#insight into how all their conversations go i think

[wildsaltair]

This will be my single controversial rant about Gladiator and its sequel (specifically my thoughts on Maximus being retconned as Lucius' father), and then I will be silent on the matter because this blog is meant to be A Good Time and I just enjoy sharing my love for Gladiator with everyone on here :)

KIND OF SPOILERS FOR GLADIATOR AND THE SEQUEL (BUT NOT REALLY) BELOW

As everyone knows, Ridley Scott made the choice to reveal in Gladiator 2 that Lucius is actually the son of Maximus from a secret affair with Lucilla. In G2, it's apparently implied that Lucilla was trapped in a bad marriage, fell in love with Maximus, and kept the truth about Lucius' father a secret. Lots of viewers have been split about this, with some thinking that plot point was implied in Gladiator and others feeling that it contradicts what was established in Gladiator.

I am strongly of the opinion that this choice was a bad one, that it does interfere with the integrity of the original film, and that Gladiator 2 would have been much better without that change. I'll give my reasons below.

1. Yes, rewriting Maximus as a cheater does destroy his entire character arc in Gladiator.

We've all seen Gladiator, right? The one where the hero has everything life can offer but longs only to return home to be with his beloved wife and son? Carries their figurines with him into battle, cares only for them when his own life is threatened, lays down to die by their graves after he finds them dead? Spends the whole movie only wanting to meet them again in the afterlife and only gets peace once he's there.

Yeah. Apparently that guy cheated on his wife with a princess. His son and Lucilla's sons are the same age, which means Maximus would have to have been married to his wife while also sleeping with Lucilla.

Maximus' entire character arc relies on his pure, unconditional, self-sacrificial love for his family. Take that away, and you have a generic action movie about a guy who wants revenge because the Emperor tried to kill him once. Even when Maximus has lost everything inside himself and cares about nothing else, he still honors the memory of his family and fights to avenge them as well as join them. He is shown still talking to his wife in the afterlife through prayer and believing she can hear him. As @streets-in-paradise pointed out, it's the equivalent of having Aragon or Hector of Troy cheat on their wives — it's just painfully out of character for them.

There's also an element of Maximus' love and respect for his Emperor, Marcus Aurelius, another driving force in his characterization. I think Maximus has too much respect for Marcus to have had an affair with Marcus' married daughter, even if he knew Marcus maybe would have wished Maximus had married Lucilla. We never get much insight into that part of the past, but if we go by the virtues Maximus upholds throughout the movie, I just don't think Maximus would have considered sneaking behind Marcus' back to sleep with his daughter.

Either way, the emotional heart of Maximus' character is his love for his family, and retconning that so your sequel has a "bigger emotional impact" is nothing short of undignified and sloppy.

2. All the conversations between Maximus and Lucilla in Gladiator imply that they did have a romantic relationship — but that it was public (not clandestine) and took place before either of them were married.

Yes, Maximus and Lucilla definitely were in love at some point. Russell Crowe and Connie Nielsen have great chemistry, and their conversations (both of them) hold so much weight with "what could have been." Lucilla talks about how she wounded Maximus deeply as he did her, and their conversations are full of things like, "Is it so terrible seeing me again?" The weight of their previous emotional attachment pervades the movie in a way that is inextricable from the plot.

BUT. Maximus and Lucilla had their relationship A LONG TIME AGO. This is very clearly established by the way they talk to each other. Maximus has been in Germania for twelve years (taking breaks only to go home, but NEVER to visit Rome). He and Lucilla presumably met sometime before that, probably while the royal family was visiting some city where Maximus was serving in / commanding the army. The details are never established.

However, Maximus and Lucilla clearly had a public enough relationship that Marcus and Commodus knew about it, but there is never the slightest mention in Gladiator that Lucius might be Maximus' son — something Commodus surely would have exploited had he known it was a possibility.

Maximus and Lucilla were in love, but it was before they married other people. They were probably teenagers or young adults who fell madly in love, wanted to marry, but were stopped for whatever reason (probably Maximus not wanting to play politician's games, as he implies). Maximus met the woman he eventually married, Lucilla married Lucius Verus, and they carried on with their lives until they met again at the beginning of Gladiator.

Also, Maximus talks about the respect he had for Lucilla's husband (a far cry from what Gladiator 2 implies about Lucius Verus), and she talks about how she mourned Maximus' family. Sure, you can read into the script and find stuff about how Maximus could have been Lucius' father, but it explicitly goes against the values and implications of the overall acript.

Connie Nielsen stated that she played her scenes thinking that Maximus was Lucius' father. She's an actress, and she plays Lucilla brilliantly. But she's not the scriptwriter, and no matter what her intentions were, the script implies that their relationship took place much longer ago, before either of them were married. @becomelions made a great post about how Lucilla, too, can wish as much as she wants that Maximus was Lucius' father, but he couldn't have been. Not unless you retcon all of Gladiator as fanfiction.

3. Maximus' relationships with Lucilla and Lucius are not meant to replace those he had with his wife and son — they are meant to be reflections of some of the bigger themes of the film.

With all that said, this is not a hate post about how Gladiator should have been about Maximus and his wife and son, and how I hate Lucilla and Lucius' story and think it contradicts that blah blah blah. NO. The storyline with Lucilla, Lucius, and Maximus is one of the strong points of the whole movie — but not as a replacement for the family he has lost.

In a lot of ways, Lucilla represents Rome as the ideal Maximus always believed in: beautiful, noble, and proud. When he becomes disillusioned with Rome, he becomes disillusioned with Lucilla; when he starts to believe in the hope of Rome again, he starts to believe in Lucilla again. They're always linked. Lucilla is not the woman he wants to start over with and marry now that his wife is gone. She is an old friend and ally whom he eventually learns to trust again.

Lucius, on the other hand, represents what Rome can be again. Lucius is the grandson of Marcus Aurelius, and I think Maximus longs to honor his mentor by preserving the life of his last living heir. Lucius reminds Maximus of his son, yes, and he brings out the protectiveness and the desire to do for Lucius what he couldn't do for his own son. But that doesn't mean Lucius has to be his son for that relationship to have emotional impact, as I will explain further in point 5.

4. Maximus' relationships with Lucilla and Lucius are genuinely integral to the film, but as they are — not as what they could be.

Again, I absolutely love the dynamics between Maximus, Lucilla, and Lucius throughout Gladiator. Russell and Connie play off each other so well with those "I remember how you used to be but that was a long time ago" vibes. Russell and Spencer Treat Clark only share one scene, but it's one of the film's most memorable scenes.

However, we are not meant to question those relationships as "oooooh but what if Lucius is actually Maximus' son????" Maybe Ridley left that door open for the audience to consider, but again, I feel like the film contradicts that by implying that Lucilla and Maximus loved each other much longer ago.

When you make Lucius Maximus' son, Lucilla's seeking out of Maximus as his savior becomes less interesting. It becomes "I'm calling on you to save your son even though you don't know he's your son" instead of "I'm asking you to act out of the goodness inside you to save a boy who doesn't deserve to die any more than your own son did." The version we see in Gladiator is so much more impactful.

It also cheapens what Lucius' journey could have been in Gladiator 2! Again, @streets-in-paradise pointed out how much better the sequel could have been if Lucius had been acting in the shadow of a brilliant man who captivated the city of Rome but also was his friend for a little while. As I'll discuss in point 6, having the reveal of Lucius as Maximus' son is just the laziest possible route for a sequel, and it certainly drags down the dignity of the relationships we see in Gladiator.

5. One of the strengths of Maximus' choice to fight for Lucius' survival in Gladiator lies in the fact that he doesn't have any familial obligation to him.

This is one of my favorite points, because I do love the dynamics between Maximus and little Lucius! Maximus has a bone-deep obligation to save his family — he rides for days and nights to get home and save them, but he misses them by a matter of hours. He wrestles with guilt and misery because he feels like he failed them. He was supposed to be their protector, and he couldn't save them.

BUT. Maximus has no such blood ties to Lucius. This kid is the son of Maximus' ex, the grandson of Maximus' dead mentor, and the nephew of his most hated enemy. Maximus doesn't have an obligation to Lucius as his father: he doesn't even know him until Lucius approaches him in the arena.

And that's what makes his decision to fight for Lucius so powerful. Maximus sees Lucius as the hope of Rome, and he decides that's still worth fighting for — something he had given up on before. Even though he has no obligation to save Lucius as his son, he wants to save him as an innocent young boy caught in political matters over his head.

Again, making Lucius Maximus' son cheapens the impact of that decision. Ridley Scott built up so many amazing plot points and relationships, and it really disappoints me that he just cast them aside to make some easy money by relying on the success of the original.

6. Relying on such a trite, overused plot point to make up the emotional foundation of your sequel can only weaken your sequel and ruin the dignity of your original film.

My final point is simply that Gladiator 2 could have been really well done. They could have done something original with it (or something totally off-the-wall like Russell Crowe's vision LOL). But I think Ridley Scott was banking on that nostalgia factor, and he chose a plot point that he knew would be easily marketable — the hero of the second film is the hero of the first film.

We've seen it done literally hundreds of times, from Star Wars to Superman to Toy Story, and having that be the big reveal of Gladiator 2 is just lazy writing. To have Lucius trying to live up to the legacy of Maximus the hero would have been interesting. To have Lucius discover that he's the son of literally anyone else would have been interesting. To have Lucius discover that he's the son of Maximus is an eye-roll-inducing move that should have been trailer bait and nothing more.

Primarily! Because it can't be the emotional foundation of the movie! Lucius has to have his own journey if it's his movie; he can't just walk in Maximus' footsteps and be like, "Father, speak to me," if he's not going on his own individual emotional journey. We as the audience have to relate to our hero because he's our hero, not because he's the son of our hero.

I'll be honest — I probably wouldn't go see a sequel to Gladiator no matter what it was about because I think Gladiator is a perfect standalone movie and should have stayed that way. I just don't think you can recreate the scale and impact and simplicity of Gladiator in today's film industry.

However, I could at least have had respect for a sequel to Gladiator if Ridley Scott had shown some respect for his own movie. I just hate the fact that Maximus' noble, honorable character is reduced to a cheating husband whose only character trait of note is that he served Rome. Maximus is one of the best characters of the 21st century, and I love him too much to support a movie that trashes that legacy (as well as tries to replicate the beauty of my favorite film of all time).

Final thoughts:

Gladiator is a movie. You can read into it whatever you want, and it doesn't hurt anyone.

I love Gladiator more than I can say, and it's really important to me not just as a cultural icon but on a personal level as well.

Anyone who knows this blog knows how much I love Maximus Decimus Meridius, and Ridley's choice to change Maximus' character so drastically is one that really just ticks me off.

To me personally, Gladiator 2 is not canon, and I will never consider it so on this blog.

[twilightkitkat]

I'll have you know that I am heavily considering writing something based off of your latest Time travel idea. It is already in my list. Because I genuinely cannot stop thinking about it

I love time travel as a concept and I'm honored you were inspired by my idea. I'm sure it'll turn out amazing, make sure to tag me when you finish it.

I'm considering what to write of my own. To be honest I've been a bit busy lately because my finals are in a week and I have a lot of things due and I've also had a lot of plans, but I want to get back into writing more consistently.

For the time travel idea, I think it'd be really interesting to consider his relationships with everyone. He avoids the X men with a passion, absolutely not wanting to get involved (especially when Logan isn't a part of them yet, he checked). Colossus isn't even an adult yet so he can't go bother him either...

His relationship with the Avengers is complicated. He's somewhat of a son to Tony, except for the fact he's much older than he claims and can take care of himself. He isn't as good with Tony at engineering, but he knows how to work with his hands and has brilliant ideas so he ends up hanging out in the lab anyway. Mainly to fiddle with random shit and offer insight that's a little too on the nose considering he only knows some programming (he starts to learn more, though).

With Cap, he's awestruck at first. That's his childhood hero, after all. But once the initial excitement wears off a bit he's able to work well with him, bouncing off his shield like a fucking boomerang and responding with witty quips. Steve grows fond of him pretty quickly.

As for the others, he interacts with them in his own way. He chats with Bruce (particularly about Gene editing, sue him) and has fun jumping up on the Hulk when they fight together. He gets along with Wanda and the Black Widow because he understands suffering and doing what's needed and he has this perspective beyond his years. He makes fun of Hawkeye and buddies up to Thor (mainly because he remembers that scene of him holding him in his arms).

