#the plan now is to wait for a phone call from the Education Lady and then shell put some gears into motion or whatever

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 1: The Fall-Down House]

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

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, alligators, kids, parenthood, smoking, cupcakes!

Word Count: 7.2k (she's very chonky for a first chapter).

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

Since this is the first chapter of a new series, I'm going to tag a bunch of usual readers, but I won't tag you again unless you want me to. 💜

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“What do you want to do to me?” you whisper through the phone, stretched out across your bed like a cat as George Michael’s Faith plays from the baby pink Panasonic boombox out in the kitchen. It’s late afternoon, and fading daylight falls in tiger stripes through the window blinds. The May air is hot, muggy, golden; cicadas hum in the southern live oaks, an ancient earthen music like rattling bones.

A few seconds pass before he can reply. It was a bold way to begin. You are admittedly a little impressed with yourself; an idea like this has been pacing around in your skull like a beast behind bars for years, but you’ve only now set it loose. “That’s difficult to explain in words,” he says; and in the low, teasing purr of his voice you can hear that your gamble paid off like striking oil. He has a British accent, which you never would have expected. You only recognize it from clips you’ve seen of Prince Charles and Princess Diana on 60 Minutes. “But I’d enjoy showing you.”

It’s laid open beside you on the bed, his personal ad in the Bayou Journal: Educated white male in his mid-20s. Single and not looking to change that. Seeking an open-minded, adventurous, and spirited lady for short-term D/s arrangement. Be prepared to answer the following riddle: I’m small but loom large, I’m Italian but French, I give away much to gain little. Who am I? Best regards, An Indecent Gentleman. “I’m waiting.”

“You understand what is meant by D/s?”

“Of course,” you say, your best feigned flippantness. You only know because Amir told you; he’s been daring you to call for three days.

“Thank God,” the man on the other end of the line sighs. There is an inhale like a drag on a cigarette. You imagine what he might look like: broad or slight, dark-haired or blonde, striking or average or homely, treacherous or safe, forbidden fruit or just plain forbidden. “I’ve had four different women ring me thinking I’m going to be their boyfriend, dinner and flowers and everything. They’re functionally illiterate down here.”

How unfortunate, you think. He’s highfalutin. But alas, no one is perfect. That’s no prohibitive obstacle. He doesn’t need to be faultless; it’s not as if you’re planning to marry the guy. “I like when someone else is in control.”

“Why?” This is a test, you can feel it. You can sense his rapt attention across the wire, through the electricity and the lush treetops and the rust-amber sky.

“I have a lot of…responsibilities in my real life,” you explain. “A lot of pressure. I make the decisions, I look out for other people. Sometimes I want to be the one who’s told what to do.”

“I can make that happen. And the riddle?”

“It’s Napoleon.”

The grin is sharp and triumphant in his voice. “Good girl.”

“He was short but an emperor. He was born in Corsica to an Italian family, but he ended up ruling over France. He sold off a bunch of French colonies to focus on conquering Europe and still couldn’t quite manage it. But the U.S.A. got this charming little corner of the world as part of the bargain.”

“You’re a historian,” the man says, sounding pleased.

“No sir, we all had to learn about him in school whether we wanted to or not.”

“Sir,” he echoes, tasting it, savoring it. You imagine a pink tongue flicking out to skate across his lips. Then he is abruptly cool, impersonal, businesslike. “Listen, I’ve got a scar down the left side of my face. It’s thin, it’s clean, but it’s noticeable. The eye is glass, although you can’t really tell unless you look closely. Is that a problem?”

A scar? Is he a veteran? A lion tamer? A motorcycle enthusiast? You try to remember what kinds of hobbies British people have. Isn’t there some kind of sport where men swing sticks around while riding horses? That sounds like it could put an eye out. Perhaps to your own surprise, you find that you are more intrigued than uneasy. Oh, you realize, dull like dawn through mist. I like him. I want him. Not just THIS, but HIM. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Brilliant. I don’t want to talk about it again.”

“That’s fine.” You hesitate. “There’s actually something I should tell you too.”

“Hm?”

The hum of his voice is arrogant, hungry. You try not to get distracted. Blood rushes hot and ashamed into your cheeks. “Um, well, uh, sometimes it’s difficult for me to…you know. Finish. Not when I’m alone, just when I’m with a guy. Especially if I’m anxious. And I don’t want to feel worried about faking it or making sure it happens or dealing with you getting offended or upset or whatever. Because it’s fine, really. It doesn’t mean I’m not having a good time. I’m just…stuck in my own head.”

There is a sound you can’t quite match to an expression, an exhale, a scoff. “Obviously I wouldn’t be mad at you. But you’ll come. I know you will. I’ll make you.”

And you’re flooded with a relief that you never dared to hope for. A confession spills out in a trembling whisper: “Please.”

“When?” he says, eager, urgent.

“I think if we don’t do it now, I’ll lose my nerve.”

