure and protect his career," he tells you seriously, "And if you'd rather take this to fighting for full custody of Aenar, then so be it," he nods at you, "But I assure you, you're going to end up losing."

"That's enough."

Finally, Aemond's voice rises from where he stands, aimed directly at Criston, with a serious, hard stare that reveals a newfound determination.

"We are talking about our son, an issue that concerns her and me, this has nothing to do with you," he declares, his tone firm and his posture defiant.

"Your career has to do with me," he clarifies to her also serious, "You must think about what you are going to sacrifice. Your future, your career, the opportunities that await you-

"I said that's enough," he spits back at her, serious and annoyed, watching him with a hard stare, taking Criston by surprise.

And before he can say anything else, there is another knock on the door, drawing your full attention and making you feel completely alert, especially when Criston is the one who again goes to open the door, as if he knows exactly who it is.

And as you open the door, just like that day, Aemond's publicist, an assistant and the PR people enter your apartment.

Surprise flashes all over your face, watching with your eyes wide open the unexpected arrival of that group of people, whose intentions are not good.

"Thank you for coming," Criston tells them as he closes the door behind him.

"Of course."

Their eyes flick to you for a moment and then focus on Aenar, watching them back with curiosity in their gaze, while you feel confusion and fear completely take over you.

Despair, fear, your future, Aenar, everything mixes together in a horrible way that makes you want to vomit, letting out a couple of tears to quickly turn to your son and hold him in your arm, turning your back to them and starting to cry silently.

And Aemond, seeing your reaction, equally as surprised as you, quickly turns to Criston, his gaze full of confusion and annoyance.

"What is this? Why have you called them?" he inquires with his voice full of restrained anger.

And Criston, unabashed and uncaring of his actions, responds with a calm but calculated determination.

"We are not going before a jury to settle this, Aemond, it will be a waste of time and she will cause us more trouble," he says regardless, "This is necessary for your career, to address this whole issue strategically to protect your image, whether she likes it or not."

Aemond's expression transforms to one of frustration and helplessness.

But before he can intervene, his entire team begins to act.

"We need to establish an immediate plan, now," Criston says.

"Will the strategy be to minimize the impact on the media?" asks the publicity man.

"No, I want it hidden," Criston clarifies, "The approach must be careful and calculated. The priority is Aemond's reputation and career."

"I suggest we limit the exposure of Y/N and the child in public."

"We could create an alternative narrative to deflect attention by highlighting Aemond's professional accomplishments and minimizing the focus on his personal life."

"This must be handled with discretion. We cannot allow this situation to interfere with Aemond's career opportunities," Criston says firmly.

And so your entire living room fills with the sound of all those voices, each voice contributing ideas to control the situation, the problems, Aenar and you.

The tension intensifies, as everyone meticulously plans how to run the public narrative, completely ignoring Aemond's and your personal needs and concerns.

Tears slip down your cheeks silently as you hug Aenar tightly to your chest. This instantly catches the attention of Aemond, who steps worriedly towards you, placing his hand on your shoulder, positioning himself in front of you, but you abruptly pull away from him, watching him with an expression of pain and anguish amidst your tears and suffering face.

"Y/N—

"Why are you doing this? Why are you allowing this?" you ask in your broken, desperate voice.

"No, I swear to you I had no idea that he—

"I left, Aemond," you remind him with your voice cracking, "I left to save your career. And everything was fine, with you and me, our lives," you sob, "Why did you ask Criston to find me? Why do you care and insist on saying you want to be in our lives, when your career is still the most important thing?"

Pain and confusion echo in your words, lingering in the mind of Aemond, who in his gaze reflects a mixture of guilt, bewilderment, pain and sadness.

But everything hurts him more the moment you turn away from him, with a defeated gesture, turning your back to him and your whole body trembling in fear, Aenar in your arms being what gives you strength not to fall apart at that moment.

"We can prepare official statements to control the leaking information to minimize any negative impact on his public reputation."

"Rest assured that we need to maintain full control of this situation. We cannot allow any details to slip out," Aemond hears Criston's voice.

And that's when something snaps inside him.

Every repressed feeling bursts out in a whirlwind of emotions that were fighting to get out, your worry, the anger at himself and the guilt that invades him.

Everything explodes and ignites into a fury that he can no longer contain, seeing your state, causing him anger and feeling completely guilty.

Because everything is in fact his fault.

So without waiting a second longer, he walks to the center of the living room and with a hard, serious, completely annoyed look on his face and with his jaw clenched, he acts.

"Get out of here, all of you, now!" he exclaims, instantly drawing everyone's attention and yours as well.

For an instant everyone watches him and nothing else, slightly surprised and expectant, Criston too, unmoving and doing nothing, causing you a wave of despair.

"I said everyone out!" he exclaims in a firm voice and his gaze full of determination.

And it's only then that one by one the team finally leaves your apartment, except for Criston.

"What are you doing?" he inquires with a touch of disbelief in his tone, challenging Aemond.

"You get out of here too."

He orders him annoyed and with irritation, his voice charged with a frustration that has already reached its limit.

"Aemond, this is important, you can't just—

"I need to talk to Y/N alone," he interrupts her with his tone in a mixture of anger and determination, "I'm warning you, Criston. If you ever do anything else again without consulting me and interfering with this, I'm going to seriously consider firing you, which is what I should have done long ago," he shoots back at him with his defiant stare.

The pulse of the room beats with unbearable intensity as Aemond and Criston hold a duel of intense stares. However, in the face of Aemond's firmness, Criston finally resigns himself with a serious, annoyed look, full of frustration and resignation.

And finally he heads for the door, his footsteps sounding in the room as he leaves the apartment.

Aemond watches him leave with a mixture of relief and exhaustion, no longer feeling his shoulders tense. The silence expands once more as soon as the door closes and he turns to you with a gaze filled with a quiet, worried intensity.

The silence lingers for a few moments longer, a dense atmosphere charged with unspoken emotions. When he takes a step toward you, hesitantly.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice ringing with sincerity and regret, "What happened, my insistence… none of this was my intention, much less to cause you pain and hurt you," he admits with his vulnerability again reflected.

And even though it's just you and him in your apartment, your fear lingers.

"P-please don't take my son from me," you plead between sobs, your voice filled with anguish and fear.

Aemond's heart contracts in suffering and worry at your words, his gaze instantly reflecting it.

"What? No, no, Y/N… that is not what I want to do, it is not my intention to take our son from you."

He tells you instantly insistent but in a serene and sincere voice, taking a few more steps towards you, placing himself in front of you, trying to reassure you. But tears continue to slide down your cheeks.

"This is why I left, so I wouldn't cause you any more trouble, so I could live and keep our son safe," you repeat with your voice cracking.

"I know, Y/N, I know," he tells you sympathetically and with a soft tone, "And you don't know how much I hate myself for having been the cause of you deciding to leave, for having hurt you so much to the point of having made that decision," he says sincerely, his eye beginning to tear up, "And this is not just about him, about our son," he tries to explain, "Yes, it is important, but it is also about us," he speaks with a longing, "Since you left, I never stopped thinking about you, and I-I...

He hesitates, unable to fully express his feelings, as he stands in front of you and wants to hold you, you and your son, as he faces his deepest emotions, feeling a tear run down his cheek and looks at you with all the sincerity and pain in his gaze.

"I love you," he finally says, in a completely vulnerable whisper, trembling, lowering his gaze, unable to look you in the eye, "Despite everything, despite my mistakes, despite my work, despite everything that happened…. I-I still love you," he declares in a whisper laden with longing and regret, "And our son too."

His words get stuck in your mind.

With your heart clenched by the surge of emotions, your eyes watch him back with a mixture of surprise, pain and longing. Aemond's sincerity and vulnerability... it's all too much and makes you feel completely helpless, definitely not expecting that.

You can't speak, your words get stuck in your throat, your heart fluttering with the intensity of the moment, your surprise.

And Aemond completely understands your silence.

"I understand that you don't love me anymore and that you can't love me again, I also understand that things can't go back to the way they used to be because of my job. But please… don't keep running away," he pleads quietly, "We won't fight over custody, there will be no legal repercussions, I'm not going to do any of that," he assures you, "Just…" he lets out a long breath, "Just get back to work and let's face this together."

He proposes with his voice full of fragile but hopeful determination, unexpectedly causing you to feel a relief and a warm feeling in your chest.

"I just want Aenar to be okay and let's consider his well-being as the most important thing," you say quietly, while Aemond listens attentively with his face full of longing, regret and understanding, "But we need time and patience. Also that no one else interferes."

Aemond nods, with a slightly more relieved expression, but keeping in mind that there is much to resolve, to heal and to build.

"I understand that and… I'm willing to do whatever it takes… for him and for you," he says sincerely.

You nod too, as silence takes over again, but this time it is permeated with a shared understanding and a determination to face whatever is necessary for Aenar's well-being.

And finally after so much, you feel calm and fortunately, this time with the support of Aemond, who hesitantly leaves a gentle kiss on your forehead and another on Aenar's forehead, taking him back into his arms.

taglist:

@imaegonstargaryenswife0 @bellstwd @gibbsgirl7 @toodlesxcuddles @imsoshygirl @croatianprincess @gemini-mama @a-little-roony-mara @mysteris-things @zenka69 @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @duds31 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @eternally-passionate @bellaisasleep @ttkttt @aemshaircare @mellowdreamlandpost-blog @noodle81937 @mooncalvin @queenofshinigamis @n4tforlife @vexladin @dixie-elocin @wotcherpeak @watercolorskyy @shiny-trashs-blog @strangersunghoon @elysian0612 @skzenhalove @iloveallmyboys

next part taglist:

@anehkael

[msbigredmachine]

New To This - Chapter 1

Jaded by her fiancé’s disinterest in her ambitions to become a professional wrestler, Delilah Parrish’s life takes an interesting turn when one of WWE’s top names offers her the support she’s not getting at home.

Pairing: Jey Uso/OC

Warnings: As we go along...

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: This was initially a Roman fic but I realized I have too many upcoming stories featuring him, so I switched it up and passed it off to Jey. Hope you enjoy!

---------------

“Come on, Parrish, move your ass! Get on her!”

The damp, unruly strands of baby hair in Delilah Parrish’s eyes temporarily obscured her vision and made it difficult to take on her trainer’s instruction. Brushing them away impatiently, her mind flitted to the next line of offense, but her opponent had tackled her to the canvas before her thoughts could fully register. The hard surface made unfriendly contact with her body, but the rushing adrenaline helped fight off the pain, and she battled with her opponent trying to twist her body into a sleeper hold. Delilah tried to concentrate on countering the hold, but between the hundreds of thoughts scrambling around her head and the yelling coming from outside the regulation wrestling ring, it was a near impossible feat.

“For fuck’s sake, Parrish, what are you doin’?” Pounding his palm hard on the mat, her trainer, Makena 'Tank' Kalua, shouted again. “Quit pullin’ her arm like that! You’re gonna break it!”

The other woman, an older, more experienced student named Janie from England, easily slipped out of the armbar Delilah was attempting on her and sat up, seizing both of Delilah’s legs and twisting them in a figure-four leg lock. Usually it was Delilah’s job to sell this move, try to roll over to ease the pressure, or even grab the bottom rope for relief, just like she’d learned. Instead, she kicked her legs carelessly, grunting as she wildly fought out of the hold.

“What the fuck! Is that what I taught you?” Tank screamed again. Blowing the whistle around his neck, he reached under the bottom rope and grabbed Delilah by her leg, forcibly dragging her out of the ring and setting her on her feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Huffing irritably, Delilah yanked her arm away from him and marched away to the other end of the warehouse, ignoring Janie and the other girls that glared wearily after her, wondering what Tank saw in her to begin with. Delilah wondered that herself sometimes.

Ever since she was a little girl growing up in the tiny town of Pensacola, Florida, she dreamed about being in the middle of the fabled squared circle, performing for sellout crowds all over the world, making a name for herself in the notoriously tough wrestling business. And now she was finally getting her chance. In two days’ time, she would be partaking in her very first singles match, lacing up the boots she had worked two extra shifts at the local gym to afford. At last, she was taking that small step towards her dream.

So why did she not feel ready? Why was she doubting herself at the last hour?

One word; Andre.

She was starting to lose count of how many fights they’d gotten into in the six months since she’d embarked on what her fiancé openly thought was her childish desire to become a professional wrestler. Once he realized that it wasn’t just some hobby she would lose interest in after a week, his support began to dwindle more and more as the months went on. There were heated arguments between them on a weekly basis it seemed, mostly on what her ambitions were costing the couple financially. After all, they still had a wedding to plan; their already tight budget was being nibbled at by her exorbitant wrestling class fees. There were bills to pay around the house; she’d already squandered a month’s salary to purchase her wrestling outfit and boots. Yesterday, Delilah had kept quiet, refused to argue, and let Andre vent all he wanted. But this morning, her nerves were starting to kick in over her upcoming match, and when Andre began another tirade as he headed out to work, she not-so-politely shut him down. Tempers were lost and words were exchanged, and both left the house angry. Delilah hadn’t heard from him all day. Secretly, she was glad. She didn’t need his crap today.

Evidently, Tank didn’t need her crap either. The trainer usually gave her some leeway but today he wasn’t having it at all. “Hey, get your ass back here!” His deep, angry voice sounded behind her. He grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. “Where ya goin’ huh? You wanna run home like a little girl?” he asked her. “Go ahead, go.”

“Just stop, alright?” Delilah snapped, her fists clenched involuntarily as she fought the urge to hit him right in his face. Unfortunately she didn’t stand a chance against him, not when he weighed over a hundred pounds more than she did and was an entire foot taller than her, and certainly not with his over two decades of wrestling experience in comparison to her puny half-year.

Moving closer to her, Tank placed a calloused hand on her shoulder. “What’s goin’ on Dee? You’ve been acting up today.”

Delilah knew she was among the very few trainees Tank afforded the luxury of his concern and sympathy. She liked to think it was because she was one of the teachable ones, easily picking up the wrestling moves like she’d been doing it for years. She was always one of the first to arrive and one of the last to leave, helping set up the ring and take it down after classes. Her attitude was refreshing, and she eventually managed to become something resembling a friend to him.

But there was only so much friendship could do for her current situation. Running a hand through her hair, Delilah tried to figure out where to start answering his question. She was fuckin’ tired, for one. She was wrestling in front of an actual crowd in a mere forty-eight hours. Her fiancé was being an ass. Her pride however, wouldn’t let her say those things out loud. That he considered her to be a friend didn’t mean she had to go crying to him for every problem she had. “It’s nothing, I’m fine,” she murmured, choosing to focus on the Polynesian tribal tattoo spread over his right arm.

Tank rolled his eyes with a huff. “We both know that’s bullshit, but if you say so.” Turning back for the ring, he sighed heavily. “You got sixty seconds to clear your head, then you get your ass back in that ring. We got shit to do so hurry up.” With that, he walked away.

She expected no other response. He never coddled her, not during working hours anyway. She didn’t want him to, either. The last thing she wanted to look was weak in front of fellow trainees; people, as Tank always reminded her, who wanted this career, who wanted this life, more than anything else in the world. And that brought her back to the same question she’d been asking herself for months.

How badly did she want it?

----------------

The next couple of hours seemed to go on forever. Tired, bruised and battered from a long day of training, Delilah hitched her bag over her shoulder and cast a glance at the round black clock on the wall as she walked towards the exit of the warehouse. Andre had sent a text message that filled her with hope of reconciliation after their heated morning. Maybe they could sit down and talk about what had happened, and hopefully work things out like they always did.

“Hey, Parrish, come here a sec,” Tank's voice sounded out of nowhere. “Got someone I want you to meet.”

Sighing heavily, Delilah turned her gaze towards the doorway of the small office where he stood. “Do I have to? I gotta meet up with Dre.”

“He’ll be there when you get home,” he dismissed her excuse. “Come say hi. You won’t regret it, come on.”

With a quiet groan, Delilah shuffled toward the office. “I hope not,” she mumbled, stopping short when her eyes fell upon the hulking, tattooed figure sitting on Tank's desk. Her eyes widened and her jaw slackened, unable to believe what she was seeing. “Oh shit!”

Tank's grin widened as he pushed her further into his office. “Told ya. Delilah, meet Jey Uso. Jey, this is one of my students, Delilah Parrish.”

Standing up from his place on the edge of his friend’s desk, Joshua Fatu extended a hand to the toned beauty standing in front of him. He smiled when she placed her hand in his, noticed how it trembled. “Sup, Delilah, nice to meet you,” he said.

Delilah tried to reply, but her mouth seemed to have forgotten its primary function. She could feel her face burning as she continued to hold his large hand, wanting to let go but somehow unable to. It wasn’t every day she shook hands, or was even within a mile radius of Main Event Jey Uso himself. She’d been a big fan of his ever since his debut with his brother, Jimmy. To see them evolve and grow from a tag team to singles stars was so rewarding. The Bloodline storyline was must-see TV for her, and she had found herself sympathizing with the Right Hand Man over the course of the storyline. She followed him on X and Instagram, and had a couple of his Yeet T-shirts. To be in the presence of a man whom she watched on TV every week, a guy she grew to idolize and respect so much, was beyond mind-blowing.

Before her silence could grow awkward, Delilah removed her hand from his grasp. She’d always hoped that the day she got to meet a WWE Superstar, she’d act much cooler and more composed and not like the average tongue-tied fan. She knew she just failed miserably.

Josh crossed his muscled arms over his chest, his gaze firmly on her face. “So Delilah, Tank tells me you gotta lot of potential, uce. Says you’re very talented,” he said, his deep, gruff voice tinged with curiosity.

“Well, all those bumps he’s taken over the years have finally damaged his brain cells,” she said sarcastically, smiling when she drew a laugh from both men, particularly Jey.

“Nah, I’ve known this fool for damn near twenty years now,” said Josh, jerking his thumb in Tank's direction, “If he say you got talent, then you got talent.” He sat back on the desk and let his eyes admire her, silently wondering just how smoking hot the body hidden underneath the baggy clothes was. “So how long you been training?” he inquired. 

Delilah shoved her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. “I started working out about nine months ago, tryna get in ring shape,” she answered. “But I’ve been training for about six.”

Josh nodded his head. “And your first show’s the day after tomorrow, right?” he queried, keeping his eyes on hers.

“My first match,” she corrected him. “I’ve been to a few shows, done some ring announcing, valeted a couple of times,” she added proudly, as though that would make her look more credible in her idol’s eyes. As she spoke, she stole the chance to look him over. Diamond Cuban links glittered around his neck and both his wrists and gave a shine to his fitted Nike sweatsuit that covered up the tattoos she knew decorated a good portion of his russet skin. He was taller than she expected, and just as ruggedly handsome. And those eyes…a hint of danger lurked behind the jovial, friendly facade, very much giving off bad boy vibes. Against her will, she was intrigued.

Ignoring the eye-fucking session going on in his office, Tank patted Josh’s shoulder. “A’ight y’all, time to get outta here.” He ushered the two of them out of his office and towards the exit of the gym. 

“So…what brings you back to town, Jey?” she asked Josh as they walked side by side behind Tank.

The Samoan smiled at the young woman who hadn’t stopped blushing since they met. “Not much. Just hangin’ out with family and shit,” he replied. “Thought I’d come visit my mans over here, but now I hear there’s a show in town, I may just stick around a while longer.” He paused, noting the way her face paled a little. “You nervous?”

Delilah blew out a breath. “Honestly? I’m terrified.”

Josh shook his head. “Naw, don’t be. Focus on all the positives, how far you’ve come, and you’ll be fine.”