Despite this, he avoids conversations about joining the Avengers. In this life, they actually want him. But also in this life, he has a better team he's waiting for.

[saintsenara]

I’m curious how you envision Voldemort tasking Draco with killing Dumbledore. What would the conversation sound like? Angry threats, quiet manipulation, dramatics? Did he outsource it? Stick a post-it to the top of Nagini’s head and send her into Draco’s room? HBP provides some insights into Voldemort’s reasons and expectations and Draco’s motivations for attempting the task. And if I recall, it’s meant to be a secret even among the Death Eaters (Bellatrix is surprised that Snape knows already, right?), otherwise I’d be inclined to imagine some public humiliation during one of the biweekly Death Eater meetings. I don’t think I’ve ever read a fan take on the scene itself and would love to hear your thoughts!

the only logical conclusion is that voldemort is lovely to him, which - in context - means voldemort honing in on his desire to avenge his father's incarceration [for which he can be plausibly made to blame dumbledore, as well as harry], his belief that this makes him the man of the house with a responsibility to protect his mother and honour his family name, and his belief that voldemort's aims are the establishment of pureblood oligarchy, in which families like his will be at the top of the pile.

draco is bullish about his task at the start of half-blood prince because - as narcissa tells snape - he genuinely believes it will all be fine. this is clearly an impression voldemort himself has given him - if voldemort's saying "if you fail, i will make you watch greyback tear your mother's throat out" from the off, his attitude would be very different.

and voldemort not telling many people about the mission is another strand of this grooming process. if draco's mission were public knowledge, there's a reasonable chance that several death eaters might at least hint to draco that he's fucked - or might alternatively offer him help in successfully killing dumbledore [which voldemort doesn't want him to actually do; he wants dumbldore dead, but he wants snape to do it, with draco then tortured/killed as a punishment for his failure]. keeping it a secret indulges draco's desire to be seen as special and to have a uniquely important relationship with voldemort, while making him all the more vulnerable to voldemort's control.

the threats clearly come later. by christmas, draco is looking "ill", but is still defiant and still claims he'll be successful. by easter, he's started crying to myrtle and has started to openly acknowledge that voldemort's going to kill him. on the basis of this, i imagine that the botched necklace scheme got him something along the lines of "ah... draco... lord voldemort understands that mistakes happen... but he does not tolerate them happening more than once", and the botched poison scheme got him "you have until 30th june. if dumbledore's still alive by then i will kill your father, your mother, and you. in that order."

[judasisgayriot]

Riff with Patrick Greatest Hits PART 2 (Part 1 here) x x x x x x (some MORE of the best flirting banter from tourdust/2ourdust mwah mwah)

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - EIGHT

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy; abortion.

MASTERLIST

Topper prided himself in keeping out of people’s business.

He hadn’t noticed anything was off with you on his own, he wouldn’t have; he didn’t do the whole “emotional radar” thing.

But Rafe had practically cornered him, demanding he figure out what was going on with you.

You were his cousin, after all. 

That didn’t stop the way his stomach twisted from thinking about lying to you, or how every part of him had always silently rooted for you and Rafe. He’d loved seeing you two together. You were a mess most days, for years, sure, but it was the kind of mess that made sense in a way, and Topper couldn’t help but admire it.

You were like fire and gasoline.

But that was before the break-up, before everything got fucked.

Now, you were just… distant. He never knew how to approach you without feeling like he was crossing a line, but the way you’d passed out on Rafe at the beach had him worrying in a way that was more personal than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t a thinker, not really, he liked simple things: good waves, cold beer, and not getting roped into drama.

But there he was, standing outside your door with Korean fried chicken. He didn’t do feelings, and he didn’t do heavy conversations. Rafe owed him big for this. The conversation had been good, even when you started talking about Sarah and Ruthie. 

Topper was all in—laughing along, throwing in a dumb joke here and there, the usual. It felt nice, like when you were kids, sneaking your dad’s beers and pretending you weren’t gonna get caught.

But then he had to go and ruin it by asking if you were okay.

You went all stiff, then weirdly far away, laughing it off like he’d just asked you to explain calculus or something. You mumbled something about being fine and then bolted to the bathroom before he could even follow up with his usual Topper-brand wisdom.

He sat there, feeling uncomfortable, which wasn’t a thing he usually did. You were acting off, and it was messing with him more than he wanted to admit.

Finally, he decided he needed to move, so he got up to grab some water. Except, as he walked past the counter, his hip caught a pile of your mail, and an envelope went sliding to the floor.

“Crap,�� he muttered, crouching to grab it. It was just some random envelope, but there was a phone number written on the front in messy blue ink.

Topper didn’t think about it—because thinking wasn’t really his strong suit—he just whipped out his phone and typed it in. Curiosity, man. It got him every time.

He hit call. He wasn’t trying to snoop or anything. It was just one of those things you do on autopilot, right? Call a number just to see who answers? Except this time, someone did answer.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Then:

“Women’s Health Center, how can I help you?”

His brain short-circuited, full-on panic mode. He stared at the phone like it had grown a second screen, then frantically hit the hang-up button just as the bathroom door creaked open.

You were back.

Topper, sweating for no reason, slapped the envelope back on the counter like it was about to explode and turned to you with a smile that definitely didn’t match his pounding heart.

He got out of there as soon as possible, as he drove to meet Rafe, the whole thing was still playing on a loop in his head. That phone number, the voice on the other end of the line, the way you’d acted when he’d asked if you were okay—he couldn’t stop trying to force the pieces into place.

Something was going on, he wasn't sure what, and he wasn’t exactly the guy you went to for deep insights, but he felt something was up.

When he pulled into Tanyhill, he spotted Rafe leaning against his truck, scrolling through his phone with that permanent scowl he seemed to have these days. He barely had the car in park before Rafe was pushing off the truck and heading his way.

He climbed out, doing his best to act normal—which, for him, meant cracking the same goofy grin he always did. His mind was still spinning with a dozen half-formed thoughts about that phone call, that clinic, and how the the fuck he might fit into all of it. 

The only thing he knew for sure was that Rafe knowing could be catastrophic. Like, meteor-hits-earth catastrophic.

“You gotta chill,” Topper said, slamming his car door shut and giving Rafe a once-over. “Why do you look like you’re about to punch somebody?”

Rafe just glared, shoving his phone in his pocket. “What’d you find out?”

He blinked, thrown by how fast he cut to the point. “Nice to see you, too. Second, what makes you think I found out anything?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Top. Did you figure it out or not?”

“Yeah, I figured it out,” Topper shot back, crossing his arms. “But why the hell did you make me go through all this work if you already know what’s going on?”

Rafe shrugged, leaning back against the truck like this was all just some casual conversation. “Didn’t think you’d actually get it, to be honest.”

“Bro, I’m not that stupid. How did you get to the bottom of this shit? I’m still confused as fuck over here.”

Rafe’s mouth twitched like he was deciding whether to smirk or yell, hesettled on neither. “She passed out on me, remember?”

“So?” Topper shot back, frowning. “I’ve seen you pass out for, like, way less.”

“It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t a hangover or heat stroke, it was different. And she’s been weird lately, avoiding everyone.” Rafe leaned back against his truck, arms crossed, talking fast. “The hospital did blood work.”

Topper, who’d been zoning out halfway through his little doctor act, suddenly perked up.

“Wow,” he mused, dragging the word out. “Okay. So, how’d you take the news? I mean, shit, you look pretty calm for once. Didn’t think that was in your wheelhouse."

Rafe frowned, his sharp blue eyes narrowing, the crease between his brows deepening like it always did when he thought someone was wasting his time. 

"The fuck are you talking about?”

Topper shrugged like this was totally normal. “I just expected you to, like…freak out or somethin'. Throw a punch, maybe.”

“Throw a punch about what?” Rafe snapped.

“About—” Topper paused, squinting at Rafe like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Wait. What are you supposed to do?”

Rafe’s hand twitched toward his jaw, fingers brushing over the stubble there, a telltale sign that he was gearing up to lose patience. He didn’t wait for Topper to answer before shaking his head, the movement quick and irritated. 

“Don’t do that, man,” he added, pointing a finger “I’ll help her figure it out. What else can I do?”

Topper tilted his head, genuinely impressed. “Damn. You really matured, huh? I mean, good for you.”

“Top, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Rafe demanded, his tone sharp now like he was finally catching on to the fact that they weren’t on the same page.

Topper blinked, “I’m just saying you’re handling it better than I thought. Especially since she’s not—uh, showing yet.”

“Not showing what?”

“…The bump?”

He immediately realized he’d said the wrong thing, or maybe the right thing, but in the wrong tone, with the wrong level of context, and—okay, maybe he should just stop talking. 

Abort mission, abort mission. Topper immediately wanted to crawl into a hole. Dude, shut up, shut up, shut up.

“What the fuck?” Rafe’s voice cracked; his eyes blazing as he stepped closer. “What bump?!”

His laugh fizzled out under Rafe’s glare, it was starting to feel less like “concerned ex-boyfriend” and more like “interrogating cop.” He felt a bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck. 

Cool. Stay cool.

“Wait,” Topper held his hands up, trying to physically stop the situation from spiraling. “What do you think is wrong with her?”

His brain was spinning in a way it wasn’t built for. He was a simple guy—he liked clear problems and easy fixes. But this? This was a category-five disaster, and he was stuck right in the middle of it.

Rafe let out a sharp breath through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair, the small strands sticking up in every direction.

“I think she’s got a fucking infection! Why the hell would I think she’s pregnant?”

Topper hesitated, glancing toward the house like maybe Sarah or Wheezie might miraculously appear to save him. No such luck.

“Well fucking shit,” Topper blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. His heart was pounding, and he was pretty sure he’d just signed his death warrant. “I—I didn’t say she’s pregnant, okay? I found this number, and it was for a women’s health center, and—fuck, man, I’m dead. I’m so dead.”

Rafe grabbed him by the collar, yanking him close. “Start talking. Now.”

“I wasn’t snooping, okay? It just—happened. I wasn’t trying to get in her business, but—”

“But what?” Rafe barked. His other hand twitched at his side, curling into a fist before flexing out again, a warning of how close Topper was to eating pavement, but Rafe wasn’t the one he feared right now.

You were going to kill him.

He could already picture the look on your face when you found out—those cold, furious eyes, the way your voice would drop, he was officially dead meat. He gulped, his mouth dry as his brain scrambled for something—anything—that wouldn’t get him killed or disowned.

“You better explain what the fuck you mean by ‘happened,’” Rafe growled, his grip tightening, giving Topper’s collar a shake, just enough to make his point clear.

Topper was done, leaving nothing but pure panic and the faint, distant sound of his voice saying things he definitely shouldn’t. 

“I called the number!” Topper yelped. “I didn’t even mean to, it was—dude, she’s gonna kill me, and I mean that literally. She will.”

“Not if I kill you first,” Rafe shoved him back, his grip finally loosening, his face unreadable now, which was somehow worse than when he’d looked ready to punch him. “You’re telling me you think she’s pregnant? And you didn’t remember to tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t!” Topper said quickly, panic bubbling over. “It’s not like she’s gonna tell me this kind of stuff.”

“Did she say anything to you? Anything about seeing a doctor or being sick?”

Topper shook his head so fast it made him dizzy. “I asked if she was okay, but she just brushed it off and changed the subject.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, both of them staring each other down.

“No, no way. She’s probably… I don’t fucking know, changing her pill or something.”

Topper raised an eyebrow. “Changing her pill?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said quickly, “Or—what else do they do there? Those check-up things. Maybe she’s getting one of those.”

“Uh-huh,” Topper replied, not convinced but also not dumb enough to call him out on it outright. “Sure. Just a… routine check-up?”

“Exactly,” Rafe agreed a little too loud, his tone almost defensive as he started circling again, his hands gesturing wildly. “They don’t just deal with… y'know. They do all kinds of shit. Tests, prescriptions, all that stuff. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Topper scratched the back of his neck, his expression caught between agreement and unease. “I mean, yeah, they do other stuff… but don’t you think—”

“I don’t think anything, there’s nothing to think about. She’s fine. She’s—she’s fine.” He stopped pacing, standing rigid with his hands on his hips, glaring at the ground like it had personally offended him.