There is a razor-thin pause, and then he asks for your address.

~~~~~~~~~~

You haven’t had a man in your bed in years; you are abruptly and unkindly reminded of this when you paw through the top drawer of your bedroom dresser and find only practical, deadly unsexy cotton Kmart underwear. You dash to the closet, yank open the squeaking door, and—tucked away in a cardboard box of winter clothes like sweaters and jeans, forgotten, needless—unearth a sprinkling of insubstantial silk and lace, all in luxurious gemstone hues: amethyst, ruby, sapphire, onyx, emerald.

“Oh, hallelujah.” You throw off your sunshine yellow shorts and tug on what were once upon a time your favorite panties. They don’t fit nearly as well as they used to; they fit horribly, in fact. They evaporate the thrill and leave nauseous trepidation in its place. “Oh God. Oh no. Oh no, oh no.” You steal a harried glimpse of the clunky black alarm clock on your nightstand. The flashing red numbers inform you that you have approximately ten more minutes until he arrives.

You jog pantsless to the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of sweet tea—ice cold, bright with a squeeze of lemon juice—and pace back and forth across the wooden floor as you sip it. The pine boards slope at just the slightest angle; if you laid an apple by your feet, it would roll. The house is sinking. It was built at the turn of the twentieth century, but it won’t live to see the next. Ailing sunlight casts your shadow against the wall, mint green, spider-leg cracks inching through the paint. Outside cicadas buzz and doves coo in long, mournful whirrs.

You pick up the phone—pink to match the boombox that is now playing Poison’s Nothin’ But A Good Time—next to the refrigerator and dial with one finger, your other hand still clutching the frosty glass of sweet tea. It rings twice before he answers.

“Wassup?” Amir says distractedly. You can hear a commotion from his living room on the other side of town: his grandmother squawking, ambient applause, Wheel Of Fortune.

“Quick, what should I wear?”

“Huh?”

“The guy! The guy from the ad! I called the guy! What should I be wearing when he shows up?”

Amir cackles. “Ho, you must be truly desperate, why the fuck are you asking me?” There is some shrill protestation in the background. “Grandma, don’t you dare try to act like you’ve never heard that word before, we just rented Aliens.”

“You know what men like,” you plead.

“Not the straight ones!” And then, not to you: “Grandma, calm down. Grandma, Grandma! It’s my homegirl. She has an emergency. She’s got a man coming over and she doesn’t know what to wear. What did you wear for Pop Pop? What? What?! You expect me to believe you got seven kids out of that dude with just some old floral nightgown?! Prairie girl fabulous? Looking like you’re on your way to join the Donner Party? Okay, if you say so! Phyllis knows best!” Amir’s attention returns to you. “Grandma suggests a nightgown.”

You are skeptical. “That seems slutty.”

“You’re inviting some stranger over for an all-expenses-paid ride on the Pussy Express and you’re concerned about looking slutty?!”

He has a point. “Okay. Okay. Yeah. You’re right. Okay.”

“You wear that nightgown with confidence and you take that random kinky man directly to bed, do you understand me?” Amir orders.

“Totally,” you say, gulping sweet tea with a shaking hand.

“Good luck. I gotta go, it’s the Bonus Round. Hope you have a few rounds to tell me about tomorrow.” Then he hangs up.

Back in your bedroom closet, you find a black satin slip that runs to your ankles and flows like a ballgown. You put it on some nights when you’re feeling desirable, after a bath of bubbles and steam, candles and Madonna, freshly shaved legs and shimmering with Pond’s, when you want to lounge around daydreaming, when you want to remember the fantasies you once had about what your life might turn out to be. Now you wear it in the fading daylight, nothing underneath and golden sunbeams turning your skin to something that warms and glows.

You appraise yourself in your dusty dresser mirror, and you think: Not too bad, actually. You’ve had your hair up in a haphazard bun. You reach to take it down, then stop yourself. You like the wayward wisps, the I-don’t-care-too-much casualness. Your breathing is slow and calm again. There is a noise outside: tires crunching on gravel. Your glass of sweet tea, now mostly just ice cubes, is sweating on top of your dresser. You grab the glass, swipe the Bayou Journal off your bed, and take both to the kitchen counter, still speckled with flour, powdered sugar, flecks of cinnamon. Then you pad across the sloping wooden floor in your bare feet to open the front door. Amber dusk streams in; you can hear bullfrogs croaking and the hoots of the long-eared owl that lives in the collapsing, overgrown shed behind the house. Spanish moss hangs like cobwebs, like chandeliers. The tree swing rocks idly in the breeze. The first notes of You Shook Me All Night Long play from the kitchen boombox.

His car is red, sporty, with a logo on the grill that you don’t recognize, a series of circles intertwined like rings. He cuts the engine and steps out into the driveway as you watch from behind the screen, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest. He’s tall, trim, blonde, wearing Adidas sneakers and light-wash jeans and a Marlboro jacket that it’s far too hot for. He peers around, taking in the trees and the house through his black aviator sunglasses. He puffs one last time on a cigarette before putting it out on his own windshield and starting towards the porch. And immediately, primally, you crave him like water or air.

He climbs the groaning steps, splitting wood and rusty nails. You open the screen door to meet him in the threshold. And he takes off his sunglasses so he can look at you, stowing them in a pocket of his jacket, his gaze not wavering from yours, his lips not saying a word. Yes, he has a scar, but it doesn’t diminish him in the slightest. Yes, his left eye may be glass, but you wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t already told you. You’re too tangled up in the right. His iris is a brisk greyish blue, not like the ocean, not like the bayou, more like the sky before a hurricane, heavy with the threat of wind and rain. His face is strong, jarring, beautiful in a rare way. His full lips are curling into a grin.

At last, you speak first, an inane observation that feels somehow significant. “You found me.”

“I did.” He nods towards the large lavender sign out by the mouth of the gravel driveway. Hand-painted on it are the words Hummingbird Bakery and a logo that Amir designed, a hummingbird feeding on the frosting swirl of a cupcake as if it’s a flower flush with nectar. “You told me to look for the sign. That helped.”

“What kind of car do you drive? I don’t recognize it.”

“It’s an Audi Quattro.”

“Audi,” you repeat, like a hopelessly distant place, New York City or Los Angeles or Paris or the moon. “Is that British?”

“German, actually.”

“You’re from a very different world.”

“Yeah, I am.” His eye flicks up and down your body, black satin that curves and clings; his grin widens. “But I could learn to like yours, I think.”

You step back so he can follow you inside. The screen door shuts with a bang. Under the shadows, as the sun sets into the west, he unzips his Marlboro jacket and tosses it onto your living room couch. Underneath he wears a white t-shirt. We’re opposites, you think dazedly, wondering what he will taste like when he kisses you. He grazes his fingertips down the front of your throat, continues to your chest, stills when he hits the satin of your slip.

“You can tell me to stop whenever you want to,” he murmurs, and you breathe in his smoke and cologne and dauntless, dizzying self-assurance. “But until you say stop, I’m gonna keep going.”

Your heartbeat is drumming beneath his hand, part exhilaration and the rest nerves. You are afraid of disappointing him; you aren’t sure what to expect. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Aemond.”

Aemond. Foreign, like Audi, like Paris. You give him your own in return. He leans in, presses his hips to yours, denim and satin that you can feel his heat through. And you think he’s going to kiss your neck, or bite it, bruise it, mark it, claim it, claim you; but he only ghosts his parted lips from the edge of your jaw to your bare shoulder, inhaling slow and deep, drawing your atoms into his lungs until they tumble down the narrowest corridors and into his capillary beds, into his bloodstream. You moan softly, helplessly, and turn your face to kiss him.

“No,” Aemond growls, teasing you, catching your chin with one hand to hold you still. His other hand glides down the front of your slip and stops between your legs. Through satin the color of a starless midnight, his fingers stroke you roughly, commandingly. Animalistic yearning bolts low to weaken your knees, high to rip a gasp from your throat. “Nothing underneath,” he notes in approval.

Oh, I like him, you think, in equal parts ecstatic and petrified. I REALLY like him.

But are you going to be able to impress him too? Are you going to ruin this?

You whimper, unintentionally and almost inaudibly. Aemond is studying your face; furrows appear in his scarred brow, so faint and fleeting you might have imagined them. Then his hand retreats as he says: “Show me your toys.”

You gape up at him; this is not what you anticipated. “What?”

“I want to see how you make yourself come. You have toys, don’t you?”

“I do,” you admit, though you’ve never used them with anyone else before.

Aemond smirks mischieviously, then commands: “Show me. Right now.”

You lead him to your bedroom and slide open the middle drawer of your dresser. You glance at his reflection in the silvery glass of the mirror; he’s staring, not at your body but at your face, his gaze locked with yours, his mouth open, entranced, hungry. You move to stand against the wall, smiling sheepishly as Aemond shoves aside folded sheets and pillowcases to reveal your collection. It’s nothing too adventurous: five vibrators in different colors, styles, sizes.

“Quite the assortment,” he praises.

“They were gifts from a friend.”

Now Aemond is dubious. “A friend?”

“Don’t be jealous. He doesn’t like women.”

Aemond laughs, warm and boyish like he’s breaking character; and you are alarmed by the wave of fondness for him that crashes through you. It’s something that could pull you under. It’s something you could drown in. He picks up the largest vibrator: long, thick, pink like soft feminine vulnerability, like love. Then he is darkly, deliciously stern again. “On the bed.”

“No.” Not because you’re genuinely protesting. Because you want him to make you.

Aemond grabs you around your waist and drags you towards the bed as you squeal, giggle, fight him halfheartedly. He throws you down onto the wildflower-patterned duvet and climbs between your thighs, parting them as he pushes the hem of your black satin slip up to your waist. Abruptly, you are bare for him, exposed, fiery dusk air cool against your wetness. Aemond is still fully clothed, white shirt and pale blue jeans. He is holding your legs open with his own. You can see the bulge of his cock beneath the denim: at least as large as the vibrator and hard with insistent longing.

I want him, you think as you hear the vibrator click on. I want him, I want him…

Aemond brings the pink silicone tip to your flesh, and instantly you’re ravenous. It shocks you how much more erotic this is when someone else is holding it, when someone else has you entirely at their mercy. You cry out, loud and shameless, euphoric. Your back arches; your fingers twist into the duvet. As he presses the vibrator down more forcefully, Aemond braces his hips against yours, grinding into you through his jeans, taunting you, conquering you.

You fumble for the button and zipper of his jeans. “Please—”

“No,” Aemond snarls, beaming, snatching your hand and pinning it up by your head. His other hand is still circling your clit with the tip of the vibrator. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Aemond, please, I need you—”

“No,” he says, defiant. He makes the rules. He has the power; he’s in control. Suddenly, he pulls the vibrator away. You yelp in dismay. “You know,” Aemond quips cavalierly. “It’s a shame you have such a difficult time finishing when you’re with a man. I bet you’re not even close.”

“I am,” you whine, in agony, in ecstasy.

Aemond pretends to be surprised. “Hm.” He returns the vibrator to your skin, slick, hot, aching in the most wondrous way. You sigh as the pleasure surges through you, as you soar up to the previous plateau and then begin to ascend beyond it. You must have repositioned yourself without noticing; Aemond releases your hand to smack his palm against the inside of your thigh. “Keep your legs apart. I want you wide open for me.”

“I will, I promise.” I’ll do anything you tell me to.

Aemond’s hand ventures lower. Two of his fingers glide inside you and thrust in time with his hips. “Fuck,” he hisses, breaking character again; and something rocks through his shoulders, his spine, a divine temptation that he is battling.

“Aemond, more,” you plead, looking at the massive outline of his cock under his jeans.

“Not yet,” he pants, fucking you with his fingers as the vibrator hums against your clit. “You have to come for me first, baby. You have to earn it.”

And you’re close, you really are, you’re closer than you ever would have imagined you’d be with him tonight, this stranger, this elusive British man, this man from a personal ad in the Bayou Journal that you almost never replied to. Your hair has come undone and is wild around your face; your heart is pounding frantically; your skin is bathed in a sheen of victorious perspiration. When was the last time someone made you feel like this? You can’t recall; the answer might be never. There is a spellbinding, intensifying sensation of warmth, of opening, you’re only seconds from the brink, you’re ready to step off the precipice and into open blue air the same color as his eyes—

Aemond yanks the vibrator away again, grinning toothily down at you.

“No!” You scrabble for him with shaking hands, pulling yourself up as you reach for the vibrator. Aemond pushes you back onto the bed. Despite your protests, you love the feeling of his weight on top of yours; you love the organic symphony he’s built of, muscle and bone and skill and power. His fingers are still pumping in and out of you, keeping you soaked and throbbing, pinning you to the edge of an orgasm without permitting you to succumb to it.

“It’s going to be so good for you like this, baby,” Aemond insists, low and raspy. He’s reading your face, attentive to every detail, drinking up your desperate body and quivering voice. “I swear I’m not torturing you for no reason. Let me show you. Let me take care of you. When it happens, it’s going to blow your fucking mind. Are you ready?”

“Yes, now, please, do it now,” you whimper as you lie beneath him, open, bare, senseless, vanquished.

Aemond drags his tongue over the tip of the vibrator, moaning with lust as he tastes you. Then he at last presses the pink silicone to your clit once more. In your electrified nerves, in your scalding blood, there are sparks and momentum and currents rushing towards the cataclysmic breaking of a rogue wave. “Nice and slow,” Aemond murmurs. “Let it build.”

Instead of the peak, you reach another plateau, so high and so rapturous you can’t stand it, you can’t fathom climbing any farther. It’s becoming so sharp and intense it’s almost painful. Fresh anxiety flashes in your mind like lightning. The momentum begins to dissipate like dewdrops under the late-morning sun. Oh no, I’m going to lose it, I’m going to disappoint him—

Aemond lifts the vibrator off you again; before you have time to collect yourself enough to speak, to apologize, he’s slipped his fingers out of you and carefully guided the vibrator inside, stretching you, filling you, thrusting rhythmically but not too viciously or too deep. He places his thumbprint on the place where the vibrator was just seconds ago and circles quickly, once, twice, again, and then…

You try not to scream, but you can’t help it, can’t stop it; the climax wrenches out of you indescribable pleasure, vanished fears, awe and relief, twisted muscles and gasping breaths, every electrical impulse of every atom, and each time you believe it’s over it rolls a little farther like an endless summer afternoon. When it’s done—truly done—you aren’t sure exactly how it happens but suddenly you’re sitting upright on the bed and the vibrator is lying forgotten on top of the duvet and Aemond is laughing, kissing you—sweat and nicotine, smoke and salt—and caressing your face with his hands, saying: “You were such a good girl. You did amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

“Okay,” you exhale unsteadily, smiling. You nod to the very noticeable bulge in his jeans. “Your turn.”

“No,” Aemond says primly.

“What?”

“No,” he repeats. “Not today.”

“But…but…why?”

The curl of his lips is crooked and playful. “To prove I’m not just here to get myself off.” He kisses you again, far more tenderly than any random dom from a personal ad should. “You don’t trust me. But maybe next time you will.”

“How could I trust you? I don’t even know you.”

“We’ll have to spend more time together.”

“You seriously aren’t going to fuck me right now? Me? A mostly-naked stranger you met up with exclusively for the purposes of fucking?”

“Are you dissatisfied?”

In truth, no; your pulse is slowing, your thoughts are calm, your lust is satiated, you’re reasonably certain that you’ve sprained no less than four muscles. You feel like the sky after rain: emptied, unburdened, untroubled, at peace. “Not at all.”

“Then you shouldn’t be complaining.”

You reach out to touch Aemond’s unscarred cheek and he smiles. You try to ghost your fingertips over the left side of his face and he flinches away, leaves the bed, takes the vibrator to the bathroom to scrub it with soap and water. “Can I at least pour you a glass of sweet tea or something?” you call after him. “I feel guilty. I feel like I didn’t uphold my end of the bargain.”

“You exceeded all of my expectations,” Aemond says with a strange sort of somberness. “But sweet tea sounds great.”

You take five minutes to clean up and change into real clothes—ratty denim shorts and a red, white, and blue Pepsi t-shirt, chaotic hair, no bra—and then meet Aemond in the kitchen. He’s surveying the large circular table, which is littered with covered cake plates in a hodgepodge of sizes and colors; you found most of them at yard sales and thrift shops. The sun has set and the stars have risen; the kitchen is illuminated by yellow-hued florescent light. Night air flows in through the screens of the open windows. The boombox is currently playing Tiffany’s I Think We’re Alone Now.

“What’s the deal with that?” Aemond asks about the cluttered kitchen table.

“They’re the baked goods. For my bakery.”

“Right,” he says, remembering, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “The sign out front.”

“Would you like anything? Today we had butterscotch chiffon cake, coconut custard cake, blackberry dark chocolate cupcakes, pecan pie, red velvet brownies, lemon blueberry cookies, lavender black tea cookies, chocolate meringue pie, butter pecan muffins…”

“How about those?” He points.

“Oh! Those are banana bread cupcakes. One of my favorites.”

“Banana bread…cupcakes?”

“Here.” You plop one on a plate for Aemond, then go to the refrigerator to pour two tall glasses of sweet tea. “A lot of people put chocolate chips in their banana bread, but I feel like any chocolate really eclipses the banana flavor. It’s so subtle, you know? So what I do instead is cinnamon, honey, cream cheese frosting, and a tiny bit of sea salt mixed into the batter. If you get the ratio just right, there’s this really great blend of saltiness and sweetness, and the banana is still the star of the show. Of course I’ve fucked up plenty of times too and almost given myself dangerously high blood pressure. If I ruin a batch, I’m the one who has to eat it. We can’t let anything go to waste. Our profit margin is thinner than a crescent moon on the best months.”

“Oh my God,” Aemond says. He’s taken a bite and is now gawking at the banana bread cupcake. “You made this?” He gestures to the table. “You made all of this?”

“My best friend Amir runs the business with me, but most of the recipes are mine. My mom used to bake all the time when I was little. Now she has rheumatoid arthritis and has given it up, more or less, but that’s where I learned a lot of what I know. And I try to come up with new ideas each week to add to the rotation.”

“This is exceptional,” Aemond says. His mouth is full of the rest of the cupcake. He washes it down with a few gulps of sweet tea; ice cubes jangle in the misty glass. “This is, like, insanely good. Can I have another one…?” He’s already lifting the cover off the cake plate.

You chuckle. “Yeah, seriously, have as many as you like.”

“How much do you sell them for?”

“The cupcakes are $1, but you don’t have to pay me. You get the unrequited orgasm discount.”

“Just $1 each.” Aemond is incredulous. You aren’t sure what that’s about. He sets the second cupcake down on the table, tugs a black leather wallet out of his jeans pocket, and gives you a $10 bill.

“Aemond, really, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. Take the money. Stop talking about it.”

You smirk up at him. “Is that an order, sir?”

He grabs your jaw with one forceful hand, kisses you roughly, bites your lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. He tastes like cinnamon, honey, sugar, sex. “Yes,” he says, grinning wickedly. Then his hands drop to unbutton your shorts. The idea of stopping Aemond doesn’t even cross your mind; your desire for him—him specifically—is back, flaring red and primeval and irresistible. “I want you on top of that counter—”

Outside there are footsteps bounding up the front porch, loud on the creaking boards. You tear away from Aemond and hurry to re-button your shorts. What? Already??

You know exactly who it must be.

Well, now I’m definitely never going to see Aemond again.

He’s terrified, he’s wondering whether he should try to jump out of a window. But really, he’s already been spotted; his Audi Quattro is still waiting for him in the gravel driveway. “Please don’t tell me that’s your homicidal armed boyfriend or something.”

“No,” you say. “It’s my daughter.”

“Wait, your…?!”

The door swings open; you hardly ever lock it. Cadi trots in just as you are flipping over the copy of the Bayou Journal on the kitchen counter so Aemond’s personal ad is no longer visible. Instead, what now faces up—dotted with flour, powdered sugar, cinnamon, grease stains of butter—is a column about the rigs opened in Lake Verret. Just what this town needs, you think distractedly. An environmental disaster.

“Mom, whose radical car is that—?” Then Cadi spies Aemond and blinks at him a few times. She is ten years old but thinks she’s your age, short hair, short temper, denim overalls and a t-shirt underneath patterned with multicolored horses.

“This is Aemond,” you explain. He waves awkwardly and then resumes nibbling on his second banana bread cupcake, avoiding her scrutiny. “He’s a friend.”

“But you don’t have any friends,” Cadi replies.

“Watch it, Child Of The Corn. I have friends.”

“You have like one friend.”

“What happened to your sleepover with Mawmaw? I thought you were excited to trick her into watching Hellraiser.”

“Blockbuster didn’t have it. Then Great Aunt Ethel called and said she broke her hip. Mawmaw dropped me off here on her way to the hospital.”

“And she didn’t even think to check with me first, huh?”

“As if you’d have anything better to do.” Cadi races to the refrigerator—careening around a shellshocked Aemond—and heaves open the door. “What’s for dinner?”

“I think we have some Swanson’s meals left. Oh, and spaghetti.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “Who made it?”

“You’re in luck! Not me. Amir.”

“Yay!” Cadi trills, then drags out the pan and begins spooning mounds of spaghetti onto a plate. Aemond looks to you, intrigued.

You say: “I bake, I don’t cook.”

“She really doesn’t,” Cadi concurs.

“Completely different skillset.”

Cadi places a few paper towels over the heaping plate so sauce doesn’t splatter all over the microwave and then sets it to three minutes. As she waits to eat, she wanders over to where the Bayou Journal is lying on the counter and scans the page: Viserys Targaryen, three state-of-the-art oil rigs, Lake Verret, an additional 50 employees hired, Jade Dragon Energy. “Those bastards are going to get their way, I guess.”

You sigh. “Yup.”

Aemond is alarmed. He polishes off the last of his cupcake, frowning as he licks frosting from his lips. “You don’t approve?”

“They’ll blow up the whole town,” Cadi says matter-of-factly.

You smile wanly at Aemond as you sip your sweet tea. “You work for Jade Dragon, right?”

He stares back at you—stunned, perhaps even fearful, a deer flooded with headlights—but doesn’t speak.

“It’s alright. I figured you must. Some smart British guy way out here in Cajun Country? It’s gotta be for a job. Don’t worry. We won’t shoot and skin you or anything. It’s not your fault. You’re just collecting a paycheck, it’s not like you’re running the company.”

“Right.” Aemond grabs a third cupcake and gnaws at it. After a moment he adds: “I have a degree in petroleum engineering. I just moved to Napoleonville last week.”

“I knew it,” you say.

“Boo!” Cadi heckles jokingly. The microwave beeps, then she disappears into her bedroom with her plate of spaghetti. You hear Cadi turn on her little television and flip through the channels until she finds Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Aemond watches her closed door for a few seconds—still processing, you assume—and then turns back to you.

“Her name’s Katie?”

“Cadi. C-a-d-i. It’s short for Arcadia.”

He is impressed. “Greece?”

You titter nervously. You don’t know what he means. “It’s a town up by Shreveport, it’s where Bonnie and Clyde were arrested or killed or something. I’m not sure. Her father picked it.”

“You didn’t have an opinion?”

“Um, I wasn’t really…uh…conscious for a few days after she was born. By the time I was up and around again, he’d already filled out the birth certificate.”

What is that you see flicker across his face like the transient surge of a lightning bug? Curiosity? Apprehension? “I see. And her father is…” Aemond raises a blonde eyebrow, the one his scar cuts through. “On an aircraft carrier somewhere?”

You laugh. “He’s not deployed. We’re divorced, Willis lives about fifteen minutes down the road. It’s amicable.”

“So I don’t need to worry about him showing up on your front porch to murder me with a 2x4 full of nails.”

“No. Although he is the town sheriff.”

Aemond smirks. Is this a challenge or an inconvenience? “Why’d you two split up?”

You shrug, glancing at Cadi’s bedroom door. She is quite aggressive with her television volume; you’re confident she won’t be able to listen in if you keep your voice low. “It’s not that interesting a story.”

“I’m extremely interested.” And he sincerely appears to be, head tilted to the side, eyes fixed on you (though you know the left one sees nothing), thoughts whirling like storm winds.

“Well…we only ever got married because of…” You gesture towards Cadi’s room. Aemond nods, following along. “And I was too young and I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know what I wanted out of a man, I didn’t even know I had the right to set standards to measure a husband by. Willis wasn’t terrible. He didn’t hit me. He just wasn’t really who I wanted.” You chew at your lower lip, peering down at the kitchen counter, drawing circles in the sparse flour dust. “He never even proposed to me. Not properly, I mean. I told him I was pregnant and he said: Well, guess we oughta get married, huh sugar? and then drove me to the Kmart up in Gonzales to pick out a ring.”

“Classy,” Aemond mutters.

“I had to buy it myself, actually. Willis didn’t have enough cash on him. He paid me back later, but still. It wasn’t about the ring. I don’t need gold and diamonds. But I need someone who really sees me and understands me and chooses me, you know? I’ve never felt chosen. And I decided I didn’t want to settle for that. If I ever get married again, I want the whole goddamn thing. The real thing. I want the candles and the flowers and a boombox blasting Heaven Is A Place On Earth. And if that’s not in the cards, I guess I’m not the marrying type.”

“And you’ll make do with occasional visits from your friendly neighborhood dom.”

You grin up at Aemond. “Yeah, exactly.”

“You really hate Jade Dragon?”

“Companies like that…they just use us. Our land, our labor. And then when they decimate the place they pack up and disappear overnight, no pensions, no retirement, no unemployment, no meaningful cleanup, just Thanks for the millions! Bye! and we’re left to live in their filth.”

“That’s a rather cynical perspective,” Aemond says.

“It’s a realistic perspective,” you counter. “In 1965, there was a pipeline explosion in Natchitoches, in ‘79 there was an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, in ‘80 a Texaco rig accidentally drilled into a salt mine under Lake Peigneur and destroyed the whole ecosystem. Two weeks ago there was a refinery explosion an hour east of here in Norco. 4,500 people had to be evacuated from their homes. So no, the jobs sound nice, but in my humble estimation they’re not worth dying for.”

Aemond considers you, a look that is not patronizing or combative but not convinced either. And there’s something else too: a caginess, a nervousness.

“And these Jade Dragon people, the Targaryens? They have a history,” you continue. “I read about it in the Bayou Journal. Last year they had an oil spill at an offshore rig near Ketchikan, Alaska. They poured hundreds of thousands of barrels of poison into the ocean and killed a bunch of dolphins and whales and everything. Fishermen went bankrupt, people committed suicide.”

“Mistakes happen.” Aemond places his empty sweet tea glass in the sink.

“But they didn’t make it right. Their lawyers blamed a defective piece of equipment and kicked liability back to the manufacturer. They’ll be battling it out in court for the next decade. And meanwhile, the people of Ketchikan get nothing but misery. I don’t want Napoleonville to end up like that.”

Aemond gazes out the kitchen window and into the cicada-rattling night, faraway, pensive.

“But seriously,” you say, more casually now. “I get that it’s not your fault, Aemond. I don’t hate you or anything. You’re working for a living like anyone else. You can only do so much.”

He looks back to you and smiles vaguely. “I just go where they tell me to.”

“And that’s why you like to be in control when you’re with me.”

“Yes,” Aemond says; and on his face—strong, scarred, perfect—you can see that he is reminiscing, that he is planning what he wants to do to you next. But he can’t do any of it. Not here, not now.

“I’m sorry about…you know. The kid thing. I really didn’t think she’d be home tonight. I would never subject her to something like that, walking in to find a strange guy in the house. And I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable either.”

“It’s okay. I believe you.”

“I don’t usually do this. I’m sure you think I’m lying, but I’m not. I’ve had two boyfriends since I got divorced seven years ago, and both times it didn’t last long and Cadi never met them. And it wasn’t…like it is with you. The dynamic, I mean. The…control thing. They were just normal dudes.”

“And they couldn’t satisfy you,” Aemond says, taunting, proud, setting your blood on fire.

“No. They couldn’t. Not even close.”

