#if i remember it right she said she wanted to paint...and learn how to paint with oil paint

[ectobabble]

Glitter Roots Fic Snippet

✨Glitter Roots✨<- // I started this in January and it didn't do well, I wrote way too much, so I'm spamming it. Sorry.

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Rate: PG | Sunshine x Sunny | Tooth Rot Fluff + Comfort

Reader/MC has Dissociative Identity Disorder

Glitter Roots is a prequel to 'The Imposter' from Shiny's perspective. Expecting to work with Sun and Moon in the theater, Shiny is disappointed that they were locked away in Parts and Service.

Shiny's existence is based on external validation and performing for others, essential for survival as a child but a hindrance as an adult. They pour their heart and soul into the daycare and the well-being of Sun/Moon, regardless of their own needs. Sun/Moon struggle with the memories of the reprogramming and virus but learn how to be a person again while sprouting a relationship with their new handler/assistant.

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Meeting Sunny:

“SUNNY!” They exclaimed like a child, running up to him and dropping everything that they were doing with the technician.

Sun startled at the noise but eagerly stood up to greet them. “Hello! WOW. Your outfit? It’s exciting!” He pressed his hands against the glass. “Are you from the daycare?” He tapped his fingers on the glass nervously.

“I’m going to be at the daycare. It’s my first day! And then I went and talked to my boss, Lydia about what I’d be working on and she said that I’d be working mostly with you because she said that I remind her of her daughter and she said that we’d be good working together. Maybe her daughter is good with kids, she didn’t want to talk about it. You know her? Or remember her, I mean. She said she worked at the daycare before it closed down. Now it’s opening again and…” 

Shiny had to stop to take a large breath. You’re talking too much. Too excited again. Stop. Stop it. That didn’t stop their mouth from running. “I have been waiting to meet you for so long. I used to watch you perform back when you did theater! You were amazing!” 

Sun put up a finger, to try and wedge his way into the one-sided conversation but failed. 

“You can call me Sunshine. Lydia said we could put nicknames on our pins for the kids and I thought that was awesome! My friends used to call me Sunshine at summer camp! I wanted to keep it since it’s less serious and I thought it’d be cute. Actually, maybe I should have asked you first? Is that okay? I hope that’s okay! I should stop talking. Sorry. Talking. I’m talking more… It’s good to meet you. I hope we can hang out sometime!”

“Ho-Ho Ho! Aren’t you quite the chaaaatterbox! You say you’re in summer caaaaamp?! That sounds like so much fun! How old are you, little superstar? You look so tiny!”

Sunshine immediately lost all the charisma they had built up, so much so that Sun flinched at the sudden change in expression and tone. “I’m old enough to have a job… I like what I like and age shouldn’t matter… I heard you’re not a fan of adults either. I hope it’s not a bad thing.”

“Wow, really?” He cocked his head, though there was a noticeable change in his demeanor. “I can’t tell with the face paint.” He didn’t say whether it was alright or if he liked it… now that Shiny was thinking about it, he didn’t say if their name was alright either. They weren’t making a good impression with anyone… 

Sunshine: …I gotta fix it. It can’t end like this, they’ll take over and I’ll lose everything again. I can’t go BACK. This has to work so they can’t get mad at me.

If Sun didn’t like it then they could tone it down! Lydia seemed to think it was too much. The little kids liked it… Sunshine started analyzing everyone’s reactions during the day. Maybe their other was right, they weren’t cut out for this. They quit their only job, their safety net, and took a risk on a stupid dream-. “I’m glad you can’t tell. That’s good.” 

“Did you do face painting today?” Sun tilted his head, tapping the glass. “I would have loved that! Who painted you? Did Lydia?”

Sunshine winced, their voice had gotten much weaker. “I uh… did it before coming over. I figured it was okay because… kids… daycare.”

“It looks so happy! Like flower freckles!” He chuckled. “It matches the clips in your hair. I bet the kids liked it. It reminds me of the theater costumes we used to have! Ah, memories…” It sounded like it was sad nostalgia.

“Lydia got a little upset about it since the kids wanted to face paint too… I had to promise to not do it on days when we’re not painting. That’s my bad. I don’t think before doing things… I wanted it to be extra special. I really really really want to make this job work.” They closed their fists and and shook them to punctuate their words. They needed to be liked. They needed this job. They needed friends and have people depend on them. 

They couldn’t go BACK.

“I do remember Lydia! She is one of the nicer staff. I didn’t mind working with her… She’s such a nice granny. Do you know when I’m scheduled to get out? I have been very good. They say I’m all better now! Healthy! Tip top shape.”

Sunshine frowned. “I - uh - don’t… Actually, I’m not supposed to really be here. I came down after work… and the technicians are ignoring me right now so I think it’s okay?” Behind them were the technicians tolling away at some service bots, unbothered by Sunshine hanging around. 

“Rulebreaker.” He gasped.

“Not really. See, I got a pass!” They showed Sun their security badge. “My workday ended and I just came here because Lydia said that you were here and I really wanted to see you. I’ve always wanted to work with kids and never got the opportunity to apply.”

“Juuuust because you have the means, does not mean that it is right.” Sunny crossed his arms and looked away dramatically, then he completely dropped the act and leaned down to be face to face with them and whisper, “I am glad you visited though. It’s been a while since I’ve talk talk TALKED with someone new. You look like a rainbow threw up on you!” He giggled. “You must like color a lot.” Sunny prompted them, trying to continue the conversation. He probably was just as attention starved as Sunshine was.

But he didn’t like it, did he?

“I do.” Sunshine was afraid they were going to slip from being out again. If there was one thing their other fed off of it was insecurity and doubt, and they could get a full meal out of something as small as this.

Other: Did you put this shit in our hair again? Oh man, where are we? Are you playing dress up? Are we out in public looking like a clown?! Against their will, Sunshine began to take the pins out of their hair. It was a losing the battle. As they lowered the head to pull the clips out, the light caught on the glitter roots.

Sun gasped. “You got glitter glue all up in your hair!”

Sunshine was shaking a little. People liked it though, right? They made people smile today and the kids seemed to like it… “Oh. I did that on purpose. It’s hair gel mixed with glitter. It’s a trend.. Or it was…” That was a scary thought too; it was a trend eight years ago and yet they remembered seeing it like yesterday. “I saw it online and I thought it’d be cool to try. It’ll wash out… and its biodegradable. Team Mother Earth! Haha…” Sunshine cleared their throat, pulling another clip out.

“No no no! I’m sorry, new friend! It looked good! I haven’t seen a person that colorful before. You look like a little fairy. Heh!”

“I realize now that I overdid it…” Sunshine was getting self-conscious, a foreign feeling.

“You look perfect for the daycare! Don’t listen to the sticks in the mud! I’m sure the kids loved it! Avant garde! Inspired! You look like arts and craaaaafts.” Sun sang as he spun his rays. “That’d be great at parties - we should play dress up with the kids sometime to do plays! I’d love that! We should definitely do that.”

“I want the party on the inside to match the party on the outside.” Sunshine was gaining their confidence back, if only a little. “I hope, uhm, we get along when you come back out.”

Sun clapped his hands. “We shall see! I’m so excited to see the kids again! We’re going to have so much FUN! We should add face painting sometimes! I miss fingerpainting. My ballpit! It’s still there?”

“It is!” Sunshine suddenly jumped, remembering something important. “Here! I wanted to give you something anyway. I got this for you because it’s my first day and I figured ‘Hey, this would be cool! Maybe he’d like it as a welcome present back to the daycare.’ I used to watch you do theater before and it really helped get me through some dark times. That’s pretty much the reason I wanted to start working here is because I wanted -.” They took a much needed deep breath. “Sorry. I meant to say: I got you this.”

Shiny lifted up a little party bag they had prepared and impatiently waited all day to give to him. 💖

[gatheringbones]

[“It was only after I came out as a dyke that, for the first time in my life, I felt ready to celebrate being a girl, and I did. Actually, I overdid. Armed with Esther Newton’s Mother Camp, Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble, and Joan Nestle’s A Restricted Country, I embraced femme. I dressed up in short flowery dresses, pushup bras, satin panties, and lacy stockings. I paid great attention to my long, curly, perfectly-coiffed hair, my glamorous makeup, and especially my pouty lips. I spritzed Lola’s smell on my skin—Estee Lauder’s Private Collection—and painted my nails. I wore all of it with black combat boots and a brilliant sense of irony. I reveled in my girliness, went over the top, learned how to tweeze my eyebrows and line my lips with a lip pencil.

My gender presentation was unmistakable: blatant female sexuality. I was a proud, in-your-face, take-no-prisoners, uppity, don’t-assume-I’m-straight-because-I-wear-lipstick-and-dresses femme dyke. Because femmes are always assumed to be straight or sleeping with men, and I do sleep with men, I made sure to always have a butch on my arm so I’d be read as femme. Even though I was sure I’d be mistaken for straight, the boys took one look at me and steered clear. It was as if I was too much of a woman for them to handle, like I was a handful, and I was. But butch girls love a handful—a handful of tits, a handful of ass, a girl who needs to be handled, a girl who can handle herself.

How I figured out I was a femme had a lot to do with the women I was attracted to and the dynamic between us. When I was in junior high, I used to mess around with a friend of mine named Angela. Angela was one of those girls who developed early; I remember she had big breasts in like sixth grade. We mostly kissed and touched over clothes, and we played out various boy-girl scenarios. I was always the girl—my early femme roots. My favorite of all our little scenes was the one where she was my male boss and I was the secretary. The boss made me have sex with him and told me if I didn’t I would get fired. Now this was all before Clarence Thomas, Anita Hill and the media awareness/obsession with sexual harassment. I remember she’d tell me to suck her dick and push my face unmercifully into her crotch, which smelled amazing,. The drama of it all—the force, the degradation, the power games—really got me off. After that, there was no going back to simplicity. I was hooked on the power.

Jen really epitomized all the girls I was attracted to then and still am. Being with a butch girl, I was valued for my combination of strength and vulnerability, for dressing up, for wanting an arm to hold onto, hips to wrap my legs around, being able to give my body over to her and say, I trust you, I’m yours. My butch loved me in low-cut dresses, appreciated my sexual voraciousness, worshipped my inner slut. I reveled in the fact that I could be strong and submissive all at once. Surrender and still be a feminist. Being a dyke is not just about who I fuck and love, it’s about being a girl who doesn’t play by the rules.

Butch girls don’t play by the rules either, and I love butch girls. Girls with hair so short you can barely slide it between two fingers to hold on. Girls with slick, shiny, barbershop haircuts and shirts that button the other way. Girls that swagger. Girls who have dicks made of flesh and silicone and latex and magic. Girls who get stared at in the ladies room, girls who shop in the boy’s department, girls who live every moment looking like they weren’t supposed to. Girls with hands that touch me like they have been touching my body their entire lives. Girls who have big cocks, love blow-jobs, and like to fuck girls hard. Every day, it is the girls that get called Sir that make me catch my breath, the girls with strong jaws that buckle my knees, the girls who are a different gender that make me want to lie down for them.

Someone else said it about me recently and it’s right on target: “She gets off on all different sorts of people sexually, but she falls for butches.” Like the poet who bought her first strap-on with me and then wanted to sleep with it on. The shrink-in-training who got harassed every time she drove down South. She did look so much like a fifteen-year-old boy: blue button-down shirts, neatly-combed blond hair. The ad exec who had names for her dildos and used to love for me to spit-shine her wingtips. The photographer whose face was so mannish she could pass almost anywhere. The writer who wanted a body like Loren Cameron’s. The telephone repairwoman who drove a truck. The cook who had a boy’s name. The academic who got cruised by gay men on Castro Street. The cornfed farmboy from the Heartland with arms so hard and strong you swear they’ve been working the land, not the iron at the gym.

And there’s the one who’s got the James Dean stare down, and dresses like a clean-cut fag, and looks at me like she could look at me forever and never blink or grow tired or move from the spot she’s in. She’s a girl who loves girls like me—girls in velvet bras, girls who want to surrender to her mouth. She’s a girl who isn’t afraid to throw a femme down on the bed and fuck her. Possess her. My kind of girl. This girl is different.”]

tristan taormino, from this girl is different, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓔𝓣𝓔𝓝𝓓 𝓣𝓞 𝓑𝓔 𝓐𝓢𝓛𝓔𝓔𝓟 𝓐𝓡𝓞𝓤𝓝𝓓 𝓣𝓗𝓔𝓜 & 𝓨𝓞𝓤𝓡 𝓒𝓗𝓘𝓛𝓓𝓡𝓔𝓝 feat. JUJUTSU KAISEN!

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ characters: gojo satoru, itadori yuuji, fushiguro megumi, nanami kento & geto suguru!

warnings! sfw, dad!au, all characters written age 22+, f!reader (they’re referred to as ‘mommy’) ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! guys i literally found these hcs written & finished at the very bottom of my drafts so i’m posting idc, theyre v old & short so they may suck but pls accept my love!

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU

you hear him gossiping to your daughter who’s only a toddler when they return home, hearing her gasp dramatically at his words as they get closer. “sweet thi— oh?” gojo cuts himself off, followed by a few seconds of silence before you hear him whisper “hm, looks like mommy’s all tired out, princess. maybe we should just forget movie night and eat dessert before dinner.”

his words are goading and you try to hide the pout on your lips when they’re followed by a few of his heavy footsteps as he approaches you, like he’s trying to size you up for a reaction — looking for it as he pays careful attention to your features like he doesn’t have ever inch of you mapped out by memory.

it seems like an instant before they’re by the side of the couch, crouching down slightly to place a gentle kiss to your cheek, soft despite the way his lips linger on the skin as they move against you — enough for you to be able to feel the signature smirk you can only assume paints his pretty features right.

“really, sweet girl? i thought you knew me better than to pretend to be asleep.” gojo drawls and you almost jolt when he whips the blanket off of you with a gasp. “awake? all this time? princess i just don’t think they wanted to watch movies with us.” his tone laced with teasing as his lips curl into a smug grin — while you watch him turn to your daughter with a hand on his hip, yes you’re roped into it, not that you’re complaining.

✩ ˛˚ . ITADORI YUUJI

you hear their shared footsteps running up the hall as you quickly pull the blanket over your body, closing your eyes just as they burst through the door, closely followed by a gasp from your husband before you hear your son copy him — you always found it charming the way he truly seen him as his idol.

“oh no, mommy’s asleep so we gotta be quiet okay?” yuuji whisper shouts, a smaller voice piping up after with a just as excitable “bu’ you said we should never sleep with no goodnigh’ kiss.” your son tries to whisper back and you want to laugh at how loud they’re both talking while also trying to be quiet.

“you’re right! good job remembering!” you’re trying your best to bite back the smile you can feel twitch at your lips — the interaction making you feel warm in the best sort of way, but you hear them both begin to approach you before there’s a suspicious silence and you wonder if you’ve been caught.

“okay you go first then i’ll go!” you finally hear your husband say and you want to smile when you feel your sons lips press against your cheek before he pulls away again, whispering as he does “goodnigh’ mommy” followed by yuuji’s shortly after with a “goodnight baby.” hearing them leave after with a very quiet high five “wanna play a game now?”

✩ ˛˚ . NANAMI KENTO

you hear your husband’s chuckle as he returns home from picking up your daughter from school, your daughter rambling about what she learned before they enter the living room, noticing you asleep on the couch before nanami shushes her gently.

“how about you tell me all about it in the kitchen, princess? let’s let your mom rest.” he grumbles and it’s silent for a moment until you hear a cabinet close, feeling the familiar touch of your husbands lips on your skin when he leans down to place a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“sleep well, sweetheart.” nanami breathes, calloused thumb smoothing over your cheek soothingly incase he woke you, but allowing your daughter to kiss the same place he did before she’s copying her dads movements and tracing over the same spot with her smaller hand.

“that’s it, good job, princess. you want to help daddy make them some tea?” he grumbles, followed by a whispered “yes” before they move quietly to the kitchen.

✩ ˛˚ . FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

it’s quiet when you hear megumi and your daughter return home from school, her smaller hand still wrapped in his bigger one as he carries her pink bag pack over his shoulder with a pout on his lips (he knows he spoils her).

but as soon as they meet your figure draped so dreamily on the couch, pretending to be asleep — all sound dies down before you’re only met with light shuffling, the noise accompanied by the feeling of a soft blanket being draped over you a few moments later.

“like this.” megumi whispers, tucking it underneath you gently, he’s being careful not to wake you and you can’t deny the way it makes your heart swell. but not as much as it does when you feel the same movements on the other side — except by a smaller pair of hands this time and you can almost imagine the soft, proud smile on his face with the little. “is mommy warm now?”

your daughter tries to whisper, the sound comes out a little louder than intended, but you don’t mind when you hear your husband huff out a laugh after. “almost.” megumi hums, silence following his words before you feel him rest his lips along your forehead a few moments later with a soft breath. “there, perfect.”

✩ ˛˚ . GETO SUGURU

you hear the gentle of hum of geto’s soft laugh as he returns home with your daughter after the school run, both of their shared footsteps shuffling down the hallway as you work to quickly make yourself look comfortable on the couch. you lie back, pulling the blankets up to your chin just a few moments before their careful steps stop in the doorway, followed by a gentle shhh from your dark haired boyfriend as you hear them both fall silent.

“is mommy sleeping?” your daughter asks before it’s followed by a set of heavy steps—confirming that’s it’s exactly who you think it is when you sense his presence squat down at the side of the couch as his dark eyes probably settle on your features.

“seems that way.” geto grunts and you give it a few moments, hoping he hasn’t picked up on your little act before you feel his fingertips brush along your cheek, followed by a sigh before he’s falling into his place beside you softly. he moves you carefully until you’re pressed in his lap and you feel his other arm raise as your daughter asks “what’re you doing?” despite the way she approaches anyway.

“hm? i think i should get to cuddle with my favourite girls. cmeer.” and you think maybe you should keep up your little act a while longer as you nuzzle yourself into his chest with a content sigh when his lips press softly against your temple. but then he speaks against your skin and you can’t help the way you have to bite back a grin. “you really think you can trick me, pretty girl? i thought you knew me better than that.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 22

part 1 | part 21 | ao3

“…Go ahead,” he relents with a heavy sigh.

He turns the radio back on for background noise, and Robin launches herself into a breathless recap of every minute detail she’s ever learned about Eddie Munson. Genuinely impressive how quickly the words come out; Steve thinks that if her dream of becoming a linguistics researcher ever falls through, she’s got a bright future ahead of her as one of those speedreaders who rattle off the fine print at the end of pharmaceutical ads.

Warning: Discussion of Eddie Munson may cause nausea, heartburn, palpitations, sweaty armpits, and an inconveniently timed half-chub any time you use a pocket knife. Talk to your doctor to see if Discussion of Eddie Munson is right for you!

“Which brings us to tonight,” she’s saying when he zones back in. “Let’s examine the facts, shall we?”

“Must we?”

“Yes, we must.”

She makes a loose fist, lifting her pointer finger with an aggressive flourish to kick off her ‘list of reasons Eddie has a big, fat crush on you.’ “Fact number one: he was conveniently wearing a super nice outfit.”

“He said he ran out of laundry.”

“And we’re buying that?” she scoffs. Her middle finger springs up to join the first one. “Two: he was so disgustingly up in your personal space. Like, you really should have seen it; it was—”

Mwah. Mwah mwah mwah. “Yeah, I don’t need another demonstration.”

“Three” —there goes her ring finger— “he came to a movie rental store that you just so happen to work at and then left without renting a movie.”

“Because you did something to spook him!”

“Which brings me to my fourth and final point.” Her pinky lifts up to join the team, fingers spread wide like a paper fan, and she telescopes her arm to shove them back and forth under his nose until he goes a little cross-eyed and bitches about her distracting the driver.

“Cut it out! You want me to drive us into someone’s trash cans?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Yeah, well I’m sending you the invoice when it scratches up the paint.”

She retreats to her side of the car, curling her back against the door and repeating, “My fourth and final point: I think he thinks we’re dating.”

“And? Everyone thinks we’re dating.”

“No, everyone wants us to be secretly dating,” she corrects. “But I’m pretty sure Eddie actually thinks I’m your girlfriend. You remember last week when you dropped me off at school?”

He does. Eddie had actually been there early for once; had been sitting on a bench out by the soccer fields, looking surly and half-asleep while he sucked down a cigarette. Hair all messed up by the wind. Looked kind of dangerous. Wild.

“He was, like, fully glaring at me when I walked into school that morning, and then he was super rude to me in band. Which, at the time, I was like, ‘oh, well I guess that’s just Eddie no one can ever tell what his mood’s gonna be like from day to day,’ but noo-o-ow…”

She starts squirming in her seat again, excitement overflowing as she finally cracks the case. “Now it all makes sense! Oh, my god! He totally hates me because he thinks we’re dating, and I’ll bet you anything he either didn’t know we work together or didn’t expect me to be there tonight and he totally, one hundred percent was there to flirt with you because he’s in lo—”

“Okay, Detective,” he cuts her off, because the tips of his ears are burning, and he doesn’t think he can handle her saying the L word out loud right now. “You’ve made your point, thank you.”

“Tell me I’m right.”

“Uh, no.”

“Come on.” She jabs at his side. “Tell me I’m right tell me I’m right tell me I’m—”

“—A fucking menace? Gladly.”

“Translation: I’m right and you’re mad about it,” she smirks, victorious.

Steve knocks his forehead against the wheel as he pulls up to her curb. “Why do I drive you places?”

“Because you love me." She flips her visor down to freshen up her lip balm, mumbling around the chapstick, "I’m adding Surly Best Friendlish to my list of fluencies; I think it'll really make my college applications pop."

"Yuh huh," Steve grumbles. The thought of Robin leaving for college always sits in his gut like raw bread dough — thick and heavy and gross, rising to form a swollen lump in his throat. "Didn't you already submit all of those?"

"Yes, I diiiid," she sings, shimmying her shoulders with pride. "Duke's gonna say yes, I just know it. Picture it with me: Robin L. Buckley," she gestures to an imagined marquee somewhere just beyond the windshield, "class of 1990."

Steve swallows the urge to be a sulky dick about it. "They'd be lucky to have you," he says quietly.

"Nope. No no, none of that. No moping." She tugs at his arm; links their elbows together. "You're not allowed to mope when we have a party to get ready for."

"No, you have a party to get ready for. I'm going home."

"Steeeve-uh!" Holy shit. He just had to be soulmates with the whiniest lesbian in a 500 mile radius, didn't he? "Come to the bonfire party with me!"

"Yeah, that's a no."

“It’ll be fun!"

It most certainly will not be. "You really want me to go freeze my ass off in the woods all night while a bunch of former classmates talk shit about me the second they think I'm out of earshot?" He's been to enough of his parents' 'networking events' over the years to know exactly how that'll go. A full night of subtly closed-off body language, smirking whispers and judgmental glances that dart away as soon as he meets them head on. Fuck that. "Thanks, but I'll pass."

He just wants to go home. Feels momentarily sick with the desire to drive himself to Loch Nora.

"What did I say about moping?" Robin asks. She shoves into his space, hugging his arm tighter and deploying her most lethal sad wet kitten face (and Steve doesn't even like cats; this shouldn't fucking work on him.) "Pleeeease," she begs. "Vickie's going to be there, and I could really use a friend."

"So ask a friend!"

"I am, dipshit!"

Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Goddamn this woman. Steve hangs his chin to his chest in defeat, notices the weird stain he got on his shirt during work. "I have some conditions," he concedes.

She throws her arms out wide. "Condition me, baby!"

"First— ew. Okay, I don't like that; don't call me baby." Yeesh, and furthermore, yuck. "First, I'm borrowing one of your shirts, and you're probably never getting it back."

"Understandable,” she nods as she gets out of the car. Steve follows her out, propping his elbows on the roof.

"Secondly,” he continues, “I'm getting very drunk at this stupid party, and you're figuring out how we get home."

She reaches out over the top of the car; gives his hand a quick squeeze when he puts it in hers. "That's three things," she says fondly, "but I can work with that."