“Okay,” Topper started, his tone cautious. “I get that you don’t want to jump to conclusions, but—”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions!” Rafe barked, spinning around “You’re the one making it into something it’s not! She’s not—she wouldn’t—she hasn’t told me anything,” He muttered finally, “And if she’s hiding this… from me…”

He’d never seen Rafe like this—angry, yeah, but there was something else there, either way, it wasn’t good. His glare burned into him, but for the first time, there was hesitation behind it. He wasn’t just mad—he was scared. Topper couldn’t decide if that made him feel better or worse. 

“Holy shit,” Rafe muttered, gripping the side of his truck for balance. His vision going fuzzy as his heart raced like he’d just sprinted a mile. “Holy shit, what if—what if she is?”

“Dude, breathe,” Topper said, stepping closer cautiously like Rafe was a live grenade. “You don’t even—”

“Even if—if—she was, how the hell would that even—” He cut himself off, his face twisting like he couldn’t decide whether to finish the thought or abandon it entirely.

Topper didn’t need him to finish, he understood exactly what Rafe was thinking. The timeline, the breakup, the way everything had gone down between you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as he let go of the truck and paced a few steps, his hands on his hips, muttering under his breath. “No. No way. It’s not—she’d tell me, right? She’d fucking tell me.”

Images started flashing through his mind in rapid succession, each one more ridiculous and unhinged than the last. You, standing in some clinic, staring at a test with a blank expression. You, trying to figure out how to tell Rafe.

You, holding a baby—Rafe’s baby—in your arms.

“This doesn’t make any sense. We were careful. She’s just stressed, girls go through shit. Hormones or whatever. Right?”

“You’re asking me? I barely passed bio. I’m not exactly a walking textbook on—” He stopped himself, seeing the look on Rafe’s face. “I don’t know what’s going on with her, okay? But if this is what I think it is, you gotta handle it right. Don’t screw it up more than it already is.”

“And if I don’t handle it right?”

Topper forced a shaky grin, even as his stomach twisted in knots.

“Then I guess I’ll see you in hell, man. Because she’s gonna kill us both.”

Rafe’s hands went to his hips, his thumb brushing the edge of his pocket as he stared past Topper, he was trying to work out an equation that wasn’t adding up.

“She hasn’t said a word to me,” Rafe muttered, “Not at the hospital, not since. And you think…” He trailed off, dragging a hand over his face. 

Topper shifted on his feet, resisting the urge to bolt to the other side of the world.

“I guess, but I swear, it wasn’t on purpose.”

Rafe shot him a look, his brows knitting together, and Topper felt like he was under a microscope. “You called a random number. How does that ‘just happen’?”

He huffed, throwing his hands up. “I was grabbing some water, and her mail fell, and there was this number—I didn’t think! I just… acted.” He groaned, his head falling back as he stared at the sky. “I didn’t mean to put two and two together, but what was I supposed to do? You’re the one who made me go digging in the first place!”

“You really think that’s what’s going on?” Rafe asked finally, his voice quieter.

“You said she’s acting weird, and then there was that number, and…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Do you even understand what this means? If she’s—if there’s a—” He broke off, “I’d have to—Jesus Christ, what would I even do? I’m not—God.”

His hands gripped the edge of the truck bed so hard his knuckles turned white, the veins in his arms standing out as he glared at the ground like it had personally offended him.

“If she didn’t tell me—” His voice was low, quiet in a way that made Topper wince because he knew what came next.

“Maybe just... ask her?”

 “Ask her?” he repeated, his voice disbelieving.

“Yeah, you know,” Topper said, gesturing vaguely. “Talk to her? Maybe find out what’s going on instead of losing your shit over worst-case scenarios?”

Rafe shook his head, “No. If she wanted me to know, she’d tell me. She’s... she’s dealing with her own stuff. It’s not my place to push.”

 “Since when do you not push?”

“Since now,” Rafe snapped, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

“Rafe—”

“No, seriously,” Rafe interrupted, his voice rising now, the tight restraint unraveling with every word. “If she’s—if she’s going through this, if she’s pregnant, and she didn’t tell me?” He let out a bitter chuckle, “What the fuck does that say? About me.”

Topper opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. This felt like a minefield, and if anyone was good at stepping on the wrong spot, it was him.

Rafe pushed off the truck, he couldn’t physically stay still. His eyes were burning as he raked a hand through his buzzed hair.

“I was—fuck. She thinks what? That I wouldn’t show up for this. She didn’t tell me because she doesn’t think I deserve to know.”

“That’s not true,” Topper said quickly, stepping closer, but Rafe’s empty laugh stopped him.

“Isn’t it?” Rafe’s voice was hollow now, all the fire drained out of him, turning his head slightly, just enough for Topper to see his throat working as he swallowed hard. “What the hell have I ever done to make her think I’d be there? That I’d—” He broke off. “Shit. I wouldn’t blame her. I can't even fucking blame her.”

“You still care about her, right?” Topper pressed, knowing he didn’t have to ask to know the answer.

Rafe’s head snapped up, “She’s the only thing I’ve ever cared about.”

He nodded slowly, “Then prove it.”

The envelope sat exactly where you’d left it, the faintest corner of folded. You froze for a second, your pulse quickening.

No. No way.

It was fine. Fine.

The number wasn’t even labeled—just digits scrawled hastily, you hadn’t touched it in days. Still, you couldn’t stop the tiny seed of panic attaching itself to your chest. There was absolutely no way Topper could’ve seen it, let alone put two and two together.

You exhaled slowly, placing it back on the counter.

He didn’t see it. He couldn’t have seen it.

Then why had he acted so… off? The pale face, the sudden excuse, the jittery energy—it was all so unlike him.

You shook your head, trying to push the thought away, a million things could’ve set him off. 

Maybe Ruthie had texted him something awful, or maybe he’d remembered he had to pick up his dry cleaning before the shop closed. Knowing Topper, it was probably something stupid and unrelated to you entirely.

Still, the nagging lingered as you cleaned up the counter and threw away the napkins. You glanced at the envelope one last time, then slid it into a drawer and shut it firmly. Whatever was going on with your cousin, it couldn’t have anything to do with that. It was impossible. And yet…

You sighed, rubbing your temples. 

“Pregnancy brain,” you muttered to yourself. “Making me paranoid over nothing.”

Of course that didn’t stop your heart from jumping every time the drawer creaked, or when you saw anything even remotely similar to that envelope’s color lying around the house for the entire night. Not that he’d ask, of course—Topper wasn’t the confrontational type, especially not with you. But he noticed things. And when he noticed, he worried.

The next morning you sank onto the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest. Topper was close, but he wasn’t like Sarah. She had been able to look you in the eye and say, You know I’m here, right? and mean it without any strings attached. Topper, though…

Your fingers itched toward your phone, even though it was stupid to call her so early over this. Still, you needed someone to remind you that you weren’t losing it, that Topper’s weirdness had nothing to do with anything serious.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you found Sarah’s number, pressing the call button. She picked up on the second ring, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You could picture her, sitting in her car or probably stretched out somewhere in Poguelandia with her feet propped up on a table, looking concerned.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just…” You trailed off, fiddling with the edge of a pillow. 

“Topper’s been acting strange. And I think I’m just overthinking it, but it’s making me crazy.”

She made a sound between a hum and a laugh. “So the Topper panic spiral. That’s what we’re dealing with?”

“Basically,” you muttered, trying to keep your tone light. “But this time… He was here last night, and I thought he saw this random piece of paper I had with, you know. A number on it.” You took a shaky breath, embarrassed for how paranoid you sounded. “But he couldn’t have, right? I mean, it was buried under five other things.”

“Okay,” Sarah said slowly, clearly choosing her words. “First, let’s just say that if he did see anything, which he probably didn’t, he wouldn’t assume the worst. He’s your cousin; he knows you don’t tell him everything, and he respects that. Right?”

“Yeah… I guess.” You chewed your lip, feeling a little stupid for even calling her.  “But what if he does put it together, Sarah? I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“He won’t,” she reassured, like she could see right through your anxiety. “And you don’t need to feel bad for wanting to keep this private. You’re allowed to handle it however you need to. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

You exhaled, the knot in your chest loosening a little. She always knew how to talk you down, "Okay,” you murmured, and a shaky laugh slipped out. “Maybe I'm being paranoid.”

“Pregnancy brain,” she teased, and you couldn’t help but smile.

You hung up feeling marginally better.

Sarah had a way of calming you down, but the uneasiness stayed with you, the way it always did when you couldn’t fully explain something.

But the relief was fleeting, by lunchtime, the nagging voice in your head was back. Topper wasn’t malicious, but he did have a habit of talking without thinking, and the last thing you needed was for this to get out before you were ready. Not only was this a huge scandal, but it was your business.

You busied yourself with small tasks—folding laundry, wiping down the counters, pretending that everything was fine. It wasn’t until almost noon that your phone rang. The hospital’s number flashed on the screen, and your stomach dropped.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Miss Thornton?” the voice on the other end asked politely, too polite for comfort.

“This is she."

“This is Linda from the hospital. I’m calling about your recent bloodwork. We had a bit of an issue with our system, and unfortunately, there was a delay in getting back to you. We also lost some patient information temporarily—”

“Wait, what?” you interrupted, not liking where this was going, “What do you mean you lost information?”

“Oh, nothing to worry about,” Linda said quickly, as if that would make you feel better. “We managed to recover most of it, but in the meantime, we had to rely on emergency contact information to reach out. Dr. Harris called yours last night.”

Your breath caught. “Called... my emergency contact?”

“Yes.”

“Sarah Cameron? She didn’t tell me someone called.”

“She’s not listed as your emergency contact in our system, Rafe Cameron is. It might be an older record?”

Fuck.

Your heart was in your throat. “What... what did he tell him?”

“He only left a generic message asking for you to follow up about your bloodwork. Nothing specific.”

“Nothing specific,” you repeated, more to yourself than to her. Relief and panic warred within you. If Rafe knew, he’d already be there, the night before, demanding answers. Right?

“We need you to come back in. It’s possible you may have an infection, and we need to run a few more tests.”

You didn’t even hear the rest of her explanation.

Your fingers felt numb as you mumbled something that vaguely resembled agreement and hung up.

Infection, that was what she’d said. That was all it was. Not… not anything else. If it were anything else, they wouldn’t have just called—they’d have told Rafe.

“Stop,” you muttered aloud, shaking your head. “Stop spiraling.”

But your brain wouldn’t listen.

“Generic message,” Linda had said, but did it sound generic? What did he think when he got it? Had he laughed it off, or was he running his stupid pristine bedroom, piecing together clues you hadn’t even realized you’d left?

You didn’t want to text Sarah again.

You could imagine her smirking, “I told you, he’s not going to magically grow psychic overnight.” Yeah, sure, but this was Rafe.

He didn’t need magic. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on Sarah’s voice in your head. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

Except it didn’t feel like that. You hadn’t thought about Rafe as your emergency contact in months, hadn’t needed to. 

You sank into the couch, hugging your knees to your chest.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered, but your voice didn’t make it feel any less real. You weren’t even sure what you were spiraling over anymore. The envelope? The hospital? The baby?

“Okay,” you said out loud. “Okay, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

The sound of your voice didn’t even convince you. Your brain wouldn’t stop jumping from one thing to the next, spinning every scenario you didn’t want to think about. 

What if he did know? If that was enough to set him off, to make him call someone, pull some strings...Shit, what if he did show up, and you had to explain why you were dodging everyone and keeping things from him and—stop. 

Stop. 

You were doing it again. The spiraling. The pregnancy brain Sarah teased you about like it was some sort of cute quirk, but wasn’t cute.

You sat up straight, squeezing the couch pillow so hard you thought it might burst. Breathe. Just breathe, you’d made it this far without imploding.

You glanced toward the drawer again, the one with the envelope. You should’ve burned it, shredded it first. No, you had to keep it—just in case. But just in case of what? Just in case you needed more reasons to feel like a lunatic.

Oh my god. What if Topper saw the stupid number, and then Rafe got the hospital call, and then—bam—suddenly, they had the whole damn thing figured out?

You could feel it already—the panic. You liked to think they were both too stupid for their own good, but they were also observant. Rafe, that bastard always knew how to put things together faster than anyone. 