You both stand silently in the kitchen amidst a cascade of inconsequential noise: Eurythmics from the little pink boombox, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles from Cadi’s room, cicadas and bullfrogs and the long-eared owl from the world outside that is primordial and feral and green. For the first time in as long as you can remember, you feel not like the piecemeal potential of a desirable woman but whole. Aemond’s right eye traces every curve and edge of you in a way that makes you think: Maybe I will see him again after all.

“Come on,” you say, turning towards the front door. “I’ll walk you out.”

But when he steps onto the creaking porch—pulling on his Marlboro jacket, watching lightning bugs bloom like daisies in the yard—Aemond seems to be stalling. “This is lopsided,” he says, tapping the wooden boards with his Adidas sneakers.

“I know. The whole foundation is, it’s sinking. We’ll have to move eventually. But we’ve been in this place since Cadi was five, it has a lot of memories. She calls it the Fall-Down House.”

“Cute,” Aemond says, but he’s pondering something. “Do you own it?”

“Oh no, God no. We rent.”

“Are you saving for a down payment to put on a new house?”

This is a rude question. “A little,” you reply curtly. Not enough. You need to make money to save money.

“Okay.” Aemond senses your discomfort. He’s good at that; it’s an advantageous skill for a dom to possess, knowing when he’s approaching a limit long before you have to shut him down. He descends the porch steps. “I’ll be back for more of those cupcakes—” There is a shrill, alien hissing from out by the tree line. Aemond shouts and scrambles back onto the porch, throwing an arm in front of you to shield you from his enigmatic nocturnal adversary. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Just a gator,” you reassure him, amused.

“A what?”

“An alligator.” You show him the shadow that lurks beneath a young oak tree draped with Spanish moss. “She’s over there. Just stay on the gravel once you get off the porch.”

Aemond is puzzled. How does anyone live in this hellscape? his face says. “How do you know it’s a female?”

“She’s not too big, and she doesn’t bellow. But she sure loves to hiss.”

“I think alligators should have gone extinct with the rest of the dinosaurs.”

“Well, there’s a secret to dealing with them.”

“Yeah?”

You smile, skating your fingers into the sleeve of Aemond’s Marlboro jacket and up his forearm until you feel goosebumps rise on his skin. “If she gets mean, you just have to bite back.”

Aemond chuckles, turns your face towards his, kisses the apple your cheek…and then, for only a moment, his teeth close around the sensitive flesh there leaving a whirlpool of pulsing, forbidden heat. He whispers through your hair: “See you soon.”

“Will you?”

“Yes,” he says, severely now. It’s a commandment, it’s a need. “I absolutely will.”

Aemond leaves you, strides across the gravel driveway without glancing back, ducks into his car, lights a cigarette; you can see the rust-colored glow through the windshield as he takes a drag. You wait in a flurry of moths under the dim florescent bulb of the front porch until his Audi Quattro veers onto Route 401 and disappears.

I hope he meant it, you think as a lightning bug lands on your knuckles and illuminates there like the gemstone of a ring. I hope I’ll see him again.

Then you shake away the insect and go inside to see if Cadi wants to help you clean up the kitchen and get a brown sugar pie baked for tomorrow. As compensation, you’ll offer her the $10 bill Aemond gave you for the cupcakes.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fic

[lightwing-s]

15 and 18 with Jason?

It was one of those rare nights when the Red Hood didn’t come out, and in his place, boyfriend!Jason would take over.

Tonight, he had planned a whole date at a fancy restaurant, much to your surprise, as you rarely went on those, preferring much more a chill family thing to an over expensive, overcrowded and overrated four to five stars option.

Dressed to the nines, Jason almost gave up his plan entirely when you opened your apartment door to greet him, the high slit on the skirt of your black chiffon an invitation to dirtier, unholy thoughts. He kissed the back of your hand, treating you like a proper lady. Opening doors and holding them until you passed, helping you down the stairs, and overall being the perfect gentlemen.

Until traffic decided to ruin everything.

A once in a lifetime thing, Jason chose car over bike, and now you sat on the road, nearing the second hour in a dragged out traffic jam. Tapping the steering wheel incessantly, your boyfriend checked his designer watch, an accessory you’d never seen him wear before, for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

“... in Gotham City, home to rich history, an exciting art scene, excellent education…” chimed the lady on the radio.

“Oh yeah. Nothing to complain here.” your boyfriend mumbled, the gold ring on his pinky finger becoming a stress relief toy between his teeth.

“Oh, babe,” you sang, taking his other hand and intertwining your fingers. “Don’t worry about it, we can still have fun.”

“But I-I had this all planned out, for months. This restaurant has this really long waiting list and I’ve been trying to get reserv…”

You cut his frustrated rambling, placing a chaste kiss on his plump pouty lips. Opening your eyes slowly, you met his, eyebrows low in a clear look of apology. “Don’t worry about it, Jay.”

After a long sigh, a smile finally returned to his face, a bit forced, the anger at the universe for ruining your date not gone from his head, but anything to make you happy.

“What about we just order pizza and eat in the car?” you offered, getting him grinning in amusement. “What? It’s a great idea.”

“I’m not saying anything.” he threw his hand up in defense. “A motorcycle would’ve clearly made it to that restaurant in less than an hour.”

Slapping his shoulder at his complaint, you giggle at his pouty self, kissing all over his face to make him feel better.

“Move on, you son of a bitch!” a man screamed from outside, followed by a honk and another curse, your heads turning to the side to catch the source of such foul words.

“Someone is impatient.” Jason stated, earning from you a raised eyebrow at his hypocrisy.

Continuous honking and swearing cursed the next couple of minutes in that car, causing both you and Jason to lose your patience. But it was one curse, one rotten, mean spirited sentence, that had your blood boiling, hand flying to open the car door and slap some sense into this man.

"Mark my words, this will not end cute." You said, one leg already halfway out the door.

In a quick, solid movement, one only a well trained vigilante could perform, Jason pulled you back in, closing the door on the way, the sound of lock swiftly following along. Seeing your angry face, he let off a laugh, holding your face between his hands and filling your face with kisses.

“Look who’s the grumpy one now.” he laughed, pinching your cheeks.

“He’s the one who’s being an asshole.” you complained, crossed your arms on your chest, something that only amused Jason even more, another breathy laugh slipping out of him.

“You're so cute.” he cooed, pecking the tip of your nose. 

Fumbling around with his suit pocket, he takes out his phone, handing it to you still locked. “Here, call the pizza place. We ain’t leaving here any time soon.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd blurb #jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff

[itisannak]

Rose-Colored Glasses Vol. 2, Part 4: Upper East Side, New York City & Low Manhattan, New York City (Sugar Daddy!Harry Styles)

Summary: (Y/N) gets a job and Harry blows the bank to celebrate her. Harry gets a small taste of mundanity, and (Y/N) plans her gift to Harry for Christmas. (Pre-Christmas Special) This is a NSFW story. If you feel uncomfortable with reading content like that, please, scroll through the chapters to find something you might like. (Smut / Oral; Female Receiving / Overstimulation / Risky Sex) (Words: 6.5k)

Author Note: Can you believe I haven’t posted since June? 😳

Vol. 1, Part 1: New York City   /  Vol. 1, Part 2: New York City & Aspen  / Vol. 1, Part 3: New York City & Amalfi Coast & Rome  /  Vol. 1, Epilogue / Vol. 2, Part 1: New York  /  Vol.2, Part 2: New York, Upper East Side / Vol.2, Part 3: Harry’s Apartment, Upper East Side, New York City / Vol.2, Part 5: Harry’s Apartment, Upper East Side, New York City, Winter Wonderland / Part 6: New York, Zurich, London / Epilogue; Hawaii / My Full Masterlist / Rose-Colored Glasses Masterlist / My Ko-Fi

Cheerful steps take me to the reception of Harry's company's headquarters. "Good afternoon, Jennifer." I greet the lady at the front desk. We have come a long way, she and I. She now knows not to stop me from heading up to my boyfriend's office. "Good afternoon, Ms. (Y/L/N). How are you today?" "I am very well. Is Harry in a meeting?" I ask her and she picks up the phone, dialing the internal for Harry's assistant's office. "Is Mr. Styles on a meeting?" She asks. "Ms. (Y/L/N) is here. Would you like to be announced?" Jennifer turns to me and I nod. "Let Harry know I am heading up right now." I reply with a smile, before walking to the elevator.

I punch in the floor and watch as the doors close smoothly. It is so clean and neat here, I love visiting Harry's office.

And soon I am greeted by Harry's assistant. "Good afternoon. This is for you. It's a Berliner." I chirp, passing her one of the pastries in the box I am carrying. "Thank you, Ms. (Y/L/N). Mr. Styles is waiting for you." She smiles at me and I nod, pushing the door with my hip.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Styles. Do you have a moment for me?" I ask, looking at Harry as he smirks and shuts his laptop. "I think I can clear up some time for you, Ms. (Y/L/N)." He leans back in his seat. I leave the box of Berliners on the edge of his desk, before moving to straddle him on his chair. I go in for a kiss, capturing his lips before he could even speak. My hands move to his jaw, grazing it with the tips of my fingers as I deepen the kiss. "Someone's hungry... Should I lock the door?" He asks me, bringing his hands to my thighs. "I got the job..." I announce, biting the inside of my cheek as I wait for his reaction. "Baby, congratulations. Can I finally know what job you applied for?" He asks me and I hum. "We both know you would have called and gotten me the job if I told you from the beginning." "I wouldn't, I promised." "Hmm, you would. And you would make sure I would never found out." I graze a finger down his lips as he smiles. "I am, officially, the history consultant for a new tech company that makes educational apps. I will be working on gameplay dialogue and content for a new art game they plan on launching." I explain and he smiles at me proudly. "This calls for celebration, sunshine. I am so proud of you. Let's go for dinner. Right now. I'll make us a reservation." He cups my face and I nod. "You? Call for a reservation? Isn't that a petty job for you?" I ask in a kidding tone. "It's a special day. Pick a place, where should we celebrate?" He asks me. "The one in Madison Park... What is it called?" I try to remember the name, hoping Harry does. "The one we dined in when the French came?" He asks and I nod. "11 Madison Park. Damn it, you have expensive taste, sunshine." "Can you afford it?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him. "I'll smash my piggy bank." He winks at me. "Ok, let me give them a call." He sighs, picking up his mobile from the desk. "You mean now? We can celebrate later, I don't want to get you away from your job." "Amore, they'll be fine without me. What sort of boss would I be if couldn't take half a day off?" He asks, pressing the call tile. I move from his lap, leaning on the edge of his desk to let him make the call. "Good afternoon. Harry Styles of Styles Co... I am calling for a last-minute reservation. I would like a table for 2. Yes, it's for today. It is a VIP guest, I know it is very last minute. It would mean a lot to the company and to me personally if we could find a way to dine at your place today. Of course, at 5.20. We will be there. Thank you." The whole call doesn't even last 3 minutes. I cock an eyebrow at him once he leaves his phone down. "I thought they had online reservations only, and that they have this crazy long wait list." "Oh, I called the owner personally. We will be seated at 5.20." He replies, patting his thigh again. "You know the owner? And you have his personal phone? Who are you?" I ask and he chuckles. "We take clients, investors, partners, very often there. We like that they work with Rethink, it is good image." He replies, and I look at him in confusion. "Rethink?" "Rethink Food. It's a non-profit, they gather the excess from restaurants and use it to provide meals for food-insecure populations." "You have it memorized I see." "I think it is actually noble." "Since when am I a VIP guest?" I ask and he chuckles. "Since you keep the CEO sane and happy. That's very important for the company. So important that you should be paid for that..." He mumbles. "We are not having this conversation again..." "No, no... Not like that... I think I phrased it wrong. You should be compensated for that." He restates, grazing his fingers down my thigh, before resting them under the hem of my pencil skirt.

"Harry..." I bite the tip of my tongue as he finds the band of my stockings. "What? We have some time to kill. And I would like to compensate you for making me this happy." He murmurs, burying his face in the nook of my neck. "Come on... You have a house for that. We have fucked one too many times in your office." "Oh, you will get more once we are back home. And I think we have fucked one too few times in my office." He counters and I roll my eyes at him. "I can't win this argument, can I?" "You can... But I think you don't want to. Do you, sunshine?" He asks, in a deeper, intoxicating voice. "May I always forfeit this debate." I reply, earning a pleased hum from Harry, who gently pushes me to get up before getting up himself. "Settle on the chair, I'll be right back with you." He instructs, walking towards the door. He walks out as I relax on the chair, which earns a cocked eyebrow from me. Did he really work me up just to head out?

But within a minute or two, he is back and he is locking the door behind him. He walks to me, kneeling before the chair and keeping a smirk plastered on his face. "I just made sure no one will bother us... Wouldn't want to be interrupted during my appetizer." He states, pulling me closer by my ankle. "Mr. Styles... What do you have in your dirty, twisted mind?" I ask in fake shock. "I assure you, Ms. (Y/L/N), my intentions are pure." He winks at me, trailing his hand up my calf and under my skirt, brushing over the band of my stockings. "We will talk later about you wearing those stocks in public." "Was I supposed not to wear them?" I ask and he hums. "Not a big fan of others having the same thoughts as I do when I see them..." He replies, scooting my hips up to hike my skirt up the top of my thighs. "You would have the same thoughts even if I was wearing a mascot costume, you are no fair measure." I bend my knee and bring my foot to the edge of the seat, showing Harry my underwear. He chuckles and coos, bringing his thumb to toy with my sex over the clothed sex. "You have such a cute little wet patch..." He sighs, pushing my panties aside. His thumb now traces over my slit, causing my breath to shake at the direct attention. "My God... How wet you are, princess... Oh, you are going to taste so good, I can tell already." He looks at me with hungry eyes, licking his lips before bringing them to my sex. His lips work on my outer lips at first, kissing and grazing his teeth softly over the sensitive flesh. "Jesus..." I groan, feeling the need to buck my hips up and ride his face. "And I have barely even touched your pretty little cunt." He muses about my desperate reaction; he doesn't even have to try that hard to get me needy, at this point, I am dripping even at the sound of his voice. "Please touch me..." I beg, my eyebrows knitting together in frustration. Harry licks a long, swirly lick from my outer lips to my entrance, and ends it with a quick flick once he reaches my clit. A loud moan slips from deep in my throat, despite my best efforts to keep quiet. "Sunshine... You know they can hear us... Tsch, tsch, tsch... I expected more self-control from such a good girl like you..." He almost scolds me... As if he doesn't know that all self-control goes out the window, along with my dignity, every time he touches me. "I don't care... I don't care if they hear us... Please don't stop this. I'll do anything, just don't stop using your mouth on my pussy. Please." I am desperate for him to eat me out, even if it means getting through his little torture. He has magic lips, I can cum in mere minutes from his mouth on my sex.

"Of course, my cunt wants more... Look at that... Look at my pussy... Look how it pulses around nothing, waiting for a tiny little touch... Look how desperate my pussy gets." He groans, rubbing his fingers along my slit. Oh, he gets so possessive, it is addicting. I am his, oh God, I am his. "Please..." I beg, bringing my hand to stroke through his hair. He smirks at me, pleased by my pleading before burying his face between my thighs. He is hungrier now, going straight into devouring me. There is no time to toy around, he wants to eat me out almost as much as I want him to. I am throbbing, my pussy pulsing and burning as he laps his tongue and looks me in the eye. "Oh..." I cry out, arching my back off the chair's back. His tongue is circling over my clit and he is humming as he pushes two fingers inside me, pumping them up and curling them against my spot. "My sunshine, you will have to be quiet... So loud already." He scolds me, shaking his head from side to side. "I am sorry... But you are so good at this, I can't help it." I whisper, pressing my hand against my mouth. He smirks as he moves his fingers faster, moving back to take my clit between his lips. He rolls it with his tongue, causing me to squeeze around his fingers even harder. "Shit, you are sopping..." He mumbles, taking his fingers off and licking my wetness from around them. I sigh at the sight, blushing at the way he moans in pleasure at my taste. "So delicious. I have to take a taste straight from your little honey hole." He groans, fixing my body so my sex is fully exposed, my legs spread apart to a max before he thrusts his tongue inside me. It wiggles and thrusts back and forth; it is not really all that pleasureful for me, but Harry hums in ecstasy as he does it, so my whole body vibrates from this. "Damn you, Styles... You like having me hooked, don't you?" I sigh, bringing my hand under my blouse and into the left cup of my bra to tease my nipple. I trace and pull the taut peak. "Such a desperate brat... You want to be overstimulated, don't you?" He asks before placing my legs on his shoulders and diving in again. "I wanna cum... I am so close, baby..." I whine, feeling my heart beat faster. Harry digs his nails into the skin of my thighs, sucking onto my clit harsher. "I wanna cum... Oh God, I am gonna cum." I cry out, moving my hips against his face, trying to get more and more. Harry grips my thighs, trying to make me sit still, but I am trembling and shaking, so sitting still is not an option. "God..." I cry out as I cum undone, squeezing my eyes shut. My breath is caught in the back of my throat and my whole body feels tense and rigid, yet as if I am floating. It is so peculiar, every time Harry brings me to an orgasm is a unique, never-again experienced high. I try to shut my thighs as Harry continues licking me, the stimuli becoming too intense for me to handle but Harry's hands pry me open. "I can't... I can't take more..." I cry out and he chuckles. "You are done when I say so... You were the one wanting to be overstimulated..." He sounds almost sadistic, not even letting me take a solid breath before he flicks his tongue on my clit. He only does it just to watch me jerk at the sensation, and it works. I jolt in my place as his tongue flicks my clit repeatedly. "Shit, look at this... You are grooling... Adorable." He cocks, circling his tongue around my entrance to gather my grool. He removes himself from between my thighs and gets up from the floor. Still breathing funny, and still exposed to him, I am in no place to move. "Are you ok, sunshine?" He asks me softly as he fixes my panties. "I love you..." I say hazily. Harry smiles at me and leans in to peck my forehead softly. "I love you too. Let's get you a bit decent now, shall we?" He asks, helping me move my legs down.

"Mr. Styles... Right this way..." A man around his 30s almost cheers as he sees us walk through the doors of 11 Madison Park restaurant. Harry didn't even have the chance to announce himself to the host, it was as if they were waiting on their toes for us. "Thank you." Harry says politely, placing his hand on the small of my back. "Chef Lockwood has prepared a special meal for you. Would you like to be paired or pick your own wine?" The man asks as we sit at a table by one of the windows. "Pair us, please. Please, do transfer my gratitude to Chef Humm. I appreciate that he was able to host us so last minute." Harry says to the man who smiles and nods. "I will make sure I do that, Mr. Styles." The man replies, passing us two cards with the menu before leaving us to settle. "Shall I leave you two alone?" I ask teasingly as I scan my eyes down the card. "Me and the host?" He asks and I hum. "Uh, he is cute. But I am kinda taken." "Kinda?" I ask with a cocked eyebrow. "I don't see a ring on my finger..." He mumbles and I chuckle, shaking my head at him. "I kinda see a lot of rings on your fingers..." I come back. "There is the only downside of dating someone smart... You always have a response." He sighs and I hum. "You know this is the standard menu for the day. He hasn't prepped anything special for us." I comment, leaving the card down. "Can you for once enjoy things without overthinking them?" He asks playfully. "Nope..." I pop the p and he laughs. "You are the sweetest pain in the ass I have ever met, amore..." He says sweetly, yet I can feel a chill run down my spine and it is not the good kind of it. "What is up with amore lately?" I ask him. He furrows his eyebrows and shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. I like it." He replies. I groan lowly, hoping he doesn't listen to it. "What?" He asks me. "Nothing." "It's not nothing. Your whole face dropped. Tell me, what is it?" He asks me again. "Can you stop calling me amore? Please?" I ask. "Why? It is a cute nickname..." He protests. "It reminds me of Italy." I sigh in defeat, choosing to let him know about my irritance. "And what about Ita... Oh..." He realizes, his face softening as he reaches for my hand. "I didn't realize, I am sorry." "It's not your fault. It's me who has the issue with it, still, after all this time." I feel bad for making him feel so bad over something so sweet. "What about I call you 'mon amour'... I haven't ruined France for you yet, have I?" He asks. "You haven't ruined Italy for me either. I am just not ready to make peace with it yet." I admit. "From now on, and until you feel ready, I will ban anything Italian... Even spaghetti and meatballs..." He jokes, earning a laugh from me. "There is no need to go to such extremes. And technically, spaghetti and meatballs is not an Italian food. Italian immigrants to America started cooking it because there was bigger access to meat, and it was cheap." "Smartypants..." He chuckles and shakes his head.

"So, now that the job is found, what is next on your to-do list?" Harry asks, carefully cutting a piece of the glazed zucchini. "Finding a house. I have to start looking, so I can start saving money for it. I need the downpayment and the rent upfront for sure. And then I will have to see if I will need any furniture and appliances for the new house. I still have a long way to go before I cross it off my list. You will have to suffer me for a little longer." I chuckle and he hums, leaving his glass by his plate after he takes a sip of his wine. "I was actually thinking about this..." "About when I am going to move out?" I ask with a playful chuckle. "I was actually thinking if you are going to move out..." "Geez, Harry. If you want me out of the house, all you have to do is say so." "No, that wasn't actually my thought. I was thinking that you shouldn't move out. I was thinking that I want you to live with me. I mean, you already are. But I want it permanently. I want it official." He explains, reaching for my hand as he looks me in the eye. "Mr. Styles... Are you really asking me to move in with you?" I ask him in shock. "Was it not clear? I love waking up next to you every morning, and coming home to you after a rough day. I love having breakfast with you and watching you take that first sip of coffee with your eyes still closed. I love reading with you on the couch of our study, I love cooking with you and having you drunkenly twirl around our kitchen. I love every single moment with you in our house." "Our house..." I smile, enamored by the word. "Of course, if you are not ready yet, we can talk about alternatives..." "I am ready. I want to live with you. I mean, I live with you already." I giggle. Harry brings my hand to his lips, pecking on the back of it softly. "You will not regret it, I promise you this, my love..." He states in a serious, yet soft voice. "I am afraid you will be the one regretting it." I joke and he shakes his head. "Not in a million years..." He assures me, gesturing for a waiter to come over. "What? Are we leaving so early? We haven't even had dessert..." I protest and he chuckles. "Nope, we are just having some champagne. To celebrate your job, and you moving in..." Harry explains as the man approaches us. "Can we please have a bottle of Krug '82?" Harry asks the man, who blinks at us at the sound of Harry's request. "A Krug '82?" The man asks again and Harry hums in approval. "Right away, sir." The man moves fast, walking at a speed that does not fit the restaurant's mannerism. "What's up with the whole behavior?" I ask, leaning back in my seat. "Oh, nothing... We just ordered a nearly 4-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne." "We just did what?" I ask and he shrugs. "Relax..." "The meals, the pairings, the champagne... We are looking at an almost 5k bill." I whisper and he chuckles. "Tip excluded." "Oh, God..." I touch my temples and he takes my free hand again. "Relax, it's nothing..." "It's nothing...? Rich people are fucking weird..." I mumble and he laughs at my remark. "It's a one-time thing. Let's enjoy it." Harry laughs. It still stuns me that he is able to drop such amounts of money on a single lunch. There is still this financial gap between us, which for now, freaks me the fuck out. "Are you still here?" Harry asks me. "Hmmm?" I bring my gaze to him. "You seemed a bit off. Everything ok?" He asks me and I nod. "Yeah, yeah. I was just thinking how significantly different we are." "Is that a bad thing?" "No, it is just an... Experience being with you every day." I state, smiling at him as the waiter pours us our champagne.

-

"Pretty girl..." Harry calls, getting my attention from my laptop. "Pretty boy..." I cheer, tilting my head back as he leans down to press a kiss. "Working from home today?" He asks me, sitting on the edge of the desk in our study. "No, just research... It was a hectic day in the office and I didn't manage to finish." "Hectic day?" He asks, and I hum, saving my document. "Yeah, we were testing a prototype for the first levels." I reply. "Oh, testing already..." "Don't get too excited. I will have to help the graphics team. There were issues with the design." "What issues?" He asks me, leaning forward to show me he is listening. "Um, period issues mostly. Hence the research. Anyway, it's pretty boring and technical. How was your day?" I ask him and he sighs. "Way less exciting than yours. Meetings, emails, financial strategies. I really don't see the point of talking about it." He replies. I bring my hand to take his, resting both of them on his lap. "Wanna go grocery shopping?" I ask him and he looks at me with furrowed eyebrows. "Didn't Lita take care of it?" He asks and I shake my head at him. "I told her not to." "How so?" He asks me and I shrug. "I like grocery shopping. And I have missed doing it." "You like grocery shopping?" He asks in confusion. I stand up from the chair, standing before him as I bring my hands to clasp behind his neck. "You will see, Mr. Styles. There is joy in mundane things." I state, my fingers twirling in the hair at the base of his head. "Alright then. Let's do mundane things that I, an immortal have never done before." He says with prose, mocking me. "Go change." I laugh and shake my head. "Change? What is wrong with my clothes?" He asks and I purse my lips. "No one goes grocery shopping in a Gucci fitted suit." "And what should I be wearing, Ms. stylist?" He asks and I roll my eyes at him. "Jeans. They work miracles for that ass." I comment and he smirks. "You like my ass, huh?" He asks with a cocked eyebrow. "Oh, my, God. Go get dressed." I command and he laughs. "Yes, ma'am." He steals a quick kiss before running out of the room.

"You sure have a good appetite for cheese." Harry comments as I add the little block of cheddar to the cart. "You don't seem to complain when I make those little charcuterie boards for our wine nights." "We don't buy those premade?" He asks. "You can't really be that aloof, can you?" I ask him with a laugh. "What? They look almost professional." He defends himself and I hum doubtingly. "Nice save." I mumble, pulling out my phone to take a look at the list. "I am honest here... They looked very aesthetically pleasing." He compliments and I hum. "Thank you very much, then. Next is produce... Roll away, sir." I point to the aisle. "Wait, no ice cream?" He asks me. "Not on my list. You want ice cream?" I ask him and he nods. "Ok, then. Let's pick..." I lean over the freezer, taking a look at the options. "Chocolate chip mint." He rushes to say. I turn to look at him, watching his cheeks become red with excitement. "You like chip mint?" I ask and he nods. "I do. It is my favorite... Well, Christmas pudding is my favorite, but I can't find it here. So, I settle for some mint..." He explains. I grab a pint and add it to the cart, pushing it towards the cheeses to sort of maintain the temperature. "Well, it tastes a bit like toothpaste to me, but ok. I'll get my fudge." I pick out a pint for myself, placing it by Harry's on the cart. "You know when I was little I used to tell my mom that when I get my own apartment, I will have a freezer drawer full of ice cream. I would have ice cream every night." "Do you have that drawer? I haven't noticed..." I ask and he shakes his head. "It was just a stupid childhood thing. I am an adult now." He replies. I pout my bottom lip, tangling my arm with his and leaning my head on his shoulder as we make our way to the produce aisle. "You were kind of right you know... It is nice going grocery shopping. Even nicer with you along." He comments, pecking the top of my head.