—

part 23

tag list part 1 below the cut; comment if you'd like to be added tomorrow (not tagging ageless or under 21s unless we're mutuals or you let me know your age ✌️)

@a-little-unsteddie @ahsokatanoss @alyelf @anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @awolfstudio @bambibiest @bananahoneycomb @bronwenmarie @cheonsazu @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @dauntlessdiva @dawners @dontwasteyourchances @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @fandomfix8 @griefabyss69 @grtwdsmwhr @hallucinatedjosten @hellion-child @hiimlevi @honoragreyskull @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @kas-eddie-munson @littlebluejane @marvel-ous-m @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @milklechee @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @munsonslure @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @questionablequeeries @runninriot @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutabed @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @spookednsaucy

[togenabi]

the language of flowers

gojo satoru x reader (royalty au)

♡—All your life, you have been training for the role of Empress... But nothing could have prepared you to be Satoru's wife.

word count♡— 4.7k (I came back swinging y'all)

genre♡— fluff, royalty au

aged up characters♡— 18+

content notes♡— arranged marriage, romance, crown prince (maybe ooc) gojo, flowers, no use of y/n, afab!reader, ur a princess we're all princesses, minor chara oc's, mentions of my other au's, reader's father is a jerk, reader is tough but falls hard, not fully proofread

author's note♡— this took a while! september was ridiculously busy for me but I did my best with this to compensate! this is also very self indulgent, but I hope you enjoy it! xoxo, belle

As a child, you found out of your engagement to the Crown Prince by accident.

On a chilly winter's evening, you had been chasing the Royal Secretary's cat around the palace. Your father, the King, would frown upon you playing games at this hour. You should be writing essays, learning dance or banquet etiquette.

But all that can wait, you think. You've just spotted the end of a fluffy tail dart around the next corner.

When you catch up to it, the orange tabby is curiously peering into a room—whose grand double doors are slightly ajar. Eyes widening, you quicken your steps but make sure to minimize any sound. The last thing you needed was to be spotted skirting your duties right in front of the King's study.

You let out a huff of relief once you've gently picked up the cat, your arms hugging it to your chest.

Just as you're about to sneak away, however, you hear your name.

From the gap in the door, streams of golden light pour out; contrasting with the darkness of the hallway. The silhouettes of your father and his Secretary leave shadowed patterns on the floor.

You listen, as these silhouettes plan your future without you.

“Ha!” The King bellows. “My daughter. Empress. I never thought I'd see the day.”

Your heart stutters. What?

“When will you inform her, Your Majesty?”

The shadow on the painted tiles waves a hand dismissively as your father does.

“I'll leave that to you, Montgomery. Tell her that she should be honored.”

Heavy footsteps sound as he paces. “It was concerning to have a daughter as a firstborn. I knew she couldn't be made to rule what I've built, but I'll finally have a steady pawn in The Empire once she's sent away.”

Pain shoots into you. Your eyes begin to sting. You had always known your brother was the favorite despite all the hard work you've put in, but to be spoken of as a pawn... Could it be that you have not worked hard enough?

You suddenly remember where you are. Remember how slacking off brought you here. Heartbroken, you hug the cat tighter.

The words your father speak as you walk away deepens the dagger in your chest.

“Do not settle for anything less than perfect for her coursework. She's to be Empress, after all.”

On that chilly winter's evening, your heart froze over like the snow-covered branches looming outside.

...

Several years later.

The carriage goes over a bump in the road, but you do not show discomfort or act without grace. Your expression is controlled and your posture is correct as you balance yourself.

Across from you, Secretary Mont holds a newspaper up, the front page faces you as he reads. Large bold letters take up the entire upper half of the paper:

‘CITIZENS QUESTION IF EMPRESS-TO-BE IS WORTHY OF THE CROWN PRINCE’

You scoff. It makes Mont meet your gaze over the paper before flipping it; he frowns disapprovingly at the front-most article.

“Do not mind them, Your Highness.” He folds the paper and sets it aside—as if it would help prove his point. “The people are not used to your presence yet, but they will be. They will see how you are the perfect choice for Empress.”

The Princess is power hungry, someone who was interviewed had said. You wanted the Empire for yourself, apparently.

Jealous. Vain. Possessive. Dramatic.

Shifting your gaze to the window, you contemplate what you had done to garner such a negative image. Could you have done anything differently?

Your father's face appears in your mind's eye. That same ever-present scowl on his face as he says you should do better. You should be grateful. You should be nothing less than what you've been preparing all these years for. Everything must be perfect.

The Imperial Palace comes into view. It stands high and grand, shining under the bright midday sun. The cloudless blue sky above it makes the scene picturesque.

After the wedding in four months, it is to be your new home.

The Imperial Princess, your betrothed's younger sister, greets you when you arrive. You curtsy to each other, and she surprises you by reaching out to take your hands in hers. She gives them a firm yet friendly squeeze.

“I'm pleased to welcome you, my sister-to-be.” She beams, and you return the look with your own small, composed smile.

“I am honored to be here. Thank you for taking the time to receive me personally.” You gently lower your hands, letting her go.

She leads you inside, passing lines of palace staff as you enter.

“Congratulations on your own engagement, by the way.” You say honestly. After assessing her for a moment, you carefully remark, “I hear you and Prince Toge are quite happy.”

“We are.” She nods, smile glowing even more at the mention of her beloved. “Please allow me to say that I hope you and my brother find your own happiness, despite the ‘political arrangement’ of it all.”

“I thank you for your well-wishes.”

“Would you like an escort to your chambers?” The Princess offers once you reach a grand curving staircase.

“If you have other duties, I will not keep you.” You give her a bow, the ends of your dress brushing the polished marble flooring.

“Very well.” She nods. “A servant will inform you when dinner is ready.”

Gathering your skirt, you make your way up the steps to the east wing, where the guest chambers are.

Your eyes find the path to the west wing, where the royal families' rooms can be found. Soon enough, you would be heading there instead of east. Hopefully, the Prince will be amicable to live with.

The chambers reserved for you are exactly how you remember them. It's spotless and feels homey despite you only visiting a few times a year.

This is the only place you can be truly alone. Your father, try as he might, has no power here.

You step towards the balcony, opening the glass doors that lead outside. The wind caresses your skin like a soft kiss to your cheek, and you take a deep breath to savor it.

Four months.

That's all you have left. Four months of freedom here.

Another breeze passes. It carries with it a tiny dandelion wisp. Catching it almost feels like holding onto air, and yet it is there between your fingers. Small and weighing nothing, but there nonetheless.

For such a small thing, it strengthens your resolve.

You're not here for freedom. You're here to be Empress. And that's all that matters. You will not let anything get under your skin and interfere with your responsibilities.

...

So you said, only to find yourself in a very unexpected situation.

Dinner was uneventful, your only gripe was that your betrothed was not present. You had hoped to show everyone that you got along well... Even if you've only really spoken a handful of times.

However, once you returned to your chambers, you spot the balcony door open once more. Beyond it, looking out at the view of the city, was the Crown Prince himself.

You try not to let your unpreparedness get to you. Bowing respectfully, you greet him. “Good evening, Your Highness. May I ask what brings you here?”

The Prince turns to you, crossing one ankle over the other as he casually leans on the balcony.

“There you are.” Satoru says, his head tilting as he observes you.

You eye him warily, trying to decipher his intentions. If he wanted to see you, he could have simply shown up to dinner. “What are you doing?”

He steps forward. You step back. “Is it a crime to want time alone with my—”

Sighing, you should have expected him to want more time with the future—

“—wife?”

The word knocks the wind out of you.

Of all the names you have been called, ‘wife’ is a new addition to the list.

You are your parents' daughter, your country's princess, and are to be the Empire's most powerful woman.

And yet, to one person... to Satoru, you are to be his wife.

It's almost strange to think about. Your earliest memory of your betrothed is back when he was small and scrawny. It was difficult to take him seriously back then.

Now, something has changed in him. Or it could also be that he's always been like this, and this is a side to him he doesn't show to others that often.

Satoru watches you process the word, seeming to have something to say, but decides against it. You half expected him to tease you for being flabbergasted, but he patiently waits for you to speak first.

“Why are you here at this hour?”

He grins, eyes bringing shame to those distant stars hanging in the sky behind him.

“I didn't want our first meeting in ages to have so many spectators." Satoru explains. “If I had shown up earlier, the scribes would have taken note of how many times I blinked or how fast I chewed."

His jesting does not put you at ease at all. “I have a feeling you have something to say that should not be recorded or overheard.”

“That's true. However,” Satoru says pointedly, “The hour is far too late for all that I wish to say, so I will simply bid you goodnight with this...”

Out of nowhere, he pulls out a red flower with curling petals.

You keep your eyes on his as you reach for the flower's stem. Satoru watches you back, smiling softly. He's backing away before you can thank him, but he doesn't look like he minds. He seems to be happy you didn't reject it.

“Goodnight, my dear.” He bows, and makes his exit.

...Through the balcony. Again.

You step out and try to find where he disappeared to, but he's gone.

The moonlight out here allows you to get a better look at the flower. How curious. Usually, people in the Empire give roses, don't they?

The red carnation twirls between your fingers, and you think of how much more grand and tangible it is compared to the dandelion wisp that found you before dinner.

...

Carnations mean many different things, according to this book on the language of flowers you picked up. It all depends on the color.

Pink carnations symbolize fondness and remembrance. Some also consider it to mean not being able to forget someone.

White carnations mean purity, good luck, and new beginnings. It's a common way of wishing someone safe travels.

Yellow carnations have varying meanings. Sometimes, they are used for apologies. But most often they are given to express disdain, symbolizing a hopeless state of mind. You stare at the illustration next to the passage. The yellow watercolor is so bright and vibrant, it makes you wonder what it did to deserve such sad connotations.

Setting the book down for a moment, you rest your eyes by scanning the library. Countless shelves with even more countless books. A golden candlestick here. A priceless painting there. A stack of yesterday's newspaper lying a few tables away.

Something unpleasant settles in your chest. You ignore it and resume reading.

Naturally, as is the case for most red flowers, the red carnation means love. True, passionate love and affection.

You shut the book softly, tracing the embossed petals on the cover while thinking of the red carnation sitting on your bedside table.

Things could have gone worse, you suppose. At least Satoru didn't give you a striped carnation, which has no other meaning than rejection.

Secretary Mont enters the library before you could dwell more on that thought. He's arrived with several palace staff for additional wedding plans.

“Your Highness,” Only Mont greets you, but they all bow in unison.

You nod, and gesture to the table. “Be seated. Let's begin with the urgent concerns first.”

Apparently, the most urgent problem was that Satoru had not approved any of the table dressing color schemes. When you review the options, you think you can assume why. There can only be so many shades of white and cream and pearl.

“What shall we do, Your Highness?” One of the butlers ask.

“Give me a few samples, I'll talk to the Crown Prince myself.”

You almost regret saying that, because once you did, several staff began tripping over themselves, requesting you bring up other preparations with Satoru.

Secretary Mont asks if he should schedule an appointment with your betrothed, but you decline. Something tells you that he will show up again tonight.

And so, here you were after dinner in your chambers. A box of wedding planning materials rests next to you on the bed. You left the balcony doors open this time, and he shows up just as you predicted.

“Aw, were you expecting me?” He's smiling at you as he approaches, but it falters once he sees the box.

He lets out a loud breath before settling on your bed too, the box sits between you. “Alright, let's do this.”

“Start with these.” You hand him some fabric swatches, he looks at them in disdain.

“Pearl, then.” He says, barely even looking through all the options.

“Don't decide hastily.” You can't help but reprimand. “It's not just the color you have to consider, but the material as well.”

Satoru blinks, but presses his fingers to feel the texture of the fabric at your suggestion. “Is pearl not good then?”

“It's pretty, but it's too shiny.” You explain. “The sheen doesn't make it soft or comfortable to use.”

“Ah.” He breathes out, understanding what you mean.

You tell yourself your heart doesn't beat louder when he picks the one you had your eye on. Satoru holds the sample fabric up, the label attached reads ‘Snow’.

A clean, classic sort of white. Soft to the touch, almost fluffy. You don't have to tell him that you agree, he can already guess from the way you glance at him.

He doesn't need to know that your eyes strayed to his hair. Soft. Fluffy.

Clearing your throat, you change the subject by bringing out some tableware samples. “Shall we discuss these, next?”

An hour and thirty kinds of invitation cards later, a short break is due. You're writing down your decisions when Satoru calls your name.

You've moved to your desk by now, since your bed has become some sort of wedding moodboard. Something clinking together reaches your ears, and you turn to find that Satoru had tea brought up. He pours you a cup and carefully hands it to you.

“Thank you.” You respond gratefully, taking a sip before turning back to the lists in front of you.

“Aren't you tired?” Satoru asks, reading your writing over your shoulder.

“This is actually quite easy for me.” You admit. “Wedding planning is unexpectedly... Pleasant.”

Satoru laughs softly. “You're probably the only one in this palace who thinks it's pleasant to work with me.”

After a moment, he continues. “I suppose... That's a good thing, if we're to be wed.”

His words make you pause writing. You suddenly feel shy, warmth spreading on your cheeks. The kind you're sure isn't from the flame crackling in the fireplace.

How silly that you're becoming bashful after being engaged to him since you were children. The thundering of your heart can wait.

“I agree.” You respond, not turning to face him. You will not allow him to see you uncomposed like you did the previous night. “I wasn't sure what to expect from our marriage, but I would appreciate it if we were companionable.”

The rest of the evening proceeds smoothly, though you do notice Satoru becoming more silent as the night goes on.

The next day, you spot Satoru speaking to foreign delegates. Something is different in the way he carries himself in front of them. His posture is that of a proper Emperor, not a cheeky prince that sneaks into your room at night.

... It's probably best that no one finds out about that, lest a scandal breaks before you even get married.

When the delegates leave, you're about to approach and greet Satoru when he, unmistakably meets your eyes, then walks in the opposite direction.

You're left there, confused and perhaps even a little hurt. But you stone your expression and carry on as if nothing has happened. Your lessons taught you to be graceful, even in times you feel anything but.

By late afternoon, it's painfully obvious that Satoru is ignoring you. When he rushes through his lunch and gets up right when you take your seat, you try your best to look unaffected.

Hopefully, you're the only one who's noticed so far. If word reaches Secretary Mont, word will reach your father... That troubles you more than you can put to words.

Satoru doesn't show up for your scheduled wedding planning session with the rest of the staff. You're careful not to say that you'll speak with your betrothed, and thankfully no one mentions it even if it shows they wish you did. You're not even sure if he'll show up at your balcony tonight.

When the hour turns ten, the time he's usually here, he isn't. You sigh and can't help feeling a little disappointed.

Perhaps you said something wrong last night. Maybe you should apologize for something. Or he could just be busy, you tell yourself. You can't expect the Crown Prince to always have time to sneak away to you, can't you?

Something taps against the glass of the balcony doors. It breaks your train of thought, and causes your heart to leap just a bit.

But when you go to check, no one's there. You open the doors to find a single red carnation, just like the one he gave the first night.

You're only barely successful at hiding your relief. You reach for it and glance around once more, just to make sure if he left any other trace of him. There are none, but after you lock the doors and turn in for the night, two carnations in a glass vase calm you in a way you hadn't let yourself feel in a long time.

...

A maid knocks at your door a tad earlier than you're used to. When you ask about what's going on, she says she has to prepare you for the Crown Prince's departure.

“He's leaving?” You ask as you rise from bed, already headed for the bathroom to clean up.

“Yes, Your Highness.” She sifts through your wardrobe for your clothes. “He is to go on a business trip to settle trade agreements.”

“How long will he be gone for?”

“I cannot say for certain, Your Highness.”

Pausing in thought, you look to the balcony doors.

A rush of determination fills you as you ask the maid, “Could you prepare something for me?”

The head butler said that he could be gone for two or three weeks. Weeks before you see that face of his, which has a surprisingly forlorn expression on it.

“Thank you for seeing me off.” Satoru acknowledges you with a smile, but his eyes reveal how tired and troubled he truly is.

You say nothing at first, silently taking steps closer to him. You could practically feel the air freeze over as everyone watching holds their breath. This is the closest the two of you have appeared in public.

You reveal a white carnation held in the hand you hid behind you. The stem is cut short, just enough so that it fits into the pocket on his coat.

“I will take care of things here while you're gone.” You assure him, taking a step back to admire how the white flower suits him.

Satoru seems to be at a loss for words, but his eyes regain their usual spark when he addresses you again. “It seems I have nothing to worry about, then.”

You feel stares at your back as the carriage departs, but pay them no mind. You intend to keep your word and perform your duties while the prince is gone.

On your way to the library, you overhear the Imperial Princess and Sir Nanami speaking to each other.

They're in the next hallway, and you were just about to turn to it when you hear your name spoken. You press your back to the wall and listen.

“I'm glad Her Highness seems to have liked my brother.” The princess says. “And of course, I know Satoru would have been over the moon because of that flower.”

Sir Nanami hums. “His concerns were nothing to be worried about after all.”

The princess laughs. “Oh, what was it again that he said? That she friendzoned him?”

“It was that she companion-zoned him.”

You huff quietly. So that's why Satoru had been ignoring you yesterday.

“I look forward to their blooming relationship. I'm sure Her Highness will come around.” Is the last you hear of their conversation as they continue on their way, their footsteps fading further into the hall.

Come around? To what?

A grandfather clock chimes to signal the change of the hour, and you realize you've dilly-dallied for long enough. The rest of your way to the library has no people whispering about you and your betrothed or the flower you sent him off with.

But you would be lying if you said you'd forgotten about what the princess said.

...

Ever since Satoru left, he's been writing you letters. He said his sister gave him the idea.

You've given up on replying on every letter he sends. It seems as though he writes to you daily, and you simply can't keep up. He insists on writing no matter how busy he gets.

His fifth letter is so short that it should be called a note:

‘The flowers here are lovely. I had a bookmark made for you.’

That same bookmark, a dried pink carnation, sits between the pages of the novel you're currently reading. It makes you consider pressing the red carnations Satoru had given you so that they're not just left to wilt.

You write back once a week. But what you lack in quantity of letters you make up with the number of pages you write, and you tell Satoru as such. There are many things you want to report, so you don't hold back on anything.

Well, perhaps you don't quite tell him that you can't fall asleep until you spot the moon through the balcony glass. Or that you think of him whenever you're not distracted enough.

In Satoru's fifteenth letter, he brings the unfortunate news that his return will be delayed. He will have been gone for four weeks before he comes home, and the journey back will take three days at the latest.

Unable to express your disappointment outright, you instead imply that he should make haste for the wedding preparations. That he shouldn't miss the food tasting or the floral arrangements.

‘I trust my wife to make all the right decisions. Even if you don't, I'll consider them right anyway.’

There he goes again, calling you wife when you haven't married yet. It also dawns on you that Satoru has only ever called you by name, or addressed you as his wife. He's probably the only person who hasn't referred to you as Empress-to-be.

You're quickly learning that with Satoru, you're finding yourself again. It's rare for you to feel more than just a princess or Empress in training, but he makes it effortless with just a few words.

...

You begin counting down the days when Satoru writes that trade negotiations have finally concluded. He should be home in four days, and you can hardly wait to see his face again.

But of course, Satoru finds a way to bewilder you by arriving home early. In the middle of the night, no less. And naturally, through the balcony.

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you try to decipher if his visage is a dream or a trick or the light. But when he laughs, and tells you he missed you dearly, you need no further proof.

Satoru clasps your hands with his, running his thumbs over your fingers and knuckles. Your eyes travel down to his boots, which are filthy with dirt and grass. His hair is ruffled and windswept.

“Did you,” The word settles on your tongue when you pause. “...Rush here on horseback?” You ask incredulously.

Satoru laughs again, and wraps his arms around you. “Are you complaining?”

You blink, and tentatively wrap your arms around his middle. “No. I'm glad you're home.”

Satoru is so warm compared to the night air that surrounds you. You almost complain when he pulls back, but the serious look in his eye makes you keep your mouth shut.

He clears his throat and rubs your shoulders before taking your hands again. You're completely shocked when he sinks to one knee.

“I know that we're already engaged.” Satoru begins. “I know that we've been preparing for this for years, but I just wanted to ask you properly. Because you deserve it.”

He pulls out a ring, a diamond shines at its center.

“Marry me, and I shall spend every moment of my life proving my love for you.”

“Yes. I will.” You respond, and he slips the ring onto your finger. How does he keep getting more and more lovely?

You place your hands on the sides of his face, pulling him up to you. You kiss him, and the air ignites like a spark brought to life.

It's tender, and careful, and carries all the things you wish to say to him. How you missed him. How you love the flowers he gives you. How excited you are to have him by your side for forever.

When you break apart, he seems surprised to find you reflecting his happiness back at him. He's about to speak, but not before he can resist the urge to kisses you again.

You smile into the kiss, but place a hand on his chest, pushing him to ask, “You were about to say?”

“...I've always known I would treat you right when we got engaged. That was always a given.” Satoru cradles your face gently, making you feel like the most precious in the world to him. “You were chosen because you're smart, and you worked harder than anyone else.”

“...But I saw you one day, when we were kids.” He speaks carefully. “You were trying your best to impress your father, but not at all happy...”

“From then on, I decided to make it my mission to make you smile.” To prove his point, he places his thumbs at the corners of your mouth to drag them up playfully. You laugh and swat his hands away.

“A real smile, just like that! None of those diplomatic half-smiles you always throw out to please people. That won't work on me.”

“Before you are the Empress, you are my wife. And I will love and treasure you as such.”

...

He says those same words at the wedding. You jest that he has no originality, but it brings you to tears just the same.

The wedding happens in the palace gardens, surrounded by countless beautiful flowers that dance and sway under the sun when the wind blows. Everything is, in every sense of the word, perfect.

For this moment, you are not the Empress. Not yet. The world can wait a day, you decide. Everything else can wait while you bask in the glowing warmth this man offers you.

As you leave the ceremony behind with your arms linked together, Satoru leans into your ear so you can hear him over the cheering crowd. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Petals shower you both on your way, and you can't help but smile. “Just that we're perfect together.”

Satoru laughs in agreement. “Damn right we are.”

Several staff are positioned at the exit of the gardens, ready to escort you both to the carriages that will take you through the Empire to greet your subjects... But something makes you pause at the end of the aisle.

You pluck a red carnation from one of the floral displays before turning to your husband. You tuck the flower into the chest pocket of his suit, snug in front of his pocket square.

When you glance up to see his reaction, he's already beaming at you, looking indescribably happy.

“I love you too.” He says, taking your hand and pressing the softest of kisses on top of your wedding ring.

When you sent him away back then, you remember thinking how the white carnation matched well with him. Looking at him now, however, the red flower over his heart seems to overflow with all the love and all the words that need not be spoken. You like this one much better.

He leans down to pluck another identical flower, and gently tucks it behind your ear.

Satisfied, he holds your hand tight, leading you to the rest of your lives with the assurance that he will never let go.

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taglist♡— @flowerjun @mellozhi

[lethalchiralium]

Drag Me Under | Happiness Series

a/n: ITS THE LAST POST BEFORE THE NEW YEARS!

warnings: mentions of drugging

summary: One moment, you’re home - the next? You’re somewhere you don’t recognize with people you don’t recognize either, holding one of your most precious valuables.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

There’s Simon, the cuddly man who adores being a girl dad and being a good husband. He’s quiet, he smiles, he loves holding either of his daughters for long periods of time - you’d be surprised if Mellie even learns to walk. He loves to kiss your head, loves to hold you, loves to be near you.

He plays dolls, he does tea parties, begrudgingly dresses up when asked by Winnie, but he still does it all with a smile on his face. He brushes little teeth in the morning and night, he changes diapers before you could ever try to, he hates tying his daughter’s shoes since she cries about leaving home and her toys. He kisses skinned knees, fingers bitten by Mellie, and stubbed toes.

That’s your Simon.

So when you come home crying from what was supposed to be a “day off” to go shopping and a spa day, Simon is there. He took one look at you when you came in the front door, four hours too early, he knew something was wrong. He put the baby in her bouncer, gently patted Winnie’s head, and made his way to you.

