#what is going on in her head lord help me

[pathologicalreid]

hiii I love ur fics <3 I am OBSESSED with the prompt “can you come get me?” bc h/c makes me 💥💥💥 so I was thinking:

reader has been kidnapped by the latest unsub and the team is trying their hardest to find her but all the leads keep coming up empty until one day Spencer gets a call from her and the first thing she says is “can you come get me?” she sounds extremely upset and afraid so Spencer and Hotch leave to go find her. when they get there, she looks like she’s been through hell so they rush her to the hospital to be checked out, all the while they can’t seem to get any info out of her about what happened.

Spencer & reader could be platonic or romantic, whichever you like. (also I was thinking maybe hotchner!reader ? if that wouldn’t be too many things to ask for lol)

I love how you do angst and h/c, so keep up the good work and have a wonderful day <3

can you come get me? | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: kidnapping, hospitals, stitches, blood draws, catatonia, disassociation, brief mention of sa, ohio mentioned, general cm violence (let me know if i missed any) word count: 4.56k a/n: i have no idea how this got so long but i love the plot of it so much that i couldn't cut any of it! i'm such a slut for the "you came"/"you called" trope that i couldn't help myself! i wrote this with the idea that it would be in place of the m*eve storyline (which means our lord and savior blake is here)!! anyways anon i hope you enjoy this - i love you!

Any external sound was completely ignored as Spencer flipped through the same file for the eighteenth time that day. In his periphery, he saw JJ and Rossi nod at each other before Rossi split away, walking up the ramp to where Hotch’s office was.

It took him a moment to realize JJ had made herself comfortable by sitting on the edge of his desk. She had her jacket neatly folded in her arms as she eyed the file he had, grief filling her eyes as she registered what he was looking at. “What are you doing tonight?” She asked, trying to keep her voice as light as possible.

The question was entirely pointless, she knew exactly what he was doing tonight, but in an attempt to get her to leave him alone, Spencer humored her, “I’m working late tonight,” he answered simply.

JJ’s smile faltered ever so slightly before she shook her head, “You’ve been working late all week, what if you come over tonight? Will’s making dinner. Garcia’s coming after she finishes her system update,” the attempt to get him out of the office didn’t go over his head, but it wasn’t going to work. “Henry would love to see you – maybe you could teach him a new magic trick.”

Peeling his eyes off of the paperwork, he looked up at the blonde, “You know I can’t.” He felt so close to an answer, he couldn’t possibly leave.

“Look, Reid, I get it, but you’ve been working crazy hours for the past month. Maybe taking a night off would be good. You can start fresh in the morning,” she tried to coax him into leaving the case be.

It hadn’t been a full month; it had been twenty-seven days. Almost four full weeks since you were taken. It had been one week since Section Chief Cruz had told Hotch that the BAU needed to start taking new cases, as the trail to you had run cold.

Considering you were Hotch’s daughter, that discussion had gone rather poorly. Cruz had been able to give the team leeway. Both Spencer and Hotch had fully intended on taking advantage of that leeway, and the rest of the team helped when they had the capacity.

Turning back to your file, Spencer shook his head, “I’ll go if Hotch goes.” He knew there was no way Hotch would be leaving the office tonight, the only reason Hotch went home anymore was for Jack, and he was at a sleepover tonight.

JJ’s shoulders slumped in abject disappointment as her eyes followed Dave as he exited Hotch’s office, the slamming of the door enough to make the lingering BAU agents flinch. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, defeated.

Rossi wagged a finger at Spencer, “Go home at some point tonight, kid,” he instructed.

Waving a quick goodbye, Spencer resumed making notes in the margins of the papers that were making a permanent home on his desk. He looked up when Hotch exited his office, eyes following him as he brewed a pot of coffee in the kitchenette. The two of them acknowledged each other with a nod before continuing on with the hunt.

Both of them knew the odds, that you had been gone this long and there was a good chance that they’d never see you again. Despite that, Spencer would head up to Hotch’s office in about an hour, and the two of them would confer.

Eventually, the sun set, and a thunderstorm rolled in, the flashes of light coming in through the windows as he began to consider going for another cup of coffee.

Wiping a hand down his face, he inwardly groaned as his phone started to ring. Half expecting it to be JJ, he was surprised to find that it was an unknown caller. Clicking the answer button, he lifted the phone to his ear, “Hello, this is Dr. Reid.”

There was an eerie silence on the other end of the call, if he strained his ears, he could hear the pattering of rain. He tried to greet the other person again, but when there was no answer, he started to lower the phone to hang up.

“Can you come get me?” Your quiet voice came through the receiver, effectively knocking the wind out of Spencer’s lungs.

Fiddling with his belongings, Spencer gripped your file, “Where are you?” He asked urgently.

You sniffled, “I don’t know. A payphone off of twenty-eight.” If he strained his ears, he could listen to the rain. Spencer wondered if he could calculate how far away you were by the sound of the thunder where you were compared to where he was.

His chest ached at the exhaustion in your tone, imagining you had gotten approximately as much sleep as he had recently. That is to say, little to none. Pulling the phone slightly away from his face, he called out for Hotch, getting his attention and waving him over. “Y/N, can you see any mile markers or exit signs anywhere?” Spencer asked, bringing the phone back up to his ear.

“I can’t see much of anything,” you admitted. That made sense, your glasses had been recovered at your abduction scene. Spencer kept them in his bag with the rest of your belongings that had been released from evidence. “I feel lucky enough that I was able to find a pay phone,” you said, and for the first time, he noticed that you were whispering.

Glancing at the inside of his wrist, Spencer checked the time. JJ had mentioned something about Garcia staying in her office for a system update – what were the odds the tech analyst was still there? Stalking out of the bullpen, he made his way to her office, Hotch hot on his heels.

After knocking on the door, her voice rang out, “Enter, mere mortal.” Once she had recognized who it was, she greeted Spencer directly, “Ah, Dr. Reid, did you need a ride to JJ’s?”

“Can you locate a payphone based on the phone number?” He asked hurriedly, the longer you stood out there in the rain, the more danger you might be in.

A confused look was plastered on her face, but she turned back to her screens and started click-clacking away. “Most def, boy genius. Run me the digits,” she responded, pulling up some sort of database that Spencer didn’t recognize – probably for the best.

She typed the phone number just as quickly as he recited it, turning around and telling him that the pay phone in question was approximately thirty minutes away. You had only been thirty minutes away this entire time. “Send the coordinates to Hotch’s phone,” Spencer instructed, stepping toward the door. “Tell the rest of the team to come in,” he continued, “it’s Y/N.”

Each stage of grief flashed across Penelope’s face as she nodded assuredly, scrambling for her phone as she took care of notifications.

Impatiently, Hotch held the elevator door open as Spencer entered, keeping the phone up to his ear, “Stay on the phone,” he told you.

A desperate whimper came from your end of the call, “I don’t have any change. I found a few quarters on the ground, but I don’t have anything on me.”

“Stay on as long as you can, angel,” Spencer amended. “We’re on our way.”

The rain was worse than he had initially thought, but Mother Nature was no match for Aaron Hotchner. They were only about five minutes from the coordinates that Garcia had shared, and the phone call had dropped off before they were even on the main highway. The dropped call certainly didn’t help the rising tension in the SUV.

“Did she sound scared?” Hotch had asked for the nth time.

Not taking his eyes off of the map, Spencer nodded, “She sounded like she was stranded in the middle of the woods in Virginia, in a thunderstorm, and was using a pay phone as a lifeline.” His entire body was thrumming with nervous energy as they sped down the road, “but she’s alive.”

He didn’t miss the way Hotch’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. You being alive would have to be enough of a comfort to the both of them for now, but Spencer knew what your life meant to your father.

“There it is,” Spencer said, interrupting his thoughts with the recognition of a phone booth on the side of the road, in front of a seemingly abandoned gas station. In a moment of uncharacteristic recklessness, Spencer clambered out of the vehicle before it came to a full stop, an umbrella and jacket in tow.

Hesitantly, he approached the crumpled heap of limbs underneath the pay phone. It wasn’t a full booth, it had just enough coverage to prevent the payphone from short-circuiting. You had jammed yourself underneath it, trying to keep yourself as dry as possible.

Kneeling in front of you, he swept his sopping-wet hair from his face, “Y/N.” His voice was no more than a breath, he didn’t dare reach out to touch you — lest you not want to be touched. A strike of lightning lit your surroundings enough for him to note the bruise that had bloomed on your cheek.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he watched as your lips parted in recognition, “You came,” you whispered.

He nodded, “You called.” His heart soared as you shuffled yourself closer to him, allowing him to wrap the FBI-issued jacket around your rain-soaked frame. “Let’s get you out of this rain, alright?”

Standing up on shaky legs, Spencer helped you walk to the SUV where your dad was waiting, shining a flashlight to help guide you to the vehicle. Based on how heavily you were leaning on him, he could tell that your left leg was injured. Despite your injury, you stepped away from Spencer to hug your father.

For a moment, Spencer felt like he was intruding on a family moment, but he recalled all of the times he had been invited to join in Hotchner festivities these last few years and allowed his eyes to meet Hotch’s.

The two of them shared an understanding look as Hotch pulled away, “We should get you to a hospital,” he said, cupping your face with parental gentleness.

Spencer helped you into the SUV, unable to put any pressure on your leg, you depended on the handles to pull yourself up. As you maneuvered yourself, he tried to determine what your injuries were. His eyes scanned your body until he made his way back to your face, “Angel, keep your eyes open.” He felt as if he was asking a lot of you, but he didn’t know if you had taken a hit to the head. Falling asleep could do more damage. “Hey, Y/N?” He said, watching as your eyes fell shut and your head slumped forward. “Hotch,” Reid said urgently from the backseat.

Understanding perfectly, Hotch hit the lights on the SUV and turned on the siren. Flashes of red and blue signaled to other drivers that there was an emergency.

You were silent.

As soon as they had gotten you to the emergency room, your entire demeanor had changed. Spencer guessed that you had been in fight or flight when they had picked you up from the phone booth, and now that you were getting the help that you needed, all of the fight had vacated your being.

In the white fluorescence of the hospital, he could see how drained you looked. Once the doctors got their hands on you, you refused to let him or your dad near you.

Hotch was in the hallway, talking on the phone with your Aunt Jessica while he tried to arrange childcare for Jack so he could stay with you - the leader of your care team estimated you’d be in the hospital for at least a few days.

While you had been mobile when they came to get you, your energy had left along with your adrenaline, and eventually, the best course of action was to just let you sleep. That was how Spencer ended up sitting cross-legged in a stiff hospital chair, watching over you as you slept.

Respectful of your wishes, he kept a fair distance from you, but you’d be hard-pressed to convince him to let you out of his sight. There were tubes and wires going every which way from your body, oxygen, an IV, and electrodes monitored your life. Boiling you down to a collection of numbers that showed Spencer just how alive you were.

The doctors suspected you had bacterial pneumonia, but they were still waiting on the results of your chest X-ray to make a formal diagnosis. Your presumed leg injury had turned out to be a bruised hip bone – part of a sickening pattern that reflected that of someone who had been thrown down a flight of stairs.

A knock on the window to your hospital room caught his attention, causing him to turn his head and come face to face with Rossi and Blake. Opening the blinds so that he’d be able to keep an eye on you from the hallway, Spencer stood up and joined his colleagues in the corridor.

“What’s the report?” Rossi asked, nodding in the direction of your room, and placing his hands on his hips.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck before responding, “The doctor said that all things considered, she’s in good shape, but…” Shaking his head to wake himself up, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “She’s sick and was beaten. Right now, she’s sleeping. We have no idea she was running in the woods, so it’s not surprising that she’s exhausted.”

He continued on to list other maladies that the doctors had provided, dehydration, malnutrition, one cut on your arm that needed to be stitched, and that was just scratching the surface. Dave nodded understandingly, “but the sooner we get to ask her questions, the better.”

Shrugging, Spencer looked over at your father, and then back to you, “When she wakes up on her own,” he murmured, watching as a nurse checked on your IV. He didn’t want to risk waking you up or asking too much too soon of you. “Can I ask you a quick question?” He lifted a finger inquisitively to the nurse who was walking out of your room, scribbling something on your chart.

The nurse hummed in response, raising her eyebrows as she waited for him to ask.

“Do you think the infection has anything to do with her silence? She might be hurting so she isn’t talking?” He asked, it wasn’t unheard of, when people were in a lot of pain, sometimes they coped with silence.

While the nurse might have an excellent bedside manner, the three profilers took note of the concern in her eyes. “The silence might have more to do with her psychological well-being than her physical well-being,” she responded, it was a healthcare way of trying to appease them. Really, they didn’t know much better than the members of the BAU did.

Blake’s eyebrows shot up in curiosity, “Could it be catatonia?”

“In order to diagnose catatonia, she’d need to display three of twelve symptoms. Those are stupor, catalepsy, waxy flexibility, mutism, negativism, posturing, mannerism, stereotypy, agitation, grimacing, echolalia, and echopraxia. So far, she really only meets one of twelve,” Spencer answered.

Shrugging, the nurse pointed at Spencer with her pen, “What he said.” She looked down at the chart before continuing, “Her care team leader called for a psych consult, but we won’t really know one way or the other until she wakes up.”

Nodding, Rossi nodded in acknowledgment, “What else could it be?”

Pursing her lips, the nurse tilted her head to the side, “Peritraumatic disassociation is another possibility, but again, we won’t know until she wakes up.”

The waiting game began. As luck would have it, an FBI agent being abducted created a lot of paperwork, so Hotch was holed up in a conference room while Rossi and Blake worked on the profile. JJ and Morgan stayed back at Quantico with Garcia to look back at what information Hotch and Spencer had been gathering over the past twenty-seven – now twenty-eight – days.

Spencer stayed with you, tucking your blanket around you when he watched goosebumps sprout along your arms. He paid close attention to everything that the doctors and nurses said about your condition, relaying everything to Hotch via text message. They ran a kit on you, and the only solace was that there was a chance that they could DNA match whoever did this to you.

He left that last part out of his message to your father.

As soon as you started waking up, Spencer had to leave the room, watching from the hallway as medical personnel flurried around your bed. At first, he had assumed your aversion to himself and your dad was an overall aversion to men, but you didn’t flinch when it came to the male doctor who was checking your vitals manually.

A nurse peeked out from the door, “Are you Dave?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Spencer cocked his head back in confusion, “No? I’m not – why?” He asked, gaze flickering back into your room as you scrawled something on the piece of paper that a nurse had handed you.

“She said she’d talk to Dave,” the inquiring nurse shrugged, turning back into your room, and adjusting your pillow beneath your head.

Still confused, Spencer slipped his phone out of his pocket, nimbly typing a message to Rossi before returning the phone to its home in his slacks. Trying to respect your peace, Spencer remained in the hallway, leaning back against the wall as he heard the familiar sound of Italian leather boots turning the corner. “Are you sure she didn’t mean Aaron?”

Spencer shook his head, mirroring the older man’s confusion, “She physically wrote your name out. She’ll only speak to you,” he answered, trying to hide his own pain for the sake of ridding you of yours. If you wouldn’t talk to your father or himself, it made the most sense that you’d talk to Rossi. You’ve known him the entire time your father worked in the BAU.

Shrugging, Rossi walked into your room and approached you with the care of a man approaching a deer. He remained this way until he made it to your bed, and Spencer watched as he smoothed your hair away from your face affectionately.

You leaned into his touch, and Spencer didn’t miss the cue. When was the last time anyone had touched you with love in their heart?

He had kissed you goodbye before you went on your run, just thirty minutes before your location turned off and your usual Thursday route turned into a hunting ground. With what you did for work, you switched paths frequently, but someone had been watching you, or at least, that was the conclusion the team had drawn.

Watching as Rossi spoke with you, Spencer noticed one anomaly – you weren’t speaking to him. Instead, all of his questions were answered with blinks or scribbling on paper.

The two of you went until a nurse came in, telling the both of you that they needed to run a few more tests. Taking his leave, Rossi told you something that Reid couldn’t quite make out and rejoined him in the hallway.

“What did you say to her? Just now?” Spencer asked, his need for any sort of contact with you becoming so desperate that he’d now accept it secondhand.

Frowning, Rossi placed both of his hands on his hips, “I called her piccolina, I used to call her that all the time when she was just a little thing running around the old BAU bunker.” Taking a moment, Rossi pulled out his little notebook and read through it. “White male, late twenties to early thirties, sometimes gone for days on end citing ‘work,’ but she never figured out what he did for work.”

Spencer’s eyes burned at the realization that you had been working your own case while being victimized, he peered in through the window as a nurse drew your blood.

“She said he drove a dark American sedan, making it either blue or black,” Rossi continued to list off, eyes following Blake as she approached the two of you. “Y/N said the car was filthy like he had been living out of it when he couldn’t get to her in the woods. The car had an Ohio party plate on it with expired tags.”

Blake arched a brow at the new information, “Party plate?” She said quizzically, looking at Spencer for clarification.

Nodding, Spencer looked over at his friend, “That’s the colloquial name for restricted license places. They’re given to people who are convicted of DUIs, which is actually called an OVI in Ohio. In Ohio, they’re yellow with red print, and the only state to have something similar is Minnesota where they call them whiskey plates because they all start with the letter W.”

“Well, he’s confident. Maybe too confident, driving around with expired tags and a license plate that already puts a spotlight on him,” Blake said thoughtfully, adding to the profile in her mind. “We should get this information to Garcia, maybe look for people who recently relocated from Ohio with those plates,” she suggested to Rossi.

Rossi nodded, skillfully flipping the cover back over his notepad and gesturing for Blake to follow him to the conference room, effectively leading Spencer to his own devices. When the nurse left to bring the vials of blood to the lab, he returned to your room, taking his seat on the edge of the room – as far away as he could get while keeping his eyes on you.

He looked up to your bed, catching you staring at him. As soon as you knew you had been caught, you turned your head to the other side, averting your gaze toward the window.

Every thirty minutes or so, Spencer moved the chair approximately five inches closer to you, by four in the morning, he had closed half of the space between you. He kept his eyes on you, watching as you stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. You had that crease between your eyebrows that told him you were thinking too hard, and he had to sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching out and touching it as if he could soothe all of your bad thoughts.

In the doorway, Rossi had appeared, garnering your attention as you propped yourself up on the flat hospital pillows. “We got him,” Rossi announced to the room, a reserved smile on his face.

Spencer watched as you visibly relaxed on the bed, your face softened as your eyebrows relaxed. Rossi explained some next steps, but he was only half listening, he could only focus on you.

Once Dave was gone, Spencer took a leap of faith and shuffled the chair to your bedside, “How are you feeling, angel?” He asked, taking up a muted tone.

You stared at him, blinking at him until, eventually, your face crumpled, and you leaned toward him.

Not missing a beat, Spencer stood up from his chair so that he could sit on the edge of your bed, meeting you in the middle, he gently wrapped his arms around you, rubbing small, soothing circles along your back with the flat of his hand.

In the past twenty-eight days, Spencer thought that being reunited with you could fix all of the hurt in his chest, but this, right here, was a different kind of pain. Tears sept through the fabric of his shirt just as soon as they fell from your eyes, and all of the hurt that he had felt before just morphed into a different kind of suffering.

His heart ached at the sight of you in this much pain, so much emotional turmoil that you had silenced yourself. What was he supposed to say in order to comfort you? ‘You’re okay,’ was wholly false, and ‘it’s alright’ felt like a cruel joke. You very clearly weren’t okay, and none of this was alright.

“I’m here,” he reassured you, his voice no more than a croak as he tried to swallow his own emotions. “I’m right here,” he repeated, continuing his ministrations on your back until you had cried yourself to sleep.

With your body in its weakened state, Spencer carefully adjusted you onto the bed, making sure none of your tubes or wires were kinked before settling back down in his chair and taking your hand in his.

Around the time the sun came up, your care team came through for morning rounds and woke you up to thoroughly inspect your status. Once they left you to your own devices – with the promise of food in half an hour – Spencer focused all of his attention on trying to coax you into speaking to him.

Tenderly, he dragged a finger across your forehead before continuing down the bridge of your nose, “I’d really like to hear your voice, sweetheart.” His voice was gentle, maintaining a subdued tone in the early hours of the morning.

He watched as you sighed, deflating all of the air in your lungs as you tipped your head to the side, interrupting his movements. “I asked him to do it,” you murmured, voice raspy from lack of use.

“To do what?” Spencer asked, heart beating a little faster at the sound of your voice. He watched how you nervously gripped a fistful of sheets and looked at him. Only you weren’t looking at him, it was more like you were looking through him.

You took a deep, shuddering breath before you answered, “To kill me.”