"I fed Harry..." Harry states as he wraps his arms around me. "You two get along great." I comment and he hums. "He is a neat dude." "The goldfish?" I ask and he nods. "Ok..." I mumble, melting the bouillon cube in the oil in the pan. "Can I help with anything?" He asks me. "Chop the veggies over there." I point to the chopping board, earning a hum from Harry. "No wine while cooking tonight?" He asks me, picking out a knife from the stand. "I thought I would be cooking alone..." I reply and he scoffs. "I always help you, don't I?" He points out, leaving the knife down. "You do. But I thought maybe you needed some time alone to recharge." I explain, watching him as he moves to the wine rack. "What are we cooking?" He asks me. "Vegan Ragu with tagliatelle." "Red then." He states, picking out a bottle. "You are really good at pairings..." I comment, watching him pop the cork. "Why, thank you very much." He replies, taking a whiff of the cork. "I think you are going to like this one." He comments, leaving the bottle on the island and grabbing 2 glasses. "I have liked all the wines you have suggested this far." I compliment him. There is something so intimate about Harry taking care of me, and treating me so nicely. I'd hate to jinx it, but it feels a little too good to be true. "Take a picture, it will last longer." Harry muses, snapping me out of my thoughts as he leaves my glass by my hand. "I just zoned out." I protest and he hums sarcastically. "You zoned out staring at my butt. Those jeans work miracles on it, you said it yourself." "Oh my God, I have never seen such vanity in a single person." I tease him. He hooks his fingers in the belt loops of my jeans, pulling me closer to his body, my back touching his chest before he rests his chin on my shoulder and leaves a peck on my neck. "Just admit you are obsessed with me." He whispers. "It's true..." I sigh in defeat. It is futile not admitting it, he knows it already. "Ata girl." He bites softly onto my neck, before moving back to chopping the vegetable. For a moment my eyes can only focus on how his hand grips the knife and chops the vegetables thickly, making a loud sound as the knife hits the board. Fuck me, I am truly obsessed with him.

-

"I am surprised work and Harry even let you see me today..." Chrissy complains as we make our way down Hudson street. It is a heavy December morning, so I can see her breath as she speaks. "Oh my God, look who's talking... If walls could talk, they would have quite the stories about you and your husband." I tease her. "Jealous much of married life?" She asks with a cocked eyebrow. "Nope... I am fine as I am." "Look at you... Ms. I will never date again." She chuckles, punching my shoulder softly. "I am not dating. I am living with my partner." I fix my scarf as Chrissy coos. "Why are we here? Your house is all the way on the other side..." She asks. It is true, we are nearly approaching Lower Manhattan, 1 hour away by foot from the penthouse on Upper East Side. "We are here to buy ice cream..." I reply. "Ice cream?" She asks as if I said something outrageous. I think she would react way less surprised if I told her we are here to buy cocaine. "Yes, ice cream. There is a little place down here." I point to the next block, right where the little British store is. "Why would we have to buy ice cream from here? And why are we buying ice cream at the beginning of the winter?" She asks me, looking at me as if I am insane. "It is the nearest place I could find Christmas Pudding ice cream. It's for Harry." I explain. "We are an hour away from your place. It will practically be soup by the time we arrive." "Vinny is picking us up and he has a cooler with him. We are going home, I am giving this to Lita, and then we head to the market to buy ice cream." I explain. "More ice cream?" She asks me; she looks nearly outraged and I can't say I blame her. "I am going to give Harry a drawer full of ice cream. As an early Christmas present. He told me he likes chocolate chip mint, but his favorite is Christmas pudding. So, I am buying 5 pints of that, and then various flavors. And some for me, because choc mint still tastes like toothpaste, no matter how hard he tries to make me like it." "Oh, wow... Ice cream..." She says sarcastically. "He told me that when he was little he used to tell his mother that once he was older, he would have a drawer in his freezer, full of ice cream. I asked him why he doesn't have it, and he told me it is a stupid childhood thing, and that he is an adult now. I swear, it was the saddest thing he has told me... And now I have to make it happen. So, shush, buy ice cream with me, and let's catch up." I open the door to the market, walking in first.

"It is actually lovely of you to do this whole thing for Harry. You are smitten." Chrissy nudges my shoulder as we organize the ice cream. "I am... Look at me doing stupid shit, for a man... I spent a quarter of my paycheck on ice cream. I am dumb, aren't I?" I ask her. "I mean... I get it. I nearly broke an arm to get Adrian that stupid first-edition comic book signed by RDJ. And I spent more money than I am willing to admit to doing that whole thing." "Well, he is your husband." I point out. "That was for our 2-month anniversary." "Jesus..." I laugh, and she joins me, giggling loudly. "I know, I know. The worst thing is I would still do it, tomorrow if needed." She comments. "Yeah, good thing he married you. You are wifey material." "Oh, dear God, stop... You are just like me, you know." "Not married. There is still hope for me." "As if you would say no if he showed up tomorrow morning with a shiny diamond ring from Cartier." She cocks an eyebrow at me, expecting the answer. "I don't like diamonds. And I also think this would be too soon." "Didn't answer my question..." She mumbles, stacking one more pint of Christmas pudding ice cream on top of another. "It's not happening, so let's not discuss it. Hot cocoa?" I ask her, putting the last chocolate chip mint pint in the drawer. "Sure. Extra sprinkles and whipped cream." "Oh, wow, you are a brat..." I comment and she snickers. "Ask Adrian..." She mumbles and I roll my eyes. "TMI, sis, but k..."

-

"Can I take this off now?" Harry asks. In lieu of a blindfold, I have put a sleeping mask over his eyes, so now I am guiding him to the fridge to show him the surprise. I was practically waiting for him by the door, and I couldn't wait a moment longer to reveal the ice cream to him. "Not yet..." I mumble, opening the door to the freezer. "This better be good, sunshine... I had a very long day at the office." Harry sighs. He can't say no to me, no matter how tired he is... "Just a few seconds more." I announce, opening the drawer. I take one last look at it, smiling to myself over how cute this surprise is. "Ok, ready?" I ask him and he hums approvingly. I stand on my toes, reaching for the sleeping mask. "Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them..." I instruct and he huffs. "Dear God..." He mutters. I press my lips together and smirk as I take off the mask. "You can open your eyes now... Ta-da!" I exclaim excitedly, standing aside from him to let him take a look. Harry is confused in the beginning, eyebrows pushed together as he tries to figure out why I brought him to the fridge. "What am I looking... at?" He asks, but before he could finish his phrase, his eyes light up and he reaches for the tub of Christmas Pudding ice cream. "It's your very own ice cream drawer..." I explain, waiting for his reaction. Harry leaves the ice cream down, opens his arms to wrap them around me, and pulls me into a bear hug. "What did I do to deserve you?" He asks me, pecking the top of my head multiple times. "Where did you even find Christmas Pudding ice cream in New York?" He asks me and I chuckle. "In a store in Lower Manhattan... It has English delicacies. I hope it is good." I giggle as he cups my face in his hands. "You are so perfect... Thank you, thank you, my love." He peppers my face with kisses, making me laugh at the tickling. "Come on, now. It is time to have dinner." I place my hand on his sternum, stopping him from covering me in kisses. "What's for dinner?" He asks me, resting his hands on my waist. "Ice cream..." "8-year-old Harry would adore you." He comments. "What about 31-year-old Harry?" I ask, making him hum before he replies. "31-year-old Harry worships the air you breathe." He replies, grabbing a tub of his ice cream.

Harry hovers the spoon before my mouth, teasing me as I try to eat a spoonful of the Christmas pudding ice cream. After a fit of laughter and me frustratingly grabbing his wrist to finally take the bite, I moan at the taste of the dessert. "I didn't expect I'd like Christmas pudding ice cream so much..." I mumble, making Harry look at me softly. "It's good, huh?" "You might like toothpaste ice cream, but this is good." I point at the tub, before digging my spoon into my pint. "I don't know how to thank you for this. It might be the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me." Harry states. I smile and shrug, biting my bottom lip before I speak. "You deserve it, all of it. No matter how much Chrissy huffed and puffed while we were buying the ice cream..." "You saw Chrissy?" He asks me and I hum. "I did. She helped with this." I reply and Harry chuckles. "How are Adrian and she? We haven't seen them in a while." He asks me and I shrug. "They are sickeningly in love with each other. And Chrissy can't wait for their first Christmas, she is even collecting recipes to cook with Adrian and host their families for dinner... It is so out of character for her, but so adorable..." I state, trying to steal a spoonful from his ice cream. "If you like this Christmas pudding ice cream, wait until you try the real deal in Cheshire." "Is it better than this?" I ask and he hums. "I am not going to spoil it for you... You will try it on December 26..." He says mischievously. "Are you having it shipped for Christmas? Is it even going to last during the trip here?" I ask and he chuckles. "I am shipping us there. Christmas in the UK..." He explains. He sounds excited about it, surely has been planning it for a while. "Why that face?" Harry asks. I didn't realize my face was contorted all this time. "Don't you think you should have talked with me about this before planning the whole thing?" I ask him, feeling my heart sink to my stomach. "I thought it would be a nice surprise..." He shrugs. "I don't want to spend Christmas in London, nor any place else. I want to spend Christmas in New York. I want to spend Christmas here, at home... Last year I couldn't... This year, I want to spend it in New York. I want to go to Santa's workshop the weekend before Christmas, to Time Square for the ball drop, and visit Chrissy's and Adrian's place on the second day of the year to play cards and drink wine. I want to do the things I couldn't do last year. I am not going to London. End of discussion." I can barely hold back the tears, my body shaking as I try to come up with enough excuses so Harry will drop this. "I have already made arrangements... Do you know how hard it was to arrange for my Christmas leave? You can't dismiss that without proper conversation." He points out. "Maybe you shouldn't have made plans without proper conversation to start with. I am not going to London. You can go alone if you want to so badly. Goodnight." I have the final word, leaving the ice cream on the island before hopping off the stool. "(Y/N)..." Harry calls, but I manage to ignore him and slip into the guest room.

Vol. 1, Part 1: New York City   /  Vol. 1, Part 2: New York City & Aspen  / Vol. 1, Part 3: New York City & Amalfi Coast & Rome  /  Vol. 1, Epilogue / Vol. 2, Part 1: New York  /  Vol.2, Part 2: New York, Upper East Side / Vol.2, Part 3: Harry’s Apartment, Upper East Side, New York City  /  Vol.2, Part 5: Harry’s Apartment, Upper East Side, New York City, Winter Wonderland / Vol. 2, Part 6: New York, Zurich, London / Epilogue; Hawaii / My Full Masterlist / Rose-Colored Glasses Masterlist / My Ko-Fi 

#harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic #harry styles smutty #harry styles smut imagine #harry styles smutty imagine #imagine #smut #smut imagine #smutty #smutty imagine #smut fic #fic #smutty fic #h.s #rose colored glasses #rose colored glasses fic #kofi writer #wattpad writer

[nealofer]

Eventually

I left the office a little late than usual. And missed my usual train back home.

Feeling the cool breeze of the night, I waited for my auto. It might rain today, I thought.

I wasn’t hurrying home because there was no one waiting for me there. It was a Friday night and I had no plans for the weekend. And if it rained tonight, I wouldn’t mind getting drenched.

“Where to Madam?”, the auto driver asked as I took a seat.

“Metro Station”, I said.

As the meter chimed, with auto jerking back we began our 8-minute journey to station. I remember covering the same distance by walk. But now I’m 44 pushing 45 and it takes longer for me to reach the station by walk.

I have worked in the same government building for 22 years, and this has been my usual commute. And I have seen this town grow with me. What used to be Hansal Garments is Dominnos pizza now. And Old Bombay Library is now Starbucks. Same place, same street, different age.

I see a young couple pass by us at the traffic light. The girl reminds me of my younger sister Rathi. They seem merry and careless about the world. Which is how youth should be. Hand in hand, walking together at this late hour on Mumbai streets. The streets echoing with their laughter. To be young and in love..

On the green signal we move ahead, another left and I’ll reach the station.

As I look back upon the years I see myself caught in the machinery of life in a way that I didn’t stop to look and realize that life is actually passing me by. And I am missing out on so much. The only friends I had were my colleagues at the office, the commute from home and way back was the only travelling I did. All my weekends were spent indoors either reading a book or cooking or if I felt adventurous going to the market for groceries.  Time just flies, and if we don’t stop and take a moment to pause, you might never realize how much you are missing out on.

The auto stops right outside the station and I hand the driver a 10 rupee note as I get down.

The platform is crowded as usual. Its almost 9.30. I slowly glide towards the spot for lady’s compartment. There are a bunch of girls giggling at their phones. A young woman just about Rathi’s age is talking to someone on the videocall. She looks very happy.

I take my phone out and unlock the screen. No New Notifications.

And I look at the Gunhill wallpaper, from 2008. When Me, Rathi and Ma went to Massourri in her Diwali vacation.

I do not know at what point I decided not to marry. Maybe it was for Rathi’s education or my own fears – but I don’t ever remember consciously making that decision. I don’t have any regrets but lately I find myself think a lot about companionship and matrimony.

Maybe its because of Rathi.

“I have decided to Marry him Soni”, she announced on our last call.

“But you have only just met him”, I said, “How long has it been? Six months?”

“I just have a good feeling about this,” She said. And that was all that was needed to convince me. And when I actually met Loy, he seemed like a genuine person who was in love with my little sister. I am happy for both of them.

I lock my phone and keep it my purse. Waiting for my train, to take me home.

#short story #commute #creative writing #healing hearts #solitude #nostalgia #self love

[athina-blaine]

50 Types of Kissing Writing Prompts: #36 - Starting with bunny kisses before moving on to soft kisses.

This got away from me.

~

“Ask me again.”

“Jon, you’ve practised these questions about 20 times just on the way over. I don’t think-”

“Just ask me again.” A beat. “Please.”

Martin let out a lengthy sigh, the kind that came from deep in his belly. It echoed down the corridors of the school hall alongside their heels clicking on the vinyl floor. “Right. Okay, so, how would you describe your teaching philosophy?”

Jon took a deep breath, chest puffing up. “My teaching philosophy is that all children are unique and deserve to have a stimulating educational atmosphere. I want to provide a safe environment where students are encouraged to share their thoughts and take risks.”

Martin smiled, trying not to giggle, but Jon’s voice inflected the exact same way every time he’d say “risks”- a sort of huffy pitch. It was hard not to be amused. “Very good.”

“Ask me the question about resolving conflicts in the classroom.”

“How do you intend to resolve conflicts in the classroom?”

“I would isolate the nature of the conflict in question and strategise accordingly. Compromise is the ideal resolution but in the event one cannot be reached, I will contact a higher authority than myself to mediate and help find a solution.”

“Perfect.”

“You don’t think it makes me look weak-willed?” Jon asked, brows furrowed with distress. “The part about contacting another authority figure? What if they want me to be able to handle the problem by myself?”

“I think it’s fine. You’re new. Shows you won’t let your ego get in the way when you need help.”

Jon let out a low breath, nodding slowly. His chest collapsed until he was nearly hunched over, and he tugged frantically at the strap of his briefcase. Martin had lent him that briefcase since it matched his nice navy blue jacket- he also figured it would help Jon feel more professional.

Martin wanted to say as much, lavish Jon in compliments on how scholarly and refined he looked, but every step they took closer to the school’s administrative office seemed to wound him up tighter and tighter until that briefcase strap threatened to fall apart. If Martin said Jon looked good now, Jon would just argue with him, citing the scuff in his shoes he hadn’t managed to buff out, or quadruple-guess the way he’d tied up his hair or something. The last thing Martin wanted to do was make Jon self-conscious; he’d just have to save all his gushing and lavishing for after the interview.

Martin’s restraint didn’t seem to matter, though, as, without warning, Jon stopped dead in the middle of the hall, digging into the recesses of his case. “I-I should practice the lesson plan one more time, the entire lecture phase is-”

“Jon.” Martin clasped his hands on Jon’s shoulders and turned him around. Jon stared up at him, eyes owlish and glossy with muted panic. “Please. Relax. It’s a part-time home economics class, not tenure for university English lit. You’re funny and charismatic and intelligent. They’re going to be begging you to take the job. The nice lady on the phone said as much.”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t make promises you have no possible way of keeping,” Jon said, a sliver of ice snaking through his words. Martin lifted a pointed brow, and a dark stain flushed Jon’s face. He looked away. “No, I … Sorry. I don’t mean to snap.”

“It’s okay to be nervous.”

“It’s not that, it’s …” Jon sighed, shoulders sagging. “I just want this to work. I … need this to work.”

Martin tilted his head. This wasn’t the same frantic energy Jon had been carrying with him since he’d gotten off the phone with Principal Williams last week. This was something heavier. More sombre.

“Can you tell me why?”

“It’s silly.”

“Maybe.” Martin shrugged. “Most things are.”

Jon still wouldn’t meet his eyes, staring down at their warped reflections in the floor. Martin waited, rubbing his thumbs over the jut of Jon’s shoulders.

“I just …” Jon started, then paused to breathe. “I don’t know whether or not I can still … function out here. Outside of the Institute. It’s been so long and … what if I just … can’t?” His voice lowered to a dull murmur. “What if I can’t make the adjustment?”

Humming, Martin stroked his hands up and down the length of Jon’s arms. He pressed a kiss to Jon’s forehead. “I don’t think that’s silly.”

Jon sighed through his nose, tickling Martin’s collarbone. Slowly, Martin pulled away.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, so. Let’s pretend you don’t get the job. Which won’t happen,” he said quickly when Jon’s head snapped up. “You are absolutely getting this job. But let’s just pretend you don’t. What do you think will happen after that?”

Jon’s brow furrowed with quiet confusion. His mouth flapped for a long while before, softly, “I … don’t understand?”

“Here’s what I think will happen,” Martin said, cupping Jon’s face between his hands. “We’ll go home. We’ll order a pizza, half cheese half-Mediterranean. We’ll flip on the TV and finish that nature documentary series. We can polish off that bottle of wine and I’ll rub your feet.” Martin leaned in close enough to press his lips to the bridge of Jon’s nose. “And then we’ll try something else. I actually think that animal hospital nearby is hiring.” Martin smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone. “You’d make a really cute vet tech.”

Jon’s lips twitched, eyes brimming with some complicated emotion. Martin smiled, holding his gaze until Jon turned away, face warming again.

“It’d suck if you didn’t get this job,” Martin said. “You’d be fantastic at it and they’d be stupid to turn you away. But, whatever happens, you’ll be fine. We will be fine.”

Silent, Jon stared somewhere between Martin’s chest and his neck. Then, he swayed forward, leaning into Martin’s sturdy weight, and Martin wrapped his arms around him, pressing his face into prim, professionally styled hair. They stood like that for a long while, breathing each other in. Good thing Jon had them show up about a half-hour early for the interview, just in case.

When they parted, Jon opened his eyes again, calm and bright.

“We could also get killed by a rogue satellite,” he murmured. Martin’s eyes widened. “Just, you know, as a worst possible thing that could happen. Rogue satellite. Right on our heads.”

Martin snorted. “I don’t think I phrased it quite like that, but, yes, I suppose we should consider that a possibility.”

Jon took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly, just as Martin taught him. He rolled out his neck, cleared his throat, and tilted his head up. “Alright. Kiss me.”

Martin blinked. “Um. What?”

“Kiss me.” A beat. “For luck. Obviously.”

“Oh. Obviously.” Martin tried to smother his twitching smile. “I didn't realise we'd started doing that."

“Yes.” His eyes became pleading. “Please?”

Martin rolled his eyes, but kissed him, a chaste pressing of their lips. Jon’s eyes had slid shut and he took another deep breath.

“One more?”

Martin obliged. Jon’s eyes remained closed, his chin still tilted up. Martin provided another one without prompting, and then one more, for good measure, soft and indulgent. They were rubbing away at Jon's lip balm, but Martin's lips had been feeling a little dry anyway. The tension bled from Jon’s shoulders, and Martin parted with a breathy sigh.

“That’s all your lucky kisses for the year,” Martin said, earning himself a chuckle. “Spend it wisely.”

A cough drew their attention. An older woman stood idle by one of the classrooms. Through both of their embarrassed spluttering, Martin managed to note her and Jon had tied their hair in similar fashions.

Oh yeah. Jon was going to fit right in.

The woman stepped forward. “Mr. Sims, I presume?”

“I- uh, y-yes, ma’am.” Jon’s face was burning but the woman smiled.

“Glad you could make it. Mrs. Williams seemed really impressed with you after your phone call. Shall I walk you to her office?”

Jon nodded, squeezing Martin’s hand hard enough to break it off and take it with him. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, none of this ma’am stuff. We’re going to be coworkers, yeah?" She held out her hand. "You can call me Janice. I teach maths.”

“Yes, m- Yes, Janice. It’s a pleasure to meet you." Jon accepted her hand. "Um, you can call me Jon.”

After their quick handshake, she indicated towards the hallway. Jon nodded and looked over to Martin. “I, uh … guess I’ll meet you by the car?”

“Meet you there.” Martin gave his hand one more squeeze. “Good luck.”

Jon smiled, a delicate, fluttering thing, before he slid his hand out of Martin’s and allowed Janice to lead them down the hallway.

“So, you’re from London, yeah?” she asked. “Grow up there?”

“No, I’m from Bournemouth. I moved to London after I graduated uni.”

“Oh, really? I think I’ve got a cousin who lives by that area. Always wish I’d have lived somewhere more coastal.” She turned to him, her teeth pearly white. “I have to say, we’re all a little curious about you. Don’t have many city-people here. We’re really excited to have you onboard.”

“Oh.” Even from this distance, Martin could see the way Jon’s face flushed. “I … I see.”

“I’m sure the others will want to ask you all sorts of questions, but don’t let that put you off, the staff here is as sweet as can be. They’ll get used to you soon enough.”

Jon glanced over his shoulder back at Martin, looking fit to burst. Martin waved, sure that his own expression was as sappy and affectionate as could be.

Yeah.

They’re going to be just fine.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #fanfiction #fic #50 types of kisses

[just-someone-who-likes-to-write]

May I request Nuada with a human reader that is a new witch. Something fluffy maybe?

Again, no access to my laptop yet, but I will try my best to do the request through my phone, and again I am so sorry for the errors!

I was planning for this to be simple and fluffy story but my imagination went a but wild but it still has many fluffs!! Please enjoy!!

You closed as you held your hand forward to the fire bowl in front of you, clearing your senses you tried to connect with it but was unable to.

"Concentrate, (Y/n)." Said your teacher, and you tried but still felt no connection to the element. "Most witches can manipulate fire, you are just not trying enough."

Her words made you angry, which made your determination to proof her wrong rise. You took a few steps forward, believing that maybe the problem is with the distance, but you quickly stopped and pulled away when you got too close and almost burned your hands. Your teacher let out a disappointed sigh as you checked your hand for any injury.

"What am I going to do with you?" She said getting your attention. "You can't manipulate objects, or teleport, or control a simple human mind, and now not even control fire!"

You said nothing only held your hand in front of you and kept your head down in shame.

"You are a good Brewer, I admit that." She said. "But any other witch can be a Brewer, even humans even they had the ingredients!"

"I'm sorry... " was all you could say.

"Saying sorry without accomplishing anything doesn't make you any useful to the King!"

"What is the meaning of this?"

A familiar boming voice called making both you and your teacher tense as you turned to the double doors. Right there stood Prince nuada, his signature frown showed on his face and he made his way towards the two of you.

"Your royal highness!" Exclaimed your teacher who quickly bowed and you followed her action. You kept your head down until you saw his shoes standing in front of you.

"Raise your head." He ordered and you did. His golden eyes met yours fir a brief moment before looking to your teacher.

"What honor do we have that his highness decided to visit us?" Your teacher said with a smile, you'd have believed she was in a good mood if she didn't just yell at you a few moments ago.

"I came to see the progress of your students, but only could hear yelling from the end of the hall." He said in a very displeased manner making your teacher tense.

A few months ago the Elf King had extended a hand to the witches, asking for thier aid against the human and offering protection and ressources as an exchange. Your Cover was one of the few who agreed to stand by the King. However, unlike your sisters you weren't as talented as them, they could conjure spells to fight and defend against humans but you could do none of that. So your teacher had decided to use the King's ressources as a chance to give you better education, hoping your power would awake, but it didn't.

"My deepest apology your highness." She said bowing again. "It's just one of my student is being... Difficult."

"Difficult?" He repeated in question. "Elaborate."

She then went onto this rant of how you can't do anything, how you can't manifest one spell that could benefit the King or your self at that matter. The more she talked the more you wanted to dig a hole into the ground and hide yourself in it, you clenched your dress, fighting back tears of frustration. You were doing your best, and she doesn't even giving credit for that as she continued saying your were lazy. It only took for the Prince to lift his hand up for the elder witch to be silenced.

"I will be dealing with the young lady personally." He said but you kept your head down, missing how troubled your teacher looked.

"that's... That's very generous of you your highness, but I can't imagine letting you-"

"You said that this young witch is wasting resources, time, and refusing to learn. " he cut her off. "So I need to personal make her understand the wrongs of her actions."

It was a short while until your teacher finally walked away to leave the room. The Prince stood right in front of you but said and did nothing until both of you heard the double doors shut. It was silence between you two, only the cracking of wood in the fire behind you could be heard. Nuada reached forward, placed his hand under you chin and gently lifted your head so your sad eyes could meet his affectionate ones.

"My little witch, why do you look so sad?" He asked concerned. You pulled away from his hand.

"My teacher is right I can't do even one simple spell." You said. "But I swear it's not because I'm lazy!"

"I know my dear." He assured, and even though you are grateful to know that he was at your side, it still didn't make you feel any better.

You and Nuada had started this secret friendship of yours when he found you wondering around the royal library, which later you found out it was forbidden for anyone else but the royal family to enter, that day to apologized none stop, which amused the Prince. After that he kept finding you, always saying that he wants to make sure you won't be going to any forbidden areas, and from that some kind of a friendship blossomed between you two. But you wanted to keep it a secret, because if anyone found out of the kind of treatment he is giving you they'd think he is picking favorites.

"Let's go to the garden." He said pulling you out of your thoughts.

"But we can't be seen in public together. " you said. "Everyone would get ideas."

"What ideas?" He asked raising a brow.

"That there is something between us." You answered with a shrug.

"And what is wrong with that?"

his question made look up to him with confusion, but you couldn't see the look he had for he was already making his way to the double doors, obviously not taking a "No" for an answer and with a tired sigh you followed. As expected your teacher was right outside waiting, when she asked nuada simply answered that he needs to show you just how much they are giving hoping it would motivate you to work hard, which was an obvious lie but your teacher seems to believe him as she continued to thank him for his "merciful" choice of a lesson for you. You just repressed rolling your eyes as you followed nuada to the royal Garden.

When you first arrived to the Bethmoora clan palace, King Balor has welcomed you, as well as other covens with open arms and provided a tour in the palace so you may know where to go and where was what, and so far, Your favorite area was the garden. You walked side by side with Nuada in silence, he had his hands behind his back, his posture straight and head held high like a true Prince, while you wondered around at almost every touching it and smiling them, except for those, which were poisonous but admured from afar.

"You truly love nature don't you, little witch." Said Nuada breaking the silence.

"I do very much so." You confirmed. "I used to go on walks in the woods when I was younger, just find a beautiful tree with plenty of shade to set beneath and read... "

You paused as your smile slowly turned into a frown.

"It all changed when humans started hunting us down." You sighed. "We had to hide away, which means no going outside, I was very depressed being stuck in for walls with nothing else to do but practice, practice practice!"

Your last outburst made nuada chuckle.

"Glad to know my pain amuses you." You said with a pout.

"Never, my dear." He said with a smile. "You can simply be too adorable I can't help it."