His hands touched your elbows, your hands were up shielding your face. His hands slid up, pulling yours away to look at your tear-stained face. You told him what happened, that a man harassed you at the coffee shop you went to right before you were meant to go to the spa. You quietly repeated what he said through tears and soft sobs, not wanting to describe how the man touched your back, but still detailing how he followed you - how you remembered what Simon said, wove through back streets until you found a tram and made your way home.

It’s not the first time you’ve been harassed, but it was one of the scariest. You wrapped around arms around your husband’s neck, expecting him to mold right to your body but he didn’t. His hands settled on your cheek and hip, a chaste kiss on your ear before he said he needed to go out for a pack of cigarettes.

It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later that you found a fresh pack on the kitchen counter, just out of reach of the girls. His wallet, his keys, both on the tile far out of reach - two things were missing from his “pile”. His knife, which has your first date with Simon etched on the side, and a balaclava with a skull painted onto its face.

The man who left your house wasn’t Simon, you knew that for sure when hours after you had put the girls to bed, there was a soft knock on the front door. Three, pause, one, pause, two. The man you opened the door to had bloody knuckles, a ripped shirt, and prideful eyes.

You moved aside, closing the front door and watching the anomaly as it observed you, brown eyes detailing your face. The man who stood in your front hallway, coated in blood on his stomach and arms was called Ghost.

You were always weary of Ghost. Simon disappears under his armor to be someone else, something else - a machine. Well oiled, maintained, and reliable. No feelings, they only get in the way. Ghost was the monster your husband was made to be, but Simon was the man you made into a husband. So when you pulled off the balaclava to a smile full of red, blood beginning to drip from his teeth - your heart sank. Like a dog, he shows you his injuries so you can take pride in them. But you don’t.

“What did you do?”

“I-“

“No.” You shook like a leaf, you weren’t scared that he was going to hurt you - you were scared he had killed someone. For you. “Why did you do that?”

“He touched you.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “I didn’t tell you that.”

“Your body did.”

You fought tears then.

“Are you hurt?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“What did you do to him?”

It doesn’t take a genius to see that you were scared. And it doesn’t take much to see how the armor began to be broken, that Simon was slowly peeking through.

“I didn’t kill him.” He said, hand gently resting on your arm. “He’ll be spending a couple days in hospital, he learned his lesson.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know.” He nodded in acknowledgment. “But no one gets away with making you cry.”

•••

“She’s pretty.”

A cold hand touched your chin, you could barely move a muscle in your body. Your chest clenched with anxiety. Where were you? Who was talking? It sounded nothing like König’s Austrian accent, or anyone else you knew. Not any of the 141, no man you’ve ever heard.

“Did you get that baby to sleep?”

You felt sick at that exact second. Where was Mellie? Why couldn’t you open your eyes? You were holding her before… Oh god. Someone had gotten into the house, you were dragged out with Mellie - right past a bleeding out König. Nausea settled into your stomach like heavy ink, coating everything.

“Out like a light. Nothing a little morphine doesn’t fix.”

You could’ve thrown up at that second if it wasn’t for your body responding to any attempt to move, the air you took in to breathe was little. What did they give me? Why did they take Mellie? Is Winnie okay? Oh god, König. Laswell. Roach. Please have my daughter. Please save this one too.

“Boss said to leave them down here, right?”

“Yep. She should be waking up soon anyway.” There a slight chuckle. “Shame he won’t let us have our way like he usually does.”

“Apparently this one’s special, or whatever.”

“Sure. She’s married to a special forces operator. Boss knows which one, hope he knows what he’s doing.”

“The guy MI6?”

There’s a creak, a door slamming above you.

“Shit, he’s back already.”

“Let’s go. They’re fine.”

Creaking, more movement until a door opened, slammed shut, and there was a sharp metal thud - it sounded like a deadbolt. You could barely feel your fingers as you listened to the conversation upstairs, it seemed the floor was incredibly thin.

“Are they asleep?”

Lloyd.

Your thoughts were instantly engulfed in flames even though you were freezing cold; the ink turned to oil, your nausea turning into anger. Lloyd fucking Riley. Your father in law was behind this. Then it clicked. He was casing the house when he knocked. Laswell appearing must have thrown him off. He must have wanted to kidnap you himself.

It took all of your might, but your eyes sluggishly opened - your sight blurry, but you could see for the most part. The room you were in was dark, the only light seeping through was from the ceiling - in between rotting floorboards. You could see exactly where the men were standing; all right above you. You couldn’t tell feel much else, but at least you could see and hear. What did they drug you with? Hopefully the morphine they gave Mellie wasn’t enough to hurt her.

“Good.” A laugh. “She’s a darling little thing.”

“What, the baby?”

“Yes. And she’s beautiful too.”

“She is. Not sure why you’re not letting us-“

A step forward, four feet take a step back. “Touch her and I’ll slit your throats.” Silence for just a beat, boot snapped against a shin. “She is my plaything.” He then snapped in Russian, which you couldn’t understand a thing.

You tried not to be an angry person. You were committed to showing your girls that anger isn’t the answer. But it festered like a fever, slowly yet throughly seeping through your muscles. If anything happened to your daughter, you had no idea what you would do. Anything short of murder - you couldn’t even think of taking someone else’s life. That was Simon’s job.

Simon. Oh God, Simon.

There was hushed talking above you, you struggled to look around the room, trying to find your baby. Cardboard boxes, filled to the brim bins, a bookshelf with a broken shelf.

Find what you can use as a weapon. Nothing is off limits. If it can be used to stun or incapacitate your enemy, use it. Don’t let it go unless you have to. You could hear Simon speaking to you. He’d be here if he knew. You’d be out of here if he knew.

It’s okay. Stay calm. Find Melody.

You forced your legs to move, one by one and over the edge of the bed, you clenched your fists as best you could to gain more feeling in your arms. They definitely drugged you more intensely than they could have Mellie, it made you nauseous. You were able to sit up, your head spun and you fought to keep yourself from throwing up. You forced yourself to stand, you took a glance around. The closest things to you were a cardboard box, a broken laundry basket, and a ripped towel. You peered into the large cardboard box pushed against the wall and your shoulders dropped, anxiety flushed out of your chest as you instantly reached down to your sleeping daughter. “Oh Mellie baby.” Your weak arms scooped your sleeping baby, you kept her firmly against your chest as you moved back to the bed. You checked her over, making note that she wasn’t hurt - only a needle mark in her arm. It made you sick.

You kept her there in your arms for an hour, listening to hushed voices with fear in your heart. She barely woke up, forehead still warm - her fever having not broken yet. She was clammy. You were more terrified of your baby dying than you could ever be of the situation you were in.

You put Mellie on your bed for a few minutes after the first hour of being awake so you could scavenge the room for something, anything that they may have brought for you or Mellie. All you found was one of your old diaper bags with a handful of diapers, one bottle, half a bag of wipes and no medicine. You dumped it out into the raggedy quilt on the bed, pulling out all of the pockets with tears of worry in your eyes. You had nothing for her. You put what you had away, then returned to your spot - Mellie in your arms as she quietly slept.

The footsteps grew louder after a few minutes, then a door was opened - it sounded like the one at the top of the stairs. You held your baby even closer to your chest, pulling your legs up and trying to make her seem invisible. You watched as the figure you dreaded appeared - a distinctly harsher looking Lloyd Riley. He had cleaned himself up to case your house, now he was dressed in thick flannels, dark pants, and tattered boots. Clearly bundled up to fight the cold while you were left in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, your daughter in a thin onesie.

He reached the bottom of the steps, a sick smirk tugged at his lips before he spoke. “You lied to me.”

You didn’t say a word.

“You are married to my son. You’re my daughter-in-law.” He smiled. “You’re a Riley.”

Your baby moved her arm, you didn’t look down.

“That baby of yours looks so much like my Tommy when he was that small. Can I hold her?”

“No.”

“She speaks.”

“I need medicine.”

Lloyd’s arms crossed, you felt your chest grow tight with fear. “What for?”

“My baby is sick.” Your voice was quieter than before, anxiety settled in heavy increments in your body. “I almost broke the fever but then you fucking took us from our home.”

Lloyd took a step back, nodding slightly. “Fine. That’s the only thing you get to ask for.”

“I don’t care if I don’t get to ask for anything else. She needs medicine.”

He doesn’t say a thing, only turning and walking back up the steps. You heard the door slam, the deadbolt click, and the creaking footsteps. You would’ve used your energy to keep listening to him, but your daughter began to stir in your arms. You looked down at her, silent tears ran down your face.

Simon, please hurry.

•••

“Hey darling, you didn’t answer my calls yesterday or today. I know I’m probably reading too much into it and being paranoid, I’m just worried.

“I um- I’ll be going dark for a few days, and I’d like to hear your voice before then. So call me back when you can, yeah?

“I love you. Kiss the girls for me.”

Simon ended the voicemail, pulling the phone from his ear before slipping it into his pocket. The cigarette between his fingers felt heavy as he pulled it up to his lips, taking a long drag before flicking it onto the ground. He ground the cigarette butt into the tarmac before he pulled his balaclava back down, his hands gripped the rifle attached to his front.

He normally would keep his phone in his locker, but now he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He walked towards the overhang, where Soap stood with a concerned look.

“No answer?”

Simon fished the phone out from his pocket, handing it to his sergeant. “No. She’s busy with the baby.” His friend gave him a look, one Simon knew wouldn’t go away until he investigated further. But Simon was confident in the security of three operators in his home. “She’s fine. Laswell would call me and tell me if she wasn’t.”

“I gotta bad feelin’, LT.”

“Your bad feelings have been wrong before.” He stared at Soap, annoyed. He wasn’t more anxious than he already was about leaving them, why is everyone making such a big deal about it? “Soap-“

“Hurry up, Soap, put that phone in your locker.” Price barked as he marched in between Simon and the sergeant, Soap gave him one last look before disappearing back into the barracks. Price was quickly followed by Gaz, who waved for Simon to follow as well.

“Shit.” He muttered, knowing he was late. “What happened?”

“Spotted one of the goons near Piccadilly Circus.” Gaz answered, Simon began to jog towards them. “Overwatch thinks they have eyes on their hideout.”

“Let’s go get ‘em, then.”

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[animeficsworld]

The King’s Wife

Chapter 7: The Rebirth of the Queen (End)

Sukuna Ryomen x Reader 

Summary: Imagine being the reincarnation of Sukuna’s wife.

You sat up in bed, looking around you were alone.

You looked up at the painting on the wall, and now you could see what you couldn't before.

You saw a man and a woman. The man held the woman.

All your memories flooded back.

The day you met him, the day you fell in love with the worst possible man.

And yet, you loved him still.

Your soul couldn’t rest.

It needed Ryomen. 

And so, you were alive once more.

You wanted to know what happened to him, you worried for him. You recalled what you learned.

You were taught that Sukuna fell not long after you died. They attacked him when he was grieving. 

And now, now he took a vessel before he finally became his true form.

The man who brought you to his Domain and locked you here, your husband from a thousand years ago, your Sukuna Ryomen.

Your love.

You could still remember how he used to just sit at the edge of the pond, watching you as you washed your clothes.

You remembered how he walked over to you, on the water and asked for your name.

You remembered how he kissed you for the first time under the fireworks.

You remembered how he used to hold you close as you slept.

And you remembered his pain when you died.

But you were back, you got up and ran, but the door was once again, locked.

Your stomach dropped.

But she was gone now. You killed her, you were more powerful now.

“RYOMEN!” you yelled, no answer. “I know you are in there! Let me in!” but nothing.

You tried for a good while before you gave up and let out a huff.

Then, you had an idea.

You looked at the locked sliding door, and put your arms around yourself.

“Ryo, I’m so cold.”

The door immediately flew open.

“I remember now, Ryo. I remember me and you.” you said as he walked out the door.

“I lost you.”

“Uraume killed me, you just didn’t see it, she locked me out and then… but it doesn’t matter.” you rushed over and hugged him as he pulled you to himself. “I’m here now.” you said as he fell to his knees.

And you were finally back where you belonged to, right by the side of your King.

Hope you enjoyed this series!

Series Masterlist

[tonixe]

FAME

A/N: Ideas are blooming out of nowhere, low-key this is a lot to unpack, make sure to read the warning and if your uncomfortable, don't read it, I hope you guys having a blessed day today, xoxo, there might be a part two.

WARNING: p in the v, penetration, unprotected sex, coercion, abuse of power, cheating, objectification, misogyny, reader being a sex symbol, abuse drugs, mentions of alcohol/drinking, abuse, non-con to dub-con, drugging, usage of cigarettes, Viewer discretion is advised...

PAIRING: President!coriolanus x singer!reader

WORD COUNTER: 4.0k

Fame is a word that represents many things: dream coming true,, all-the-world luxury opening up, money funneling up, and all the reasons to climb up to the top of the food chain. Becoming the apex predator, a name..NOBODY can wipe off, you're initially written on a golden star, your name carved into history, your identity being remembered.

The recognition of your voice, your face, your personality being known to a single name, all of your greatness tied together into one body, one soul, something that doesn't grow on trees. It was fame you desired, that your heart yearned for putting all your time, and energy into a puzzle that fits into the right corner of your life. You wanted to live forever, you wanted to fly up join the ones who inspired and gave you the drive to work, you wanted to make it, make it to that heaven.

People looking at you, you wanted them to cry in desperation to get your attention, you wanted them to remember your name for history, into textbooks something that can never go away so easily, carved into people's brains...that what you dreamed of, lights flashing in your eyes, the glaring hurting you bit of bit, but this what you worked for to be recognize by the ones above, holding onto a golden trophy you won by yourself, you felt like you made it. On a stage, a platform, where the camera flashed you. Your image being printed on the news, your appearance being broadcasted to the media, fans screaming your name from the outside, important people looking at you, impressed. This was your moment, you learned how to fly, and you worked for it. Your identity being secured into history...they have to remember, but...why weren't you not happy, not secure.

Growing out of the district scum, becoming a household name, rising up to the Capitol, and earning identity there...now you sat at the vanity looking at the mirror before one of your shows, one of the makeup artists painting your lips in a rouge color, your e/c eyes looking into the mirror. You would always dream of this moment coming to life, your mother braiding your hair, humming one of your childhood songs. She, herself wanted to be a singer but couldn't because of her status and pregnancy, though living in the district..you had a wonderful home, one that wasn't broken, but one in a broken society, where people in the district were given the name of disgust by the highly 'elevated' individuals in the Capitol.

You wanted to leave, bring your family, and give them a home they deserved as much as you. You hated the district and hated you had an up-bringing there.

A flash of nostalgia ran through your mind being interrupted by a tech, "Y/N, 30 minutes before showtime" You listened to the announcement, flickering your eyes away from the staffer, and you raised your hands up, stopping the makeup artist from moving her brush. "Could you leave the room?" you said, listening to the footsteps receding away from you.

You took out a flask, screwed the lid open, and taking a swig of the bitter liquid, the burning and painful sensation coursing down your throat. Your chest heaving, putting your hands on the vanity table gripping the table, closing your eyes, biting down on your lip. Anxiety bubbling in your chest, looking up at yourself in the mirror, it felt like a million things running through your mind. You manage to slip away from the thought by the knocks on the door, turning your head at the sound, the door clicking open..."Y/N, 5 minutes to Showtime" One of the staffers said, giving yourself one last look, getting up from the vanity, fixing up your hair. The clicks of your heels on the porcelain tiles, tech staffers giving you a mic, and earpiece, as your makeup team fixes up your face and hair, finish up the last touches.

You were ridden with anxiety, butterflies flying in your stomach with every step you took, each leading you closer to the stage, where important people stood, you were going to sing to for celebration of the 15th hunger games, you took breaths in between your steps, fuck..you really need a cigarette.

Listening to your cue, smoothing your off-the-shoulder red velvet dress. "You're up," one of the techs said, tapping your shoulder, slipping you away from your head, as you nodded and cleared your throat. Walking onto the stage, you felt eyes on you..everywhere, setting yourself behind the microphone stand, closing your eyes, as the music started playing, the melody of the piano, the keys bringing in the familiar tune, as the band began to play following the notes of the leading piano.

Your hands on the microphone. Feeling the heat of the stage light hitting your form, making you wince.

Formation of words slipping from your lips as it became a symphony into the song, your voice dancing with the delicate notes of the piano.

The angelic voice coming from your lips, the words slipping out of your mouth, enchanting the audience. The feeling of anxiety leaving your system, as you pour your heart into the piece, every note you hit brings you relax, flickering your eyes open, glancing to the audience staring at your elevated form. The orchestra of people, filled with important and big shots in the Capitol, staring at you, enchanted with your voice, your eyes following up.

To the balcony, as you felt the end of the song, your eyes looking at the familiar figure on the balcony boxes, your eyes slightly widen as you made eye contact with the gentleman...Coriolanus Snow, the president of Panem. You felt your heart drop at the figure, feeling your vocal cords stretching as you hit a high note finishing the song, you maintained eye contact. as the band played the outro, with your voice leading off,

Finally notes ending it off, as you heard a rain of applause ringing to your ears, looking at the President of Panem raising his hands and clapping for you..you bowed down, your head turning up, giving a glance up at the President.

Walking off the stage backstage, "Fuck, give me a cigarette, now!" you exclaimed, as one of the assistants gave you a box, putting a stick on your lips, as she gives you a lighter, igniting up the end of the cigarette. Blowing a cloud of smoke through your nose, walking down to your stage room combing your hair, trying to relieve your stress, sitting down on the vanity chair. Placing the cancer stick between your lips, leaning in the seat..."You were breathtaking out there" You immediately turned your head to the voice, Coriolanus walked in, closing the door, his hands in his pockets.

"Mr. President" You stood up from the chair, pushing your dress, and smashing the burning cigarette in the ashtray. "You don't need to stand up," He stated, you felt butterflies in your stomach. You didn't want to sit back down since you were afraid to disrespect the leader of the nation. You heard his footsteps inching closer to you, "Where did you learn to sing like that?" He asked, circling around your figure. You would have never dreamt for this to happen to you, "My mother taught me" You answered shortly, your eyes lingering on your hand. "I bet your mother was a gorgeous singer as you" He responded, glancing at you, you giggled at the comment, "She was.." you responded,

He watches your facial expression saddened, "Looks like you and me have something in common...already" he lightly chuckles, walking to the bar cart, your eyes following him hesitantly, glancing at your hands. "Drink?" He offers, you nod. His fingers circled the opening of the cup, taking out two cups and placing in on the counter of the table, pouring the mahogany liquid into the cups. Taking the liquid-filled cups and offering the cup to you, as you took the glass.

The cool cup touched your palm, "Cheers" He said, lifting the cup towards you, gesturing a cheer. Lifting your glass slightly before taking a sip of the mahogany liquid.

Smiling to yourself as you drank, glancing up at the gentleman. "If I can ask..why are you visiting me, President" You held the cup slightly tighter, "I wanted to offer you something," He said, his body moving closer to you. He saw as your eyes lit up in excitement, making him chuckle at the sight, his hands lifting your chin up slightly, his fingers caressing your cheek, your lips parting looking up at his crystal blue eyes.

"I need you to use that pretty voice of yours at a ceremony I'm hosting" He tilts your head to the side, admiring your face your eyes to your nose and lips, "You'll be of course paid in full, and suitable one indeed..so you won't have to use that pretty head" he brushes a strand of hair over your ear, "So..what do you think?" He said, withdrawing his hands away from you. You felt your heart pumping, as you thought about it, not wanting to take too long, but you nodded at his words, "Good, I'll send letters and updates on it" He finishes, before he finishes the whiskey in his cup till it was gone, putting the glass down. Taking your hand and leaving a kiss on the back of your hand, "But for now..I'll have to take my leave" He said, you took your hand away from him. Your eyes followed him, you couldn't formulate any words to him but nodded as he gave you a final look goodbye. The click of the door leads you into reality.

Putting your hand on your heart, feeling it beating against your chest.

Time slipped by..days to months

You got the letters, reading them in your penthouse resigning in Capitol. Some of them weren't just business but Coriolanus writing to you. His words made you smile, though from the short time you met him, but you were grateful he came to you.

Under his influence made you thrive, your fame, and notoriety spreading...

Playing with your hair as you read every single word on the page. You did follow out with his words, performing once again at one of his parties.. fixing up your hair, puffing your hair up, and turning yourself in the mirror, at the red satin dress Coriolanus gifted you. Smoothing the fabric out near your stomach, looking at yourself in the mirror. Hearing footsteps coming into the room, as you turned, relaxing at the sight of Coriolanus.

He was wearing his signature suit, a bloody red suit with a white tucked-in shirt. In his hand was a bouquet of red roses, "For you" He gave you the bouquet of roses, holding them to your chest. "Thank you" you smiled at him, as you smelt the roses, glancing at him. A smirk painted on his lips, his hands lifting your head, "Make sure you use that pretty voice of yours, my dove..." He whispered as you felt his hands on your waist, making your cheeks flushed.

Though you never had the time to learn more about Coriolanus, your heart yearned for him, the more he talked and sent letters to you. You never really thought about how he was touchy with you, though you enjoyed it...you always felt anxious when your with him.

You hear your name being called, as you place the bouquet of roses in one of the staffer's arms, telling them to put them in a vase for you, glancing at Coriolanus form, as you smile at him. Your heels clicking onto the tile, walking down to the stage, your ears listening to the rain of applause as you walk to the mic. Your stomach was filled with butterflies but you looked to the side, and your eyes caught the sight of Coriolanus smiling at you. Your eyes flickered from him, as you smiled.

You opened your lips, familiar angelic notes coming out of your lips. Singing your emotion out as it sympathizes with the melody, holding the mic as your voice leads to the chorus. Your eyes sparkle in the spotlight, singing your heart out into a simple melody, enchanting as it was, given by the audience's eyes staring at you. Something that you made you sweat and have butterflies swirling in your stomach, anxious assume you bit by bit, but it was always washed away when you thought of the rewarding end you were going to get.

Word slipping from you, pouring your soul and heart out to the listening audience, as they watched you, leading into the interlude and to the climax, your voice projecting to the audience as you sang the last parts as the piano lead off with your voice. The rain of applauses, the sound of clapping made you smile as you bow down, the spotlight never leaving you. Your heart was still pounding but you smile through it. Walking from the stage to the backstage, being greeted by Coriolanus, "You were heavenly" He whispered to you, you relaxed, smiling at him. "Thank you" you felt your cheeks warming up at his praise.

His hands dancing on your waist, leaning towards you, "Let's get out of here" He whispers to you, taking your hand into his, "W-wait, don't you have to stay here, President.." You stuttered, "I have a more important thing to do" He whispered in your ear, hearing a smirk in his voice as he took your hand.

Leading you out of the theatre, feeling the wind through your hair, parting your lips at the night sky, the stars sparkling in the dark sky. As he led you to the chauffeur, opening the car door for as you enter, the door clicking besides you as he got onto the left side of the car. He said the chauffeur something that you couldn't decipher. You felt yourself sweating and your heart quicken the slight tension in the air, as you felt the car moving. You didn't know how to react or what to do, your eyes darting everywhere expect him, glancing at him, his eyes glance at you, you looked away from him. You felt his hand touching your thigh, feeling him slightly gripping it. "Are you scared?" You felt your throat getting dry, your eyes looking everywhere expect his, his fingers grazing underneath your upper thigh, your eyes darting to his hand, before him. "No.." you respond.

"If your aren't..why are you afraid of me?" He mutter, "I-i just never been in this situation before" You cleared your throat, a awkward giggles leaving your throat, putting your hand over his hand.

"So...your a virgin?" He said, you are frozen in your seat, words unable to leave your lips, hesitantly nodding at him, giggling at his comment. "So, you still have your thorns...untouched, innocent, unripe " His body inching closer to you, "Funny how Panem sex symbol, is a virgin isn't it?" He chuckled, and you reluctantly laughed with him, naive as you were, you did know what would happen if you followed him. Needless to say, your heart was thumping, feeling the car stopping as the chauffeur said something. "We're here" He muttered, you felt thankful for that moment in time, his hands withdrawing from you, as you both got out of the car.