The confession weighed heavy on his shoulders, but it wasn’t regarding anything against you. It was in the realization that you had been in so much physical and emotional turmoil while in captivity that you had asked for your own death. That even for a moment, you sat in front of a killer and asked for him to end your life as an act of mercy.

Noting Spencer’s lack of response, you continued speaking, “That’s why he let me go. I begged him to just end it and that took away any appeal for him.”

Last night. You had pleaded on behalf of your own demise last night. Carefully considering his next words, Spencer met your eyes and replied, “That must’ve taken a lot of courage.”

You faltered for a moment, evidently not having expected those words from him, “What are you talking about?”

It made sense to him now, why you wouldn’t talk to him or your dad. He felt like such a fool. You had been ashamed because you felt like your abductor had diminished your worth by breaking you down. Spencer knew better, “You stood your ground. You faced your own death, and you chose that over further suffering. Dying isn’t an undignified act, no matter how it comes upon you,” he reminded you, smoothing your hair away from your face as he watched your lip quiver.

“Thank you for staying,” you croaked as emotion closed your throat.

Spencer hummed thoughtfully, swiping a rogue tear from your cheek, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 17

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I have a house now. One more month until move in.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You leave the queen, stepping into the gales that whip around the outer flap of her tent. You reach to keep your cap from flying into the violent winds, the soldiers with their chins down as they lean against the force. Before you can gain your bearings, a shadow appears and calls your name, battling the weather to be heard. 

“Eh, where is your cloak, silly mouse? You will blow away with the leaves,” Bryce approaches, latching onto your arm as the bluster swirls around you, nearly taking you off your feet. 

“I am fine, sir, I only need find a blanket,” you stumble against him as another willful gust pushes you around.  

“That isn’t what I asked. What has happened to it? You’ve lost it?” 

“The queen was cold, sir,” you answer and cling to him, shivering as the tempest swirls around you. 

“The queen... greedy...” his voice trails off as her sneers towards the tent. 

“Sir,” you touch his arm gently to calm him, “she needs it more than I. She is expecting the king’s child.” 

He looks at you and juts out his jaw, “aye, s’pose you’re right, even if you’re too kind for yer own good.” 

He turns you and grips you tightly, shielding you as best he can against the wind. Your progress is slow and stunted by the sudden ebbs and flows. He grunts as you stagger and steadies you, at times almost lifting you off your feet. 

“Sir Bryce,” a deep voice slices through the whistle of the winds, “a storm approaches.” 

The king nears, his sword gripped by the pommel as he leans it against hit shoulder. His golden eyes flick towards you, as if he had not seen you in the shadow of your escort. He raises his chin and returns his attention to the soldier. He angles his blade to the ground and the tip buries in the dirt. 

“Aye, it surely does,” Bryce agrees, “I’ve seen a worst tempest in my years.” 

“Sir,” Geralt holds out his hands and a glisten appears on his sleeve. You lean in without a thought, curious, then feel a cold speck on your nose. You look up and see the white flakes drifting down. “It will not remain so peaceful. It comes from the north and will deepen by morning.” 

“Shall we wake the camp?” Bryce asks and you sway with the wind. Once more, the king’s attention strays to you, he frowns. 

“Not as yet. Let the horses rest a little longer. They will be able to handle a dusting,” he affirms. “but I will harry the men to prepare for our departure.” 

“As will I. I’ll be certain the carts are covered and weighted.” 

“Sir, ever wise,” King Geralt praises and scowls at you. He shakes his head and huffs, “why does the maid wear no cloak? She will not survive in this, summer soul, she is.” 

“Aye, yes, I was only just telling her as much. Seems her heart is too big for her thin hide,” Bryce tuts, “we were only off to find her a blanket before she sleeps.” 

“Blanket, eh,” the king lets go of his blade, letting it stand in the ground. He unbuckles his collar and sweeps his cloak from around his shoulder, “I have my hunting cloak and I don’t mind the snow so much.” 

Before you can react, the king lays his heavy cloak over your shoulders. It is longer than your height requires and it smells of sweat and iron. You lower your head at the warmth clinging to the lined wool. 

“Your highness, many thanks, but I might find a blanket--” 

“Do not defy your king,” Bryce rebukes, “mouse, you would do well to accept his grace. You will certainly need it if these winds do not pass.” 

“Apologies,” you utter, “sir, your highness, you are both generous.” 

King Geralt grumbles and nods, looking once more to the sky as he grabs his sword. 

“The Ridge, Vulture’s Peak... it isn’t far. The castle will do, eh?” 

“Not far at all, your highness,” Bryce agrees. “It would do you well to let your wife rest. Many congratulations, my king.” 

“Congratulations? For what? Smelling a storm?” the king furrows his brow. 

“Oi, I think I’ve said too much,” Bryce glances at you. 

“Say more,” the king commands. The soldier sighs and sheepishly shows his teeth.  

“Please, maid, would ya...” He mutters. 

“Your highness, the queen said she is with child,” you swallow, “I only just came from her tent. I believed you were aware. I did not mean to gossip.” 

“Child,” his eyes sink and close. He hums and heaves a deep breath, “yes, she would need to be still a time.” 

“Your highness, again, you have my apologies--” 

“No matter,” the king waves his hand. “Take the maid, I shall see to my wife.” 

The king resumes his path onward, sword in hand. He hardly shares in Jazlene’s cheer for the news. Perhaps it is only the threat of the storm that has him unhappy.  

You bring your hands to the dark fur along the collar of the cloak and draw it snug. You chatter and Bryce clucks. He nudges you and you walk forward in step. 

“So the snows have come,” Bryce declares, “along with the heir. I sense many storms brewing, mouse. Best keep our eyes on the horizon.” 

⚔️

You don’t sleep for long, if at all. Only the shallow dregs of your anticipation. You watch the snow fall from beneath the canopy and as the horses are roused and fed before dawn, a carpet coats the ground. 

You peer down at the powder. You wonder what it feels like. Cold and wet, Bryce says, but don’t dirty your soles, you’ll be soaked. He remains, as ever, cynical. 

“Be off soon,” he says as he brings Daisy around, a thick coat over her back and haunches. 

“To Vulture’s Peak?” You ask. 

“Aye, so we will,” he pets Daisy’s snout as she sniffs him. “though our host may not be so fond to have us.” 

“Host? It is not the king’s castle?” 

“Ha, no, no,” Bryce laughs heartily, “a king can’t live on a desolate bluff. By fealty, a lord must break bread and offer a roof to his king. It might be his company which has him facing a cold welcome.” 

“Oh,” you frown. 

“Ah, even this old coot won’t deny us in the coming storm. He has sense of these better than any,” Bryce shrugs. “Don’t worry your head. You stay in your cart and Daisy will do the rest. She’s a fine climber--” 

“Out of my way!” The curdling snarl interrupts the soldier and you both look to see the source. “Move, by gods, I am the queen, be away from me.” 

You get to your knees, leaning on the edge of the wagon to see out from under the canopy. A scatter of bodies split apart as Queen Jazlene struts through, the fur cloak rippling from her shoulders and the hood set back on her head as her curls spill out. She sneers at the snow beneath her slippers. 

“Ah, I did hear there was a cart around here—ugh, out,” she points as she marches up to the cart, “by royal right, I am seizing this cart.” 

“Eh,” Bryce moves closer, “your highness, the king--” 

“I cannot sit a horse, sir,” she rests her gloved hand over her stomach. “Or would you murder the future prince with your selfishness. All for a--” she pauses and glowers over at you, rolling her eyes. “A maid?” 

You rise and snatch up the cloak you’d used as a blanket. You keep bent under the low canopy and climb out with the cushion under your arm. 

“Sir, the queen is right, she should have the cart, I will sit with the luggage.” 

He huffs and sends a grimace to the sky, unable to direct his malice towards its source, “if she must...” 

“I must!” The queen snaps and yanks the pillow from your hands, “I will need this, certainly.” 

You stand aside, staring at the pillow dolefully, and buckle the top of your cloak. The queen pauses as she faces you. She looks you up and down. 

“Where did you find this then?” She touches the collar of the cloak. 

“It is my spare cloak,” Bryce insists before you can answer, “what else do you require, your highness? Shall we bring a lamb to sacrifice?” 

“Hm, is that how you northerners worship?” She sneers, missing his irony. 

He blinks dully and says nothing. 

“Well, secure the horse, I will need to be drawn.” 

“It is my horse,” Bryce insists, “you may bridle your own.” 

“You dare deny me?” She snarls at him as the soldiers with her stand on either side of the cart. 

“You may take it up with your husband. This is my steed, she carried me to war and she will carry me henceforth,” he snips. 

Bryce and Jazlene glare at each other. You look between them nervously. You don’t know who King Geralt might choose in this battle should he be called. 

“Fine, fetch the stinky thing,” Jazlene demands of one of the soldiers, “and blankets, another pillow, perhaps something to eat.” 

The cast of the sky shifts with the first light of the sun and Bryce grabs both horses and leads them aside. He whistles for you to follow. You come to him as Chestnut and Daisy cluelessly puff into the cold air. 

“You will ride. I will not have that... queen seizing my horse,” he sniffs, “I will show you how once I’ve saddled the mare.” 

“Oh, yes, sir.” You look up at the horses back. It seems very high. 

“You will want to be aback anyhow,” he shrugs, “you’ll not want to miss the mountain. It is very beautiful, especially in the snow.” 

⚔️

The party continues onward, treacherously. As the snow falls, the train diverts away from the flats and onto the narrow paths speckled with broken trunks and towering trees. The smell of pine tickles your nose as you ascend, bit by bit. 

It takes some time to grow used to the motion of the horse. Daisy’s hooves are certain and she does not slip on even the most precarious spots. Bryce rides behind you, booming about each nook and cranny, pointing out the white rabbits and the wilted fauna. His enthusiasm is unexpected but endearing. 

You ride until the moon replaces the sun and dismount along the side of the great cliff. There is no room here to pitch a tent and only a few fires burn along the ridge. Your hips ache as the soldier grunts about his back. 

“I should see to the queen,” you suggest as you rub your hands together. 

“She must have many fawning over her,” Bryce spits out a wad of leaves and squashes it under his feet. 

“I am her maid--” 

“And we are on a long road. She might go without you minding her temper,” he snarls. 

You frown, “I am not upset. She needs the cart more than me.” 

“It isn’t that which sees me chagrined,” he growls. “It’s those deeds you will not admit of that traitor’s daughter which make me prickle.” 

You’re quiet. You look away, your eyes wandering up into the sky, watching the snow swirl down, following it down to the ground far below. The heaps are immaculate in the moonlight and the trim of white along the ridge gleams. 

“I am a maid.” 

“I know little of your summer people but if that is how they treat those who serve them, perhaps this alliance was not so wise,” he grumbles as he steps up beside you, “perhaps it would’ve been better to submit such cruel nobles.” 

“Sir,” you say, shocked and peer over at his profile. His beard has grown to meet his cloak, his hair coiling down to his shoulders. 

“I serve my king, as I ever will, but I will not bend the knees to a snake,” he hisses and crosses his arms. 

“We are united, aren’t we? Summer and Winter,” you reach to touch his thick hide mitt. 

“Aye, yes, I do not seek another battle,” he exhales. “I am only wary of those who may.” 

You squint. Your mind returns to Lord Dustan and what he said to his daughter. The heir is their prize, an affirmation of the bounty earned by their betrayal, but also a chain to that very act. To the man they forsook their name for. A man they speak as kindly on as they had their former allies. 

“Might I walk?” You draw your hand from his. “My legs are sore.” 

“Not too far. And keep your eyes open,” he girds, “and your hands in your cloak. You needn’t frostbite.” 

You nod and he turns to you. He pulls up the hood of your cloak and pats your shoulder. 

“Tarry too long and I’ll look for you,” he warns. 

“Sir,” you shift slowly and step past him. 

You trod higher up the incline as you marvel over the edge. Bodies huddles together beneath cloaks and blankets, nestling for warmth against the wall of the cliff. You carry on and stop near a luggage cart, close to the drop. You hold out your hand, letting snow gather in your palm. It is cold, bitterly and painfully cold, but so beautiful. You bring it closer and watch it slowly melt as your hand numbs. 

“Do you remember...” the king’s voice drawls over you as his soft steps approach. “What I told you of this place?” 

You look at him. He is lit by the moonlight, his golden eyes like stars, and his jaw is bristly with thickening stubble. You bow your head, “your highness, are the bears already asleep in their caves?” 

He chuckles, “you do recall,” he praises, “not yet, though they do not come this high.” 

“And the wolves? Are they near?” 

“They are always prowling,” he says, shifting closer, his arm pressing to yours. He bends slightly to peer straight down, “the elk will be in the forests.” He points to the snowcapped tips of the distant trees, “here, the vultures have their nests. Their eggs,” he curves his hands to show the size, “I made a writ, years ago. It is forbidden to eat the eggs. I always found it quite tragic to desecrate the majestic creatures before they can even be borne. Before they can fly even.” 

“Vultures? I’ve never seen one? They are... birds?” 

“Yes, birds,” he confirms.  

He is silent as he considers his kingdom below. His breath is gritty as it rises and falls. He has much to think on. A child, a wife, and his homecoming delayed by a storm. 

“One thing has changed here, in these lands of winter,” he says lowly and you feel a ripple in your cloak. He presses his hand firmly to your back, sliding it along your side to grasp your hip. He moves to stand behind you and brings you close. He wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on your crown, “I said before, there is no summer here,” he holds you, pulling his cloak around you, concealing you within it as he drapes himself around you, “summer is here. With me. Warm and gentle.” 

You go rigid as he holds you, your heart beating at the unexpected embrace, at the unseemly contact between you. He hums as he stands with you in the shadows of the cart, so brazenly covert. Anyone might happen upon you and yet they all hide away from the storm. 

“Your highness,” you stammer and quiver against him. 

“Treasure,” he purrs, “my treasure. The one good thing I’ve brought home...” 

You can’t breathe or think. Is he drunk? Confused? What does he mean? 

“I--” he begins but the kick of a rock quiets him, the stone bouncing off the cart’s wheel. 

A shadow stalks down the precipice towards you and the king detaches, uncovering you from his cloak. He faces the figure as the tramp up the incline. You hear the king shudder as he tickles your back. 

“There’s the mouse,” Bryce says as he comes into the moonlight, his brow and jaw set, though he doesn’t look at you. He looks at the king, almost defiant. “You shouldn't be out so long in the cold. Exposed,” he grits, “come, I’ve sparked us a fire.” 

King Geralt clears his throat, “thank you, sir.” 

“My king,” Bryce says as he beckons to you, “I will keep the maid safe. As you bid.” 

[mattyriddlesbitch]

okay okay… fem!reader x Sub!Theo where she makes him wear a collar. Like her dragging him by a collar towards her while she stands in front of him while he’s crawling on his knees… lord help me.

I hope this works!!!

Leash

Theodore Nott x F!Reader

Warnings: Oral(Female receiving), fingering, sub!Theo

18+ Minors DNI!

Theo was curious when you said you had something for him. He showed up to your dorm, closing the door behind him as he smiled at you.

“What's this thing you're talking about, cara mia?” He asked as he walked over to you.

“You trust me, right?” You asked sweetly, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck as you gave him a quick kiss.

“Of course.” He said, but eyed you curiously.

“Close your eyes then.” You smiled. He took a second before complying. You stripped down to your lingerie you had on and grabbed the collar and leash. You put the collar on him as he frowned at the feeling.

“What is this?” He asked, but kept his eyes closed.

“Oh, just a new accessory for my good boy.” You said sweetly as you adjusted the collar. “You're my good boy, right?” You asked as you touched his cheek.

“Yes.” He breathed out and you could see the bulge in his pants beginning to form.

“Good. Keep your eyes closed.” You said as you backed away as far as the leash would allow. “Open your eyes.” He did and he looked at the leash, touching the collar as he looked back at you in surprise. “On all fours.” He hesitated but did it. “Crawl to me.” Theo didn't hesitate this time, crawling towards you until he reached just in front of you. “You're so good. Such a good boy for me.” You praised. “Now, come make me feel good.” You said, sitting on the desk behind you and spreading your legs.

He eagerly filled that space and pulled your panties to the side to lick at your cunt. He moaned into you, only moaning louder once you put a hand in his hair, brushing it from his eyes.

“You're so good at this, baby. You always make me feel good.” You moaned.

He pushed his fingers in you, happily lapping at your clit, trying to make you cum. You tugged him closer by the leash, making him groan as he buried his head further into your cunt. Praises fell out of your mouth until he had you trembling and crying out his name as you came. He moaned into you as he helped you ride out your orgasm.

You were going to help him out when you noticed a wet patch on his pants.

“Did you cum?” You asked.

“Yeah.” He said, looking away embarrassed.

“That’s hot.”

Safe to say, he really loved the collar.

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @yourenogoodforme @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff @ireallyneed-somesleep @soaked4abby @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem

Let me know if you wanna be added!

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | eight

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: blood, injuries, description of injuries, self harm, bad familiar relationships, PTSD

Nimue and Azriel had bid farewell to everyone else before heading towards the Spring Court.

They had left early in the morning, winnowing themselves to the forest right in front of Tamlin's mansion. There, Nimue had magically bypassed any possible guards that the High Lord or his cousins had placed in the territory, and they waited among the trees, among the bushes.

Beside her, Azriel had shed the calm demeanor the princess had known the night before. Now, with all senses alert, he was the master spy of the Night Court. Nimue, hidden from view with a simple spell, couldn't help but watch as the Shadowsinger blended into the shadows of the trees, sometimes glimpsing only his eyes.

"What's the plan?" Azriel asked. They were waiting, not knowing for what.

"I'll go in, convince them you were torturing me, play dead, and when they least expect it, I'll kill my cousins and Jurian. But first, I'll find out their plans; I'm good at listening behind walls."

Azriel frowned.

He wanted to trust her, to put all his blind faith in her plan. In his right hand, he felt the promise tattoo they made last night pulsing.

"Okay. Keep me informed; every night I'll visit you to hear what you've discovered. Even if you don't see me, rest assured I'll always be there covering your back," Azriel raised a hand from among the shadows and touched Nimue, his hand on the female's muscular shoulder. He felt a shiver run down his spine and immense heat under the glove, the princess's body radiating a warmth so familiar that it made Azriel's bones melt.

Nimue looked at him and with a quick movement, pulled him towards her, a superhuman force making Azriel almost lose his balance. She held onto him, an embrace meant to crush bones that Azriel gladly reciprocated.

They stayed like that for a couple of seconds or a couple of minutes, they weren't sure, sheltered in each other's warmth, in the calmness of the bond between them.

"Thank you for trusting me, Azriel."

Get her out of here. She's in danger, she's scared. We can't let her go with those people.

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the warnings of his own shadows, and took a step back, letting go of the female. He stayed there, hidden among the foliage shadows, and under his watchful gaze, Nimue raised a hand on which appeared a knife made of light.

What was she going to...?

Nimue grasped the handle of the knife made of her own magic, and began with her arms: from her wrists to her elbows, she made small but deep cuts from which blood soon began to flow, dripping onto the forest floor.

When the smell of her blood reached his palate, Azriel felt like he was going to vomit. All his senses focused solely on that, on the dripping blood, on how the female was cutting her own flesh. Something inside him, deep within his being, stirred.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" before he was even aware, he had already taken a step forward, grabbing Nimue's hands and pulling them apart, his gloves staining with the red fluid.

"They have to believe that you've hurt me, that you've tortured me and I've escaped. I'll say you drugged me with faebane and that in one of your oversights I managed to flee."

Nimue freed herself from Azriel's grasp, and continued with the task, this time she stabbed herself in the same arm, staining her clothes with her own blood.

He felt his body starting to heal on its own, so with her magic she kept the wounds open and minimized the pain as much as possible to remain conscious even after losing so much blood. When she removed the knife from her thigh, she only felt a slight tingling.

Azriel felt like he was about to faint. All that blood, flowing in streams over Nimue's precious white skin, over the neat dress she wore and the undergrowth beneath her feet.

Nimue finally tore her clothes and made some final cuts on her face, and looked at Azriel.

Then she realized he was trembling, still as a statue and staring at her, his eyes wide. Around him, those shadows danced frantically from side to side, some bold enough to approach her and hover over her cuts.

"I'll be fine. Wish me luck, pretty face."

Azriel swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He had seen it all, dismembered soldiers and people torn apart. By the Mother, he had done worse things to many people.

But seeing her like this...

They exchanged one last look, and Nimue started walking away, leaving the shelter of the forest.

The sunlight blinded her and she had to squint. She had chosen the perfect moment, as she just saw her cousins cross the mansion door and start descending the stairs. Behind them, the hateful human and the High Lord.

She had to focus on the cuts, on keeping them open, on mitigating the pain. She limped, dragging her right leg, her shoes soaked with all the blood she was losing, and when she saw her cousins looking at her, she let herself fall to the ground.