His statement made you blush and your turned your head away pretending to inspect the flowers below. After knowing the Prince for a few weeks he started saying these complements that left you beaming red, you just assumed it was his nature to do so, but whenever he was with other people he'd be the scary intimidating Prince who's no-one dared to address him in less than his given title, but when the both of you alone, he insist on you calling him by his name.

"(Y/n), I have a question for you." He said having your full attention.

"Yes?" Whenever he called you by your name it's serious.

"Witches can have different powers an abilities, correct?"

"Yes, every Witches Coven is different than the other, for example I heard of those who can use dolls, which is strange yet intriguing."

"And you cannot do the same things your coven does, am I Correct?" He asked again.

"Yes... " Your shoulders slumped and as your brows furrowed in a sad manner.

"Then have you ever considered that maybe you do not share the same abilities as your sisters?" He finally asked and you gave him a look of bewilderment.

"What are you trying to say?"

"What I am trying to same my dear little witch, is that you cannot do the things your sister can do easily... " He said and you almost gonna retort angrily but he continued. "Because you do not carry the same ability as them."

"Are you saying that I carry different abilities?" You asked looking down at your hands.

Nuada started to lead you to another part of the garden a more private part near the palace walls where vines stretched high against the wall. And you would have questioned the location if you weren't already questioning yourself.

"Set down." Said nuada breaking out of your train of thoughts.

"Where are we?" You asked looking around confused as nuada lead you to set in a clear spot with no plants just grass.

"This is my secret place." He answered. " no-one knows of it except Nuala."

"Why did you bring me here?"

"To do this."

He said before pinning you against the wall. Your eyes were widened in shock, your (E/c) eyes met his golden once, he started to slowly lean down, and move brought his mouth closer to your ear.

"May I steal a kiss?" He asked almost timidly,and a blush crossed your face at the request.

You would be lying if you said you didn't dream about your relationship with Nuada to grow more of that of a friendship,but to happen so suddenly and finding out he to desired it, in such private place like this made your heart beat fast. You lowered your head and gave a timid nod giving your consent. The Prince delighted,he lifted your head up and chuckled probably by how tight you kept your eyes closed, but that didn't stop him as he leaned down and pressed his lips against your own. The kiss wasn't agressive or passionate, it was a simple chaste kiss that still made you feel as if your spirit has flown to the heavens and came back as he slowly pulled away. that was your first kis but it left you in such daze that you didn't hear what Nuada said.

"huh?.. What?" You asked quickly looking uo to him. He smirked at your reaction.

"I'm happy to see what kind of effect does my touch have on you.. "He said making you want to look away but he quickly stopped you and made you look above you. "However, you too seem to have a special touch of your own."

He was correct, because the simple green vine that was behind you has many white flowers blooming on it and you were speechless because they weren't there before. You pulled away to have a better look and the flowers seems to go as much as the vines, even the vines seem to have taken even larger parts of the palace.

"I... I did that?" You asked in wonder.

"You did, my little witch." He said with pride as he wrapoed his arms around you and hugged your from behind. "Yes you did my darling (Y/n)."

---

Nuada was waiting at the end of the hall where your teacher's chamber were, he could have waited right outside but he didn't want to draw attention. He heard the doors open and you bowing one last time to your teacher before closing the door and leaving. You had entered empty handed but got out with many different books in your arma that you struggled to lift. Nuada hurried by your side to carry them from you.

"What did she say?" He asked, and you gave him a big excited smile that brought his own.

"You are looking at the very first green witch in our coven!" You almost screamed.

"A green witch?" Nuada asked confused.

"Yes, I can't manipulate or create fire like my sisters." You started to explain. "But I can and will be able to manipulate plants, rocks, animals, the earth and weather!"

"And these books will help you?" He asked looking down at the books that talked about different plants, herba and history of green witches.

"Yes, and I can't wait to read them all." You gave a shy smile to nuada. "Thank you for helping me realize my true powers."

"Why are you thanking me?" He asked genuinely confused.

"You knew in was a green witch." You said. "You told me how I can be different kind of witch than my sisters and took me to... That place."

You blushed at the memory of that kiss.

"You are mistaken my dear, for I didn't know you were a witch of nature." He confessed.

"But... The kiss... " you trailed off.

"I kissed you because I wanted to do so for a long time now." He said with a mischievous grin. "And judging by the way you reacted you wanted the same thing."

Your face was pure red as you snatched the rest of the books from his hands and ran away to your room, being embarrassed made you forget how heavy the books were and hearing Nuada's amused laugh from behind didn't make it better, but for some reason you couldn't help the smile on your face for you just found out that Nuada returned your feelings.

---

Again sorry for any errors, or if it's too long and I hope you enjoyed it!

#nuada x reader #prince nuada x reader #nuada x witch reader #prince nuada

[alj4890]

All Through The Night

A Choices: The Royal Romance Dark AU fanfiction. 

A/N Other than my few Bloodbound shorts, I’ve never written anything with supernatural overtones before. After receiving requests to see Liam and Riley’s story if he was a vampire, this storyline was born. Since it is set in one of my favorite books from Pixelberry, I had to include as many of the main and supporting characters as I could. The following chapters will explain more where they and what our main characters are. Not going to lie, I am very anxious to step out of my comfort zone for this, but I’m also super excited to see how it goes. Along with The Royal Romance, I will be referencing and altering both The Crown and The Flame and The Royal Masquerade.

@gkittylove99​​ @krsnlove​ @kingliam2019​ @texaskitten30​ @yourmajesty09​ @mom2000aggie​ @ofpixelsandscribbles​ @twinkleallnight​ @lodberg​ @twinkleallnight​ @amandablink​ @neotericthemis​  @mm2305​ @sfb123​ @iufilms​​ ​ ​

Masterlist

Prologue

Once upon a time...

"Father!" Zenobia rushed down the stairwell. "Kenna is at the gates!"

King Luthor's frown deepened as he studied the places his troops had been destroyed. His hope to unite the five kingdoms and wipe off the abomination was for naught.

Kenna would not stop until he and his surviving offspring's heads were on pikes.

...until their blood filled the crystal goblets of the Dark Queen.

"What do we do?" His son, Diavolos, asked.

Luthor knew it was only himself Kenna wanted. After he had killed her mother, hoping to stop the monsters once and for all, Kenna would have her revenge.

If only he had known that she was a vampire...just like her mother.

"Listen carefully." His voice trembled at this possibly being the last time he was able to speak to his son and daughter. "A Nevarkis must always be ready to fight the creatures that prey on the weak and vulnerable."

"But..." Zenobia sniffed. "How? How can we possibly kill the unkillable?"

"She can be killed just like her mother before her." Luthor snapped. "Sunlight. A dagger to the heart. Cutting the head off." His features hardened with resolve. "Know that those are our true allies. Continue your training with daggers. Never stop being vigilant. Educate your children. And remember: where there's one vampire, many more lie in wait in the shadows."

Diavolos stepped forward and gripped his father's shoulder. "We will fight for you."

"No." Luthor corrected. "Fight for our people. The innocent. Fight for a chance to live without fear of monsters."

He cleared his throat. "If I should die--"

"Don't say that!" Zenobia screeched. "We'll be--"

"Kenna is coming for me." Luthor interrupted. "I know I must face the consequences of my actions."

"But--" Divalos lowered his head. "What are we to do?"

"Kill her." Luthor ordered. "Let your emotion be your strength." He took their hands. "And remember that a vampire is nature's evil incarnate. They will do whatever they want and kill anyone who they think is in their way." His voice turned to pleading. "Kill Kenna before she has a chance to kill you."

Zenobia nodded in a jerky manner. Diavolos swallowed with tears in his eyes.

"Good. Now prepare yourselves." Luthor pulled his sword from its sheath. "The devil herself is here."

*****************

Two years later...

Kenna cuddled her infant son, humming a lullaby.

Dom came in, a soft smile gracing his lips at the sight of his family.

"How are we this evening?" He asked, placing a kiss first on her lips then one on his son's forehead.

"A little fussy." Kenna explained. "But otherwise perfect."

"Good." Dom stretched then went to stoke the fire. "I will be going out later tonight."

Kenna's head jerked up. "Why? Are there more rumors?"

He nodded, a determined frown formed on his lips. "The Nevarkis brats refuse to let us live in peace." He moved to stand before the window that looked out toward the kingdom he had once lived in.

High in the mountains, the couple and those like them had found sanctuary. They built a kingdom, one of darkness and shadow that allowed them to live freely. He and Kenna were crowned the rulers, chosen by their people...those that were cursed as monsters.

"Si and I will be standing guard." He explained. "I will not risk you or our child."

"Dom..." Kenna pulled him close, capturing his lips in a long tender kiss. "This must end. I was foolish to let my need for revenge take over." Tears sparkled in her eyes. "Luthor might have left us alone if I had given him a chance."

Dom's face contorted into furious hatred. "A Nevarkis can never be trusted!" He gripped her waist, hands heating as he lost his temper. "He would have plunged a dagger into your heart the first chance he had."

"Dom." She said softly when he singed her clothes.

He wrenched his hands from her with a grimace. "I didn't burn you, did I?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine." She tried to lighten the mood. "Just a little overheated."

He took deep breaths to get himself under control. "Stay here where it is safe." His eyes searched hers. "Have you fed recently?"

"No, but I should be fine until you return." Kenna lifted a bottle with blood for their son. "I can call on one of the servants to help me if I need to."

"Promise me you won't go outside." He pleaded.

"Only if you promise to come back to me." She responded.

His lips quirked in that cocky smile she has always adored.

"Always, my queen." He kissed her once more, then slipped out the door to search out their enemies.

******************

Present Day New York...

"Cordonia...land of both beauty and mystery." Riley wrinkled her nose. "Boring."

"No, it isn't." Hana argued. "I think that is the perfect beginning."

"Look at the comments from our last video." Riley swiveled her laptop so her friend could see. "People love our walkthroughs and all but hate my narration."

"Well..." Hana's brow furrowed. "Maybe we should try to add more to it than just narration." She pulled out some sketches. "We could add some animation of the history before showing our footage of the country."

"That might work." Riley mumbled, tapping her pen against her notebook.

The two set to work planning their next project.

After years of trying, they had finally achieved their dream of traveling for a living. The two college friends had taken every class they could on how to make their hopes into a reality. With Riley's love of history and business and Hana's talent with art and fashion, the pair had created a successful travel channel that showcased rarely visited countries and cities around the world.

Hana took care of all the shopping and dining found at their chosen destinations. Her "day trips" were hailed as must see for anyone planning a vacation. Riley took over for what could be found at night. Myths and legends blended in with what could be discovered once the sun set. A place's nightlife was thoroughly researched and reached a wide variety of their audience, causing many to plan a vacation just on her recommendations alone.

"Did your mom suggest where we should go first?" Riley asked, after skimming the same few articles about the elusive country.

"Not really." Hana hedged.

Riley glanced up. "Is she giving you a hard time again?"

"Yes." Hana slumped in her chair. "She told me to call when I was done playing tour guide."

"Geez." Riley grumbled. "Does she not realize that we have created a legit business?"

"Ladies shouldn't be involved in anything that does not pertain to their husband and family." Hana quoted. "I was supposed to have my debut to Cordonian society last year." Angry tears filled her eyes. "She still hasn't forgiven me for missing out on the Masquerade Ball."

Riley wrapped her in a comforting hug. "I'm sorry."

Hana patted her back. "Don't be. I finally feel like I can accomplish anything."

"That's because you can." Riley sat back with a grin. "Especially with planning out what we should focus on first."

Hana giggled as she went to search out some of her old books she had inherited from her grandparents. "These might help you with your part."

Riley's eyebrows lifted over the titles. "The Crown, the Flame, and The Night Queen."

"That is the earliest recorded story of vampires and monsters in Cordonia." Hana explained. "Queen Kenna Rhys and King Luthor Nevarkis both fought over uniting the kingdoms that make up Cordonia." She shook her head in disbelief. "There is a legend that Queen Kenna was a vampire that married a man who could transform into a dragon."

"For real?" Riley eagerly opened the book. "What happened?"

"Luthor died." Hana reached for another history book. "Some say it was a sword fight while others say she ripped his throat out with her fangs."

"Whoa. Either way, she sounds pretty epic."

"His son got revenge though." Hana flipped to another chapter. "He sneaked in one day and supposedly dragged Kenna into the sunlight. Before her husband could save her, she burned to ash."

"Brutal." Riley shivered. "What did the dragon do?"

Hana shrugged. "Supposedly he left with their child to protect him." She pointed at some drawings rendered from the Dark Ages. "Kenna's son came back to extract revenge. He eliminated one entire side of the Nevarkis family tree."

"And let me guess," Riley picked up another book. "The remaining Nevarkis's struck back?"

"It's supposedly been a feud for centuries between the Nevarkis and the Rhys' families." Hana pulled up an image on her phone. "Though one is currently ruling Cordonia."

Riley studied the image. "Queen Olivia Nevarkis. Looks like the Rhys lost the throne."

Hana shrugged. "There's a myth that they still rule Cordonia from the shadows."

"Mythical royal vampires, huh?" Riley laughed at the thought. "I hope I bump into one just so I can figure out who's really in charge."

Hana giggled at the thought. "You would be the only person to ask a logical, government question instead of the usual, whoa you're a real live vampire!"

Riley threw a pillow at her. "Hey! I can be calm and collected when faced with the unknown."

Hana threw the pillow back. "Tell that to the supposed haunted house we visited on our last trip." She broke out into laughter with Riley's defense that squeaking doors were the true villains. "On that note, I'm going to start packing. Our flight leaves first thing in the morning."

"I'll be ready." Riley promised.

Once alone, she flipped to a more current timeline of the supposed Dark Kingdom.

King Constantine Rhys the Third rules over what is his rightful kingdom. Rumors swirl that he is simply biding his time until he can eliminate the usurper, Queen Olivia Nevarkis, First of Her Name. The people know that one day, a Rhys will sit upon the throne, uniting the Dark Kingdom and Cordonia once and for all.

****************

Cordonia's Royal Palace, 2 a.m.

"Heeeerah! Olivia threw her daggers as hard as she could while doing a roundhouse kick.

The blades struck into the chest, head, and groin of the makeshift dummy.

She brushed the few strands of red hair that had escaped her hair clip out of her eyes. With a great deal of scrutiny, she studied her dagger placement.

"The one to the head needs to go deeper."

She spun around with a start at that all too familiar voice.

"You're late." She folded her arms and tapped her foot.

Liam rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry. Had to stop off for a quick bite."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "That's not funny."

"Not that kind of bite." He teased, holding up a styrofoam box.

"Oh." She blinked in surprise. "I forget that you enjoy normal food too."

He chuckled at that. "There are certain foods that I don't think any man could ever give up."

Olivia decided to ignore that as she wiped the sweat from her face and neck. "Now that you're here, let's get the formalities over with."

"Very well." Liam gestured toward her. "You may go first."

She sat down on a bench lining one side of the palace gym. She motioned for him to join her.

"Not you!" She hissed when she saw his all too familiar guard.

Drake Walker bristled at her tone. His brown eyes clashed with her green.

"Give us a moment, please." Liam asked him.

"Don't let your guard down." Drake warned. "Remember, she's a Nevarkis."

Olivia tensed. "Perhaps you should remember what happened the last time you said something like that."

She quirked one eyebrow at the man and felt a sense of glee when he winced in memory.

His hand automatically drifted to his side where one of her daggers had once struck true.

With a quick bow to Liam, Drake stepped back out into the hallway.

Liam shook his head. "Are you two ever going to get along?"

"Stop talking stupid." Olivia snapped. "Now then, as you know...I must have my revenge."

"I know." Liam folded his arms and leaned casually against a column.

She eyed him for any sign of hatred.

It drove her crazy how unvampiric he could be.

He seemed almost human.

He seemed...kind.

A vampire is nature's evil incarnate. You can never trust a Rhys.

Those words had been drummed into her skull by her parents and then her aunt after their deaths by Constantine's hand.

And yet...Liam had done the unthinkable.

He had actually been a friend to Olivia.

*************

The night after her parents' funeral, five year old Olivia had been sitting alone before the fireplace, weeping over them.

Her aunt had left her to deal with her own grief and to plan the next attack upon Constantine.

As she searched for a tissue, Olivia jumped back with a shriek at the little blonde haired boy that held the Kleenex box.

His eyes were filled with unshed tears as he handed her a tissue.

"Who are you?" She asked, remembering that a Nevarkis must always be brave.

"I'm Liam." He explained. "I wanted to...I wanted to tell you I'm sorry about your parents." He sniffed and took a tissue for himself. "My mom died too."

Olivia blinked and took a cautious step forward. "Are you...are you a vampire?!"

He nodded.

She whipped out the dagger her mother had given her and rushed at him.

Liam moved faster than she could comprehend, gently keeping her hand above her head.

"Let go of me, monster!" She ordered. "You're why I'm all alone!"

"I didn't do anything." He told her, anguish taking over his handsome features. "I don't want to hurt you or anyone."

"Liar!" She snapped. "That's what you do. Lie and kill." Her tears ran faster down her cheeks. "And now you'll kill me."

"I won't." He promised. "I swear I won't hurt you." He ignored his own tears trickling down his cheeks. His blue eyes burned with resolve. "My mother made me promise never to hurt a human."

Olivia shook her head. It had to be lies. Isn't that what vampires and monsters do? Lull you into letting your guard down so that they could have an easy kill.

"Your father will pay for what he did." She said, hoping to see his true, evil nature. "He must die!"

"I know." Liam slowly released her and took a step back.

Olivia watched in surprise as he sat down before her fireplace and pulled out a silk blue ribbon from his pocket.

He motioned for her to join him.

She slowly lowered herself down, dagger poised in her little fist in case he made a move.

"May I have your hand, please?" He asked.

He patiently waited on her to decide whether or not to give it to him.

She tentatively placed her hand in his.

His lips turned up into a relieved smile as he wrapped the ribbon over their joined hands.

"What are you doing?" She asked, lowering her dagger.

"Making a bond." He explained. "I, Liam Rhys, Crown Prince of the Dark Kingdom, promise to never seek out revenge and to end all vendettas against the Nevarkis family." His blue eyes held her green. "Just as my mother, Queen Eleanor wanted me to."

Oliva's lips parted. "You mean it?"

"I do." Liam's voice held a great deal of sincerity. "I would rather walk into the sun than not do as she asked."

"Oh." Olivia sniffed. She could understand that kind of devotion.

"Do you," Liam's cheeks colored. "Do you think we can be allies?"

"A Nevarkis will never be friends with a monster." She repeated the rhetoric that she knew by heart.

"But," Liam's shoulders slumped. "We're not all bad."

"All monsters are bad at heart."

"I'm not." He pouted. "I don't want to be."

"You're so weird." She muttered.

"Am not." Liam grumbled. "I hope I'm not."

Olivia looked down at their hands still bound together. "I guess since you promised something, I should too."

He didn't bother to hide his surprise.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I, Olivia Nevarkis, The Crown Princess of Cordonia, swear that after I kill Constantine Rhys, I will lay down my weapons." Her brow furrowed. "I'll pick them back up though if you or any other monster tries anything."

Liam's smile grew. Before she could react, he tugged her into a quick hug.

"Now we can be friends!" He cheered.

"Friends?" She shook her head. "I'm a Nevarkis and you're a Rhys. We can't be friends."

"We will be." He vowed, jumping to his feet. "I have to go before Father finds out I've sneaked out. I'll try to come back in a few nights."

Olivia didn't have a chance to tell him whether or not she wanted him to. In the blink of an eye, he had jumped from her balcony and was already out the palace gates.

*****************

That had been the beginning of Liam's visits. Through the years, he had remained true to his promise. He did all he could to befriend her and never tried to sway her from seeking vengeance.

Olivia had once asked him how he could take her threat against his father so easily.

He had merely shrugged, explaining that he knew it was the way of things. His father had killed both her parents, while he had only lost one. He hoped she didn't since he did not wish to see his father or her dead.

Olivia had then told him again how weird he was, bringing another smile to his lips.

And now here he was again, calmly taking her promised vengeance well.

"So what business brings you here tonight?" She asked.

"Father thinks it is time I chose a wife." Liam responded. "I thought you should know that I will be spending more time in your kingdom to find one."

Olivia shot up off the bench. "What? But you promised to never hurt a human!"

"And I will keep true to that." He explained.

"But..." Olivia's brow furrowed. "You'll turn her into a vampire."

"Only if she wishes it." Liam explained. "I won't force her to make such a decision."

"I see." She began to pace while thinking. "You'll have vampire children."

"Only if she's a vampire." He reminded her. "Remember my brother."

Olivia paused. She had forgotten about Leo Rhys, The Great Disappointment of the Dark Kingdom. His mother had begged Constantine not to turn her. It had never been asked before, and in his mercy he had agreed. That was when they all discovered that a monster and a human could only produce a human child. In order for the heir to the Dark Kingdom to be a vampire, both parents had to be the same being.

"And you'll be fine having human children?" She asked. "If you're chosen bride refuses the Vampire's Kiss?"

"Of course." He responded.

"Lord, you're so weird." She muttered.

His smirk flashed. "Let's hope the woman I choose doesn't think so."

"Are there no women in your kingdom you can choose from?" She asked.

"I've looked." He shook his head. "It's hard to explain, but if one doesn't have an arranged marriage, then we must search until we see the one meant for us."

"And you somehow got weirder." She brushed her hands down her pants and held one out to him. "Good luck, I suppose."

"Thank you." He grasped her hand and lifted it to his lips. "I'll keep you updated on my progress."

"There's no need."

"Of course there is." He winked at her on his way out. "We're friends."

Her lips parted to once again remind him that they couldn't be. For some reason, she decided not to say it.

Liam had somehow wormed his way into her life and had become the closest friend she had ever had.

********************

The Lee Residence, Shanghai, China...

Lorelei paled as she reread the report. 

It can’t be. Not Now!

Of all the times for this to happen, it would be when her stubborn, foolish daughter decided to visit. 

Given the nature of her relationship with Hana, she knew that there was no way she could convince her to postpone her trip to Cordonia. 

There was only one course of action left to take. She would have to call the one man who was capable of protecting her daughter. She would promise hiim anything as long as he kept Hana out of Liam’s clutches. As much as wanted her to give up this ridiculous hobby she called a job and settled down with the right sort of man, she would never put her in the path of becoming the next vampire queen. 

Setting down the packet of information from one of her informants, she checked to make certain no servant was out in the hallway and then searched for the needed phone number.

Taking a deep breath, she placed the call.

Her trepidation grew when he didn’t immediately answer.

"Hello."

"Lord Beaumont?" 

"Yes." She could hear a door closing in the background. "Who is this?"

"Lorelei Lee." She replied.

"Lady Lorelei." He responded with a recognition. "How can I help you?"

"My daughter and her friend have got it in their heads to come visit Cordonia." She began. "I'm not certain how long they intend to stay, but I was hoping that I could retain your services."

"For what exactly?" Lord Beaumont asked.

"Protection." She replied. "I have heard through certain channels that the dark prince is beginning to search for a bride." She took a deep breath. "We do NOT want our daughter anywhere near that vile creature."

"I understand." He replied. "I usually don't do personal security. With my brother, Bertrand, retired," he hesitated, "it is left up to me to help protect Cordonia's borders."

"My husband and I would be in your debt if you could watch over her in the evenings." Lorelei cajoled. "I've heard that your brother is planning on extending his vineyards. We would be more than happy to invest in the production and distribution of his sparkling wine. Perhaps even let it be the only sparkling wine we serve in our hotels."

"Send me her information and picture. Call her and tell her that since our family is an old friend of yours, that I've volunteered to show them around. Find out where she's staying and when she plans on arriving."

"Oh thank you, my lord. We--"

"I'll also need a contract prepared and signed for all that you offered." He added.

"Yes of course. I'll get everything to you at once." She promised.

Once he ended the call, she sank back down onto her chair. 

She bowed her head and began to pray that her daughter came to no harm these next few weeks. To lose Hana to one of the many creatures that roamed the night in Cordonia was too horrible to even contemplate.

If anyone could keep her daughter safe then it was none other than Lord Maxwell Beaumont.

#liam x riley #choices the royal romance #hana x rashad #leo x madeleine #maxwell x oc #olivia nevrakis #drake walker #trr dark au #vampire au

[ssahotchhner]

angel of spite

hi, i wrote a quick little something about the reader intentionally making hotch jealous as revenge. i hope you like it (: i'll be working on a few requests in my inbox next. i also finally made a masterlist which i'll link below!

masterlist

questions, comments, concerns

You supposed you should have known better than to spite Aaron for staying at the office too late, again. You had simply texted him that since he was going to be working late to not expect you to be there when he got home. Maybe that had been unfair to him, and you were normally so patient with his work schedule, but the last three nights in a row he had promised to be home for date night and continually cancelled last minute. Tonight, you had gotten angry when he texted you yet again, apologizing and saying he would be back late.

He tried calling you over an hour after you had sent the text message, having just then seen it in the throws of a difficult case, but you didn’t pick up. He tries to push down the flare of annoyance he feels, after all, this was the third time he had flaked on you. But still, you were acting like a child. He also knew part of the reason you were doing this was because you knew it would piss him off.

All he wanted at the end of a hard day was to see you waiting in bed for him with open arms. He put on a big show of being the dominant one in the relationship, but both of you knew Aaron became putty in your hands when you gently scratched at his scalp and whispered sweet nothings in his ear. You purposely took that away from him, knowing it was one of the only things that could get him through a tough work day. The more he sat at his desk trying to work, constantly checking his phone to see if you’d called or texted again (you hadn’t) the more angry he became. In fact, he stormed out of the BAU without saying goodbye to anyone without finishing his report.

He called you over and over again until you started sending him straight to voicemail. And so by the time he’s able to make an educated guess about what bar you’re in, his rage ripples off him in waves. He flashes his FBI badge to the bouncer to get inside without waiting in line, something he’s definitely not supposed to do, and heads up the elevator to the rooftop. Once up there, he heads straight to the bar. He scans the room quickly, but you’re nowhere to be found. Until, across the room, sparkling golden crescent moons dangled from someone’s ear. Aaron knew those earrings, he had bought them for you for your birthday this year. And standing in front of you is a broad, tall man. Not as tall as Aaron, but he was built a bit wider than Aaron, as if to make up for it. You sit on the arm of the couch, you look relaxed, your legs open just enough to get the man that was in front you salivating.

When your eyes settled on him, you couldn’t help the cocky smile that lit up your mouth. Unbridled fury filled his face when he saw the lawyer in front of you that was clearly wondering what you’d let him do to you in bed. You sigh as Aaron begins walking over you and turn to look at the lawyer, “I’m really sorry about this.” You say, cutting off whatever he was saying.

He frowns at you, “What?”

But Aaron was here now, “Hi baby,” You say sweetly, “I didn’t think you were going to make it tonight.”

He gives you a withering look as if to say I’ll deal with you later, before turning to the lawyer. “This is Ronnie, he’s a lawyer.”