She nodded and bit her lip. That was reassuring, just a little bit. “Thanks,” she said, noting that her trainer’s car was heading their way. Tank always dropped her off at home as he lived not too far off from hers. “Well, I better get going. It was so cool to meet you, Jey,” she added, thinking it better to wave this time rather than shake hands. 

“Same here Delilah. And trust me when I say I’ll be seeing you more often in the future,” Josh replied.

For some reason, it sounded to Delilah like there were a handful of promises in those words, but she waved off the silly notion immediately and opted to leave before she made a fool of herself in front of the Jey Uso. It felt like she was walking on air as she approached Tank's car, still star-struck, still stunned by the last couple of minutes that had just happened.

But then, as she slammed the car door shut, she remembered what was waiting for her at home, and with a tired sigh, she was forced to push the moment away, forced to forget about the intense brown eyes that continued to stare after her even as the car drove away from the warehouse.

--------------------

Thoughts so far?

Thank you all so much for reading and commenting!

Banner made by me. Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

TAGGING: @jxtina-86 @wrestlingprincess80 @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @alyyaanna @squishyguishy @jstarr86 @murrylove @thewarlordsworld @mzv11 @cozyaliensuperstar7 @nayys-world @hunnidmilly @harmshake @cyberdejos2 @papireigns-05 @niknakbucks92 @captainwithoutmakingitlove @sovereigngoth @aisharmi @kennedi0818 @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @herwickedlittlesins @questionable-behaviour @tribalchiefreigns @2-muchsauce @thatbxtchsblog @raya-hunter01 @marchi36753 @lovelysuccess @christinabae @wooahmiri @thatonecarebear @tabletheofhead @rheaanddamianfan @vebner37 @hanley1577 @princessesareforsuckers @-naturally @joannasteez @bbygirlky18 @lilucey @theninthwonder @melaninsugababy @chocovibesonly @msbluehaz3 @scarlettnoir01 @heerah34 @empressdede @tbmotw @darkangelchronicles @visionarymode @marasdeathnote @aintnorainbows @meggylynnloves @shantinextdoor @harlemblipster @trc-punzel @afterdarkprincess @nbanenefrmdao @sassginaswanmills @purplehairgawdess @holisticcoach @girlwhogaf @royalkay23 @heyitsnajabrinee @stoner2k @reci1996 @catxo @iamimanim @lookmais @ts1mp0ne @shonny09 @lizzyd1ish @m3llowww @skyesthebomb @final1miya @mzv11 @kia1996 @randomuser0711 @yourtribalqueen @caramelcleopatraa @katymae12344 @that-one-anxious-mango @yana3sworld @ajenae @truefant4sy @thetribalqueen @bhjszsdxc

[tired-biscuit]

Step-dad bakugo breeding kink part 2.

cw: stepcest, breeding kink, daddy kink, age gap, infidelity // 18+ mdni, fem!reader

part 1

ever since filling you up that drunken night on the couch, bakugou becomes addicted to fucking you completely sober, too.

some may call the first time it happened an unfortunate mishap, perhaps even an accident to some extent, however katsuki is already hooked after a single taste.

and much to his surprise, it seem that you are, too.

it's the way how you offer him the googly eyes not a moment after you step foot out of your bedroom the next morning, that has him thinking that. how hearts are literally lighting up inside your pupils like that damn effect which you've shown him trending on social media a while back, your pretty eyelashes fluttering; driving him batshit crazy every time your gazes meet as he drinks his coffee and eats his breakfast instead of taking the fuck off like the smart man he claims to be.

it's how you bend over as dramatically as you're able whilst rummaging through the fridge then, dressed in the tiniest pyjama shorts he's ever seen a woman wear before turning to smile at him over your shoulder because you just know he's watching. it's all of that.

you're insufferable, you make him want to claw at the walls even if his nails are blunt. and god, you're just so young. so ditzy and vigorous that you make him feel alive again by turning him into a leech for the thrill only young pussy can give to a man like him. i mean, how can he possibly resist slamming you again, when you're right there; throwing yourself at him in the middle of his fancy kitchen?

so he doesn't resist. no, instead, bakugou sighs as if it's a chore to indulge you as he pushes up from his favourite chair that he never allows you to sit on and walks over to where you're standing; still smiling that wretched grin that makes him want to slam his cock down your throat deep enough to wipe it off your lips. he shakes his head as if it's a bother to bend you over the kitchen counter and give you exactly what you're so shamelessly asking him for. he grunts as if it's a burden for him to fuck you stupid and make you cry for your daddy by the end of it.

but that's not what he actually thinks of the entire thing, of course not. no, because weeks pass, and yet he spends them all by continuing to slam you stupid on every single flat surface inside his home - the big, enormous house with plenty of room, and tables, and desks, and sofas, and counters, and beds; all of which he pays for with his sky-high pro hero salary and doesn't mind breaking at all.

and speaking of that, he also doesn't particularly care if you're on birth control or not either - never even asks if you are. the fact that there is a possible risk of him knocking you up is not important, because all that matters is taking you raw over and over again; getting the full experience of just how sickeningly sweet his little girl's cunt can be.

how your walls can squeeze him in a way his wife's can't as he fucks you amongst the stupid plushies in your new bedroom; how your grip turns so fucking tenacious that it feels like you're going to milk him dry whenever you become undone and he has to use those skilled, scar-riddled hands to paw at all of your trembling pieces before assembling you back together. how he gets to leave a mark behind after it - gets to watch his cum leak out of you, as well as the way you frantically squeeze your thighs together to keep it from spilling out of your abused hole every single time.

and fuck, he smirks whenever you do that: panic and try to push him off the moment he pulls out. you're nasty and filthy - letting him pound the shit out of you with zero protection and stuff you full with his cum, sure, but you're also weak; easy for him to manipulate you into letting him do just that, and to tease you about it, too.

especially when you're scared of your own mother coming home to find you like this, when you're so fucking afraid of the possibility of having to explain the mess on your bed sheets to her, because there's never a boy there to cause it in the first place. the only man that's allowed inside the house is your handsome stepdaddy, after all.

and much to your misfortune, he's more of the provocative sort.

[mistydeyes]

have a drink

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊��� ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: It's December and things have finally wrapped up. Laswell sends you and your squad on mandatory leave. Not having any plans, Alejandro invites you to his ranch in Mexico and you book the next flight there. You use this opportunity to put your bartending skills to use and prepare seven drinks to go along with dinner.

pairing: 141 x platonic!reader (codename: Brandy)

warnings: swearing, alcoholism

a/n: just a little psa but apparently mixing light and dark liquor is a myth! regardless, please still drink responsibly

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

With Zyani assassinated and the bombs disarmed, Laswell decided that it was time for your squad to relax. Before you all could make any plans, Alejandro invited you back to Mexico for a relaxing leave. Not wanting to return to the cold and rainy London climate, everyone agreed on the offer.

As you walked off the airplane, you saw Alejandro and Rodolfo waiting for you with their car. "Bienvenido de nuevo!" Alejandro greeted you as you approached. Hugs and fist bumps were all in order before you piled into the vehicle.

"So what's for dinner?" Gaz asked as Alejandro drove to the countryside. "Carnitas tacos, I have the carnitas in a slow cooker now," he replied, "but Brandy has the drinks covered." With that, everyone's heads turned towards you in the backseat. "You bartend, Brandy?" Ghost asked. "I did actually, best bartender in all of London. When I joined the SAS a buddy gave me the name but now everyone just thinks of that Looking Glass song or the porn star," you joked. "Anyways, I got something special for y'all tonight!" you exclaimed to the cheers of the men.

You, Alejandro, and Ghost went to do some errands as Rudy entertained the rest of the 141 at the beach. You and Alejandro had some items to pick up and Ghost tagged along, saying something about how sunburn and a mask don't mix well. Regardless, you were happy to have someone hold your boxes of liquor. As you navigated the small store, you grabbed everything on your list. By the end of it, you had enough to kill a small town. "Think this is enough, Brandy?" Ghost asked as the cashier helped to box everything. "Definitely," you replied as you loaded the cart, "Scared you won't be able to handle it, Ghost? I've got 7 drinks all lined up." Ghost was excited at the prospect of having liquor after months but feared your capabilities.

When you returned to Alejandro's home, you saw it was a spacious ranch. He was kind enough to let you bartend behind his outside bar and led you outside. You admired the scenery as you looked to see a bar formed from clay along with a dining table and fire pit with many seating options. "I can see what a Colonel's salary can get you," you joked as he gave you a tour of the property. "Mi casa, tu casa," he replied and you went back inside to help him and Ghost with dinner.

As you heard your squad relax and enjoy some tapas, you went behind the bar and prepared for the night. You organized it as you remembered it in your civilian days and placed the liquor behind you, on display. "Oi is that tequila?" you heard Soap say as you brought out a bottle of Patron. "Trust me, MacTavish you'd never know once I'm done with it," you replied and left him grumbling that tequila tasted like dog piss. You finished setting up and lined seven margarita glasses on the counter.

alejandro: ranch water

"Alright, if you all would like to come over here, I'll show you how a real bartender does it," you exclaimed and the men came to gather in front of the bar. Alejandro joined moments later once he had checked on the carnitas in the slow cooker.

"For our lovely host, I will serve you 'ranch water'," you said and brought out the ingredients. "¿Qué?" Alejandro asked as he took off his apron. "Ale, we're on a ranch in Mexico, this drink is clearly for you," you joked. You rimmed the cups with Tajin before filling the seven cups with ice. Working quickly, you then filled your shaker with blanco tequila, Topo Chico, and fresh lime juice. You threw in some fun tricks like throwing the shaker over your shoulder, much to the amusement of your crowd. You finally garnished with a freshly squeezed lemon. "Se sirven bebidas," you said and let everyone grab a glass. "Tastes better than any water from this ranch," Alejandro joked and quickly finished his glass. To your annoyance, Soap still complained he could taste the tequila. "Not with this next one!" you said and prepared for Rudy's drink.

rudy: el diablo

For Rudy, you picked El Diablo and had a fun trick to wow the audience. As the men finished their beverages, you finished your ranch water and collected what you needed. In this went reposed tequila, creme de cassis, lime juice, and ginger beer. "What's this?" Gaz asked as he collected the glasses for you. "El Diablo," you said, and before you could explain the namesake, Ghost responded, "The Devil." You poured out the shaker into glasses as the men slowly went to take one. "Just wait," you said before adding the smallest bit of tequila on top of a candied lemon and pulling out a lighter. Everyone was surprised as you went about lighting each of the glasses one by one. As the flames danced on their faces you joked to Rudy, "Still can't believe Ale had to run and save you from that house fire." You all shared a good laugh as you enjoyed your drinks. "You are right, Brandy, this doesn't taste like dog piss," Soap joked and you gained an 'I told you so'.

price: smoked old fashion

Everyone was still going strong so while they finished, you prepared the drink you picked for Price. This required a different glass and Rudy delivered a lowball glass to the counter. This drink was a classic so you made it easily. A smoked old fashioned with water, bitters, and a sugar cube to start then followed by bourbon and a smoke top. As you let the sugar cube melt with the water and bitters, you found your seven smoke tops. No one knew where 1. you got those from and 2. why you had so many. The group crowded around you again as you filled six glasses with ice and poured the shaker into them. "Neat, am I right, Captain?" you asked glancing at him, you knew the answer. "Got me pinned, Sergeant," he replied and put his hands up defensively. Once all the drinks were poured, you touched some wood chips in the smoke top and let it settle for two minutes. You then gestured for the group to take their drinks and savor the smoky cocktail. As Price took a sip he made sure to send his compliments. "Better than any Old Fashioned I could get in London."

You saw everyone take a minute to drink the bourbon, except for Price and Ghost of course, so you were glad this was the last drink before dinner.

You sat sipping your old-fashioned as Alejandro emerged with the fixings for tacos. He unveiled a pot of slow-cooked carnitas and the aroma wafted in the late-night air. He sat down at the head of the table and lifted his glass. "To good company and good food!" he said and you all echoed your sentiments. You started with a tortilla and carnitas piled on with a side of Mexican rice. Then, the fixings were passed along. You made sure to pile guacamole, onions, salsa, sour cream, cilantro, and hot sauce onto the carnitas and tortillas. You passed the hot sauce to Gaz and Alejandro last as they were known to douse their food. Once everyone had prepared their plates, you all dug in. Needless to say, Alejandro was an amazing cook. You all got seconds as the food was delicious. In the middle of dinner, you prepared everyone another round of El Diablos and sat in lively conversation. You heard about how Gaz learned Laswell was married and Soap interjected with plans for a new tattoo. Just when Ghost was about to ask about El Sin Nombre, Price quieted him. "No work, talk here," he said and the conversation flowed on as everyone talked about their plans.

gaz: aviation (a/n i'm currently drinking this while writing lol)

After your delicious meal, you got up from the table to prepare the next drink. This was a classic and easily earned anyone's respect when they ordered it. You mixed gin, maraschino liqueur, creme de Violette, and lemon juice in your shaker as you gathered some coupe glasses. "What this now?" Rudy asked as he came to keep you company. "An Aviation for our favorite flight jumping Sergeant," you joked and Gaz eyed you. You filled the glasses with a gorgeous purple liquid and garnished some cherries soaked in brandy. Rudy helped you to bring the drinks to the table and you handed them out. "This is an Aviation, a drink made for Kyle and his habit of falling out of flying objects," you joked and raised your glass in a toast. "It was Nik's fault," Gaz replied defensively but enjoyed the drink immensely. You wouldn't be surprised by the end of this if they all had a new drink of choice.

soap: irish car bomb

You had now moved over to a campfire following dinner. Rudy's abuela had graciously gifted you all with some homemade flan and you were glad this paired with the next drink in line. Instead of grabbing glasses, you found seven-shot glasses. Alejandro was probably planning on having a big family based on the countless amounts of glasses and dinnerware he had. You beckoned Soap over to watch you make the shots. You could see his eyes light up when you first grabbed Guinness. "Now I know you're Scottish and there's apparently a big difference between you and the Irish but I promise you, you'll like this," you said and he laughed at the statement. As he followed your movements, you added Baileys and whiskey to the glasses, pouring slowly to form a distinct layer. You then topped it off with the Guinness. You gave the remainder of the bottle to Soap as you called everyone over. "Time for shots!" you yelled and everyone came to the bar. "Just drink it all in one," you said and prompted the men to try. Once done, everyone asked for seconds and you hesitantly poured seeing how Rudy and Gaz were getting slightly red and weren't walking straight. You made sure to portion the glasses accordingly and filled yours, Price's, and Ghost's to the brim.

ghost: dark n' stormy

You served Ghost's drink an hour after the shots as everyone was clearly inebriated. Alejandro had led everyone into an old Spanish campfire song and Rudy, Gaz, and Soap were singing the loudest. As you sat and enjoyed the show, you scooted over to Ghost who was watching to the side. "The things liquor can do," you mused as he sipped the rest of Soap's Guinness. "The things your bartending can do," he corrected and you could see Price getting a video of the singing men. "You feeling drunk, Lt.?" you joked and nudged his arm. "Not drunk enough" he replied and you got up to the bar. "Well let's change that."

You placed seven highball glasses in front of you and prepared Ghost's drink as he watched. You traded some holiday traditions as you poured rum and the rest of the lime juice and ginger beer into the cups. "My family always wanted something to drink with Christmas dinner so naturally I became their bartender in my teens," you told him as you garnished with a lime wheel. "Good to know you have a plan after retirement," he replied before interrupting yet another song and calling everyone over. You raised your glass when everyone gathered and delivered a quick toast. "To Lt, the dead man walking who saved Soap's ass," you said and everyone cheered in agreement. You watched happily as Ghost drank the cocktail slowly and prepared another. You made sure to make this a double as you wanted him to enjoy it.

brandy: super shot

Following the last round of drinks, you could tell everyone was feeling a little warmer. You and Price laughed wildly as Ghost and Rudy tried to impersonate someone driving a taxi. You all formed groups (Group 1 - you and Price, 2 - Ghost and Rudy, 3 - Alejandro, Soap, and Gaz) to play charades. "Beep, beep," Ghost kept saying as he mimicked driving, Rudy pretending to be a businessman in the back. Maybe it was the liquor but Alejandro's team was clearly not getting it. "Fuck me, we'll pass," Gaz said as the turn went to you and Price. "He's a bloody taxi driver," Price answered, and audible groans were heard from Soap and Gaz. "I think we won, Captain," you said and shared a high five. Before any more games could start, you prepared the next drink.

"Now before the finale, does anyone want refills?" you asked and everyone's hands shot up. You made sure to add a little more mixer to Rudy's, Soap's, and Gaz's before making everyone their appropriate cocktails and shots. After everyone had finished, you made a glass of an Aviation for yourself.

Now thoroughly drunk, the men anxiously waited to see your creation. "I call this a 'Brandy Special'," you said before placing a bottle of Bacardi, Hennessy, and Everclear on the counter. "FUCK NO" Gaz yelled drunkenly and Price and Rudy also shook their heads upon seeing the Everclear. That only left Alejandro, Ghost, Soap, and you. "Your loss," you said as you mixed the ingredients and pulled out four cleaned shot glasses. Price took a quick photo of you four before you all cheered your glasses.

Let's just say the Brandy Special is now banned from Alejandro's house. You and Ghost survived while Alejandro and Soap went to empty their stomaches in the yard.

[sserpente]

Montana Blues

Synopsis: When you moved to Hawkins, Billy Hargrove quickly became the pain of your existence. As an arrogant fuckboy trying to lure you into his bed, you take absolute pleasure in turning him down times and times again—even if he’s getting on your nerves. But when you find out that Billy practically threatened the entire male population of Hawkins to keep their hands off you because you are his, you snap. How fucking dare he?!

Words: 3714 Warnings: smut, lots of f-bombs

In retrospect, foregoing wearing a bra had been a really bad idea. The Indiana summer heat was near unbearable and it hadn’t even hit July yet. Fanning yourself some air with your hand, you breathed out audibly and tucked your white tanktop away from your sweaty skin with the other. You were soaked which had resulted in your nipples happily showing through the now see-through fabric.

Not a single summer back home in Montana could have ever prepared you for the boiling temperatures here in Hawkins. Naturally, you were not equipped for the change of weather yet. You had one old bathing suit and a pair of flip-flops that was on the verge of falling apart. A large bag, some beach towels, and some new swimwear were high on your shopping list but until your next salary rolled in, your hands were tied and the public pool was out of reach.

“Just this, please.” You placed the ice cream on the counter along with a dollar bill, envying the clerk behind the till because he got to stay inside this air-conditioned gas station all day while you, in just a moment, had to go back outside and melt.

The fact that you ran into Billy Hargrove of all people when you left the small store didn’t exactly help either. That man was sex on two legs and you were already too hot. Unfortunately though, his arrogant demeanour made him quite unattractive for the most part. You knew him because you’d given his sister Max a ride a couple of times. She’d been skating home despite the pouring rain so you’d offered to pick her up from the pavement on your way home from work.

He’d been trying to woo you ever since, only his usual tactics didn’t work with you. You’d seen right through them. A charming smile, a few flattering words, cheesy compliments, a nice dinner and then… sex and then of course the infamous promise that he would call but then never did.

“Hey, Montana. Enjoying your day?”

You rolled your eyes, unwrapping your ice cream in the process. In your current state… hardly. His sly smile was proof enough that he’d noticed your very visible nipples through your shirt.

“I don’t know how you guys cope in this heat,” you gave back.

Billy shrugged. “California’s worse. Why aren’t you at the pool?” He was topless, wearing only a red pair of trunks. Lifeguarding duties. He must have been on his break and getting a snack given the public swimming pool was right across the street.

“My inventory isn’t cut out for that yet. Besides, I’ve got more unpacking to do.”

“You’re still unpacking? You moved here six months ago.”