What if—what if it’s that simple for them? What if they both saw it, and then they were just sitting there, having some stupid-ass conversation, connecting dots you didn’t even realize were dots?

No. Stop. Stop thinking like that.

You were getting carried away, jumping to conclusions like some manic soap opera character. You weren’t that girl. Not really. But the thought of them talking—Topper with his concern and Rafe with his overbearing intensity.

Your fingers tapped a frantic rhythm against the pillow. The idea of him figuring it out? Oh, that made your skin crawl. Not because he’d be cruel—no, that wasn’t his style. He’d just be so… himself.

Overwhelming, determined to “fix” things for you, even when you didn’t ask for it. 

You groaned, dropping the pillow and standing abruptly, like the movement might kill the growing dread. No, you told yourself firmly.

You weren’t spiraling over things that hadn’t even happened yet.

But the voice in your head, the one that always sounded a little too much like Rafe, had other plans: What if it’s already too late?

You paced the living room, arms crossed tightly over your chest. This was ridiculous, you were ridiculous. Nothing had happened, nothing was going to happen. The number wasn’t even that suspicious, it could’ve been anything.

You groaned again, flopping onto the couch like the dramatic mess you were currently embodying. Rafe had probably gotten the hospital call, rolled his eyes without a second thought, too busy with his new precious life.

Your stomach churned, and you pressed your hands against it instinctively. It wasn’t showing yet—thank god—but you couldn’t help the way your mind spiraled back to it, to all the ways this could go wrong.

You grabbed your car keys without thinking, maybe it would clear your head. A drive—that’s what you needed. Get out of the house, and put some distance between you and the stupid envelope, the phone calls, all of it. You turned the knob, yanked the door open—

—and froze.

Rafe’s hand was raised mid-air, clearly about to knock. You didn’t even try to hide the way your breath hitched. 

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Standing there on the porch like he hadn’t just derailed your entire plan. As if it was still perfectly normal for him to show up unannounced, one hand shoved into his pocket and the other gripping his phone, his head tilted in a maddeningly familiar way.

His hand hovered uncertainly on the doorframe as you stepped back, your arms folding protectively over your chest. He didn’t push past you, didn’t move his weight forward—just stood there.

He glanced down at the spare key still in his hand, turning it over like he was considering whether he even had the right to use it. “They called me last night.”

Okay, he was just here because of the hospital, a coincidence, that’s all it was.

“And? You could’ve ignored it.”

His hand flexed at his side like he didn’t know what to do with it. “I thought something might be wrong.”

“It’s not.” Your voice was clipped, cold. “They called the wrong number. End of story.”

He didn’t rise to the bait.

“I thought—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “I thought you were sick.”

“Like I said, it was a mix-up.”

His jaw ticked. That tiny muscle in his cheek twitched, the one that always flared when he was suspicious.

“Funny, they didn’t sound mixed up when they said your name,” he drawled, his tone probing. “Wanna try again?”

“Mind your fucking business,” Your voice was defensive, and you hated the crackle of guilt in your chest when he flinched. “I don’t need you to pretend to care. Why are you even here?” you snapped, taking a step back. The space between you felt vulnerable. “Don’t you have someone else to worry about?"

You felt cornered with every second he stood there.

“We need to talk.”

Maybe if you acted calm, like nothing was wrong, he’d stop looking at you like that. Vulnerability wasn’t something you were good at, he’d already taken too much. He always took too much.

“I don’t owe you shit. Not explanations, not answers, nothing. Leave.”

He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

Rafe didn’t know how to let shit go, not when it came to you, he didn’t back away.

“You’re right,” he said, surprising you. “You don’t, but I’m not leaving until we talk.”

The way he said, it wasn’t even a threat. It was worse than that. It was calm, resolute, like he’d already decided, and nothing you said or did could change it. 

That scared you more than anything.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you hissed, “Whatever you think you know, you don’t.”

He arched an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to the edge of the couch where your phone still sat, “You sure about that?”

“God, you’re always like this. Always overstepping, always assuming—”

“I know."

All the noise in your head—your spiraling thoughts, your excuses, your endless denials—went silent, except for the way your heart thudded in your chest, so fast, it hurt. He hadn’t raised his voice, but those two words hit you like a kick to your chest.

No, he couldn’t—he didn’t, he was bluffing, he had to be. Air caught in your throat, and for a moment, you thought you might choke on it. He didn’t move, didn’t repeat himself. He couldn’t know.

Your tongue went dry. 

“What are you talking about?” You couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone was squeezing your chest. You shook your head again, more violently this time, stepping back, “You don’t know shit.”

“I think I do.” His voice was quiet, and that made it worse, it wasn’t cold or angry; it wasn’t even accusing. He didn’t sound like he wanted to be right, he just sounded tired.

You prayed to come up with something—anything—to deflect, to deny, to keep the truth buried where it belonged. 

“You’re delusional,” you took another step back, putting more space between you and the man who had always known you too well.

He just shook his head, “You don’t have to lie to me, you’re scared, you’re not even trying to hide it.”

It was the way he stared with those stupid blue eyes, he was peeling back your layers. He always did that, made you feel like he could see something in you that you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

“Oh, fuck off.” You threw your hands up. “You don’t know shit about what I’m feeling. You’ve got no right to—I’m not lying.”

It still hurt how much you missed him, hurt to even look at him.

“Don’t pull this cryptic bullshit with me, if you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

The thing you’d been running from, denying, hiding, you simply stared at him, trying to decide if there was any way to lie your way out of this.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You tried to laugh, but it came out strangled, desperate. “T-That’s insane. You’ve lost your mind.”

Rafe wasn’t gloating or triumphant—he just looked… resigned, he’d pieced it together before he showed up.

“Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me, not about this.”

You wanted to scream, to shove him, to do anything that would make him stop looking at you like he cared. Like he knew you. Because if you stopped long enough to think about it, you knew it was over.

He’d already seen it.

“I mean it, Rafe.” Your hand tightened on the door, nails digging into the wood. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

God, this was so fucked. You wanted him gone, but wanted him here, needed him to leave you alone, but at the same time, you hated that he could just leave.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

You thought about what he’d do if he knew—really knew. Not just the vague sense he had now, but the details. Would he try to stop you? 

Your lip quivered, and you hated yourself for it. “You’re wrong.”

You stared at him, at the way his shoulders hunched slightly, his usual confidence worn down. You hated him for being calm for once in his fucking life, for being here, for not letting this slide when it was none of his fucking business.

“Am I?”

Your hands clenched tighter, nails biting into your palms. “Why? Why do you even care? It’s not like you—”

“Because it’s mine.”

Your breath hitched again, and this time, you couldn’t hide it. You wanted to deny it, to throw something—hell, anything—back at him to make him shut the fuck up. But your throat felt like it had shut off entirely, and your mind had gone blank.

“I—” you stammered, shaking your head violently, “No. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re—”

“Hey, hey, just—just stop,” he said, his voice careful, as if he was trying not to spook you. “I’m not—Jesus, I’m not here to fight with you, okay? I’m not here to make this harder.”

Your chest heaved, a bitter laugh escaping before you could stop it. He was too late—late to care, late to help, late to fix anything. Five days, that’s all you had to get through.

Five days until you didn’t have to think about it anymore. 

This is the right choice, you told yourself for the hundredth time. You couldn’t bring a baby into this mess.

“You’re doing a hell of a job at that.”

“I just want to help. If you let me—”

“No,” you interrupted, grabbing the edge of the door. “I’m fixing it.”

“Fixing—?” Rafe’s brow furrowed, his confusion almost comical He started to step forward, but you stopped him with a resentful glare that made him stop. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you can take your fake concern and shove it up your ass.”

His brow furrowed. “It’s not fake—” His face twisted in confusion, mouth opening like he was about to argue, but you didn’t give him the chance, slamming the door in his face, so hard the frame rattled.

“Of course. Of course, it’s mine,” you muttered to yourself, mocking his stupid, self-righteous tone.

You leaned back against the door, sliding to the floor, arms crossed over your knees as your brain whirred like it was trying to kill you.

It wasn’t like you had a choice.

Technically, you did, but what were you supposed to do? Keep it and become a tragic sob story? The words almost felt like you’d ripped them out of someone else’s mouth, right or wrong didn’t even matter anymore. There wasn’t space in your life for this—for him, for a baby, for any of it.

A muffled knock sounded from the front door—tentative, like he was giving you a moment.

“Go away,” you yelled, your voice hoarse.

“Open the door.”

Your thoughts taunted you with memories and possibilities you didn’t want to entertain. The way Rafe had looked at you—like he knew—it was unbearable.

How had he put it together? Maybe you'd slip up in tiny ways, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for him to follow. You hated yourself for being so careless, despised him even more for being so fucking relentless.

You wiped your cheeks roughly, not realizing you’d started crying until your sleeve came back damp.

“Please, just open the door. We can talk—just talk, okay?

“No,” you muttered to the empty room. “No, I’m not doing this.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning your head back against the door and pressing your hands over your ears to block him out. 

“Don’t shut me out like this,” he begged. “I can’t—fuck, I can’t stand it when you do this. Just open the door. Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

He had a key. If he wanted to, he could let himself in at any moment, but he didn’t, that wasn’t the Rafe you were used to.

Before, he'd have barged right in, shouted until your ears bled, and demanded answers. He would’ve tried to fix it or destroy it, maybe both. 

You hated that he still acted like he cared, that he was trying to be so fucking reasonable now, when just a few months ago, he would’ve lost it, broken through any barrier to get what he wanted.

This was worse, this Rafe was wearing you down.

Another hushed plea made it through the door, but all you could think was how thin the wood felt, how it barely drowned the sound of his voice. A new door might be better, something heavier, more solid, that could drown out everything—the desperation, the crack in his voice.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you bit hard on the inside of your cheek to keep them from falling. 

“I know you’re scared,” he continued, “And I know you think I’ll screw this up—God knows I probably will. But please don’t keep me in the dark. Just tell me what’s going on.”

You pictured flipping through hardware store catalogs, weighing your options: oak? steel? soundproofing foam?

“Please,” Rafe whispered, and the rawness in his voice scraped against you like nails on a chalkboard. You tilted your head back against the door, willing yourself not to cry again. 

Steel doors don’t warp as easily as wood.

You swallowed hard, your body aching as you fought the sob threatening to escape. He didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve to sound so wrecked over you. He'd done this to himself.

Your fingers twitched against the door handle, the temptation to open it curling around you, but instead, you thought about bolts.

Deadbolts, a second lock could work, something he couldn’t get through even if he had the key.

His voice wavered again, you thought he might start crying, too, yet all you did was glance at the base of the door. A better seal would muffle the noise more. Maybe weatherstripping? That could help.

You pressed your hands tighter over your ears, as though it would help. It didn’t. Nothing would—not until you replaced the lock, the door, the memory of him standing there and breaking himself open for you.

God, you really needed a new door—and a new heart.

One that didn’t twist at the sound of his voice, that didn’t flinch every time he called your name like it was a prayer. A heart that didn’t feel for him, you told yourself, over and over, like a mantra. If you could just stop the way your chest tightened at his pleas, stop the ache in your ribs when he said he couldn’t let this go.

You wanted steel walls, that could keep everything out—his voice, his touch, the memories of all the good parts of him that had kept you hanging on for so long. Because of this heart? It was useless, too soft, too easily swayed, still willing to believe him, even when you knew better.

“Please, just talk to me,” Rafe begged. You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this calmness came from Sofia.

Perhaps she was the reason he’d changed, maybe she had somehow made him different, had softened the sharp edges of the guy you used to know. She was calm, collected—nothing like you. It hurt like a bitch, the thought that someone else could make him this patient. You wondered if she’d taught him how to handle his emotions, how to be this way—he’d learned some secret he never bothered to share with you.

You couldn't let yourself go there, couldn't let the bitterness of that thought settle in your mind for too long.

“Talk to me.”

No. Not this time.

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[ebodebo]

The Girl Can't Help It

-thinking about bodyguard!simon with princess!reader... MDNI

An unfamiliar knot twisted in your stomach at the sight. It was preposterous. Unbeknownst. A damn eye sore. A throng of women, all betrothed, all but ripping Simon, your bodyguard's, clothes off his body. 

How unbecoming.

You did not heed what the Prince of Prussia said, perhaps something about his recent diplomatic mission in Tahiti. All you could think about was Simon and the slew of women around him, boasting as if he would care about the wealth and jewels the women possessed or the innuendos they slipped into conversation.