Ronnie stared from Aaron, who was still silent, to you and back again. “And… who is this?” He refers to Aaron.

You open your mouth, but Aaron speaks first, “Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU. I’m also her boyfriend.” He gives the lawyer a look that anyone in opposition to the unit chief had experienced many times over the course of his career.

I’m sorry, you were mouthing to Ronnie from behind Aaron’s shoulder. “She didn’t mention a boyfriend.” Ronnie says.

You sigh, leave it to you to pick the one guy in this room that would decide to challenge Aaron Hotchner rather than just apologizing and walking away, “Oh, you idiot.” You murmur.

Aaron tilts his head to the side in an almost predatory way, “Are you suggesting that I’m lying?”

“I’m suggesting that the lady obviously doesn’t want you since she didn’t mention you, Mister FBI.”

“Oh, God help us.” You shake your head and say into your lap and the next time you look up Aaron’s fist has connected with the man’s face and whiskey had splashed on the floor and your ankles. At that your eyes widen, “Aaron, what the fuck?” Aaron had given many men that flirted with you a firm talking to, sometimes escalated to yelling, but never in the entire time that you’d known him had Aaron physically hurt anyone who had advanced on you.

Aaron puts a firm hand on your wrist as a commotion begins to gather around the two of you and pulls you away. He doesn’t speak as he practically drags you out to the back door, down several flights of stairs and out another door behind the building. Once the cold night air hits you, you pull your wrist away from him, “What the hell did you do that for?”

“Did you want him to fuck you?” He practically growls.

“No,” You say, exasperated, “Aaron, we play this game all the time, you’ve never hit someone.”

“You’ve never deliberately gone out of your way to flirt with someone else.”

It was true, you supposed. You always let the men come up to you if they were interested, but you never were the one to initiate. Why would you when no one would compare to Aaron anyway? Today you had come here with specific intentions to speak with someone that would piss off Aaron. “You’re right,” You admit softly, “I’m sorry, I just… I wanted you to feel what I’ve been feeling.”

“Do you think I enjoy coming home late and not spending time with you?”

“Yes, I do! You love your job!”

“So you behave like a child because you’re jealous of my job?”

When he says it out loud like that, it sounds ridiculous and your eyes water, “Yes.” You say quietly, “Because I need to make sure you still want me just as much as your job.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Honey, of course I do, but I can’t control when I have more paperwork or a heavier caseload than usual.”

You feel deflated and stupid all of a sudden with the condescension that’s written so clearly on Aaron’s face. “Whatever, let’s just go home.”

“Sweetheart—“

“I don’t want to talk about it. Did you drive the SUV here?”

He looks at you hopelessly and then sighs, “Yes.”

You let him walk a couple of steps ahead of you the whole way, not wanting to let him hold your hand if you were close enough. He did open the car door for you, but you didn’t look at him as you climbed in.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t consider your feelings more this week when I cancelled our dates.” Aaron says. You remain quiet. “I’m nearly certain I’ll be off work this weekend. I’ll make it up to you then.”

You can’t help the roll of your eyes, “You have to stop making me promises that you can’t keep. We all know you’ll probably get a case in the middle of the weekend.”

His fingers flex on the steering wheel, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Aaron, I’m not even mad about you not being here all the time. I accepted that when we first started dating. I just hate when you promise you’ll do something and then you don’t do it. We planned this dinner weeks and weeks ago and you swore to me you’d get it off. And then we had to reschedule the reservation three nights in a row and you still didn’t show. Then you do show up, but only for the chance to be mad at me and condescend me which just tells me that you could have left work tonight if you wanted to. That’s why I’m mad.”

He supposed you were right. He had ended up leaving work early because he was upset with you. He knew that hadn’t been your intention, you had expected him to quietly stew in his anger until the next morning or until you had come home that night. But he had done it all the same, unable to bear even the idea of you flirting with another man in his absence. He figured it had to do with previously being cheated on because of his job, but he knew you would never do that. Knew that your relationship wasn’t fundamentally broken in that way, could tell by the way adoration still glowed in your eyes when he came home every night. But if he wasn’t careful, he wondered if you ever would. Just the thought had his knuckles whitening as he clenched the steering wheel. It was this thought that had made him punch that lawyer back at the bar.

When you arrive home, you get out of the car without waiting for Aaron, unlocking the door before he’s even out of the car and heading inside, heels in hand. Jack was sleeping at a friend’s house tonight as it was supposed to be date night. You don’t slam the bedroom door, but you close it as Aaron is walking down the hallway which in his mind is the same thing. He stops in the middle of the hallway, wondering if he should go in anyway. A minute later, he hears the intro to The Phantom of the Opera blaring from your bedroom.

He sighs, “Fuck.” He murmurs to himself and turns away from the room. Your mutual love of the theater had been something the two of you had bonded over early in the relationship. Aaron had learned quickly there was a specific stage performance of Phantom of the Opera that you turned to for comfort. If he ever came home to it playing, he knew you had had a bad day. Rarely, though, had you put it on after a fight with him.

He heads to the kitchen and turns on the electric kettle figuring he’d better come into the bedroom with your favorite tea if he was going to brave it at all. He sits down as he waits, resting his head in his hands. The two of you rarely ever fight and so Aaron is still trying to figure out how to do that with you in a productive way.

The kettle switches off and he pours the boiling water into your favorite mug, dunking your favorite tea bag before leaving it to steep. He takes a deep breath before picking up the mug and walking to the bedroom. When he enters, you don’t look at him until he stops by your nightstand, noticing he brought you tea. The gesture is sweet and so you sigh and pause the show.

“Hi.” You say softly to your boyfriend who’s still standing next to you.

“Hi.” He says gently, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You say, and he knows it’s a test.

“For making promises I know I can’t keep. For leaving work early after I told you I wouldn’t be able to solely to punch whatever man wanted to sleep with you. For patronizing you.”

You cover your hand with his, “And I’m sorry for flirting to intentionally make you upset. You know I’d never actually do that, right?”

Aaron looks down at your hands, “I saw the way you had spread your legs for him, just a little bit, and I…” He sighs, “I never told you this, but my last wife cheated on me because I wasn’t around enough and seeing you like that, I guess I just…” He trailed off shaking his head, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“Baby,” You say softly, eyes wide, “I’m so sorry, I had no idea… I never would’ve done that if I had known.”

“I know.” He gives you a small smile.

“Why don’t you come lay down and tell me about your day?”

His smile grows and he crawls into bed, laying his head in your lap and your fingers begin combing through his hair as he talks about the case.

#mine #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch x reader #hotch angst #hotch fluff #hotch imagine #hot chocolate

[everythingthemoontouches]

Hiii Jahn!🌙 I’m just a new follower. I discovered you while searching for D9 asks. I was amazed by your in-depth explanation on each placements. 🤍 I’d like to send in my D1 & D9 charts also for future spouse reading to understand more about it.Thank you so much!!🤍 Please take your time. I’ll patiently wait. 💕 Hoping you’ll have a lovely day/night! 🌹

Hello there

This, my love has been a longtime coming. First off I'm gonna introduce you to an intuitive read and then present it in a more formal, bulleted manner. You seem to ha e chosen quite a challenging path in this lifetime. Props to you for bravery. And a hug + some tea to help you brave it 💕 your life could be a beautiful movie on love, healing, growth, spirituality and personal power.

Future BAE seems to be stable, practical reliable with service being his love language. He is down to grow together, and help you walk in your power.

Taurus rising.

Scorpio 7th house. + Pluto + moon.

Wow. Lots of shadow work involved when it comes to close personal relationships. You need to turn that critical eye inwards.

Untill you work at managing or integrating your inner child issues, any partners you end up with will continue to trigger you. At its best, this is someone who helps you work through your feelings. Breakdown. Confront reality. Breakdown and rebuild yourself stringer than ever. A hades and persephone kind of love. Lots of sexual allure. Strength, protectiveness, passion, push and pull, makeup sex? Specially since the ruler of the 7th house (Mars) is in the 5th house. You're not the kinda person who'd be happy to marry just for stability. Passion and mutual attraction, love is a must.

Mars and rahu. Service. Over exerting for those you love. Days spent in bed. Service kink. Lady in the streets, freak in the sheets.

You're definitely attracted to people who help you better your place in the world. They have to have a little bit of ' I wanna do good / change the world in them'. A friendly leader kinda figure. Disciplined.

Your darakarka Mars is retrograde. Controlling. Dominant. Future BAE is definitely gonna overthink themselves into a worry when it comes to dating and wooing. Or they could think that only their way is the right / best way to do soemthing. Poor lil baby( I say baby, but as a Virgo Mars they're probably the person who takes charge, plans, overanalyzes things has a set way of doing things.) this could be someone who is an advocate for universal free education, teaches children for free or some such. Could second guess themselves when it comes to taking action.

Mars Rahu conjunction: sub kink. They'd want a lot of adulation. Could be from a different culture from you or have studied in a very different environment.

I think your fs gets better at dealing with overthinking after you guys tie the knot. They learn to be more at peace with themself, letting their intuition guide them instead of focusing too hard on trying to do the logical thing. Okay with being messy. May like to act and arrange things behind the scenes. Imagine coming home tired to find that they've already called the restaurant, arranged for your favorite food to be dropped off, warmed, alid out on the table. Gives me the vibes of a puppeteer(katputli - a rajasthani folk dance)pulling the strings. You can't see them, but the show goes on.

From being ficusssed on accumulating wealth your focus goes towards doing things that boost your sense of Self confidence. You could also grow more tactful as you learnt to seek out harmony. You probably become more direct and assertive as a result the peopep you attract are more easy going / Libra like.

I'm seeing a house for a wedding present? Or moving into your spouse's ancestral home. They could also come from a matrilineal lineage.

Your household could be supported by one or both of you working in tax, insurance, financial industries. There could also be soemthing related to life insurance.

Pluto and Saturn in the 7th is a tad concerning. There's a very heavy sense of some kind of karmic duty. Saturn is exalted in Libra.

Way too controlling. Narcissism. Moon Mars mother. Karmic ties. Moon 8th house.

U must learn to stand up for yourself.

If you're meant to have any babies in this lifetime, they'd probably visit you in a dream or a psychic trance before they come down to earth. Call it mothers intuition. This is just a gut feeling wrt your moon in 8th house in Scorpio in the D9. I say this because the moon rules the 4th house of home, and children are an important part of the house if you're a mom. The 4th house is also the home/ heartland what you'd protect.

You suppress your emotions. Emerges as a volcano. But a cold one. U turn to ice and grow aloof.

Out of body experiences

You need to learn to be more dominant and combative. I'd suggest watching the teal Swans video on creating a zero sum game in relationships. Strengthened by Aries ascendant in d 9. This life u gotta learn to fight for yourself, and not sit quietly because people attacked u or kept u under their thumb when u were younger by a strict dad.

OK, now let's look at the placements and aspects

D1 lagna (ascendant) VS D9 lagna

You go from comfort stability minded to taking more risks and initiative. Self Confidence increases. Assert your needs better.

Vargottama Moon

The moon is quite dominant as it does not change signs between d1 and D9. You're super cooperative and hate to disappoint people. I'd suggest reading up more on Anuradha Nakshatra.

Moon - Pluto - 7th house

Could indicate karmic ties or past life connections to FS. You work through a lot of your own inner insecurities, self doubt, lack mindset related issues in close romantic relationships. There could be some mother wound related issues. You can only love as deeply as you allow yourself to love yourself. In order to attract people who inspire positive growth in you, you must first sit with your shadow, examine why people trigger you, and make peace with yourself or, perhaps your mom?

Mars Rahu - sextile moon

Mars and Rahu are both impulsive action oriented Planets. Them sextile your Pluto and moon could lead you to feel quite triggered and attacked by the slightest hint of advice or suggestion from someone else. Sex with the wrong people can really mess with you. In a better manifestation good sex has you feeling liek you can change the world and also that you're super safe and secure.

Venus combust - 10th house

You need to feel appreciated for your uniqueness. Ego battles could arise and get in the way of finding, expressing love.

Saturn- Ketu Pisces

The ruler of your 7th Nakshatra this is someone who loses themself to community service, could do too much for the wrong cause. Money could come in from fish farming. Seduments or other aquatic culture.

Anuradha 7th house

This is a Nakshatra that focuses on achieving success by working with a group. Your fs is collaborative and good at managing people. Someone who shares success. And is hence likely to go far ahead in life. Major success may come later in life.

Mars 7th house

Expect healthy amount of frank, direct communication. Some arguments with FS. But there's also protectiveness, concern, and the will to do the best by someone. Mars and moon aspects indicate a healthy sex life. They're probably enamored by you. You in turn would find them super sexy.

7th Nakshatra lord and Ketu

Your fs and relation with FS is a highly spiritual one. You could both be looking for a soulful connection. There is love, there us duty there is a need to help each other value time, focus on the future. They could have been a strict disciplinarian figure Ina past life. You both probably have a knack to look down at your phone just in time tos ee an email / message alert from them? Perhaps you two run or help/volunteer at an institution for the mentally challenged.

7th house relation to pieces

OK, so this is where we have a lot going on. Mars opposes saturn. And is placed with Rahu. Mars here feels restrained. Your fs could feel blocked in their creative gifts. In the sense that all they want to do is focus on it, create, post, gain fame but saturn and Ketu try to restrict their creative time. They could be perfectionists. Having to redo things. Since Rahu is also in virgo there's a focus on creating things with the hands and fine tuning every single detail. Directed towards you, this is someone who is always encouraging you while trying to micromanage a lot of details because they think they're being helpful. This is sosmrhtinf you two could have in common so

Mars Darakarka: they teach u to fight for you. Opinionated. Honest. Perfectionist. Service before self. Hardworking. Have integrity. Very active mind.

Mars conjunct Rahu-venus D9 creativity

The 5th house rules creativity and with your venus in the 9th house in D9 your fs is someone who encourages u to be more creative and follow or take up a course to be better at your hobbies. It's like full creative freedom to be you and do you.

D9 Exalted Saturn

Justice. Duty. Not very affectionate but they make sure you have everything you need. Balanced approach. Someone thoughtful. They're fair in a fight.

Libra, venus ruled 7th house

Beauty, peace and harmony in thr relationship. You're not gonna feel like you're being taken for grated. They will treat you to nice things and probably have a schedule for dates and other such romantic leisure activities.

Jupiter rules 9th, in 2nd house

Philosophy. Art. Culture. Museums. Travel coudk be a key focus in your married life. This is something you two bond over. Could also strike God fortune when u do travel or go on pilgrimages. Luck and money via foreign sources.

Rahu in aquarius

Social media influence or you get better at making friends just make sure that they're not provoking you into taking uncalcukated risks or actions that are wya too bizarre. Could denote some kind of breakthrough with technology, a love for a high end gadget driven spaces. An interest in Photography. Any couples pictures posts would be well received. Like you're the couple that looks exotic in their photos. Radiant. Aloof, intellectual, stimulating and even more appealing together.

Jupiter Taurus in 2nd house of D9

Debilitated Jupiter 9th house- religious issues - venus 9th house - conversion?

You may have struggled with religious ideologies being forced on you, or the one you were born into didn't quite feel right. Your fs may follow a different religion or show you that being religious does not mean you feel bad about some of your lifestyle choices.

Pisces Mars d9: he is either tactful and charming or a bit manipulative. You may feel like you prefer to act behind the scenes. It may be a little hard to be recognized for the things you do untill you get really really angry.

D9 Cancer 4th house: the home is a serious source of pride. Beautiful interiors and you'd be quite guarded about who you invite over. The best meals. Soothing interiors.

Pilgrimage within the 1st year of becoming a mom ( Jupiter's aspect on the 9th house)

Venus in Sagittarius D9: future BAE is gonna love his freedom. He could be a workaholic.

Alrighty, that's all I've got today. I hope this helps. I wish you the best on your healing and integration journey

#Shadow work #Mars saturn Pluto 7th house #Future spouse astrology #Future spouse reading #D1 and D9 analysis #Navamsa analysis

[amphxtrite]

spencer reid x reader

chapter 2 • coffee or tea?

series summary: a new case brings the BAU to New York, investigating a string of murders involving girls who appear very similar. The unsub is relentless, desperate to fill the needs of his fantasy. In the midst of it, spencer meets the girl he been writing with, but had yet to see, prompting a love to blossom in the midst of the storm. Is disaster inevitable? Or will the duplicator’s rein fall?

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, murder, mainly fluff this chapter

chapter summary: the investigation continues, but the team is in dire need of rest after a late night of work. Spencer makes a call to the reader and a plan is put in place to meet, the only question Spencer will have to answer today is a simple one, coffee or tea?

taglist: @le-weasley-simp @thatsonezesty13 @paperandplasma @padsfirewhisky @clubfairy @kiramdd @peach-cliquee @goldeng1rl8​ (message/comment to be added)

word count: 5.7k

“Hotch here.” The unit chief’s voice states, raising his cell to his ear.

“Hey Hotch, this guy’s a romantic, he’s leaving roses and quotes from books at the scenes, we’ve found two already.” Rossi’s voice sounds through the phone.

“Roses? You don’t think-” 

“Yeah I do, he’s keeping them to try and make them fall in love with him.” Rossi sighs.

“But he’s angry, can’t handle the rejection for long.” Hotch finishes, nodding to himself. “Thanks Rossi, if you find anything else let me know.” He chimes, hanging up the phone and going to find JJ.

“Agent Hotchner!” A voice calls to the profiler, prompting him to turn.

“Yes that’s me.” He responds.

“Sorry, I’m Detective Dakota Trent, I’m also working on the case with Detective Kimathi, she’s just at the crime scene.” A brunette with close cropped hair greets the agent, shaking his hand.

“Good, have we come up with anything new yet?” Hotch asks, following Detective Trent to the interrogation rooms.

“Well we’ve talked to both Olivia’s fiancee and Georgia’s boyfriend. They’ve both got solid alibis and people to back up their claims, it’s not them.” Detective Trent shrugs.

“Have you heard about the roses yet?” Hotch questions, examining each of every person’s movements behind the glass.

“Yeah, Kimathi called me just before I found you, we’ve got a romantic serial killer?” They ask.

“What he’s experiencing probably isn’t love, it’d be impossible for him to feel it. My guess is this is an obsession over someone he’s lost or been rejected by.” Hotch explains. Detective Tent nods and points to another direction.

“Agent Jareau just finished interviewing Georgia’s family, you can find her through there.” They smile, Hotch thanks them and steps through.

The unit chief walks down a hallway and peers past each door until he finds the blonde sitting in an empty room; going over the case file again. 

“How are the families?” Hotch asks, stepping in.

“Torn apart.” JJ sighs, closing the file and leaning against the wall behind her. “Olivia’s mom just had enough in her to clear Alice, then she broke down into tears. Isabelle’s parents had it worse though; she was an only child, a miracle one too, her mother had troubles conceiving.” She continues. 

“And Georgia’s parents.” Hotch questions.

“Tried to be strong, but-” JJ pauses. “They could barely look at each other, let alone me.” She concludes sadly.

“Have any of them given any possible suspects?”

“Lots, mainly ‘strange’ ex boyfriends, but I had Garcia check them out and they’re clean.” The blonde shrugs, standing and following Hotch back out.

“They’ve given us a room to set up in, When Spencer gets back I want you to help him come up with a geographic profile.” Hotch nods, opening a door to a room filled with whiteboards and a large table.

“You got it, and maybe ask them to bring a coffee machine in, we’re gonna be up for a while.” JJ giggles, opening the case file again and placing the pictures of each scene up on the whiteboard.

“Hey we’re back from the ME, toxicology found ketamine in both victim one and two.” Prentiss states, opening the door to the board room with Spencer in tow.

“But not victim number three, does that mean he’s devolving?” JJ questions.

“Or she was a victim of opportunity, he couldn’t pass up the chance so he took her.” Spencer includes, shrugging his shoulders, and taking a seat next to JJ after seeing the map in front of her.

“Again it’s hard to know, but Morgan and Rossi found flowers at two of the dump sites so far.” Hotch tells Prentiss and Reid.

“Flowers?” Emily asks.

“A note too, some quotes about finding true love, we’re hoping you could help us with them kid.” Rossi suddenly chimes from behind the group, seeming disgusted at the thought of it. “We found the third one by the way, hidden in some bushes by the bridge.” 

“What did the cards say, Rossi?” Spencer questions, removing his gaze from the map.

“The first one said ‘I’ve never had a moment’s doubt. I love you. I believe in you completely. You are my dearest one. My reason for life.’ Second one said ‘He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.’ Third one said ‘Do I love you? My god, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches.” Rossi lists reading off his tablet.

“All of those have to do with love alright, this unsub is absolutely infatuated with the idea of finding his true love.” JJ notes, looking at her own tablet.

“Maybe this unsub has some form of erotomania? Thinking all these girls love him, so he kidnaps them only for them to ruin his fantasy?” Derek suggests, fiddling with a pen in his hands.

“It would make sense why he’s keeping the girls only to kill them, and why they’re fed while he’s holding them.” Prentiss adds, looking to Spencer who looks deep in thought..

“Well now that we know more let’s get to work, we’ll deliver the profile in the morning so every officer can hear.” Hotch states, glancing out the window at the sky which had faded to an eerie black.

“I’ve got it!” Spencer suddenly exclaims. The team looks to him curiously.

“The first quote was from Atonement by Ian McEwan, the second quote was from Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, and the last one was from The Princess Bride by William Goldman!” He explains, standing from his seat and writing each quote on the whiteboard.

“These are all famous quotes about love, some of my favourite books too. This unsub is educated, definitely enough to read classic literature-”

“Wait Spence, the other two I can get, but you’ve read The Princess Bride?” JJ asks, excitement lacing her tone.

“Um yes, I saw it at the library so I decided I’d read it.” Spencer murmurs, turning to the whiteboard again to hide the hitch in his voice. The truth was it was another book you had practically begged him to read, he couldn’t say no. Spencer would have never guessed it would have aided him in a case.

“Oh Spence, I love that book too, you should come over and watch the movie with me and Henry, I’ve been meaning to show him.” JJ continues.

Spencer sighs in relief. “Yeah that sounds good JJ.”

---

“You’ve got to be joking.” A tired voice chimes from outside the door.

Hotch glances up at the voice, JJ inhales deeply as she wakes up, Prentiss and Spencer both take long sips from their coffee cups and Derek snores in his seat.

“Can we help you Detective Trent?” Hotch asks, turning to face them. Dakota doesn’t miss the dark bags under the unit chief’s eyes.

“Yes as a matter of fact, go to sleep!” Dakota smiles in a sickly sweet manner.

“I don’t think-”

“They’re right Hotch, you know we aren’t much help dead tired.” Rossi practically pleads.

“I could use some solid food too.” Emily adds, swirling around what remained of her fourth cup of coffee that night.

“You guys have a hotel for a reason, pretty much every other officer is either patrolling or at home, get some rest and we’ll see you in the morning.” Dakota smirks, waving the team off and heading towards the exit.

Hotch sighs and rubs his eyelids, feeling the relief of closing them before opening them again.

“Derek, Derek wake up!” JJ mutters, tapping on Morgan’s shoulder until he finally slumps forward, awake.

“Is it morning yet?” He grumbles.

“No, but we’re heading to the hotel now, and getting food.” JJ smiles, watching Derek perk up at the mention of something to eat. “What’s everyone in the mood for?” She asks, turning to everyone.

“M’ good with anything.” Rossi yawns, leaning against the door frame.

“There’s a shawarma place close to the hotel?” Spencer proposes, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the joint.

The team nods in agreement, shaking the tiredness off to walk back to the hotel.

Spencer enjoyed moments like this, when his team didn’t have to focus on a case for just a few moments, where he could let his mind rest for a minute.

“Hey player, meet any lovely New York ladies yet?” Derek chuckles throwing his arm over Spencer’s shoulder.

Scratch that, this is not what he had in mind.

“Nope.” He responds plainly.

“Right, right… What about that lady you’ve been writing too?” Derek teases, watching Spencer avert his gaze to the sky.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He murmurs. Derek’s smile grows.

“A mystery woman, Spencer I didn’t think you had it in you? Is she older? Rich maybe?” Derek lists playfully as Spencer rolls his eyes.

“Sorry Derek, maybe you’re just thinking too much.” Spencer shrugs, digging his hands into his pockets and sighing.

“Alright, I’ll back off.” Derek sighs, lifting his hands in mock surrender, only half telling the truth.

“Take a left here.” Spencer nods, pointing to a dimly lit building. “The shop is down there.” Spencer nods.

“I’ll go with the genius, you guys head back to the hotel.” Derek says, waving off the tired agents as he pushes Spencer forward towards the store. 

“Hey Morgan, do you mind if I call Garcia, I’ll meet you inside.” Spencer smiles as they reach their destination. 

Derek thinks nothing of it and nods, turning to swing open the door and order.

Spencer sighs and glances to both sides before turning and walking in the direction of the payphone. He had chosen this spot not only for convenience sake, but because there was a payphone right outside. It had been a while since Spencer had heard from you, and he felt bad not being able to read your letters.

Taking a deep breath he steps into the phone booth and dials your number.

“Thank you for subscribing to Lynn’s cat shop. Would you like to hear a fact about cat paws?” Your distinct voice chimes from the other end of the line.

“Well I do already know quite a bit, but hit me.” Spencer jokes back, smiling when he hears your audible gasp.

“Dr. Reid!” You laugh, sitting up straight from your lying position in bed.

“Hey what happened to cat facts?” Spencer teases gently, leaning against the side of the booth.

“I thought it was a spam call!” You justify, looking at the number again. “Hey Doc, this is a New York number-” You say slowly, putting two and two together. “You’re here! Are you on a case?”

“Yes actually.” Spencer replies with a soft smile. 

“Is it about that ‘duplicator’ guy I’m seeing on the news?”

“Yes, but don’t worry we’re doing well with the profile, and he’s only killing people that fit his victimology.” Spencer reassures you.

You remain quiet for a moment.

“Y/n? Are you still there?” Spencer asks, eyebrows drawing together at your sudden silence.

“Oh yeah, s-sorry Doc. Hey if you’re up for it, we could- meet up?” You ask, turning the conversation and popping the ‘p.’

“O-Oh.” Spencer stammers, caught off guard by your sudden proposition. “I-I mean I do have to work on the case…” Spencer sighs.

“But?” You plead, leaning into your phone.

“I can meet you earlier? Six am maybe?” Spencer offers quietly, feeling his voice break.

“Ooh you’re pushing it Doctor Reid, but I’ll manage.” You tease.

“Great! Great, um where do you want to meet?” Spencer asks, relief showing through his voice.

“There’s a park beside campus, my favourite spot is the field beside the cafe.” You smirk, dropping a not-so subtle hint.

“I-I’ll be there! Yeah See you then!” Spencer mutters in an excited tone.

“Sounds like a plan. Bye Spence!” You say in a sing-song voice before hanging up.

There it was again, Spence. No matter how many times he’s heard his name before, there was something special about you saying his name. Something that made him feel good.

“Spence…” He murmurs to himself, hanging the phone up and walking into the shawarma shop.

“Bout time pretty boy, what were you even calling about.” Derek asks, as he takes a bite from his wrap.

“Just checking if forensic found anything on the flowers yet.” Reid lies coolly.