Your eyes looked at the new environment you were in, the manor was huge, something that only existed with old money, and it was beautiful with the pillar adoring the house. He chuckled with your eyes exploring the house, "Follow" He ordered, as you obeyed, following him inside. The Peacekeepers guarding the manor opened the big door and you both walked into a more beautiful interior.

"It's gorgeous" Your looked up at the chandelier glittering in the lights, "I'm glad you like it" He smiled at you, his footsteps receding from you, as you followed him further into the manor, everything was captivating, something you would only find at the capitol. You were taken from your thought by his words, as he spoke out to you...you realized where he took you, the parlor. You immediately sat on the sofa, it was comfortable and soft, "Drink?" he offered, his luxurious leather shoes on the delicate tile, "Sure" you nodded, your eyes lingering on your hands in your lap, "What type?" He asked, "Anything" You quickly answered, and you deep inhaled and exhaled through your nose. "Have you tried Bourbon?" He asked you heard the glass on the wooden counter.

"No, never bourbon..I'm more of a Jack Daniels girl" You awkwardly giggled, and he poured the caramel liquid into the short glasses, your eyes dawdling on your hands. Before you heard his footstep coming closer to you, offering you a glass, you took it. "Thank you" you smiled, the cool caramel liquid swishing in the glass, looking at him, gesturing a 'cheers', you nodded, looking at the liquid before consuming the liquid till nothing was in the glass. The liquid was sweet, and bitter due the its alcoholic nature but was satisfying. "It's really good" You put your hand on your lip, smiling, a smirk on his lips, "I told you," He said, as he sipped the liquid.

"It's sweet, like vanilla" You beamed, he nodded at your words, your angelic voice dripping from your lips, feeling a buzzing noise in your ear, everything moving slowly around you. Your vision blurring, "Y-yeah" your words slurred, your eyes getting heavy. Blinking, before closing your eyes as you felt everything go black,

Your eyes fluttered open, your body was frozen.. you couldn't feel your legs, fingers, or moving your head. You felt cold, bare...lewd sounds engulfing your ears. Your eyes darted to the ceiling, parting your lips, you heard grunts coming near you.

Your irises slowly look forth, you felt cold, ice cold... your heart dropping at the scene. A half-naked Coriolanus on you, his hands groping every part of exposed skin. Your dress was ripped, the one he gifted you. Your boob spilled out, displayed for him, his dick dragging into you. You were frozen still.

You wanted to scream, cry, but only hoarse noises escaping your throat, tears escaping your eyes slipping away staining your cheek. Your awakening wasn't unnoticed by Coriolanus, "You awake" Your eyes stared at his form, forcing himself inside of you. Sweat dripped off his forehead as his hands touched your skin, it felt like stabs everywhere. Betrayal settled in, it was quite naive of you, letting a man you never had the chance for yourself to know, allowing the intimate touches on your body.

You got the hint, but you ignored them purposely, maybe it was a warning for him to stop or continue..you didn't know what to think. The act of being vulnerable in front of him was a mistake, his moans and groans snapping you out of thought. You felt bile rising in your throat, you wanted to vomit, throw up, cry...but you could merely just listen and stare at the atrocities being committed. It hurt everywhere hurts, "Fuck, you feel so good around me" he groans, a sickening smirk on his lips..." please" you manage to force out from your throat, you felt tears pricking up on your waterline.

He laughed at your simple words, "please what?" he sneered, "stop" You had some type of hope in you... your lack of formulating sentence made him laugh pitifully, "Sorry my dove, it's just an exchange, company policy" his fingers caressing your cheek, as you stared in disbelief at his words. Whether you were angry, shocked, or sad, you didn't know what to believe or to know or to do. You just laid there taking the bit of pain, of his assault. "Why... I-I never asked for anything,, Corio" you sniffled, you purposely let the nickname slip, hoping it made him have a little humanity still left inside of him to stop, his hands gripping onto your waist, making you groan in pain, "I gave you everything, without my influence, your just be a lowly singer in Capitol born to be overshadowed by other more talented people, more younger, more pretty.., better than that lowly voice you from with..." He reduced you to tears, the more he talked, wet tears dripping from your eyes, he laughed.

He was mocking you.

"Did you just think, people just liked your voice... I thought you knew better than that...your looks pays off for your lack of personality" He kept on talking, and you hoped he would just stop and shut up, but the little words coming from him, made you cry.

"Besides...just be a good girl, and take it, will you..." He murmured.

His haunting groans and moans left his lips, staring into blankness. You wanted to hate the assault, but the agonizing pain turns into pleasure due to your discontent. The blooming sensation made you moan, and you arched your back in bliss, "I told you...you would bend into my touch" he whispered, nestling his head in the curve of your neck, his lips marking kisses from your neck to your collarbone, "Your take me so well" He smirks...

Time drifted away from you, you wanted to forget what happened between you and Coriolanus, but he wouldn't allow it, he still sent letters and gifts to your home... every time you looked at the address you felt like vomiting, crying, screaming. You still performed, you couldn't allow some fling to prevent you from maintaining what is important to you, your career. But months passed, and you stared at yourself in the mirror, you were visibly getting bigger, around your abdomen area. When Coriolanus demanded your presence you would obey and go, and it would always lead to intimacy...but now you are in his bed once again, stripped bare. His hands danced around your collarbone as you sat in his lap, his fingers playing with your hair, leaving kisses against your skin.

You felt like you were caged, with only yourself to talk to, though you already knew, beforehand. But you never felt so alone when your accompanied by Coriolanus, you debated on telling him the news, or keeping it to yourself but he was bound to know. He has eyes and ears around the Capitol, the districts, and all over Panem, you had no safe opinion left.

"Coriolanus.." He stopped mid-way, his eyes staring at you, yours forward. "I'm pregnant" the words slipped out of your throat, "It's yours" you finished, finally looking him in the eye...he didn't move or react, it made you scared, before he smiled, marking a kiss on your shoulder. "You would be a good mother" His hands shifted from your collarbone to your stomach, rubbing it gently. You didn't know how to feel, part of you didn't want any of it, forced by the pregnancy and burden of having a child you didn't want.

You were scared of confessing to him, leaning to his touch, you felt yourself being vulnerable around him, "Will, we marry?" Your eyes flickered to his, before he took your hand into his palm, rubbing your ring finger, "What would you prefer, a ruby or diamond" He said playfully, "Whatever you think is perfect for me" You replied, your eyes shifting from him to the color stained window, it was snowing. You felt his lips on your neck, nuzzling his head in the crevice of your neck.

TIME

It passed, the ring on your finger...your eyes hazy, looking at yourself in the mirror, you felt humiliated in yourself. White dust stained on your nose, feeling the light of your feet, pleased with the drug taking its effect. You were wearing your wedding dress, it was white, lacy, and poofy. Dried tears smudging your cheeks, you really hated yourself, a white veil hiding from the mirror...you desired to drink yourself away in alcohol, the only thing you could do, but due to Coriolanus surveillance he wouldn't allow it, not the mother of his child to harm herself or the baby, he made sure to hide everything that could possibly harm you or the child. Sending you away in your shared chambers, where you sulked and waited for him.

Your legs moving under your weight, a random man who was supposed to be your father, holding your arm. Leading down the aisle, superficial people around you, examining you, staring... judgment on their faces.

You're used to it, as the gentleman left you before your future husband, Coriolanus. You strolled up the stairs, your eyes locking with Coriolanus, who gave you a smile. His hands taking yours, your eyes lifted to his, before the priest said some words that you blurred out, staring at Coriolanus. The only one that stuck with you was, "You may kiss the bride" He said, Coriolanus flipping the veil, revealing your face, as he kissed you, you closed your eyes.

Hearing applause from the audience withdraws from his lips. "You'll be a wonderful wife" He fixed your veil, rubbing your hands.

You just nodded and smiled, knowingly signing yourself to him, throwing the key, and selling yourself, your soul, your rights, and your body to him alone..you wished to just rewind time and never lock eyes with him in the theatre.

The mere thought made you tear up, as tears managed to escape..and Coriolanus came to your rescue and wiped them away.

© 2023 tonixe, do not repost, copy, translate, or sell my work.

[delulujuls]

friends don't know how you taste | ms47

hi! i know that i have a lot of second parts to write, like for example for this one, but i just cant write other stuff when i am having particular ideas in mind, ya feel me? but dont worry, i remember all of the requests and i will write them in the sooner than later future, i promise!

but here comes the mick schumacher's one and i hope that you will enjoy this while waiting for the next parts for other shots, so bon apetit!

summary: when you are in love with your best friend and only alcohol can untie your tongue to reveal your feelings

warnings: reader being drunk, mentions of alcohol usage

pairing: fem!bffreader x mick schumacher

"Careful, watch out."

The tipsy giggles intensified as Mick steadied his friend's waist a bit more securely while they exited the elevator on the correct floor.

The girl struggled to maintain her balance, and despite being upset when her friends ordered transportation to the hotel for her, she was delighted when Mick turned out to be her ride.

"We're almost there, you're doing great," he reassured her.

Occasionally, he glanced at her, wanting to ensure that the alcohol wasn't taking a negative toll on her. She, however, was in great spirits, giggling and being very talkative.

"When they told me to go back to the hotel because 'I've had enough,'-" she mocked one of her friends, hiccuping, "at first, I got mad. But when I saw it was you who came for me, you have no idea how happy I was to see you!"

She stopped and embraced him, hugging tightly. Mick chuckled softly and reciprocated the hug. He knew he was in for a rather amusing evening with his friend, whom he had no intention of leaving in such a state, even though he could see that she had indulged in one of those harmless ways that shouldn't lead to any harm. Nevertheless, he wanted a clear conscience.

"I'm happy to see you too, liebling."

The girl lifted her head, smiling at his face. Her mascara was slightly smudged, her eyes sparkling, and a wide smile stretched across her rosy lips. Mick returned her smile, looking at her affectionately. She looked charming, staring at him like a painting in the middle of an empty hotel corridor.

"Liebling," she repeated, trying to mimic the German accent, "am I your liebling?"

Schumacher laughed, hearing her feigned accent.

"Of course you are."

She giggled again and hugged him once more. Shortly after, they managed to reach her hotel room. Mick closed the door behind them and seated his friend on the bed. She immediately sank into the soft mattress, feeling everything around her spin. Mick put her purse aside and took off her shoes.

"We'll get you into something more comfortable, okay?"

"Just say you want to undress me."

She joked, giggling. Mick chuckled and shook his head. He was genuinely curious about what interesting things he would learn from his intoxicated friend, with whom he had been friends for many years, and who had never made him feel that there was anything more than friendship between them. However, with alcohol, the girl always became more open, and whenever he was around, she enjoyed his company. Mick decided to play along.

"No, absolutely. After all, we're just friends, right?"

He said, taking off her leather jacket.

"Friends, just friends," the girl sighed heavily, sitting down with difficulty, "of course, as you wish, liebling."

Mick laughed when she again used the term he often called her, this time with an exaggerated German accent that amused him.

"Do you even know what that term means?"

"Liebling?"

"Mhm."

He said, squatting by her suitcase and looking for something for her to change into. As he searched through her clothes, to his surprise, he came across his own T-shirt, which she must have borrowed from him at some point. He smiled to himself. It fit perfectly, being a bit too big for her and, as a result, comfortable.

"Of course, I know."

The girl snorted. Mick stood up and approached her again, holding the T-shirt in his hand.

"So, tell me, and I'll get you changed, okay?"

The girl nodded, a shadow of intense contemplation appearing on her drunken face.

"Liebling," she said again, with the feigned accent, "means darling."

Mick smiled, squatting down and unbuttoning her pants.

"That's right, it means darling."

"I'm your darling?"

She asked, looking at him. He lifted his gaze, and their eyes met. His once amused blue eyes suddenly became serious, and the girl's intoxicated, gleaming eyes also became a bit more serious, too. Nevertheless, a smile still lingered on her face.

"Am i?"

She repeated the question, but Mick couldn't bring himself to utter a word. However, he thought that the next morning, his friend probably wouldn't remember half of the evening, so why worry about what he would say? Even if he revealed his long-hidden feelings to her now, he could gauge her reaction even if it wasn't positive. Everything would return to normal the next morning. He decided to take the risk.

"Of course, you are, liebling."

The girl smiled. Mick returned her smile. He took off her pants and tossed them aside, leaving his friend in just the top and underwear. He stood up and handed her the T-shirt, which she clutched in her hand.

"Can you manage the rest? I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

"You promised to dress me, so you should keep your word."

She said confidently, looking into his eyes again.

"However you wish."

He replied softly, smiling slightly. He took hold of the bottom of her top and carefully removed it. He tried not to stare; that would be impolite. He grabbed his T-shirt and helped her put it on, tucking her hair behind the collar.

"We'll remove your makeup now, okay?"

The girl nodded and pointed to the bathroom. Mick disappeared for a moment, returning with micellar water and cotton pads. He sat next to his friend, looked at her face, and warmly smiled at her, sweeping her hair from her face and tucking it behind her ears. The girl closed her eyes and nestled into his hand. Mick stroked her cheek with his thumb, looking at her affectionately.

"You have pleasant hands. I like your hands."

He chuckled softly.

"Is there anything else you like about me?"

He asked, after a moment, taking a cotton pad and soaking it with makeup remover. He placed one hand on the back of her head and gently started removing her makeup with the other.

"I really like your eyes," she said after a while, without hesitation, "they're beautiful. Like the sky on a summer afternoon."

Mick smiled, hearing that comparison. With careful movements, he swiped the cotton pad over her cheek.

"I love your smile. And your laughter—whenever you laugh, you brighten everything around you." As she said this, she smiled herself. Mick couldn't hide his own smile.

"God, I think there's nothing about you that I don't like."

"Really?"

He giggled, taking another cotton pad, and he applied it to her eyes.

"Although, no, there's one thing I don't like about you."

"I'm all ears then."

"That you haven't made me Mrs. Schumacher yet."

Mick smiled. For a moment, he worried if he had missed something.

"Would you like to be Mrs. Schumacher?"

"Oh God, yes!"

She replied without hesitation, making him laugh. He set the cotton pads aside and leaned in, examining her face carefully, checking if he had done well in the task entrusted to him—removing her makeup.

The girl bit her lip, watching his face.

"You're doing great. This is the moment when you give me a kiss."

Mick was taken aback by her confidence. Even though, he looked into her eyes and smiled.

"Like this?"

He asked, touching her cheek and kissing her. He felt her smile against his lips, deepening the kiss. Although her lips tasted like alcohol, the kiss was filled with emotions. Not wanting to overdo it, he intended to pull away, but she grabbed his hoodie and pulled him closer.

After a while, they separated, but their foreheads were still pressed against each other.

"You have no idea how much I like you."

Mick confessed quietly.

The girl laughed softly.

"And you're telling me this now, when I'm drunk?"

"You probably won't remember it in the morning," he replied, stroking her cheek, "so I'm not worried that it will change anything between us."

"And you don't want anything to change?"

Mick sighed and lowered his gaze, leaning back a bit. He took her hand in his.

"You're drunk, baby."

"No, not at all."

She replied quickly, but hiccups got the better of her. Mick smiled, stroking her hand with his thumb.

"I'm afraid you won't remember anything from this conversation tomorrow."

"Answer me, Mick," she said, looking into his eyes, which were now avoiding hers, "you don't want anything to change?"

He looked at her. He felt that this joking conversation had taken on a completely serious tone. So, he decided to go all-in.

"I'd like to stop pretending that I only want to be your friend."

The girl smiled.

"So let's stop being just friends."

Mick was about to say something, but she kissed him again. Despite the taste of alcohol from her lips, he also felt the taste of change.

After all, friends don't know how you taste, right?

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 7: The House Of Cards]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, infidelity, kids, parenthood, bodily injury, ANGST!!!!!!

Word Count: 5.8k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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Under blue light like the gleam of sapphires, Aemond is standing shirtless at his bathroom sink and cleaning blood and grime from his face with a wet washcloth that has turned from white to a muddy maroon. His missing left eye is angled towards you; his scar looks black beneath the cobalt glow. He’s gingerly manipulating his eyelids so he can wipe away the filth, leaning in close to the mirror. Then his hands begin to shake and he throws the washcloth to the dark tile floor. The walls are painted like Van Gogh’s Starry Night; you remember learning about it in your 8th grade art class. The bathtub is deep, spacious. You think of Aemond filling it and sinking into the water with you, misty with soap and steam. You wonder how long it will be until Christabel is lolling in this tub, clean before she ever touched the water: no scars, no history, blue blood and pure fantasies.

He hears when the floorboards creak under your bare feet. He turns his face so he can see you, an intruder lurking in the doorway of his bedroom, soaked clothes beneath the warm, dry, smoke-smelling Marlboro jacket he gave you. “Get out.”

“Aemond, let me help—”

“Get the fuck out.”

But he hasn’t said the right word, and you both know it. He hasn’t told you to stop. You go to him and ignore it when he tries to push you away, when he tries to yank his hands away from yours.

“Don’t touch me—!”

But you aren’t trying to grab him. You’re trying to give yourself to him. You force your wrists into his grasp and then he understands, then he feels the desperate hunger flare up in him like a lighter flicked to life.

His fingers tighten; he drags you closer. Then he says, low and husky: “I’m in charge now.”

“I know, I know. I want you to be.”

“You’re going to do exactly what I tell you to.”

“Yes,” you whisper, perfect obedience, helpless need. You gaze up into his glinting, savage right eye. You do not allow yourself to glance at the empty socket of the left. That would be disastrous, ruinous, an irredeemable betrayal.

Aemond takes you to his bed: thick wooden bedposts and a navy blue velvet canopy swimming with koi fish built of silver stars, celestial fins and constellation tails. He tears off the Marlboro jacket, your drenched Pepsi t-shirt, your simple cotton bra. “Don’t move,” he growls, and momentarily leaves you. Moonlight streams in through the stained glass windows of fractured, kaleidoscopic blue. Goosebumps rise on your bare skin. You can hear the friction of a drawer opening and then closing again. Aemond returns. Every move of his hands is rough, insistent. You don’t care if he hurts you, if he scrapes or bruises you. You wish he could bruise you down to the bone, stay trapped there in an indigo pool too deep for anyone to cut out, remind you of his closeness with every ache, never leave you.

Aemond clicks a handcuff around your right wrist; not a silk scarf, not the weight of his own hands, but cold metal that he tightens until it bites into your flesh. You should tell him to loosen it, but you don’t. You want to help Aemond. You want him to keep going; you want him to touch you until you forget about Jade Dragon Energy, Lake Verret, The Last Desire, Christabel.

He loops the short chain around one of the posts at the foot of the canopy bed and then fastens your left wrist as well. The handcuffs are secured in an indentation between ornate carvings of the sun and the moon; you cannot slide them up or down more than a few inches. Your arms are trapped above your head. You are facing the bed—the one he’ll soon be sharing with Christabel—and cannot turn around. Behind you, you can hear Aemond unzipping his jeans that are still dripping with brackish lake water. Now he’s yanking off your shorts and panties, so hurriedly you almost trip when he wrenches them past your ankles. Aemond kicks your feet apart—farther, farther—and then pushes you down until your back is bent as low as possible. You moan, just as much in pain as ravenous anticipation: your wrists burn, your shoulders stretch until you can imagine them splitting open and spilling blood like a river, knots of ivory bone peeking through the gore.

He’s touching you, but it doesn’t feel like much. He’s saying things, but you can’t hear him over the hurricane raging in your skull, thrashing waves of fear, dread, agony, heartache.

Has he brought other women here? Who will distract him when he’s done with me?

Aemond’s hips are braced against yours, his fingers are between your legs. He’s making you wet, but you know you aren’t ready. Inside, you are tense, uneasy, unable to surrender yourself to him. You close your eyes and try to remember what it was like the first time you were together, or the second, or the third time in the back of his Audi Quattro. Those memories feel so far away now, like they happened a hundred years ago or in a different galaxy or at the bottom of the ocean. Aemond’s teeth nip territorially at your throat. He’s tearing open a condom wrapper.

He’s not mine, he’s not mine, he’ll never be mine.

Now he’s forcing his way into you, and he has no way of knowing that it feels like gasoline on a fire, like scissors and knives, like the first time Willis convinced you to sleep with him again after Cadi was born. And Aemond is so big that the discomfort doesn’t fade into a vaguely unpleasant numbness but swells like gales as a storm rolls in. You’re facing away from him, so Aemond can’t see when you wince or squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t try to slow his rhythm, you don’t ask him to be more gentle, you don’t tell him to stop. You want to help him and he needs this, even if he doesn’t need you.

Aemond twists your hair in his fist and tugs your head back, and when you whimper he mistakes it for kindling passion, for something approaching euphoria. His thrusts are hammering, merciless. He’s panting as he battles against his own climax. And he’s beginning to get impatient, too; his fingers stroke you relentlessly, when you glance back at him his brow is creased with thinly-veiled frustration, confusion, disappointment.

I have to finish, you realize, horrified. If I don’t, he’s going to think it’s because of him, his face, his eye, his weakness, his unworthiness.

You’re nowhere close to finishing. You know you won’t be able to; there’s too much pain in your body, too much torment in your mind.

I’ve faked it plenty of times before, on other nights with other men. I can fake it again.

You breathe in gasps, you moan, you beg, you arch your back, and then—

Aemond strikes the bedpost with an open palm, hard and loud enough to make you yelp. He hisses through your hair, fever-red, hateful: “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“Aemond, it’s not you, it’s not your fault, it’s me, I’m so sorry, I’m just—”

“I want you out.” He disentangles himself from you, snaps off the condom, snatches a set of tiny keys off the floor where he must have left them.

“Don’t do this,” you plead as he unlocks the handcuffs, cold rattling metal. “Don’t make this about something it isn’t. Aemond? Aemond, please, it’s my fault—”

“Get out,” he says, stepping away from you. “Right now. Go.”

You reach for him, your fingertips settling on his bare chest, damp with sweat and still tarnished with the ancient silt of Lake Verret, with streaks of his own blood. “Aemond, listen to me—”

“Stop!” he roars, and your hands fall away. He points to the door that leads to the hallway. “Get out. Get the fuck out. Find someone else. I’m done.”

“What? No!”

He picks up your denim shorts and hurls them at you, then your Pepsi t-shirt and bra and panties. You fumble to catch them, and as your hands are occupied Aemond leans in close, grabs your face roughly by the jaw, forces you to look at him. The gory void of his left eye socket is close enough that you can see the flecks of dark grit from the lake that he will have to wash out of it. And you flinch—not at the wound itself, but for the child who was once maimed—and now you’ve proved him right.

Something flashes across Aemond’s scarred face, so animalistic in its mindless fury that for a sliver of a second you actually think he might hit you. Then he turns away without a word, walks into the bathroom, slams the door shut. As you pull on your clothes, you can hear his knuckles striking the mirror with sick thumps until it shatters. You bolt from the bedroom, through the hallway, down the staircase, surrounded by portraits of blonde strangers with foreign names, and whatever world they lived in wasn’t yours. Their world was made of gold and marble, contracts and lineage, chandeliers and champagne and coins sticky with some anonymous worker’s blood, and it was beautiful but it was cold, hollow, lonely, everything that would have made them human peeled away like a snake’s skin. You don’t belong here. You will never belong here. Your world is sloping floors and cracked paint and sun and salt and struggle, but it is real.

In the grand foyer, Vhagar is guarding the front door. The blue merle Great Dane bares her teeth as you approach. There is a rumble from low in her chest, a ferocity in her reptilian green-gold eyes.

“I really can’t deal with you right now,” you say, voice breaking as tears spill down your cheeks.

Vhagar trots towards you and you look around for a rescuer, Alicent or Criston or Daeron; but the house is hushed and still. You recall how Alicent once shoved Vhagar’s face away to fend her off. You don’t feel brave enough to attempt that.

“No!” you try instead. “Bad dog! Go terrorize someone else!”

The Great Dane snarls, ropy strands of drool dribbling from her jowls, and you fall silent. Vhagar sniffs at your ankles and then your fingers as you stand frozen. She seems to discover something that intrigues her. I smell like Aemond, you think, and almost start crying again. For the second time, your eyes search for a champion and find none. The dog nudges your right hand with her muzzle, licks at your palm, and then—bizarrely, shockingly—pushes her head under it and blinks up at you expectantly.