Granted, he only replied with a bland array of 'mhm' or 'how insightful.' His disinterested tone did nothing to nudge the woman away.

"Your mind appears elsewhere, Princess," The Prince of Prussia remarked, absolving you of your thoughts. You flick your eyes to his, sucking in a breath.

"My apologies," you say. "I am feeling rather ill. Pardon me." You quickly issue. You are sure your mother and father would reevaluate your informalities, but you would deal with that when it came.

You find yourself turning swiftly to approach Simon. He's as poised as always, his hands neatly in front of him, resting on the other, despite the conversation around him.

Your eyes shifted between the women. You are sure one scowled at you for 'interrupting.' "I am feeling quite daft. I shall like to leave," you proclaim to Simon. His eyes flick to you, but his head stays stationary.

"Your father has asked that you say the entire time," He says casually. "For prospects." You tilt your head a bit, releasing an irritated sigh.

"I believe you should have more regard for what I am asking of you," you exasperated. He tilts his head slightly, merely squinting his eyes, clearly aware of some underlying factor in your sudden mood change.

"I'm afraid the king's orders are final, Princess," he says, fixating his eyes back on the crowd. You swear you see one of the women smirk, and suddenly, you get an urge to drag her through the mud in the pig's pen, and maybe that will wipe that smirk off her face.

If not, the sheep's pen shall do the job.

"The princess has finally felt the sting of rejection," one of the women whispers under her breath to another, loud enough so she knows you hear her. "Oh, I do wonder what that will do to her psyche," the woman snickers sarcastically looking directly into your eyes.

You suck in a breath. "You should be wary of your words," you begin; the woman's brow lifts up slightly, a conceding expression taking over her face, "I shall be the next sovereign, commanding a whole country, and you shall stay just as you are, in a loveless marriage, betrothed to a man who initiates more moves on your milkmaid than you," you enunciate.

The woman scoffs, her face blushing, as she tries to discredit your words. She dishes out every excuse for her husband's endeavors, but it is hard to discredit fact, which is what it was. She instead calls you foul-mouthed and haphazardly turns to go towards the drinks.

The other woman hurriedly followed her out of fear.

You turned towards Simon, who couldn't help how the corner of his lips quipped. "Big words for a princess," he remarks.

"Well—I would not have to use such...vocabulary if she would have minded her own business," you defend, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Whatever you say," he smirked a little before returning to the crowd, returning to a serious expression. You eye him, feeling slightly intimidated by his stature.

"I shall still like to leave, Simon," you press. He turns to you, his eyebrow raising impatiently.

"I told you—" He begins, his tone dry.

"I am aware of what you told me all of two minutes ago, Simon," you roll your eyes. "I still want to leave. There are no men to consider for the prospectus. And I am growing quite weary of you not listening to me," you conclude, eyes narrowing at him.

He lets out a dry laugh. "Alright, Your Highness. Let's get your poor, weary body out of here." You find yourself rolling your eyes yet again at his sarcastic tone. Though, you don't speak on it. You turn to walk out of the grand doorway, carefully moving through the sea of other patrons, many attempting to stop your stride to converse. You keep moving, with Simon following close behind.

Once you step into the hallway, you quickly scan the area, checking for loose guests. You smile when you realize everyone is occupied in the stateroom, swiftly gripping Simon's hand and moving the two of you into the small closet adjacent to your father's music room.

Simon locks the door to the quaint closet, his eyes burning into yours as he tightly grips your waist. "A closet?" He props as you delicately untie his tie, tossing it to the side.

"We cannot simply go into the music room. Did you forget what happened last time?" You raise a brow. He leans his face down, pressing deep kisses to your temple while slipping the short sleeve of your dress down your shoulder.

"I have no idea what you're talkin' about," he mutters into your collarbone, lips dragging to kiss your sternum. You release a small, breathy moan, bringing your hands to thread through his light hair.

"You broke my father's piano," you meant for it to come out assertive, but it came out more breathless. He snakes his hand around your back, carefully dragging the zipper down, making your dress pool at your feet.

"I seem to remember you were the one on the keys," he gruffs into your lips before engulfing them with his own.

It had only been a few days since the last time you and Simon had...connected. However, with how both of your bodies react to a simple kiss, you would have guessed it has been months.

"Because you put me on the keys," you choke out as Simon's tongue drags across your sensitive skin, starting at your neck all the way until he's sunk down on his knees in front of you.

"Since you have a better memory than me, what did we do after I put you on the keys?" He murmured into the flesh of your thigh, teeth grazing the fabric of the waistband of your panties. You grip his head, pushing more into you, desperate for more friction. "Huh?" He tuts against your skin.

"I—you, well, we had intercourse," you say earnestly, gripping the shelf behind you to gain more stability. His gruff laugh traveled up your leg all the way up to your mouth, eliciting a moan from you.

"Intercourse?" He jibed. "No. Gimme all the gruesome details, baby. None of that proper shit." He moved his face from your thigh to press a deep kiss to your clothed cunt.

"I do not know—ah—what you speak of," you choke out, attempting to push yourself into his face more with your hands gripping either side of his cheeks.

"Come on," he urged, his nose rubbing against your clit in the process. "Don't play dumb with me, sweetheart." He grips your thighs, tugging himself closer to you. He substituted his nose in favor of his mouth, hurriedly pressing his hot, wet lips to your aching clit.

You whine as you feel the friction increase. "Tell me, or I won't let you come," he groans into you. You reply with a pathetic whimper, body shamelessly grinding against his face.

"You used—you used your fingers," You grit out, throwing your head back as his teeth pierced through the thin fabric. He slips his tongue through the new tear, lapsing at your throbbing clit.

"That all?" His brisque voice vibrated against you.

"No. You, you fucked me," you voice. You receive a low groan in response. Got him. "I was so wet you just, you just slipped in," you continue, moaning as you see one of his hands slip from one of your thighs to massage his clothed cock.

"My, my. Sure got a tongue on you for a princess," he jests, a strain in his voice as he massages himself with much pace. His mouth picks up the pace on your cunt, tongue continuing to lapse around your sensitive bud.

"I could say the same for you, Simon. " Your voice is hoarse. You feel the corners of his mouth lift at your innuendo, which makes you form a smirk of your own.

"Keep talkin' to me," he almost begs. His hand and mouth are moving briskly; you're grinding against his face, hands gripping the back of his head.

"Fuck, you, you feel so good," you whine out. You swear you hear him moan, but you can't be too sure as his face is currently suffocating against your skin. You would ask him if he could breathe, but you knew he wouldn't move until you came.

"You always feel so fucking good," you wail as your orgasm hits you like a train, Simon's following shortly behind. He's gripping you tight so as not to fall over, leaning his forehead into your stomach as his orgasm settles.

Once both of your post-orgasmic haze dissipates, Simon stands to straighten out your dress. You bend slightly to pick up his tie strung on the ground, carefully tying it around his neck neatly.

"You have soiled your trousers," you observe, looking down at the wet spot on the front rise of his slacks. He lets out a quiet laugh at your inspection, leaning his head down to kiss the shell of your ear, muttering a gruff, 'And whose fault is that?'

Shit, maybe this whole bodyguard thing wasn't so bad.

a/n: boomshakalaka yesss gawdddd

reblogs & comments encouraged!

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

Astro notes : Short N Sweet <3 Mercurial Design.

Mercury in the 1st - Comical. Socially abundant. Can be very quiet or loud. No in between. I love them actually. Would love someone that can match their flow, however most can never keep up with their every flowing wave. Their like the wind in human form. Their mind is a capsule of all the memories and experiences they've accumilated with time. Very interesting beings and could show you everything and nothing at the same time.

Mercury in the 2nd - This group has common sense enough to figure things out in such a small period of time that they can do almost anything to get what they want. They have issues with exploring things at first hand (taurus is the original ruler of the 2nd) so they can be a little stubborn but over time they quickly learn for new things to come to them from time to time. Very deep thinkers. Can be very open minded when they WANT to be.

Mercury in the 3rd - Intriguing personalities and are the gift that keeps giving. Soft spoken and has a mind thats free to any and everything. Really reluctant on having new friends but can become the bestest of friends later. they can really shy at times. There most open to conversations with strangers, it seems as they can let their whole world out from their mind and open a door to someone who is willing to listen. Beautiful spirits.

Mercury in the 4th - Sweet childlike personalities and honestly their mystique is one of a kind. Going into their world is like walking into a magical novel filled with fantasy, and coming out and it all disappears. Like a spell. Very captivating artists, and most keep the good stuff in a treasure chest, only the real ones will get a chance to open up whats inside.

Mercury in the 5th - Playful. Soft spoken. Interesting. Knowledgeable. Carefree. Those are the 5 things that is most prominent about their character. They will speak to you through song, writing, or even through and instrument. They work real well with their hands, if you can catch what I mean ;) Smooth charmers and could be a mini casanova so watch out for them. Very seductive.

Mercury in 6th - Talkaholics. Chatty Patties. You get my drift lol. Their caring to the ones they love and are advocates for everyone or everything such as animals and plants or even homeless people. You cannot get away with being mean to someone if they catch they are going to say some lol. Can be very mean spirited to the ones who deserve it. Overall, very practical and humane about things that need most of our attention. They aren't boring, their routines can switch up a lot depending on their mood so be easy on them.

Mercury in 7th - Charming individuals whose seductive prowess come out like a lightning bolt. Everybody likes them. Children come up to them the most tho. They have an angelic presence to their personalities and can get anyone to be on their side. Charismatic. Be careful, because the same way they can use this gift for good, they can switch and you know... do some damage ;)

Mercury in the 8th - Something about their wordplay is very special and potent. They have a gift with words that can transform the way you feel, think, breathe, etc. They have knowledge and insight about the world that most will never accept to be the truth. So they guard these secrets with their life, holding on until the ashes fall away connecting back with the wind. And allowing the circle of life to continue. The mind transforms a lot and they become a new person every once and a while. Be easy on them, their brain can take them to many stages psychologically.

Mercury in the 9th - Have a wit and charm to them that keeps the energy going. They aren't use to having people wanting to be around them or being attracted to them a lot however this happens more often than not. People love what they have to say, and want to hear more of how they view things from time to time. They are really interesting to say the least. Like what all do you know?

Mercury in the 10th - The audience admires these beings. Naturally charismatic and people love to see them on the big screen. They literally have a tv personality and can go viral at some point in their life. Gotta watch out for the people who always have their hands out, their naturally giving and love to share their time and energy freely.. a little too much. Keep your circle small.

Mercury in the 11th - Have a natural knack with entertaining all sorts of groups. Can commit to a cause like no other and get as many people on board. Very persuasive and social skills are through the roof. The social awkward become to most popular. The loner because the one everyone knows. These individuals are great with turning something that was 'lame' into someone fun and cool. Very different from the crowd, which what allows people to see them for their soul and not their flesh.

Mercury in the 12th - Spiritually inclined to feel the waves of the universe. Captivating the stars in the night and then going home to serve the divine with a painted canvas. A gifted creator who's only purpose is to live and die. To create and conquer the mind. The brain is the place of peace, when it wants to be. And when its not, they transmute that energy into something no other than. Something creative. Something special. The universe uses them as the vessel to give a message to the audience who desires to hear the words of God. You will never get another one of them in your life if you ever meet them.

[felinecyan]

Reality of Realizations

[Shoto Todoroki x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: After the Sports Festival, Shoto comes to realize just how awful his behavior was, and he’s determined to make things right.

WC: 3559

Category: Mega Fluff, Awkward!Shoto

This idea smacked me to my keyboard at 3 am and took me hostage until I finished it… I hope you enjoy it!! ☺️🫶

『••✎••』

In the beginning, Shoto didn’t feel guilty. He felt indifference. To him, U.A. was about succeeding his father without his father’s side of his bloodline, the fire part of his quirk. Everything was about becoming a hero that wasn't like Endeavor. Everything was about getting stronger without using fire.

Friendships weren’t his concern. In fact, he didn't give them much thought at all. He didn’t feel like they would be beneficial to his cause.

For some reason, though, you wanted to be around him. Maybe it was because you saw something in him, some type of potential that even he didn’t recognize. Or maybe you just had a lot of energy that needed to be spent, and being around him was your only means of releasing it. Either way, you never left him alone. You followed him, sat next to him in class, and asked him about his quirk.