“Yes. Alone, and buying bit after bit. I’m on a budget, you know.”

Billy rolled his shoulders. “Sounds like you need a day off. Are you free Saturday evening?”

Saturday, aka the summer-BBQ-ball. The whole town had been behaving like high schoolers all week, asking each other out as if it was prom all over again. You’d heard of it and to be frank, you’d hoped that a cute guy would ask you to accompany him—not that you needed that sort of validation. It would just be… nice. A date with Billy, however, could only end in sex. Hot and really good sex maybe, but you did not move to Hawkins to get your heart broken.

You sighed. “You never give up, huh? I don’t know yet.”

“So you’ll think about it.”

“That’s not what I said.”

Billy grinned. “It wasn’t a no either though.”

“Will you ever give up? I’ve said no plenty of times. Take a hint, Hargrove.”

Billy only chuckled, almost as if he knew something you didn’t. “Enjoy your ice cream,” he said with a nod to your hand. You cursed. The chocolate on it was already running down your wrist.

He was good at getting under people’s skin, you had to give him that. And he had quite possibly tried everything in his book to seduce you. Needed your new bookshelves assembled? Billy had shown up with a toolbox the same day. Your bathroom tab was not working? He’d had it fixed the next day.

Come to think of it, the man was quite protective over you too. You’d never seen a man more determined to get you into his bed. The thought of giving in to his advances had crossed your mind more than once of course. But you weren’t the type for one-night stands. No. Once you tasted blood, you were back for more and you sincerely doubted that Billy was going to give it to you. Or was he? What would that be called? An enemy-with-benefits relationship?

The fact that the electricity between you was practically sizzling didn’t exactly help either. You wanted to fuck him just as bad as he wanted to fuck you. You might have evaporated if he touched you or at least melted into his arms and let him do whatever he wanted to you, preferably with his face between your legs. You’d been dancing around each other for months now—to the point where your friends had claimed that it was only a matter of time until you’d both explode and pounce on each other like wild animals.

Luckily though, you soon didn’t have to think about that particular issue anymore. After you’d finished your ice cream, you stopped by the local building store to get paint for your bedroom when you ran into Andreas. He was a cute young man with dark curls working there part-time to save up for a house—for a family, he’d said the first time you’d spoken.

There were sparks between you for sure. Andreas was future husband material—so much more suitable than Billy, only… only a little less panties-wetting maybe.

“So, uh…” Andreas said as he rang you up, “… you going to the summer-BBQ-ball?”

“Maybe. It depends.”

“Has, uh… anyone asked you yet?”

You smiled at him. “Not yet.”

“O-okay. Then, well… consider this an official invitation? Do you, um… wanna go with me as in… you know, my date?”

His hand was warm when you gave him a twenty-dollar bill. “I would love to, Andreas.”

Take that, Billy. You’d show up with Andreas, have a good time and let him kiss you good night rather than let him tear your clothes off in your bedroom after taking you home. It had been about time.

“Guess who has a date for the summer-BBQ-ball!” Andreas was beaming when he entered the bar and joined his friends at their table, waving for the bartender to bring him a beer. He’d just clocked out and was ready to celebrate now that he’d finally mustered the courage to ask you out.

“Who? Dude, tell us who you’re going with!”

Proudly, Andreas spoke your name—noticing only from the corner of his eye how the head of a certain Billy Hargrove whipped around in an instant.

Andreas tensed up when he watched him get up and approach with his beer in hand, smelling trouble the closer he came.

“I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood. I heard you’re taking my girl to the summer-BBQ-ball?” Billy put his arm around him, leaning against him slightly as if to prove how heavy he was—and hence, how much damage he could do.

“She’s not your girl. As far as I’m concerned, she’s single,” Andreas explained and swallowed.

“Yeah, come on, Hargrove, you can’t have them all. Leave some girls for the rest of us. You can’t chase after her forever.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“Billy, come on…”

“Listen… Andreas, is it? You take my girl out to that barbeque ball and I will give you not one but two black eyes and a couple of broken bones to go with that. Have I made myself clear?”

Andreas swallowed. “T-then why did she agree to go on a date with me, huh?”

“It’s complicated. But if you talk to her again, if you even look at her again, you’ll pay, understood?”

“Understood.” None of his friends made a move. Billy was not one to mess with even though he was outnumbered.

“Oh, hey, Andreas!” Your phone had rung right after you’d finished blowdrying your hair after a shower. Now that the clock had struck seven, the heat finally became a little more bearable and you were ready to call it a day and enjoy your evening.

“Hey… uh… listen… I have a little problem,” his voice sounded at the other end of the line. “Something came up and I’ll… I’ll be out of town this Saturday. So… I won’t be able to take you to the summer-BBQ-ball after all.”

Your heart sank. “I’m sorry… what?”

“I’m really sorry, it’s… something I can’t postpone came in between and…”

“Cut the bullshit. I know you’re lying. Just tell me the real reason.” And I might leave your crown jewels intact, you added silently. You gnashed your teeth, anger mixing with disappointment.

It went silent on the other end of the line. Then, Andreas sighed your name.

“Okay, listen… you’re really nice and you probably don’t deserve that. But you didn’t hear this from me, okay? It’s… it’s Hargrove.”

You blinked. “What do you mean it’s Hargrove?”

“Well, as long as you’re on and off… no one wants to risk it.”

“What do you mean, on and off?”

“Come on,” Andreas said, repeating your name, “Hargrove clearly still has a thing for you. He won’t let any guy come near you. I thought you guys were done when I asked you out on a date today but he quickly proved me wrong.”

“What do you mean proved you wrong?” You were speaking slowly, putting stress on every single word.

“He threatened to beat me up, alright? Call me a pussy but Hargrove’s a bag of walking testosterone. I don’t have a death wish.”

“He did what?” you shrieked.

“Yeah… look, if you’re done with him, you’ll have to let him know. He’s been telling every single man in town to keep his hands off of you for months.”

“What?” You were screaming now.

Andreas whined.  “Now I’m deaf…”

“Sorry… Andreas, okay, just… forget about the summer-BBQ-ball, I’ll talk to Billy, alright? Thanks for the call.”

“Yeah… see you at the store I guess. I’m really sorry.”

The line went dead and you smashed the phone back on the hook.

“Oh, fuck me!” This was it. This had been going on for long enough. One by one, the puzzle pieces fell into place. Why no one had dared to ask you out for the summer-BBQ-ball. Why no man so much as looked in your direction which, even though you didn’t make your life dependent on a man’s attention of all things, had been nibbling away on your confidence. Andreas was the first man who’d shown you proper courtesy today. It hadn’t always been like that either. A young woman, strong and independent, you had caught the eye of a lot of men in town and then, one day, it had simply… stopped as if they’d found out you were practicing witchcraft or something.

Rejecting Billy was one thing but him ruining the prospect of a relationship for you? Not cool. Determined, you grabbed your car keys and rushed out of the house, almost forgetting to lock your door in the process and speeding along the way.

When you arrived at his house, your frantic knocking even alarmed the neighbour who was sitting on a bench on the porch. It was Max who opened, clearly disturbed.

“Where is he? Is he home yet?” you snapped. Max stared at you blankly and then stepped aside. She knew who you were here for, obviously. You stormed past her and toward the door that had a “Keep the fuck out” sign on it—without a doubt Billy’s bedroom—and barged through the door without knocking.

Funnily enough, he didn’t even seem to notice. He had his muscular back to you, lifting weights with a pair of headphones on. Sweat was glistening on his naked arms. The only two reasons that stopped you from licking it right off him were a, your seething anger and b, the fact that it almost traumatised you he was working out in this heat after a lifeguard shift. Oh, you’d lied. Three reasons. C was that you certainly wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of acting on your filthy thoughts.

With a scoff, you slammed his door shut behind you and then ripped the headphones right off his head.

“What the hell…” He turned, probably expecting to see Max. Visible surprise danced across his handsome face when he recognised you instead and set the weights down.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you yelled, not even giving him a second to think about why you were in his bedroom—the one place you had not, under any circumstances, wanted to end up in.

“It’s nice to see you too, Montana. To what do I owe the pleasure of a home visit?”

“You told Andreas you’d beat him up if he went to the summer-BBQ-ball with me!”

Billy raised his eyebrows, seemingly unfazed. “The fucker told you?”

“He also told me that you threatened the entire male population of Hawkins to leave me alone! You have no fucking right to do that, who do you think you are, you arrogant prick? Can your fragile little ego not take a scratch? Is it so hard to believe there are women on this planet who don’t want to fuck you?”

“My fragile little ego? You want me, Montana. Why would I go after a woman that doesn’t want to fuck me when there’s so many that do, including you?”

Yes, you did and that was another fucking problem. You wanted him so bad you’d admitted to wanting to lick the sweat off his body only a moment ago—but you were certainly not about to tell him that. “For Fuck’s sake, Billy! I moved here only six months ago and you fucking find a way to ruin it! You fucking untell them, do you hear me? You tell him that we’re not a thing and that you don’t mind me dating other guys.”

“Untell them?” He grinned.

You glared at him. “You’re not even taking this seriously! You can’t just claim ownership over me like I’m a fucking object, Billy, I’m a person!”

“Come to the barbeque ball with me.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said come to the barbeque ball with me.”

“You’re joking. You’re fucking joking! I’m not gonna go out on a fucking date with you now that I know that you—“ You didn’t get to finish your sentence, not before Billy’s lips came crashing down on yours. He cupped your face, devouring your mouth like his last meal. His kiss was passionate and demanding and just like that… you were melting for entirely different reasons, your body reciprocating his kiss on its own accord.

Your body embraced him as if you’d been made for each other, the tension between you finally finding release. Billy’s hands slid over your collarbones and the side of your breasts, down to your waist and your hips. He stepped forward, forcing you backwards until the back of your knees hit the edge of his unmade bed.

He pushed you down on it without your lips parting, crawling on top of you to keep you from an escape you didn’t want to attempt. All hell broke loose in your mind, your brain ceasing to function any longer. All you could think of was Billy and how you wanted his hands everywhere on your naked body, especially between your legs.

He was quick to peel you out of your clothing when he finally let you catch your breath. He was still sweaty from his workout and you too were sticky again from the car ride because you hadn’t turned on the AC in your rage and hurry. They all landed on a messy pile on his floor until you were naked beneath him.

There were no breaks. Billy assaulted your neck by leaving a trail of wet kisses on the sensitive skin, a moan escaping your lips the moment his hands cupped your bare breasts. You parted your legs, allowing him to kneel between them. He got rid of his tanktop and tossed it away, revealing his upper body to you. You bit your lower lip, too distracted by his abs to notice him shuffling further away from you so he could comfortably place his hands on your knees.

“Want me to show what you’ve been missing out on, doll?” He didn’t leave you time to reply, instead buried his face between your legs. His tongue came darting forward to taste your arousal, teasing your entrance, nibbling at your outer lips and then… he flicked it over your clit—again, and again, and again, and again…

Billy closed his mouth around your sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking gently all the while his tongue kept playing with it. Your toes curled, your fingernails digging into his sheets. You threw your head back and moaned.

Fuck, he certainly knew what he was doing. Billy had you on the brink of orgasm in no time. You were about to see stars when he pushed two fingers into your slick warmth and fucked you lazily. But then… just when you were about to let go and fall over the edge, your walls aready clenching around his digits… he pulled away.

“What the fuck, Billy?”

“I want you cumming around my cock. Repeatedly.” Repeatedly? Oh fuck…

“C-condom…” you choked out.

“I’m on it, doll…” Billy reached for his bedside table and opened one of the drawers, pulling out a small and shiny square package. It didn’t take him long to get rid of his boxers, revealing his erection to you. Motherfucker, that man was very well equipped indeed. Average in length but a little thicker than the guys you had slept with before him. He stood proudly, his red tip leaking a little bit of precum.

You licked your lips, imagining sucking him off like a popsicle when he ripped the condom packaging open with his teeth and quickly rolled the thin layer of latex over his throbbing cock. His lips were on yours again only seconds before you could feel his tip press against your entrance, sliding in with no resistance whatsoever. Inch by inch, Billy sheathed himself inside you until you wrapped your legs around his hips, willing him even deeper.

“You good, doll?” he whispered against your lips.

“Yes, yes! Just fuck me already!”

“Been waiting to hear these words out of your pretty little mouth ever since you fucking moved here.”

But he obeyed, eliciting moan after moan from your lips when he started moving inside of you, fucking you senseless. He wasn’t gentle. Hell, he was rough and you loved it.

Every single stroke of his knocked all air from you. Billy withdrew almost entirely only to plunge himself back into you with so much force he kept hitting your cervix. Pleasure mixed with a slight hint of pain and your fast-approaching orgasm now that he sneaked his hand down to where your bodies met, playing your clit like an instrument.

“Cum for me, pretty girl.”

You couldn’t have resisted even if you had wanted to because only a fraction of a second later, you burst into a million pieces like a glass vase shattering its shards all across the room. You came with his name on your lips, clawed at his naked back, leaving angry red marks for sure as you kept contracting around him, milking him for all he was worth. Billy shuddered, you could feel it but he didn’t stop. As soon as you’d calmed down enough for your hazy gaze to return to him, he kept on rutting into you like an animal in heat.

“Again,” he ordered, his skilled fingers returning to your clit. You flinched as it was more sensitive than now but fuck, it felt good. So good that…

“Oh my god!” You arched your back when you came a second time and pulsed around Billy’s cock. At this point, you couldn’t tell anymore where you ended and he began as he fucked you through your climax.

“Again, doll.”

“No, Billy, I can’t… I…” You were tingly all over and you were pretty sure you couldn’t tell where up and down was anymore. Trapped in pleasure, desire and lust you were putty in Billy’s hands.

“Yes, you can. You can give me one more. Come on.” He was right, you could. You could when he wrapped one of his hands around your throat and put just enough pressure on the sides to remind you of his dominance and fuck, you loved it.

But you could tell that he too was fighting to keep his composure and hold out for a while longer. As soon as your third orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, Billy grunted, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. He gave you a couple more frantic thrusts before he stilled and jerked inside of you, filling the condom with his seed. Fuck, next time you wanted to suck him dry and taste him.

Once you had both come down from your highs at last, he withdrew to get rid of the condom. His chuckle when you whined at the loss instantly made your heart beat faster.

Then, when he leaned back on his bed and crossed his fingers behind his back, you snuggled up against his sweaty chest. You two were a complete and utter mess in dire need of a shower.

“I’ll go to the damn summer-BBQ-ball with you,” you said into the surprisingly comfortable silence.

Billy chuckled triumphantly. “Good. Wear something pretty. I’ll show you off like a goddamn princess.”

Whatever would happen from here, you didn’t know. Perhaps Billy Hargrove would break your heart now that he’d gotten what he’d wanted. Perhaps you’d just officially become enemies with benefits. But you had to admit there was a slight chance that he’d just officially declared you his girlfriend too.

A/N: Check out my blog for more Imagines and my novels! ♥

[toms-cherry-trees]

Congrats on 1.5k Mars!! 🥳🥳 here’s the first of my submissions to celebrate with you!! Is there something fluffy you could make out of this gif? Who’s Tommy looking at, and why is he staring at them like that?? 👀👀 thank you!! 💕

Early seasons Tommy is the best Tommy and I am always more than glad to deliver, specially for you! <3

'Mars 1.5K Celebration'

Mine || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: None really, some possessiveness maybe

He is always watching her.

Every Friday she is in the club. Her frocks are tailor made and her jewels are of the finest crafting. She glides about the room gracefully, a cigarette holder carefully placed between two gloved fingers, with the faintest stain of crimson lipstick upon the ebony tip. Just observing her, Tommy can feel the aroma of her perfume, mixed with the fragrance of her hair and the musk of her skin. Even from afar, her skin appears so soft; Tommy flexes his fingers, picturing what it would feel like to brush them down the curve of her neck.

He comes down every time he can, around the same hour, just to stand vigil. Leaning into the wall, whiskey on the rock warming in his hand, blue irises tracking her every move as she greets patrons, dispensing warm smiles and greetings to the patrons. Everyone knows her, how could they not? She beams like the moon in the darkest night, a perfectly cultivated rose in a field of little daisies. The eye drags naturally to her figure, almost as an instinct, and she knows it. She basks on the attention and thrives under the spotlight. She is meant to be observed, cherished and adored. 

Tommy treasures the first time he saw her. The same unwavering beauty and the mysterious eyes situated behind the bar pouring drinks, a novelty in itself. The owner had promptly realised that her presence served to drag admirers to the line, spilling their pockets on the counter for a sliver of her attention. A bright beacon to guide drunken fools to the safety of the liquor and the demise of their salaries. 

Tommy’s keen eye soon picked up through various subtleties in her attitude that she did not enjoy her post; her lips always curved in a candide but forced smile, the set of her jaw whenever she looked away, the way her fingers curled every time she pushed a hand away from her arm. One too many times Tommy had observed how depraved fingers clung to the fabric of her dress, forcing her to stay close, men wanting to drown in the glow of her charm.

He tried to put in a word with the club owner, how a woman such as herself should not be hung out like a piece of meat to lure in predators. The owner refused and sent Tommy in his way. The man did not have much to refuse two weeks later, however, when the Blinder overtook possession of the establishment for themselves. Many of the employees chose to desert, but she chose to stay. The way his name rolled off her lips sent a shiver down his spine. When he offered his lighter for her cigarette, he felt the warm caress of her breath in his hand. He had to fight off the impulse of brushing that coquettish loose strand of hair out of her face.

From that moment on, Tommy became obsessed. He had left the management of the club to others, but he still showed up there every night to watch her, to receive her gentle welcoming as the hostess of the club; to watch her strut across the room, dominating the scene, now safely flanked by two gargantuan goons to keep her safe and ward off anyone who dared look at her the wrong way. The charming smile she gave him every time he crossed the threshold was enough to wrap him around her little finger.

He had pursued her, like every other man, but she was tantalisingly elusive, always standing just on the edge of his reach, close enough to entice him, but always ready to abscond. Toying with him, giving him a taste of heaven and then slipping like sand on his fingers. Every time Tommy thought he had finally captured her, caged in his grasp, she simply vanished in a puff of smoke. The chase resumed, the thrill of the chase flaming his fervour.

Suddenly, back in the present, her back stiffens and she peers over her shoulder. Their eyes meet, a Mona Lisa smile pulling at her lips, a smile meant just for him. She has grown used to seeing him there, his attention following her about as she socialises with the patrons. She moves behind the bar and produces from under the counter a feathery fan. The effect on Tommy is immediate; his pupils dilate and the whiskey stops midway towards his lips. He had gifted her that fan. He loved to see her piercing gaze staring at him from above the fluffy tips, concealing her face from view and leaving to his imagination what was happening behind. Is she smirking, is she grimacing, are her lips pursed in a silent kiss?

More often that he cared to admit, Tommy had pictured her with that fan in her hand and nothing else on her skin.

She leans down towards a male, using that same fan to hide their faces as she whispers to him. The beast of jealousy lashes inside Tommy’s chest, growling and gnawing and banging against the bars of its cage, straining to escape and wreak havoc. His free hand twitched and fisted around nothing, the mental image of his fist colliding with the man’s nose burning like a branding iron. He knows she does it on purpose; she loves to rile him up, push on the boundaries of his desires and then reap the seeds she has sown on him. The threat of another stealing what he so desperately covets enough for Tommy to double up his efforts. He cannot slack if he aspires for a woman like her.