“What?” you say, confounded. Vhagar waits, suddenly cordial. Her long tail swishes; her floppy ears hang limp and relaxed. She doesn’t leave until you pet the top of her colossal head—once, twice, three times—and then she stalks off into the shadows of the kitchen. You hurry to the front door before Vhagar can return to second-guess your newfound alliance.

You step out onto the front porch, white paint and towering columns, lightning bugs and screeching cicadas. It is only when you survey the flock of Audis, Porsches, Alfa Romeos, and Lexuses in the cobblestone driveway that you remember you didn’t drive yourself here.

“Goddammit.” Then you catch a whiff of marijuana.

You turn to your left. Aegon is slumped in a rocking chair and smoking a joint. He has just showered. His long hair is wet and messy; he wears a tie-dye tank top, purple gym shorts, and neon yellow flip flops. Sunfyre is curled up in his lap. “You need a ride, cake lady?”

“Not from you.”

“It’s just weed. Weed isn’t a drug.”

“The Reagan administration would disagree.”

He rolls his eyes. “Those miserable fascists. They’d outlaw orgasms and ice cream if they could.” He slips his car keys out of his shorts pocket and spins them around with his index finger. “Come on. Let’s go for a drive.”

Aegon’s Porsche 911 has a custom paint job, glittering gold with pale pink accents. It’s even smaller than Aemond’s Audi; the back seats are impossibly tiny, and in any case they are filled to the windows with empty McDonald’s cups, Taco Bell bags, and Popeyes boxes.

“Here, hold him,” Aegon says, and tosses the ferret to where you sit in the passenger seat. The weasel-like creature scrabbles over your thighs, circling, burrowing, making some deranged gleeful sound halfway between a clicking and a chuckle.

“Um…?!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, he’ll settle down.” Aegon starts the car and pitches the remains of his joint out the open window. “Where do you live?”

The directions are simple, a straight shot east on Route 401. But it’s going to be a long ride. Aegon is only driving 15 miles per hour.

“So,” he says, noting your bloodshot eyes and dazed preoccupation. “It didn’t go well. With Aemond, I mean.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Sure you do.”

You stare out your window, night wind in your hair and your lungs, stinging in your watery eyes. The southern live oaks—vague, monstrous shapes with branches like prehistoric claws—block out much of the moon, the stars. Distractedly, you rest a hand on Sunfyre’s small, furry back. “What happened to his face?” And then, remembering what Aegon told Viserys in the foyer: “What’s the North Sea?”

“It’s on the east coast of the U.K. It starts down by France and the Netherlands and goes all the way up to Norway. Jade Dragon has a bunch of North Sea rigs. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen offshore oil rigs, maybe on the news or something?”

“I haven’t.” When you look down at your wrists, beneath the dim silvery moonlight you can still see the indentations that the handcuffs left in your flesh.

“Well they’re fucking terrifying. You’re on a metal platform in the middle of the goddamn ocean, and the waves are smacking into it, and the whole rig is lurching back and forth. You’re standing maybe 200 feet above sea level. From that height, the water’s like concrete. If a man falls off, they never find the body. The sharks eat him, or the waves rip him apart, or if his gear is heavy enough he just sinks to the bottom and implodes like a crushed can when the pressure gets too strong. I hate those things. I hate them. And of course Viserys was always trying to drag me along when he’d fly up there to inspect the company property. Gotta parade the heir around. Gotta turn me into a real man somehow. I’d be doing lines in the helicopter the whole way there, trying to work up the nerve to step out onto the deck when we landed.” Aegon gives you a wry smirk, shadowy beneath the obstructed moonlight. “This was before Viserys gave up on me.”

“Aemond lost his eye on an oil rig?”

“Yeah,” Aegon says. “He was young, eight or nine, something like that. And he begged our father to take him with us. Can you believe that? I’m hiding under the dining room table and Aemond is clawing at Viserys’ feet, promising he can handle it. So Viserys says okay, fine, Aemond can come too. Mum and Criston didn’t want Aemond to go, Helaena didn’t like it, hell, even Otto thought it was too dangerous. But Viserys is God in the Targaryen family religion, so Aemond got to go to the North Sea.”

You’re watching Aegon, eyes wide, heart pounding, appalled. He was a little kid. He wasn’t even Cadi’s age. “Viserys didn’t protect him?”

“Oh yeah, at first he did. He was showing Aemond off to everyone—Look at my son! So brave, so clever!—and meanwhile I’m lying on the floor of the helicopter having a panic attack, I can’t stop thinking I’m about to go plummeting into the ocean, and Criston is kneeling beside me trying to strap an oxygen mask onto my face.” Aegon sighs, gazing at the yellow lines of Route 401. “And then Viserys got to chatting with some of the engineers and forgot all about Aemond. Aemond who? The middle son, the forgotten son, the runt, the backup plan. And Aemond started exploring, poking around in the wrong places, and he ended up watching some of the workers spinning chain, which is how they connect drill pipes together. A chain snapped. It hit Aemond in the face, fractured his skull, and basically liquified his eye upon impact. He was in a coma for two weeks. We all thought he was going to die. But he lived, and Viserys…that bastard was nowhere to be found while Aemond was lying half-dead in Moorfields Hospital. But the day Aemond woke up, you better believe our father waltzed into the room with balloons and Cadbury bars, gushing about how happy he was that Aemond was alright, how proud he was, how relieved. Within a month he was indifferent again. But Aemond’s been chasing that feeling ever since. Being wanted. Being seen.”

“Why do any of you do it?” you ask, nauseous with despair. “Why do you destroy yourselves for Viserys? Why do you listen to him, why don’t you leave?”

“I can’t leave,” Aegon says, stunned. “Do I look employable to you? I’d end up living in the woods with the paranoid schizophrenics.”

“But you’d be free.”

“I don’t want to be free,” Aegon replies. “Freedom? That scares the hell out of me. I don’t know who I am without my family. I don’t have the first fucking clue. I don’t want to be a Targaryen, but I am a Targaryen, you know? And there’s no going back. That’s my gravity. That’s everything I am. Trying to imagine a life without Aemond, Helaena, Daeron, Criston, Alicent, even Otto, even Viserys? I wouldn’t exist. I would blink out of existence like the Big Bang in reverse. They’re my bones, I’m just what grows around them. I’m a jellyfish, I’m a tangle of guts and arteries.”

You stare at Aegon as faint ribbons of moonlight stream in through the open windows, voice choked, tears falling onto Sunfyre’s sand-colored fur. “I don’t know how to help Aemond.”

“Yes you do.” Aegon smiles. “Give him what he wants.”

“I think he’s done with me now.”

“No, no way,” Aegon says. “What did he do, freak out and yell at you? Break things, tell you to fuck off? That happens sometimes. He doesn’t mean it. He’ll be back on your doorstep in a week.”

“He always has to have a girl. But that girl doesn’t have to be me.”

Aegon laughs, his blonde hair flying in the wind. “New girl, new rules. You ruined him.”

“What?”

Aegon grins. “He’s in love with you.”

You pet Sunfyre with one hand while you swipe tears from your cheeks with the other, sniffling, shaking your head. “I can’t be his mistress. It will kill me.” I want more than that. I want all of him.

“You’ll get used to it,” Aegon says encouragingly. “Criston did. Camilla did.”

“Please shut up about Camilla Parker Bowles.” You point as the mouth of your short gravel driveway comes into view. “That’s it. We’re here.”

Inside, the house is dark and quiet and cold; you were in such a rush to meet Willis and help Aemond find his ever-errant brother that you accidentally left the air conditioner on all day. You shut off the whirring machine in the kitchen window—Aemond put that there, he did it for me—and then turn on the little pink Panasonic boombox so it feels like someone else is here. Roxette’s Listen To Your Heart plucks mournfully from the speakers.