“Anything?” Derek says in a muffled voice, throwing a wrap to the brunette.

“Not yet.” Spencer says in a slight yelp, just catching it before it falls.

“Oh well, it’ll probably be there in the morning.” Derek shrugs, picking up the bagged wraps. “Thanks again.” Derek waves to the owner before exiting the store.

“Did you know the origin of the word shawarma comes from the Turkish word çevirme, which means ‘turning’ which makes sense because of the-”

“Just enjoy the food pretty boy, just enjoy it.” Derek sighs, pushing the Shawarma up against Spencer’s mouth.

“Mm-” The younger agent protests, pushing his face back and snatching his shawarma back.

“Hurry up genius, the team is waiting.” Derek laughs.

The brunette rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but speeds up his walk beside his friend anyways.

---

Spencer wakes up to the sound of an alarm in his ear and without skipping a beat he sits up and throws his covers off, careful not to wake Derek sleeping in the bed next to him.

Slowly, he picks up his bag and tip toes to the bathroom, glancing at his watch, the time reads 5:00 am, still dark out. Spencer nods to himself.

Pulling on a white collared shirt and a black- no, black was too formal. Maybe red instead? No, this isn’t a date… “Blue.” Spencer murmurs, placing the tie around his neck and tying it slowly, being sure not to mess up. “Hi I’m Doc- no wait, hi I’m Spencer.” The brunette murmurs to himself as he ties his shoes. Spencer curses himself for only bringing converses and striped socks, but his jeans covered most of it to his relief.

“Hi I’m Spencer-”

“Spence, who are you talking to this early in the morning?” Derek’s drowsy voice groans from his spot in bed.

“I’m heading out early, I’ll see you later Morgan!” Spencer calls, pulling on his jacket to fend off the cool November air and swinging his bag over his shoulder so he could head back to the police department afterwards.

Stepping off the elevator, the hotel was practically empty, Spencer sighs in relief, he must have looked like a psycho constantly fixing his hair and tie. 

He exits the front door into the windy New York outdoors, suddenly regretting not wearing his scarf, but regardless, pushing on.

tousled brown hair swaying in the wind, Spencer checks himself in the glass of a building beside him, licking his chapped lips and swiveling his head back to the pavement ahead of him, careful not to bump into anyone.

Taking another turn, Spencer sees the sign for your university campus and feels his heart begin to race.

All of his thoughts began to jumble. What was his name again? Where was he going? A sudden squawk from a crow brings him back to himself, but his hot face and racing heart were impossible to shake.

As he grows closer to the coffee shop you mentioned to him, he begins to stumble, his feet beginning to fail him. He’s able to play it off as a funny walk, but when he spots the coffee shop, and beside it, the field. He completely stops.

A man grunts behind him, cursing at Spencer before turning and walking around him.

“Sorry.” Spencer murmurs, walking to the side of the pavement before crossing the street quickly.

Glancing down at his wrist again, his watch reads 5:45. Great, now he just had to sit and wait-

“What?”

Spencer’s thoughts are cut short when his vision is cut off by something...warm. Hands.

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone-” A sweet voice whispers in his ear.

The melodic voice from across the phone, it was you!

“W-We find it with another.” He stammers out, smiling as he hears your laughter.

“Doctor Spencer Reid, finally we meet.” You sigh, removing your hands from his face and dropping them at your sides.

“Y-Y/n-” Spencer says, turning to face you. 

He freezes for a moment as his eyes adjust to the light again. Then his jaw drops.

“Y-You’re…” Spencer’s eyes follow your y/h/c hair, jawline, eye shape and height. 

“No, no, no, no.” Spencer murmurs, glancing from side to side, overanalyzing every single person in your vicinity.

This was impossible. So, so impossible, yet there you were. Your description matched those girls perfectly, yet here you were out in the open talking to him. You weren’t safe.

“I-I know Doc, but it’s okay, I’ve got my pepper spray and everything!” You reassure Spencer, squeezing his hand gently.

“Y/n, y-you fit this unsub’s type, you can’t just be out here like this it’s not safe!” Spencer snaps, pulling his jacket off by the sleeves and swinging it over your head to hide you.

Your eyes widen and Spencer’s stomach fills with dread.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. I just want you to be safe.” Spencer explains, lowering his voice and leaning closer to you.

“It’s alright Spence. I knew the risk, but I just wanted to see you.” You mutter, crossing your arms and sighing.

“Hey, you- you finished Love and Living.” Spencer smiles softly, remembering the quote you whispered to him when you covered his eyes.

“Yeah, it just kind of stuck with me. Thomas Merton can really write.” You smirk, nodding your head a little.

“Well I certainly prefer him over J.C?” Spencer asks, sarcastically tilting his chin.

“J.K, but you already knew that.” You laugh, rolling your eyes.

“I did?” Spencer jokes, eyes widening when he finally realizes how close the two of you are to each other, his eyes shyly draw downwards.

“Ahem?” You smirk. “Eyes up here Doc.” 

“O-Oh it’s not like that, I swear.” Spencer rushes, quickly looking back up in panic.

“Hey Spence! I’m just teasing, it’s alright.” You stammer in a hushed tone, gently moving your hands to cup Spencer’s face as reassurance.

The hits just kept coming today. Spencer internally trembles, but nods, darting his tongue out again to hide his quivering lip.

“Hey, since we’re both just standing here, do you want to grab something to eat?” You shrug, awkwardly retreating your hands to your chest.

There it was again, the sound of his name on your voice.

“C-Coffee?” Spencer sputters. “How about coffee?” Spencer repeats, clearing his voice and moving his hands from your shoulders to his sides.

“Yeah, coffee sounds great Doc.” You nod, taking Spencer’s hand and pulling him forwards.

“I’ve been going to this place since my first year here, amazing coffee, tea, and even seasonal sodas.” You gush, squeezing his hand and opening the door to the local shop.

“Any idea of what you want to order?” You ask, turning to face the brunette and shifting his jacket from your head to your arms.

“Uh, regular coffee is fine?” Spencer’s voice comes out almost as a question, he feels himself growing timid at the size of the menu.

“I’ll tell Choi ssi to surprise you.” 

Spencer nods, his lips pulling up into a line.

“Ah if it isn’t my favourite little boba pearl, what can I get for you today?” A man in his late forties calls to you with a smile. “And who might this be?” Mr. Choi motions to Spencer.

“Choi ssi, I’d like you to meet my Doc.” You smile. Spencer feels his face heat up at ‘my’

“I-I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” He explains, nodding to the man behind the counter.

“I’m Viktor Choi, and Doctor? Wow, how old are you kid?” Mr. Choi questions in slight awe.

“Twenty five.” Spencer answers plainly, shrugging his shoulders.

Viktor’s jaw drops.

“Yeah I get that a lot, are we gonna order now?” Spencer blurts, turning back to you.

“Yeah of course. I’ll have my boba, and Doc-” You pause, tapping Spencer on the chest. “Would like to be surprised.” You smirk.

“Oh adventurous.” Choi smirks back to you, raising his eyebrows. You nod.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrow, feeling something strange was awaiting him.

“Oh you’ll love it!” You smile, placing a paper bill on the counter and pulling Spencer towards a table.

From the shake of Mr. Choi’s head and your small smirk, Spencer made an educated guess you gave him more than what was expected.

“Here.” You point to an empty table beside one of the large windows that wrapped around the shop.

“A window seat.” Spencer smirks, sitting in the chair across from you.

“What, you have a profiler fact for me?” You tease.

“Well, people who prefer window seats are more selfish and easily irritable.” Spencer shrugs feeling his smile widen. 

“Hey I just like to feel the sun.” You protest, looking out into the busy traffic not too far from you.

“I see.” Spencer smirks, glancing over to see you gazing into the sunlight.

Spencer is caught off guard at first, beauty isn’t usually a thing he notices, but it would be impossible for him not to admire you.

Your e/c eyes seemed to glow in the sunrise, your hair shined and your smile grew and seemed to shine brighter than the sun could ever be, figuratively though, obviously. 

Strange, Spencer felt his hands clam up and heart began to race again.

“Order for miss boba and her doc!” Mr. Choi calls, drawing both yours and Spencer’s attention.

“You seemed like a coffee kind of guy.” He shrugs as you bring the two drinks back to your table.

Spencer smiles in acknowledgement before looking down at what looked to be a simple coffee with a rim of milk foam and- Spencer furrows his eyebrows, chocolate shavings.

“Don’t be deceived, his coffee packs a punch.” You smirk, stirring your drink with the straw poking out of it.

“Good.” Spencer nods, drawing a laugh from you, as he lifts the mug to his lips and blows on the hot liquid, finally getting a taste.

The first thing that hits Spencer is the sweetness, just the right amount that made him smile as he drank it. The next was how rich it is, practically gliding over his tongue like melted chocolate, of course just not as viscous. 

You must have noticed a change in his demeanor because you begin to giggle to yourself.

You couldn’t help it, the look on Spencer’s face was too good not to notice.

His eyes widened, brows raised to his hairline and he tilted the cup higher in an instant to get more.

“Adorable.” You sigh to yourself, not realizing you had said it out loud until Spencer suddenly chokes on his drink.

“Oh my god, Spence are you alright?” You worry, holding a napkin to his chin as drops of coffee spill past his lips. 

The brunette nods, bringing the drink back down onto the table to see he had already drunken half of it.

“It’s good right?” You grin, pulling the napkin away but not moving back just yet.

Spencer nods, already feeling a buzz, but unsure if it was from the coffee or your sudden proximity, or you calling him adorable.

His ears felt as though they were burning, and this time he couldn’t blame the coffee.

Timidly glancing up, it seemed as though you could say the same for your cheeks.

Spencer lifts his mug up again to take another sip of his beverage, clearing his throat a bit before speaking again.

“I-If it makes you feel any better, I find you rather endearing, myself.” Spencer says just above a whisper, too nervous to look you back in the eye.

“Thank you Spencer.” You smile, feeling a rush of warmth in your chest and in your face.

Without thinking you look up and tilt Spencer’s chin back up to face you. His eyes read amazement and sheepishness, prompting a giggle from you.

Usually Spencer would have pushed the hand touching him away, ready to list facts about germs to make sure no one in the general vicinity would try that again. But there was something about his racing heart and your gentle hands that smelt of lavender, that made it impossible for any words to come out at all, he barely wanted to move.

“Hey Doc, do you feel like going for a walk?” You ask, stroking your thumb down Spencer’s cheek to catch his attention again. 

“Yeah, yeah a walk.” Spencer glances down at his watch, 6:24.

“I have to be back at the station for seven, but I can walk you back to your dorm?” Spencer offers, half suggesting it just to make sure you got back safely.

“What a gentleman.” You smirk standing and prompting Spencer to follow you. “You can drop the cup off at the counter over there.” You say, Spencer nods, standing and placing the mug at the counter for an employee to sweep it away in seconds.

“Now come on, we’ve still got time for me to give you a little tour.” You grin, putting a bit too much emphasis on little.

To the profiler’s surprise, you take his hand into yours as you wave goodbye to Mr. Choi.

“Bye my little boba pearl and Dr. Boyfriend!” He shouts out to you and Spencer as you exit the door. Spencer doesn’t even have time to sputter out a correction before you’re pulling him towards your campus. 

“Isn’t he the best! He and his husband have been running that place for years, the best coffee in the city if you ask me.” You chuckle, slowing your speed to a steady walk beside Spencer.

“Yeah, we should go again sometimes.” Spencer shrugs, finally closing his hands around yours, growing accustomed to the feeling.

“D-Did you know that multiple studies, including one conducted at the University of California Los Angeles, show that human touch triggers the release of oxytocin, in our brain. Oxytocin is-” 

“A neurotransmitter that increases feelings of trust, generosity and compassion, and decreases feelings of fear and anxiety, aka the love hormone.” You finish, smiling up at him reassuringly.

You knew Spencer began listing off random facts when he felt he’d made an atmosphere awkward. You’d started noticing these cues once the two of you began talking on the phone, so you made sure to ensure everything was fine to him. 

“Yeah, t-that’s the one.” Spencer mutters.

The brunette was always cut off while he tried to explain a statistic or fact. He knew it was never to hurt him in any way, but it still got frustrating for him when he was talked over.

When you cut him off on the other hand,  it is to finish his sentence and complete the fact. He was starting to see why so many people found this gesture romantic.

Your smile grows as you notice Spencer’s eyes downcast on your hands.

Rounding the corner deeper into your campus, you stop at a couple spots to tell Spencer more about your school life and how your studies were going.

“I can’t believe I’m really graduating this year.” You sigh dreamily, looking up into the sky.

“Do you have any ideas where you may want to work?” Spencer asks as you lead him to a fountain in the centre of a field.

“Well, not exactly, but I’ve still got time to decide.” You grin, digging into your pocket for something Spencer couldn’t see.

“You know the BAU will always be an option.” Spencer shrugs, watching you pull out a shiny quarter.

“I dunno doc. All that stuff might not be for me.” You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment before flipping the coin into the water of the fountain.

“Yeah I guess serial killers and psychopaths aren’t everyone's cup of tea.” Spencer says seriously, causing you to break out in a fit of giggles.

“Do you believe in wishes coming true Spence?” You continue laughing, pulling Spencer in the direction of your dorm.

Spencer’s head snaps up at his name, but his eyebrows furrow.

“Well the act of throwing valuables into water hasn’t always been for wishing, it used to be for worshipping gods and other deities, but as the years went by it became popularized to wish for things by throwing something of value into the basic fundamental of human life.” Spencer pauses looking to you apologetically.

“It’s okay Spence, I’m listening.” You smile.

“Oh okay- First used to honour gods, people began asking for favours such as a good harvest or for a loved one to get well from a sickness which is where wishing wells came from.” Spencer nods, squeezing your hand as a silent ‘thank you.’

“So to answer my question-” You draw on, looking curiously into Spencer’s hazel eyes.

“While there’s no sound science to prove anything, I don’t see why people can’t have something to believe in, as long as they understand if it doesn’t come true.” Spencer shrugs, stopping when you do, outside a large building.

“So I’ll take that as a yes, but.” You smirk.

“I suppose, besides sometimes the wishes do come true out of pure coincidence, but you can never say that.” Spencer shrugs.

“It sounds like you speak from experience.” You laugh, nudging him in the side.

“My friend Penelope wished I’d get my haircut, but didn’t tell me until I did, three months later.” Spencer chuckles.

Both of you knew you were supposed to say goodbye now, if you remained just standing there any longer you’d become a problem for sleep-deprived students. Not a good mix.

But neither of you could find the will to move, your hands stayed interlocked and your smiles remained as Spencer began talking more about a couple books and some more facts about wishing wells.

“Y/n?” A loud voice calls to you from afar. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” The voice chimes again, slowly getting closer.

“Oh I’m sorry Adira, I was meaning to tell you.” You apologize, letting go of Spencer’s hand to turn around and speak to the person calling you.

For a minute Spencer forgot how to function his hand, he just sort of hovered it in the air for a second, before regaining his train of thought and dropping his hand back to his side and turning.

“I’ve been worried sick y/n, you haven’t been answering your phone and with that ‘duplicator’ guy running around-” Adira begins, cutting off to wrap her arms around you. “Don’t do that again, please.”

“Alright, I’m sorry Adira, but I had a friend with me, see.” You smile, turning her to face Spencer.

“Hello.” Spencer greets awkwardly, placing his hands into his pockets and nodding.

“Wait he sounds just like-” Adira pauses. “That’s Doc?” They pause, jaw dropping as she begins tugging on your sleeve.

“Yes- that’s him.” You smile, tapping on her hand to try and get her to stop before your face overheats.

“Okay okay!” Adira laughs, rolling her eyes as she fixes her headscarf and extends her hand.

“Nice to finally meet you, y/n has not stopped talking about you since you started writing to each other-”

“Adira!” You intervene, bringing your hand to your face to hide your blush.

“Wow you’re even cuter than the photo-”

“Okay, we still have that project to work on right, let’s go.” You laugh nervously, pushing Adira towards the door of your dorm room as she remembers something.

“Oh right, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.”

“Perfect, we’ll finish it up when we get inside.” You smile.

“Nice jacket by the way, where’d you get it?” Adira comments, poking the black suit jacket on your arm, and then back again at Spencer standing in a collared shirt and tie.

“Y/n!” She laughs teasingly, turning around and grabbing a hold of your shoulders.

“I’ll head in on my own, now have fun, but not too much fun.” She smirks, pushing you back towards Spencer before walking into the building and throwing you a wink.

“I-I’m-”

“There’s no need to apologize, I’m rather flattered you talk about me.” Spencer shrugs, looking down at the ground subtly.

“Well of course I do, you’ve become a big part of my life y’know.” You smile, taking Spencer’s large hands into yours.

Spencer smiles fondly, hiding the internal regret he held, the profiler had yet to tell any of his friends about you, wanting to have this one thing for himself in his twisted world.

Squeezing your hands, Spencer nods and glances down at his watch.

“I should get back to the station.” The brunette murmurs.

“You should get back to the station.” You reply, loosening your grip only for Spencer to pull you back.

“I-I’m happy I got to meet you by the way, please call me if you need anything, or just to talk.” Spencer pushes his lips back in a forced smile, he was reluctant to leave you alone.

“I will Spence. Catch that guy for me alright?” You smirk, wrapping Spencer in a short hug before shrugging off his jacket, placing it over Spencer’s shoulders and turning to finally walk into the building.

Spencer barely had time to react to your gesture, but while he processed it, he simply stood there. It was as though you had left an imprint of yourself on him, a reminder you were real, and really held him. He was truly awestruck.

His suit jacket held the faintest scent of your perfume, the feeling of your arms lingered on his torso and his hands still reached for yours though you were long gone.

This feeling was foreign to the brunette, but not rejected. Spencer quite enjoyed it after all.

After a few moments of not moving the brunette finally picks up his feet and turns to leave, not noticing the figure not too far away clenching his fists so hard, blood begins to trickle slowly out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader series #spencer reid x you #spencer read x y/n #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds series #criminal minds x reader series

[toastedside]

Mothers

Damian had dinner with Talia and they talked about Batmom.

===========================================

Damian didn’t know what he should feel about this.

It’s been a very long time since he had a peaceful meal together with Talia. Or it felt like one, he didn’t know. Certainly, he had spent significant amount of days and night not having a peaceful meal together with his mother that he started to lose any strands of memories on how it should really be. Or does he never have any peaceful meal with her before? He wasn’t sure.

Should he really let his guard down? He wasn’t sure. It sure is felt wrong to let his guard down in the presence of his mother. After all, he knew her. She always had so many tricks underneath her sleeve. But it had been almost twenty-five minutes passed, and the dinner had been nothing but… pleasant.

“Hmm,” Talia made a sound. “They sure do make a great samosa. I admit your judgement is right. This is the best restaurant they have in the city.”

Damian pressed his lips together. “I am pleased to know you enjoy it as much as I do, Mother.”

Talia threw him a small smile. Or what he could considered as a smile from her, anyway. Damian did not have the smoothest relationship with his mother after all the odds happened. He certainly had seen her in different light after she had attempted to murder him with one of her clones of his own freaking self. But Damian certainly held a dear memory of days when his mother is warm to him.

She had not been perfect, but she tried, and she loved him dearly and fiercely too. In her very own twisted way, as she had tried her best to shield him from any bad influence that his grandfather is. But a powerful man of menace that he is, sometimes all of his mother’s best had not been enough to protect him from his grandfather. So, she had to send him away all across the country, gave the custody to his father, and had lived underneath the same roof with him ever since.

It certainly was a surprise that Talia showed up on the doorstep. Being civil and all, knocking the door and actually announce her presence. Not showing up out of nowhere sneaking her way into the Batcave or strike him in the daylight out of thin air. She wanted to rekindle and reconnect with him, that’s what she said, and Damian was hesitant. But Mom was enthusiastic with the idea – she had always been a very positive lady, bless her soul – and Father, surprisingly, did not opposed the idea.

Grayson did not. He was ready to throw a fit. But eventually begrudgingly agreed after a stern and long talk with Mom.

Besides, Mom and Father were supposed to attend a charity event in Star City this weekend. It’s a perfect occasion for him to have a day out with his mother while his other parents are away. God, it felt weird to address them that way. Grayson gave him a pep talk and a panic button that he certainly did not need in case things go south.

So far, things had been quite pleasant, if not good. They had stroll around the city, visited a zoo, went to a museum, and ready to end their day in this restaurant he had accidentally discovered few months ago. He didn’t even check his phone – well, once to text Grayson back and assured him that he was, in fact, very much alright – and surprisingly enjoy his time.

“If you have anything to say, then talk,” Talia’s voice snapped him out of his train of thought.

“Nothing. It had been a very good day with you, Mother,” Damian answered. He had almost forgot how straightforward his mother could be.

Talia pressed her lips together to form a thin smile. “Y/N…” she paused for a moment as if she was testing the way it rolled out of her tongue. “She had made you soft, hadn’t she? Or was it the work of your father?” Talia tilted her head to the side, studying him.

Damian didn’t say anything, but his hand tried to reach for his non-existent weapon on his pocket out of instinct. He and his mother agreed not to bring any sort of weapon on their day out together today.

“Y/N, what a bright woman she is. Too bright.” Talia’s finger traced the outline of the table. Damian braced himself for any words that would come next. “I understand why you take a liking on her.”

“You do?” the word came out before Damian could stop it. Talia’s head perked up at his question, the corner of her lips turned upwards.

“Yes. I admit she is a very likable woman. Even Jason Todd seemingly adore her, and we both know the man usually reluctant to put his guard down so easily.”

“In case it escapes your attention, Todd grew up with her.”

“And with your father too.” Talia raised a questioning eyebrow. One that she usually gave him when she questioned all of his method in training. Or progress. “Look at their relationship now. A little rough around the edges, if you ask me.”

“That’s just how they work.”

“That’s just how they work, indeed,” Talia agreed. “That’s just how it works with Y/N too.”

Damian nodded, understanding his mother’s point of view. But he couldn’t see where this conversation led them exactly, and why the matter of Mom had been brought into the table in the first place.

“You know, I only had met her once or twice. Not so much. But it certainly felt like I had known her for years. Your father used to talk fondly about her a lot back in the days when he was still in the League. Besides talking about his parents and Alfred Pennyworth, he had the habit to talk about Y/N too. Or should I call her Y/N Wayne, now that she is married to your father?”

Damian remained still. Talia waited for a few beats for him to answer, but the lack of response from his part was an enough answer. Talia shrugged it off. He knew she did. It wasn’t a first time.

“Any person would’ve known that it was love. He swore it was just a childish crush, he would say that a lot in his defence. But I know. I had always known. You should see the way his eyes shine when he talked about her,” Talia told him. Damian knew what his mother had talked about so well. He had witnessed it so many times. “Because he used to look at me with the same shine in his eyes, Damian.”

Damian’s breath caught in his throat. He remembered the early days of him arriving at his father’s doorstep, upset at the presence of another woman that he fondly calls Mom now. He recalled days of wishing his parents would just talk and reunite, before eventually made a peace with the fact that his father is very much happy with his marriage.

He couldn’t find any words to say, and Talia did not expect him to. An invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders magically. A small amount it seems, the one he barely noticed. But it was a comical amount of relief to knew that he was brought here by love his parents used to had with each other. For a short amount of time, perhaps, but it was still one.

“I am actually glad that you get to grow up with her.”

“Are you really?” Damian was a little skeptical, albeit hopeful and a little surprised.

“I am, Beloved,” Talia reassured him. Damian closed his eyes; it had been a long time since he had heard his mother addressed him that way. “There are many reasons why I had to leave you with your father, but I mainly wish you to have a better path and future than I do. Y/N had not been on the plan, but now I am glad that she is. She is capable to give you breaks and normalcy that your father used to had when he was your age. The one that I unable to give. I understand why your father had chosen to marry her; she is capable to give him the breaks he needs from his battles. I couldn’t give him that. I certainly couldn’t give that to you.”

Damian blinked. He didn’t know what to say.

“She had raised you and nurture you as if you are her own. Besides, she is bright and very well-educated. Maybe not the best fighter, if she ever learned at all.” Talia paused to formed a smile. “I like her.”

Damian let out a shaky breath he did not notice he was holding. He experienced a rush of many emotions at once, many that he couldn’t register and understand. He felt a hot prickle in his eyes, and if his mother notice there were tears welled in his eyes, she didn’t point it out.

There are few moments of silence exchanged between them. Talia was the first one to broke it off. “Let’s finish this off and I’ll drop you off at your father’s house. It’s already dark outside, and I’m certain Dick Grayson would explode if you don’t come back any time soon.”

Damian grimaced. “He tends to worry about me a lot. Sometimes I am convinced that he forgets I can protect and defend myself very well.”

“It is a good thing to have someone care about your well-being. Count it as a blessing,” Talia said with furrowed eyebrows. “Y/N told me you joined a soccer club in your school. Tell me about it on our way to your father’s house.”

Damian didn’t have any expectation on how his day would go, but certainly he did not expect to talk about his soccer club experience to his mother as they take a route back to the manor. He talked about his practice and an upcoming tournament that sadly his mother couldn’t attend.

It soon become a tradition between two of them. Talia would take Damian out somewhere whenever she could, which wasn’t that often considering her condition and line of work. Sometimes it would take days, sometimes it was a mere quick day out that last few hours. His mom and his mother would sometimes engage in a nice small talk whenever Talia visited. All of his siblings conspired that they had secrets shared with each other and had a secret girl’s night out no one knows about.

Damian didn’t want to dwell on that. He was happy and content with the life he led on now. Even though this wasn’t the initial output he had wished, he was still very much happy to receive love from two amazing women he had privilege to call Mom and Mother, respectively.

#damian wayne #damian wayne imagine #robin #talia al ghul #batman #batfam #batfam fic #bruce wayne #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red robin #tim drake #red hood #Alfred Pennyworth #damian wayne fic #batmom imagines #batmom fic #bruce wayne imagines #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #robin x reader #fic

[giorno-plays-piano]

Silly things you say

Pairing: Todoroki Shoto x pro hero!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, implied stalking, kidnapping, forced marriage.

Words: 1265.

Summary: Now Shoto knew he was just too young to understand what you meant; people said girls were maturing mentally earlier than boys, and that was probably true. You were so right about him. He was way better than the majority of men - and Heroes, too.

_______________

He remembered that day well. Even when Todoroki Shoto was in his teenage years he wasn't too sensitive, really, but that afternoon his heart was beating so fast as if he had just run a marathon. It was the day he finally decided to ask you out.

Despite belonging to the Department of General Education, you actually had a peculiar Quirk that made you able to control emotions of others. Shoto wasn't sure if that was because of your Quirk but he always felt a little better when you were around. You had an air around you that felt strangely comforting. Maybe it was the reason why he was attached to you a little more than to other girls, that what he used to tell himself. Thinking of it now made Shoto chuckle.

That afternoon he wanted to ask you to come to the city on Sunday with him. It was rather awkward, but he had never really done it before with a girl. Did he expect you to reject him because of this? No, he didn't. Not that Shoto was so full of himself he expected everyone to love him, but he somehow believed you'd go with him that time. He believed you'd give him a chance.