As the night winds down and the patrons wane, she finally caves in to him and moves to his side. His posture is relaxed but his jaw is tense and his muscles nearly vibrate with the need to pounce on her, the wait so long and the prize so close. Her hands lay on his chest, pushing him towards one of the shadowed corners of the room to steal a heated kiss from his lips, still tasting of champagne and sweetness of her own self. Tommy circles her waist, all too happy to oblige in her desire. The game has been played, the hunt culminated and the treasure laid before him

Her whispered words tickle his ear, her gloved hand cradling the back of his head, feeling the pressure of a hidden ring against his skull

“I am ready to go home, Mr Shelby”

The smirk dances on his lips, his fingers gripping her chin tenderly and brushing some smeared lipstick from the edge of her mouth

“As you wish, Mrs Shelby”

[ginnsbaker]

In Flames I Sleep Soundly (1/2)

Summary: What do you do when you find out that person you trust the most is a liar? Or the Unfaithful AU that I've been wanting to read for a while.

Word Count: 9k+

Warnings: Angst, Smut (18+), Cheating/Adultery, Implied Het Sexual Content

Author’s Note: I was thinking about making a separate tumblr for fics (since I primarily post fanarts), but I’m too scatterbrained two maintain more than one account. I recently saw Unfaithful (2002) again and thought about doing an AU based on that movie. The title of this fic are lyrics from "Wedding Song" by Yeah Yeah Yeahs. No betas. And I won't apologize for how imperfect this monster is. I haven't written in more than a decade, so let's all suck it up.  

AO3 / Part Two / Masterlist

--

Part One

Summer arrives in Westview, New Jersey in a fairly conspicuous manner. Its parks have been repainted with various shades of green, and the oversized trench coats on the streets that its residents are so fond of during the cold months are nowhere to be found.

Despite these observations, Westview remains a sleepy town. At least it is to you, but that's probably because you’ve spent half of your life in Manhattan. You and Wanda moved to New Jersey a few months ago after you were promoted to branch manager. The salary that came with it was enough to pay off your student loans including Wanda's, so it was easy to accept the offer despite the trade-off of having to move to a relatively unknown and rural town.

"It's only temporary," you told Wanda when you broke the news. "My supervisor said that if I can prove myself there, I can come back as a regional manager."

Wanda had assured you that you had her full support. At the time, she was working part-time at a small gallery for up-and-coming artists in the state, and while she needed to start somewhere to realize her dream of becoming an art dealer, she figured it wouldn't derail her career so much if she could learn art trading online.

Everything happened in a blur after that. In two weeks, you were driving to Westview with nothing but two suitcases and your dog, Sparky, on Wanda's lap. You held her hand while she slept throughout the entire trip and you faced the unknown roads that led to your new life.

The house they picked for you and your family exceeded your expectations. Granted, you had to subsidize a percentage of the move-in fee, it was a small price to pay to have so much space. The bathroom alone is larger than the guestroom of your previous two-bedroom apartment in Yorkville. On the first day, Wanda had explored the house with a childlike wonder, while Sparky tried to cover every inch of its ostensibly boundless backyard. That night, with only a blanket laid out on the floor, you made love to Wanda and then some more on the kitchen counter and the bathtub upstairs, inside the master's bedroom.

You've been married to her for five years, but a fresh start gave you two the sexual appetite of newly weds. It didn’t take 48 hours to christen every room in the house.

By now, a routine has been established: you wake up at five in the morning to go out for a run, back at home by six, and then showered and dressed for work before seven. Wanda, on the other hand, would try to get up before you're done with your ceremonies to prepare breakfast. She's not always successful–sometimes waking up long after you've gone to work.

"You want some coffee?" Wanda wakes you out of your stupor. She's still in her nightgown, holding two cups of freshly brewed coffee. Her auburn hair is up in a messy bun and she is, after all these years, a sight to behold.

You look at her and then at your left wrist to check the time on the Rolex she gave you as a wedding gift. You still have a few minutes, but there's an urgent staff meeting that you're a little anxious about.

"And maybe some omelet?" Wanda suggests when you don't answer, already cracking some eggs in a bowl.

"Sorry, babe, got to run." You shake your head apologetically before walking over to her and kissing the back of her head. Wanda merely continues whisking the eggs for a while before commenting, "Until when are you going to have these early meetings?"

"I don't know. Maybe the end of the month?"

"You're the boss. Can't you just call them off? Maybe schedule them during actual office hours?"

You shrug and say nothing, unwilling to engage in an argument so early in the day. Wanda exhales heavily at your lack of reaction, which compels you to reach for her hand and stroke it. Seeing how she’s not pulling away from your touch, you move to hug her from behind.

"I'll try to be home early tonight, okay? I miss you too." You say softly and kiss her cheek.

"I didn't say I miss you." Wanda deadpans, but she's already turning around in your arms for a proper embrace. You kiss her forehead and let her hold you for a few beats. She buries her nose in your neck and inhales deeply. “I told you to stop wearing this perfume. It makes you unbearably enticing.” Wanda admonishes you with a hungry look.

It’s embarrassing how easily your wife can turn you into a bashful teenager with a little flirting.

“Well, maybe you should do something about it.” You playfully taunt her.

“Maybe I will.” Wanda says in a low voice, and she’s close enough for you to notice the total lack of green in her eyes.

As much as you want to rip her silky lingerie and take her right then and there, the fact is you are already going to miss the first few minutes of the meeting–and then maybe a quarter of it if you don’t leave soon.

"I really have to go. But first things first," You grab one of the two cups of joe and Wanda starts giggling when you drink from it in one go. "Best coffee in the world. Maybe you should start a cafe business."

"Idiot." Wanda taps your nose affectionately, before shoving you towards the door.

Later, you arrive home just a few minutes shy of midnight. The house is deathly silent, even your dog could not be bothered greeting you at the door. You go straight to the bedroom, making as little sound as possible, to find Wanda asleep on her side, facing away from you. You get rid of your clothes and climb into bed. You carefully inch towards her and press your front against her back, spooning her. You hear her breath hitch, but before you can start thinking of an apology, you fall fast into a dreamless sleep.

***

It’s two months later and on a lazy Sunday afternoon, when Wanda breaks the news that she’s been offered a temporary position at Westview Institute of Arts and Sciences. You’ve watched your wife gradually grow restless each week, having a difficult time adjusting to life in the suburbs. Wanda interviewing for a job wasn’t as forthcoming as her asking you to move back to the city. Taking the job would mean integrating with the community in a semi-permanent way. So it’s a surprise that Wanda would even consider it.

"Assistant professor?" you ask distractedly, not looking up from the Jonathan Tropper novel on your lap. Wanda’s perched on one of the barstools of the breakfast counter, waiting for her banana bread to be done in the oven. Sparky lays at her feet, also waiting for the banana bread.

"What do you think?" Wanda muses and drums her fingers on the table.

You regard your restless wife for a moment, before closing the book and tapping the spot next to you on the couch. “C’mere.”

Wanda does as she’s told and Sparky follows after her.

"I think it’s a great opportunity and experience to have. But I thought you're getting a lot of projects from Upwork."

You try not to sound too partial to the idea of her working in the university. However, if you’re being totally honest, it would essentially solve the problem of your wife’s mild existential crisis– and your guilt of probably causing it.

"It’s just a side-hustle,” Wanda argues. “Besides, they’re going to need me only three times a week and they offered me a full-time pay.”

“Sounds too perfect to be true.”

Wanda shakes her head. “I don’t think so. It’s not unheard of that there’s a huge demand for educators in small-town institutions.”

“So you’ll take it?”

Wanda nods with a smile and then says, “Only if you’ll drive me in the morning.”

“Of course, baby.” You say almost instantly and give her a quick peck on the lips. It doesn’t even matter that Wanda has her own car since she hates driving with a passion.

"Professor Maximoff." Her potential designation rolls off your tongue coolly. You’ve never really pictured Wanda in academe before, and now you can’t get rid of the image of her in a perfectly tailored suit.

The corners of Wanda’s mouth quirk up in a dreamy smile. "Kinda has a ring to it, huh?"

"A very sexy ring to it, professor."

Wanda giggles as you go ahead and think of ways to sneak into one of her classes some time in the near future.

"I'd tell you I've gotten a job at Baskin' Robbins and you'd say I look hot in their uniform." she points out.

"I bet you're hotter with all your clothes off."

Suddenly, the oven dings and Sparky starts barking at Wanda.

“And you’ve got a one-track mind,” she mutters with an undercurrent of mirth, before getting up to return to her baking. “Ten points from Hufflepuff!”

You burst into a fit of laughter. “Can’t blame me for having a hot wife. Also, I’m a Gryffindor you vexing Slytherin!”

Wanda can be the biggest dork at times, and it only makes you fall for her a little harder in these moments.

She sticks her tongue out at you. “Dream on, Badger Queen.”

***

It’s some kind of Hollywood domestic bliss.

You still wake up at five to go out for a run, but now Wanda’s your running buddy and you’re always trying to catch up with her pace.

“I can’t believe this gives you more energy than coffee.” she said the first time she laced up and she finished her run a minute faster than you. You thought it’s ludicrous that Wanda was a natural athlete on top of her good looks, but you figured it was an organic truth given that her brother played professional soccer for a couple of years before he got into the business side of sports.

Most days, you’d let Wanda clean up first while you cook breakfast. On one occasion that you joined her in the shower, Wanda turned up so late in class some of the students were already preparing to leave.

“That can’t happen again.” Wanda told you.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

You’d been married to her long enough to know that Wanda often broke her own rules. Historically, you’d watch her do so with satisfaction just because it’s usually an unspoken challenge between married people. And maybe because it reminded you that she’s human. Imperfect as much as you were.

“Just be careful, Y/N,” your best friend, Natasha, told you a month into dating Wanda Maximoff. “Mistakes and disappointments are inevitable. Hell, even I will let you down at some point in the future.”

“You have. Many times.” you said jokingly.

“Is that right? Look, all I’m saying is it’s also not fair to Wanda if you put her on such a high pedestal.”

Natasha was right. However, it wasn’t like you could change who you were and how you loved. The night you met Wanda at freshman orientation, you knew she was the one. You loved her through college as her closest friend as much as you did when she began to see you in a new light thereafter.

And even now, as you stare at her sneaking a nap on the drive to her workplace, nothing has changed. It’s a cherished moment, no matter how mundane.

Your hopeless crush on Wanda never really went away.

You feel very lucky that she feels the same way.

***

You’re about ten feet from the door of your house when you hear scratches from behind it, followed by Sparky’s incessant barking. Quickly, you fish out your keys from your backpack and open the door.

Sparky jumps at you as soon as the door swings open, and then starts licking at your pants.

“What’s up?” you say, scratching behind his ears until he calms down.

You look around the empty living room and notice for the first time that Wanda’s not home.

You send a text to her asking where she is. Sparky is making whiny noises, while pushing his empty bowl towards you with his tiny paw.

“Sorry, bud. Let’s get you your dinner.” You say, picking up the bowl and bringing it to where you store his food. You open the cupboard to find a mostly empty bag of Merrick. Sparky patiently waits for you, wagging his tail. Wanda was supposed to get some groceries this afternoon.

You check your phone and find no new messages.

“Looks like you’re coming with me for a quick run to the grocery store.” You tell Sparky with a sigh.

Sparky tilts his head at you in confusion. You send another text to Wanda telling her you went out and ask if she’s already eaten, before heading out to your car once again.  

You don’t hear back from Wanda long after you’ve had dinner by yourself and it’s almost midnight. Your anxiety levels are at an all-time high, and you’re about to call the cops when you hear her car approaching the garage.

You’re waiting by the door, so at the very second she slips inside the house, you hoist her into a desperate embrace like a mad woman.

“Where were you?” You exclaim as you pull away and clasp her shoulder blades hard. “I’ve been worried sick and you went dark on me.”

Wanda winces at you, gently prying your fingers from her. “My phone died and I forgot to bring my charger. I was writing the final exam that I have to turn in by tomorrow, and got carried away. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t do that again. You couldn’t have borrowed someone’s cell or call from the school?”

“Like I said, I was working,” Wanda rolls her eyes, just a tad snidely. “It’s Westview. What’s the worst that could happen to me? Please let it go, I’m so fucking exhausted.”

It’s not that you’ve never heard your wife curse before, but you can’t help but flinch given the context at which she’s said it.

“Fine,” You clench your jaw, stepping out of her way. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“Sure.” Wanda says stoically.

You don't talk about it in the morning. Or at all.

***

The forecast is you’re not going to hit this quarter’s targets. You’ll be two to three percent short, and everyone is telling you there’s not enough time to pull off a new campaign and drum up enough business to meet the numbers.

Your stubborn nature beseeches you to try anyway. It is, of course, at the cost of being stuck in front of your laptop in the dead of night.

Wanda approaches you to see if you need anything before she goes to bed without you. You smile at the sweet gesture but shake your head no.

“I’m good,” you say.

“Are you sure? I’ve got us fresh tea bags.”

“Positive.”

“Okay, good night.” she offers you a faint smile and starts to leave the room.

“Wands?” you utter abruptly.

She pauses and leans against the door frame. “Yeah?”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course, I love you,” Wanda drags her feet back to you. “What a silly question.”

“I guess I’m just feeling silly. We’ve been working hard, and when we’re together,” You let out a mirthless laugh. “We’re still working.”

Wanda nods solemnly but doesn’t speak. You can’t see her eyes with just a lamp lit on your desk and you're oddly grateful for that.

“I just miss you.”

“Me too.”

“Okay, uhm,” you fidget, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

***

You wake up to wet kisses all over your face, only to be sorely disappointed to find out it's just Sparky, while Wanda looks at you softly as she waits for you to shake off the residues of sleep.

“Baby, I need a favor.” Wanda says.

"Good morning to you too." You reply good-naturedly.

Wanda ducks her head sheepishly. "Sorry, I've been waiting for you to wake up. I've said ‘good morning’ in my head, like, a hundred times." she tells you.

You silently brush a lock of hair from her face, before scooting closer to her and pressing a small kiss on her forehead.

"How can I be of service, m'lady?" you ask.

Wanda gets to it immediately. “There’s this painting I need from where I used to work. I need to bring it tomorrow, but I can’t take the day off. There’s no substitute because, well, I’m supposedly the substitute.”

“Sure, I’ll drop by there after work.”

Wanda makes a bashful noise of disapproval. “They’re only open until three-thirty.”

It’s a bad time to be missing work these days, but Wanda rarely asks for your help with anything. She’d sooner ask a stranger than her partner. There's one ex-boyfriend of hers you actually got to talk to in the past long before you and Wanda happened. The conversation was short, with mostly him talking–or rather ranting about how Wanda never made him feel needed. He went as far as claiming that she emasculated him in many ways. You never agreed with his insinuations of it being Wanda's flaw, and that it contributed to the downfall of their relationship. You like that Wanda is not a damsel in distress and that she carries herself with an air of confidence that only a truly independent woman can exude.

Although it does feel good to be needed sometimes.

“I’ll take care of it.” You assure her.

“Thank you,” Wanda says, and then proceeds to give you a tight but fleeting hug. "Alright, I'm gonna go get ready."  

You plop back on the bed with a huff. You haven't gone out on a proper date with Wanda for months, and you don't know how much longer you can survive this routine of late nights and rush hours. Maybe a vacation isn't too improbable by the end of August. Wanda's always wanted to visit Maui and, but you've kept deferring it until next year. A year has turned into two, three, and you don't realize it until just now that she's stopped mentioning it to you.

You make a mental note to search for discount flights later. Or maybe you can start with something more feasible like, say, lunch?

"Wands?"

The noise of the running shower drowns out your call, so you lumber from the bed and towards the bathroom.

Your mouth goes dry at the view of Wanda's soaked body, nostrils flaring at her stupid rule of no sex before work.

Wanda turns around and your eyes drop lower.

"Jesus, Y/N!" she gasps, then lets out a breathy laugh.

"Sorry," you lie, smirking at her nakedness. "Should we go out for lunch later?"

"I'd love to," Wanda says. "But I've got a lunch meeting with the dean."

"I see." you say and linger by the door. The crestfallen look on your face doesn't go unnoticed by your wife.

"We can have dinner," Wanda proposes tentatively. "Maybe drive to the city for some steaks and a dive bar after?"

Your eyes light up at her suggestion, heart brimming with repose.

"I'll pick you up at seven," you say. "It's a date."

Wanda throws a wink in your direction before turning back around to lather herself with your favorite soap.

-

Finding a parking space in Soho is almost next to impossible. You've only been living out of Manhattan for a couple of months, but it already feels like the population has doubled since. You're thinking about just leaving the car somewhere near the island and using the subway, when a woman enters your view and you step on the break as fast as you could. There's a loud screeching sound to be heard before the woman is rushing to your door with every intent to pulverize you on the spot.

As soon as you roll your window half-way through, a string of profanities welcome your ears like a gunshot. What you don't count on is hearing them from a spectacularly familiar voice.

"You almost got me killed you fucking asshole –"

You tilt your head towards your assailant. There's no mistaking that pair of green eyes.

“Yelena?"

Natasha's younger sister stares at you wide-eyed before her face breaks into the brightest smile.

"Y/N?"

"I almost didn't recognize you. I'm glad you still remember my name." you say. The last time you saw each other was right before Yelena went to an English university that you’ve forgotten the name of(it rhymes with ‘weed’) and you were a freshman in college. Yelena was a brunette then; she used to wear thick-rimmed glasses and her hair was always up in a low ponytail. The Yelena in front of you has blonde hair, a nose-piercing, and a cherry blossom tattoo on her chest that trails down and disappears into the collar of her blouse.

"How could I forget the only friend of my sister who was ever nice to me?" she quips with a toothy grin.

You blush at the fond memory of tutoring Yelena and treating her often to street shawarma.

"That's not true. Bruce was friendly with you as well."

"That's because he was dating my sister and wanted to get on my good side. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Looking for somewhere to park. Do you happen to know any in the area?"

"I've got one if you want. It's just down the street, second corner to your right."

"You're renting a parking space in Manhattan? I'm absolutely impressed."

“Oh, no!” she exclaims. Then adds, "It's my roommate, Kate's. She's loaded."

"Are you sure it's okay?"

Yelena nods and you thank her as she lets herself in your car.

The parking turns out to be too narrow, and so Yelena has to get out before you slot your car in the spot securely. Afterwards, she asks you where you’re off to, and you tell her that you’re picking up a painting for your wife. You ask her to come with you when she expresses an interest in the gallery.

You reacquaint yourselves with each other on the long walk to Wanda’s previous workplace. The conversation is, for lack of a better term, enjoyable. Yelena has always been an easy person to talk to–a remarkable contrast to Wanda who is often a challenge.

“When did you come home?” you ask suddenly after a while of talking about your work and recent settlement at Westview.

“Two years ago.”

You’re taken aback by her answer, feeling a bit hurt as you process the new information. Yelena’s been here all this time. Why didn’t she try to contact you?

“My cell didn’t ring either, you know.” Yelena tells you as if she can read your mind.

“Nat didn’t mention anything. I assumed you were still in London.”

“Leeds. The British are right about us not knowing any other city in the UK.” Yelena chuckles. “I told Nat to keep her mouth shut about my affairs.”

Before you could reply, Wanda’s ex-colleague, Agatha, comes out with the painting in hand. Yelena saunters off to observe the artworks on display.

“Thank you, Ms. Harkness.” you say, accepting the piece that was about the size of Mona Lisa.

“Welcome, dear. Whoever bought this must be made with money.”

The painting is wrapped in manila paper and it makes you curious who it is for. It must be someone who held a high position at Wanda’s university.

You excuse yourself with a polite nod, unaware of the look of suspicion she directs at Yelena, as your companion trails behind you on the way outside.

“Someone’s got a crush on you.” Yelena bumps your shoulder with hers.

“Wanda seems to think so too. Though I bet she’s just a nice old lady.”