She searched every small corner of her being, every bit of anger she had suppressed over the last month, and pulled and pulled. She pulled until she felt herself explode, and let herself go.

She began to cry loudly, pretending false relief, letting out sobs typical of someone truly escaping from torture. Although in reality, she was just going back to the torturers.

She feigned relief when her cousins ran towards her and crossed the distance separating them in record time. She feigned relief when she felt them kneel beside her, asking her questions, starting to heal her wounds with their magic. She feigned relief when, between sobs and fake complaints, she began to answer them.

"They tortured me," she said. She took a breath and let out another false sob, this time her gaze fixed on Tamlin and Lucien, who were approaching cautiously. "They drugged me with faebane and tortured me. They're monsters."

Her cousins comforted her and ran their hands over her body, covering the wounds with their hands and closing them with that black and rotten magic that gave Nimue chills.

They kept asking her things and she answered, with little detail and between sobs: they had skipped a dose of faebane and that's how she had managed to escape, they had asked her about the Cauldron and her father's army, they had hurt her so much...

Her cousins bought it the first time, trusting their little innocent cousin, the king's beloved jewel. What reasons would the little princess have to lie?

However, between tears, she could see that Jurian didn't quite believe her. It didn't matter; sooner or later, he would fall too. And if not, she would kill him before he opened his mouth.

When they had healed all her wounds and the tears subsided, her cousins lifted her from the grass and led her carefully into the mansion. The blind faith the twins had in her was impressive, for they had also learned to see her for what she was: the key that would lead them to win the war.

They crossed the gate of the house and reached the vestibule. Before the doors closed behind them, Nimue glanced back, towards the edges of the forest, and with some effort managed to spot him.

Azriel stood there, astonished, following every detail of the scene with his mouth open. It had been so, so easy. And Nimue was so, so good at pretending.

A small pang of suspicion made it hard for him to breathe, but he soon felt the warmth of the tattoo on his right hand, as a reminder that he should trust, that he should trust the princess.

He fixed his gaze on her, on the other side of that clearing and inside the mansion's vestibule, and even at all those meters away, Azriel glimpsed the small cruel and rotten smile that the princess directed at him.

Here Nimue's plan began. Like a slow-acting poison, she would ensure to indirectly harm her father so much that he would think twice about even looking in the direction of Prythian.

The doors finished closing, and she turned her gaze forward, to her cousins, to Tamlin and Jurian, who a few meters away from her were discussing something quietly. She looked around, at the beauty of the house that Feyre had described to her, which, although somewhat neglected, was still just as intoxicating, when she felt a presence behind him.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the tan skin, the reddish hair. She didn't bother to turn around, but Lucien spoke low enough for none of those present to hear but her:

"You're not going to fool me, little princess," he whispered in her ear. Nimue turned slightly to look the male in the eyes. Amazed, she met the mechanical golden orb, while the other eye looked at her with suspicion and scrutiny. "I know no one forced you to escape from Hybern, I know what they're like in the Night Court. The others might not have noticed it, but the disgusting smell of the Shadowsinger was suffocating at the edge of the forest."

Nimue looked at him, a silly smile on her face.

"I like you, Lucien," she whispered back. She turned her gaze forward again, still feeling the male's presence behind her. "But I don't know what you're talking about."

Lucien growled and took a step back.

Nimue couldn't wipe the smile off her face. This was going to be fun.

She had spent the day testing the waters, tempting fate with innocent questions, silently observing how the relationship between the Spring Court and Hybern's people worked. She excused herself from dinner early, and under the watchful gaze of everyone present, she left the huge dining room.

As soon as she was out of sight, she ran through the hallways she had memorized all afternoon. She knew which corners to turn and which corridors to navigate, and she reached the door of what was her new room. When she entered, she closed the huge wooden door and covered all the walls with her magical guards: nothing and no one could see, hear, or feel what happened inside.

She smelled Azriel's scent in the room above the touches of roses and fruits, but still didn't feel his presence. She kept looking and inspecting the room from top to bottom, absorbing every detail, when she saw something on her bed: the same candies that Feyre had offered her in the Night Court.

Nimue felt her body vibrating with joy, feeling seen and loved. That someone, anyone, had thought of her and had managed to get those candies there.

She took the first one and brought it to her mouth, immersed in that intoxicating sensation that eating something so delicious produced in her, and didn't realize that Azriel was there, among the shadows cast by the moonlight in the room.

He simply remained silent, watching her in the midst of that raid she was carrying out on the candies he had left there, so she wouldn't forget. So she wouldn't forget that her place was in Velaris, with them.

With us.

"I'm glad you liked the surprise."

Nimue wasn't even surprised. She just kept enjoying the candies, glancing over her shoulder at Azriel.

"I knew deep down in your heart you'd end up caring for me."

She turned completely towards him, mouth full of sweets, hands sticky, and Azriel could swear he would die right there.

How could he not care for her, when there was something inside him that melted every time he looked in her direction, when their skins brushed against each other?

"How has your day been? Are you alright, have they done anything to you?" Azriel's voice tinged with concern did not go unnoticed by Nimue, who, smiling at him again, dropped onto the bed. She patted the space next to her on the adorned quilt, but the Shadowsinger stood in front of her, looking down at her.

"They haven't done anything to me, don't worry. They wouldn't dare because they know what I'm capable of, and they've played their part well."

Azriel frantically searched for any marks of the wounds and blood he had seen on the princess's skin, but found that the only scars there were the usual ones, those covering the fingers of her hands and caused by all the hours training with weapons. He felt something inside him click again, his most primitive instinct to protect her relaxing when he saw her whole and unharmed.

"Good. I'll pass on everything you tell me to Rhysand, and if you need anything just ask."

Nimue bit her tongue. She needed something, but she wasn't going to ask for it out loud. She wasn't going to ask Azriel to stay there that night, next to her. She wasn't going to tell him that being back with her psychopathic cousins had stirred something inside her, that putting on that mask of the evil princess had brought her back to her former life, where her stay in Velaris would have been nothing but a fever dream.

They looked at each other, in silence, and it seemed that Azriel understood what Nimue wanted to say, even without her uttering a word. He held her hands, which he hadn't let go of all that time, and knelt in front of the princess.

"I'll stay guard while you sleep," he whispered. Nimue swallowed the lump forming in her throat and prayed to the Cauldron not to start crying at that moment. "I'll make sure nothing happens and you won't be alone. You rest."

Nimue nodded and quickly got into bed under Azriel's watchful gaze, and as she drifted off to sleep, she whispered to him:

"In a couple of days, we'll be back in Velaris, and I'll make sure you show me the best bakeries in the city."

Azriel smiled tenderly, watching as Nimue drifted off to sleep, and stood guard until the sun was high in the sky.

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @saltedcoffeescotch @krowiathemythologynerd @donttellthecats @annblvd @annamariereads16 @crazylokonugget @smoooothoperator @superspideyparker @bookwormysblog

[in-amess]

what happened to just messing around? pt.2

paige bueckers x oc

-

“You hate pomegranates?”

“I like peaches.”

“Wasn't my question, but I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Hailey snaps her head towards Paige, trying to find out what she meant by ‘next time’. She brushes it off as a figure of speech.

Paige remains unaware of Hailey’s stare and continues to play with the cat in her lap, petting its head gently, and Hailey bites back a smile at the sight.

Hailey ignores the way Paige’s scent is starting to stain her sheets. She ignores how their time spent together is past the limit of their initial agreement. She ignores how Paige is still in her room, and brushes off the fact that it's a weekday when they agreed to meet only on weekends.

“You're staring.”

And that snaps Hailey out of her trance, “I was simply wondering why you’ve been smiling much.”

“I’m feeling happy today.”

“Because of me?” Hailey teases.

Paige doesn't say anything, but the way her eyes soften gives Hailey the answer.

“Would you like anything for breakfast?” Paige stands up and opens her cupboards, “I can cook pancakes, eggs and bacon if you’d like.”

Hailey bites her bottom lip, she knows she shouldn't stay. This is getting too intimate. Maybe she’s just overthinking. Maybe this is Paige’s farewell before she ghosts her for Lord knows how long.

“I may have to decline your offer, unfortunately.” Paige’s cat, Koi, paws its way to Hailey and begins rubbing on her shins, “Wouldn't wanna take up more of your time. I really appreciate it, though.”

Paige’s eyes soften and she breathes out a sigh, “Alright. I’ll walk you out?”

“Yeah.”

Hailey gathers her belongings and begins walking out with Paige trailing behind her.

“I’ll see you this weekend?”

“You have my number.” Paige smiles, “You took the bus?” she asks, looking over Hailey’s shoulder, searching for her car.

“I walked.”

Paige hums, “Wait here.” she goes back inside, leaving Hailey standing at her porch. Hailey twiddles with the string of her joggers. She raises her head up when she hears the jingle of keys.

“Paige, you don't have to.” Hailey says, even though she knows she’s not getting her way as hard as she tries.

“Not taking no for an answer!” Paige connects their hands and looks at Hailey with a glint in her eyes. Paige opens the passenger car door for Hailey. Hailey tucks her hair behind her ear, trying to hide the small smile forming on her lips.

Once in her seat, Paige hands Hailey her phone open on Spotify, indicating for her to choose a song.

Hailey skims through Paige’s playlists and chooses “Me & You Together Song” by The 1975.

The car ride concluded with a lot of singing and discussing the new Taylor Swift album. Paige was never a big fan of Taylor Swift, but Hailey got her into many of her songs. Paige's favourite album being 1989.

“Stay seated.” Paige tells her. Hailey watches Paige go around the car to open the car door for her with that stupid smile on her face.

“Milady,” Paige bows and Hailey can't help but slightly shove her.

“Such a gentleman.”

Paige winks at her and follows Hailey to her door. Paige puts her hands in her pockets, not knowing where else to put them. She thought about resting them on Hailey's waist but wasn't sure what her reaction would be so she went with the safer option.

Paige stops at her porch, her confident demeanor gone and all Hailey sees is a timid girl, unsure of what's to happen next.

“Thank you for giving me a ride home.”

“Anytime, Hailey. I'll see you next weekend?”

“Yeah.”

Paige gives her a small smile and slowly turns to leave. Hailey, in the moment, reaches for Paige's hand, squeezing, causing Paige to turn her head.

Hailey leans in, kissing Paige on the corner of her lips. Paige remains frozen in her spot, afraid the moment will end when she moves.

Hailey leans away, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, “Bye.” and she swiftly closes the door, leaving Paige agape on her doorstep.

Legend says, Paige is still frozen.

[king-bumis-armpit]

The Wedding Weaver

Written for Maiko Week 2024 - Wedding

Summary:

The master matchmaker and self-proclaimed Wedding Weaver is going to be in Ba Sing Se for the first annual Peace Extravaganza hosted by Avatar Aang. Inspired by his message of love and unity, she will be offering a discount on her services for the week of the festival! Find your peace and harmony with your perfect other half…

Mai and Zuko are brought together by forces beyond their control.

Author's Note:

This is admittedly a big stretch of the prompt. After I wrote this, I saw that “matchmaker” was actually a prompt back in 2022! I didn’t have the desire to write back then, but I’m a long time reader of Maiko fics. If you’ve written one, I have probably read it multiple times and I love you <3 That being said, this is my first foray into writing so please be kind ^^

Also, I should mention this is probably not an accurate portrayal of matchmakers and it is certainly not meant to be a representation of any cultures that have historically utilized matchmaking. It’s just a silly idea I had and I wanted to write.

The Wedding Weaver

The master matchmaker and self-proclaimed Wedding Weaver is going to be in Ba Sing Se for the first annual Peace Extravaganza hosted by Avatar Aang. Inspired by his message of love and unity, she will be offering a discount on her services for the week of the festival! Find your peace and harmony with your perfect other half…

Mai looked at the paper with disdain. “Why exactly are you showing me this, Mother?”

Michi sternly met her daughter’s gaze. “You have been moping about this house for far too long. I was engaged by the time I was your age!”

“Look how well that turned out.”

“Young lady!” Michi seemed to be about to launch into a tirade, but for some reason she held back and sighed. “You know we are traveling into the city for the festival. I thought perhaps it would give you something to do, since you are always bored.” 

Mai’s Aunt Mura landed a very lucrative business deal with a guild of artisans. She would be providing florals and arranging the decorations for their stalls during the festival. Merchants from all over the Fire Nation, and doubtless the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes as well, were traveling to Ba Sing Se for the event. The set up process would be intense and Mai and Michi both were planning to help. But once the festival was underway, the two of them could step back and enjoy a peaceful vacation. Mai was planning on taking Tom Tom to the zoo that Aang helped build, buying Earth Kingdom daggers, and getting a cup of tea at the Jasmine Dragon (at a time when she knew Zuko would be in a meeting of course). Meeting with a Matchmaker and possibly having to entertain a stranger was not on the top of her to do list.

“No thank you.” Mai replied curtly.

Michi sighed, “I was afraid you'd say that, but it's too late. Your aunt and I already signed you up.”

Mai expected this kind of treachery from her mother, but not her aunt. “What on earth were you thinking? Why would auntie do that to me?”

“I was thinking that you needed to get out of the house. And Mura agrees. You’ve been more despondent than normal. All we want for you, Mai, is to be happy.”

Mai shook her head. She could probably get out of it if she really wanted to, but when her mother put it that way it sounded depressing. Maybe she should give it a try. What's the worst that could happen?

— — 

“Is that all for the agenda?” Zuko was in a hurry to get out of there. His combined meetings with the Fire Sages and his Royal Advisors always seemed to drag on. It felt like they were all ganging up against him. No wonder all of his ancestors were so cranky.

“Actually my Lord, there is one more item we wish to address with you. As you well know, there have been two assassination attempts on your life in the past four months. Furthermore, you are in the precarious position of lacking in heir,” an elder Fire Sage began. 

Zuko did not like the sound of this. “What of it?”

“Well your majesty,” one of his advisors continued, “we were hoping that you might start to make some progress in that department.”

“Surely you're not suggesting that I go out and have a child tonight.”

“Not at all. Not at all. But perhaps you could enter another courtship?” the Advisor replied.

Zuko stiffened. He knew that he shouldn't still be so hung up on her. It’s been months since our breakup, and she has a boyfriend. Kei Lo. May he suffer the torment of Agni’s eternal flame.

Oh Mai. She’s so beautiful, and lethal, and witty, and she’s always bored but never boring. 

“My Lord?” The spell was broken.

“How about I name Kiyi my successor and we all call it a day?” 

“That is a… fair enough solution in case of an emergency. But consider what the burden would be like for her if she were to ascend. A significant number of the people are struggling to accept you as they're rightful ruler, but she does not even have Royal blood. What do you think would be her reception?” Shiu- the Great Sage- prodded him gently.

Zuko bit his lip. He hadn't thought of that. “I don't know what you want me to do. Being the head of state doesn't give me much free time to go around meeting young women.”

“We believe we have a solution,” The advisor who spoke passed him a paper. It appeared to be an advertisement of some sort.

“You want me to see a matchmaker?”

— — 

Mai hated to admit it, but she was nervous. After the festivities had begun, the vendors assured Mura that they didn't need any additional help for the day. Consequently, Mai had nothing to do while waiting for her appointment with the Wedding Weaver except imagine worst case scenarios. What if she asks me a bunch of weird personal questions? What if she tries to set me up with a creepy old guy? What if her office is all pink and lovey-dovey?

In reality, the Weaver’s office was relatively large and open. The walls were green, and the furniture seemed to all be locally made. At the back of the room privacy screens prevented her from seeing the countless filing cabinets of her clients’ information. In the center of the room was a large desk, but instead of thin wooden chairs, on either side there were great comfy recliners. Mai sat in one, the matchmaker the other. Mai's mother, Aunt, and little brother had all accompanied her and sat on a couch behind her. Against the wall was a large standing loom, with a project clearly in-progress. It seemed the Weaver had chosen that moniker for a reason.

The Wedding Weaver herself was a petite woman. Her snowy hair was held in a tight chignon and her eyes sparkled with something that Mai didn’t entirely trust. “Don't be nervous dear,” the Weaver said while pouring some tea. She passed Mai a cup which she accepted gratefully. “Now, tell me about your ideal husband.”

“Umm… That’s a bit broad, don't you think?”

The older woman laughed. “Let me help you out. Do you have a preference for if he's Fire Nation or not? Do you want him to be a bender? Do you have occupational preferences? What values do you most look for in a partner?”

Surprisingly, Tom Tom spoke up first. “He has to live nearby. Mai can't move away.” The boy toddled from the couch and up into his sister’s lap. She accepted him without question. The pout on his face was very convincing, but even if it wasn't, Mai agreed. Best to limit the results to her own country. What if she actually liked the guy?

“Yes. Fire Nation. I don't really care if he's a bender. But if you do choose a bender, I want him to have conventional weapons training as well.”

The matchmaker raised her eyebrows. “Do you get into a lot of fights?”

Mai smirked. “Not so much anymore. But a lot of benders can be sort of pretentious to non-benders like myself. I'm trained with knives, you see.” Mai pulled one from her sleeve to prove her point, as Tom Tom looked on in awe. That was something she loved about Zuko. He thought her deadly precision was just as magical as making fire appear. They would train together for hours, each taking turns to watch the other in admiration and desire… Mai mentally kicked herself. This was NOT about him. It was about her. 

Her mother spoke next. “Mai comes from a noble lineage. We would prefer someone with a title or a respectable job in the service of the Fire Nation.” The Weaver noted that Mai shifted uncomfortably at this. Curious, she thought. Perhaps the girl is self-conscious around higher nobility. The Weaver dismissed it as a non-issue. She is dignified and reserved, she would fit right in.

The matchmaker smiled. “Yes of course. Many such men are in town for the festival, and quite a few have booked with me. That shouldn't be so hard.” She thought about her next appointment with anticipation. That woman has no idea how impressive my clients are.

Mai spoke once again. “When it comes to values, I don't know how to classify this but I want someone who treats me like an equal. Someone who is trustworthy and is willing to share their heaviest burdens with me.” 

She blushed at this confession, but the matchmaker did not know why. Surely anyone would want such a dedicated girlfriend?

“What about physicality? Any preferences with regards to appearance?”

Mai thought for a minute. “I don't have strong feelings about that really.”

Mura objected. “Oh no! Find our girl someone handsome!”

The Weaver laughed. “I think that can be arranged.” She had taken diligent notes throughout the meeting, and it seemed she already had a few names in mind.

She had Mai fill out a parchment questionnaire before leaving so she would have some additional personal info and more detailed preferences, but the Weaver liked to start by getting a sense of the person through conversation. She found it produced a much more accurate tapestry of a person’s desires. 

— — 

Mai’s family left late in the afternoon, as they had claimed the last spot on her schedule. However, today she had accepted a special request for an out-of-hours appointment from the Fire Lord himself. He, naturally, had diplomatic appointments throughout the commencement of the Peace Extravaganza. But beyond that he required the utmost discretion.

He did not arrive in her office until the sun was setting, but she did not mind in the slightest. He was her most important customer to date, and she was determined to find him a good match. When he walked in, he was accompanied by two older men: one of his advisors and one of the Fire Sages. She bowed to him in the Fire Nation custom as they all took their seats. She thought about offering tea, but remembered that his uncle was the best tea maker in the city and decided against it. Her brew surely could not compare.

She began in her usual way: “Don't be shy. Tell me about your ideal wife.”

“Oh! Uh…” Zuko was at a loss for what to say. His traitorous thoughts ran rampant: Her name is Mai. She lived across the street. She works for her aunt in a flower shop. She kissed me when I was thirteen and my life has never been the same.

The Matchmaker smiled warmly. Her clients weren't so chatty today. “That's okay, dear. Does she need to be Fire Nation? Do you want her to be a bender? Are there requirements for being the Fire Lady? What values do you most look for in a partner?”

Zuko took a breath and tried to remember all her questions. Maybe it was because of his mother’s theater background, but whenever he was nervous, he found it helpful to put on a persona. I’m not Zuko, I’m the dragon emperor and I am looking for a bride. He put on his best royal voice and began, “I think it would be best if she was from the Fire Nation. If she is to be my wife, then she will be their ruler someday. And a ruler should be well acquainted with her people. In that vein, a good education is also important. I want someone who can help me make decisions and be my true equal. I don't want her to feel imposed upon because of my station.” Zuko almost choked up during that statement. He couldn't stop thinking about Mai and all of the ways he failed her. He desperately wanted to be anywhere but there. 

The matchmaker’s eyes darted to the forms on her desk. She shuffled through until she found what she was looking for. The Royal Fire Academy for Girls, eh? The matchmaker knew she was entering dangerous territory. It was always tempting to pair up clients who had sessions back to back. But she’d learned well enough from the Kangaroo Island Incident that this was not always wise. 