And with his current mindset, he was rather annoyed with your persistence. He knew he could handle it himself. He could do well in school and become a great hero without any help. You were a distraction to his goal, and he was not having it.

When you first tried to start a conversation, Shoto looked straight ahead. His gaze remained fixed on the whiteboard. If you continued to be persistent, he would snap at you. It was a guarantee.

As much as he wouldn’t like to admit, sometimes the father-son resemblance would shine through.

You tried again, asking him what his favorite food was. When he didn’t answer, you shrugged and turned your head toward the window—another failed attempt.

Your attempts only increasingly became more annoying as time went on. The same questions, the same responses, and the same outcome:

An angry Todoroki who just wanted to be left alone.

But it wasn't until the Sports Festival that things changed for him. Midoriya helped him realize that his father wouldn’t define him, but his own choices would. It was enlightening, and after their fight, he felt a strong sense of respect for the green-haired boy.

And due to that awakening, he realized just how absolutely rude he had been toward you.

You were one of his classmates, a person who was in the same school as him, training to be a hero just like him. You were someone who deserved respect, and he didn’t treat you the way you should have been.

That guilt settled in.

He was a horrible person.

He had to make up for it.

And, no, a simple apology would not be enough. He needed to go the extra mile and show you that he meant what he said and that he was truly sorry.

The question was, how?

He knew little about you. He never spoke to you, not in the way you had tried speaking to him, so how would he know your favorite food, your favorite color, your favorite animal? How would he know what kind of flowers or sweets you liked?

How could he make you happy when he was the one who hurt you in the first place?

He thought long and hard. He pondered and pondered, trying to think of what you could possibly enjoy, but his mind would draw a blank.

So, he did the only thing he could think of: he asked Midoriya for help. The green-haired boy had that entire notebook dedicated to all the quirks every classmate had, so surely it could give him some insight into how to approach you.

Surely, it would help.

After class, Todoroki went over to Midoriya. He kept his hands in his pockets, and he looked the other way, not quite wanting to see Midoriya's expression.

Needless to say, he was absolutely surprised when Todoroki asked him for help. Surprised and absolutely delighted. The way he started bouncing in his seat with the biggest smile on his face made Todoroki want to reconsider the offer. But before he could retract, Midoriya already had his notebook out.

He flipped through a few pages, his finger stopping when he found your name. Honestly, it was unnerving just how many notes were dedicated to each individual.

Midoriya read your likes and dislikes; apparently, they were all through observation and not from you telling him. Maybe if Todoroki wasn’t so mean to you, then he would‘ve known what you liked, too.

He figured you had to make it obvious for Midoriya to write it down, right? There’s no way Midoriya would be able to figure out that information from just watching.

Then again, his analysis was pretty spot on. He knew what your personality was; he dealt with it firsthand. Of course, at the time, he didn't think too much about it. All he thought was how much he wanted you to leave him alone. Now, however, he wanted you to ask him those questions.

He wanted to be your friend.

He learned that you loved reading books. Not only that, but you loved flowers. Not the typical roses or sunflowers, but the less popular flowers. The type of flower that not a lot of people would think of when thinking about the beauty of a flower.

You also loved sweets, mostly anything with the word "chocolate" in the name. You had a sweet tooth, and it was very apparent.

Todoroki didn’t know why, but he found himself smiling. Finding out your likes and dislikes and learning about your personality was interesting. He wished he hadn’t been so blind before. Maybe then, he could've been friends with you earlier.

But it was okay. He could still become your friend. He could still fix things.

Midoriya had written down a list of things that you would appreciate the most, and then it was on the planning portion.

Gift-giving was still a relatively new concept for Shoto. He never had any real reason to give someone a gift before, and when he did give gifts, it was mostly for his siblings on special occasions.

He never really had the opportunity to buy a gift for a friend.

Midoriya told him that the best gifts were meaningful and came from the heart.

"Think of a memory you have with them. Think of something that they would really enjoy."

But the issue was, he had no memories with you. No good ones, anyhow. They were all trash because he never gave you the chance to have a good memory with him.

"Hey, Todoroki, if you were—"

You always sounded so genuine when asking him those foolish questions, but the moment he turned his head, his glare could have killed you.

"Do you always have to bother me? Doesn’t it get tiring asking the same things, day in and day out?" His tone was harsh, and he didn't mean for it to sound that way, but it was the only tone he ever used on you.

"No wonder your parents sent you to boarding school in America before applying here. I wouldn’t be able to deal with you either."

Yeah, those were his words. Those were his exact words. Not the nicest, were they?

The sentence was completely laced with poison, and even Shoto knew it then. He truly didn’t mean to bring that up; it was a low blow, but the damage was done, and the second it was said, your expression fell.

Shame, really. You were only trying to be nice. You didn’t deserve his spiteful attitude. You were kind and thoughtful, and you were a very good person, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept your kindness.

So, how the hell was he going to be able to apologize to you? How was he going to give you a present that meant something when all his memories of you were filled with his hate?

He sat on his bed, his legs crossed as he held his head. He needed an idea, but his mind drew a blank. What the hell was he supposed to do?

Midoriya told him that a homemade gift was probably the best among a couple of special items. If he made something himself, he could show how much effort he put into it. He could make something meaningful and show just how sorry he was.

But... he wasn't the most creative person. In fact, his creativity was nonexistent. He didn’t know the first thing about making something from scratch.

He knew how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a tasty soba, but other than that, he was lost.

And it wasn't like he could ask for his siblings' help. He took that as a sign of not owning up to his mistakes. If he couldn’t figure this out, then he didn't deserve your friendship.

His eyes were fixated on his desk. His textbooks were sprawled out, and a couple of papers were scattered across the table. He was currently studying for the next exam, and his phone was off to the side, plugged into the wall to charge.

His mind should’ve been on schoolwork, but the only thing he could think of was you. He needed an idea, and soon, because if he didn't do anything, his guilt would eat him alive.

His mind continued to wander.

Flowers, chocolate, a book, a teddy bear.

None of these would be enough. None of these were personal; none of these would mean something.

His eyes wandered from his desk to the window. The sky was orange, a beautiful sunset. He watched as the clouds passed and the birds flew by.

Birds.

Why does that remind him of something?

What do birds have to do with a gift?

He closed his eyes, trying to remember a moment. Any moment, whether good or bad, anything that could help him get a hint as to what to do.

And then, a memory flashed.

It was a rainy day, and you were late.

You were walking and running, but the rain was coming down pretty hard. You weren’t an idiot, so you weren't wearing the U.A. uniform. Instead, you wore a jacket. But even then, you were still soaked.

You didn’t have an umbrella, a raincoat, or any protective gear. You were running through the rain, trying to get to the school before the bell rang.

Luckily, it wasn't too far away.

Shoto remembered seeing you run, and for a brief second, he thought you were an idiot. He wondered why you didn't just take the bus or the train. If you lived near the school, you would've had plenty of time.

And still, even being as late as you were, you were still determined to have your daily conversations with Shoto.

You were definitely an odd ball, but in that moment, a certain memory came to mind.

When you finally made it to class, you were absolutely soaked. Your hair was sticking to your face, and your shoes were squishing with every step you took.

You sat down, understandably grumpy, but you weren’t upset that you were late, wet, or even sick the next day. No, what was upsetting you was the fact that you had lost something.

A hairclip, to be specific.

You lost a hairclip.

It was a clip that had a hummingbird attached to it. The clip itself was silver, but the hummingbird was painted green. He knows this because you wouldn’t stop talking about it.

He remembered you saying that it was a gift from a family member. He didn’t know who, nor did he care at the time, but you cared.

You really cared.

You spent the majority of the day searching for the hairclip. You searched the hallways, the bathroom, the cafeteria, everywhere you could think of, but it wasn’t there. It was nowhere to be found.

And for a week, you wore your hair down, which was the complete opposite of what you normally did.

If only Shoto realized this at the time, then he would've helped you look for it. He was good at finding things, ironically, but the thought didn’t cross his mind, and neither did the memory.

Until now.

In a split second, he bolted up. He rushed downstairs, not caring if he was loud. He didn’t care if his family could hear him; he didn’t care if he was disturbing their peace.

He had an idea, a good one, and it was perfect.

It was the most personal gift he could think of. Throw in a couple of your favorites, and it would be perfect.

He would make you a gift basket, but he would add his own touch to it. Again, he wasn’t that creative, but he had a basic idea. You’d like ribbons, right? Why not a nice bow?

Unfortunately, your specific hummingbird hair clip was long gone, but the internet seemed to have everything. He searched for hours, ignoring his study guide for the upcoming exam, and finally, after what seemed like forever, he found a silver hummingbird. It wasn’t painted green, but it was the same model as your old one.

It was the best he could do. And fortunately, due to the one-day shipping, he would have it by the time Monday rolled around.

He ordered it, and when it came in, he put the basket together. He bought you a book based on your favorite genre, some chocolate, a bouquet of some of your favorite flowers, and then, he added the ribbon.

The clip he put in a special case, away from the basket. He would be giving this separately because it would mean more, and he felt like this was something that shouldn’t be touched by anything else.

And, well, he wanted to see your reaction to his apology. It would be easier to read your expression if he didn't give you both the gift at the same time.

Oh, right, the apology.

He didn’t really think about that, and honestly, he didn’t know how to start.

But the best way to do anything is with practice, right?

Screw that upcoming test. He had something much more important to deal with, and knowing him, he’d probably still ace the test anyway.

He cleared his throat, standing in the middle of his room.

Okay, how would he start?

Hi? No, that was too casual.

Hello? No, it's not formal enough.

Greetings?

No, no, he shouldn’t sound like a robot.

He needed something more genuine, more real.

Maybe... maybe he should start by telling you how sorry he was. Yeah, that would be the best.

He cleared his throat again.

"Hey," his voice cracked, and his eyes widened. He sounded so awkward. That was so not smooth.

He started over.

"I know we haven't spoken in a while," he started. "I'm... I'm sorry for everything I've done. For everything I've said. You didn't deserve any of that."

This felt like a speech. Maybe he should tone it down.

"I… I was a horrible person, and I wish I could take back all the things I said, but I can't, and I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. And I know a simple sorry won't fix everything, so..."

He went over to the desk and picked up the box with the silver hummingbird inside.

"I want to give you this. I hope you like it."

Okay, practice over. He’s better off winging it. He truly regretted how he acted, so regardless of how the apology goes, hopefully, you can see that he's being genuine.

He sighed.

Hopefully.

The next day came quicker than expected. He spent the entire night preparing, and by the time the morning came, he was exhausted.

But it was okay because soon, he'd be able to see you and, hopefully, make amends.

Panic didn’t set in until he caught sight of you at your locker, picking out your books.

The moment his eyes landed on you, his heart started to race. His throat went dry, and his hands got clammy.

This is it, he thought—all or nothing.

He took a deep breath.

Here goes.

"Excuse me," he started. His voice sounded shaky, but he ignored it. He had to stay confident and pretend he wasn’t nervous.

You turned to him, and the moment your eyes met his, he swore he could feel his heart stop.

Those eyes… full of utter shock and surprise. You were really caught off guard. And he was, too, because not a single word was uttered from his lips.

"Um," you cleared your throat. "Hey, Todoroki," you smiled at him. You seemed hesitant, and honestly, who could blame you? He had never really been nice to you.

"I was just heading to class, but uh," you rubbed the back of your neck. "Did you… did you need something?"

The question made him snap back into reality.

He was still speechless, so to fix the awkward atmosphere, he decided just to hand you the basket.

You were obviously confused. Your brows were furrowed, and you stared at the present like it was some foreign object.

"What's this?"

"It's a gift."

Your confusion didn't fade. In fact, it was almost replaced with concern.

"For... me?"

Oh, for the love of…, snap out of it, Shoto!

He shook his head.

"Yes, for you," he handed you the gift, and when you held it, he couldn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat. "I…"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Look, I'm... I'm sorry. For everything."

You just stared at him blankly, and for a moment, Shoto felt the panic rise. What if you didn’t forgive him?

You were quiet for a while, and his nervousness only grew. He decided to try again.

"You were just trying to be friends, and all I did was push you away. I was so… rude and cold, and you didn’t deserve any of that. You were just trying to be kind. So, I wanted to make it up to you. I wanted to do something nice and show you how deeply apologetic I am."