Yelena laughs and slaps your arm this time. “Dude, she’s not old, old !”

“Someone’s got a crush,” you tease her back. Then, as if on cue, a reckless motorist speeds through a puddle, causing a wave of wastewater to splash all over your shirt.

“Shit,” you hiss, frowning at the ruined fabric of your white button-down. Yelena takes out her handkerchief and proceeds to wipe the specks of grease from your neck and face.

“Come on, we have a washer in the apartment.”

-

"Sorry I couldn't come to your wedding."

The hot coffee you just sipped refuses to come down your throat.

Yelena snickers at the dumb look on your face and says, "I'm just messing with you."

Your veins pulse in your temple as you force yourself to swallow. Yelena’s having a field day with you, poking fun at you on every opportunity.

"I'm so sorry for not extending an invite. It happened pretty quick. It was just your sister and Clint, and then Wanda's brother, Pietro. Our reception was at a pub in Brooklyn, and just getting absolutely shitfaced." you rush out, toying with the sleeves of Yelena’s sweater you borrowed. It’s cozy despite the hot weather. And undeniably smells like her.

"I know, Nat told me. Hey, I'm not offended. Besides, getting a wedding invitation from you would've been weird because,” Yelena pauses, and then sadly says, “We haven't connected in a long time."

"Yeah," you agree with a rueful smile. You haven't spoken to or thought about Yelena since you met Wanda.

“What’s she like?”

“Wanda? She’s…” It dawns on you that it’s not easy to translate your regular daydreams of her into a description you’d share with someone else.

“Exquisite,” you say, after going over various adjectives in your head. “And driven and smart. A glass half-empty to my glass half-full.”  

“I’m happy for you,” Yelena mutters over her glass of Merlot.

“And Kate? How did you meet her?”

“We’re just friends.”

“Who are living together,” you point out.

“Best friends then.” Yelena says, unperturbed.

You smirk. “If you say so.”

“I’ve dated around, but I never really found someone who could replace–” Yelena bites her lower lip to stop herself.

Except, she didn’t have to because you know.

You’re both quiet for a while, before you break the silence with, “Anyway, thanks for the parking and saving my shirt.”

"You did take my virginity. That's something I can never repay you for."

You’re too shocked to react–she is too, at her brazenness–that for a while you just stare at her with your mouth agape.

Placing the coffee mug on the table, you get up on shaky feet.

“Sorry, that was a bad joke. I–”

“You know what, I should go."

"Oh," Yelena gets on her feet as well. "But your shirt?” she asks weakly.  

"I'll just continue drying it at home. And then," you look down at the sweater you borrowed from her. "I'll mail this to you."

"Don't worry about that, I haven't worn that in ages."

"I promise to return it."

"Okay."

"Alright, so," Not quite knowing how to say good-bye, you jerk your thumb towards the door. "I'm gonna head out now."  

Yelena closes the distance to give you a hug, which she keeps short when you go rigid at the proximity of her body and yours.

"Bye, Y/N."

***

Wanda cancels dinner at the last minute. You’re surprisingly amenable and just text her when she’ll be home. You decide to cook for Wanda and try to convince yourself it’s not because you just need to keep busy and not think about what happened earlier with Yelena.

***

It’s Wanda’s day-off and she’s overslept. You watch your wife sleep soundly on her stomach, without a care in the world. Like this, the years fall away from her face and she looks like the girl you strongly want to protect for the rest of your days. Your eyes scan the room, until they fall onto the chair beside the bed. Hanging over it is a newly-bought lingerie with its tags still attached to it.

“Can you stop being a morning person just for today?”

You avert your gaze from the piece of clothing upon hearing Wanda’s voice still thick with sleep.

“Hi,” you greet your wife, twisting your wedding ring on your finger.

“Hi.” Wanda greets back, peeking at you from the comforter.

“I made breakfast, who’d you like to join me?”

“Sure, just give me a minute.”

You think about telling her you’ll wait until she’s ready and you can go together, but there’s an air of unfamiliarity and awkwardness hanging over your head–even worse is you don’t know where these feelings are coming from.

You don’t mean to count but it takes Wanda roughly twenty minutes to meet you at the breakfast table. It’s easy to force down your irritation when she looks immaculate and very put together.

Together, you eat in silence. You try to make conversation but in the end, Wanda’s responses are clipped and unfocused, so you just concentrate on finishing your oatmeal.

"You and I had a pretty crazy schedule recently, so I thought I'd take the day off and do something together." you say after waiting for Wanda to finish her meal.

"That's great, baby," Wanda smiles at you, before getting up to take the dishes to the sink.

Sneaking up behind her, you gently place your hands on the curve of her waist, and your lips just beside her left ear. For a while, you massage the flesh beneath your palms, feeling firm muscles instead of softness you're used to. Wanda's body has transformed right under your nose, and while you appreciate her more toned figure, you hope she's not being too restrictive with her diet.

"Leave them, baby. I'll do the dishes later..." You press an open-mouthed kiss to the skin just beneath her lobe. "...after I do you."

She squirms in your embrace, and you interpret it as a sign that she's getting turned on from your advances.

"Y/N–" Wanda doesn't get to finish her sentence as you twist her around and gently capture her lips. While she kisses you back with her hand coming up to wrap around your neck, she doesn't make a move to deepen it, seemingly satisfied with lazy pecks that end sooner than you'd like.

"Can I take you back to bed?" You inhale her scent soundly as you nose the length of her stupidly perfect jawline.

"I actually have to uhm–the laundry won't take care of itself." Wanda reasons, but doesn't really pull away from your hold. You take this opportunity to slide your hands up her back, beneath her shirt, and you can feel her goosebumps from your eager ministrations. Only now, being this close to her, have you realized how much you missed your wife.

Ignoring her excuses to thwart your affections, your fingers find the hook of her bra with ease. You snap it free and hastily move to grab both of her breasts, squeezing them tightly. "God, the things they do to me." You groan. She gasps at that, and by now, she should be pushing her chest towards you for more, but she remains slack as ever, like an obedient ragdoll under your whims.

Something's not right, you thought to yourself. You pull back just enough to check, and what you find has you swiftly stepping back to give her some space.

The expression alone on your wife's face could send you to jail.

"Shit, are you alright?" You rasp, overwhelmed with self-disgust at the thought of causing Wanda the slightest discomfort. Were you just about to take advantage of your wife without her consent?

Wanda looks at you with regret that you couldn't quite understand.

"D-Did I hurt you?" You dread the possible answer, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

Wanda quickly closes the distance between the two of you and envelops you into a hug.

"Oh, baby, no you didn't. I'm so sorry I made you think that." She coos, rubbing your back in soothing circles. You sigh against her shoulder, carefully keeping your hold on her hips loose.

"I just missed you so bad these past few weeks, and I thought you wanted to… it's okay if you don’t. I'm sorry."

It breaks Wanda's heart that you're taking the blame for this. She feels annoyed and guilty at the same time, at how apologetic and sensitive you are to her feelings, as if they matter more than yours do.

"It's not your fault. There's just so much to do and I can't get in the mood until I tick off everything on my to-do list."

"I know. I’m sorry."

"Stop apologizing," Wanda chastises and it comes out harsher than she intended. "You're perfect. I'm sorry. I miss you too. So bad."

"I love you." You tell her, burying your face into her hair to seek more of the lavender scent of her shampoo. It used to frighten you how much the little details about Wanda affects you in big ways. But that fear has turned into comfort, and you've grown to trust her enough to be happily vulnerable around her.

It doesn't worry you at all when she says she loves you back after a long, mysterious pause.

***

Wanda starts driving herself to work and attributes it to her inconsistent hours at the university for the rest of the term. Sparky’s in the dog daycare now more frequently than he is at home.

***

Wanda has gone up to take a shower before bedtime.

You just finished scrubbing the kitchen clean after having dinner together, and you're buzzing with the prospect of getting laid tonight. Your tactic to get your wife to sleep with you is to offer her a massage after witnessing firsthand how hard she's been working lately. In a way, you also want to show your appreciation for everything she still continues to do in the household. And although she accidentally burned the lasagna, she outdone herself with the roasted chicken.

It still amazes you to this day that you’re married to Wanda Maximoff.

Making as little sound as possible, you climb the stairs and towards the bathroom. You can hear the sound of water hitting the floor, and you can't help but imagine Wanda's naked body, lathered in soap, her brunette hair sticking to her clavicle. Your mouth waters at the prospect of taking her, pressing her against the wall and reminding her what you've both been missing for weeks. And just like that, your earlier tactic is out the window.

With practiced ease, you wrap your hand around the doorknob and twist it as gently as you can.

But something unexpected happens.

Wanda's locked the door. "That's odd." You mumble to yourself.

You decide to knock instead. "Baby?" You call out.

No reply comes for several seconds, and as you were going to leave, thinking she didn't hear you, Wanda's breathless response echoes through, "I'll just be a minute! Did you need something?"

"Hey! Uh, no. I was just going to–" You suddenly feel like an idiot wanting to sneak in for some surprise sex. "Never mind. You locked the door?"

"Oh, did I?"

"Yeah! It's fine, I'll just use the toilet downstairs."

She doesn't say anything else to that and you awkwardly turn on your heel to actually use the toilet downstairs.

***

You google ‘ how busy are part-time assistant professors’ on the second straight-week Wanda’s been going home later than The Late Night Show with Jimmy Fallon.

***

Your best friend finally comes around and visits you in Westview. Although you wish it weren't on pitiful circumstances that warranted her special skills of exposing people and their secrets. Even to this second, you're still unsure if you really want her help. You can't even be sure of your own sanity. The only thing you know is that you feel more like yourself now that Natasha's here with you. You've made new friends in your new neighborhood and at work, been invited to weekend barbeques and the local cycling community. But the sense of being alone has never been this strong as when you were living in the city, barely keeping any sort of acquaintanceship and let alone a meaningful friendship.

“You know I don’t do this anymore.” Natasha claims with a huff. "And typically, consultation alone will cost you a grand."

“And I never thought I’d ever ask you to do this.” You shake your head apologetically as you help her deposit her luggage in the trunk of your old Mercedes Coupe.

“I still think you’re just overreacting.” Natasha says as she settles in the passenger seat. It's what you want to hear, but instead of pacifying you, they urge you more to dig for the truth of it all.

"Weren't you always telling me in college that Wanda's too boy-crazy to really be with me?"

Natasha rolls her eyes. "Yup. But then she married you, and I lost ten bucks to a wager with Clint."

"You wagered on the most important event of my life?" It's the first time you're hearing that two of your closest friends gambled on your critical life choices. You're not exactly surprised per se, but it makes you curious about what made them choose which side of the coin.

"Well, no," she answers nonchalantly. "We wagered on almost everything. Like who would you lose your virginity to: Carol or Maria. Two beautiful women who had been throwing themselves at you for a whole semester."

"Who won that bet then?"

"Nobody. Remember when we bought you drinks after you finally slept with Wanda? That's where all the stakes went. We both lost."

"So after my marriage, what else did you put your money on?"

Natasha smiles. "None. That was the last of it. It's not right to give odds beyond a happy ever-after."

If she notices your deathly grip on the steering wheel, she doesn't comment on it.

***

Wanda's serving you the cold-shoulder for not giving her a heads-up about Natasha. You try to ask her why it's such a big deal, and she begins ranting about dinner portions and the “chaos” in the living room: some skewed pillows and a bundle of her students' reaction papers on the center table. Natasha is outside, waiting, so you try to help Wanda straighten the room but she merely dismisses you and asks you to drive for take-out.

"If it's too much trouble for you, we'll just get dinner somewhere." you say.

Wanda narrows her eyes at you murderously, as if you've just made things much worse.

"Fine," Wanda says with finality as she walks up the stairs. "Give my regards to Nat."

And then she's gone, but not before slamming the door of the guest bedroom shut.

You're absolutely fuming when you go back to the car and Natasha peers at you questioningly from the passenger’s seat.

"You in the mood for pizza?" you ask instead of explaining why you can’t still invite her in.

Natasha scrunches her nose in disgust. "Pizza in New Jersey? No, thanks. How about Chinese?"

"Sure." you nod in agreement, having already lost your appetite anyway. You toss the car keys at her. "You drive."

-

You're laying on your back, staring at the ceiling. Wanda hasn't uttered a single word to you ever since you got home from dinner with Natasha.

"She used to spend the night every week at our apartment." you whisper in the darkness.

"What?" Wanda mumbles and shifts onto her back as well with an arm draped over her eyes.

"Natasha," You clarify. "So it didn't cross my mind to inform you that she's visiting. It's just how it's always been."

Beside you, Wanda is mute as a statue. She does this sometimes–tune you out. Wanda claims it's her way of circumventing her anger and saying something she might regret.

For all you know, she could be telling the truth. But to you, it just feels like you're being punished.  

"Wands?" you try. She rolls to her side with her back to you.

You're in hell every time you fight with Wanda. Returning to normal is not an option unless you fix it. You wonder if it's the same for her, or if it's something as trivial as running out of toilet paper or an expired carton of milk left in the fridge.

"Baby?" you try again. It seems like it's all you ever do these days. "Please?"

You hear Wanda release a ragged sigh.

"We're fine, Y/N. Let's just go to sleep."

You nod to yourself and finally let go of the tears you've been holding back. Subsequently, Wanda's cold hand reaches for yours and locks your fingers together. It makes you cry harder, but you can't let her know.

***

Natasha is still radio silent a week after you’ve asked her to spy on your wife.

It's not like her to be slow with the results. You take the lack of news as good news.

***

You wake up in the middle of the night to find Wanda's side of the bed empty.

"Wanda?"

"Hey, baby."

You rub the sleepiness off your eyes at the sight of Wanda’s puffy eyes.

“Are you crying?"

Wanda chuckles, shaking her head. "Sorry, I was watching this movie. You know how I get."

You grin at that. "My big crybaby." You sit beside her on the couch and she snuggles to you.

For a while you stay that way, your fingers playing with her hair, and Wanda, palming your cheek affectionately. It brings you back to years before, when she was merely a close friend who would lay her head on your shoulder while she cried about some guy who didn’t deserve her. Like this, Wanda seems so small and vulnerable. You’ve come to realize a long time ago that whatever she’s done, or is to do, you will always feel the need to protect her at all cost. That was the last strip of armor you had given up when you decided to love her until the end.

Then all of a sudden, you see a flash of brown and you end up on your back as Wanda straddles your hips, her eyes darker than you've ever seen them.

"Take off your shorts." She commands in a rush, her own hips already starting a rhythm. You do as she says, but you only manage to move down your shorts and underwear past your ass, when you feel a finger swipe at your wet slit.

"Fuck. Patience, baby." you moan, feeling yourself get slicker.

"Don't have any," Wanda rasps and she sucks the very same finger into her mouth before taking over your undergarments and sliding them all the way down to your ankles. You've barely kicked them off before she spreads your legs and doesn't waste any time tracing your intimacy with her tongue. Her patience comes back eventually, but you're about to lose yours when she doesn't do anything else other than softly brush the tip of her tongue from your tight hole to the underside of your clit. She does this over and over and over, until your legs begin to tremble from being spread out like an eagle for what seems like an eternity.

You clench your core and try to come just from what she's doing, but it's not enough.

"Please, I need more." You manage a whisper although you're unsure if Wanda heard you.

"I've missed you so much, Y/N." You feel her say against your pussy. "I've missed making you feel good. Missed feeling this way with you..."

What way? You want to ask, but your brain is too muddled with lust to care.

You could only grunt in reply, before Wanda is pulling away in order to arrange your position on the sofa. You've almost forgotten how physically strong she is, and it turns you on so much, you nearly peak. Wanda grabs both of your ankles and pushes them back, until they're on either side of your head, near your ears. Heat spreads across your face and down to your neck for being exposed like this. Wanda takes a moment to appreciate the mess she's made between your legs, her teeth digging at her lower lip. You can't bring yourself to watch her watch you, and you stare at the same spot before you feel her lift your chin to kiss you in the most delicate way.

"I love you." She murmurs against your lips. Every fiber of your being is ablaze as you take in the smallest details of this moment: your taste that you two shared in a kiss, the mingling scent of your arousal and hers, the endearing sweat on Wanda's brow that's making her more desirable than any lingerie could ever. You'd never admit it to Wanda, but sex was something you only learned to want and need when you fell in love with her.

You smile up at her. "I love you. More than you could ever know."

Her face crumples in an aching manner, but before you can register what that means, Wanda has crawled back to the source of your pleasure and takes your clit in between her lips. She starts sucking at it gently, while her hands work their way to your buttocks and then spread your ass cheeks. In this way, both of your holes are exposed to the air, sending a chill down your spine and threatening to make you come any time soon.

A finger experimentally prods at your other entrance, making you whimper as your slick continues to brim in your cunt hole.

"Wands, gonna cum," you moan as you hold onto the edge of the sofa for dear life. Wanda ignores your warning and continues rubbing at your crimp hole, while her tongue quickens its laps against your clit. It doesn't take a few more seconds before you're bursting, and Wanda plunges her tongue into your pussy at precisely the second you start to come so you don't clench around nothing.

Soon enough, the tremors subside and Wanda wipes her mouth before she gives you a searing kiss.

You're still catching your breath when Wanda lays her head on your chest so innocently, as if she hasn't just given you the best orgasm of your life. You wait a few more seconds for your heart rate to go back to normal, and once they do, it’s only then that you notice that Wanda's still in her pajamas, fully clothed.

That needs to be rectified. Immediately.

Without a word, you get up with Wanda still on top of you. You make her wrap her arms tighter around your shoulders as you bring yourself into a standing position while she clings to you like a koala. Wanda laughs at your attempt to hold her up steadily, simultaneously impressed that you actually can.

"I've been going to the gym whenever my lovely wife's stuck at professoring ." You snicker at your own terrible wordplay, as you plant your feet firmly on the floor.

You miss the shadow of guilt that passes over her fleetingly. "I can see that," she says, biting her lip as she feels your straining biceps. You grin up at her, before carrying her upstairs as steadily as you can while she distracts you with kittenish nibs at your earlobe.

Once in the bedroom, you lay Wanda gently on the bed, your movements slow and delicate as if one wrong move could ruin everything. You start to undo the buttons of her silky top, holding her gaze with a look of adoration typically reserved to deities. It's only fitting because Wanda Maximoff is your religion.

"Wait, can you–" she glances at the night table to your right, and you understand right away what she wants. You quickly retrieve the flesh-colored strap-on at the bottom most drawer. And as you start putting on the harness, Wanda leans forward to capture a dusky nipple, effectively sidetracking you from the task at hand.

"Baby, just a sec..." You chuckle at her apparent neediness. Between the two of you, it's Wanda that's been more in-touch and expressive with her carnal needs. More exciting. More daring. More adventurous. She's always been more in everything, and you sometimes wonder if she's weary of leading the wallflower to the dancefloor all these years.

"Hurry." Wanda whines, her teeth nipping hard enough to play the line between pain and pleasure.

As soon as the harness is secured around your hips, you push Wanda back onto the mattress. You hook one of her creamy thighs over your shoulder, holding it firmly while your other hand aligns the tip of the toy to her slit. Pressing a languid kiss to her knee, you start moving your hips to brush your cock along the length of her drenched sex. Wanda moans lowly and unabashedly, and you feel yourself getting wet again.

"Fuck, baby, inside..." Wanda mewls, her hands traveling downwards to massage her own clit. You grunt in protest and seize her hand, interlacing your fingers together to prevent her from touching herself. Increasing the rhythm of your hips but still not entering her, you give her a warning, “ I make you cum.” It’s not like you to engage in any sort of powerplay in the bedroom, and yet you couldn’t help but let out some of the resentment that has built over the last few weeks through the sex you’re having with her now.