“A fire bender would be strongly preferred,” the Fire Sage cut in.

Zuko's response was immediate and involuntary. “No!” Everyone looked at him, and he scrambled to regain his composure. “I mean… a fire bender would be fine but I don't have strong preferences in that regard.” 

The Weaver’s eyes twinkled with mischief. He probably wanted a young lady who he could impress with his bending. She’d met many a man like that in her day, and some of them were quite impressive indeed. The gloomy girl wasn’t a bender, but she would still be hard to impress. Perhaps that is what he needs.

She pursed her lips: “Are you trained in any martial arts other than bending?”

Zuko was surprised by the question. “I trained with Master Piandao in dual dao swords.” For some reason, this answer seemed to please the Weaver greatly.

“Don't forget, Fire Lord Zuko, your prime directive in this union is to produce an heir. And it would be most beneficial for the nation if that child was a firebender,” his advisor at last spoke up.

Zuko responded icily: “I do not care if my child is a firebender or not. And for your sake, you had better not care either.” 

The Weaver recalled how the knife girl had cradled her brother in her arms.The pair would be good parents. Perhaps a tad over-protective, but a little prince or princess would require a greater level of care.

The Fire Lord continued speaking, “But since you reminded me that your rush for an heir was spurred on by multiple assassination attempts, I would like a woman who knows at least basic self-defense. My guards can only do so much. It would ease my mind if she could protect herself.”

The Matchmaker nodded in agreement. Truly this job was getting too easy. “Do you have any preferences on how she should look?”

Zuko blanched, and instinctively reached up to touch his scar. “I really don't think I have any room for judgment.”

The Matchmaker tsked. “Nonsense. You are quite handsome, and everyone is attracted to different traits. Is there anything- a certain eye color or hair style- that you find particularly compelling?”

Before he could stop himself, Zuko answered, “Long hair. Straight. And silky smooth.”

The Matchmaker smiled. This time was nothing like Kangaroo Island. The two were obviously meant to be. “How do you feel about bangs?”

“I think they're really cute,” he said with a small voice.

The Matchmaker handed him his exit paperwork, and leaned back in her seat. She couldn't believe her luck! Those two kids are perfect for each other. And to think they wouldn't meet if it weren't for her planning their date. She was confident there would be a wedding within the year.

— — 

“You’re kidding!” Ty Lee squealed. “You’re really going on a date!”

“Yeah.”

“And it was set up by the most famous matchmaker in the world?”

“I guess so.”

“Do you think he’ll be handsome? Or rich? Oh! What if he’s like Earth Kingdom royalty or something?”

Mai sighed, “Honestly, Ty Lee, don’t you think I’ve had enough of handsome, rich royalty?”

Ty Lee had the decency to look ashamed. “Oh yeah. I guess I still kind of think of Zuko as our childhood friend. It’s hard to believe he was my boss. Even when I was guarding his life, he still just seemed like Zuko.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, why did Zuko send you all away?” About four months ago, Zuko had seemingly out-of-nowhere decided to send the Kyoshi Warriors home. Against her reasonable judgment, Mai took the action personally. Not only did she employ them in the first place, but she had become good friends with Suki and the other girls. She often met up with them for lunch, shopping, sparring, and passing the time in general. 

Ty Lee rustled at her wording. “We were honorably discharged, thank you very much. The opposition to his reign was calming down and so I think he wanted his guard to be all Fire Nation again. There was some pretty nasty talk about us being a foreign militia in the palace, but I don’t know if that affected his decision.”

Mai nodded. She knew firsthand how brutal Fire Nation court gossip could get, but she hoped that wasn’t impacting Zuko’s security decisions.

“Anyway, don’t think you can get out of this date talk by bringing up your ex boyfriend.”

Mai shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I won’t meet him until tomorrow.” It had been less than twenty-four hours since her appointment with the Wedding Weaver and Mai had already received a missive notifying her that a match had been made and the date was going to take place the following evening. The message arrived during her lunch with Ty Lee, squashing any hopes of keeping the rendezvous secret from her friend. 

“Can I see the note?” Ty Lee asked, and Mai dutifully handed it over. She read aloud, “‘To the lady Mai, the Wedding Weaver is pleased to inform you that she has followed your string of fate and found your perfect match. As your lives twine together, never forget your dear old matchmaker.’” The note then detailed where and when they were supposed to meet, as well as the level of dress. The Weaver suggested semi-formal attire, which felt a bit pretentious to Mai. “‘P.S. The person you are seeing is of very high rank, and so you must be discreet with the information about your meeting.’ Oops!”

Mai smirked, “Oh c’mon. He’s probably lower level nobility with a big head! And besides, discretion wouldn’t stop me from telling you.” Embarrassment would, but never discretion. 

Ty Lee laughed. “What if it’s King Kuei or one of his relatives? Oh! Or someone related to Chief Arnook! You could tell people you dated multiple world leaders!”

Mai let out a rare chuckle. “That would be pretty epic. But I told her to keep it Fire Nation. Long distance seems so boring.”

“Yeah, I seem to recall that not touching for two seconds was long distance for you and Zuko back in the day,” Ty Lee joked.

Mai tried to act offended. “Hey! We were deprived of affection in childhood. We had to make up for lost time.”

“And you certainly did,” Ty Lee quipped back and Mai rolled her eyes.

Ty Lee resumed her question barrage. “So what are you wearing? And what are you doing for make up? Do you wanna try out a new hairstyle? I’ve had a lot of practice with the girls.”

“Who appointed you as my stylist?”

“I appointed myself! Please, it’ll be so fun!”

They spent the rest of the day trying out various outfits in the market and testing make up and hair at Mai’s hotel. Ty Lee insisted she do something different with her hair, but in exchange Mai was able to get her to agree to a dress that wasn’t pink. In the past Mai might have complained about the cringiness of it all, but after four months of missing her best friend– and going even longer without an excuse to get dressed up– she found herself having fun. When she went to sleep that night, she decided that however the date went the next day, it was already worth it. 

— —

On the third day of the Peace Extravaganza, Zuko rose with the sun as always and made his way to the Earth King’s palace courtyard to practice his fire bending katas. To his surprise, Aang was there as well.

“Good morning Sifu Hotman!” he said cheerfully. Zuko smiled and nodded in acknowledgement.

Normally he would protest at the nickname, but he had hardly spent any time with Aang this week because of the various meetings and peace ceremonies. He hoped he could catch up with everyone once the schedule slowed down.

“Want to go through your fire forms with your old teacher?”

“Always!”

By the time they finished, it was still too early for most of the palace to be awake. But Zuko managed to flag down a servant to bring them some breakfast in the courtyard. 

“So what’s on your schedule today, your royal fieriness?” Aang asked.

Zuko sighed. “The usual, you know what it’s like. I have a meeting with Earth Kingdom’s office of veteran affairs to trade strategies for dealing with the reintegration of troops into civilian life. Then King Kuei and I are attending the opening of Ba Sing Se University’s exchange student program. After that, he and I are set to have lunch. And then it’s on to a panel discussion with the Water Tribe officials about navigation treaties. And after that we have rehearsal for the Ceremony for Perpetual Peace on the last day.”

“Wow! That’s more than me and I’m the event organizer! Do you think you could have dinner with us after the rehearsal?” Aang looked at him hopefully. 

“I wish I could but–” Zuko hesitated, “promise you won’t make fun of me for what I’m about to say?”

“Okay?” Well that wasn’t much of a promise, but Zuko figured it was the best he was going to get. 

“My advisors bullied me into seeing a matchmaker. The Wedding Weeder or something like that.”

“The Wedding Weaver!” Aang exclaimed. “She’s really famous over here. She boasts a 95% success rate. Excluding the Kangaroo Island incident of course.

“Well I’d never heard of her. But I met with her a couple of days ago and she said she already found my perfect match. She arranged for us to get dinner tonight.”

“TONIGHT?!” Aang yelled, startling a pair of passing servants. 

“Hush up!” Zuko hissed. “No one knows yet except Uncle and my council.”

“But what about Mai?” Aang asked. In the months after the war, he and Mai had become fast friends to everyone’s surprise. Retrospectively, it kind of made sense to Zuko. Aang was a lot like Ty Lee, and being the avatar meant that his life was far from boring. And despite his “upbeat attitude,” he was very accepting of “gloomy” people. It took Katara a little bit longer to warm up to Mai, but not by much. Ever since Mai broke up with him, Aang has been encouraging him to try to fix things.  

“She’s still with Kei Lo as far as I know. The last time I saw him, he told me to back off and Mai took his side. I think it’s over.”

Aang was visibly disappointed by this, and Zuko added uncomfortably, “You said this matchmaker was really good, right? I’m sure whoever she sets me up with will be… lovely.”

Aang seemed to realize he was affecting Zuko. “Oh! I’m sure she will! But don’t you think it’s a bit dishonest to try to date someone else while you still have feelings for your ex? Isn’t that like cheating?”

Zuko thought about Aang’s words. “I… I don’t know. But I don’t really have a choice. I have a bunch of old guys breathing down my throat to have a kid. I have to start somewhere.” 

Aang gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. That’s rough, buddy.”

— —

Zuko took a deep breath and began to ascend the stairs. The Weaver had reserved an entire rooftop balcony for them. He wondered what his date was thinking about all of this. The matchmaker had not revealed his identity, but had apparently told her that he was an important official who required privacy. What if she’s angry that I didn’t tell her my identity first? Mai had always hated surprises. Spirits, she was beautiful when she despised things.

Uncle had given him a gift basket with an assortment of tea leaves and several coupons for the Jasmine Dragon. He assured Zuko that if his date was caught off-guard, the smell of the tea leaves would calm her. Zuko wasn’t sure if he believed that, but he trusted that uncle knew better than him, so he figured he should probably lead with the gift. When reached the door to the balcony, he rearranged the items of the gift basket one last time.

As he stepped on the terrace, he caught sight of a female figure. She was standing at the edge of the balcony, looking out over the city with her back turned. She had long black hair that she wore loose, and for a moment he almost tricked himself into thinking it was Mai. Maybe bringing up the hair was a mistake.

“Hello–”

She spun around, knives in hand. Agni, it was Mai!

“Zuko, what the fuck? How did you find out about my date?”

Zuko gaped at her, “I– I didn’t. This is supposed to be my date.”

Mai took in the gift-basket and his gelled hair. No doubt both courtesy of his uncle.

She buried her face in her hands and her shoulders began to shake. Zuko felt his heart fall into his stomach. He dropped the basket and ran to her side. “Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean–”

She let out a snort. He pried her hands away from her face to see she was… laughing. She giggled and chortled and it was honestly a bit disconcerting at first. He had never seen her so unrestrained. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She apologized breathlessly through her mirth. She finally composed herself enough to be coherent. “I just can’t believe I traveled to the other side of the world to be set up on a date with you!” 

Zuko glowered and dropped her hands. “I could say the exact same thing!”

Mai suddenly became serious, “ I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that I was finally trying to move on and here you are.”

Zuko couldn’t believe this. “Again, I could say the same! No! I should be the only one saying that. You broke up with me. And you’re dating Kei Lo. Why are you even here? What do you mean ‘move on’?”

Mai crossed her arms. “For your information, Kei Lo broke up with me because I couldn’t let go of you.” Zuko felt a fluttering in his ribcage, but she didn’t stop there, “And I tried to be a good girlfriend, but you weren’t interested in my support. You would rather keep all your emotions locked away in your chest.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk–”

“Hey! I’ve been doing better and you know it.” 

He supposed that was true. After all, she was expressing herself with gusto today. He remembered Uncle’s calming tea and retrieved the basket. Luckily, it had landed right side up.

He walked back to Mai and extended it to her. No use in letting it go to waste. “For you.”

Mai looked like she was about to make another cutting remark, but then she noticed the contents. “Is this from Iroh?” He nodded and she accepted the basket. She picked up a sachet of spiced oolong and inhaled. “This always was my favorite. Thank you.” She hesitated, “Are you sure you don’t want to save this nice array for the next girl?”

Zuko huffed. “What next girl?” 

He looked around the balcony for the first time, as if he thought some beautiful woman would emerge and save him from this awkwardness. There was a table piled high with food that was rapidly growing cold, and two chairs. Mai was glad she pilfered some dumplings before he arrived. Ty Lee made her spend hours getting ready and so she was starving. And now Zuko was probably going to kick her out before she got dinner.

Mai shrugged. “I don’t know. Whoever the Weaver sends you after me?”

“I didn’t actually see her of my own free will. It’s kind of a long story. Would you like to sit?” He gestured to the table. He pulled out her chair for her. Mai raised an eyebrow, but she set her basked to the side and accepted the gesture nonetheless. He sat across from her.

“So, start talking.” Mai quickly piled food onto her plate. If Zuko actually had a long story, she could finally eat.

“My advisors are concerned that I don’t have an heir. I currently have Kiyi listed, but… if something happens I don’t know if the people will accept her.”

Mai felt a chill run up her spine. “Zuko, you’re talking as though you’re going to croak any minute. Ty Lee told me that the situation was stabilizing and that was why you sent the Kyoshi warriors back to their island.”

Zuko took a bite of a steamed bun and refused to meet her gaze. Mai glared at him until he spoke, “The situation is stabilizing, but it will never be fully secure until the Fire Nation can operate independently. I heard some of the girls talking outside my office one day. They were feeling homesick. It was always meant to be a temporary post, and I didn’t want to force them to stay if they were unhappy. Anyway, Suki and Ty Lee had been personally training the replacement guards for some time anyway. So I ended their contract. And I gave them generous severance by the way.”

“Maybe independence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Have there been more assassination attempts since they left?” Just like Mai to cut to the chase. For some reason, it made Zuko want to smile despite the serious topic.

“There have been two in the last four months. But the guards are improving, truly. I would not put my family in their care if I didn’t trust them.”

Mai nodded. “All the same, you would tell someone, right? If you were concerned.”

Zuko blinked in surprise. “Who would I tell?”

Mai wanted to flip the table. Instead she took a breath. Pretend you’re explaining a really difficult concept to Tom Tom. “You could tell Aang, or Katara, or Toph, or Sokka, or Suki, or Ty Lee. You know, any of your friends,” she deadpanned. 

Zuko smiled, but it was bittersweet. “I’m trying to be better about reaching out. I acknowledge that in the past I haven’t been the best about that. But there are certain things that our friends can’t help me with. They all have their own responsibilities far away from Caldera City. This is something I need to figure out as the Fire Lord.”

Mai felt her heart twist. He didn’t hesitate to include her: ‘our friends.’ She forced herself to speak before she lost her nerve. “You could talk to me. I know things are awkward between us right now, but you’re one of my only childhood friends. I still care about you, Zuko. And I’m not volunteering to be your personal bodyguard or anything, but I don’t mind helping you vet the new recruits or spending some afternoons at the palace to help out.”

“That would be great!” Zuko accepted her offer without hesitation. He would always take whatever she was willing to give him. But then he remembered something she had said earlier. “Only if you’re sure that won’t interfere with your attempt to get over me. I don’t want to stand in the way of your happiness.”

Mai narrowed her eyes, trying to determine if he was making fun of her. And then she remembered what she said only moments ago in the heat of their argument. She felt her cheeks get hot. “Oh! That was… a bit of an over-exaggeration. I didn’t really want to see the matchmaker either. My mom and aunt were pressuring me, and then Ty Lee got on board. I guess their enthusiasm rubbed off on me more than I realized.”

Zuko smirked, “Yeah, you’re so easy to enthuse.” 

Mai rolled her eyes and threw a dumpling at him. He had the good sense to duck and he came up laughing. 

“So,” he began. “If you wanna hear about my problems, maybe we could start with this festival.”

Mai nodded, “You can tell me all about it until this table is empty.”

Zuko chuckled and quickly launched into complaints about his overbooked schedule and his ridiculous advisors. Mai listened intently, and, in turn, she regaled him with the trials and tribulations of the floral industry. When they finally parted, Yue was well into her nightly journey. Mai rejected Zuko’s offer of a personal escort home, but he insisted she take at least one of his guards. “I know you don’t need the protection, but I can’t have the restaurant owner think I’m an inconsiderate date.” As the pair disappeared into the city streets, Zuko couldn’t help smiling. Maybe Mai didn’t reciprocate his feelings, but she was miraculously his friend again and that was enough. He ought to send the Wedding Weaver a generous tip.

Later, as Mai slid into bed, she thought about her conversation with Zuko. He was so much more open now compared to when they broke up. Had she overreacted in ending things with him? Was it… possible that he was still willing to try again? She didn’t have satisfactory answers to these questions yet, but she had gotten one of her best friends back. That had to count for something.

— — 

The First Annual Peace Extravaganza went on smoothly and historic treaties were agreed upon by the remaining three nations. However, nothing that happened was quite as historic as the Third Annual Peace Extravaganza, where the Fire Lord announced his engagement to his long-term girlfriend, Lady Mai. He shocked the world by declaring that their wedding would take place on the summer solstice, just three months away.

There was some talk about whether or not the two would be suitable rulers. In their not-so distant youth, the couple was said to have a tumultuous on-again and off-again affair. But she had been his steadfast companion for the past two years, and the royal council was happy to simply have the promise of a stronger bloodline. 

The Wedding Weaver smiled when she heard the news. Since that fateful day, she learned that she was not the reason for the royal couple’s first meeting. By the time they reached her door, their life lines had long since been plied together into a single thread. She took up her place at her loom and began to weave.

— — 

For Mai and Zuko, the time between their engagement and their wedding day passed in a blur. On top of their usual responsibilities of keeping a country running, they had to plan what was shaping up to be the largest party of the century. The festivities would take several days. 

The first day was their traditional betrothal ceremony, made awkward by the conspicuous absence of their fathers. The awkwardness only grew. Mai’s uncle, the Warden of the Boiling Rock, had offered to take the place of her father, and kept threatening to revoke his approval, making Zuko promise and swear repeatedly on all the Spirits that he would never hurt Mai emotionally or physically. Uncle Iroh, who had taken the place of Zuko’s own father, found the situation quite amusing. Iroh and Mai had to hold back their laughter and the Warden made Zuko get on his knees and repeat his vows.

The second day was the wedding ceremony itself and Mai’s coronation. Zuko would always remember how beautiful Mai looked in the traditional robes. To the crowd’s– and Zuko’s– surprise, Mai openly cried tears of joy as she said her vows. She accepted her position as Fire Lady earnestly, and even the Sages were pleased. The entire Nation celebrated that night, while Mai and Zuko slipped away to celebrate privately.

The third day was reserved entirely for opening gifts from whoever the council deemed noteworthy. King Kuei had gifted them a large and rather unsightly bear statue that Mai decided could live in one of the many basement sitting rooms. Chief Arnook presented them with heavy duty and finely embroidered Water Tribe tunics for their next visit. Zuko was grateful but slightly disappointed. (On their previous trips to the North, Mai had clung to his side like a burr, seeking his inner fire. Now she would likely burrow into her heavy robes instead.) Chief Hakoda, at his children’s recommendation, gave them matching whale tooth knives. These were privately both Mai and Zuko’s favorite gift of the celebration. 

Yet even after this event, they were left with an entire storeroom of gifts from citizens and well-wishers that would have to be dealt with eventually, which is where Mai and Zuko found themselves that evening. 

“I don’t even know where to start with all of this,” Zuko sighed. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but it’s not like we’re lacking. I wish people would save their money.”

Mai wrapped her arms around her husband. The festivities were making her much more sentimental than usual. “I agree, but think about it this way: they gifted us these things because they appreciate what you’ve done as their leader. It’s all well-deserved.”

Zuko smiled and returned her embrace, “They’re your gifts too. The people are excited to have a Fire Lady again, and I’m so grateful that it’s you. I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else.”

Mai smiled and kissed him on the cheek, but she broke away from his hold after that. She wanted to make her way through at least some of this stuff before they left for their honeymoon after a few more days of public festivities. Everything had already been inspected for security purposes and the servants had created a separate section for gifts from people that they may have known personally. Mai made her way there, thinking it would be a good place to begin. Zuko followed and picked up a wrapped parcel with a familiar seal.

“No way,” he said, chuckling. “Mai, this is from our matchmaker!”

“Really?” she leaned into his side to read the attached note.

Dearest Fire Lord and Fire Lady,

From the moment I met the both of you, I could sense that you were destined to be a match. The string of fate between you is strong! By chance, I met you on the same day, and when the young Fire Lord spoke, it felt like he was describing you, Mai dear. It would be months before I learned that was perhaps truer than I could have guessed. Even though I did not bring you two together for the first time, I hope that the two of you are bound to stay. Please accept this token of my congratulations.

The Wedding Weaver

P.S. Zuko darling, thank you for the generous donations to my business.