You draw yourself a bath, descend into the hot water, scrub Aemond off of you. The walls are adorned with no Van Gogh’s Starry Night, no stately portraits, no grandeur or glitter or marble or gold. They are only a pale, listless blue lined with thin cracks through the paint like the sinking house’s veins.

~~~~~~~~~~

Seven sunsets, six dusks, and then it is Friday all over again. You help Amir close up the bakery and then crawl into bed: head pounding, room spinning, that endless late-afternoon light of the summer flooding in through the window blinds. You unplug the phone on the nightstand and nestle into the pillows, hiding your face from the world. Cadi is fine, she’s blissfully playing her Nintendo and she knows there’s some of Amir’s leftover ribs and rice in the refrigerator. She doesn’t need you, and this will only become more true with each passing year. There was a time when you yearned for Cadi to become more independent. Now you’re beginning to see the horror in it, that bittersweetness that parents always talk about.

One day she’ll be gone. And she’ll get to choose whether she ever comes back.

No one has ever chosen you. It seems unwise to assume there will be exceptions to the rule.

You doze off for a while. There are distant noises you try to ignore: the kitchen phone ringing, the humming of the air conditioner, the drone of the microwave, the Super Mario Bros. theme. When you wake, it is because you hear the bedroom door creaking open. Through blinking, bleary eyes, you see Aemond’s silhouette in the doorway. You know it’s him; you would know even if he wasn’t wearing his familiar Marlboro jacket and red Converses and teal duffle bag slung over one shoulder. You would know him anywhere.

You say, unsure if you’re more angry or depressed: “I thought you were done.”

He ignores this. He has two eyes again, one real and one a lie, and this seems to be becoming a recurring theme in his life. “I called. Cadi said you were sick.”

“It’s just a headache. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you get them a lot?”

“Yeah.” When I’m stressed. When I’m sad.

There’s a palm on your forehead, cool and gentle, feeling for fever. “Have you taken anything for it?”

“Nothing ever works.”

You recoil from the thud of the duffle bag against the sloping wooden floor; every sound is too loud. You have your eyes pinched shut, but you can hear Aemond unzipping the bag and then opening some sort of container. “Try this,” he says, pushing a pill between your lips. “They knock out my nerve pain when it flares up.” Then he passes you the glass of sweet tea you left on your nightstand. You sit up to swallow the pill and collapse back onto the bed. The wildflower-patterned duvet covers you up to your chest. You moan softly, touching your fingertips to your temple.

There are small thumps as Aemond quietly kicks off his Converses, and then his weight settles onto the mattress. He waits to see if you’ll tell him to stop. You don’t. He folds around you, blood and bones and muscle and warmth. His lips brush against the shell of your ear. One of his hands interlaces with yours and settles on your waist. You inhale his smoke, his cologne, his strange intermittent tenderness. He murmurs: “I’m sorry I’m doing this to you.”

“I wish I could stop,” you answer through a thick fog.

“Stop what?”

“Wishing it was possible. Wishing we were different people.”

Aemond doesn’t reply. Perhaps there’s nothing more to say. Within minutes, you are unconscious again.

When your eyes flutter open—painless, glass-clear—the room is dark and you are alone. The flashing red numbers on your alarm clock read 10:14 p.m.

“What?!” you gasp, scrambling out of bed. You rarely nap, and never for that long.

You hurry to Cadi’s room, expecting to find her bored or irritated or prepared to launch a formal complaint. Instead, she and Aemond are sitting on the floor and watching Ferris Bueller’s Day Off; Ferris is currently singing Twist And Shout on top of a parade float. There are several Pizza Hut boxes scattered around them; Cadi is eating a slice of pepperoni and mushroom. She and Aemond are mid-conversation. She is asking him as you walk in: “Wow, so Bobbi was on the news and everything?”

“He sure was. But they made him sit in this glass box because the CBS Evening News staff were so scared of AIDS they wouldn’t go anywhere near him, not even to wire him up with a microphone.”

“That’s totally bogus.”

“Yeah. Yeah it is.”

“How old was he when he died?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Really?” Cadi says, alarmed. “Grownups can die that young?”

“Sure. It’s rare, but it happens.”

Cadi looks to where you stand in the doorway. “Mom, aren’t you like thirty?”

“Almost. I’m a few years away from it.”

“Still,” Cadi says; and you witness something unfold on her face that you can’t remember seeing since she was a toddler. She is shocked, she is afraid. Her eyes shimmer; she’s forgotten all about her pizza. Aemond is watching her, realizing he’s made her aware of something that didn’t exist in her mind before.

“Oh no, love, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Aemond tells Cadi, resting a hand on her tiny shoulder. “Bobbi Campbell had a very serious disease, he wasn’t your average person. Most grownups live a long time. Your mum is going to live to be a hundred, okay? Maybe even a hundred and ten. Maybe even a hundred and twenty. It depends on how many cupcakes she eats.”

“Okay,” Cadi says, somewhat pacified but still shaken up.

“Do you want any pizza?” Aemond asks you. “We got cheese, pepperoni and mushroom, and supreme.”

“No, I’m not really hungry, thanks though.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“I am. What did you give me?”

Aemond smiles. “Percocet.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “No wonder it worked so well.”

“I left a bottle with about ten pills in your bathroom cabinet. But don’t start liking it too much. You’ll end up like Aegon.” He staggers to his feet.

“You’re leaving?” Cadi asks, openly disappointed.

“It had to happen sooner or later. It’s long past your bedtime. And I don’t live here. You couldn’t pay me to either, not with that dinosaur that lives in your front yard. I’m in fear for my life every time I visit.”

“The gator wouldn’t hurt you,” Cadi objects. “She’s too small. She’s just a baby. Next time, can you bring Gremlins?”

“Sure. I think I’ve got that VHS. Daeron might have borrowed it.” Aemond gives Cadi’s hair an affectionate ruffle and she tolerates this, something you would not have believed was possible. “I’m going to go talk to your mum for a few minutes and then head out, alright?”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Cheers, love.” Then Aemond follows you to the kitchen.

You pour yourself a fresh glass of sweet tea as Aemond helps himself to a snickerdoodle cupcake from one of the cake plates on the kitchen table. He licks off the frosting as he gazes at you, and you try not to feel anything. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I know. I wanted to.” His right eye flicks down to the copy of the Bayou Journal that lies on the counter. The headline proclaims: Early tests reveal increased salinity of Lake Verret; breach of underground salt dome is suspected. “I’m sorry about that,” Aemond says awkwardly.

“Sorry about what? Ruining our lake?”

“Well, it’s not ruined, technically. It’s just…salty.”

“Aemond, almost all of the fish are going to die.”

“Will the alligators die too?” he asks hopefully.

“No. They won’t.”

“Oh.” He takes an evasive bite of his cupcake then changes the subject. “Come to my house tomorrow. After Willis picks up Cadi.”

“We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Yes, and now we’re having it again.”

“I don’t think this situation is good for either of us,” you say, but with pitifully little conviction.

Aemond places his snickerdoodle cupcake on the counter and steps towards you. And for a moment you think he’s going to order you, to command you, and you know if he does you’ll obey. But that’s not what Aemond is doing. He cradles your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, unexpectedly, without any roughness to it. Then he touches his forehead to yours as he whispers: “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. I was wrong, I was wrong. I was fucked up. But I’m better now.”

“Why did you jump into the water for me?”

“Come over tomorrow,” he pleads again without answering you.

“Aemond…I don’t think I can.” I think this is destroying me. I think it’s flaying me alive, carving me away piece by piece.

“I don’t have to fuck you. I don’t even have to touch you. I just want you to be there.”

“Can I bring a friend?”

This catches Aemond off-guard. “Amir?”

“Have you not yet memorized my long, long, long list of friends?”

“Of course you can bring Amir,” Aemond says. “He’s always welcome. The only reason I haven’t invited Cadi is because Aegon leaves coke all over the house and I don’t think a kid should be exposed to that.”

“Yeah, I mean obviously I agree.”

Aemond kisses you again, a swift parting token, kind and weightless. “Bye, Cupcake. See you tomorrow.” He wolfs down the last of the snickerdoodle cupcake, grabs his teal duffle bag from the living room couch and is gone, the off-kilter front porch steps groaning under his Converses. You stand in the kitchen sipping your sweet tea for a while, listening to the air conditioner purring and the cicadas shrieking and the long-eared owl hooting as it swoops for prey. Then you begin pulling bowls and baking pans out of the cabinets.

Cadi appears, helps herself to a beignet, and turns on the little pink boombox on the kitchen counter. “Hey Mom, listen, it’s your favorite song!” She cranks up the volume: Heaven Is A Place On Earth.

You force a smile. “Yeah, it is.”

And you wait until Cadi dashes off to the bathroom to take her shower before you change the station.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What the…?” Amir squints at Sunfyre, who is floating by himself on a neon green inflatable raft in the middle of the swimming pool. “What the fuck is that? A Chernobyl hamster?”

You laugh. You’re wearing denim shorts and an unceremonious white t-shirt over your swimsuit, Kmart sneakers, hair assailed by wind and humidity, a tiny bouquet of wildflowers that Amir picked for you tucked into your back pocket. “It’s a ferret.”

“It’s a freak of nature. This is how you know the Bible isn’t real, why would Noah have let that mutant on the Ark?”

“Oh, my very favorite Napoleonville residents!” Alicent calls, beckoning you and Amir over to where she, Criston, and Daeron are gathered around a dark green beach towel littered with playing cards, gambling chips, strawberry daiquiris, and Marlboro cigarettes. Apparently, they run in the family. Alicent puffs anxiously on one, rings gleaming on her elegant fingers. “Come play with us. Do you have good poker faces?”

“I certainly hope so,” Amir replies as he pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing swim trunks patterned with bright, multicolored geometric shapes. “I suspect we can’t afford to lose.”

“Can’t afford to lose,” Daeron’s blue macaw squawks from where she is perched on a nearby lounge chair, and Amir gapes at it, startled.

“Quiet, Tessarion,” Daeron soothes the bird.

“If you incur any debts, Aemond can pay them.” Alicent smiles warmly, then takes notice of the two white bakery boxes you’re carrying. “Have you brought us more of your scrumptiously authentic Southern desserts? I’ve been raving about them to all my friends back home in London. I ring them and they’re mesmerized by the notion of hummingbird cake and sweet tea. They’re even having their own kitchen staff try to replicate them.”

How antebellum. “It’s nothing too special. Just a blueberry custard pie. And some Cap’n Crunch Treats for Aegon.”

“Wonderful!” Alicent chimes. “Criston? You must get us plates and silverware immediately. We must sample this new delicacy straight away.”

Criston dutifully rises and disappears into the house they call The Last Desire. Helaena—with her chameleon Dreamfyre clinging to her shoulder—is absorbed in a conversation with Otto as they wade in the shallow end of the pool. Aegon has fallen asleep on a lounge chair and is snoring loudly; the boombox beside him is playing She Blinded Me With Science. Aegon is turning lobster red beneath the sun, but no one has bothered to wake him up. Before you can do it, Aemond walks through the French doors of the living room and out onto the cobblestones, wearing his black swim trunks. He beams when he sees you, then kicks Aegon’s chair as hard as he can.

“What?!” Aegon shouts as he jolts awake. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“You fell asleep and you look like a Twizzler.”

“A chunky Twizzler,” Daeron adds.

“You want a palm reading?” Aegon asks. He grabs Aemond’s hand and flips it over. “It says you’re a bitch.”

“Aemond, phone for you,” Criston says as he breezes out of the house holding a stack of plates, forks, and knives. “I left it off the hook in the kitchen.”

“Thanks. Got it.” Then Aemond tells you: “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

When he vanishes, you and Amir join the poker game. Aegon splashes into the pool to grab Sunfyre, collects his bakery box of Cap’n Crunch Treats, and then pads into the house to presumably slather himself in Noxzema. Criston cuts everyone a slice of blueberry custard pie, which Alicent raves about. You can’t bear to have Criston inconvenienced once again to prepare daiquiris for you and Amir; before Alicent can think of it, you jog to the kitchen to grab two cans of Pepsi from the fridge. But just as you reach the doorway, Aemond’s voice stops you. It isn’t a phone call about the rigs or the stock market. It isn’t family, it isn’t friends.

“Yes, dearest,” Aemond is saying, and you peek into the kitchen to get a better look. He’s got the handset of a blue phone to his ear and is turned away from you. His back is straight and rigid; his voice is steady but dispassionate. “Right. I understand. Yes, completely. Don’t be ridiculous, of course I miss you. All the time. Yes, and we’ll discuss it then. I can’t wait either. I’ll see you soon. Yes, yes. And you as well. Cheers, darling.” There is a pause. “I love you too.”

Aemond hangs up the phone, sighs deeply, rubs his scarred forehead. You slip away before he knows you’re there.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

TAKE CARE OF YOU [2]

Sugar Daddy!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Overall Warnings: slow burn, angst/comfort, power imbalance, age gap, possessive tendencies, eventual smut, #daddyissues, independent reader learns to let go and relax, emotionally constipated Joel Miller learns to be vulnerable; (more specific warnings to be added to individual chapters if necessary)

Chapter Word Count: 7,029

Summary: You spent your entire adult life supporting yourself and barely getting by. It’s why a life of ease offered to you by a mysterious stranger sounded so foreign and unbelievable. Joel Miller, dressed in flannels that had seen better days, didn’t look like the kind who could promise you the world on a plate, but he seemed desperate to help out. All he asks is that you let him take care of you. That wouldn’t be so hard. Would it?

[a/n: i am having too much fun with this, my mind is going wild]

02: HE'S LOADED, BABE

"take a chance. risk everything. be honest. jump. go for it. be all in. why not. or why do anything at all." -jacob holguin

For the first time, maybe ever, you were the one with the insane story to share with Nima. You were actually kind of excited. When you texted her, she said she was still in the office and she told you to swing by because she wasn’t too busy. This wasn’t the first time you had been to her office, but you found it amusing every single time. The rest of the floor had the button down kind of look one would expect of a workplace, but Nima’s little corner was decorated in bright colors. It was a testament to her skill really. If you were indispensable then you could push boundaries.

“Hey!” Nima bounced when she saw you walking toward her office. You stepped in and dropped onto the couch she had pushed up against the wall. “I’m so glad you’re here. I have the craziest story.” Nima was rushing around the room putting away papers and blueprints. Her space was always poorly organized in your opinion, but according to her everything had its place. “It involves a loose chicken, a gallon of paint, and that asshole from the third floor I was telling you about.”

Unable to hold it in, you blurted it out. “I got asked to be a sugar baby.”

Nima blinked for a moment, dazed, then screeched in shock as she threw herself down onto the couch beside you. “Holy shit, what?? And you let me waste time talking about the chicken?” You did want to eventually hear about that. “Tell me everything.”

“You remember that guy I bought a coffee for like two weeks back?”

“Yes!” Nima gasped and you nodded. “Oh my God! I told you I felt sparks.” She paused. “Wait, can he afford to be a sugar daddy? He looked like a homeless cowboy when we saw him.”

You pointed to her. “So, are you thinking ‘cowboy’ too? Because I have been going back and forth between that and lumberjack, but I haven’t⏤”

“If you don’t give me more details right now...”

“Sorry.” You chuckled. You gave her the shorthand version of how he had been visiting you at the bakery and how it ended with him offering to ‘take care of you’ this afternoon. Nima just stared, mouth agape, the entire time. You finished by telling her that he had asked you to meet him this weekend. “So… yeah. Yeah.” You shot her a sheepish smile and just repeated yourself. “Yeah.”

Nima clapped her hands, excited, but you watched as she steeled her features. She shifted so she faced you entirely on the couch. “Wait. You’re always the voice of logic when I get myself into something insane. My turn.” She cleared her throat. “Are you sure you’re willing to basically fuck a stranger for all this? That’s not you.”

You twisted your lips at her words. Was it so out of the question for you to go out on a limb and put yourself out there? Granted, jumping from the vanilla lifestyle you lived to having sex with someone so they’d pay your bills was like going from 0 to 120 in a racecar⏤ or rocket.

As if Nima could see your inner turmoil, she pointed at you. “No, no. Don’t misunderstand. It’s not that I think you aren’t capable of making that decision and going for it. However, up until now you’ve been the serious relationship kind, and your last relationship was almost six months ago.” True. “Plus, you like monogamy. There is no guarantee that would occur here. What if he has multiple sugar babies? And⏤”

“It doesn't matter.” You blurted. You realized then that maybe you weren’t prepared to consider all those angles. You still hadn’t even gone on another date since your last boyfriend. “He doesn’t want sex.” Nima tilted her head in confusion. “The deal is he ‘takes care of me’ and I offer him platonic companionship. Be his date at some of his work functions⏤ no strings attached.”

Nima scoffed. “Girl, then what the fuck are you waiting for?? Say yes right now!”

“Well,” You laughed, “There’s a lot to consider.”

“No. The only thing to consider was sex and if that is off the table? Done.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Somehow, I don’t think a sugar baby and sugar daddy contract is⏤ Jesus, I can’t believe I’m saying these words.” You blew out a breath. “Anyways, I don’t think it’s that simple.”

Nima paused in thought. Her fingers drummed against her thigh for a few seconds before her face lit up with a bright smile. “We’re going out to dinner.” Nima jumped up to grab her phone and dialed a number. “My cousin has a friend who has a sister who knows all about this stuff.”

You mentally tried to follow the line of relation that Nima drew out, but you didn’t have the time to question her before she started talking on the phone in Korean. There was no telling what your evening would have in store, Nima knew an odd collection of people, but you assume anything would be helpful right now.

The restaurant you and Nima traveled to in order to meet this mystery woman was the definition of upper class. It was the kind of place you wouldn’t even stop outside of in fear that they’d call the cops on you for loitering. You especially didn’t feel prepared to walk in right now in your work clothes⏤ simple jeans and a plain shirt. At least the apron was removable. When you walked in you were fairly certain the man working as the host was going to throw you out. However, all it took was name dropping the person you were supposed to meet and the host led you back. He gave both of you disgusted looks the entire time, but he still took you back.

As he turned to leave, Nima flipped him off from behind and you quickly grabbed her arm to bring it down. You hissed at her. “We’re already on thin ice.” The table was in a private room. “Who is this?”

“Rosalind Turby.”

“Yeah, you’ve already told me the name, but who is this Rosalind lady?”

Nima shrugged. “All I know is her sister owes my cousin a favor so we’re cashing that shit in.”

You shrugged and the two of you entered the private room. It was elegantly decorated with florals and crystals. An odd combination in your opinion. The table in the middle of the room was covered in a white tablecloth set for three. A beautiful woman sat there on her phone, but she peered up at your entrance and a brilliant smile filled her features.

She stood up, “Hello, girlies!” Rosalind motioned for the two of you to join her. She was probably in her mid to late thirties if you had to guess. Her blonde hair was nearly platinum and fell past her shoulders in beautiful, perfect curls. Right now she had on a tight light blue dress with jewelry dripping from her neck and wrists⏤ all diamonds. Were those real?? She didn’t seem to bat an eye at the clothes you and Nima were wearing. “It’s so lovely to meet you two. I’m Rosalind.”

You both introduced yourselves before sitting down. Nima was quick to grab the wine bottle sitting on the table and began to pour. You resisted the urge to nudge her with your elbow. Rosalind rang a little silver bell sitting on the table and you nearly laughed at the sight of it until a waiter swept in. She ordered something for the group. At least that’s what you assumed based on the way she motioned to the table. It was hard to say considering she was speaking French.

Rosalind finished and focused back on you and Nima who were just staring at her in shock. She laced her fingers together and leaned forward. “So, I hear one of you girls is thinking of becoming a sugar baby.” Nima immediately pointed at you and you sheepishly raised a hand. “That’s so cute. What makes you want to branch into my world?”

“Oh.” You blinked. “You were⏤ are a sugar baby?”

Rosalind nodded and flipped some hair over her shoulder. “Have been since I was 23.”

“Holy shit.” Nima hissed at you. “Is this gonna be your life?”

You lightly smacked her thigh with the back of your hand. No. Of course not. This wasn’t⏤ Nah. Well… Was this going to be your life if you said yes? You couldn’t picture yourself sitting where Rosalind was right now. She had an air of natural elegance. There was no way a restaurant host ever shot her bad looks. 

Rosalind chuckled. “Well?”

“Uh,” You had briefly forgotten her question, “I’m not sure. A man…propositioned me and I have a couple days before he expects an answer from me.”

“You must be thinking it over seriously to involve me.”

“I hope we’re not bothering you.” You blurted. “We’re strangers but⏤”

Rosalind waved her hand with a laugh that reminded you of tinkling bells. Where had this woman come from? Was she made in some ‘perfect woman’ factory? She shook her head. “Please. I’m always eager to help the new girls enter this world of ours. We’re a tight knit group.”

“Really? There’s a community of… sugar babies?”

“Why of course!” Rosalind scoffed playfully. “We have to look out for one another after all.” She reached across the table to squeeze your hand. “So ask me all the questions you might have, sweetie.”

You glanced at Nima who just shrugged before tossing back the rest of her wine. “Um,” You smiled at Rosalind, “Have you had the same…uh, the same⏤”

“Daddy?” Rosalind chuckled and your cheeks burned. “You’re going to need to be comfortable calling him ‘daddy’. There’s no shame in it.” She shook her head. “And no. I’ve had seven so far.” Seven? It sounded like this woman had made an actual career of this lifestyle. That was impressive. Maybe she was the perfect person to ask questions to. “That’s a conversation for another day though. Let’s just focus on your first daddy.”

You chuckled, “Yeah, right. Well, how does it…work? He just said he wants to take care of me and that seems…vague.”

“It’s subjective usually.” Rosalind began. Waiters came in with trays of food and Nima rubbed her hands together in excitement. “If your contract with him is the basic kind then he pays for you to live. Rent, bills, expenses. Not to mention toys and gifts and all the fun kind of goodies.” She scrunched her nose like she was sharing an exciting secret. “And in return, you give him your lovely company.”

You knew exactly what she meant by company.

“You said contract?”

Rosalind nodded. “If your daddy truly has the kind of funds to really take care of you then he’ll push for a contract. This is your opportunity to set firm boundaries. The last thing you’d want is for him to get a piece of you just to toss you aside. Or worse, you get used to this kind of lifestyle just for him to suddenly change his terms and hang it over your head.” She sighed. “I’ve truly heard all the horror stories.”

“Horror stories?”

“Yes. This kind of relationship is built on trust, but not all those who get involved are deserving. You need to make sure the daddy trying to buy you isn’t going to take advantage or hurt you.” You winced both at the idea of being abused and the wording of her statement. Is that what this was? You were being bought? If she noticed your discomfort she didn’t mention it. Rosalind took a sip of her own wine. “How long have you known your daddy⏤”

“He’s not my daddy.” You blurted. 

“Yet.” Rosalind winked. Your cheeks burned again and you tried to imagine what it’d feel like calling Joel that. Could he even take you seriously? Someone like Rosalind using that phrase sounded tempting and sweet. You, in comparison, were just awkward. “So? How long? And has he mentioned any contract details?”

Nima chimed in, “Like two weeks-ish?” You nodded. “Would he even want a contract? That’s for just the super rich guys, right?”

“Typically.” Rosalind nodded. “Here. What’s his name?” Your eyes widened at the question. “If he’s been a daddy before I’ll know him. As I said, we’re a close knit community. We even keep a track of the men who are black listed. I’ll be able to tell you if he's a danger as well.”

Oh, that was helpful.

“Joel Miller.” You smiled. Rosalind’s smile fell right off her face, jaw popping open, and Nima spat out a mouthful of red wine. It splattered and stained the white tablecloth. Your eyes darted between them as they just stared at you. “What?”

“You never told me Mr. Miller wants to be your sugar daddy!” Nima cried.

“You were there the day I met him! And how do you even know him?” You asked.

Nima gaped at you like a fish out of water. “He owns the construction company that hired my office! I’ve never seen him, except in like a few pictures, but Mr. Miller was never wearing flannel in any of those photos. I seriously thought he might be homeless the day we met him.”

“Construction company?” You breathed.

Rosalind cleared her throat before taking a long sip of her wine. Her smile returned, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Wow. I knew Joel Miller was on the market, but I wasn't aware he had chosen someone. And someone brand new for his first one.”

“I’d be his first too?” You asked. The knowledge that this was as new to him as it was to you actually made you feel much better. Maybe that was why he had been so nervous this afternoon. This was the first time he had ever offered that proposition. 

“Yes.”

Nima let out a laugh before shaking your shoulder, “He’s loaded, babe.”

“That’s a good description.” Rosalind chuckled. You were able to ask a few more questions, but about ten minutes later she glanced at her phone and then rose from the table. “I am so sorry, girlies. But I’m needed elsewhere.”

“Oh, well thank you for⏤”

She said your name in a sickly sweet tone while picking up her purse. You didn’t recognize the brand, but you knew it was probably just as expensive as everything else she wore. “I’m only saying this out of concern for you. Being a sugar baby can be very demanding and you seem to be jumping in the deep end.” Your eyes widened. “There’s a reason we all refer to Joel Miller as the ‘white whale’. He’s the dream daddy, but typically men with those kinds of means want the most. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

“Thank…you?”

“Absolutely, sweetie.” She blew you and Nima a kiss before heading for the door. “So nice to meet you two!”

 Nima and you just watched her leave before turning to one another. You furrowed your brow. “That was kind of weird, wasn’t it? I thought it was going good, but…”

“I think she was jealous.” Nima replied. You rolled your eyes. “No, seriously.”

“Did you see her? The Rosalinds of the world do not get jealous over people like me.”

Nima scoffed. She motioned to you with her wine glass, “First of all, you’re a fucking catch. I’ve been telling you that for years and now you have proof beyond my genius because Joel Miller wants you to call him daddy.”

“That’s still weird to hear…”

“And secondly,” Nima continued on, “That warning she gave? That was a ‘I don’t want you to go through with this because I wish it were me instead’ kind of warning.” You leaned your head to rest it on the top of the chair’s back. As weird as this meeting had gone, it had been helpful. You learned a lot of things. “So? Are you gonna meet up with him?”

You blew out a sigh, “I’m still not sure.”

“Here.” Nima spun in her seat to face you. “Yes or no only. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like Joel Miller?”

 He was fun to talk to. You enjoyed the moments you got with him in the bakery. So, technically, you did. “Yes.”

“Do you think Joel Miller would physically hurt you if you just met up with him on Saturday?”

You never got that vibe from him before and if you met him in a public setting he wouldn’t be much of a danger to you. “No.”

“Do you want to explore this possibility a little further?”

“Yes.”

The answer came out easily enough. You weren’t ready to give a firm ‘no’ quite yet which almost felt odd. You weren’t used to relying on others for your needs. The idea of taking your hands off the wheel and letting someone else take control was daunting. However, the idea of not having to stress over bills or rent or finding a second job you didn’t love just to get by was very, very tempting. God, you just wanted a break.

“I think that’s your answer.” Nima shrugged. “Meet up with him on Saturday. You don’t have to necessarily say yes to him just because you met with him. This will just be a mission for further information.”

“Alright. Yeah.” You grinned and picked up your wine glass. “What the hell, right?”

“Exactly!” Nima cheered and the two of you clinked your glasses together before taking long sips. 

You glanced around the room and at the table. “Do you think Rosalind paid for this before she left?”

Nima nodded her head in thought. Then she poured more into her glass and tossed back the large gulp of red wine before she jumped up. “Wanna make a run for it?”

“Absolutely.” You grabbed your stuff and the two of you hurried off.

It took you over an hour to get dressed, and it was embarrassing how many outfit changes you had gone through. You almost googled ‘What to wear when meeting your sugar daddy to discuss terms’, but decided that would just stress you out more. After your dinner with Rosalind you had called Joel, a feat that was painfully nerve wracking for no good reason, and you both planned to meet up at the coffee shop where you had bought him that coffee. A public setting seemed like the best bet for you, and Joel was more than happy to accommodate. You almost suggested the bakery, but considering how empty it was these days you didn’t know if it actually counted as public.

You had shown up early, still not entirely loving the clothes you chose for this event, and now you were nursing a cup of iced coffee⏤ chewing on the straw nervously. The notes app on your phone had a bullet list of points you wanted to bring up, ask about, and you scanned through them for the hundredth time. Every single bullet point was burned in your brain, but you had a feeling the moment you saw Joel it would all disappear. You jumped in surprise when your phone buzzed as a call from Joel came through.

“Shit.” You breathed and watched it ring twice more before answering it. “Hey!”

The greeting left your lips loud and excited and you mentally cursed yourself for blurting it out like that. Jesus Christ you were overthinking this.

“Hey, darlin’.” Joel replied. Somehow his voice sounded even more charming through a phone which you found entirely unfair. “I hate to do this so last minute, but I’m not gonna make it to the coffee shop. A work meeting got outta hand, but…” He grumbled. “That doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”

You twisted your lips and found yourself actually disappointed. “Oh. No, that’s alright. It happens. Do you want to reschedule for a different day or⏤”

“What? No.” Joel replied quickly. “This is important. I wanna talk to you about this today. Plus, I’d hate for you to get cold feet.” You chuckled at the irony because you kind of thought he was the one getting cold feet. “Can you meet me at my office? We can stay down in the lobby or courtyard, or in the cafe, so it’s still public.”

“Sure!” You chirped. “Uh, what’s the address? I’ll uber⏤”

Joel actually laughed at the word ‘uber’ and you just smiled more confused than anything else. He spoke up before you could question the joke. “I’m not gonna make you order a ride to my office, darlin’. I’m sending a car.” Your eyes widened. That was a wild sentence to hear out of his mouth, but you supposed that was par for the course. “Are you at the coffee shop right now?”

“Yes.” You glanced around as if you needed to double check. “But are you sure, Joel? You really don’t have to⏤”

“I want to.” Joel said firmly. “I’m, uh, I’m excited to see you.” Your cheeks burned at the admission. “Even if you’re just comin’ to tell me off it’d be a nice break from my day today.” The sigh at the end of his sentence made it clear he was stressed or frustrated about something. “I’m sending my driver now. Should be ten minutes or so.”

“Got it.” You cleared your throat. “I’ll… see you soon then, Joel.”

“See you soon, darlin’.” He chuckled.

You hung up and just stood there for a second. He was sending a car. A car that would take you to his office of the very successful company he owns. One of the plus sides of meeting Joel in the coffee shop was that it’d feel like equal ground. However, you knew this was something you needed to get used to. You had already decided that you would be accepting his proposition as long as nothing crazy happened during this meeting.