Besides, Wanda seems to love it. You look down just in time to see her wetness trickle down to the sheets. You groan loudly from the visual and roughly position her to lie sideways. You keep the thigh over your shoulder secured, while you straddle the other one. Moisture begins to form at the back of your neck, muscles straining to hold this position. Wanda’s face reddens as you stare at her weeping cunt, before her eyes roll to the back of her head as you unceremoniously enter her in one, powerful thrust.

“Fuck!” Wanda cries through gritted teeth, her French-manicured nails digging painfully between your knuckles. Unlacing your bruised fingers from her, you then wrap them around her throat. You’ve never done anything like this in bed before, and you watch in twisted satisfaction as Wanda’s lust-filled eyes widen in shock and slight panic. The way you're grinding into her is viciously savage, callously chasing your own high. Wanda tips her head back as far as she could, her chin pointing to the heavens as she experiences an other-worldly kind of pleasure.  Your thighs grow slicker from your shared arousal, the stench from it filling your nostrils. Her hips try to match your tempo and an animalistic sound rips from your throat as your movements become more and more frantic.

"Shit, baby, I think I'm gonna–"

"No." You lightly squeeze around her neck.

"Please," Wanda sobs in frustration, staving off her impending release. You pay no heed to her request as you slow down your motion to keep her on the edge.

"Say it again." You demand.

"W-what?"

"Say you love me."

"L-love you..." The length of your spine curves as you bend forwards, pushing Wanda's thigh back in the process and opening her up even further.

Wanda whimpers at the new angle you're fucking her with wild abandon. "Jesus, Y/N. I can't-"

"One more time. Say it." You plead against her mouth, increasing the speed of your thrusts again, but this time you’re determined to finish her off.

With a sharp cry, Wanda clenches around your cock and comes, screaming those three fated words that are simultaneously your salvation and your undoing. You try to prolong her orgasm, alternately pausing and then jogging your hips, studiously watching her facial reactions and loving the subtle twitch of muscle in her jaw. A couple of tears run down her cheeks, and you lick them gently from her face. Letting go of her delicate neck, you run a free hand across her back, gathering beads of sweat along the way. Without pulling out of her, you drop her thigh on your shoulder with great care, before pressing your lower body down so that your pelvis is snug against hers. Wanda grabs your face with both hands and pulls you down for a searing kiss.

You release her lower lip with a wet pop and then like an eager puppy, starts peppering her face with featherlight kisses, making Wanda laugh and squirm in your arms. "You're cute," You tell her. "And so damn hot. How is that possible?"

Wanda blushes, overwhelmed by the ferocity in your words and in your eyes. She starts jogging her hips as your kisses become more insistent, but then an idea hits you. Embarrassingly, you've never done this with Wanda before, but this time feels as good as any to finally try it. Wanda shivers as you unsheathe your cock from her pussy, leaving a thread of wetness across her inner thighs. Afterwards, you remove the harness and place the drenched toy somewhere on the floor. Wanda pulls you back on top of her, a sleepy and satisfied grin on her face. She's prepared to call it a night when she feels your hand wandering back to the still feverish spot between her legs.

"What are you doing?" She asks coyly.

Instead of replying, you merely continue to trail south until your fingers find her slippery nub. Wanda gasps, back arching and eager for more. "Lie on your stomach and stick your ass up in the air for me." You whisper in her ear, and she obeys without a second thought. Abandoning her clit for a second, you crawl towards the foot of the bed, until your nose is a trifling inch from your wife's firm buttocks.

"Are you ready?" You husk, planting your chin at the base of her spine.

Wanda is almost convulsing in anticipation, and barely manages a nod. Heart beating wildly in your chest, you spread Wanda's cheeks with your thumb to reveal her puckered entrance. When Wanda finally understands what you’re about to do, her head whips over to look at you, but she doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

“Y/N?” Her voice is muffled by the pillow, small and unsure. You massage the back of her thighs to calm her down.

“I want to if you do.” You tell her sincerely. Wanda appreciates your touches staying in safe zones, making her feel safe and secured.

“It’s just… it’s been hours ago since I showered, it's dirty and I don't want to gross you out-”

“That’ll never happen,” You promise. “Whenever you were snotty from crying over your exes, all I could think about then was kissing you. I'd never not want you, Wanda.”

“Okay.” Wanda murmurs softly, shifting back closer to you. “I’m ready.”

“Good girl.”

You place a pillow beneath her stomach so she can comfortably prop herself up. Wanda’s breathing picks up when you part her cheeks again. This time, there’s no hesitation or wasted second as you lick a stripe from the entrance of her cunt to the rim of her backdoor.

“Да, да, детка!” Wanda yelps in her native language, impossibly turning you on even more. You could count on one hand the few occasions you’d been able to reduce her to a Sokovian mess, making her feel so good she forgets her English. Wanda's flavor there is different, more pungent and oh-so delectable.

"детка, I need-"

Wanda doesn't get to finish her sentence. Knowing exactly what she needs, you plunge your middle and ring fingers inside her wet heat. You feel her anus contract against your tongue, and you take it as a cue to enter her with it. Wanda thrashes violently on the bed and tries to move away from the intense pleasure that's bordering on pain. Eventually, you find the perfect cadence of plunging your tongue into her tight crevice every time you withdraw your finger from her pussy and vice-versa. Wanda, on the other hand, finds herself wantonly humping the pillow, practically grazing her tumescent nub.

All of it lasts a few more seconds before you feel Wanda's imminent little death. You stop moving your fingers to allow her to take over her own release, until finally, Wanda collapses on her stomach. You lick your fingers clean before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You pull the blankets up to cover both of your aching bodies, before settling beside your wife. Wanda automatically lays her head on your breast and throws an arm over your stomach. You kiss her sweaty forehead, and right before you are about to close your eyes, something wet hits your flushed skin.

"Wanda, hey," You search her face, your eyebrows creasing in worry. "Are you alright?"

She smiles through her tears, nodding. “I am now.”

Your own eyes glisten, a wave of relief passing over you. Right now, with the way Wanda's looking at you, it's like you're finally waking up from a long, terrible dream.

***

When Natasha finally calls, you’ve practically forgotten about hiring her to investigate Wanda.

You’ve had a perfect week with your wife. Things weren’t just back to normal, they were even better not only in the sexual aspect of things (though insatiable doesn’t even begin to describe Wanda nowadays), but you’ve been talking and doing things together more than ever.

“Hey, Y/N,” Natasha’s rough voice comes through.

“New phone, who’s this?” You try to joke.

“Hilarious, Y/N,” you hear her try to lighten up her tone, but for someone who used to work for the secret service, she’s terrible at hiding her emotions from you. “Listen, I’ve been meaning to call you since early this week. I just didn’t have the time…”

You’ve known Natasha longer than anyone in your life who’s not your parents. Wanda’s the love of your life, but Natasha’s your person. You understand each other beyond words and actions.

“Nat, what’s going on?” you ask.

“I saw them, Y/N. T-Two days after you asked me to… they went for a movie at a worn-down theater 3 miles from the university. I waited for them to leave and when they did–” Natasha hesitates to tell you how she’s seen them together. “I can’t tell if there’s–if she’s… I can just show you the photos.”

You don’t say anything for almost a minute, and Natasha waits for you quietly.

And then, “Is that all?”

Natasha draws in a long breath. “No.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming. And then, like a man on trial waiting for their verdict, you nod to yourself and square your shoulders.

“Alright. Tell me everything.”

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Ace of Cups (Hotd x Reader)

Summary: An act of kindness leads you to a misterious stranger who offers to lift a block on your love life. Feeling lonely during Halloween, you decide to give it a go. Now there is a blonde corpse in the middle of your bathroom, and it turns out the corpse is not really a corpse.

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Reader, Aemond x Reader or Daemon x Reader.

Warnings: Mature language. Mentions of corpses. My first ever crack fic?

A/N: Happy Halloween! At the end of this silly set up, you have to choose a card. There are three endings. Choose wisely.

“Um. Excuse me?” You raised your hand, trying to get the couple of teens at the register to stop… Whatever they were doing. Probably making out, if making out involved pushing their tongues to the other person's tonsils. “Excuse me?”

Ugh. You hated it. Even as an adult, you find being around couples awkward. Especially if they were making out. When the couple in question was, like, half your age, it was even worse. If it were up to you, you would have left them alone and found another corner store, but you would rather not end up walking three blocks just to be able to buy a bottle of overpriced wine.

“What?” The girl pulled apart from the boy, with an annoyed expression. She took out a piece of gum and started chewing annoyingly. “What do you want?”

Despite your best efforts, your dismay must have shown on your face.

“Miss. What do you need, miss?” The girl corrected herself, rolling her eyes. But the damage was already done. You tried to force your face to remain fixed into a pleasant expression. This was not going to ruin your plans of having a pleasant night all by yourself.

“I want to pay for this. Please.” You handed her a bottle of your favorite wine. You would need it to make your night better. After all, this was the first time you would be spending Halloween completely on your own.

Having recently moved into your own apartment, it was not like you could spend the night with your family. All your friends had plans out of town or with people you didn't know. And while your coworkers had invited you out for drinks, you really didn't feel like slipping on a tight dress and wasting half your salary on overpriced cocktails.

There was no one to watch a horror movie or go out with, like you had done in previous years. Instead, you had planned to take a bath, eat some nice dinner and enjoy a glass of wine. Maybe watch a movie. Perhaps, even do a ritual of some sort, like the ones that appeared on TikTok. The energies were supposed to be stronger tonight, or so you heard.

Your self-care was not about to be ruined by a teen girl who didn't even know how to kiss. You refused.

“I am going to need some ID.” The girl rolled her eyes. She looked as done as you felt.

Cursing yourself for not having it already out, you started fumbling with your bag. This was shaping up to be a terrible day. Not only were you about to spend Halloween alone, but you were also going to have to hear teenagers, the meanest creatures on earth, have a go at you.

Good God, why couldn't you find it quicker? Your wallet seemed to be hiding under everything you had. To be able to look for it, you started taking out some things and leaving it on the counter.

“Uh… Babe. Can’t you just… Let her? She is obviously old enough.” The boy asked, sounding annoyed. He eyed your growing pile of things on the counter. A used chapstick, your keys, a pencil, crumbled up receipts. He wanted you gone, and soon. “More than old.”

And that was a bit insulting, really. The boy had chosen to remain quiet during the whole exchange, and now he interrupted just to say a rude thing? You were not even that old. But it appeared that in the age of planned obsolescence, you already were.

The girl's eyes shifted between your furious expression and her boyfriend's bored one.

“Fine.” She said. You handed her one of the crumpled bills that you had placed on the counter. “Have a good evening.” And without sparing you a glance, she handed you a receipt and started making out with her boyfriend, again.

You were fuming. There it went, your relaxing evening. You were not in the right headspace for it now. Deciding to reclaim what little of your good mood was left, you decided to take another route home. Perhaps, walking across the park might lift your spirits.

Grasping the bottle of wine and surely looking like an alcoholic, you walked out of the store. As of late, you felt terribly lonely. Living alone was hard. Not only you had to do everything by yourself, no roommates or family to fall back into, but you also had to come home every night to an empty apartment.

At first, you had been ecstatic to have your own space. You had loved your rented apartment, in a centric place of the city and decorated in a very modern fashion. You hadn't protested your landlord's condition of no pets and no changing the colors of the walls, too happy with having something of your own. The novelty of having a place to yourself had worn off after a while, and you had to face your sad little beige walls and a deafening silence.

It had not helped how busy your friends and you were. It seemed like the days when it was easy to coordinate an outing were long gone. Now with responsibilities, jobs and studies, it seemed like you only saw them once in a blue moon.

You were starved for human contact. You had been thinking lately of getting a partner, but the attention you received only discouraged you. So far, the only offerings you had gotten were from creepy guys, or people you had no interest in at all.

Taking a deep breath in, and choosing consciously to let go of the negative thoughts you were having, you took a step forward. The noise of the park was comforting. Among the chirping birds, there were the cheerful voices of children running around.

You smiled. Barely six, but there were already people in their customs. There was a couple dressed up as Danny and Sandy from Grease, and a little girl dressed as Barbie. Many of the children carried their plastic pumpkins, and you had to give them a few loose candies you had laying in your bag.

Trying to avoid disappointing more children with your lack of sweets, you crossed the park, taking the route where there were more trees. Under one, you found a middle-aged woman sitting on a bench. She was dressed in full witch regalia, pointy hat and all.

She must have been around her late thirties, with a head of dark, glossy hair and big eyes. In truth, you could not truly place her face in an age range, looking strangely young but with an air of maturity. Gorgeous, you thought. In a really intimidating kind of way.

You shook your head, trying to get rid of the thought. She was probably someone's mother, indulging her children by dressing up with them. The thought made your heart clench with longing for your own mother.

“Good evening, darling.” The woman said, taking out a cigarette. The gesture was effortless, like one made by a sixties' actress. You smiled, helplessly. You hoped one day you ended up being half as cool. “Do you happen to have a lighter? Or some spare change?”

“Oh. Um. I don't smoke, but I think…” You started searching your purse, and produced a couple of the crumpled bills. Perhaps it was the thought of your mother, or your loneliness, but you couldn't help but want to aid her. “Here. It might serve you to buy one at the corner store.”

Instead of making eye contact, the woman seemed oddly fixated on your hands. Self-conscious, you wondered if it had anything to do with your jewelry or lack thereof.

“Thank you, dear.” She took the bills from you, and quick as lighting, she grasped your hand. You didn't even have an opportunity to try to avoid her grip. “You have very interesting lines here.”

“I do?” A bit weirded out, you try to remove your hand, but she only grips it harder. The woman forces you to tilt your palm up towards her. One of her fingernails traces one of the lines on it. It makes you shiver.

“You do. Your love line is diverging.”

That doesn't sound good to you. You frown.

“Is it?” Feeling very silly for being self-conscious about your hand, you look down. You had never noticed before, but one of the lines in your hand diverges into three.

“Let me…” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a tarot deck. She shuffles hurriedly, under your bewildered eyes. Three cards fall in order. The Empress, The Devil, and The Hermit. “Interesting… And if I… Oh, I see.” Another card falls off the deck. This time, it's The Lovers.

“I am sorry… I really have to go.” Weirded out over the whole thing, you wish to leave. Things are only getting stranger, with the woman taking out the tarot deck.

“Don't.” She says sharply, her hand going back to your wrist. Surprised by her aggressiveness and the urgency of her tone, you decide not to argue. It can't hurt to entertain her a little longer. “I see a great future for you. There are three paths going forward, but you need to lift the block you have on.”

“Block?” You repeat, dumbly.

“You are lucky today is Samhain.” She huffs, pocketing the tarot deck. She searches her bag before pulling out a small sachet. It smells strongly of herbs. “Here. Bathe in this and look in your mirror tonight. When the veil is thinner.”

“The veil…?” You ask, puzzled by the entire thing.

“Between worlds, darling. Gods, it seems one has to teach you everything. Between twelve and three.”

“Oh. I don't really believe in…”

“At least keep it. And here.” She writes some numbers on a piece of paper. “If you run into trouble. The magical kind.”

Unconvinced you haven't been the victim of the most elaborate scam in history, you eye her warily.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. Nothing you will later not freely give.” She smiles, cryptically. “Have a good Samhain, darling.” And she gets up and walks away.

You glance at the bag. You don't want to be rude, but you doubt you will obey. She is a stranger, after all, and a pretty crazy one at that. As not to upset her, you pocket the bag and give her an awkward wave.

The rest of your evening is much less eventful. You get home and prep dinner, nursing a glass of wine. With everything that has happened already, you feel like you deserve it. You are generous with it, topping it at least twice.

As you curl into the couch to watch a movie, dinner and another glass of wine in front of you, the tarot reader's idea starts to sound right. You do feel lonely, and surely, throwing some herbs into a bath can't cause anything too terrible. At most, you would feel relaxed from the water and the smells.

Wine always makes you sad. Mopey, even. Tonight, your loneliness feels too tight, too solid against your chest, to be ignored. You long for someone to hold you through the night, to be by your side when things are tough. Someone to share your happiness and greatest achievements, but also your burdens. Mostly, you crave a sense of belonging. Belonging so well, your edges fit someone else's edges like a puzzle piece.

At the thought, you shake your head. Love wouldn't fix your loneliness, you think. There is something deeply alienating about the life you currently lead. Away from your family and friends, you feel unfulfilled. No matter how passionate you are about your work, it does not help to numb the longing for something more. If the perfect partner showed up, you would do the same you had done with your family and friends, and let life get in the way.

You wash your dishes. Curious, you take the little pouch the woman had given you out of your pocket. You smell it, deciding it has no hurtful contents. On your laptop, the clock reads quarter to midnight.

The tub fills as you decide to light some candles, to better set the mood. You add some Epsom salts before pouring your herbs in. The water shimmers under the candlelight in ways it should not, yet you do not notice. You mistake the swirls of colors for the herbs steeping in the water. The room starts to smell strongly of rosemary and lavender.

You enter the tub, satisfied with your choice. The heavenly smell is already relaxing you, and you congratulate yourself for taking the leap of faith. Slowly, the warm water relaxes your muscles and makes your body feel heavy. Almost too heavy. You catch yourself nearly dozing off, and decide to step out. You are alone, and you have been drinking, staying in it would be dangerous.

Careful not to slip on the wet floor, you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel and step towards the mirror. Your reflection is the same as always. If the block the woman had spoken about was a real thing, which you doubted, it left no physical evidence. You examined your face, noticing your paleness. But as your eyes meet the ones of your reflection, there is a flash of a foreign color in them.

There is a woman in the mirror. It's the same one you met at the park. She looks different now, dressed in a medieval green dress. Her lips stretch into a smile.

“I do hope you didn't choose The Hermit. Or The Devil. Oh, darling, I am so sorry. They are all bad choices.”

Someone presses a hand on your shoulder.

“Well. Better you than me. We shall meet again.” Her voice whispers in your ear, but when you turn, you see nothing.

You scream. The clock strikes twelve. A sudden spark of bluish purple that makes you turn again to face the mirror, relieved to find nothing more than your reflection. Your heart beats faster and faster, anticipating something you can't yet name.

Just as you are catching your breath, you notice that the face that is looking back at you it's not yours. You recoil, moving back as fast as you can. A loud thud echoes in your bathroom and your heels connect with something solid. You trip, screaming even more when you realize exactly what you have hit. A body. There is a body on your bathroom's floor.

You crawl towards them, shaking their shoulder and desperately looking for signs of life. You are starting to tear up in fright. The body is lying on its front, with a shocking head of silver hair. They groan.

This time, you scream so loud, your neighbors bang at your walls.

A voice then answers.

“What in the Seven Hells is going on?”

Choose your card:

The Hermit: You have decided to draw your attention inwards, in a path of self discovery. You are a quiet person, but quite bright. You enjoy learning and seek a mentor, though you enjoy your solitude. This is your next chapter.

The Empress: You are very connected to your femininity. You enjoy having beauty in your life, and the stimulation of your senses. You wish for your life to be comfortable more than anything. You are a romantic at heart. Your next chapter is here.

The Devil: You are a complex, multifaceted person. But if you could be described in one world, it is hedonist. You are very self-aware, and do not fear your shadow. If any, you embrace it. This is your next chapter.

[thecircularlibrary]

graylyra one shot?

Location Services

Grayson x Lyra

words: 734 words

warnings: n/a

A/N: my first ever one-shot/fic. sorry if it's a little short.

Dunkin Donuts was not an ideal meeting location for Grayson Hawthorne. He couldn’t even recall the last time that he’d had a donut, much less one from a chain restaurant. However, long distance made him desperate and he would do anything short of murder to see his girlfriend while he was in her college town. So there he was, sitting in a Dunkin Donuts in jeans and a crew neck—also out of character for him—waiting for Lyra Kane to get out of class.