Silence.

He didn't know what to say anymore, so he continued, hoping he wasn't making a bigger mess than what it was.

"I also, uh, got you this," he pulled out the case from inside his uniform. With the way you were silent the entire time, he was starting to think you wouldn’t accept the gift.

So, the moment your hand reached out to grab the box, he was relieved to know you were willing to listen.

"I know it’s not your original, but it's the closest I could find. And, well, it's the least I could do, considering how I acted."

When you opened the box, he could see the way your eyes lit up. He was so nervous about this, so scared that you wouldn’t like it, but the way you smiled proved him wrong.

And that smile. Oh, that smile.

He caused that smile. Instead of stealing it away or making it go away, he made it appear.

"Todoroki, I," you were speechless. Utterly speechless, he could tell by the way you looked up at him.

You were trying to find the right words, and honestly, he didn’t blame you. He was in a similar situation.

"You didn’t have to get me this," you said, a bright smile on your face. You were holding the hummingbird gently like it was a precious object. "I probably would've forgiven you even if you didn’t get me anything."

Wait, was that a yes?

Was that a yes?!

Shoto could feel the corners of his lips twitch. He felt himself smiling.

"Thank you," you continued, still holding the hummingbird carefully. "It means a lot to me. I appreciate the effort you put into this. And, um, thank you for the apology. I really needed to hear it. Honestly, I thought I did something wrong, so I'm glad that wasn’t the case."

You laughed a bit, and even if he was confused about why you were laughing at all, he was relieved that you were accepting his apology.

"You did nothing wrong," he told you. "I was the one who messed up. I have issues, but that's not an excuse to be a jerk."

You smiled again, and he noticed the way you fiddled with the box. It was clear you wanted to attach the hairclip.

"I can… um, help you with that if you want."

The instant nod from you was enough for him to grab it delicately from the box, and when he did, you turned around.

It was a really pretty clip, and it suited you. Whoever originally gave it to you clearly had great taste.

It took a second, but he finally placed it into your hair. When you turned back around, he nodded in approval.

"You look nice," he told you.

"Thank you."

There was a pause.

"Um, did you, uh, want to sit together during lunch? I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, but I thought I'd ask."

The amount of joy he suddenly felt was unexplainable. You were accepting him, and it was the most amazing thing he had ever experienced.

"Yeah, sure," he nodded. "That sounds nice."

Mission make up with you: success.

The guilt of everything still lingered, and he would have to apologize to everyone else as well, but that could be done later.

Right now, all that mattered was his new friend. A friend that should’ve been his a long time ago.

[luveline]

can we possibly get the one where Gideon doesn’t like bombshell reader and poor Spencer is watching like☹️

Spencer feels a little like a child of divorce. Like, he absolutely is a child of divorce, but he didn’t think he’d feel this way at work. Lately, all Hotch and Gideon do is argue. 

It’s especially odd in that Hotch doesn’t usually go against Gideon’s judgement, even when he doesn’t agree, but you seem to be something Hotch is willing to fight for, and Spencer has no idea why.

“We don’t need her,” Gideon says. Spencer knows it isn’t Gideon being cruel, just stern. “We have a fine team without her.” 

“But with her, we’re better. And we have an opening. I know you like Greenaway for it, and I do too–”

“Everyone likes Greenaway for the position, she’s more palatable than L/N, and she works harder.”

Spencer tries not to whip his face back and forth like he’s following a ping pong ball, but it’s hard to keep up. He has no idea what his mentor’s talking about in all honesty, you’d seemed more than palatable when you met him last week. You were nice. And barely anybody is nice to Spencer. 

You sounded like you actually wanted to hear him talk, something Gideon has often been alone in. And palatable is a subjective word. 

“That’s not necessarily true,” Hotch says, knowing he’s losing. 

“We’re not gonna rush into picking someone,” Gideon says, less stern, more neutral. 

“No. I have invited her to the Georgia consultation this afternoon.” 

Gideon sighs through his nose. The afternoon rolls around quickly. Spencer doesn’t want to think about it but he’s excited to see you, and he feels conflicted in that; Gideon is the first person in a long time who actually seems to care about him, so Spencer is guilty of always aiming to please, but he can’t understand why Gideon dislikes you so much. Am I being easily led? he wonders. 

He’ll admit to finding you attractive. In his head, that is. You’d spoken so particularly, you’d looked stunning, and you didn’t make a fuss when he wouldn’t shake your hand. You called him beautiful. 

It’s the nicest, kindest attention he’s had since he started. Morgan calls him pretty boy. Spencer knows it’s not the same thing. 

They gather in the conference room, Morgan, Hotch, Gideon and Spencer, just a few minutes before 2PM. A minute later, you’re knocking on the door. 

“Hello…” You smile when you realise they’re here. “Am I late?” 

“No, L/N. Come and take a seat,” Hotch says. 

There’s a plastering of documents on the table and an empty seat by both Morgan and Spencer. You choose the one beside Spencer despite a stack of manilla folders, tucking your chair in neatly. “Oh, the grizzly stuff. This will upset my feminine energy.” 

Morgan laughs. Gideon glares at the table. 

Spencer likes it when you’re around. One more person and suddenly the consultation is a conversation and not a debate. You can keep up with everyone. You laugh at Spencer occasionally and he doesn’t know why, but he can tell it isn’t cruel laughter; he’s had a long time to work out the difference. 

Gideon excuses himself for a coffee half an hour in. 

Hotch immediately leans across the table. “I’m trying to help you,” he says. 

You grimace. “What am I doing wrong now?” 

“The laughing.” 

“You laugh.” 

“I know.” Hotch smiles at you. “You’re getting good at this, you have good insight on the dark triad. You read the book I sent?” 

“How’s Haley?” you ask.

He shakes his head, but his smile stays. “Don’t joke about that.” 

You’re not flirting. Or, Spencer doesn’t think so. It’s more likely you’re joking as Hotch says, everything about your body language pointing to amicable friendliness besides your flirting tones. “I read the book,” you say. Your gaze turns to Spencer. “Bet you’ve read it too, huh? Morgan said you’ve read every book ever written.” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” Spencer says. 

“But close?” you ask. “I’d love some recommendations. You know. For profiling.” 

“Don’t let her fool you, Reid, she’s well read,” Morgan says. 

“Wait, Gideon doesn’t like you because you laugh?” Spencer asks. 

It’s a socially inept thing to say, he realises after. You lean back in your chair all sweet and soft with your legs crossed, your dark stockings thin at the knees. He’s so, so worried you’re going to be offended and that’s exactly what he needs, a possible friend isolated again by his inability to read the room, but you don’t chew him out. You nudge his leg gently with the toe of your heel. 

“Now who said he doesn’t like me, handsome?” you ask teasingly. 

Spencer regrets the heat that floods his face and neck. 

“It’s complicated,” you add, your smile more than friendly, Spencer can’t work it out. “But don���t worry, I’ll turn him around eventually. It’s one of my many talents.” 

Oh, he thinks. That’s what it is. Spencer’s finally in on the joke. 

[wombywoo]

do you have any ghostsoap favorite fics, perhaps?

boy do I....

I should preface this by saying that I'm pretty...particular with what types of fics I enjoy reading (I only like certain character interpretations/tropes/writing styles, etc) so bear with me...

These are all mostly canon-compliant, non-AUs, ones that I regard highly~

Seasons--by StinglessWasp: This is pretty much my go-to fic rec for anyone into CoD and ghostsoap in general. It showcases everything I love about these characters, in a setting that feels as authentic to the games as possible, while also exploring the depth and sincerity hidden under the surface. So well-written and paced--the dialogue and military references all contribute to that 'feels like a mission out of the game' experience. Plus, I just love this interpretation of our boys--the humor, the inner struggles, the intimacy--Wasp 100% *gets* these characters and it's a joy to read <3

Except You, You Can Stay--by Iravaid: While this one isn't *technically* ghostsoap until the last chapter, in my opinion, it's required reading for anyone who gives a shit about Simon Riley. This is *the* character study--an intimate dissection of Ghost's past that seems so realistic and grounded, you forget how ludicrous those comics really are. Ira takes such care in treating these heavy topics with delicacy and effectiveness. Each chapter has you going 'oh wow, this is even better than the last', but as a whole--it's a stunning, fleshed-out glimpse into Simon as the character he was always meant to be. And the final chapter which eases you into his relationship with Johnny is so authentic and sweet, it just makes perfect sense that they should be together, and that this poor poor man deserves some goddamn love <3

bleeding in the house of god--by revolvermonkcelot: This is a really great 'missing scene' fic, a perfect opportunity to explore the in-between moments that the game so carelessly chooses to gloss over. I can't praise Monk's writing enough--it's slick and crisp and very tasty; the imagery just jumps off the page and you can practically feel the sweat. Plus, the dialogue exchanges between our two boys are so well-timed and in-character--love all the slang and British references~ This whole fic reads like an addition to their mission flirting, and I'm all for it! You can truly tell this author has such deep understanding and experience with this franchise (winkwinkwink, this is a joke) Read it--it's good!

The Dead are all Living--by Kabbal: This fic blew me away when I first read it. It's such a unique take on the retirement trope, I just adore this interpretation of Simon as an aging recluse while he builds his home. I tend to lean towards more subtle, grounded characterizations of Mr Riley, and this really fits the bill. All of these glimpses and fragments into his post-military life contribute to an overarching love story; the scenes with Johnny are so poignant, it's like you're pining alongside them both. I love how not-perfect they are; flawed and difficult and real. There are some moments and lines that just....struck something in me so deeply. I'm sure I'll still be thinking about it for a long long time <3

Portrait of Taction--by a_platypus: Another Simon-centric fic that I absolutely love. The character voice in this is off the charts, I can hear him so vividly in all of his inner dialogue and stunted attempts at conversation. Simon is so endearingly dense in this fic, you're just waiting for him to finally get his act together, but the clumsy, oblivious steps he takes in his relationship with Soap are truly a treat to read. I love this version of Johnny too--confident and considerate, but still hopelessly crushing on his superior. It's comedic, well-written, and the paragraphs describing Soap's journal give some of the best insights into his character I've seen <3

come on, haunt me--by flyby2: This was a really good long fic that I took my time savoring. What could have been a typical 'on leave' fic instead took time to develop a unique spin on the backstories as well as throwing our boys into some wholesome encounters. Both Soap and Ghost felt very true to character, and I appreciate the exploration of PTSD and the subsequent struggles that come along with...all that. There was a really nice balance in having their romance spread across the chapters, and I can promise a very sweet, happy conclusion <3

in the mess of it all--by flowersferns: A lovely one-shot that exhibits some of my favorite aspects of these two characters. I'm a sucker for 'one of them is hurt, the other is freaking out, they are both idiots in love, etc'. There are some really great dialogue and character moments in this, plus the overall prose hits hard. Love this take on their romance--the mutual trust, the familiarity of their bond. And just the general theme of impermanence--the inevitability of what this relationship means for them--two soldiers, willing and ready to sacrifice their lives at a moment's notice, still clinging to each other because...god...that's all they have---big fan of this :'D <3

Lapsus--by Lisbetadair: Another really great one-shot and 'missing scene' fic. The authenticity in the writing is spot-on--it's like you can feel Soap's pain right off the bat. I love how smoothly the banter flows between the two, and the attention to detail and references all help lend to that 'hardened military man' exterior. Ghost smelling like flowers because of a face wipe is such a delightful addition, plus the scene where Soap is, ah, donald-ducking it in just a t-shirt with his jewels out is such a funny mental image, I still think of it fondly from time to time. It's funny, it's surprisingly cute, it's very in-character. Stick around for some awkward but adorable cuddles <3

I'm sure I have more to recommend, but these are the ones I can personally endorse for now~

[jhdyuiee]

unconditional

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ pairing: ex-bf!jaehyun x fem!reader

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ warnings/tags: smut!, angst (first day back & i’m breaking yall’s hearts, sorry!!!), unprotected sex, oral (f&m receiving), multiple positions, multiple orgasms, cum eating, marking/biting, smacking, tit/breast play, making out/kissing, fingering, name calling (good girl) and pet names (love), jaehyun is jealous type, rough jaehyun, cliffhanger/mysterious ending (also sad)

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ w.c: 2.7k

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ a.n: hi, jiji is back! hm, it’s been a while. in all honesty, this abrupt break i decided to take worked out in the end bcs school has been a big pain in the ass as of late & so writing has gotten hard. i also would like to apologize once more for honestly everything. however i am back now and yes, yes i know jaehyun leaves tomorrow… sigh, let’s just say that for now bcs if not i’ll start tearing up, lol. don’t forget to stay safe guys, i love you very dearly & thank you for waiting, i will be back with so much more! 🤍

the rain came pouring down hard and unexpectedly. you were not prepared for this at all, so you took shelter inside a cafe. you settled on waiting until the rain calmed down so you could go home.

staring at the gloomy weather made you rather gloomy as well. you never had fond memories of the rain, no dancing in the rain with your lover. instead, it was almost as if the rain brought your life some type of bad luck.