Mai raised an eyebrow at ‘Zuko darling’. “You’ve been sending her money?”

“Well she got you back with me,” he replied. “I don’t regret a single copper piece!”

Mai laughed and unwrapped the parcel. Unsurprisingly, she gifted them a tapestry. It depicted the two of them standing side by side, surrounded by a border of their birth flowers. It was an impressive likeness considering that she had only seen them once and that she had rendered them in thread and not ink. 

“Woah!” Zuko ran his hand along the stitches. “Do you think my council would let me hang this up instead of a royal portrait?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think so,” Mai replied, “but this is way nicer than the bear statue. We should put it somewhere visible.”

“We should.” Zuko pulled his wife into another embrace. “Do you believe in strings of fate?” he asked, although he suspected he knew the answer.

“No,” Mai answered, “but if such a thing existed, then I believe it would exist between us.”

Zuko buried his face in her hair and smiled. This was about as sappy as Mai got. “I think so too.”

[omertasmoon]

10,000 hours

"I'd spend 10, 000 hours and 10, 000 more. Oh, if that's what it takes to learn that sweet heart of yours"

(Inspired by Dan + Shay and Justin Bieber's song (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)) Some lyrics are used here!

(Oh and credits to the original artist for the fanarts I used!)

For Alhaitham and Zhongli, consider it as the sequel to the first fics.

ALHAITHAM (part 1)

ZHONGLI (part 1)

CHARACTERS USED HERE: Alhaitham, Zhongli and Neuvillette

ALHAITHAM

"Do you miss the road that you grew up on? Did you get your middle name from your grandma?"

"Oh, why is that?" Alhaitham mumbled as the corners of his lips urged to curl up into a smile if not for him holding it back. His eyes skimmed the pages of the book he was holding although shooting occasional glances at you blabbering about how the Akademiya's strict yet ridiculous rules and customs. Contrary to his insouciant countenance, his ears were keen on picking up every word you said to engrave them into his memory; especially information about yourself. He believed that gathering up personal details of you would help him succeed in wooing you.

"They made us wear those itchy hats which are made of rough linen! It's making my scalp itch!!" You poured out all your complaints, your legs dangling upon sitting on Alhaitham's desk. "But don't get me wrong! Sumeru is really nice; a whole new experience! But I do miss my hometown and my family..."

Alhaitham heard your soft sigh at your last sentence which made his ears perk up with curiosity. A trace of a faint smile lingered on the scribe's face as he closed his book with a soft thud sound. "Who do you miss more? Your hometown or family?"

"Hm... maybe my family? They mean the world to me... Especially my grandma!" Your face lit up when you mentioned your grandmother. The scribe's lips parted to say something but instead, he just chuckled.

"Your grandmother? May I inquire why?"

You weren't the type to deduce a situation without seeing the big picture but you could have swear you heard his voice crack at the word 'grandmother'... Was he washed over by the feeling of nostalgia? You didn't know his past exactly but your guess was that he was brought up by his grandma judging from the way he weighs that specific word. Curious, you shifted your body to his direction to observe his body language so that you could confirm your suspicions. Finally after a long pause, you replied with a soft smile, "She bakes me excellent chocolate cookies. And oh, I'm not sure you know that but my family runs a small yet successful bakery!"

You paused for a while, silently weighing the words you were going to say to make sure if it was appropriate to let it out loud in front of him.

"My mother said that I take after my grandma from head to toe. That's why my middle name was named after her." You finally mustered the courage and let out a giggle to ease any possible tension between you two in case he was offended by your words.

Antithetical to what you have believed, you saw a soft smile on that handsome face of his instead of a scowl. Who knew he could be a heart-throb when smiling? Maybe you should persuade him to do more...

"Ah... I see. No wonder your middle name sounds so obsolete yet beautiful- in a good way of course"

Although the things you just said couldn't benefit him in buying gifts to your liking, he was glad that the walls around your heart were starting to crack little by little.

"But guess what?" You got off his desk and reached for the exit "I know her secret chocolate cookies recipe..."

"So get ready to taste some tomorrow!" You left the room with a wink which seemed platonic to you.

But not for him.

ZHONGLI

"When you think about your forever now, do you think of me?"

"Do tell me dear, what does the word 'forever' and 'eternity' speak to you?" The Geo lord strolled along by your side.

"Erm... the Electro archon? Lightning? Inazuma?" You made multiple guesses but each one earning his shook of disapproval. Your eyebrows knitted into a frown as you scrambled for the correct answer.

"You will get no where if you continue making such guesses far from truth. I must admit that she would be flattered by your words if she happened to be near us." Zhongli patted your shoulder as he looked down at the city of Liyue from the mountains above. The orange evening sky colored the red buildings of the city crimson and laughter and chatters filled the streets. Colorful flowers of pride blossomed in his heart at that sight; the city he built from scratch had now became a civilized one. But these feelings didn't even had a room in his heart when compared to the pride and love he felt when around you.

"Think again, dear." He raised his eyebrow in amusement upon seeing that puzzled look on your face. "Let me give you a hint then... how do you see yourself in five to ten years?" Zhongli tilted his head with his eyes closed towards the sky casting an orange glow on his face. Under such golden light, his features were more refined. When he opened his eyes, you noticed that they seem to lighten in hue which made it more alluring.

"Well, I'm still young so I'll probably stick by your side and my instrument too." You smiled at the mention of your musical instrument; you could as well as say that it was your first love.

Zhongli's breath hitched in his throat as his face went slack- his lips parted slightly with widened eyes. Being self-conscious again, he hid his happiness behind that calm, professional mask of his. "So, you're saying that you want to be by my side....forever?"

"Suppose so" You shrugged as you ran down the hill, feeling the cold wind fanning your face as it also made your ears pop. At the bottom of the hill, you found yourself followed by Zhongli and you both walked your way into Liyue's harbor. Suddenly, you heard an old woman's weak cries near the entrance of the city. Worried, you glanced at her direction and found a basket of glaze lilies next to her and it seemed that she was trying to sell them before the end of the day. You felt pity for her so you approached her with slow delicate steps.

"Erm, excuse me. I would like to purchase some glaze lilies. May I have four of them?" Your words had a gentle lilt to it.

"Unfortunately for you dear... there are only two left!" The elderly lady replied with an anxious expression. You bit your lower lip in thought but then you nodded.

"I'll have two the-

"Wait" You felt a presence approaching you from behind; Zhongli. "You said you wanted four. Shall we come back tomorrow?"

That's when you knew that you were stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea: You didn't want to hurt the elderly woman's feelings or Zhongli's. You had to find a way to please them both.

"W-Well... I'll buy only two today" you glanced at Zhongli "I hope you don't mind but I want you to buy two for me everyday...until it's big enough to be a bouquet."

NEUVILETTE

"Do you love the rain, does it make you dance when you're drunk with your friends at a party?"

"I can see that you enjoy the feeling of rain..." A man's voice interrupted the daze you were in. You let out a yelp in response and turned your head around swiftly to see who it was: Monsieur Neuvillette.

"Ahaha... Monsieur..." You chuckled nervously as you shook off the water droplets on your extended hand to hide it in your coat's pocket. You lifted your blue umbrella a little bit higher so that his face could be seen in detail. "Erm... maybe." You lowered your gaze in guilt. Being a pluviophile is tough especially when rain only pours when the Chief Justice of Fontaine is feeling under the weather. During your teenage years, you used to run in the rain alone or with friends after a party. But right now? That hobby of yours had became a guilty pleasure ever since you became Monsieur Neuvillette and Lady Furina's personal stylist. It's not like you must hide that from him but when you put yourself in his shoes, the whole situation changes: how would you feel if you see someone acting all buoyantly in front of you when they clearly know that you're distressed? Offended right?

"Ah... so my guess is correct then" He let out a soft chuckle "Why is that?"

"Oh, well... ever since I was a little girl, I would go on strolls with my mother and when it rained, I would jump into shallow puddles and play with it." A wave of nostalgia intertwined with guilt cascaded over your whole being; Afterall, the rain served as a reminiscent of your childhood. "During my teenage years, I would dance under the drizzle with my friends..."

"Really? Oh. So you used to frolic in the rain?" Your head snapped in his direction faster than the speed of light at his question because you thought he was offended. His calm yet sharp reply could be mistaken for a sarcastic comment. Contrary to what you had thought, he was, in fact, insouciant. You were expecting him to be purple with rage and fire you from your position at that instant. But no, he was just staring at you...with a soft smile.

"I-I was drunk... I didn't mean it!" You dropped your umbrella on one shoulder so that he couldn't see your face.

"Oh no, don't do that... may I?" His gloved hand reached to lift the object veiling your face. "Don't hide that pretty face of yours"

His eloquence left you flustered- you could hear the flutter of a thousand butterflies resonating within the depths of your stomach and the echo of the pounding of your heart creating ripples of sensation throughout your body. "A-Aren't you mad at me?" You exclaimed, your voice trembling. "I mean... my happiness stems from your misery."

"Hmm... for the time being let your imagination run wild. And do tell me, what kind of dances do you dance when there is a shower?"

"Like twirling...swing dance and stuff like that"

"How about ballroom dance?"

"I'm normal at it? But I might step on your shoe or even trip over it if the ground is slippery because of the downpour"

Neuvillette held himself back from wheezing when you mentioned your flaw when it came to dancing. "You like to dance in the rain hm?"

"So, If I shed more tears, will you grant me the opportunity to sway in your embrace, my chérie?"

(Guys, I'm so sorry for Neuvillette's part- It sounds so cheesy because I was so high on caffeine while writing his part 😘😘🤗🤓 trust me it's from all those cups of coffee I consumed during the day since I'll pulling an all-nighter for tests)

Anyways thanks for reading ❤️ Credits to @cafekitsune for the divider!

[starless-nightz]

III. Uncle Apollo and his bus

| MASTERLIST | WATTPAD |

Carmillas POV:

Nico and i came back to the camp after a while, soon we learned Bianca joined the hunters, i was overjoyed but i saw how upset Nico was cause of it.

I sat next to Bianca as we waited for my uncle, Apollo, to come and bring us to camp, since mother had to go on a hunt alone, which means we have to go to Camp Half-blood, ugh.

"You know, you dont have to feel bad about joining the hunt, Nico is young, he still doesn't understand." I told her, i could see that she was sad, its obvious she loves her brother and she doesn't want him mad at her.

"I know..." she said as she looked over at Nico, who was with Grover, doing and talking about who knows what.

"I'm glad you joined the hunt, you're really pretty too." i said, i noticed her cheeks went a bit red. She looked away, her hand covering her mouth, i wonder whats that about.

I looked up at the sky, it means uncle finally decided to show up. Both me and Bianca stood up and walked over to the rest.

"About time. He's so-o-o lazy during the winter." i could hear my mother mutter, obviously annoyed.

"You're, um, waiting for sunrise?" Percy asked, by the gods i swear that boy is so annoying i will kill him one day.

"For my brother. Yes." mother said, annoyed cause he is late. I could see Percys confusion, i just knew he was wondering how uncle is the sun god.

"It's not exactly as you think," mother said, like she was reading his mind.

"Oh, okay." he started to relax a bit. "So, it's not like he'll be pulling up in a—" we all looked up as there was a sudden burst of light on the horizon. A blast of warmth.

"Don't look," mother advised. "Not until he parks."

We all closed our eyes. The light and warmth intensified until my winter coat felt like it was melting off of me. Then suddenly the light died.

I opens my eyes to see my uncle getting out of his red car, smiling. He was in his seventeen year old human form, which hes always in when he visits us, to make it less uncomfortable. I smiled as he walked over to me and my mother.

"Little sister and my one and only niece!" uncle Apollo said as he pulled me into a hug, which i gladly returned. "What's up? You never call. You never write. I was getting worried!" he said looking at my mother, who just scoffed and crossed her Arma.

"I'm fine, Apollo. And I am not your little sister." she said.

"Hey, I was born first." uncle reminded her, which annoyed her.

"We're twins! How many millennia do we have to argue—" mother started but she was cut off by my uncle. "So what's up?" he interrupted. "Got the girls with you, I see. You all need some tips on archery?"

Mother grit her teeth. "I need a favor. I have some hunting to do, alone. I need you to take my companions to Camp Half-Blood."

"Sure, sis!" Then he raised his hands in a stop everything gesture. "I feel a haiku coming on." The Hunters all groaned, they didnt really like him.

He cleared his throat and held up one hand dramatically.

"Green grass breaks through snow.

Artemis pleads for my help.

I am so cool."

He grinned at us, waiting for applause.

"That last line was only four syllables," i pointed out. Uncle Apollo frowned. "Was it?"

"Yes. What about I am so big-headed?"

"No, no, that's six syllables. Hmm." He started muttering to himself.

Mom turned to Thalia and Percy. "Lord Apollo has been going through this haiku phase ever since he visited Japan. 'Tis not as bad as the time he visited Limerick. If I'd had to hear one more poem that started with, There once was a goddess from Sparta—"

"I've got it!" he announced. "I am so awesome. That's five syllables!" He bowed, looking very pleased with himself. "And now, sis. Transportation for the Hunters, you say? Good timing. I was just about ready to roll."

"These demigods will also need a ride," mother said, pointing to the group. "Some of Chiron's campers."

"No problem!" Apollo checked us out. "Let's see... Thalia, right? I've heard all about you."

Thalia blushed. "Hi, Lord Apollo."

"Zeus's girl, yes? Makes you my half sister. Used to be a tree, didn't you? Glad you're back. I hate it when pretty girls turn into trees. Man, I remember one time—"

"Brother," mother said. "You should get going."

"Oh, right." Then he looked at Percy, and his eyes narrowed. "Percy Jackson?"

"Yeah. I mean... yes, sir." Uncle studied him for a bit, which made Percy nervous.

"Well!" he said at last. "We'd better load up, huh? Ride only goes one way—west. And if you miss it, you miss it."

"Cool car," Nico said, he is so adoreble.

"Thanks, kid," uncle Apollo said.

"But how will we all fit?" Percy asked, obviously confused.

"Oh." Apollo seemed to notice the problem for the first time. "Well, yeah. I hate to change out of sports-car mode, but I suppose..."

He took out his car keys and beeped the security alarm button. Chirp, chirp. For a moment, the car glowed brightly again.

When the glare died, the Maserati had been replaced by one of those Turtle Top shuttle buses like we used for school basketball games.

"Right," he said. "Everybody in."

Mom ordered the Hunters and me to start loading. She picked up her camping pack, and uncle Apollo said, "Here, sweetheart. Let me get that."

She recoiled. Her eyes flashed murderously.

"Brother," mother chided. "You do not help my Hunters. You do not look at, talk to, or flirt with my Hunters. And you do not call them sweetheart, espacially her." she said, glaring at him for even daring to call mom 'sweetheart', yuck.

Uncle Apollo spread his hands. "Sorry. I forgot. Hey, sis, where are you off to, anyway?"

"Hunting," mother said. "It's none of your business."

"I'll find out. I see all. Know all." Artemis snorted. "Just drop them off, Apollo. And no messing around!"

"No, no! I never mess around."

Mother rolled her eyes, then looked at us, her eyes softening at the sight of me and mom. "I will see you by winter solstice. Zoe, you are in charge of the Hunters. Do well. Do as I would do. And make sure our daughter doesnt get into any trouple."

Mom straightened. "Yes, my lady." i could see the faint blush on her cheeks, they are so gross it makes me sick.

"Carmlila, dont cause too much trouble for my hunters, got it?" she askes, her voice threatning.

"Yes mom." i rolled my eyes, there goes the plan on setting the Ares cabin on fire.

I looked back at the group of demigods, Percys eyes were wide open, Grovers jaw was practically on the floor and Thalia just stayed unbothered, after all she already knew both Artemis and Zoe are my mothers.

I watched and mother knelt and touched the ground as if looking for tracks. When she rose, she looked troubled. "So much danger. The beast must be found."

She sprinted toward the woods and melted into the snow and shadows.

Uncle Apollo turned and grinned, jangling the car keys on his finger. "So," he said. "Who wants to drive?"

[agentrouka-blog]

Honestly speaking Robb should have fucking traded Jaime for his sisters, I have seen so many people defend him by saying the war was bigger than that but it really wasn't, until Robb made it so. He began the march for personal reasons, but when the lords made him king he decided to put them and the kingdom before his family.

I think GRRM is making it reasonably clear that Robb is primarily motivated by vengeance. He wanted to save his father and it didn't work, they robbed him of that opportunity by executing Ned, and Robb marries his sword in the godswood, commiting himself to violence, essentially. The lords respond to the crown's murder of their liege lord by spontaneously proclaiming Robb king. That's how the first book ends.

In the opening of the second book, with this new crown on his head, Robb isn't suddenly a wise and far-sighted ruler. He's still a fifteen-year-old who rushed South to accomplish a goal, no less than Jon was at the Wall. He's no less a child who shouldn't wield this power than Joffrey, than Dany, and the deference he is given to follow his inexperienced impulses dooms him no less for it.

The crown cursed Robb into having the power to make all the decisions. Where Jon was called back by his friends and was accountable to others, Robb was king and hid behind his lords' anger to justify his own priorities, seeking immediately to get rid of the one dissenting voice that spoke a language other than war: his mother.

Because she is right, even when she isn't insistent enough:

He pushed a fall of hair out of his eyes and gave a shake of the head. “I might have been able to trade the Kingslayer for Father, but . . .” “. . . but not for the girls?” Her voice was icy quiet. “Girls are not important enough, are they?” Robb made no answer, but there was hurt in his eyes. Blue eyes, Tully eyes, eyes she had given him. She had wounded him, but he was too much his father’s son to admit it. That was unworthy of me, she told herself. Gods be good, what is to become of me? He is doing his best, trying so hard, I know it, I see it, and yet . . . I have lost my Ned, the rock my life was built on, I could not bear to lose the girls as well . . . “I’ll do all I can for my sisters,” Robb said. “If the queen has any sense, she’ll accept my terms. If not, I’ll make her rue the day she refused me.” Plainly, he’d had enough of the subject. “Mother, are you certain you will not consent to go to the Twins? You would be farther from the fighting, and you could acquaint yourself with Lord Frey’s daughters to help me choose my bride when the war is done.” He wants me gone, Catelyn thought wearily. Kings are not supposed to have mothers, it would seem, and I tell him things he does not want to hear. (ACOK, Catelyn I)

Cat becomes lost in her argument because Robb is hurt by the truth and it hurts her heart. He is her son and her king, and this renders her incapable of properly confronting him.

It allows Robb to move past the moment, to ignore the pain caused by his own sense of guilt, to redirect the discomfort into removing Catelyn rather than admitting to what she said and forcing himself to be honest in his choices. Because the crown demands him to be responsible with his subjects and his country, far-sighted and unselfish. But he prefers the sense of power he derrives from it. The power to follow the more immediately satisfying impulse: vengeance.

[deadsetobsessions]

Of all the places he could have been summoned to, Danny Phantom had never considered a private school’s bathroom to be one of them.

With glowing green skin, a shock of flickering flames for hair, and a suit made out of the spaces between collapsing stars, Danny stared down at the stupefied faces of Gotham Academy’s finest students. One of them had their face in their hands, having caught sight of him and undergoing all the stages of grief in but a moment.

They sat around a circle that he was appropriately impressed with considering the limited space they had to work with. Danny could see the empty stalls, some of which were adorned with drawings and writings that were left by the, no-doubt, extremely busy caretaker.

“Seriously, a bathroom?” Danny wrinkled his nose.

“Holy shit, that actually worked?” One of the kids blurted out, then slammed their hands on top of their mouth.

“Did you expect it not to?” Danny squinted at them, frowning. It’s Friday, so it’s not like he had much to do, but Danny would prefer it if his time wasn’t wasted.

“No- no, your… uh, highness?”

“All of that schooling and you’re still uneducated,” one of the other ones hissed at the red headed kid who spoke. It’s “Your Majesty.” He’s a king, idiot!”

That was a pretty solid burn but, “It’s actually just Phantom. Did you guys want something? I’m busy.”

He’s not busy, but who cares?

“Uh…” the kids exchanged glances. The one in the back sighed and spoke up. He adjusted his glasses.

“We’re sorry for bothering you, Phantom. You wouldn’t happen to have a solution for dimensional separation, would you?”

“Huh.” Danny tilted his head, face souring. “I hate dimensional issues. They’re the worst. Who’s causing them?”

“His name’s Klarion!” The one who slapped a hand across his mouth earlier piped up.

“Oh! The lords of chaos or whatever. Yeah, I can help, for a price.”

Danny is against unpaid labor. Extremely against it, considering his side gig is being a half-dead vigilante. Then again, are you really a vigilante if you’re not half dead on a regular basis?

“What do you want?” Despite the reluctance from earlier, it’s clear the one with the glasses made the big decisions in this weird friend group.