Relationships were weird for Grayson, and Lyra knew that. They’d talked about it an abundance of times. Especially when it came to the dreaded long-distance conversation. Obviously, there wasn’t much that Lyra could do about it. She was, first-and-foremost, a college student. That has always been true. It just never felt real until The Game was over and she actually had to go back. 

Winning the game was a big deal for her, as she was able to save her family’s home and pay off her tuition debt. However, they didn’t see eachother often. Over the summers she was working internships and he was working the foundation. She never came to Texas, because when she was free to go anywhere, she went home to her family. Not his family.

She graduated at the end of the semester and the thought of What happens after? was constantly running through Grayson’s head. What happens when she’s truly free to go anywhere? What happens when she has a choice between going somewhere else and coming closer to him—coming closer to home? 

His stream of consciousness was interrupted when she walked in. She was radiant. Her tan skin practically glowed and she was dressed casually. She was smiling. After everything that had happened, it was amazing for Grayson to see her smile. He thought about how many times she’d said the same about him.

“Hey, Hawthorne,” Lyra said grinning as she set her backpack down in the chair across from him.

They went to the counter to order their drinks. As they talked about life, school, and the mundane parts of life, Lyra looked as if she was about to explode.

“Do you have something you want to tell me?” Grayson asked expectantly, once they were safely seated at the table with their drinks. He was silently wishing it was news that would, hopefully, segue naturally into a conversation about, for lack of a better term, living situations.

“Do you remember that internship I was working at last summer?” Lyra asked through a grin.

He did remember. Her local internship. Not in Texas.

“I do remember. The data analysis one, right?”

“Yes! Well, guess what?”

“What?”

“They offered me a permanent position. At a satellite branch. In Texas!”

Grayson’s mind blanked, the sentence ‘In Texas!’ the only thing in his head. He hadn’t expected his wish to work.

“Grayson! Don’t you know what this means?”

“Hmm?”

“I can get an apartment with the salary they’re paying me so I can be clo–”

“Do you want to move into my penthouse?”

Lyra’s eyes widened, and Grayson looked down as he realized that she hadn’t even said whether she was in Austin, or Dallas, or San Antonio, or Houston. Or maybe, since it was a satellite branch, they were looking for smaller cities: San Marcos, Corpus Christi, Waco, New Braunfels. She might even be going to Nacogdoches. He sounded inconsiderate interrupting her when she could’ve been giving important context that saved him from embarrassment. Grayson wished that spoken word had an unsend button.

“I’d love to, Grayson.”

Grayson looked up at her, and in that moment he had never loved her more. Moments of their future flashed through his head. The two of them waking up together, making dinner, watching movies, and even seeing each other off to work. Her voice brought him back to the present.

“My job is in the city and your penthouse is actually really close to the office. It’d be nice to not have to commute. Even nicer if it means I get to be with you while I do it.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll come up here to help pack your apartment and then move you down to Texas when your lease is up.”

She held her drink up in the air to mimic a champagne glass. “To new beginnings?”

He smiled and picked up his cup.

“To new beginnings.”

[raven-awed]

Defense Lessons

Professor Aesop Sharp x fem reader

Summary: Sharp offers Defense Against the Dark Art lessons to J. Pippin’s new employee.

A/n: Couldn’t resist writing for this sexy professor. I’m hoping to write a part 2! Thank you @minichrismd for the help!

*Not my picture

Professor Sharp opened the door to his office and shuffled in. With a flick of his wand the candles and lanterns illuminated.

His office was immaculate, as usual, a potion master's paradise. His shelves were stocked full of every ingredient imaginable, from Ashwinder eggs to Wormwood essence. There wasn’t a single conceivable potion he wouldn’t be able to brew with this stock.

He sighed, glancing down at the full bag he lugged into Hogwarts with him and dropped it carelessly onto the floor. Slowly, he moved to the attached closet, glaring at the door before pulling it open. A frown formed on his face as looked at the crammed shelves and the materials spilling over onto the ground.

Sharp was completely aware that he didn’t have the space for any more ingredients, but he couldn’t resist stopping at J. Pippin’s when he saw that y/n was tending the counter.

That’s how this whole mess started in the first place.

Roughly a month ago he had gone in to purchase Dugbog Tongues, as he no longer felt up to venturing into the Forbidden Forest to hunt down his own. Afterall, he wasn’t a spry wizard anymore, unable to maneuver through the thick woods or climb like he used to, especially with his limp.

When the door chimes had rang over his head, he wasn’t greeted by the familiar face of Mr. Pippins, but the warm smile of a lovely stranger. The gruff professor nodded politely as she welcomed him in and introduced herself as Mr. Pippin’s new assistant.

Her good mood must have been infectious because he soon found himself making small talk with her. She had easily impressed him with her potion’s knowledge and her eagerness to learn and improve. Perhaps if his students were more like her, he’d have more hope for the future.

He huffed again, looking at his recent purchases on the floor. Now everytime he found himself in Hogsmeade, he made some sort of excuse to see her. He dragged a hand over his face, he was too old to be acting like such a fool. He shouldn’t be getting so worked up over a pretty face anymore, even if she was pleasant to talk to.

Grabbing the new supplies from the floor, he unceremoniously shoved them in the closet and slammed the door shut. He’d deal with that some other time.

In fact, a certain red headed Gryffindor came to mind, he’ll be overjoyed the next time he sneaks in here to steal ingredients. Sharp could just let him know everything in the closet up for grabs, but it was more fun to make him work for it. That Weasley boy would rob him blind if Sharp isn’t careful.

The week progressed as usual, lessons, potion brewing, sending students with minor burns or cuts to the hospital wing. One student had managed to singe his eyebrows off, it was probably the most memorable event of the week.

By the weekend, Professor Sharp was ready for a break, he went to the Three Broomsticks by himself and had a few drinks. He didn’t see y/n on his way over when he passed the potion shop, just Mr. Pippin assisting a couple of customers.

He sighed as he finished his last drink of brandy, setting the empty glass on the bar and rising to his feet.

The autumn air was brisk and the sun was beginning to set as he started walking back to the castle. On the bright side, he saved a few galleons by not spending anything at J Pippin’s, that man already has enough of his salary.

As he slowly headed back to the castle, Sharp froze when he spotted y/n walking towards him, or to be more precise towards Hogsmeade.

A wide friendly smile made its way on her face as she waved at him. “Good evening, Professor Sharp!”

He nodded, “Evening.”

She looked a little less composed than normal, her hair a slightly out of place with leaves sticking out, she was wearing pants instead of her typical uniform she wore at the shop, and there was mud caked onto her boots.

“Did I miss you at the shop?” She asked, her voice was light and sweet. “I was just out collecting some ingredients in the forest.” She held up her sack.

He shook his head, “I’m already set for the week with ingredients.” And probably for the rest of the year, he thought to himself.

They continued to walk towards each other, meeting halfway. Sharp narrowed his eyes and immediately pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket, “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh?” Y/n blinked in surprise while the older man began to clean the blood from her temple.

“What happened out there?” He asked firmly, on the outside he appeared as calm and collected as ever, but he’d be lying if he said that his pulse didn’t start racing at the sight of y/n hurt.

“Poachers,” she answered quietly. “Didn’t know I was so close to their camp before they attacked.”

Sharp frowned, lifting the handkerchief to get a better look at the wound. The cut was long and gushing blood, there also appeared to be some dirt mixed in.

“I’m alright, really I am,” she tried to reassure him, placing her hand on his.

“We should go to the hospital wing, have the nurse check it,” he suggested.

“It’s just a scratch-“

“There are all sorts of things out there in those woods, could get infected if you’re not careful,” he explained. “Come on.”

“But I should really take these back-“

“Your health is more important,” Sharp pointed out. “Parry will understand.”

Sharp escorted y/n to the castle and up to the hospital wing. He lingered while she was examined, sitting quietly with his brow furrowed, while he mulled things over.

It wouldn’t be reasonable for him to ask her not to go back, especially with her line of work. Perhaps he could suggest that next time he could accompany her, however, as a retired auror he knew that dangerous witches and wizards were everywhere, not just lurking in the Forbidden Forest.

From what he had seen y/n had proven to be a capable witch, skilled at potions and quite knowledgeable about other subjects, maybe with more support she could learn to properly defend herself. She most likely knew the basics, but he could show her a few more advanced spells, help her be prepared for next time.

Sharp cleared his throat, his dark eyes locking onto hers as the nurse finished treating the wound. “Starting next week, I’d like to offer you lessons.”

Y/n lifted her brow and tilted her head, “Potion lessons?”

“Defense against the dark arts lessons,” he stated, rising to his feet. “With some practice, I’ll have you ready to take on any dark witch or wizard.”

He acquired a practice dummy from Professor Hecat and brought it up to his classroom. He flicked his wand and all the tables and potion stations moved to the side clearing the space in the center of the classroom.

They met once a week for lessons, Sharp taught y/n advanced spells that were not part of the basic curriculum as well as strategies he had used back when he was auror. Sometimes two seemingly unrelated spells could be a powerful combination if used in the right order at the right moment.

Sharp’s main goal was to get y/n more accustomed to using these spells, make it so it was second nature for her to defend and attack if posed with a threat. The only way for that to happen was practice, lots and lots of practice.

Her nerves and discomfort were apparent from the beginning. Her hand would tremble slightly each time she attempted to produce a combat spell.

“Defensive magic wasn’t exactly my favorite while in school,” she explained one day as Sharp pushed the practice dummy in front of her. “Was always too much pressure, too much risk, I didn’t want to accidentally hurt anyone.”

Sharp sighed, “Unfortunately the world doesn’t share that mindset, cause out there,” he gestured to the window, “There are plenty of witches and wizards who couldn’t care less who they hurt, and if you’re not prepared, you’ll wind up injured again or worse because of one of them.”

Y/n nodded, taking his words in, she hadn’t shared with him how shaken up she had been after the attack. In all honesty, she was quite scared that something like that would indeed happen again.

“Let’s retry that spell,” he directed. “And no holding back this time. It’s important to have conviction when casting, remember that.”

Y/n practices the spell a few more times, getting better with each turn. She wondered if Sharp is this patient with his actual students; she had graduated from Hogwarts before he took on the role of Potions Master.

“You’re improving,” Sharp pointed out as they finished for the evening. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Good night Professor Sharp,” y/n smiled, heading towards the door.

He frowned for a brief moment. “Y/n?” He called.

“Yes,” she answered, spinning around on her heels to face him.

“You know, it’s unnecessary for you to call me ‘professor’,” he said, his hands clasped behind his back. “You aren’t my student.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” y/n pursed her lips for a moment. “Mr. Sharp…?” She addressed him, but unsure as the words left her mouth.

“Aesop would suffice.” His eyes remained as cool as ever, but in truth the matter had been bothering him for quite sometime now. Her referring to him as Professor Sharp presented a hierarchy when there shouldn’t be one, or at least he didn’t want her to think there was one.

“Oh, alright,” she responded, a little wide eyed, heart fluttering more than it should. “Good night Aesop.”

A barely noticeable half smile formed on his lips as he prepared his classroom for the following morning, it even remained as he retired for the night.

In the weeks that followed, Sharp observed y/n’s growth, she had become more confident and casted spells with ease. But besting a dummy in the safety of a classroom was nothing like a real duel.

“Today we will be doing something different,” he explained while shucking off his coat and laying it on the back of his desk chair.

Y/n tilted her head, face heating up as Aesop also removed his tie and vest. “What did you have in mind exactly?”

“Dueling,” he answered with a smirk.

Her face fell, “Me duel you?”

His smirk grew, “I’ll go easy on you, but this is the best way to see how you’d fare in an actual fight.” Aesop drew his wand, “Ready?”

Y/n raised her wand but she hesitated to cast a spell, Sharp, however, didn’t.

“Expelliarmus,” he shouted.

“Protego,” she responded just in the nick of time, deflecting the curse.

Flashes of lights lit up the classroom as the duel evolved into a dance as they circled each other. There wasn’t a single pause or lull between spells.

“Depulso!” Y/n blinked in surprise when the spell actually landed, sending Aesop flying back. Immediately she rushed over.

“Aesop!” She knelt beside him, her hands cupping his face as he groaned slightly. “Are you hurt?”

Her touch was so light and gentle as she cradled his head. It had been quite a long time since anyone touched him like this.

Looking up at her so close to him, his face began heating up. Sharp cleared his throat, “I’m fine.”

“Looks like you can hold your own in a fight,” he commented, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. He frowned for a moment as his own words sunk in. “I suppose that means you don’t need anymore lessons,” he explained solemnly.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she agreed, with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

They both stood at the doorway, realizing that they wouldn't be seeing each other anytime soon.

Sharp could try to go back to the shop, but he knew after spending so much time in his classroom that she had noticed his well stocked shelves. He racked his brain for another excuse to spend time with her but he was drawing a blank.

He sighed, glancing at y/n, she had probably had other things to do tonight, “Well, good night-“

“We should get drinks!” Y/n chirped, interrupting him. Her face revealing her excitement over the prospect. “To celebrate and as a thank you!”

“As a thank you?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Yes! For teaching me how to properly defend myself! Nothing big,” she rattled on. “Just drinks and maybe dinner. Does next week work for you at the Three Broomsticks?”

Aesop smiled, “See you next week.”

[abyssruler]

i love how u write the delinquent childe esp in the 711 diaries… he is everything i could ever want if it isn’t too much trouble can u write a little drabble of him?? idm the content <3

7-eleven diaries spin-off

childe x gn!reader

fluff, comedy-ish, friends to lovers, getting together, childe basically being your sugar daddy

from my other fic the 7-eleven diaries with hints of delinquent childe sprinkled in, sort of a continuation on childe’s part and what could’ve happened if he’d been more persistent. ok so i rarely ever actually write requests bc i’m too lazy but you bet if you request anything for childe i will most likely do it. i just love writing him

Your friend Ajax is a little strange—scratch that, he’s a lot strange.

“So, as I was saying, my friends and I are hosting a party at my house, and I’d really like it if you came.”

His eyes bore into you, a sort of blue that mirrored the depths of the ocean. It’s no wonder he intimidates a lot of people, his eyes alone could scare anyone with thalassophobia. Luckily for you, you don’t have much fear of anything besides failing class, which is why you’d have to turn down his offer.

“Can’t. I’ve got a test tomorrow.” You pick up a soda that’s frankly worth more than your entire week’s worth of allowance and scan it.

Ajax leans on the counter, blinking his eyes up at you in what he probably thought was cute, but really only managed in giving you the ick. “Aw, c’mon. Pretty please?”

“I’m charging you extra if you don’t stop bugging me.”

He sighs dramatically, conceding with a pout. But the calculating look on his face tells you that you should be on your guard for the next few days.

✧

You were correct.

Your classmate Ajax is annoying.

He’d gone from being a slight bother in the 7-eleven you work at to somehow being enrolled in your university and coincidentally sharing all of your classes. Even the ones that don’t have anything to do with his major.

“Hey, let’s have lunch together after class!” He accosts you while you were in the middle of placing your things back in your bag. You were about to say no, citing an excuse about meeting with a friend or finishing some unfinished homework, but your attention was caught when he adds, “Don’t worry about the money, I’ll pay for our food.”

And so you find yourself sitting at a high end restaurant, staring at a menu that lists the cheapest food possible as the exact amount of your monthly salary. Ajax remains unbothered by the price, watching you with his elbows on the table and fingers interlocked, chin resting on top of his hands and waiting for you to pick which one you’d like.

Well, he did say he was paying so…

You order the ones you’d have never been able to afford and, for good measure, an expensive cup of ice cream that would normally cost ten mora at any convenience store. He doesn’t even flinch when the bill is presented, only smiling like he’s having the best day as he hands his card to the waiter.

He even drives you home that day with his fancy car that looks just a little too polished for you to mistake his intentions. He’s bragging and trying to impress you.

And, well, consider yourself impressed.

✧

Your boyfriend Ajax is crazy.

Not even the fun kind of crazy, no. This is beyond insane, a catastrophe, borderline harassment—

“I’d like to dedicate this song to my lovely sugarpie who deserves the world and more!”

He’s standing outside your classroom window, a guitar in hand while his friends hold a microphone to his mouth and a speaker that would make even your university’s auditorium speakers sound like a whisper. People are staring, students and professors alike pointing at him and then to you, a grin on their faces whilst some of the older professors look scandalized.

Ajax remains smiling, singing the cringiest song you’ve ever heard in your life with his off-tune voice. Not even Venti made you feel this much second hand embarrassment.

With one final wink and a kiss he blows in your direction, he ends the song.

You hate Valentine’s Day.

(At least the chocolates and flowers were good.)

[eds6ngel]

✎ when i kissed the teacher | part five

summary: with summer break starting, it's time for you to pack up your things and leave hawkins elementary. so, will you be able to find a new job? and will you ever reunite with steve, the man that not only started this whole mess, but that you also love?

part one ♡ part two ♡ part three ♡ part four ˚⋆｡˚ full masterlist.

warnings: dad!steve. singledad!steve. 90s!au. fem!reader. use of y/n. swearing. mutual pining. slow burn. a lil bit of hurt. tons of fluff by the end. mentions of food. job interviews!! slight age gap [r is 25, steve is 29]. roommate amy being the best friend we all need. no more warnings as this is the finale!! [3.6k].

Finishing up your last week at Hawkins Elementary was not the easiest. Not only were you met with multiple days of children’s tears, hours spent reassuring them that everything was going to be okay, but the other teachers began to judge you. You would enter the staff room to dirty looks and ignorant comments. But, of course, adults bullying co-workers wasn’t fire-worthy, was it?

You packed your classroom up last Monday, the white walls, once covered in student’s artwork and decorative pieces, now bare. It made you feel melancholic and nostalgic simultaneously. Almost three years ago, you were walking into that first grade classroom for the first time, ready to made your dedicated space feel like home.

And now you were leaving, much earlier than anticipated. This should’ve been your second home for the rest of your life. But, now it was going to belong to someone else. Someone else was gonna fill the walls of student artwork, of decorative pieces, of their own little trinkets to display appropriate parts of their personality. It should’ve been you. It should’ve always been you.

Your permanent record was updated the day of your departure, the job search becoming increasingly difficult by the hour. Teaching positions cropped up everywhere, especially since you lived so close to Indianapolis, a mere twenty minute drive.

Yet, so far, none had even given you an interview offer. Many point blank stated that your record was the issue, the others you could definitely assume by their rejection wording.

The sound of your apartment door opening disrupts you from your job search, and from you continuing to stare into space.

Your roommate Amy arrives home with a paper bag full of groceries in hand, the fruit collection peeking out of the top. “How is your wonderful afternoon going?” she cheerily asks, a smile on her face, placing the groceries onto your kitchen counter.

You huff, placing your head in between your hands, “Shit. I’m not getting anything, Ames. I’m gonna have to resort to becoming a fashion retailer or something. I’m running short on money to split the goddamn bills with you.”

“Well,” she smirks, pursing her lips and creeping up to you, whipping a sheet of paper out from behind her back, “I may have a solution for you.”

You take the sheet of paper from her, inspecting the cover as it reads: TEACHING POSITION AVAILABLE. $30,000 ANNUAL SALARY. SECOND GRADE TEACHER. FULL-TIME. ERNIE PYLE SCHOOL 90.

“Ames, this is such a prestigious school! Aren’t they in, like… the top ten in Indianapolis or something?”

She hums, “Mhm, which is exactly why you should at least put an application in!”

You groan at her optimism, “I have a permanent mark on my record. They’re gonna turn me away the second they see it!”