You’d be stupid to turn it down, right?

Before you could turn and go wait outside, you paused in thought then made the decision to buy him a cup of coffee. You still remembered what he ordered the last time, and maybe it’d cheer him up a little. This meeting would go better if he was in a good mood rather than stressed about work, you figured. After buying the coffee, you only had to wait outside a minute or two before a very nice black sedan pulled up to the curb. Was that for you?

A man exited the car and came around to open the back door. He made eye contact with you and called out your name. “Oh.” You waved. “Hi, yeah. That’s me.” Obviously, he knew that. You hurried over and climbed into a car with a stranger. The thing every adult told you not to do while growing up. When the driver got back behind the wheel, you spoke up. “Thank you.”

The driver didn’t speak to you during the drive, but you weren’t sure of the etiquette of these things. There were some Uber drivers that hated it when you spoke up to them. Maybe this was the same. The car pulled up to the curb after fighting traffic and you peered out of your window to the large, very impressive building right outside your door. It was at least seven stories, but it was wider than it was tall and built with a steel and glass design. The campus surrounding it was also gorgeous with an expansive courtyard that seemed to roll right into a park next door.

“Holy shit.” You breathed.

You were so distracted by the landscape that you didn’t notice the man in an expensive looking suit approaching the car. It took even longer for you to realize that man was Joel Miller. He reached out to open the door and you sat stunned as he leaned against it

“Hey there, darlin’.” Joel greeted with a small smile. Up until now, you had only seen him in flannels and t-shirts, but by God did this man know how to wear a suit. The one he had on was a dark navy with a clean white button up. If he had on a tie before he had shed it because the top couple buttons were undone. His hair was combed back neatly and though it was still a good look for him, it made you miss his fluffed up, messy curls. His head tilted a bit, amusement filling his dark eyes, “Darlin’?”

It dawned on you that you had yet to speak. Panicked, you held up the drink you had bought for him. “Coffee.”

“Yes. That is.” Joel chuckled. He held a hand out for you to take.

When your hand settled in his, he carefully pulled you out of the car and shut the door behind you. Joel leaned over to nod his head to the driver in thanks before turning back to you. You cleared your throat and held the coffee up once more. “Yours. It’s⏤ I got it for you. It’s the same one as last time.” Joel’s eyes widened in surprise. “You just sounded stressed so I thought coffee might help.”

“Well, ain’t you a sweetheart?” Joel replied with a growing smile. He took the cup from you then shook his head. “You should know this is a one time thing though.” You raised an eyebrow in question. Joel chuckled. “The point of this is,” He motioned between the two of you with the hand holding the cup of coffee, “I’m supposed to be buyin’ you stuff.”

You chewed on your lower lip and tried to find your bearings. “It felt weird coming with nothing to offer you.”

“All I need is your company. Thought I made that clear?” He countered.

“Still.” You shrugged. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Fine. That just means you can’t argue against the things I bought you for this meetin’.

You blinked. “The what?” 

Joel didn’t respond. Instead, he held out one elbow in your direction and after a beat you slipped your arm through his. He led you across the campus and you couldn’t keep yourself from glancing over at him. Joel looked like an entirely different person, but when he spoke he still felt like the man you spoke to over a bakery counter. 

“How’s your day been so far, darlin’?”

“Good! Just, you know, normal.” You were not going to mention that you spent your entire morning just mentally and physically preparing for this meeting. “What about you? You sounded kind of frustrated over the phone.” Joel glanced down at you and you shook your head. “Not that you need to tell me if it’s personal or about your company. Obviously.”

Joel let out a breathy laugh. “Am I makin’ you nervous?”

Not wanting to lie, you scrunched your nose and just blurted out the truth. “A little. I guess I’m not used to seeing you like this and your company building is so fancy and I also think I’m starting to overthink this again. Don’t get me wrong I’m excited to see you, but…” Joel’s small smile remained as he listened to you ramble. “I should shut up now.”

“I’d rather you not.” Joel shrugged. “You have a nice voice.” 

Your face felt warm, a habit around this man you were learning, and he led you into the lobby of the building. It was just as pretty inside as it was outside. Open, filled with natural light, and decorated with glass panels and shades of soft green and blue. Eyes drifted to Joel, but he didn’t seem to pay any attention to it. He walked you up to the second floor where a small cafe-like area sat in the corner by the window giving a view of the park. Even more people seemed to stare as he pulled a chair out for you to sit in before sitting across from you. The other surrounding tables had what looked like workers on their lunch break.

“Anythin’ I can do to make you less nervous?” Joel asked. He took a sip from the coffee you got him. It was funny he asked because this was somehow more intimidating than just walking arm in arm. Now, across from him, you needed to maintain eye contact. 

You hummed and crossed your arms to rest on the table. “Tell me something embarrassing that will humanize you to me.”

“Embarassin’...” Joel hummed in thought. He laced his fingers together and nodded. “In college, I tried to serenade a girl I wanted to date with my guitar but I was under the wrong window and an old woman opened the window to dump a bucket of water on me. Then she called the cops.”

You grinned. “Nice. Except all I heard from that is ‘you are a romantic who can play the guitar’ so that only makes you more attractive and intimidating to me.”

“I’m attractive to you?” Joel smirked.

“I also said ‘intimidating’.” You replied then motioned to yourself. “This exercise was to make you less so and somehow I embarrassed myself even more? That does not seem fair.”

Joel shrugged, “If it makes you feel better I think it’s cute.” A stupid smile slipped onto your features and you shook your head with a small laugh. He leaned forward a bit and furrowed his brow. “I will admit though I have been dyin’ to hear your answer from the other day.” You sucked in a sharp breath. Joel’s lips twitched up once more. “So? Am I a cowboy or a lumberjack?”

Not expecting the question broke out in a laugh of surprise. Admittedly, it put your nerves at ease. You relaxed in your seat with a grin. “I actually do have an answer for you. I think I’ve settled on cowboy.” Joel’s eyebrows raised. “My friend helped me decide. She called you a cowboy too. Although, she also called you homeless.”

Joel chuckled. “Homeless?”

“You looked worse for wear when we first saw you that one day.” You shook your head. “But look at you now! You clean up well, Joel Miller. Owner of Miller Construction Company. Actual multi-millionaire.”

He bobbed his head with a slight wince. Joel rubbed the side of his jaw sheepishly, “I see you did your research.”

“A bit.” You answered. “I actually, uh, met with a…sugar baby.” Joel’s eyes widened and you wondered if it was because it was the first time one of you finally used the term ‘sugar baby’ in conversation or because you had met with one to interview. Maybe both. “I needed to ask her a few questions. You were infamous, by the way.”

“Infamous?”

You let out a small laugh. “Oh, yeah. Apparently every single sugar baby in LA, of which there is a community if you didn't know, wants you as their ‘daddy’.” Joel cleared his throat, shifting in his seat, and you could see a tint of blush across his cheeks. It made your smile widen. “They call you the ‘white whale’.”

“Jesus Christ.” Joel ran a hand through his hair, making it a bit messier which you found you enjoyed seeing, and he blew out a breath. “I told ‘em not to make such a big deal of it.” Amused, you leaned forward and rested your head on a fist making it clear you were waiting for elaboration. Joel chuckled. “I mentioned my… idea to an old friend, and he got me in touch with this group.” He raised an exasperated eyebrow and waved his hand. “Apparently that group. They, uh, they made me go on… dates.”

“Made you?” You teased. “Like at gunpoint?”

Joel shrugged. “May as well have been.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That day I forgot my wallet? I had just met a bunch of different women who were…interested in being…”

“Your sugar baby?” You grinned.

“You’re enjoyin’ this a little too much.” Joel crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at you. “I think I liked it better when you were ramblin’ ‘bout how handsome I am.”

You held up a finger. “Hold up. I didn’t ramble about how handsome you are. I just said I found you attractive.” Joel smirked and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “And also, when my friend and I saw you that day you were wearing a dirty flannel and old jeans.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So you went on a bunch of dates with women wanting to be your sugar baby, looking like that?”

Joel shrugged. “I was just tryin’ to be real. Hate these damned things.” He readjusted his suit blazer. “I thought it’d be best to show up how I usually look. Find someone who had similar ideals. I also took them to a diner to eat.” You covered your mouth, trying to hide the wide grin you were wearing. Joel shook his head. “What?”

“It’s just… You’re telling me that on all those dates with women who wanted to specifically be your sugar baby,” You said slowly trying to bite back a laugh, “You wanted to find someone who wasn’t in it for the money.”

Joel paused in thought before his face cracked in amusement. His cheeks tinted pink again and he forced his gaze away from yours with an embarrassed wince. “When you say it like that…”

“That’s adorable.” You nodded.

“I think I preferred the word handsome.”

“Never used that one.”

“Attractive then.”

“Nah,” You leaned back in your seat with a shrug, “I think I’ve settled on adorable.”

Joel clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Alright. Guess I’ll take what I can get.” The sound of a phone buzzing cut through the air and you watched as Joel leaned back to pull his cellphone out of his pocket. “One second, darlin’.” He frowned at whatever message he was reading on his screen. It was interesting to watch the lighthearted smile he had been wearing switch to a grumpy frown. He grunted out a sound of irritation before shoving his phone back into his pocket with a shake of his head. When his eyes met yours once more, the frustration melted back into a small smile. “Sorry 'bout that.”

“Don’t worry. You’re a busy man. Running a company and all.” You held your arms up to motion to the building you now sat in. Joel chuckled, and you shifted in your seat. It was now or never. He really was a busy guy. Couldn’t beat around the bush forever. “So… should we talk about the proposition?”

Joel shrugged. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Well, we can’t sit here just joking around forever. You have work to do, right?”

“No.” Joel shook his head. “You’re in control of this conversation, and as far as I’m concerned if you wanna sit here and chat for the next few hours I’m more than happy to do just that.”

A warm sense of reassurance filled your chest and you nodded. “Thank you, but I think I’m ready to talk about it.” You held up your phone. “I even made bullet points.”

“Very organized. Better than half the people who work for me today.” Joel joked.

You took in a slow breath and then held a hand out to concede the next talking point to him. “Tell me your proposition.”

“Sure.” Joel laced his fingers together again and rested it on the table in front of him with a professional nod. “I wanna take care of you, darlin’. Every resource I have is at your disposal. I don’t want you worryin’ about bills or rent or any sort of money issue you might normally face.” You tried not to show any surprise. You obviously knew all of that, but hearing him say it again in this setting felt different. “All I ask in return is your platonic companionship, and you on my arm at a few company conferences and functions.” Joel offered you a reassuring smile. “I just like talkin’ to you is all, darlin’.”

You bobbed your head in understanding and searched for what you wanted to say. Unable to grasp a single word you held up a finger and opened your phone to find your bullet points. You heard Joel chuckle. “By platonic companionship, can you be more specific? Is there some kind of quota I have to meet weekly?”

“No, darlin’. It ain’t that formal.” Joel replied. “And as for specifics? Uh, I figure just phone calls. Texting, maybe? In the evenings we could meet up sometimes and have dinner?” As he answered your question you were reminded that you were his first sugar baby. It made you feel better that he was apparently as nervous and confused as you. “I figure we can puzzle it out as we go?”

“Got it.” You nodded. “My next question,” You glanced down at your phone then back up, “Just to absolutely clarify, there is no expectation for anything…” You leaned forward and lowered your voice, “Sexual?”

“Exactly. I never want you to feel uncomfortable around me, darlin’.” Joel said firmly. “All I’m askin’ for is,” He pointed down toward the table as if to make his point, “This right here. Just chattin’.”

“Really?” You asked in surprise. “That’s it?"

“Yeah.”

“You’re offering me a life of ease, the world on a platter, and all you want from me is to chat?”

Joel shook his head and leaned forward. “What I want is to take care of you. I wanna watch you enjoy life instead of constantly workin’ and stressin’. Along with your presence, that’s the reward I’m gettin’.” 

“Oh, okay.” You bit down on your lower lip in thought. It really did seem too good to be true. A different question came to mind, a kind of embarrassing one, but it was probably best to clarify it now at the start of this. You settled your face between your hands and nervously asked. “Am I still allowed to flirt with you?” Joel’s eyes widened in surprise, but they filled with interest. “It’s just, sometimes at the bakery…” Half the fun of talking to him was getting to flirt with him. “I mean, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable either.”

Joel shook as he let out a quiet laugh. “You really don’t have to worry about that, darlin’.” His cheeks were flushed, but he kept his charming voice confident and firm as he winked. “If you wanna flirt with an old man like me, I won’t complain.”

“Alright, and you’ll match my energy?”

“Sure, darlin’.” He chuckled.

You wondered if he was fully aware of what he was signing up for. This meant you could say what you wanted without the stress of being pressured into something. Joel was a handsome man and the thrill of flirting with him was exciting. You lowered your hands from your face and rested them on the table.

“Hmm. Sounds like a plan then.” You nodded and decided to test the waters. You tried to force every awkward nerve out of your body and stayed confident. “Anything else we should clarify, daddy?”

It took all your strength not to laugh at the look of shock that flashed across his face or the color that filled his cheeks. Joel cleared his throat and straightened his posture before readjusting his suit’s blazer once more. A hoarse chuckle fell from his lips as delight filled his eyes, “You’re gonna be a bit of a brat, ain’t you sugar?”

“Me? Never.” You said with mocking emphasis. “Now, do we need a contract or something?”

“If it’d make you more comfortable we can make one.” Joel shook his head. “I have no preference.” You shrugged. Rosalind said he’d want one, but if he didn’t you saw no reason to press for one. Joel held a hand out across the table for you to shake. “So? This official then?”

You sucked in a breath then nodded and took his hand to shake. “Guess so.”

“Good.” Joel held your gaze and you felt hypnotized by him. He squeezed your hand once before pulling it back and reaching into his jacket. “I have some things for you then.” Your eyebrows raised surprised by how quick he had something prepared. “Here.”

Joel pulled a brand new iPhone from his inner coat pocket along with what looked like a credit card. A black American Express card to be more specific. He set both in your hands and your jaw fell open in shock. “This…What…I⏤”

“Your phone looks ancient.” Joel shrugged. You glanced down at your current phone. It was a few editions behind and the screen was cracked from where you had dropped it months ago, but it still worked. Usually. Joel tapped his finger against the card sitting on top of the phone that you had yet to pull back towards yourself. Your hand just sat open in the middle of the table. “I want you to use the card for anythin’ you might need during the week.”

“Like?” You pressed.

“I said anythin’, sugar.” Joel replied in a low voice and you sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s the point of this, remember?” You nodded dumbly and he slowly closed your fingers around the items then pushed your hand back towards your side of the table. “I also need you to send me the billing information for your rent, power, and water so I can get those covered. Can you do that for me?”

You gaped at him in shock and it widened Joel’s smirk. Seconds ago you had him in the palm of your hand with your ‘daddy’ comment, but now the tables were turned. It was occurring to you that having him pay for you to live your life meant actually accepting his money. 

“Sugar,” Joel leaned forward, still keeping his voice low in a hoarse whisper, “I asked if you could do that for me.”

“I, uh, yes, sir.” The honorific slipped your lips before you could catch it.

Joel raised an eyebrow at it before nodding once with a grin. “Good girl.”

Oh, boy, you were jumping headfirst into something here, and you had never been more eager for the leap.

taglist:

@weddingfairy @bfences @fairntonorth @jasminedragon @biwitchy @huffle-punk

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✨J.M. Masterlist✨

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

mastermind // george weasley

Summary: You like Fred but he doesn’t seem to reciprocate your feelings, so you ask George to fake date you to get his twin attention, but the faking soon turns too real.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: unrequited love, fake dating, angst, a bit of fluff

A/N: As always, remember English is not first language. Also, thanks to @allyjoe755​ for proofreading this!

main masterlist

“You’re staring again.”

You turned to your friend. “I am not.”

Bernice arched an eyebrow, gazing at you with skepticism.

“Okay, I was staring,” you said defeatedly, looking down, “but Binnie, look at him; I just can’t help it.”

You'd been infatuated with Fred Weasley since the first time you met him. You'd spent the last few months trying to flirt with him and show him how you felt, but he didn’t seem to be on the same page.

“Why don’t you ask him out? Straightforward. Without beating around the bush.”

“And have him laugh in my face, leaving me with shame and rejection for the rest of my life? Thank you, but no. Besides, Fred is no idiot; he clearly observed my advances on him and chose to ignore them since he isn't interested.”

Bernice remained silent for a few minutes before breaking into a wicked smile. You knew what that smile meant; you'd seen it a thousand times since you befriended the redhead in your first year at Hogwarts — and it never meant anything good.

“You should make him jealous.”

“What?” You frowned, a confused expression painted on your face.

“Look, men are inherently jealous. Now, he may appear uninterested, but if he realizes he's losing you, he'll go for it.”

You were perplexed when you stared at her. “Where did you learn that?”

“From a magazine of my muggle neighbor.”

“And you’re sure it’s going to work?” You inquired, still dubious.

Bernice nodded confidently, which gave you some comfort. She appeared to know what she was talking about.

“So, how can I make him jealous?”

“Easy. You go out with someone else,” Bernice said. “His twin brother is single, right? Go out with him and show Fred how much fun you can have with someone else.”

“With George? Why does it have to be George?”

“Because it will make him ten times more jealous. Siblings always want what the other has.”

You couldn’t know if that statement was true, since you were an only child who never had to share anything.

“Look, Fred believes he has you in the palm of his hand; his ego towers higher than the astronomy tower. He needs to come back down to earth.”

You sunk into your seat. You were hesitant. How could you do something so wildly unethical, not to mention how it would hurt George in the process? Was your desire to have Fred return your affections really worth it?

“What if George rejects me?”

“He will not,” Bernice said, shaking her head. “He’s the nice twin.”

“Fred is nice too.”

Your friend rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

You sat in your bedroom, quietly staring at the wall. This morning's conversation with Bernice was still circling your head. You knew it was childish, but you also knew there was a chance it would work. Still, you were hesitant. You liked George and you considered him a good friend; he was nice and he didn’t deserve to be used and discarded. Furthermore, what if Fred didn’t want you after you broke his twin brother’s heart?

No. There was no chance you’d risk that.

You groaned and buried your face in your pillow, letting out a frustrated cry. You were truly helpless.

One of those muggle magazines Bernice mentioned might be useful right now.

You turned around and started looking intently at the ceiling, as if the solution you were looking for were, somehow, written there. Suddenly, a spark went off in your head.

“What if I tell George about the plan and I ask him to help me?”

That was a better idea than what Bernice first suggested. Fred would still believe you and George were together, and no one would be hurt.

Yeah, that was a brilliant plan. Now you just needed George to agree to it.

“I can always bribe him with chocolate frogs.”

You also had some galleons that he could invest in creations for their future store.

Finding George was more difficult than you expected, and that the castle was of gigantic dimensions did not help in your search either. He could be anywhere. Well, except for the library. That was a place you wouldn’t bother to search.

Frustrated, you trekked outside to the Quidditch pitch, where you finally spotted George and the rest of the team, who appeared to have just finished practicing.

“George! Where have you been?” You exclaimed as you dashed up to him.

George looked up, surprised. He wasn’t usually the twin you sought out. But before he could reply to your query, Fred joined you.

“Hey, Y/N. You look good today,” he said, his signature charm smile on his face.

You fought the flush that was coming up on your face and tried to keep focused on what you needed to get done. “Thank you,” you replied before turning your attention to George again. “Can I talk to you?”

George nodded but made no moves to exit the pitch.

“In private,” you specified.

As he nodded, understanding rushed over him. Then he turned to Fred. He didn't say anything; they just looked at each other for a few seconds like they were communicating telepathically — something that frightened you every time they did it. Fred rolled his eyes and walked away, muttering something under his breath.

“Well?” He inquired, intrigued, once you were alone.

“I need to ask you for a favor,” you said, sheepishly. He didn’t say anything so you continued. “I want to make Fred jealous.”

George frowned, confused. “Not sure how I can help you with that.”

You sighed, “I really like him, but he doesn’t address any of my advances. If he sees I’m interested in you, it would make him want me.”

“Who told you that?”

“A muggle magazine.”

George kept staring at you as if you'd grown two heads.

“Please, George. All you have to do is pretend you like me and that we’re dating.”

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with pretending to date someone.”

“It's just for a little while!” You begged. “Please, George. You're my only hope.”

After a few minutes of contemplation, George finally agreed. “Alright, fine. Let's give it a shot.”

You made a small enthusiastic leap. “Thank you, George. You’re the best.”

You shuffled anxiously outside the Great Hall the next morning, eyeing Fred from afar. George, who was standing next to you, cleared his throat.

“You ready for this?” he asked.

You took a deep breath before nodding. “Let's go.”

George extended his hand, and you entwined your fingers with his before walking into the Great Hall hand in hand, garnering some surprised looks from some of your classmates. You dashed over to the Gryffindor table where Fred was already seated.

“Morning, Fred,” you said joyfully as you sat down, still holding George's hand.

Fred cocked his brow. “What's going on with you two?” he asked suspiciously.

You shrugged. “Nothing much, we're just enjoying each other's company.” You gave George a sly smile and leaned over to rest your head on his shoulder.

George returned your smile. “I couldn't resist.”

Fred cast a skeptical glance between you two. “You guys are really dating now?”

You nodded, taking a sip of your pumpkin juice. “Yep, we decided to give it a try.”

Fred appeared to be uncomfortable, but he tried to mask it by stuffing some food into his mouth. You noticed how uneasy he looked and whispered into George's ear. “It’s working, he's definitely jealous.”

George chuckled softly and squeezed your hand under the table. As you finished your breakfast, you caught Bernice’s eye from the other side of the table, giving you a thumbs up.

You smiled back, grateful for your friend's encouragement. With Bernice’s idea of fake dating George, you finally had a chance to make Fred see you in a different light.

It just started and it was already working.

You and George were huddled up in one of the couches of the Gryffindor Common Room, lost in your own world.

Pretending to date George turned out to be pretty easy. He’d do all these nice things like wait for you in the mornings and walk you to breakfast and carry your books to class, even if you told him it wasn’t necessary. Also, he didn’t miss an opportunity to hold your hand or kiss your cheek.

You'd seen something light up in Fred's eyes whenever George touched you, like that first morning in the Great Hall. Despite this, he had done nothing about it. In fact, you haven’t had a conversation with the older twin since all this sham started.

You and George haven’t had a proper fake date either. And with Hogsmade weekend approaching, you decided it was the ideal time to put on a show of phony young love.

“Get a room!” Lee joked from one of the couches.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help but smile, “We’re in a room,” you said.

Angelina piped up. “Yeah but I don’t think we want to hear all that snogging!”

Truth to be told, you and George only have shared chaste, innocent kisses. At first you were a little apprehensive, and you could sense George was as well. You didn’t want to dive in too deep, but if your only kisses were on the cheeks, you knew it wouldn't be very convincing.

George couldn’t help but tease back. “Jealous?” he asked with a smirk. And although it was Angie who made the comment, he said this looking at his brother, expecting to get a reaction, but Fred only rolled his eyes and started a conversation with Lee. Even still, he would steal glances from time to time.

“We should go on a date this Saturday,” you suggested.

George hummed in response.

“We could go to Honeydukes and then get some butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks,” you added.

“That sounds great, love.”

Under a lovely blue sky, you and George wandered through the charming streets of Hogsmeade. You laughed as you passed the various shops, your eyes sparkling with delight.

The wonderful fragrance of candy filled the air as you walked towards Honeydukes.

You took George's hand in yours and led him inside, eager to indulge in some treats.

"Wow, look at all these sweets!" You exclaimed as you surveyed the colorful display cases. “Let's get some chocolate frogs and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.”

It was foolish of you to get so excited over candy, but you couldn’t help it, you had a sweet tooth.

“So what’s your favorite candy here?” George asked.

You grinned. “I'm a sucker for the peppermint toads.”

George laughed. “Typical. I'm more of a chocolate person myself.”

After filling up on treats, you took a leisurely stroll through the quaint town, admiring the intricate fairy lights and bobbing for apples at games stalls.

As you were exploring the stores and taking in the charming atmosphere, George spotted a flower shop and decided to buy you a rose. When he handed it to you, you flushed. “You're such a gentleman.”

“Only for you,” he said with a smile.

As dusk started to set in, you made your way over to The Three Broomsticks to warm up with some butterbeer. You found a cozy corner booth, your eyes locked onto each other. The candlelight flickered softly, casting shadows on your faces.

The quaint pub was bustling with students from Hogwarts and other wizards and witches from Hogsmeade.

“This is really nice,” George said, taking a sip from his butterbeer. “I haven't been here in ages.”

You smiled sweetly at him. “I'm glad you're enjoying it. I thought it would be nice to get away from the hustle and bustle of the school for a bit.”

George nodded in agreement. “It's nice to have a change of scenery, especially with good company.”

There was a brief moment of silence between the two of them before you spoke up. “I had an amazing day. Thank you, George,” you said sincerely.

“You’re welcome, love,” he responded, smiling.

You chatted for what seemed hours while sipping on the frothy drink. The atmosphere was cozy and warm, with the crackling of the fireplace in the background.

“I can't believe we're already in our final year,” you said wistfully.

“Time flies when you're having fun,” George remarked.

Despite the fact that you had been out for the majority of the day, you couldn't help but feel that your date had finished far too soon, but you were glad for such a great day. You couldn't recall ever feeling so at ease around someone, let alone a boy.

You were growing so used to this relationship that you forgot you weren’t actually dating him.

You walked into the Gryffindor Common Room with a wistful expression on your face. Bernice had been lounging in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, flipping through a magazine. As soon as she saw you, she jumped up excitedly.

“So, how was Hogsmeade? Did you and George have fun?” your friend asked eagerly, a hint of mischief glimmering in her own eyes; waiting for you to spill the beans.

You sank down onto the couch next to her and let out a sigh. “It was...nice,” you said, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Bernice raised an eyebrow. “Nice? That's all you're going to give me? You'll have to do better than that if you want me to help you get Fred's attention.”

You looked away uncomfortably. “That's just it, though. I don't think I want Fred's attention anymore.”

Bernice's mouth dropped open in surprise. “What? Why not? You've been crushing on him forever!”

"I know, but...after spending time with George, I realized there might be something there," you admitted quietly.

“Oh no, Y/N. This is not what we planned. You were supposed to make Fred jealous, not fall for George.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. But George is just so wonderful, I can’t help how I feel.”

“Well, I guess we have to come up with a new plan then. Maybe we can find someone else for you to date and make Fred jealous that way.”

“I don’t know, Binnie,” you murmured. “I should never have dragged George into my mess. Maybe I should just be honest with him.”

“That’s a risky move, Y/N. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? Then things could get awkward between you two.”

“I know, but I think it’s worth the risk.”

Bernice placed a hand on your shoulder sympathetically “Alright. It’s your call,” she said. “I'm here for you no matter what you decide.”

“Thanks, Binnie,” you smiled. “I appreciate it.”

As you approached George, your heart rate increased. You rubbed your hands, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. You sat down on the bench near George, taking a deep breath before starting the conversation.

“George, I... I need to talk to you.”

“Of course, what’s up?” he responded kindly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“I don't know how to say this, but... I know we started pretending to date to make Fred jealous. But... sometime along the way, I began to see you differently. You're... smart, funny and kind-hearted. And I'm not sure when it happened but…” You looked up for a second to observe his reaction, “I think I like you. Like, I like, like you.”

George's eyes widened in surprise as he heard what you said. Silence filled the air as George sat there astonished, his thoughts jumbled as he tried to process everything that you had just told him. Finally, he took your hand in his own and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “I like you, believe me, I do. But… I think you are confused.”

You peered into George's eyes, not understanding what he was saying. “What? I’m not confused; I know how I feel.” You sighed, feeling embarrassed and exposed. “I know it's sudden, George. And I understand if you don't feel the same way,” you added, looking down at your hands.

George took a moment to think before responding. “It's not that I don't have feelings for you, Y/N. It's just...I don't know, this whole fake dating thing was confusing enough as it is. And Fred… he’s my twin brother, he’s in the picture too,” he paused and exhaled deeply. “I need time to figure things out,”

You nodded understandingly. “I get it, George. Take all the time you need. I just wanted to be honest with you,” you said, standing up.

George stood up as well, giving you a small smile. “Thanks for telling me, Y/N. We'll talk more soon, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed before walking away, feeling both relieved and nervous about where things might go from there.

[ghostlytide]

For Business Only | One

I hope you like it ^^

Vincent Renzi x Fem! Reader----1.6K

MASTERLIST -> Next

Synopsis:

After the whirlwind affair Vincent and you shared years ago, he was sure his goodbye was definitive. A fleeting memory filled with both regret and a peculiar ache that he can’t quite place. But life wishes to scorn him once again when his newest case obliges him to seek out your help. Though this case isn’t the only complicated thing in this strictly professional relationship—not with the way his heart seems to jump at your proximity, or the already familiar tune of your voice. For all the things that had changed, would this mean your story could have a different ending now?

General Tags: Second Chance/Exes to Lovers; Slow Burn; |They were Coworkers; Denial of Feelings; Pining & Longing; Idiots in Love; Eventual Friends (?) with Benefits (?); English isn't my first language so watch out for typos;

It was a late spring night when Vincent said his goodbye to you, so it was only fair that your reencounter would occur in another.

Life played both hommage and karma at him, remembering his words: You may forever hate me, but I promise you that you'll never see me ever again. I've bothered you enough.

That night, he had regained the common sense that had slipped out his grasp since you entered the law firm as an intern; eager to learn from whoever would spare you a glance for something more than to request their thousandth cup of coffee.

Of course, he did.

And how could he not to? When you were so bright and cheerful, all the opposite from those seniors who had seen the worst, to experience who knows how many times the balanced and blind justice's weight to tip at the wrong side. To have to face the client's hopeless expression.

Of course, you'd probably be sheltered from such a dark world at your station once you reached juniorship. But that wasn't the point right now.

Just as it wasn't the point to reminisce. He felt as ashamed as it could be possible while climbing the stairs of the skyscraper, which on the inside was decorated with pieces of steel, glass, and contemporary art that combined perfectly against the simple columns and the frescoes painted in the dome of the main hall.

Vincent shouldn't be overwhelmed by the sight, but he'd never been inside the Building of the Société Générale, white marble walls against a dark mosaic creating a cube to showcase the colorful paintings hung on the walls.

The secretary at the front desk showed him the way to the elevator behind the reception, polished black walls against the metal door as Vincent felt a pull in the pit of his stomach—either for the sudden upward movement or for nervousness, he didn't wish to dwell much on it.

Walking much faster than he wanted to, the secretary passed through an empty, quiet hallway in which Vincent could read a myriad of plaques varying from Accounting Department, all the way to Human Resources.

Finally, she stopped at a door labeled as Banking Associate: Cultural Department. Calling your name, she said: "Monsieur Favrè has sent his lawyer impromptu to meet you."

A muffled voice—your muffled voice echoed in the still hallway, stirring old memories inside of him he wasn't aware of keeping in the first place. "Alright. Let him come in."

A simple nod and the woman was gone. It was only the two of you now.

He took his time, a skipping beat. At the same time, you finished writing away at your keyboard. Then the door was closed with a gentle click.

"Monsieur Delaroux, what can I do for y—" A tentative pause, your bright, smart eyes locked into his. "Vincent?"

This hadn't been the deal planned out in his mind; he was almost hoping you'd ask, with a puzzled voice, who he was as if memory could morph at will rather than being one's source of torture.

So many years passed since he heard his name coming out of your soft lips, that if he remembered quite well, would taste like mocca and vanilla. But why was he remembering that now, from all times?

"Hello," he said, an awkward smile shining in the well-lit office. He put one of his hands inside the pocket of his dress pants, suppressing the childish urge to wave.

You blinked. "What… what are you doing here?"

"I know this isn't what we agreed on," he started, using small steps to get closer to the desk, as if you were a deer likely to run off, or a lion ready to pounce. Vincent had no idea which of the two could be worse. "But I need your assistance for a case. You're the most capable person I can think of, so I had to come and ask for your help."

Reclining from your seat, he let the words simmer into you, using the little time he had to look around your office, part of him was curious to see if he could still recognize a glimpse of the old you, and what he could learn from the present.

"How did you find me?" you asked, hands gesturing from him to sit in front of your desk.

"There are not many art lawyers with your name," he said, slightly flustered he had to admit about searching your name among colleagues, prying into your life when his promise was all the contrary. It wasn't the first time he felt like a fool, yet prideful because he was here for work.

And solely for work.

"I have a case linked with a small private art collection." His voice was plain, devoid of any emotion. He wasn't Vincent right now, the man that tried not to break your heart but failed terribly; he was Maître Renzi one of the talented lawyers from the before small law firm that now was rising like smoke after every case taken. "A murder. Probably linked to the growing art stock. I need an expert in the subject to conduct the required procedures."

"Since when do you take cases about private art collectors?" you hummed, eyes almost twinkling with amusement from all those times he had shit on the upper class and their slippery ways around the judicial system.

It was a good sign that you weren't bringing up his words last spoken, the past that at this moment felt too much aflush despite the time trying to bury it.

"This one is an exception." He couldn't help but get defensive, feeling like a stupid teenage boy being teased despite you being quite some years younger than him. "The owner of the law firm assigned me this case directly. We need to win so the firm can have an expansion." Which meant more law specialties, and more hired lawyers. And then it was… "They're even considering putting an Art Law department."

You could join, he almost said foolishly. Why would you like to be coworkers with him again, when that exact professional relationship prompted all the rest?

You seemed to be thinking the same. "It'll pay well," he added before you could say anything that derailed from his sketched conversation. "And it can help with your curriculum." Vincent signaled to the plaque in front of your computer, reading Junior Consultant. "It could be the case that turns you into a Senior."

There it was the ghost of you, biting your bottom lip in a pondering manner while your gaze was glued to the empty seat next to him.

"What makes you think you're going to win?"

"Have some faith in me, will you?" He chuckled, though deep inside he knew what you meant. It was a question that always lingered at the bottom of his mind, the one that stole his sleep some nights.

"Vincent—"

"Trust me. This is a high-profile case, very important for all people involved. I need your help. I know you're the only person that can help me." He couldn't make another empty promise. To never see you again? Vincent just broke it, and the opposite of that, to be partnered with you as colleagues didn't sound appropriate either. "You're the only one I can trust to remain on my side even if everything goes to shit," Vincent muttered after a while, blue eyes searching for yours as he tried to convince you with pity, even. Because you could never say no to him, and because this case was obliged to use all the desperate, creative measures he could think of.

Though Vincent wasn't lying about said statement. And you knew it.

You looked at him in a long, silent gaze that felt strangely, annoyingly charged inside the medium-sized office, silent so thick he heard the moment you chortled, a breathy, contained laugh that blessed him with the tiniest of smiles.

"Send me the generalities of the case so I can give it a glance tomorrow and write the protocol to follow."

"If tomorrow is one of your free days, we can discuss it over lunch," Vincent found himself saying before his brain could tell him to do better. "I'll give you a printed copy of everything so you can revise it easier. I apologize, but due to the nature of this case, I don't find myself comfortable with sharing this information via remote."

You put away the pencil you were playing with, settling it against the wooden desk with a thunk. "Breakfast. Tomorrow at 9 AM meet me at the Fontaine Saint-Sulpice. We can go to a nearby café once there." Looking from your computer to him, you arched an eyebrow. "Something else you need? You should go before the receptionist notices that you aren't Monsieur Favrè's lawyer."

He shrugged. "I showed her my card, she didn't say anything."

"Well, I'm not allowed to take private clients while on my shift."

"I'm not a client, we're colleagues."

You gestured away. "Wording. You know what I mean."

"You're a lawyer, Mademoiselle, wording matters."

"I write contracts and track art exhibits, Vincent," you told him in a familiar tone he recognized from when you two engaged in a well-needed, unwinding banter. "The one asked to give speeches is you, not me."

"Well, then you better prepare for an exception, because you will have to declare at court about your findings." Vincent heard your sigh and took in the sight of your angry pout, one you dedicated at him when it was time to get out of his office and help other junior lawyers while on your time as an intern. He was surprised to find it as charming as it once was. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He stood up, torn between walking facing you or just striding toward the door. He did the last one, turning to smile at you while his hand tapped to feel the door's handle.

It was his time to call your name. "Thank you. Truly."

You nodded, one of the locks of your hair falling toward your brow, obscuring your view. "I'll see you tomorrow, Vincent."

[bumblesimagines]

this doesn't mean anything.

- Sarah Cameron

this doesn't mean anything.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

Got carried away with this one

In the world of the Outer Banks, Kooks were seen as untouchable. They were the stuck-up, spoiled, privileged kids who could do, say, or buy anything they wanted as long as they had daddy or mommy's credit card in their back pocket. They puffed out their chests, turned up their nose, and spat venom just because they knew they could. Their parents would flock and point fingers if any harm came to them, demanding Sherriff Peterkin and Deputy Shoupe do something about the 'dirty Pogues targeting their poor babies' as if Peterkin and Shoupe could do anything more than let them off with a warning or a brief night in a cell.

While they were utterly pathetic and useless, (Y/N) found them incredibly amusing. Nothing was better than watching the smugness get knocked right out of a Kook. Tears would immediately spring in their eyes and their perfect skin would stain with purple and red coloring that'd stay no matter how many ice packs they put to it. The Kooks that talked the biggest game were often the ones that squealed first in fights. Their scratchy, obnoxious voices would plead for mercy, shouting empty promises of staying away and never bothering them again. Rafe Cameron was the only one who could handle a little pain, but even then, the boy was as boring as watching paint dry. One look from his daddy dearest and he went away with his tail tucked between his legs. 

His sister, as (Y/N) came to learn, was a lot more fun.

"Remember the rules, guys. No hardcore drugs, don't get blackout drunk, and don't start anything without me." (Y/N) called out after his younger brother and his group of friends. He was certain the nerd would keep them out of trouble, as he always did when they hung out, but a reminder never hurt anybody. The four of them scampered further down the beach, kicking up sand in their wake and disappearing amongst the other teenagers. They weren't much younger than him, only a year or two below him in school, but they were as annoying as children and attracted trouble wherever they went.

Fishing his cigarette pack out of his jacket pocket and sticking one between his lips, he allowed his gaze to drift over the party-goers present. Pogues, Kooks, and a few tourists who appeared wildly out of place with their big sun hats blocking half their vision. He recognized Rafe and his posse of coked-up boys lingering near the water and Barry making use of eager Kooks and their heavy pockets. His attention dropped down to his lighter and he grunted when it refused to light for longer than a second.

"Maybe it's a sign you should quit." A feathery voice piped up behind him and he turned around to find the treasured princess of Figure Eight.

Everyone knew Sarah Cameron. She was the beloved daughter of Ward Cameron, the pride and joy of Figure Eight, and the most envied and desired girl in Kildare. Everyone tripped over themselves trying to be in her good graces, trying to get a taste of the Cameron wealth and status. Ever since she entered high school, he'd heard all about her numerous relationships. She lept from boy to boy and left a trail of broken, jealous hearts in her path. Her most recent boy toy had been Topper Thornton, the son of the renowned Doctor Thornton and grandson of Judge Holden. JJ had left enough bruises on him for (Y/N) to know him well. (Y/N) thought they looked more like siblings than lovers.

"Nobody ever taught you not to talk to strangers, princess?" 

"I would hardly call you a stranger." She said and lifted the mai tai in hand up to her pink-colored lips. Her eyes twinkled with the setting sun, lightening the deep shade of brown. "Everyone knows the Maybanks."

"And nobody likes them. You might have to forfeit your Kook card if you get caught talking to me, Miss Cameron." He cooed teasingly and she smiled despite herself, rolling her pretty eyes and brushing her hair away from her face when the wind gently tousled it. His eyes drifted down to the dark knee-length sundress she wore decorated in orange and yellow flowers. It looked better than what most of the girls from the Cut wore to fancy events.

"I don't care about my Kook card, (Y/N). I think this whole... Pogue vs Kook thing is so stupid. We're all living on the same island. Why should we be giving each other shit for where we were born?" 

"I'm sure you'll be a just and fair ruler, princess." His words made her roll her eyes again and she laughed quietly into her can. Even her drink of choice screamed rich. Everyone else stuck to cheap beer or half-filled bottles they stole from the kitchen cabinet when their parents weren't home. Sarah twirled a piece of her hair around her finger, glancing away from him and toward her friends. They hadn't noticed her yet and for a moment, (Y/N) expected her to call out to them and walk away. But she looked back at him with a familiar coy smile. 

"Wanna talk somewhere more... private?"

He wondered how annoyed John B would be when he learned he'd taken Figure Eight's princess back to his place. It'd been closer than the Maybank residence and had less chance of a drunken and drugged Luke staggering through the front door ready to ruin (Y/N)'s night. Kiara would certainly throw a tantrum about him sleeping with her ex-best friend and if Kiara got upset, Pope would quickly follow in defense of his crush. Annoying little shits but they made JJ happy and that was enough for (Y/N) to tolerate their shenanigans. 

Tugging up his pants and zipping them back up, he gazed at the dozing Kook. Her long blonde hair had been sprawled out over the dark pillowcase and she'd buried half her face in the pillow, her parted lips forming a small spot of drool. As content and comfortable as she looked, he needed her back home before she chose to overstay her welcome under false assumptions. 

"Hey, princess." (Y/N) reached down to move some strands of hair away from her face and shook her shoulder. She whined quietly and squeezed her eyes before rolling fully onto her stomach and burying her face further in the pillow defiantly. "You need to get going before Ward calls the cops 'cause his precious girl didn't come home."

Tiredly lifting her head, she squinted at him through the sunlight. "Are you worried about Ward or worried about what your friends will say?" 

"My friends won't give a shit about me taking the Kook princess's virginity, sweets." Her face reddened considerably and he smirked. "My brother's friends might get pissed if they see a Kook on our turf. And I don't want problems with Carrera. She makes good food."

Sarah finally sat up and raked her fingers through her hair to detangle the knots as she searched the floor for her belongings. Her eyes finally settled on her underwear and she pursed her lips, the tips of her ears turning a soft red. "You ripped them." She murmured and her fingers began to toy with the ends of her hair. 

"You didn't complain when I did it." (Y/N) scooped the sundress up from the floor and tossed it in her direction, arms folding over his chest while he watched her get dressed and rise from the bed. She awkwardly tugged at the dress and retrieved her torn underwear from the floor before shoving it into her purse and turning to face him. 

"So-"

"I can drop you off at Word for Word. It's the closest store to Figure Eight so one of your little friends should be able to pick you up. I'd drive you home but I've got work and Barry will kill me if I'm late again." (Y/N) explained quickly and slipped his shirt back on, snatching his keys from the nightstand and jerking his head toward the door when Sarah remained rooted in her spot. 

"That's it? You're just going to... ditch me in the middle of nowhere?" She stared at him in a mixture of surprise and irritation, and (Y/N) sighed, preparing the speech he often found himself telling those who couldn't catch a hint. He was a Maybank, for Christ's sake. Nothing about the men in his family screamed commitment. His father could hardly hold down a job and JJ was as much of a playboy as the next guy.

"Sarah, baby, this doesn't mean anything. I'm sorry if your feelings are hurt but I asked if you were sure and offered to drive you back like five times last night. If you wanted your first time to be with your soulmate, you should've let me know and I would've taken you back to your boyfriend. Now, unless you want to get into a screaming match with Kiara, I suggest you start figuring out who's taking you the rest of the way."

[scrollonso]

idk how it’s gonna sound butttt… a new au where lance is single dad and nando is a stepdad 🥹 i’m dead every time i get to see nando with children GIVE THIS MAN A KID😭

TYSM FOR THIS REQUEST,, rn it's just a little blurb but I might make it a little more once i finish First Kiss 😭 (1.5k words)

Lance pulled into their new driveway, his daughter screaming excitedly behind him

"We're here, Lilah, wanna look at your new room before we take in groceries?" He said, not really meaning the we, a three year old girl wasn't much help.

"Yes, please!" She shouted, signing please on her chest. Lance had made sure to teach her sign language before she learned to properly speak, before she was born he had joined a "mummy and me" facebook group looking for help and that was one of the many things he was told to do.

Lance hummed, turning off the car and going back to take Delilah out of her carseat, helping her step out of the car before heading inside.

It was a gorgeous house in a safe neighbourhood, Lance figured as she got older living in a one bedroom apartment would get harder and harder so as soon as he had the chance he asked his best friend Esteban for help in house hunting and eventually moving the furniture in. Delilah's mom decided she didn't want to be in her life almost right agter giving birth to her, it had been scary, being a single dad at 22, but he had such a great support system and an even greater little girl.

"Come on, daddy" She spoke, snapping him out of his thoughts as she tugged on his pants leg

"Yes, yes, let's go baby" Lance smiled, quick to swoop her up and carry her upstairs to her bedroom, already adorned with all of her favourite things. The walls were painted a pale blue with cloud lights hanging from the ceiling, at the apartment they had before she was always sneaking out to play outside so he hoped making her room feel outside would limit that.

"This is mine, daddy?" She asked, looking away from all the toys, books, and stuffed animals to face her dad

"Yes, princess, all yours" He nodded, not able to help the wide grin on his face as hers lit up

"Thank you, daddy!" She signed again, holding her arms up to her dad to ask for a hug, he was quick to accept, squeezing her tight as she giggled

"You can play up here while I bring in groceries, okay? Then I'll make you lunch" He pulled away, the little girl nodding and running to the toy chest in the corner of her room to see what was in it as Lance made his way downstairs.

He finally finished putting away the gorceries, wandering back upstairs to ask Delilah what she wanted

"Lilah, are you hungry?" He spoke before walking into the room, startled at the emptiness "Lilah?" He called again, now beginning to panic at the absence of his daughter.

Delilah peeked past a tall white fence, eyes locking on a man who was laying down in the sun, he looked like he was sleeping

"Excuse me?" She spoke, the small voice causing the man to open his eyes

"Hello, sweetie" He spoke, sitting up and shooting her a puzzled look, wondering where she came from. He could tell by the change of her expression that she'd never head an accent like his before

"My daddy said laying in the sun causes you to get red and hurt" She spoke matter-of-factly

"Your daddy sounds very smart, where are your mommy and daddy now?" He asked, now a little concerned

"My daddy is in the kitchen, mommy left"

Fernando tried to hide his shock at the bluntness of the little girl, just nodding at her words

"I see, where is your kitchen?"

"In my new house!" She said with emotion for the first time "Me and my daddy just moved in, he painted my walls blue and i have clouds in my rooms sky!"

He couldn't help but smile at the talkative little girl, part of him worried at how quickly she was to be comfortable around a stranger

"Do you remember which house is yours?"

"Uhm..." She trailed off, tapping a finger on her chin before swiftly shaking her head and muttering a nuh-uh

Fernando nodded, standing up from his chair and holding out his hand "Let me help you find it"

"My daddy said I shouldn't go places with strangers"

The Spaniard couldn't help but laugh, this little girl wandered into his backyard and now that he was trying to return her she was worried about him being a stranger

"I pinky promise I'm nice, I just don't want your poor daddy worrying about you, sweetie"

"My daddy isn't poor! My poppy says we have all the money"

"Of course, Sorry for assuming" Fernando smiled down at her, crouching and holding out his hand "Now, how about we get you back to your rich daddy?"

She furrowed her eyebrows, her small thinking face was extremely endearing. She held out her pinky to the strangers hand "Pinky promise you're not mean"

He locked pinkies with her right away, shaking their hands a little bit before standing up "I pinky promise"

"Okay!" She smiled, grabbing onto two of the mans fingers as they walked, Fernando almost not noticing how she was just staring up at him

"You need to look for your daddy, not at me, sweetie"

"You're handsome, do you wanna meet my daddy?"

"Do I-" He laughed, shaking his head at the little girls comment as he picked her up "Let's focus on getting you home"

Lance was horrified, he checked every room in the house before realizing he didn't shut the door after bringing groceries in, leaving the house to see the white gate was open too

"Fuck, oh my god." He muttered under his breath, trying to stop himself from pulling his hair out as he look around the yards and sidewalks nearby. Delilah was smart, she was cautious most of the time so he knew she wouldn't have crossed the street without a hand to hold but he also knew she was way too friendly

"Daddy!" He heard a voice call after what felt like forever, his head turned to the voice and before he knew it he was scooping her up from the strangers arms, hardly acknowledging him

"God, Lilah, You can't do this now that we have a new house, I had no idea where you where."

"I met a nice man, daddy! He's just like those guys you call cute in the movies!"

Lance had to stop himself from covering her mouth, taking a deep breath before turning to the man

"I'm so-" Fuck. Delilah was so right. He was just like the guys he calls cute in the movies, he was gorgeous, Lance almost collapsed at the sight of the brunette man in front of him

"I'm Fernando" The older man spoke, holding a hand out to the young dad "I live two houses down"

"Hi, I'm Lance" He smiled, taking the (audibly) Spanish mans hand with no hesitation "Thank you so much for bringing her back, please don't think badly about me this doesn't usually happen" He tried to laugh it off to hide his embarrassment

"Is okay, she was great company."

"Are your kids older?" Lance asked, figuring that since the man was so amazing with Delilah right away he mustve beem a dad

"I wish, no, Is just me"

"Oh" Lance nodded, hoping his excitement wasn't visible

"Daddy, he's single!" The little girl whispered (very loudly), Fernando smiling at the pair

"Lilah, You can't just-" He began to speak

"Are you-" Fernando started, both of them pausing to let the other speak "Would you want to get coffee or something? Sometime, or not, is okay if no"

Lance laughed, something so charming about the comdination of the mans accent and flustered blabbering "I'd love to, I hope you don't mind if Delilah tags along?"

"Of course, could I have your number? To plan, of course"

"Yes, to plan" Lance smiled, taking the phone Fernando was holding out to him and putting in the numbers "Can't wait, Fernando"

He smiled, nodding at the two before stepping back to leave "I'll see you soon?" He half questioned half stated, Lance begining to respond before Delilah cut him off

"Yes! Bye bye, Nando!"

"Do you like him daddy" Was the first thing out of the girls lips once they got inside, her dads face flushing at the suggestion

"I think its bedtime" He teased, picking her up as she began wiggling in his arms

"Daddy, no!" She giggled, trying to squirm her way away from him "I'm gonna tell Nando to not go out with you if you make me go to sleep!"

"Fine" He groaned, a smile on his face right after, looking forward to whatever was to come with him and the Spaniard (and his little princess)

[vxntagedior]

Hey, so I had this idea the other day if you're taking requests.

So basically just Ajax and the reader go together to the Rave'N and the reader is Wednesday's twin and also kinda weird but more emotional and so they're at the dance floor when the paint starts to rain and they just keep dancing in between the chaos

my insides are red and yours are too

summary | you always seem to enjoy the chaos around you

pairing | ajax petropolus x fem!addams!reader

warning | fluff fluff fluff, reader is crushin' and doesn't know it, and so is ajax

word count | 1.4k

When you started at Nevermore with your sister, everyone was always curious about you. Wondering why you weren’t named after a day of the week, if you were just as crazy as the rumors they heard about Wednesday.

Though growing up together, you couldn’t lie and say that you weren’t ‘weird’, you were just like Wednesday, always curious, your murderous tendencies, but you just had a better grip on your emotions. 

You met Ajax your first day, when Enid was giving you a tour along with Wednesday. Watching as he came up to Enid, gossiping about Wednesday and seeing how his face morphed into shock with a little of embarrassment when he saw the two of you right next to Enid. 

With the small population of Nevermore, you had almost all your classes with Ajax. You were noisy, wanting to know what he was hiding under his beanie. 

“Snakes.” He was infatuated with you, the minute he met you. Next to Wednesday, you looked so different, and he wanted to get to know you more. “Keep them hidden so I don’t stone anyone.”

Your mother told you about the nightshades, though it was supposed to be hidden, she wanted one of her daughters to know about it. And as much as you didn’t want to talk to her, you just sat in front of the crystal ball letting her go on and on about whatever she talked about. 

Your mother told you about the nightshades, though it was supposed to be hidden, she wanted one of her daughters to know about it. And as much as you didn’t want to talk to her, you just sat in front of the crystal ball letting her go on and on about whatever she talked about. 

“You are looking ghastly.” You just rolled your eyes at her, picking your hand over the ball seeing your picture fade away. 

“She needs someone to talk to.” Something you learned as the two of you got older, you were more sensitive to your emotions and others. 

As the weeks passed at Nevermore, the students were wary of the two of you, but Wednesday couldn’t care, since the first day, she expressed that she wasn’t looking to be friends with anyone, and that she’d find a way to leave Nevermore. 

“So,” You turned to look at Ajax, “Are you going to the Rave’N this weekend?”

You just nodded your head, before turning to your work. 

“Oh,” Hearing his voice slightly going up an octave, “Would you maybe want to go together?”

Freezing, you turned to look at him, slowly blinking at him. Ajax was nice, and remembered Enid gushing about how much he had a crush on you, saying how much the two of you would be perfect for each other.

Ajax was just as nervous as you, you still hadn’t said anything to him and he just deflated about to ramble out excuses and apologies.

“Yes.” You spoke, your voice wavering, “Yes, t-that would be nice.”

It seemed forced out of you, but he could see in your eyes that it was genuine. 

You could barely focus for the rest of class, it felt weird. There was something in your stomach, you felt flush whenever you looked at Ajax.

The gossip she is, it wasn’t hard for Enid to find out that Ajax asked you, bombarding you with questions, already describing the dress you were going to wear. 

Letting her take you around Jericho, you entrusted her with picking your dress because you knew you couldn’t, Enid saying you lacked a sense of fashion, needing more color in your wardrobe.

“Try this.” Enid shoved another dress in your hands. Going back into the dressing room, you slipped on the dress, zipping it as far as you could. Looking back up in the mirror, you finally got a better look at it.

“I think I like it.” You sounded rather confused, looking at Enid who was just jumping for joy, exclaiming about how good you looked. 

“This is it!” She expressed, “You have to get it, you know what I’ll get it for you.”

You followed the bright girl up to counter and back out to Jericho. The shuttle back, Enid couldn’t help but express how beautiful you were gonna be and how that you were going to be the best looking person out there. 

-

“Is it bad?” You frowned looked at Ajax seeing how his mouth was gaped open since the moment you opened the door.

“No!” He shook his head rapidly, denying, “no, you look gorgeous.”

Hearing Enid squeal behind you, you turned to see her holding Wednesday’s camera, capturing a picture of the two of you. 

“I’m gonna keep this for your wedding day!” She smiled, “And when I do my maid of honor speech, I’ll tell everyone all about today.”

Ajax could sense how creeped out you were getting, more than usual, offering you his hand, guiding you down to the Rave’N.

“Ajax, Y/n, what a beautiful couple!” Ms. Thornhill smiled at the two of you. Since Wednesday brought you into her grand scheme, you were wary about Ms. Thornhill. 

“Thanks.” Ajax beamed at her. Just giving her a tight lip smile, you let Ajax guide you into the auditorium. Enid and Wednesday were already there, your sister staring at you while her eyes flickered over towards Ajax, while Enid is smiling brightly giving you two thumbs up.

You could sense that Ajax was hesitant on asking you anything most of the night, and you were also in the same boat, it was your first time going out with someone in that type of capacity. 

“Would you-” You started, choking on your own words, Ajax just simply stayed quiet letting you finish your sentence, “Would you like to dance with me?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, letting you guide the two of you towards your group of friends who were already dancing, everyone forming their own circle while Enid and Wednesday stood a little farther out. 

Awkwardly you watched as everyone started to dance and jump to the music, while you were barely moving your shoulders.

“Relax.” Ajax whispered in your ear, “Just relax and be yourself.”

It seemed to help you loosen up a bit, Ajax watching you start to dance. It was odd, but he liked how it complimented you so well. 

Throughout the rest of the night you were able to loosen up, your hands in Ajax’s as the two of you danced together. 

And for a split second, it felt like time stopped. As you still danced, from above, the pips started to leak, red splattering everywhere. 

You didn’t notice it at first, but when you saw how Ajax’s red beanie continued to be covered you it really set in. 

As the music continued, everyone was screaming, starting to panic, trying to hide from it. Ajax tried to get you to go with him, but seeing you smile, something he had never seen, and you still were dancing. 

In the midst of all the chaos and panic, Ajax thought you looked beautiful. 

“Dude, let’s go.” Xavier grabbed his shoulder, trying to get him out of the dance. 

“I can’t man, I can’t leave Y/n here.” He looked back at you, seeing you with your sister now, the two of you continuing to dance. “And tell me you’d leave if Wednesday was still here.”

“Whatever man.”

Ajax watched as Xavier left, now starting to come get you. 

“C’mon,” He grabbed your hand, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Sighing, you left your sister who was already starting to go on her own path, letting Ajax bring you back to his room. 

Ridding yourself of your dress, Ajax lended you a clean pair of clothes, while he started to clean out the rest of the paint that was still on your skin. 

“I uh had a lot of fun tonight.” You whispered, watching him move the wipe down your arm. “Though the paint was underwhelming, I wish it was blood.”

Ajax just slowly nodded remembering how similar you were to your sister in some traits. Sliding his hand down your arm to grasp yours, he looked up at you smiling. 

“Yeah totally.” He smiled. “Maybe we can do it again, maybe without the paint.”

“I don’t think there’s another dance?” You cocked your head. 

Ajax sighed softly seeing how you didn’t understand his proposition. 

“Oh, I meant like a date, maybe coffee, a movie, just the two of us?” 

“Yes.” You nodded slowly, feeling that nervous thing in your stomach once again, “Ajax, why does my stomach feel weird whenever I’m around you?”

“It’s butterflies.” His smile was infectious, seeing the corners of your mouth slowly curl upward. 

“Butterflies.”

fin.