"I guess you're really gonna become a total husband material, but I'd prefer spending my youth with bad guys. It more fun that way." You sent him a cheeky grin and turned away before he had time to say anything in return. Actually, it was meaningless anyway: Shoto was at loss for words.

He couldn't understand what you meant and decided you just said something really stupid. Husband material? Seriously? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Besides, when it turned out you dated Tetsutetsu of all people, it didn't make sense to Shoto at all. You just weren't as smart as he pictured you to be.

However, the worst part actually was that it didn't stop him from liking you. He had troubles understanding himself, but he could do nothing but become jealous if he accidentally saw you in the Academy, his mood worsening instantly at just a mention of you. Why was it like that? You were just some girl, not even as good as he thought at first, yet he kept thinking about you and words you said all the time. It felt like a damn groundhog day until he started intentionally ignoring the fact you were somewhere around.

Now Shoto knew he was just too young to understand what you meant; people said girls were maturing mentally earlier than boys, and that was probably true. You were so right about him. He was way better than the majority of men - and Heroes, too. Being with him certainly meant more pressure, bigger commitment, and less fun. A 16-year-old girl certainly wasn't prepared for it, especially since he wasn't fully developed as a man either. Now the situation was different, though.

Bitter at your rejection, he thought someone as careless and silly like you wound end up just like Uwabami or disappear from the world of heroes at all. If course, he certainly didn't expect you to suddenly mature and become a good therapist attending to heroes suffering from PTSD, depression, and other mental conditions due to specifics of their work. Sometimes you also treated civilians after incidents right on the spot, ensuring they would recover from shock quickly. Shoto had to admit it was a decent job. It was a pity when his own mother had desperately needed help you were too young for give her that.

Anyway, it didn't matter now. Things had long changed, and Shoto had changed, too.

He had become one of the most well-known pro heroes in Japan, the one people prayed for thanks to all he had done for their sake. He didn't care about becoming #1 since it was purely the dream of his old man, but Shoto admitted his popularity was still growing even after years of service. He was a national hero. People dreamed to see him at least once; sidekicks were ecstatic when he offered them to work at his agency; even pro heroes enjoyed working with them thanks to his professionalism and calm demeanor. Shoto never thought it would actually happen, but he became a pillar of the community, and his authority couldn't be ignored. He was a force to be reckoned with.

Did you think about him now? Did you regret rejecting him that day? If you weren't so silly, you could have been by his side now, enjoying all those things Shoto could offer. Hell, if he had married to you, you'd be definitely considered a celebrity of some kind now. Did you think about it?

It was a pity Shoto couldn't get inside your head.

But he could certainly make you think about him again. Especially since now he obviously knew how to treat a lady: flowers, chocolate, sudden gifts, casual but always pleasant meetings, phone calls and messages at night. He knew you hadn't been dating anyone for quite some time, too busy with your work, so he was sure you'd appreciate his gestures. And you appreciated them, you really did, but it never seemed enough for him. It was taking too long for Shoto, the one who had been waiting and planning it for years. Did you really have to go through this whole courtship display? Did it matter so much? He was always there when you needed him, always ready to grant your wishes, do whatever he could to please you, make you feel safe, protected. He was sure he made his intentions clear, so why waiting for so long? Why pretending like you were still dating when you went as far as spend a night with him?

Once it occurred to him that maybe you weren't convinced his intention was to marry you, so it was probably better to propose properly. However, this thought seemed to somewhat bother him: what if you played your trick again? Tell him you were too young for that and just wanted to have fun? Going through this again now would be ridiculous. No, no, Shoto was clear enough; you certainly understood his intentions. It's just your understanding of courtship period was different from his. In the end, your own parents only married after a year and a half of dating, he discovered. Maybe you wanted to wait a little more, but Shoto just couldn't.

Looking at you sleeping soundly in his bed, he lifted the corners of his mouth, thinking how you were going to like the wedding dress waiting for you in the room next to his. Although he was in a rush to prepare to the wedding ceremony that, unfortunately, wouldn't be big, he already knew how to convince you to make a second one for the press and a thousand of guests if you wanted to. Besides, even though this ceremony was small, it was still fancy: your wedding dress and jewelry cost a fortune; the stylists and photographers were at your disposal to make this day even more special, and he made sure to buy the best wedding ring any girl could wish for.

Everything had been done to perfection. There was only one thing he needed from you.

Watching you slowly waking up while being cuffed to the headboard of his large bed, Shoto smiled, thinking of the words you said that day when he first asked you out. Oh, you were going to get the perfect husband material and a bad guy all at once.

______________

Tags: @coolio-love @awesomerextyphoon​

#todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shouto #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto #bnha todoroki #bnha #yandere #mha #boku no hero academia

[by-nina]

You’ll Be in My Heart

AO3 | FFN Royai Week 2021 | Day 3 – Valediction Rating: T (family issues, politics) Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 3,105

“Isabelle, darling,” Riza begins with a great effort to keep her voice even. “You know what Mama and Papa do for work, don’t you?” A pause. “Mama and Papa are working for the country. Many things have happened… that have hurt many people. We want to make things right for them and protect them, even if it’s hard.”

Isabelle looks up and turns to Riza. “Then—then you and Papa aren’t bad people?”

———

Isabelle Mustang is ten years old when Riza Hawkeye, now the First Lady of Amestris, receives an unexpected call in her office. It comes as Riza has just finished facilitating a seminar on the Amestris educational system, when she has a five-minute reprieve before a planning meeting for the country’s Foundation Day. She picks up the phone on the third ring, composed and professional as always:

“Colonel Hawkeye’s office.”

“Your Excellency,” a kind voice says from the other end. “This is Mrs. Phillips. I teach history at Central Primary School.”

“Yes, good afternoon, Mrs. Phillips. What can I do for you?”

There is a pause before the next, carefully spoken words. “I’m calling about your daughter, Your Excellency. I apologize that this is so sudden—you must be terribly busy—but I’m afraid it’s urgent.”

Riza’s breath catches in her throat. There can only be unfortunate news following such a divulgence, but one possibility in particular surfaces far more easily than the others, as if it has just been waiting to do so from the back of her mind. She settles onto an upholstered armchair before swallowing and saying, “No, please. Go on.”

Riza waits.

“Isabelle is quite distressed.” Mrs. Phillips’ voice drops to a near whisper. “We’ve just started our lessons on Ishval.”

Riza’s heart sinks.

Mrs. Phillips speaks with an even, respectful tone that suggests hesitation, a kind of concern that usually comes with reports about a child getting injured or displaying disturbing behavior. There is sympathy and understanding as well—sentiments which Riza has always expected to be directed at her, but which she does not believe she deserves. She would have preferred to be judged more candidly, more harshly for the choices that have created this predicament in the first place.

But as equal parts hardened soldier and devoted mother, Riza suppresses every disparaging thought that might have otherwise frozen her in place. She calmly thanks Mrs. Phillips, assures her that she will be arriving at the school promptly, and ends the call. Walks into her meeting and declares to the officers present that they will be meeting tomorrow instead. Makes a call to the Xingese Embassy and requests that the Führer be allowed to leave this evening's state dinner early so he could attend to urgent matters.

Riza is out of the building in just fifteen minutes. What follows next, however, feels like being suspended in a dream with no real grasp of time. The drive to Central Primary School is excruciatingly slow—whether she ought to blame the car, the roads, or her rusty reflexes from not having taken the wheel since becoming First Lady, she isn’t quite sure. The walk through the school’s hallways is even worse. She struggles to ignore about a hundred pairs of eyes following her to the principal’s office, both surprised and concerned.

Isabelle looks much like her father, with her dark head of hair and almond-shaped eyes that always look curious and focused. But her hair is short, styled exactly like Riza’s at the same age, and her eyes are brown instead of her father’s dark gray. It could have broken Riza to see her like this, withdrawn into her small frame and her face red from fighting back tears, but she doesn’t falter.

“Isabelle,” Riza says gently, crouching before her. She brushes Isabelle’s fringe away from her face, where her hand rests to rub her daughter’s cheek with her thumb. “Isabelle, darling, I’m here.”

Only when Isabelle leans forward from her seat does Riza take her into her arms. She realizes that her heart is racing as harshly as Isabelle is trembling, and she tightens the embrace. She can’t even imagine letting go.

Riza speaks briefly to Mrs. Phillips and the principal. Mrs. Phillips explains in hushed tones how the lesson on Ishval began, how Isabelle absorbed and participated in the lesson, and what her classmates said. The questions and whispers about the Hero of Ishval and the Hawk’s Eye were not quite accusations, but the children—no doubt having heard stories from their parents, especially those who had served in the military at one point—pressed on and on with their typical bluntness and intense curiosity. That was enough, Mrs. Phillips says, to reduce Isabelle to tears by the end of the lesson.

Isabelle hardly speaks for the rest of the afternoon, answering Riza’s careful questions only with single words or a nod or shake of the head. When they arrive at the presidential mansion, Isabelle immediately retreats to her room. Riza escorts her to the door, then thinks it best to let her have time to herself. She returns in the evening to call Isabelle to dinner, only to find that Isabelle hasn’t even touched the pie and juice that were sent to her in the afternoon.

Riza sits quietly by Isabelle’s bed, holding her sleeping daughter’s hand. They stir when the door opens and Roy enters, still dressed in his suit from the state dinner with the Xingese Embassy. He appears composed, all of him but his troubled eyes.

“Papa,” Isabelle says, her voice breaking.

Roy strides over to the bed, where Isabelle flings her arms around him when he has barely sat on the edge. She shakes and cries and Roy holds her closely as he whispers into her hair, “It’s all right now, my sunshine. You’ll be all right.”

Riza joins him on the side where he sits. One hand on Isabelle’s back, another on Roy’s arm, she looks at him quietly, and he knows exactly what she means the moment their eyes meet. His expression tenses.

They allow Isabelle to continue crying until her sobs subside from exhaustion. Roy lifts her from where she sits, and she adjusts accordingly as he sets her on his lap, between himself and Riza. He pulls out a handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers, then dabs at her tears carefully as he coaxes her, “Will you tell Papa what happened?”

Isabelle sniffles. “We… we learned about Ishval in class today. Just like y-you and Mama always talked about.”

“I see. What did you learn about Ishval?”

“Well… they said the Ishvalans h-had their own culture, and they prayed to th-their own god. And soldiers—soldiers killed many Ishvalans because they wanted to—to take the Ishvalans’ land a-and culture away.” Her voice grows thick as she continues, “And the other—the other children s-said—the other children said—that—”

“Mm-hmm?”

“They said—th-that you and Mama—you killed many people—”

Isabelle’s words are lost to her renewed sobs. She bawls, burying her face in Roy’s shirt as Riza leans against her back with a comforting squeeze of her arm, and Roy pulls mother and daughter together into a tight embrace. It takes a few moments for Riza to notice that Roy’s hand is cold as it digs into her shoulder, and it takes her everything she has to fight back tears of her own. I’m here, she desperately thinks as she reaches for his wrist and squeezes it. You and I are here together.

“Isabelle, darling,” Riza begins with a great effort to keep her voice even. “You know what Mama and Papa do for work, don’t you?” A pause. “Mama and Papa are working for the country. Many things have happened… that have hurt many people. We want to make things right for them and protect them, even if it’s hard.”

Isabelle looks up and turns to Riza. “Then—then you and Papa aren’t bad people?”

Riza’s breath seems to catch in her chest. Roy takes a deep breath as he strokes Isabelle’s hair. “Mama and Papa… have done things that we regret. We never wanted to do them, but back then we had no choice. It’s… complicated, but it doesn’t excuse any of those things that we did.” He draws another deep, shaky breath. “All that we can do is to work with our people to make sure that those who have been hurt—like the Ishvalans—that they can heal. And we want to make sure that those bad things will never happen again.” He cradles Isabelle’s cheek in one hand. “Do you trust us to do that?”

Their daughter doesn’t say another word. She weeps into his shoulder once again, falling asleep after what seems like a half hour that is silent except for her sniffles and hiccups. Roy and Riza gently tuck Isabelle under the covers, each leaving a kiss on her forehead, but neither can find the strength to leave right after that.

Riza sits at the edge of the bed and stares for a long time at Isabelle’s face. She appears so peaceful in sleep, even with the traces of tears that have been left behind.

“We did everything we could.”

Roy settles just behind her. He reaches around Riza to take and kiss her hand; his warmth is a comfort as he leans towards her. “I know. We always knew this day would come. We’ve been preparing her for this for a long time, but there’s nothing we can do about what other people will say about us.”

“And even if it’s not how we would have wanted to tell her everything, it’s still the truth.”

Riza’s heart seems to burn with dread. An old, familiar feeling that has stayed with her since the day Isabelle was born, even though in her heart of hearts she still hoped that the singular, unprecedented course of her life might run against her expectations. But what else could the impassioned risks that she and Roy took have led to? What other consequence is there for trusting each other so wholly that they have given away too much—all of themselves in doing so?

What else could happen now but the worst possible thing?

“Oh, Roy.” Riza’s voice shakes as tears escape her for the first time today—the first in a long time. “I can’t bear to lose her."

———

Isabelle Mustang is eighteen years old when she arrives at the Resembool campus of the University of Amestris, not in the least bit anxious about living away from home for the first time in her life. She sits at the back of an official state car between her mother and father. Not much has been said throughout the trip, other than how pleasant it is to live in the East and that it’s an ideal place for a well-rounded, immersive education. To Isabelle’s left, Riza has her hand locked in a tight grasp; to her right, Roy sits perfectly still.

Riza has never felt a greater divide between herself and her daughter before today. No one can say that she and Roy never tried to relieve their daughter’s anxieties about their time in Ishval. They have spent the better part of the past eight years speaking more openly about the realities of war, as well as the worldly conditions that surround it. They’ve allowed her a glimpse into the Ishval Restoration Program, provided her with learning materials and taken her along on a number of trips to Ishval and surrounding communities to gain better appreciation of Ishval’s past and the government’s future plans for it. They have kept no secret of every sacrifice they’ve made for more than half of their lives in order to atone for their sins in Ishval.

If it all had worked, Isabelle would not have grown distant from them as she grew older and formed more opinions about the world, especially on its injustices. She would not have kept bearing the wounds caused by the knowledge of what her parents have done and of the permanence of a thousand lives lost against her own rather privileged upbringing. Isabelle has learned all that she could about both sides of this great tragedy; Riza and Roy understand where her heart lies.

Riza squeezes Isabelle’s hand as they approach the university’s dormitory, as though hoping that it might freeze time in the present. She lets go only when the car pulls up by the entrance, then alights first to make way for Isabelle. It’s one of those moments when Riza is reminded of just how much her daughter has grown; she is nearly as tall as Riza now, her features sharper and even closer to Roy’s. Her hair, now shoulder-length, has lightened into a shade of brown that matches her eyes. And Riza finds it difficult to ignore how growing up with a great emotional burden has given Isabelle a hardened look—one that Riza knows all too well from her own difficult youth.

She brushes Isabelle’s hair out of her face with both hands, then rests them on her daughter’s shoulders. “Home isn’t going to be the same without you, my love.”

Isabelle purses her lips and briefly casts her eyes downwards before responding. “You and Papa will be all right.”

Riza draws a breath far too sharp.

“You know that you can always transfer to the campus in Central next year. Or next semester.” It’s a futile wish, and Riza knows it. “Well, write and call home, won’t you?”

Before Isabelle has a chance to respond, another car door opens. Roy exits, quickly striding around the car from his side to join mother and daughter at the steps leading up to the dormitory. The cap that he wears with his uniform is drawn low over his forehead, almost concealing his eyes.

He grasps Isabelle by the arms, sparing a long moment to take in the sight of her from head to toe, before enveloping her in an embrace. “Take care of yourself,” he whispers. His voice is low, so controlled that it comes out strangled. “I love you.”

The moment ends quickly, far too quickly. Isabelle bows her head respectfully as she backs away, then turns and enters the dormitory without saying another word. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t look over her shoulder, doesn’t turn back to give a belated response to any of her parents’ well-wishes. Riza feels her chest sting with every step Isabelle takes, wondering for the hundredth time how this farewell could have turned out differently.

Beside Riza, Roy’s fingers find and intertwine with hers. Even after many years, they are not any less surreptitious about their displays of affection.

His voice breaks as he says, “She won’t even look at me.”

Riza holds on to him—to what little is still keeping her heart together.

———

Today, Isabelle Mustang is twenty-eight years old.

In the hot Ishvalan sun, it’s evident just how much she has grown from a troubled young girl into her own woman. There is a deep flush on her face from the desert heat, a firmness in the way she walks that comes from having done diligent field work and immersion among common folk. She has somewhat grown out of the physical features she inherited from her parents, but she has never looked more like them than she does today. Her focused eyes are her father’s; the compassion behind them, her mother’s.

It has been six years since Isabelle moved out of the presidential mansion and last spoke to either Riza or Roy. Today is the first time that they are wholly seeing her as the person she has been molded into by her experiences. Each step in her life has brought her heart closer to Ishval and the dream of seeing it restored to its former glory—from her degree in psychological anthropology to her activism in an organization that has been campaigning for the peaceful secession of Ishval from Amestris.

Today, she is far more than either of them have ever hoped to be.

Isabelle takes her place on the stage of the Kanda Amphitheater in the region’s capital. Before an enthusiastic crowd, she is introduced as one of a small number of Amestrians who will be serving as peace ambassadors for Ishval, as ordained by the Ishvalans themselves in preparation for their transition into an independent state over the next few years. An Ishvalan leader prays over the ceremony, giving praise for this historical moment that has at last truly begun the process of healing among his people. A new beginning that comes after decades of unfruitful compromises and reforms.

It’s a significant crossroads in the complicated history of Ishval, just as much as it is a turning point in the path that Riza and Roy have taken for most of their lives. The years had proven to them how difficult it truly was to forge a future that would best serve the interests of all their people, but perhaps more importantly, it has exposed the harsh reality that even though they share their dreams with other people, this did not guarantee that any of their plans would be perfect, or that everyone would follow the same path of peace that she and Roy had determined. Isabelle is perhaps the best example of this—Isabelle, who never found a place in governance the way they did, whose place has always been firmly with and among the Ishvalans moving towards a more progressive future than the Amestris government could have ever given them.

But these differences hardly matter in the present amid this celebration of a new dawn for Amestris and Ishval. Riza joins Roy in completing one of their remaining functions as the last appointed Führer and First Lady of Amestris. They meet and congratulate each member of the Ishvalan interim government and their peace ambassadors, and they come face to face with their daughter for the first time in a long time.

There are no embraces between them now, no loving caresses, no words exchanged even in greeting. It’s enough for Riza and Roy to shake Isabelle’s hand in turn, to share only the quickest of glances with her, because she must know by their eyes how proud they are of her. She must know how grateful they are that she has dreamed more selflessly than they ever have, and how despite all the years that she has been separated from them, their love for her has never wavered.

Still, Riza and Roy watch Isabelle leave after the ceremony the same way she did when she first entered university all those years ago: back turned, eyes set resolutely on the path before her. It may run in a different direction from theirs after today, perhaps for a long time—however long it would take them all to truly heal from their estrangement—but it is a path that they trust because Isabelle has chosen it for herself.

Wherever it may end, however long it may take, surely this path will someday lead her home.

#Royai Week #Royai Week 2021 #RoyaiWeek21 #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #Royai #Fullmetal Alchemist #Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood #FMA #FMAB #Day 3 - Valediction #fanfiction #fanfic #one-shot #angst #hurt #comfort #parental Royai #Ishval Civil War #family issues #CW: family issues #writing #written by nina

[kuromio]

Bakudeku x teen reader

It wasn’t a steep but big hill where most of your classrooms were laid. Most of your classes where far from each other so you often had to walk a good few minutes till you got to class.

But today some chickens had other plans for you. After your parents dropped you off that morning you went straight to one of those benches that were randomly placed around the school campus.

A few of your friends where already there waiting for you as you were behind there backs. Them getting freaked out by your visible appearance they jumped at the suddenly touch that landed on their skin.

“Hey bestie” you said as you bent down to where their eyes met yours as they turned around sweating nervously. “H-hey. I didn’t know you were here already.” They said as they calmed down a bit.

Sitting down on one of the empty seats in front of you, you took out your small plastic bottle of strawberry milk that you’ve gotten this morning at a local shop. Both of your friends staring at you vigorously they eyed the milk. “I’m your best friend right? Could I have a taste of that”

Your luck ran out as you wished you’d opened it at home instead. But because of your thirst you couldn’t wait and opened it at the worst timing possible.

The other friend who was constantly texting on their phone had finally got off staring at the other girl in front of them. “She’s obviously my best friend. You and your dirty mouth shouldn’t spit on her straw like that every time you drink out of her things. You don’t even know how to take a waterfall out of her water bottle.”

Both bickering at each other you looked to your left where your two parents where still in the car staring at the group. Walking up to the vehicle your green haired dad rolled down his window. Slouching down you gave him your strawberry milk as he placed it down in the cup holder. “There always bickering at each other, huh” he said as the ashy blond stared at the two friends.

You faked a drop of tear that rolled down your eye. “I just wanted my milk.”

Time skip to when you were walking to your period one class. Picking a seat in the back you slouched down and crossed your arms together waiting for the teacher to arrive and call your names out for attendance.

“Good morning class. I hope you all had a great weekend and spent it well.”

“Alright students, let’s begin our studies for today.”

The bell rang for recess as your teachers yelled out the pro hero’s will be on school campus the next day checking in on the school seeing if it’s presenting their child’s education properly.

Waiting for your friends on the tables again there was a chicken right next to you. Sweating nervously you scooted over to the next chair and then the next chair. Eyes staring into your soul as you got up from the seat. You started fast walking as the chicken followed you.

Making your way to a faster movement you started running. Not to long after your two friends showed up to where you often called it your “hang out spot” they spotted you running from a chicken.

Other students recording and laughing with their group of friends in the hallway as your friend yelled out “run Y/N, run.” “I’m trying but I won’t have enough stamina to continue, this hideous chicken started following me for no reason.”

You yelled out as your two friends also ran to catch the chicken.

Staff members from the office came by to see what all the ruckus and commotion was. Now everyone was watching you run away and your friends running toward the chicken.

“My daughter forgot her damn lunch in the car. Where the hell is she.” An ashy blond said staring daggers in to the women’s eyes. “Kacchan, don’t be so rude.” Tch the hero said as the lady told the two couples the school had recess.

Hand in hand as they walked down the open halls of their old middle school they heard laughter and screaming coming from a distance.

“RUN Y/N,RUN.” They heard it loud and clear as they both looked at each other and rushed to see what was going on.

Both pushing from the crowd of people they looked to see three kids running from a chicken. When they saw their daughter she was running and crying.

“USE YOUR QUIRK DUMBASS.” The friend called out.

The hero squinted his eyes. Thinking to himself “tch, know one else is supposed to call her dumbass exempt me.”

Suddenly the chicken stopped running towards the girl and both friends landed on each other right next to the chicken from the sudden stop.

“Get your dirty ass off of me, stupid.” “Well I can’t if you’re on me.” Again, both fighting as usual they felt an angry aura. Standing right in front of the two your eyes turned slowly.

Black covered half of your face as a star like shape formed the corner of your eye. Both scared like little cats running about. You smiled devilishly. “How many times am I going to tell you both to stop the fighting.”

You turned around as you crossed your arms. Both of your parents sweating from the sudden reaction. Even the chicken got scared and had those scared anime reactions. The chicken eventually ran away.

“Y/N , get your ass over here you for got your lunch again.”

Kids looking from a distance whispering and being shocked. You as well was most certainly shocked out of all the kids and teachers. They weren’t supposed to know you were the top hero’s daughter. Of course when you told you're friends they nearly freaked out.

“D-dad, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on your patrol with papa?” You said with a loud but embarrassed tone. The number one hero grabbing the bag from his partner walking up to you. “You forgot your lunch again so we brought it to you. I know we weren’t supposed to show ourselves in front of the school yet but we were worried you wouldn’t have anything for lunch.”

“Yeah Y/N, your parents are being kind to you. Take the lunch.” You turned your head around and glared at them. “Watch it. Just because your my best friend-``''of course we’re your best friends. That’s why we must be good influences on you.” As your friend walked in the back of you and had one hand on your shoulder. Reaching for the lunch bag from your fathers hand she said her thanks and dragged you back to the table.

Just as you were about to sit down and start talking the bell cut you off and you had to go to your next class.

“Bye dad. I’ll see you later.”

Yayy, you’ve reached the end of the story. I hope you all liked this one, it was my first one shot so I tried to add details here and there. My weighting skills aren’t so great so if I see any corrections I’ll be sure to change a bit of what’s wrong.

Also I’m in a writing process of a todobakudeku x daughter reader. It’s hard to come up with one shots and have your own ideas now days but I’ll do my best to be creative.

And also just an FYI if anyone has any great one shot ideas then please comment one I’ll be sure to write a story about it and credit you for the idea.

Due to school reasons I won’t be active as much but I’ll be online during the weekends and when I’m not that busy and also if I have any motivation to continue doing so.

I hope you all had a wonderful day and make sure to follow me on my Instagram accounts. There linked in my bio.

Love you 🤎🧺👒

#anime #art #todobakudeku #bakudeku myheroacademia bokunoheroacademia bakugoukatsuki izukumidoriya midoriya deku bakugou katsuki kacchan fanfiction fyp #foryou