“… A hundred dollars.”

“That’s it? No stipulations?” When Danny nodded, the kid had a calculating expression. “Deal.” The teen said immediately. He pulled out cash and wow, Danny’s definitely in a place with a different tax bracket.

He snatched it. Nasty burger money!

“Deal’s a deal. Also, don’t ever summon me again, but if you do, don’t ever do it in a bathroom again. You kids are so weird.” Danny floated out of the circle, grinning sharply. He formed a small bird- he doesn’t know why, but it felt right- of ice and handed it to the kid with glasses. “There. Proof of the deal.”

With that, Danny disappeared. Private school kids were so fucking weird, but… Dash and his goons were probably worse. What’s a little ritualistic summoning in the face of teenagers?

——

“I leave you guys alone for ten minutes and you summon the king of the dead?” Robin narrowed his eyes at his teammates, traitors who had the good graces to look sheepish. “How could you?! I wanted to try, too!”

Kid Flash patted him on the shoulder, a granola bar appearing in his mouth now that the possible world ending terror disappeared. “Sorry, Rob. Maybe next time! Magic still isn’t real though.”

“I’m not doing this shit in a bathroom again,” Artemis rolled back to her feet. “He sounded like he was going to rip our bones out if we ever summoned him in a bathroom again.”

“Ugh…”

[inkskinned]

so while i was writing the book, i became violently suicidal.

this was mostly due to the fact that i had a very bad reaction to some meds and my brain stopped producing any serotonin. also i was in the last semester of grad school where it's actually illegal to feel anything but dread. so it wasn't going well.

somewhere in the fog of it i became aware i needed help. nobody was taking clients or my insurance. i didn't want to do inpatient care - it wasn't right for my needs. there's not really an "in between" stage between "inpatient" and "no care," but i was trying to do the right thing. i was trying to activate the chain of command that was my emergency plan. i knew i needed help now.

i used betterhelp.

i know, i know. i'm a straight-A student and so smart and so clever, how could i ever use something so blatantly bad. to be honest with you, i didn't feel particularly keen on it from the getgo - things that seem too good to be true usually are. also, if something online is free, the price is usually your privacy.

the thing is that there was kind of a global pandemic happening at the time and i worked 5 jobs alongside of being a fulltime student and also like writing a book on the side. it is a miracle that i even thought about getting help. i would love to tell you i had the mental wherewithal to like, process whether this was the right choice for me. mostly i was desperate. i was so suicidal that i was trying to find a reason to stay inside of fortune cookies. i was the kind of suicidal that looks like splatterpaint. i hadn't been that bad in an entire decade.

they took my data. i gave them it freely. somewhere out there, they have a dossier on me. on everything i survived. my story in little datapoints, scattergraphed beautifully.

the first woman told me that really i should be grateful, because (and this is a direct quote): "at least you're not anne frank." i said that i felt that statement was antisemitic, as anne frank's life and experience shouldn't be compared to like, a nonbinary lesbian in western massachusetts. the therapist said that i should try to use lucid dreaming to try to picture myself in an actually scary situation, like running from nazis.

i applied for another therapist. i was willing to accept the possibility that there was a bad apple in the bunch. the next therapist and i even laughed about how inappropriate that statement was. and then, in our next session: the new therapist said if i was struggling with body image issues, i should just work harder on my appearance. she spent 3 sessions in a row talking about how she was grieving, and made me memorize facts about her grandmother so "she can live on through my clients."

i am a three's-a-charm kind of person. okay, so what if the last person made me uncomfortable. i figured it was just a misunderstanding of priorities - she had felt she was sharing with me, i had felt like i had to take care of her. i applied for another therapist.

the last woman asked me to help her pray. she bowed her head. i stared at her, frozen, while she said: lord, i beg you: cure her. take the pain of being gay away from her.

i spent somewhere between 2.5 and 3 months on betterhelp. in that whole time, i was not getting the professional help i so desperately needed, even though i was fucking trying.

in the end, i survived this because i finally could get off the meds that were literally killing me. a request for a real therapist finally went through. i survived because my friends saved my life. because nick let me sob myself dry in his arms. because maddie took the razors out of my room when i asked them to. because grace slept over in my bed for like 3 weeks in a row since nobody trusted me not to hurt myself when i was alone. i survived because i got fucking lucky. because even when i was desperately suicidal, i was too old and too self-aware to take "you need to be prettier" as good advice.

the thing is that there's a 19 year old me who isn't like that. who would have heard "just think about how grateful you should be" and said - oh, i see. i would have assumed that is what it means to be in therapy: the same thing my abusers used to tell me. that i am just pretending and lazy. that i am ugly and unworthy.

betterhelp positioned itself to take advantage of an incredibly vulnerable community. it preys on desperation. it knows it is serving people who are not doing well mentally. it saw that there is a huge need for real, immediate, compassionate mental health care: and then it fucking takes your money and privacy.

i still get their ads on instagram. last night i watched as a woman in a pool pretends to talk to a different woman. they discuss her anxiety.

there's a 19 year old version of me, and she didn't survive this. she was too tired, and drowning. i almost fucking died. this thing almost fucking killed me.

in the ad, the woman playing the therapist takes a note on a clipboard and then nods once, sagely.

i have to admit it's a pretty scene. the steam and light coming off the pool water lands on the actresses. like this, it almost looks baptismal, holy.

[tojancy]

‘ Earned it ’ ft. r.sukuna

haunted by jujutsu sorcerers, you come to Sukuna for help. after begging to work under him, he agrees. what could the King of Curses possibly have in store for you..?

ɞ⁺ contains: heian era!sukuna x curse user! fem!reader, afab!reader, four arms sukuna, degradation, praise, cussing, riding, choking, hair pulling, mean sukuna, mentions of killing, mentions of blood, making out, unprotected sex, creampie, suggestion of overstim

ɞ⁺ w.c: 3.6k

ɞ⁺ note: thank you to my favorite @sttoru for beta reading! this took forever. hope you enjoy!

“Couldn’t you just kill her?”

What?

Standing before you is a man that embodies terror—a tremendous body and another pair of arms to make him even more distinct. The name Ryomen Sukuna is a chilling one, so many stories embellished around it. Hearts tremble with fear of each fable. You have heard of all his atrocities, cruelties sorcerers were subject to. But, as you stand in his presence, you begin to realize that these tales barely scratch the surface of his menace.

Adults employed his name to compel sleep, a whispered threat to coax children into slumber. You were no exception, truly. But you were always fierce, a soul unafraid. 

Right. That’s what got you into the mess you’re in right now.

“I’m sorry, my lord. But if that’s your wish, then I shall go ahead and-”

“No-! Wait… please,” you surprise even yourself, words spill forth at their own accord. Your throat grows dry at the way both of them turn to look at you. struggling to maintain composure, you implore, “Please, just one chance. I promise I can make myself useful. I’d do anything. Anything.”

An amused chuckle thunders in Sukuna’s chest. It’s a cruel sound, imposing fear upon your senses. “And.. what exactly makes you think a meek sorcerer like you could be of any use to me?”

He’s almost offended by the notion. Sukuna is in need of no one. Especially not you; a sorcerer that came begging for his help. How ridiculous.

“I-I’m a first grade!” you exclaim, “I can do so many things, I-”

“Shut it.” The nearly-amused expression has been dropped, a somber tone to replace that. Your eyes widen immediately, a telltale sign of the terror you feel. “You are a weak sorcerer. You are nothing. Do you have any argument to make?”

“No, my lord,” your eyes meet the floor in a hard glare, cursing your misfortune. 

You came to Uraume with hope, recalling a past acquaintance. You had not anticipated the drastic change in her. Standing against jujutsu sorcerers was no wise choice. You found yourself haunted down with no other choice.

Perhaps finding a protector would help—someone whom all sorcerers fear, compelled by their dread to leave you unharmed. None other than the King of Curses himself. If you devoted yourself to his service, showing unmatched loyalty, maybe then he’d protect you.

If only life is so forgiving.

You believed Uraume could help. You convinced yourself that alignment with Sukuna's subordinate could forge a safer path for protection. For safety. Yet, the last outcome you could have predicted was a suggestion for your execution.

“Good,” is his sole utterance. Uraume stands a few feet away, silent unless addressed. 

Even with your eyes cast down, you can feel Sukuna’s eyes surveying you, the weight of four eyes is not an easy one. His gaze is empty, one of menace. You do not appear weak, though relative to him you certainly are. However, he trusts Uraume's judgment, convinced there must be a valid reason for your presence.

“I’ll…  think about it,” You hear. Your head lifts abruptly, disbelief mingling with hope at the prospect of succor etched on your face. A sigh escapes you, looking at his hard features. Despite your awareness that Sukuna's motives lack benevolence or goodwill, you grasp at any opportunity presented.

“Thank you,” your knees buckle beneath you. Tears of relief flood your eyes as you continue. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You can flee now,” he replies curtly. You weren’t expecting much more anyway. “Uraume, lead her out.”

The curse user complies, leading you from the chambers of the King of Curses. Reaching the exit, you extend a hand toward Uraume before she returns inside.

“Th-thank you…” You muster.

“I’m not the one you’re to thank,” Her gaze is hard as ice,  empty as one’s could be. You were hoping for some warmth, a semblance of assurance in a world so cruel. But who were you kidding; you held no significance to Uraume, who had long forsaken her humanity to serve solely the King of Curses. “Lord Sukuna has the highest authority over your life right now. Don’t screw your chances.”

The door slams in your visage before you can reply. You swallow. Uncertainty begins to bubble into you. What if he changes his mind? What if this was some kind of ruse? 

But it wasn’t, and not too long later you find yourself in Sukuna’s chambers. You hear he’s beaten yet another jujutsu sorcerer, this one remarkable. It’s a surprise to no one. You hope you’re not next.

You’re even given a room to yourself, one you barely leave unless for food. The concept of running into Sukuna terrifies you. 

A loud knock comes from the sliding door, making you flinch. You hasten to it, crouching before the wooden barrier. Your palms lay flat against the surface as you slide it open with ease. Uraume towers above you, her gaze fixed.

“Lord Sukuna requires your immediate attendance,” she tells you.

“I-I’ll be right there,” your breath falters, looking up at the white-haired woman. Uraume stands still. You realize she’s only waiting for you to gather yourself and accompany her. 

You’re quick to oblige, standing up and trying your best to dispel the embarrassing fear displayed over your features. With swift movement, you grab your kosode’s belt and wrap it tightly around your middle. You stand before Uraume, who looks you up and down before simply turning around and walking, expecting you to keep up. 

Anxiety plagues you, your mind racing with all the possibilities of what reason Sukuna would summon you. You’re so preoccupied that you don’t realize Uraume's route isn’t the same one you took to his chamber last time.

Sooner than you anticipate, Uraume takes an abrupt halt by a door. You nearly collide face-first with the finely painted wood. Recoiling, your eyes study the door. Patterns adorn the wood, carved carefully by the hands of a professional. 

The detail on the door captivates you, it makes you wonder if Sukuna has truly observed it even once in his life. Your appreciation of it is short-lived, as Uraume calls you and pulls you out of thought.

“Pay attention or face expulsion,” she hisses before knocking at the door.

A grunted “You may enter,” resonates from inside. The curse user beside you immediately falls to her knees, and you follow path. Her hands lift to the door, which weighs more than yours, and she opens it with a fluid gesture.

“She has arrived, my lord.”

“Very well,” Sukuna utters. Emboldened, you look up, and the sight you’re met with makes your face heat up. There he sits, expression unyielding and gaze inscrutable, his torso is bare—save for the black marks that adorn his chiseled body. On any other day, you would have stopped to admire the sight, but today your eyes go back to staring at your bent knees. “Come in.”

Uraume knows she’s not the one intended, while you know that you are. With great force, you’re capable of pushing yourself up and walking toward the man sitting on the floor.

The door shuts as soon as you step foot into the room, making you flinch. “W-How can I help you, my Lord?”

Quietly, Sukuna hums in thought. His scrutiny of you, trailing to your feet and then meeting your eyes once more, kindles a patent tension within. There’s a sick, twisted desire within you—a desire for the man who would kill you without second thought.

“You said you can do many things, have you not?” He raises a single eyebrow. 

“Indeed, my lord,” You muster. The chamber you stand in is spacious, slowly realizing that you are within his personal quarters—a place few may enter, as you understand it.

“Let’s test that out, shall we?” he says with a sinister smirk. “Do you know how to relieve muscle tension?”

“Certainly, my lord. Do you need any assistance with that?” You speak a little more than necessary. But he doesn’t mind too much. Your vocal cords make a soothing voice anyway. 

“I’d like to see what you're capable of,” he states, malice evident in his tone, prompting you to brace for the potential consequences.

He gestures for you to approach the curtained futon, elevated on what appears to be several stacks of wood. It feels peculiar to see him prone on his stomach, but it affords you an unmatched view of his well-defined back—truly a sight to see.

Whether he trusts you or deems you harmless remains uncertain. Common sense suggests the latter, though you prefer to believe the former to spare yourself from embarrassment.

A small bottle sits beside his bed, a bottle of fine oil. With refined movement, you pick it up, spilling a fair amount on your hand before spreading it gently over his back.

You work silently, kneading hardened flesh. His unique anatomy intrigues you, especially navigating around two sets of arms. Your fingers continue to glide between the muscles, working your way into easing any knots.

Once your fingers reach his neck, a low grunt leaves his lips. You’re surprised… But even more so, the feeling lingering deep within you is becoming harder and harder to ignore. Your thighs squeeze against each other in hopes of relieving some of the heat that’s itching at your core. 

With every stroke of your skilled fingertips, the tension threaded in his muscles ease, all the while the tension between the two of you grows unbearably palpable. 

After a few moments, you grow hot. you pause and slightly loosen the belt of your kosode to cool down. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by Sukuna, who peeks upwards subtly. He has no shame, raising his head further and looking you up and down. The loosened kosode exposes cleavage, and Sukunua overtly stares.

He pushes himself up, sitting on the bed. Shadows of his frame dance against the curtains surrounding his bed, the room dimly lit by candles. Posture straight, an expression of attendance on your face, you keep your eyes on him and await what he has to say. 

You’re dangerous, Sukuna realizes. You’re not going to make this easy on him. His self-restraint is wearing thin.

“Sit,” He beckons you with a large hand. Albeit hesitant, you oblige and sit on the lifted futon in an awkward position.

There is no denying the way his gaze makes you feel. There’s a sense of vulnerability, and a sense of excitement. You choose to remain silent, waiting patiently for his next move. 

Slowly, he leans his head in your way. Your eyes immediately flit away, heat rising into your face.

“Heh,” He smirks widely, leaning away. “You’re quite amusing, you know that?”

You grow embarrassed, displeased by the way he’s talking. You’re about to comment but ultimately choose to stop yourself from saying something that could get you in trouble.

Sukuna leans forward again, this time a little further from you. The hand he places on the bed for balance dips the fabric down. “Look at me when I address you, human.”

It’s humiliating how he talks to you. For some inexplicable reason, it arouses you all the same. You’re quick to oblige. Sukuna can feel his cock harden in his pants at the way you bat your lashes his way. He knew there was something so enticing about you the moment he saw you walking behind Uraume, even more now under the dim lights and in the revealing silk. He wants a piece of you.

Cancel that. He wants all of you.

“You have a pleasing appearance,” He tells you, eyes instinctively falling to your lips. “A fine figure too. Why don’t you put that to good use, hm?”

“What would you suggest, my lord?” You rouse. “I’m at your service.”

Sukunas face draws closer to yours once more. A single hand rises to your face, cradling your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. “Interesting… You’re not dumb, are you?”

There’s a clear implication behind his words; take the hint, or don’t. You take a leap of faith, diminishing the space between your faces and pressing your lips firmly against his.

The hand that once held your face now rests on your neck, holding you in place. His tongue swipes against your lower lip, prompting you to give him entrance. He keeps his eyes open, watching over you with amusement you fail to see as your eyes are shut close.

Your mouth is warm and inviting, compelling him to savor every bit of the fiber inside. But he’s interrupted by you pulling away for air.

“Fucking brat,” he curses, pulling you back in before you can gasp another much-needed breath. His palm falls from your neck and skims the skin of your shoulder. In contrast to his typical demeanor, Sukuna’s movement is agonizingly slow as he pushes the cloth off your skin. Little by little, until your torso is exposed to the biting chill of the air, shivers cascade along your spine, eliciting goosebumps across your flesh.

Adrenaline rushes through your veins. Your heart throbs as your hands find his neck, the other on his shoulder. Closer. Your tongues dance, and the taste of you is addicting. Closer. His hands run over your bare skin, feeling up your curves. Closer. Nothing seems to be close enough. You need to be one with him.

Once content, Sukuna pulls away. The smirk on his face is enough reminder you’ve got nothing on him. “You’re weak.”

“‘M not,” you retort stubbornly, struggling to regain your breath. “You caught me off guard.”

“Yeah, right,” Sukuna’s hands fall to your hips. You would have never foreseen a scenario where you contest his words. Not without your head cut off before you completely utter your words. But this brazen attitude of yours is exciting to Sukuna, who can feel the pre staining his pants, cock now painfully hard. Just from kissing.

He maneuvers you with ease, leaning comfortably against the wall before placing you over his middle. You gasp once moved, eyes wide in surprise. You give no signs of struggle, though, so Sukuna continues.

Starting with the loosened belt, then the silk kosode. You’re bare under, left exposed to four eyes’ devouring gaze.

“Heh,” is what he says, feeling your wetness against his abdomen. “Is the wanted criminal so needy already? How sweet.” 

“I’m quite sure you share the desire, my lord,” you whisper, drawing a chuckle from him. You bend forward until your face hovers tantalizingly close to his ear.“Do you not want a taste of me, my lord? I can show you what no woman has ever done.”

While the title ‘my lord’ has come from many to him, it rolls off your tongue differently. You’re so confident in your skills, and he has a feeling you’re not lying.

“I very much doubt that,” he lies, causing you to pucker your lower lip in disdain. You’re set on proving him wrong, prepared to showcase the extent of your capabilities.

Lifting your weight from his form, you turn around and give him your back. He stares down at you, an amorous grin adorning his face. Delicately, you trace your fingers over the prominent bulge in his pants. There is no mistaking the grunt that escapes him at the contact. The bulge largens. The tension grows. You swallow quietly.

“May I?” You whisper, barely audible.

“By all means,” he responds, his smirk persisting despite the furrow in his brow. Tender fingers slip beneath the waistband of his pale trousers, gradually coaxing them downward.  

The sight makes you stop in your tracks; his cock springs to life, a lengthy shaft you’re not so sure you can take. The thought of going back on your words fleets momentarily across your mind, but you refrain. There’s svelteness to the way your fingers graze this tip, tinted with an angry pink. You spread the warm pre-cum over it for lubrication, softly pumping your hands over his shaft.

Surprise intensifies in you when it grows larger, making your insides churn. Your fingers continue their work, eliciting louder sounds from him.

You’re fascinated by it, a beautiful length framed by trimmed pubes. It starts with a color marginally darker than his skin, gradually merging into the angry pink hue that tints his tip. You can’t not stare.

You turn back around, looking at the man sitting before you. The King of Curses with all his mind with a troubled expression, his resolve long worn off.

“You’re taking too long,” He threatens. “Get on it already, woman.”

No less is expected from the King of Curses; he’s straightforward as one could be. A yelp escapes your lips when his hands land a firm grip on your hips, forcefully lifting you up.

You’re placed on his length without any warning, causing a loud cry to break out of you. Tears gather in your eyes at the sudden stretch. You feel him, all of him; thick and long and painful and good.

Drawing a sharp breath, you attempt to adjust to the stretch.

“Can’t take it?” His smirk taunts you. “Pathetic.” 

“I-I can,” you steady yourself with two palms against the curves of his abs. “Let me get- ah–!”

Your moan synchronizes with the groan he emits, his hands maintaining a firm grasp on your ass cheeks as he lifts you upwards for friction before abruptly slamming you back down. The way your gummy walls wrap tight around him nearly makes him dizzy. Sukuna is almost sure this pussy was made for him and only him.

“Fuck–” he grunts, head thrown back as you move steadily. His hand grabs your waist for guidance as you huff and puff, trying not to be too loud but it’s so hard when he hits all the right places. Your heart thrums in your chest, body shaking at the euphoria that’s clouding your senses.

There’s rhythm to the sounds of breathing, creating a symphony of pleasure as you roll your hips, pace fastening every second. Sukuna’s hand is light against your hip, a thumb extending to rub your clit in a gentle manner, drawing circles over the soft bud.

“Oh– M’lord– I’m..” words bleed into moans you can no longer contain. Every thrust hits deeper, and every movement makes you squeeze tighter around his cock. Your eyes roll back, and Sukuna swears he could get off to your expression alone. 