She heads back to the kitchen, beginning to un-pack the groceries, mumbling out, “Well, you never know.”

And, she wasn’t entirely wrong. Even if it was a one in a million chance, a chance is still a chance.

“Screw it,” you thought, you were gonna put a damn application in. The highly likely rejection was just adding to the list by now, it wasn’t even a sharp sting in your heart like it used to be anymore.

Why not take a chance?

And, my God, was that chance worth taking.

It was a Sunday afternoon, you relaxing on the couch reading your favourite book, when all of a sudden, the landline phone rings.

Amy was currently out on a date with her boyfriend, so you had the house to yourself. You put your bookmark in its place, moving from your comfy position on the couch with a groan, walking over to grab the phone from its stand placed on the wall. “Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Miss. L/N?”

“It is her, yes,” you reply, the voice of an older-sounding man speaking down the phone to you.

“Nice to hear from you, Miss. L/N. I am calling from Ernie Pyle School 90 regarding your application for the second grade.”

Great, another rejection to add to the overgrowing list.

“We do see that there is a strike on your permanent record, but we also do take notice that you have a lot of other qualities we admire here. So, we would like to bring you in for an interview, if that’s all right? That way, we can get a good idea of your character and what the strike really entailed from your perspective. Does that sound good with you?”

You had to knock yourself back into reality as the words are spoken down the line. They were actually offering you a fucking interview.

“Umm… Yeah! Yeah, that sounds amazing, thank you! When would you like me to come in?”

So, two days later, you were dressed up in your smartest attire, walking into the brown-bricked building, the school a lot smaller than you had anticipated.

An older man, who seemingly matched the voice on your landline, greeted you at the entrance, the school empty for the Summer Break.

He directed you to his office, you neatly placing yourself on the chair in front of his desk, sitting appropriately, trying to appear as professional as possible.

“So, I’m sure you’re aware of the interview process from your previous work listed on your CV, so if you wouldn’t mind telling me a little about yourself,” he begins.

You breathe out, smiling at him, “Of course. I grew up in Indiana, more towards the north in a quite rural area. Growing up as a child in the seventies, I really felt under-appreciated as a student, as if I wasn’t valued. So, that’s where my love of teaching started to grow. I wanted to lead the next generation of students in a way that I felt, and many other of my friends at the time felt, would’ve been beneficial.”

“Well, as someone who has been working in schools since the seventies, I can see why you thought that way,” he chuckles. “It seems your generation has been the leader of change. Okay, we all know that students can become a handful at times. So, tell me, how would you deal with a stressful situation?”

“Well, firstly I would find the identifier of the situation by calmly asking the child what happened, as that helps me form a route to solve the issue. At my previous school, I had a student who got pushed into the mud and his favourite t-shirt got ruined, which made him extremely resentful and angry towards a boy. I got him a spare t-shirt to change into and promised I would scrub it out as best as I could during lunch break, which I followed through with. I then brought the two boys together, asking the other boy why he did it and he said that his friend allowed him to do it the previous day, so I taught the lesson of consent and how our feelings towards a situation can change from moment to moment. The boy apologised, the other boy accepted that and rode through his emotions. And by the end of the day, his t-shirt was just like before, mud stain-free. I’ve found that it’s much better for myself to understand the reasons behind something, instead of resorting to a lack of control over my own emotions and lashing out at one or both of them.”

The principal smiles at you, replying, “That’s a wonderful answer, thank you for that. Now, as you brought your previous school up, I do have to ask you about the strike on your permanent record. It says here that you, quote, ‘Broke student confidentiality,’ so I was hoping you could talk me through that situation. We here at Ernie Pyle like to overview a situation before immediately judging, much like yourself with stressful situations. So, please, go ahead,” he directs you.

You breathe out, trying to present your answer in a non-biased viewpoint, “There was a student’s father that I can confirm we both mutually did have feelings for each other. I set my boundaries in place last Christmas as he did try to ask me out, but I told him exactly that: student confidentiality. But, the school’s Easter Brunch rolled around, he helped me tidy up my classroom whilst the kids were on recess, and we kissed.” You purse your lips, having a sinking feeling that this was not going to secure you the job, “I would say he initiated it, but I also leaned in, because as I said, we both did have feelings for each other, so that part of my brain took over. However, I did pull back fairly quickly and asked him to leave promptly. The kiss was caught on the security cameras, and since it happened, I got fired for that reason.”

You bite your lip in nervousness, anticipating the rejection. However, you were presented with a far more mature answer that you were expecting.

The principal presents a thoughtful expression, “Hmm… I see. You said that you stated your boundaries before, yes?”

“I did sir, yes.”

“And that kiss was initiated by the male parent, to which you reciprocated for a short amount of time, before eventually pulling away, removing yourself from the damaging situation?”

“Correct, yes.”

He looks you in the eyes, leaning forward in his seat, “And have you contacted this parent outside of the school hours, whether that be after school, during school breaks or over the weekends?”

You shake your head, “I have not, no. The only time we spoke after school hours was when he aided me in running the school’s Christmas Fayre.”

“I see…” he pauses for a moment, “I’m going to ask you one more question before making my decision, if that’s all right with you,” to which you nod with a smile. “You worked at your previous school for three years, and I’m sure you’re aware that we really value applicants that have that prior experience. So, what skills have you learnt or improved as your time as a teacher of elementary school children?”

You look off to the side, sighing happily at the memories of your previous students. You turn your head to look back up at the principal, your answer coming confidently to your brain, no fears present. “I’ve learnt how to time manage and be organised. I would schedule my day in the morning to have certain worksheets and items stored in accessible places for me to switch over in between recesses and lunch breaks. Also, not all kids learn at the same pace, so I have to factor in extra activities for the children who complete their work a little faster than some of the other students. But, I think the most important thing I learnt was empathy. Children are just smaller, more innocent versions of us adults. I’ve found that many adults believe they must control their children, but I’ve learnt from my experience as a teacher that it’s better to approach every child with warmth, kindness and love. I’ve heard lots of children say that they hate school as young as five years old, and I want to be the one to change that. I want my students to feel safe and loved in my class, and for them to have it be one of their favourite parts of their day.”

He leans back in his chair, sighing out as he takes his glasses off, “I’m just… Wow. I am truly amazed by your answers, Miss. L/N. They are absolutely phenomenal. These are the exact values we like to promote here at Ernie Pyle and you would be a great addition to our team.”

Was he actually kidding? This sounded like an acceptance…

He sits in his chair with his eyebrows furrowed, a thinking look on his face, “However, I do run into this issue of your strike… But, I’m willing to find a way around it. Willing to put in some extra rules.”

You nod, perhaps a little too eagerly, “Anything. I’ll take on any extra rules you require.”

He looks at you once more, “Okay, I’m willing. These are what your rules are gonna be: You cannot speak to any male parent alone in your classroom, whether that be with their child present or not. If they ask you a question whilst dropping off their child, you must direct them to Mrs. Lane, who is going to be your teaching assistant. As well as this, obviously following the previous rules, no parent can aid you in any after school activities, events, or anything of a similar nature. If you need guidance with an event, you must ask another member of staff to aid you. These are the rules I’m offering you, okay?”

“Of course sir, I completely understand.”

“And I’m going to be super strict with this. If I even see you step slightly out of line, I won’t hesitate to add another strike to that record of yours. Do you understand?”

“100% sir. Absolutely,” you respond.

He smiles, raising from his seat, you copying his action as he extends his hand out to you, saying the words you’ve been waiting to hear for a long time: “You’re hired. Welcome to Ernie Pyle.”

You walk into the front door of your apartment, your hair now a disheveled mess from the windy storm forming outside. Amy looks up from her seat on the couch, re-runs of old episodes of Friends playing on the TV mounted on the wall.

She simply snorts, “Jesus. You look like shit.”

You shut the apartment door behind you, replying with a chuckle, “Yeah, tell me about it.”

She stands up, walking over to you where you had dumped your purse onto the small table where the pair of you eat, “So, how did it go?”

You decided to play with your best friend’s emotions, sighing solemnly as you act sad, mumbling out, “Turns out I have to start taking care of kids five days a week again…”

She furrows her eyebrows, before gasping, putting her hand over her mouth in shock, “You got it?”

You smile widely and giggle, “Yeah, I got it.”

She screams a little too loudly, lifting you off the floor in a hug in excitement, squeaking out, “Oh my God, this is amazing! I told you you would get it!”

You part from each other, you playfully rolling your eyes, joking, “Yeah, yeah. You were right again.”

She smirks overdramatically, “Of course I am. When am I ever wrong?”

You chuckle as she jumps up and down, still in shock at your news, “Holy shit, holy shit! You have to call Steve!”

You part from her again, looking at her with a confusion expression as you let out a “What?”

“Steve. You know, the guy you’ve been crushing on for almost a year?” she says with a smile, “You have to call him!”

You sigh out, pinching the bridge of your nose, “Ames, they just put a bunch of extra rules in for me because of that whole situation. I don’t think they’d be very happy if I suddenly start speaking to him.”

Amy groans at you in frustration, “But, Y/N, he’s not your student’s dad anymore. What are they gonna do? Fire you by association? If anything, that’ll make them more at ease as you’ll be taken, so less likely to become flirty with other student’s dads!”

You let out a long breath, thinking over your best friend’s words, before shaking your head, “Nope! Nope! I’m not doing it, Ames!”

She nods eagerly, “Yes you are!” she teases, running back to the living room and grabbing the phonebook from off the bookshelf, before returning to grab your hand, dragging you onto the couch as you plop down. She shoves the phonebook into your lap, pointing at you, “You’re gonna look up his last name and I’m going to watch you pick up that phone, dial his number and call him. Okay?”

You huff, your breath blowing the hairs out of your face as you complain, “Fine! I’ll do it.”

Amy smiles widely, clapping her hands together and shouting, “Yay!”

You open the phonebook, flipping through until you reach the letter ‘H.’ You scan through the names, reaching the correct starting letters. Hare-, Hari-, Harp-, Has—

“Uh.. Ames?” you say, blinking rapidly, her humming at you, “It’s not in here.”

“What do you mean it’s not in there?” she questions, walking over and sitting next to you on the cream-coloured couch.

“His last name is Harrington. Look,” you point to the page, “It says Harps, and then skips on to names beginning ‘Has.’ He’s not fucking in here.”

“You’re not joking with me? You aren’t making up that name to not call him?”

You look her dead in the eyes, “I’m not kidding. He’s not in here.”

“I mean, he must be one of those rare people who really values privacy. Had his name removed or something,” she replies.

You huff, rolling your eyes and slamming the book shut, placing it back on the bookshelf, “I guess the Universe is telling me really not to go through with it, huh?” you direct at your best friend, turning around and storming into your room, closing the door forcefully behind you.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little bit disappointed… Okay, maybe more than a little.

But… maybe not all hope was lost.

You and Amy took turns taking on the weekly adulting tasks, splitting the boring household chores between the two of you.

You had travelled into Indianapolis, grabbing your weekly groceries for the two of you. You were browsing the selection of cheeses, deciding which one would taste the nicest in relation to your budget. However, a tall man was leaning over you, trying to reach an item located above your head. However, once he spoke, you recognised that voice from anywhere

“I’m so sorry, I just need to grab—” The man looks down at you as you look up at him, your eyes connecting in an intense gaze, “Holy shit… Y/N?”

“Steve?” you breathe out, trying to register the fact that the man you thought you would never see again in your life is standing right in front of you. He’s wearing a Wham! t-shirt, light blue jeans, and a denim jacket in a similar shade. And my God does he look gorgeous.

And he thought the same about you as you stood there in your yellow, flowy dress. Perfect for the warm Indiana summer, and perfect for you. It hugged you so well, in all the right places. It made you look breathtaking.

“Um, hi! Hi… How— How are you?” he asks, blinking rapidly as he tries to form a sentence, his body still shocked from not only how beautiful you look, but the chances of you two meeting in the same grocery store out of your towns.

“I’m doing good, how have you been?” you respond, trying to keep the conversation as casual as possible.

“Pretty great, yeah…” He pauses for a moment, staring at the ground, afraid he would blush if he looked at you again, “Alena’s great too, by the way. Just in case you wanted to know…”

You nod, “I’m glad you two are doing good. I know that me leaving and all probably took a great toll on her, and I wanted to say sorry—”

However, he interrupts you, “Wait, you left the school?”

You sigh out, realising that Alena must’ve not shared the news with her dad, most likely too nervous to tell him that it was because of his actions. “Yeah… I got fired. They caught us kissing on the security cameras and you know… student confidentiality, you know all about that shit.”

“Shit…” he breathes out, sinking in the fact that his actions were the reason for your job loss. “I’m sorry. I never should have kissed you. It was completely my fault and I—”

But now, it’s your time to interrupt him. You giggled, “Steve, I promise, it’s okay. Besides…” you look up, smiling, “I may have found a better teaching job that pays more anyway. You kind of saved me in a way.”

He chuckles awkwardly, “Yeah… I suppose I did…”

The two of you laugh together before the air falls into silence again, the sounds of regular shoppers and beeping machines filling the atmosphere.

Steve was the one to speak what seemed to be the thought lingering on both of your minds, “So… Does that mean I can ask you out again?”

You decide to tease him, “Depends what’s in store, Harrington.”

He laughs at your comment, “Well, I was thinking I pick you up, I take you to a fancy restaurant, and then we shoot the shit, see where the night takes us… Not in a sexual way of course! I just mean in general…” He mentally face-palms himself. Why did he have to phrase it like that?

You giggle at his ramblings, “I like the sound of that,” you smile up at him, your heart fluttering all the more faster, “When are you thinking for?”

“Um… Friday night, seven o’clock at your place?” he asks.

And you verbalise the answer that he’s been wanting to hear for almost a year, the two of you finally being allowed to love each other: “It’s a date.”

and that's the end!! i hope you all enjoyed this five part series, i had so much fun writing it!! now... where do we go from here?

so, if you've checked out the masterlist to this series, you may have noticed the 'spinoffs' section. that's because i'm giving you guys leverage over the future of this little au!!

so, what spinoffs would you like to see? steve and r's first date? them officially getting together? first outing as a couple with alena? even future down the line? it's totally up to you, these are merely suggestions!!

i will be opening my asks back up next week for this series only, so i can't wait to see what scenarios you guys come up with!!

as always, thank you for dedicating your time to reading this entire series, it means so much to me!! ♡

taglist: @livsters @bakugouswh0r3 @nix-rose @ihatepeanutss @cats00089 @suitelif3 @clincallyonline17 @crowssixof @starkeylover @eris-rose-86 comment if you wanna be added/removed from the spinoffs taglist!!

[dark-elf-writes]

Ok so Hojo half sibling au what happens when cloud tells mama Strife about his new brother?

Cloud didn’t call often.

It was a sad truth that Claudia had learned to live with. Long distance calls were expensive, and a trooper’s salary only went so far. She certainly couldn’t afford to call as often as she liked even as the closest thing to a medical professional in Nibelheim (the others in the village only came to her as a last resort, like she was something tainted. A witch of old waiting to swoop down and steal their souls. It didn’t matter she had been seventeen when she got pregnant with her son. Didn’t matter that she had been an intern and scared of losing her job. Didn’t matter that she had lost her job anyway and become the village pariah all at once.) Still they wrote often enough that it dulled the worst of the ache in her chest when she looked to her son’s empty bed, still waiting for him should he come home.

So it was a surprise when her rarely used landline rang with no mention in Cloud’s most recent letter that he was calling.

First came the dread. The terror that those monsters she had let her son go to wouldn’t even grace her with a face to face discussion to tell her the worst had happened. But Claudia Strife had always been stubborn.

“Mama?” Cloud’s voice was strained when she picked up the phone, like it always sounded when he was trying to pretend everything was okay. “How are you?”

“I’ll be better when my son tells me what is going on. You never call out of the blue, Stormcloud. Are you okay? Were you hurt? Did those basta—“

“Ma. Mama! I’m fine!” Cloud huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s good news, really it’s just. A lot, ma. I don’t know where to start.”

“If you got some girl pregnant, Cloud.”

There was a laugh on the other end of the line, too deep to be her son’s. Oh. Oh.

(Suddenly Cloud’s childhood fixation on the shining stars of Shinra’s SOLDIER program made a lot of sense… and why her sweet boy wouldn’t act on those feelings until he had left their home far behind. Nibelheim was anything but open minded.)

“Cloud, are you—“

“I have a brother!”

A paragon of tact, her son was not.

Claudia pulled the towel from her shoulder and dropped it to the counter as she leaned back on it for support. How many other bright eyed girls had been ruined like she had? How many experiments ran on the most vulnerable? How many—

“Ma? Ma are you there?! Ma!”

“Here, baby. I’m here. In that who’s with you? Your brother?”

Cloud sighed. “Yeah and he promised to be quiet.” The last word was hissed in a tone so familiar that Claudia couldn’t help but laugh. She could almost see the narrow eyed look of annoyance her baby was shooting his half-brother.

“It’s a bit hard for us to meet if he’s quiet, Stormcloud.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not all.”

“Oh?”

“We… allegedly and completely unable to be proven... might have committed some slight arson.”

“Cloud Strife.”

“It was allegedly against our… fuck, I don’t know what to call him. No way it’s going to be ‘father.’”

“Donor perhaps?” That voice offered again. Familiar in a way she couldn’t place.

“… Good boys.”

That deeper voice from before choked. Claudia could hear the smug satisfaction in Cloud’s voice when he spoke again. “There’s more still.”

Claudia laughed almost hysterically. “If you’ve allegedly committed mur—“

“Sephiroth is my brother!”

Everything in Claudia froze.

Sephiroth.

Shinra’s Silver General.

The boy who had been dropped into the middle of a war and come out a blooded hero. A child made into a killer too young.

The perfect experiment.

She wanted to throw up. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry.

Instead she forced a smile with no kindness. No gentleness. A mother wolf baring her teeth. “I’m coming to Midgar.”

“Ma!”

“I have enough saved up for this, Stormcloud. I need to see my sons.”

“Sons?” Sephiroth’s voice was carefully neutral. A brilliant mask that would have fooled the world. A mask that did nothing against a mother’s intuition. (Under that careful calm Claudia could hear the tremble of a child, alone and scared even now that he had grown larger than life. A little boy who desperately wanted to be loved. It only made her more certain of her choice.)

“Sons,” She confirmed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Cloud sputtered. “At least let me buy your ticket ma! I’m a SOLDIER now! They gave me a sign on bonus.”

“I know Shinra bonuses as well as you do, young man. Save it for yourself.”

“Then let me pay,” Sephiroth offered. “Firsts make far more than new recruits and I can hardly allow my… allow you to be put in a difficult position, Ms. Strife.”

“Claudia or mom, or ‘ma’ I suppose if you’re impatient like our little stormcloud.” Claudia was rewarded with a flustered squawk of ‘Ma’ from her son… her youngest son. She smiled even through the ache in her chest. “And no, Sephiroth dear, you don’t need to spend money on me. It’s your money to use for yourself, sweetheart. Now I need to pack, boys! I’ll call when I have a set date of arrival!”

“Ma!”

“M— Claudia, I must insist—“

Claudia hung up the phone before they could try to push further about paying. This had to be her choice. Had to be her money. Had to be her doing. After all, they had confirmed it. Hojo was in Midgar, and Claudia was allegedly going to greet him as she should have all those years ago. With her boot knife to his throat and the assurance of exactly what she would do to him if he touched her boys.

Maybe she should take a look at some of those old files in the Manor before she left. Hojo was always a squirrelly bastard. It would be just like him to stash away some of his previous findings in the labs deep underground and she would bet her life that the information on Sephiroth’s past would be down there too along with gods only knew what other demons lurked in Hojo’s past.