When a cold grip meets the writ of one of his lower arms, Sukuna’s eyes flee your face in curiosity. His hand is heavier than you expect. You softly raise his palm, desperately leaving it at your neck.

He chuckles. He loves the desperation in your eyes, the way your hips thrust sloppily, the way you claw at his chest for a symbol of control as you try your best to stay true to your words. Warm digits wrap around your neck and squeeze it lightly. 

“C’mere,” he breathes, pulling you by your neck. Your lips clash into his with a gasp. God, you’re intoxicating him. Teeth tug at your bottom lip despite your mouth being agape. The moan that escapes you is happily drank down by him.

Humidity clouds the place, shiny sweat dripping down your neck. You’re in too much ecstasy to think anyway.

Sukuna sucks at your bottom lip, his hand moving from your neck to cradle the back of your head then tug at your hair.

You’re magic, the sight of you inebriating him utterly. You’re a trigger, back arched towards him in desperation. All to feel more. How greedy. You’re deadly, bouncing on him like that’s what you were made for, resolve renewing to keep up for as long as you could.

“Fuck- attagirl,” his eyes shut, dopamine rises, and all he can do is feel. “Good- shit– yeah, yeah–”

“‘M close-” your moan is pitched, walls tightening around him. “Ah– I’m– ‘m so close-”

Your entire body shakes, legs trembling and nearly giving out. A harsh slap lands across the skin on your ass, his fingers kneading the flesh before landing another slap against it. You can still feel the heat of his palm even as he moves it to hold your face harshly. “Don’t be fucking weak. H-shit–”

It turns you on, he realizes. To be treated like a ragdoll and pushed around. 

“Like that huh?” another spank. “Like being hit? Tch, wh-what a fucking brat”

“Yes–!” You gasp, movement accelerating over him, drawing half of him out just to enroll him in your warmth again. He can sense your orgasm approaching, walls dangerously tight around him. His tip hits your good spot, and you go at it and at it again, moaning loudly as your nails bruise his chest.

A string of curses escapes his lips, neck stretched as your head inches closer, pressing a kiss to the skin. He groans louder, moving you faster on his dick as your pace wasn’t enough.

“Hah– I– I’m gonna– Sukuna-sama I—”

Your mouth falls open, and breath fast. You see stars, cumming all over him. The fiber of your insides pulses around him, surrounding his cock with your essence. 

Nails dig into your flesh, and Sukuna’s body tenses. A desperate whine escapes you when you feel the white ropes spilling inside you. Your movement persists, set on milking every last drop he has to offer.

His chest rises and falls, a palm coming to cover his face while another pair sits on your hips. You attempt to move, trying to pull yourself off his cock. But his hands pull you back down with potent. You’ve grown sensitive, so his action draws a loud whine from you.

“Where to?” He sneers at you. “You’re not done yet, are you? ‘This all you can do?”

It’s an obvious challenge. Despite the fatigue you’re starting to feel, you’re not one to back down from challenges. Least of all ones pronounced by him.

[ladysharmaa]

My miracle

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary: Anthony’s wife is in labor and it’s not looking good

warnings: mentions of death

“Where is she?” the loud voice of Anthony was heard in the entire mansion. The door he opened slammed into the wall but he couldn’t care less as he saw some servants running his way to take off his coat. “Tell me where my wife is!”

“My apologies, my Lord.” the poor man trembled under the Lord’s menacingly glare, that were just a cover for the worry and fear that was running though his veins. “The Viscountess is in your chambers. The midwife and your mother are already present with her. Shall I inform your brothers to come and wait with you until the child is born?”

Anthony didn’t bother to respond. He quickly climbed the stairs, two steps at once, seeing with wide eyes as the maids ran to his room with towels in their hands. He doesn't even settle for knocking, immediatly opening the bedroom door. None of his mother's stories could have prepared him for the sight that lay ahead.

His darling wife was drenched in sweat, dressed in her nightdown. One hand was on her round belly protectively while the other was in his mother’s hands, who was whispering words of comfort. Her jaw was clenched in pain and it was only then that he noticed the midwife between the Viscountess legs. 

“You!” Y/n screamed accusingly, managing to point a finger at Anthony with hatred. “You did this to me! You will never ever put your hands on me again!”

“I-” Anthony was at loss of words. He knew that his wife was in pain, and looking like she was ready to kill, so he just nodded his head in agreement. He took slow hesitant steps towards the bed, hoping to comfort her without dying. “I’ll never touch you again, my love. How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling? I’m pushing your child that inherited your big head out of my lady parts! So tell me, my dear husband, how am I feeling?”

“Like you are giving birth?”

“Anthony...” his mother whispered while shaking her head in dispair. “You should leave the room. Your brothers must be coming to keep you company. We shall call you when the child is born.” 

“I’m not leaving my wife.” was the only thing he said with firmity, holding Y/n’s hand and kissing her soft skin gently.

She turned to him, a change in her demeanor, eyes full of tears of terror. “I’m scared, Anthony. It hurts.”

“I know it hurts. It’s okay, love. You will be alright and then we will have our child with us.” he whispered. A feeling of guilt washed through him. How could he have made his wife suffer through childbirth? “You are the bravest person I know. So so much braver than me and everyone else. I’m so proud of you.”

"I can't do this. It hurts too much. Make it stop, Anthony, please." Y/n cried.

It was only then that Anthony saw the look in his mother. She was worried, exchanging looks with the midwife. And as much as the Viscount would like to also show his anguish, his first priority was to comfort Y/n. "It's going to be okay, my love. Just a little longer, you're being so strong."

But she no longer had the strength to respond. It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open and she just wanted to sleep to escape the pain. Between her legs, an increasingly larger pool of blood was forming. Anthony's eyes were wide and there was enormous pressure in his chest. It felt like I was running out of oxygen, and it only got worse when Y/n finally gave in to unconsciousness.

"What's happening?" he whispered, looking in alarm first at Violet. Afterwards, he turned to the midwife furiously. "What's wrong with her? Help her! Do something!"

"Anthony, you need to leave." Violet advised, trying to remain calm for everyone's sake. Anthony was becoming more and more desperate, tears falling from his eyes as he grabbed his wife's hand tighter and brought it to his lips.

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"Viscount Bridgerton, the baby is in pain. You won't want to see what I'm going to do. I promise I'll try to save both of them." the midwife said, taking a small knife and flying it over Y/n's stomach.

"If you need to choose, save my wife's life." Anthony begged, now more desperate as his mother called his brothers to take him out of the room.

"Anthony..."

"No, mother, you save my wife's life!" Benedict and Collin grabbed the man by the arms and began to carry him outside, despite Anthony's struggle. "You hear me! My wife is going to survive! Let me go! Mother, save Y/n!" he shouted before the door closed in his face. 

The last thing he saw was the woman making the cut on Y/n's stomach, who woke up with a jolt. She then let out a scream that would torment Anthony for the rest of his life.

With a cry of anger mixed with sadness, Anthony broke free from his brothers' grip and put his hands to his face. He didn't want to think about the possibility of losing the love of his life. He simply couldn't take it.

"Wow, Anthony, calm down." Collin whispered when Anthony, in a rage, threw a punch against the wall. "The Viscountess is a fighter. If anyone is capable of overcoming this, it's her."

"You don't tell me to calm down, Collin. Not when my wife is in that room fighting for her life over something I did." he cried, jaw shaking and eyes red that only showed the immense pain he was in. He sat on the floor, leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling. "I need her to live."

"And she will live, brother. I will bring a drink, and we will wait together for news." Benedict said, rushing to bring the alcohol when Y/n's screams became louder.

On one hand, each scream was like a stab in the heart of Anthony, who was increasingly pale and looked like he was going to vomit at any moment. On the other, it was the only way to know she was alive.

Moments passed. The Viscount didn't know if it had been seconds, minutes or hours. Things seemed to be getting mixed up in his mind. Nothing made sense, not when the love of his life was in the next room in pain and he was away from her. He had to protect her, it was his obligation as a husband. And he failed.

And then came the moment when Anthony's heart stopped. A baby's cry was heard, and he allowed himself to smile a little. He had a son or daughter. A mini version of his wife. And then he burst into tears when Y/n stopped screaming and everything became too silent.

It was uncontrollable. He cried without being able to stop, making it even difficult to breathe in. Anthony refused to believe that he would have to raise this child without Y/n. Without her affection, her kindness, her love. He didn't want to open his eyes and realize that all this wasn't a nightmare, but reality.

Benedict and Collin didn't know what to do. But one thing was certain, they would be there to help Anthony with whatever he needed and never let that child forget the wonderful mother he had. Then, Violet left the room holding a pile of blankets that held the baby.

"You have a daughter, Anthony."

He just cried more. His body was shaking and he couldn't even look at his mother and the baby. "Y/n... Is she...?" He took Violet's silence as a yes. "Oh god..."

"Enter the room, Anthony. She is waiting for you."

Anthony had never stood up so quickly in his life. He quickly opened the door, stopping momentarily when he saw the amount of blood on the sheets, but the most important thing was Y/n's half-open eyes. She was alive and looking around the room in confusion.

"Anthony? Where is my baby?" her voice was hoarse and extremely weak.

The man fell to his knees at the edge of her bed, and lowered his head to rest on her chest. A feeling of relief spread throughout his body when he felt the rising and falling movement of her chest, indicating that she was breathing and that it wasn't just his imagination.

"I love you so much." he cried, feeling her hands start stroking his hair. "I'm sorry. You were so brave and strong. I'm so proud of you, my love."

"Where is my baby?" Y/n didn't want to seem like she didn't appreciate Anthony's words because that was a lie. He was the most important person in her life. But at that moment, Y/n just wanted to know where her baby was.

"She's right here, dear." Violet reassured with a smile, announcing her presence.

Very carefully, she passed the child into the arms of her son's wife, her smile widening as the little family was finally together again. The new parents had a gentle smile as they looked at their creation, a new love emerging for this fragile human being.

Anthony kissed Y/n's temple. "We have a daughter."

"She is beautiful."

"She takes after her mother." Anthony quickly said, never feeling so much love as he did in that moment. 

He was extremely proud of Y/n admiring her strength and courage. Now, he was going to protect his two girls until the end of his life. Nothing was more important than his family.

[tteokdoroki]

Thinking about the freshly corrupted priest Gojo pumping his dick in the confession booth while the sinful vixen sitting in the other cabin went from confessing her sins of corrupting one of the local fathers and having him cream down her throat to giving him instructions on how to handle his throbbing cock lovingly

Go faster now, father- squeeze the tip just a little bit...yes that's a good boy...now spit on it, make a mess of yourself and give everyone a show, all their eyes are peering down and up on you.

And with that, good morning aali my love <3

-glasses anon

☆༉ — SATORU GOJO. confessional.

about. you confess your sins to father satoru, but with the lust bubbling between you both, things get a little carried away.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, sacrilege, religious imagery/references, guided masturbation, male masturbation, priest!gojo, fem!reader, wc: 1.6K.

what good is a priest who can’t follow his own teachings? one that succumbs to the slightest hint of femme fatale? 

gojo thought himself a strong man. a good one. but once again, he’d found himself drinking from the devil’s cup offered up by a lost little angel who has strayed away from her path to light. 

“and i really didn’t mean to. father toji— i mean fushiguro— seemed so stressed! like he needed a helping hand.” you whimper unevenly from your side of the confessional booth. guilt buzzes in satoru’s veins as he imagines you teary eyed and distraught on the other side of the wall. the mere idea of you crying sends pleasure and lustful hormones shooting through his bloodstream and right down to his erection — the tip flushing a shameful shade of bright red.

you continue relentlessly, each word a breathless whisper laid over the swell of your sinful lips.“s-so i offered some relief in the only way i know how. i let him use my body, let him use my throat. he said it was okay…” but i just feel so wrong for corrupting him like that under the watchful eye of the lord. is it wrong that i liked it, father ‘toru. having that man’s cum pour down my throat?”

you’ve strayed too far away from the light and you’re pulling him into the darkness with you. 

“f-fuck.” 

“is something wrong father toru, your voice sounds rather strained.” by the tone of your own, he can just tell that you have your head cocked to the side innocently. perhaps your lip is caught daringly between your teeth — eyes gleaming with mischief while you mask your amusement at the damage you’ve caused. the young priest’s dick throbs against his inner thigh, smearing white along his baby soft skin. satoru grabs at his girth, squeezing it as if to stave off the pleasure that he should be disgusted by. 

clearing his throat, gojo internally curses as the words stick to its ridges — almost as if he doesn’t believe what comes out of his own mouth next. “i-i’m fine. have you prayed? i’m sure he would forgive you for your sins.” 

“i’ve been on my knees every night.” you mumble through a pout that he can’t see — earning another hiss from the priest while his angry red cockhead starts to bleed more arousal, forming a dark stain that seep’s through the fabric of his black slacks. “if you don’t mind me asking… does it hurt, father toru?” 

“does what hurt?” he exhales slowly, pearly white lashes fluttering against the apples of his cheeks. gojo, against his better judgments, pops the button of his pants to provide some relief to his aching cock. it doesn’t help at all. 

“your cock. father fushiguro felt the same after i confessed what i’d done with father getou.” 

shit. “yes… it does.” 

“i maybe be able to help.” your voice somehow sounds closer — as if you’re in the booth with him. “can you touch it… touch yourself for me, please?”

when you ask him so sweetly, how can father satoru say no? he follows your instructions like a man charmed by a succubus from the deep depths of hell. his whole body shudders and his breath stutters when he finally takes his forth between his king and slender fingers, squeezing at the base as precum beads like a rare oyster’s pearl in the centre of his slit. 

this is so wrong. “holy…holy shit,” but it already feels so good. gojo hisses, chest heaving as he instinctively bucks into his closed fist. it’s warm, sends shockwaves of pleasure down his spine to build in his pelvis while each vein that wraps prettily around his cock pulses with a new wave of lust laden blood. “what should i…?” he coughs shakily, hips slowly beginning to fuck upwards to chase the feeling of his palm. “what should i do now?” 

“spit on it, father.” you command him gently, blessing him with your praise where the higher being above might condemn him. “get it nice and wet for me, like i would, okay? squeeze the tip when you do—“ 

father ‘toru easily follows your word as if it reads passages from the bible. carefully, he leans forward — letting hot, gooey trails of spit dribble over his blistering and bright cockchead. his entire body twitches at the new sensation, which is surprisingly cool in comparison to how hot his body feels. sweat tracks it’s way down his body, soiling his hood robes and freshly pressed clothes. it makes his pure white locks stick to his forehead, and gathers on his cupid’s bow and it really is all too much. 

he feels like hell on earth. 

there’s a dull thud that echoes from satoru’s side of the booth, his head knocking against the wooden walls when it falls back. in the same breath, a loud and borderline pornographic moan rips it’s way through satoru’s firm chest — it battles through his lips (caught between sets of perfect white teeth), and reverberates throughout the confessional booth, no doubt catching the attention of people passing by.

“ohmygod,” comes his pathetic whimper while he clenches around himself once again, throat bobbing as he swallows down his sinful sounds. “why does that feel so fucking good? g-god, please!”

satoru’s fall from grace makes a sick smile spread across your lips and you cock your head to the side. you can only imagine what he looks like if this is how he sounds, his clothes a sweaty mess, his eyes delirious and darkened with ungodly and immoral desire. all this while he begs for god, begs for forgiveness, begs for you.

“you’re doing so well for me, ‘toru. can you go a little faster for me? now that it’s nice and wet.” the way his name falls gently from your tongue is like thick honey running through satoru’s ears — you drag a veil of lust over his mind and once again he follows your orders. he pumps himself faster, harder, precum slinging over the edge of his knuckles as they turn as white as his hair from the grip he has on himself. 

he can’t help but let his mind stray and wander off into  damned territory — chasing the vision that his clouded mind creates for him. would your cunt feel as good as this? wrap around him as tightly? a stream of unfiltered and colourful curses pour from gojo’s mouth in a similar manner to the arousal from his mushroomed tip, dripping a searing hot trail down to his throbbing balls.

lewd squelches slip through the cracks of the confessional booth and filter right through to you. satoru has no idea how pleased you are to have ruined him, how much you’ve longed to hear him mewl and sigh from touching himself against the will of god. “you sound so messy, ‘toru,” you moan out just to mock him a little — listening out for his strained and strangled whines, gargling down the saliva that pools on his tongue. “think you can make an even bigger mess for me, father? one that everyone will see. those above….” you purr, the tail end of your words harmonising with gojo’s hiccups. “and those below.” 

satoru is no better than a sinner come to spill their truths to him. sitting there with his painfully hard dick in his hands, fisting it to oblivion as opaque white stains his hands and his fingers and his knuckles. there’s so much of it, so much lust and precum and he hasn’t even reached his peak yet. everything is so fucking hot, his dick slick between his sticky thighs and all-too-tight robes. 

“almost there, satoru. i need you to let go for me.” 

your goading voice through the thick oak wall pushes satoru’s hips to canter up higher and higher. he wants to please you so bad that it hurts and makes him cry. he whispers your name into the buzzing air like it’s a prayer, chanting it over and over again until it becomes the only word he knows.

“fuck… i can’t—“ gojo sighs airily, his thighs shuddering as the knots in his stomach begin to unravel. “christ… I feel like ‘m gonna burst!” angelic blue eyes roll deep back into the man’s skull, disappearing from the world to hide from the atrocities he’s committed. 

“then let go, let it all out. you’ve done so well.” you say sweetly over the sound of gojo languidly jacking himself off. one, two and three more pumps before he’s releasing thick white ropes of cum over his robe and his chest — seeping into his clothes. 

gojo’s so fucking dizzy, cumming so hard that he sees bright lights and swears that he’s landed at the gates of heaven — though he’s sure his actions today would stop him from getting in. there’s a ringing in his ear as he comes back down but all of his limbs feel heavy, he’s too weak to move. 

“f-father satoru?” you whisper innocently, as if your very voice didn’t lead the man to death. “i think our time is up.” 

“yeah?” he mumbles in response, the words slipping around on his tongue. “i think… you did good today. you’ll have to come back again next week, to make another confession.” 

if only he could see your sick little smile, one might have thought you were the devil. who knows what’ll happen if you’re alone together in a confined space. “if that’s what you need from me, father.” you giggle slyly. “see you next week.” 

“see you next week.” gojo repeats.

and just like that, you’ve dragged the poor priest into the corrupted depths of hell.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[cyn-write]

"You've Bewitched Me"

Prompt - NRC is in upheaval. A video of Yuu singing a song has been circling around the school about her being "bewitched," and everyone is trying to figure out by who. Yuu is embarrassed and upset about her private song being the subject of gossip, so she decides to hide from everyone only for her crush to find her and reveal he has been "bewitched," by her...

Pairings - NRC Students x F!reader

Warnings - Gossip, Incredibly Shy Reader with Stage Fright, Depictions of Anxiety, Not Beta Read

Song - "Bewitched" by Laufey

Prologue (Here) - Heartsyble - Savannaclaw - Octavinelle - Scarabia - Pomefiore - Ignanhyde - Diasmonia

When @/thegreatestmagealive uploaded a video of the Ramshackle Perfect singing a love song, to say NRC nearly blew up would be an understatement.

The song, the poster titled “Bewitched,” became an instant hit across campus, but also became the source of tension as everyone was asking the same question: Who bewitched the Ramshackle Perfect?

“20 Thumbmarks on Leona!”

“15 on Kalim!”

“Kalim? Really, no it has to be Vil!”

“30 DOLLARS ON LORD MALLEUS!”

“EVERYONE HUSH! Now Francis, how much on Vil?” The Halls of NRC were filled with gossip on who the song was about. There were multiple pots floating around of people betting on who it was about, and just as many heated discussions.

“Who says it’s a housewarden? She spends most of her time with the Freshies so it has to be one of them! My money is on the Red Head on the Basketball team, he is always hanging on her!” A Scarabia student chimed in at this corner table of the Cafateria.

“Ace? He’s an ass, no it has to be Spade! Anytime someone makes a comment about he at practice, he gets all defensive.” A Heartstyble student on the track team chimed in.

“That runt? Na, he has nothing on Jack.” The Savannaclaw student across from them chimed in.

“The Wolf? He barely says any words! Besides, the Perfect has more class than that, it has to be Epel!” A Pomefoire Student retorted getting glares from the Savannaclaw student.

“All of you are wrong, I ran the data,” The Ignanhyde student pulled out his tablet and showed them a chart, “Out of all the possibilities crossed referenced with the lyrics of the song, it has to be-“

Debates across the school were happening as people discussed who she was singing for. While some advocated for others, others advocated for themselves.

That night, in the midst of the debates, a poor Grim was looking for a place to stay the night. So he went first to Heartstyble.

Grim walked through the portal and saw *chaos*.

“CAULDRON!”

“DEUCE WHAT THE HELL!”

“Calm down you two! No one is going anywhere till Riddle gets back!”

Trey helped Ace out from under the cauldron while Cater tried to calm down Deuce who was red as roses. “Yuu’s private song was just released and all you can think about it YOURSELF!” Deuce called out to Ace as he attempted to wesal himself out of Cater’s grip.

Ace dusted himself off as Trey helped him up, “Well, it is pretty obvious! Who else could it be about? You Loosey Duece? Or maybe Mr. Magicam? Chef Dad? Or maybe, our esteemed leader? No. It has to be me, so I am going to go check on her-“

Deuce tackled Ace, again, so Trey and Cater had to dive in to separate the two.

It did not take long for grim to realize it might be best to come back later. So he went back through the portal to try Savannaclaw.

But his scruff was grabbed before he could step through.

“Heeeey, Sealie!!” Grim gulped as he knew that voice all too well. Floyd turned Grim around so he was facing the two most terrifying smiles in NRC. “Mind clearing something up for Jade and I? See, he thinks Shrimpy’s song is about him, but I say its bout me. And every guppy is saying a different name, so we wanted to get info from them inside fishie~”

“W-what are you talking about!” Grim said crossing his arms. He knew he was in deeeeep dodo.

“Come now Grim, you must know who she’s singing about?” Jade said with a sonically smile on his face, “Now, as Yuu’s close friends, we just want to know, who bewitched our dear friend?”

“Yeeeaaah Sealie, who?” Floyd sung melodically.

“I-I ain’t saying anything!” Grim kept his mouth shut. He had already made Yuu mad, he didn’t want to make. It any worse.

“Oh come on Sealie! Everyone has a price! What’s yours??-“

“What are you two doing?” Came the harsh voice of Vil, Grim’s savior. The housewarden meeting must have finished. Early as all seven, yes even Malleus, came into the hall of mirrors to witness poor little grim shiver in his fur.

“Heya Beta!” Floyd said and waved Grim around, “We’re just asking Sealie a question! That’s all!”

“I’m guessing it’s about Yuu?” Azul asked as he made his way over to his Eel’s. “How is the Ramshackle Perfect? We missed her at the meeting.”

“Yuu… wellllllllll….” Grim scratched his cheek and the other housewarden’s came over, all wondering the same thing, “She is kinda sorta mad at me. And kinda sorta threw me out for ‘not respecting her privacy’ which I didn’t mean to get her upset, I just wanted to show everyone she had a pretty voice and she got all mad.”

“We’ll if you need a place to stay, Octavinelle is always open to poor souls! And I am sure we can work out a pi-“

“We all know what you want Azul, just ask him now so we can clear this up!” Leona said, clearly annoyed at the Mers underhanded methods. “Whose the song about?”

“I-I don-“

“Why are we even asking this question? It is clearly me!” Vil said shaking his head.

“What makes you so sure Schoenheit?” Malleus asked, “I spend more time with the Child of Man and have more magical prowess, it is defiantly about me. I was just about to grab her the-“

“No way the songs about you Lizard!” Leona retorted, “She clearly-“

“The Song’s about Nii-Chan! I ran the-“ Ortho chimed in with Idia listening in on his screen.

“WILL YOU ALL BE QUIET!” Riddle yelled, somehow getting the attention of the others, “This is disgraceful! You are. All concerned with your own selfish needs when you should be worrying about our fellow housewarden whose privacy has been breached and is probably distraught!”

Kalim nodded and said, “Yeah, we need to go cheer her up! Besides, it was probably just a song about love, nothing else!”

Grim sighed and added, “Oh its about someone, You she hear the other songs she wrote about him-“

“About WHO!” Everyone asked.

“I DON’T KNOW!” Grim said and got the glares of everyone.

Azul sighed and said, “You just said you knew.”

“I said I knew she has a crush and wrote more songs about him. I never said I knew WHO it was.” He crossed his arms and looked at the ground, “And she threw me out before I could ask. I tried going back in but she sounded so… upset. When I asked to come back in and apologized she said she just wanted to be alone…”

The group looked dejected at this. Floyd let Grim go and sighed, “Poor Shrimpy…”

Azul looked at Jade and Floyd, “Let’s go, Lounge won’t run itself.”

As Azul left with his Eels, Leona and Kalim also branched off their dorms, “Jamil is probably wondering where I am.”

“Yeah, I gotta make sure Savannaclaw is still in one piece.”

Vil and Ortho branched off next with Vil grumbling about wrinkles and Ortho talking to Idia.

Riddle and Malleus were the last two left with Grim.

“Grim, your welcome to stay at Heartstyble. It might help keep Ace and Deuce in.” Riddle said then looked to Malleus, “The Perfect probably needs a night, but if you do check on her, please let her know I-… We are here if she needs us.”

“I will Roseheart,” Malleus nodded to his red haired companion as he and Grim walk through the Heartstyble Mirror. Malleus turns and before he can make his way to Ramshackle, Lilia is there. All he has to do is shake his head and Malleus knows what his mentor is trying to say, she needs time alone.

The next morning, the first years go to Ramshackle to walk with Yuu to breakfast as they do every morning, but when they got their, the ghost intervened and said she needs to sleep in. The three ghost refused to let any of them enter and even brought Grim’s stuff to the door.

Yuu did not show to any of her classes or reply to any text, and all of her friends quickly understood why. Yuu’s song was all everyone was talking about, more specifically, who it was about. All the pots from the nights before had tripled and almost every students had a guess on who it was about. Yuu has never felt more embarrassed.

By the time night rolled around again, Yuu had read every text, post, and comment about her song. People were making guesses and demanding she confess who. In the midst of the chaos and rumors, all she could think about was what her crush was thinking. She had liked him as more than a friend for a while now, but had no clue if he returned the sentiment. All the worse possibilities were running through her head.. ‘He probably thinks I’m some obsessed freak, this is so embarrassing, Grim ruined. everything, there is no coming back from this. our friendship is ruined, I can never show my face at school again…” Thoughts like this combined with her stage fright made her mood worse. She wrote songs and sang them to help her work through things, it was incredibly personal for her and she never intended to share any of them, not yet at least. Now she was lying in her bed, curled up in her blankets with her phone lighting up with text next to her. She could not bring herself to talk to anyone, she was too scared and embarrassed to.

The Ghost have been kind enough to fend off Grim (who she was still mad at) and her friends (who she was still too embarrassed to see) so she could have some time alone. They worked as her guards and caretakers, making her eat and get up every now and then. They were also the only ones who knew who her songs were about.

So when he arrived on her doorstep, the ghost decided to let him in.

Yuu was looking at her notebook, pouring over the lyrics again and again when a knock came at her bedroom door.

“Yuu… can I come in?” His voice carried through the door.

Yuu felt her heart stop. She held her notebook tightly and sighed, “I guess its now or never…”

She got up from her bed, notebook in hand, and stood in front of the door. She was shaking and as she stared at the door, terrified of what would happen next, when he cast a spell over her once again:

“Yuu, I… I don’t. know if that song was about me but I want you to know. You’ve bewitched me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: This is the Prolouge to a small series! Be on the look out for each characters part and if you want tagged please let me know! Please Like, Reblog, and Follow for more! If you are interested in seeing more characters in this scenario or these characters in different scenarios, please let me know! (Do not Steal)

[lacroixwh0r3]

Blow My Load

DBF!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: For the last two year, you and Joel have been secretly hooking up behind your fathers back. One night when your dad goes out on a date, you and Joel spend the night together and Joel gets carried away.

Warnings: SMUT!! DUB CON, petnames (pretty tame ones), doggystyle, oral sex (f recieving), PiV, creampie, crying, pregnancy mention, abortion mentioned at the end, overstimulation, Joel is a little bit of an asshole in this (I am so sorry), age gap (Joel is 40 and reader is around 25), (aged up) Sarah mentioned, no outbreak

Song inspo (Feel free to listen if you want): Blow my load by Tyler, The Creator

A/N: Enjoy! Please reblog, share, like, and comment if you want. <333

"Oh, baby," Joel moans as he breaks the kiss between you two. You look down at his lips, which are now bright red and slightly plumped. His tongue quickly licks off the mix of both of your spits from his bottom lip. His hands were still holding your head in place as he looked at you. "I wanna cum in that tight little pussy so bad, darlin."

Normally, the two of you would have to be quiet, but because your dad had decided last minute to go on a date, it was just you and Joel in the house. Or you might even go over to Joel's house, which was five minutes away, if Sarah wasn't home, but tonight the young girl was at the house with three of her friends having a sleepover doing, lord knows, what. Joel was adamant about staying over to watch the four girls, but you quickly reminded him that they're 18 years old and could easily take care of themselves. You were also going to be home alone, and you wanted him all to yourself.

As soon as your dad pulled out of the driveway, you and Joel ran to your bedroom and stripped out of your clothing.

You couldn't help but let out a whimper. "Joel, you know you can't do that." You tell him as you bring your hands up to grip his wrist. You weren't on birth control, and Joel wasn't a big fan of condoms. When the two of you did have sex together, Joel would usually pull out at the very last second, which would lead to you giving him a lecture as you both came down from the intense orgasm you both had.

Sure, it was hot when Joel did it, but you would rather not have to tell your dad that you were pregnant with his best friend's baby, and you didn't want Joel to tell Sarah that he had gotten the girl she looked up to the most pregnant.

"I know, darlin', I know, but imagine how fuckin' good it must feel." Joel whispered to you as he groans out. He brings his head close to yours again. You could feel his lips ghosting over yours.

"I'm fucking you until you can't think straight, begging me to dump my warm load deep into your pussy." Joel says before he sticks his tongue out again, only this time his tongue strokes against my top lip. You felt a strong pull in your stomach as your pussy clenched around nothing, causing you to push your hips into Joel's. "Maybe even put a baby in there." He says it lightly. It was almost as if he was saying it to himself, but somehow you still heard it but didn't comment on it.

You couldn't help but think about earlier, when Joel had lifted your dress up and ate you out on your family's couch in the living room while your dad ran to the store to restock on beer and some food for dinner. The way he sat down on the floor as he wrapped his large hands around your ankles to keep your legs from closing or falling off the couch Or the way he slurped, licked, and sucked on your clit to the point you almost wanted to scream at the top of your lungs.

You parted your lips to allow Joel's tongue to invade your mouth. Joel cocks his head to the side a bit and sucks on your tongue before letting it go and French kissing you. You can feel it as the drool slides down your chin, getting onto his beard. You feel Joel's hands release your face and move down your neck, stopping at your breast. He fondles them and thumbs your nipples. They were painfully hard now.

You wanted nothing more than for Joel to fuck you senselessly until you couldn't think of anything but him. Joel always turned you on when he talked to you like this, but you were ovulating right now, and his words weren't helping.

You pull away from the kiss. "Fuck me, Joel," You mutter against his lips. "I want you to fuck me hard, daddy."

"Yeah, you want me to fuck you nice and hard? Get on the bed so Daddy can fuck you," He says sternly. "I want you face down, ass up, darlin'." You immediately get to the edge of the bed, just as Joel told you to, with your feet hanging off.

You can feel Joel close behind you in between your legs as he reaches over your naked body and grabs the pillow near your head. "Get on your hands for me real quick," He tells you. Again, you do what he says, and he stuffs the pillow underneath your stomach. "Good girl, now lay back down on your chest." He tells you once more. You lay back down and realized that your hips were now elevated, allowing Joel to easily access your pussy.

"Oh, look at you, so fuckin' sexy with your ass in the air, just ready for me to fuck you," He teases you. "You want me to fuck that pretty pussy, doll?" Joel asked. You felt your pussy clenching around nothing. Begging for your hole to be fucked

"Mmmhm." You whimper at Joel as you nuzzle your face into the soft sheets beneath you. However, your response did not satisfy him because he spanked your ass with his large hand. Your head pops off the bed, causing you to look back at him over your shoulder.

"Say it." Joel demanded it from you. "Tell me how much you want me to fuck you."

"I've wanted you since you got here, baby. I've been so fucking wet for that big cock." You whimpered as you wiggled your ass in the air, causing him to strike your ass again.

"Oh, I know you want my cock, honey. You want me to fuck my cum into you? Hmm?" He spanked you multiple times. You let out soft whines as you shook my head.

"Hmm? What's that, baby? You want me to cum in you?" He not-so-jokingly asked:

"I mean it, Joel. You can't cum inside of me or I'm gonna kill you, old man." You give him a pointed look over your shoulder, causing him to raise his hand in defense with his eyebrows raised. You meant it jokingly, but also not jokingly.

"I promise I won't, baby." He tells you.

"Mmhm, now I want you to fuck me, Joel." You demand him. His left hand grips your waist as the other wraps around his cock as he strokes it, getting ready to slide it into you. You feel him rub his cock against your clit as he gathers the arousal that seeps out of your hole. You moan out his name as he hisses.

Joel then points the head of his cock at your pussy and slowly slides inside. Letting out a deep groan as he does so. "Oh f-fuck, baby," He shudders. Your toes had curled up in pleasure as you dropped your head onto the sheets. "Pussy so fucking tight and warm... I might just have to cum in this pussy and make you a momma, huh?" He questions you as he slowly begins to push in and out of you. Joel felt the flutter after he said that.

"Oh, you liked that, baby?" Joel teases you. His slow strokes began to form a hard, fast pounding. "Tell me."

"I am going to fu-Oh fuck me-I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, Joel!" You moan out to him as he continues his furious strokes. His balls slapped against your clit as he pushed your waist into the pillow beneath you. "Y-you have to fucking pull out," You plead with Joel. You knew that he wasn't listening as he continued to pound his cock in and out of you.

"You promised me!" You squeal out. Joel only grunted in reply and spanked your ass with full force as his left hand gripped your hips.

Somehow, Joel's thrust had only gotten faster. You could hear your headboard hitting against your wall and the sound of my ass slapping against Joel's hips. It was all too much. Your knees began to burn from the friction, your hips began to grow sore as he tightened his grip on them, and with each hit to your ass, there was a sharp sting that lingered. That's when you knew that both you and Joel were close to orgasming.

"Oh, J-Joel, baby, please!" Suddenly, it hit you. You were cumming so hard that you didn't know what to do with yourself. The combined feeling of Joel's heavy balls slapping against your clit and his cock rubbing the spot deep within you was overpowering, causing tears to form.

You grabbed the pillow that sat near your head and brought it close to your face. You bite down on the pillow as your eyes roll to the back of your head, letting out loud moans into it.

"Oh my fucking god, baby..." Joel strains out his sexy, deep voice. He spanks you again as you cum around his cock and rub your ass cheek to soothe the pain. "Come on, sweet girl, tell me who's making you feel good." His strokes had begun to slow down now.

You release the pillow from between your teeth. You were so far gone from your ongoing orgasm that you couldn't even form words. Goosebumps had formed around your whole body as you shaked and quivered.

You feel him bring his hand up and smack your ass hard again, causing your body to jerk in response. "Tell me, girl! Who's makin' you cum this hard?" Joel grits his teeth as he slowly thrusts into you.

"It's you, Daddy!" You moan out to him as you reach your arm around you to grab onto his fingers on your waist. Joel moans and slowly picks up the pace of his thrust. You could feel his balls tighten against your clit, letting you know that he was nearly cumming. You look over your shoulder at him.

"That's fuckin' right, daddy is fucking you." He fucks himself into you. "O-Oh fuck, I'm gonna fuckin' cum soon, my sweet girl." Joel continues to hold onto your hand while his other hand lazily spanks your ass some more. You watch as his head falls back and his eyes close. You feel yourself close to another orgasm as well, but you can't help but worry that Joel isn't going to pull out on time.

"J-Joel," You moan to him as you grip the sheets on the bed. "You have to pull out; I'm ovulating, and you're gonna get me pregnant if you don't." You tried to tell him so that he could pull out. However, this only seemed to turn him on more. His cock strained in you all while he continued to stroke against the spot inside of you. You released his hand, slipped it between the pillow, and onto your clit. You rubbed your clit fast as he fucked you.

Joel looked like he had been transported to heaven. He looked down at you with both hands on your hips, gripping them hard. It hurt, but you didn't care.

"Oh, baby, I love you so fuckin' much," he whimpered as he looked into your eyes. "I'm so sorry," He says, looking down at his cock going in and out of your pussy. The sight of your juices covering his cock made his body go stiff. That's when you knew he wasn't going to pull out.

"I can't stop; I need to fuckin' cum in this tight pussy right now."

"Joel! No, pull out now." You told him as you tried to move your body away from his, but his grip was too tight around you. "You promised me, Joel!" You moaned loudly.

You weren't sure how many times you had orgasmed today, but you knew that you were cumming again. Joel moans as he feels you tighten around him. His cock begins to spurt his warm cum into your womb. You were so overstimulated that your eyes leaked tears and your ears rang loudly as your cunt welcomed Joel's cum and fluttered around his cock. Over the ringing in your ears, you can hear Joel whimpering out soft appologies as he continued to cum.

With his cock still inside you as you leaked out cum from your pussy, he laid his warm body on top of your back. His chest was damp with sweat from pounding into you. You could feel his warm breath by your ear as he took a minute to gather himself together. He still felt your walls fluttering around him. "It's okay, babydoll. I got you," He whispered gently as he stroked your bare side. You couldn't speak or think; all you could do was shiver underneath his body, even though you were far from cold.

Moments later, Joel pushes up from the bed and slowly pulls his cock from you with a slight hiss and groan. Joel bends down to get a look at your cum-filled pussy with his hands resting on your ass. "Oh doll, look at that pretty pussy," He whispers as he strokes his thumb against your sore ass. "I'll be back, okay, baby?" You let out a soft hum, letting him know he heard you.

When he went to the bathroom to clean you off and get something to clean you off, he didn't hear you burst into tears. When he came back, you were now sitting in the middle of the bed, crying with your head in your hands.

He rushes into the room, places the water bottle and towel on the bed, and embraces you. You couldn't help but cry harder as you cried into his neck. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry." He apologized as he kissed and rubbed your head. "I'm so fuckin' sorry, I don't even know what I was thinking."

You continued to cry for a few more moments before speaking up. "Joel, what if you did get me pregnant? What are we going to tell my dad and Sarah?" You look up at him with worry. He could tell you were stressed over this and couldn't help but feel his heart pull in his chest. Joel honestly didn't know what came over him during sex.

"Doll," He grabs your hand from your lap and gives it a quick kiss. "If you do get pregnant and you decide that you want to get rid of it, I will be there along the way, but if you want to keep it, then I will be sure to take care of you and the baby no matter what." Joel says it truthfully.

You stroked his hand with your thumb. "Joel, I'm not getting rid of it, but we're gonna be so fucked when my dad finds out his best friend of four years has been boning his daughter for the last two years and got her pregnant..." You say this to him as you look down at his hand in yours. "He'll fucking probably end up kicking me out and then kicking your ass."

"Don't you worry your pretty little head 'bout that darlin'; you're always welcomed at my house." With his other hand, he holds your head and kisses the crown of your head. "As for him kicking my ass, that ain't happening, sweetheart," He says sternly, as if he is sure. You let out a snort as you laughed.

"Oh really?" You back away from him to get a look at the cocky look on his face. He just looks down at your face with admiration.

"I'm certain, darlin'," He tells you, causing you to let out a loud giggle. That beautiful giggle overwhelmed Joel with love. He knew he loved you before, and he always made sure that you knew he loved you, but he knew right there that there would be another compared to you. You were it for him.

After your giggles had died down, you noticed that he was looking at you with a sparkling look in his eyes. "What?" You asked him softly as you played with his fingers.

"You know I love you, right?" He asked you. You felt yourself beginning to get shy. The both of you always told each other how much you loved each other, but something about this was different.

"Of course I know, Joel. Do you know I love you more, though?" You lean over and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. You then pull back to take a look at his face. The way his hard eyes softened when he looked at you made you weak in the knees. "So fuckin' handsome!" Joel's cheeks turned a soft pink color.

"And you're the most beautiful thing on earth," He whispers to you. "You're mine forever; don't ever forget it, darlin'." You wish this moment could last forever.

You released his hands from yours and brought them to your stomach. "I can't believe we might be having a baby, Joel," You whispered as you stroked your stomach. You could see you and Joel sharing a child together and even getting married whenever the time is right. He puts his hand over yours as well and rubs his thumb against your hand.

"You want me to cum in you again so we know we're successful, baby?" He suggested it with a smug tone. The soft look on your face immediately dropped and was replaced with a blank one instead.

"You're such a dirty old man," You tell him. "But yes, I do." You give him a quick peck on the lips before laying back down on the bed.

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A/N: I kinda hate this, but its been on my mind and I wanted to write.