“y/n?” a male voice calls for you, causing you to turn.

your eyes widened, lips slightly parting at the person who stood in front of you.

“jaehyun?” you say lowly, low enough for the two of you to hear.

his face too changes, it’s almost like he’s trying to process it really was you who was in front of him. you took him in, noting how he hasn’t changed in the 5 years since you’d parted. in fact you’d say he got even more… hotter?

“it really is you,” he says breathlessly, to which you nod. “i-is the seat taken?” he asks as he points to the seat in front of you.

“n-no” you respond. he sits down, looking right at you.

“how have you been?” he starts off by asking.

“well… i-i suppose i’ve been fine. how about you?”

he thinks for a second before responding. “i could be better,” he says, chuckling. your heart nearly melting at the sight of his dimples, the very ones you used to adored.

he asks you more questions about how the past 5 years had gone, you too gaining insight on his past 5 years. there was never any mention if you or him were in a relationship during the past 5 years, it was almost like a forbidden topic.

you mindlessly turn to the window, noting how the rain had finally stopped but the clouds were still there. you didn’t know whether to leave mid-conversation or stay a while longer. it had been 5 years, 5 excruciating years without him… to leave him now was-

“are you going to leave?” his questions bring you back to him.

your mouth opens, then closes, and opens again but he interrupts. “don’t leave… not yet. instead, please stay with me for today y/n,” he asks.

you didn’t even hesitate, already settling on your answer before he even finished asking you. you two leave the cafe, you follow him walking alongside him under his umbrella. your head filled with the endless possibilities of how today could go and where the night would lead you.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“y/n,” jaehyun whispers into your ear in a sultry tone.

your hot breath tickled his ear as your eyes interlocked with his lustful eyes. you wanted him, he wanted you. it had been so long since you’ve felt not only his touch, but a touch at all.

“can i?” he whispers as his eyes are on your lips. you nod, inviting him in.

his lips crash onto yours, melting together as they once used to. he started off gentle, almost as if he were testing the waters before involving the kiss into something more rough and filled with desire. it brought you back to the days of 5 years ago.

his hands traveled to the back of your head, tugging on your hair. his tongue fighting its way inside you until it began crashing with yours. you started feeling weak, legs almost giving out but he held you. he pressed you against the wall, body nearly melting into yours. you could feel his hardened member as it pressed against you.

you moaned into the kiss, trying to say his name. he tugged on your bottom lip, finally departing from your lips. your eyes watery, face feeling hot all over. your dazed gaze finding jaehyun’s lustful one. jaehyun groans before sinking onto his knees. you knew where this was going, so you helped him.

you began taking off your shirt, bra, and unbuttoning your jeans, taking them off. just as you were about to take off your panties, his hands stopped you. “just open your legs for me,” he says, to which you obliged.

jaehyun gives you one last look before disappearing in between your legs. you felt his lips nip and kiss on your inner thighs, making sure to mark you up. his wet tongue licks your already soaked panties, moaning when he gets a small taste of you. a taste he has been dying to have for 5 years.

sliding your panties to the side he licks your cunt up once, getting a full taste of you now. jaehyun almost swears he’s addicted to you again. “how i’ve missed this taste,” he moans, meeting your eyes again before diving back inside you.

his tongue swipes up your slit one more time before using his two thumbs to spread your pussy lips apart. he lets his tongue intrude inside your entrance, sliding against your gummy walls. you moaned rather loudly at the intrusion, tightening around his tongue. jaehyun could feel as your walls throbbed around his tongue, his cock hardening at the thought of how your cunt would feel wrapped nicely around him. jaehyun cursed himself, finding himself too impatient.

you began chanting his name, crying it out with every fucking of his tongue. he found your voice so sweet, so beautiful like a song he could hear on repeat and never get tired of. your fingers grabbed onto his soft locks of hair, grinding yourself on his face. your clit rubbing against his nose, you felt yourself reaching your end already. jaehyun knew you far too well too, knowing you were reaching your end as well. so he grips onto your thighs, fucking his tongue quicker and when he feels your walls clench around him he pulls his tongue out.

you were left on edge, whining at the loss of sensation of not being able to cum. jaehyun didn’t look up, busying himself with kitty licking your cunt. he kissed your sensitive clit, once, twice, three times. so lost you failed to notice his two digits that already worked their way along your slit.

“j-jaehyun?” you asked hazily, looking down at the male as he already stared straight at you. “wha- oh my god!” you moaned out the last part when you felt his two digits plunge inside your soaking cunt. the squelching sound echoing in the doorway, you didn’t even worry about if your neighbors heard. you were far too focused on the way his fingers fucked inside you over and over so quickly. already sensitive from his tongue, you were close to cumming again.

“i-i’m gonna c-cum!” you breathlessly groaned, biting down on your lips so as to not shout again. jaehyun had no intention of leaving you on edge again, so he fucked his fingers into you faster and deeper. he attached his lips onto your clit, toying with it. he remembered how much you loved it when he would teasingly dote on your clit. jaehyun knew your body as if it were his first language.

you let out a gasp before you finally came all over his hand and face. you hadn’t cum like that in a while, your fingers only being able to pleasure you so much. jaehyun licked you up one more time before kissing your clit. he got up, holding your body up before you could fall onto the ground. your legs were giving up already.

he shoved his soaked fingers into your mouth, your tongue licking them clean. “you did so good, love. was always such a good girl for me,” he whispers. his way of words, too, always turned you on.

when you finally licked him clean, he removed his hand from your mouth. in a split second his demeanor changes, his eyes turning more gentle. “as much as i wanna be inside you, i don’t have a condom. so-” you interrupt him. “i-it’s alright jae, please just… i wanna feel you.”

your words too turned him on, in a matter of seconds his pants and boxers were off. his aching cock standing proud. “jump,” he tells you.

you jumped, legs wrapping around his waist. your back still against the wall. his cock rubbed along your soaking slit before his leaking tip plunged into your entrance. 

“fuck- you’re so tight, no one fucked this pretty pussy while i was gone?” he groans. you didn’t respond, already drunk stupidly on his cock that was snugly wrapped around your gummy walls. it had been too long since you’d taken anything like his.

your eyes widened when you felt a smack against your ass cheek. “i asked you a question, or are you too drunk already to answer,” he says in a rough tone.

“uh, ye-yes b-but they don’t c-compare to y-you!” you moaned loudly when you felt him thrust into you rougher, deeper.

jaehyun was always the jealous type when it came to you, you were his and his alone is what he thought. in his world, no one was allowed to have you, it was the one thing he regretted when you two broke up. he couldn’t fathom the fact that some filthy bastard would be able to lay his hands on you, someone as tasteful as you.

“no one could leave you satisfied, right love?” he asks you, to which you just repeatedly say no. his mouth forms into a smile before his lips find themselves on your shoulder. his lips kiss along them, traveling to your neck, and jaw before coming down to your tits.

he pecks one of your tits before wrapping his mouth around your nipple. he accidently bites on your nipple when he feels you clench around his cock. jaehyun mutters a small curse as he kisses his way to your other breast. it receives the same attention as the previous one, only that this time he doesn’t accidentally bite your nipple.

“such perfect tits… were always my favorite,” jaehyun mutters, kissing your tit before parting from it. “now then, are you ready?” he asks you.

“y-yes please fuck me, be rough like you used to,” you said desperately as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

jaehyun’s hands grip onto the bottom of your ass where he lifts you up slightly before plunging you back down on his cock, chucking at your choked out moan. you truly were the cutest, he loved you so very much.

he slides his cock in and out, out and in, of you. he groaned against your exposed neck as you repeatedly clenched around him. you couldn’t help it, jaehyun fucked you so deeper, cock reaching your womb with every thrust. it wouldn’t be long before you’d cum again.

crushing you to the wall, he secures you against it so he could maneuver one of his hands to your clit. he used his thumb to rub the poor thing, “cum, cum on my cock like the good old days love.”

and so you do, erupting around his cock that still fucked into you. you knew he wouldn’t stop until he came, so you waited, encouraging him with filthy words to get him worked up. it was doing the trick, you felt him twitch inside you.

“whe-where do you w-want me to cum?” he asks you, thrusting into you quickly, nearly at his release.

“in mmh-me!” you moaned, clenching around him. “a-are you sure?” he questions you.

“y-yes, i’ll buy a pill tomorrow– please, just please i wanna feel your warmth inside me~”

“fuck,” jaehyun curses, filling you up with his seeds. his lips crashing onto yours as you milked him of his cum.

he parts from the steamy kiss you two just shared to carry you to your bedroom. he still remember the layout of your apartment. jaehyun drops you on your bed, and you watch as he takes off his shirt, sneakily glancing at his still hardened member. your mouth is nearly drooling all the more.

“turn around, on your hands and knees love,” jaehyun says, watching as you obliged to his every word. he watched as you arched your back, ass sticking out nicely, leaking with his cum. he couldn’t resist smacking your ass, left and right roughly. you moaned against your bed comforter, clenching it tightly as you got smacked from behind. you feel his warm cum dripping down your thigh, you try clenching your entrance– jaehyun taking notice.

“how cute, trying to make sure it doesn’t slip out?” he teasingly says before jerking his cock, bringing it to your slit. he rubs against your juices and his cum before stretching your gummy walls once more. it was incomprehensible how tight you always were, just right for him– just made for him.

“how is it love? you always loved it when i took you from behind, didn’t you?” he continues to tease you. “i love it! i love your cock so much j-jae, so good~”

he gripped your hips tighter, tight enough to leave prints the next day. you felt as his tip touched your g-spot so clearly, reaching your womb with every thrust in. jaehyun watches as you begin to wiggle underneath, shaking your ass against him. he smirks, smacking your ass which jiggled from his touch.

a white ring formed around his cock, a mixture of you both. it oddly enough ignited him, fucking into you in rapid, deeper strokes. your tears and drool adorning the comforter. your tight walls hugging his cock tightly, and with one smack to your ass you came for a third time. you gushed all over his pelvis.

“good girl,” jaehyun mutters, continuing his ministrations before he too came once again. only this time he didn’t part from your pussy, fucking you in slow, gentle thrust.

by the time he finished, he laid on your bed. jaehyun was exhausted, and you were too but… you still had something up your sleeve. crawling to him you stopped on his side. “wh-what are you doin-” jaehyun gets interrupted mid-sentence when he feels your lips kiss his tip. he didn’t stop you, in fact he wanted you to continue.

you spit on his cock, jerking it as to spread your saliva along his shaft. your eyes traveling back to jaehyun who hungrily looked at you. going back to his cock you lower your head, opening your mouth so you could finally take him inside. you shoved his cock inside until the tip reached your throat, you gagged and groaned against his cock when you felt him twitch inside. staying like that for a while longer, trying to get accommodated. once you did, you started bobbing your head on his cock, using your tongue to lick along his shaft. never forgetting to tease his slit, something he loved.

you felt as one of his hands tugged on your hair, helping you to better move yourself on his cock. jaehyun was a mess, he felt blessed– praised the lords above. he tried thinking of the nastiest atrocities known to mankind as to not bust so quickly, but that proved to be an impossible task. i mean, how could he when you so beautifully wrapped your sweet mouth around his cock.

and so it wasn’t long before he came inside your mouth, your mouth feeling his warmth before swallowing it down. you now felt so full, unable to take anymore. jaehyun too, you milked him dry, taking all of him in you.

you crawled to him, laying beside him. he engulfs you into his embrace, kissing you so tenderly. you two were exhausted but for what it was worth, it wasn’t regretful. his hand strokes your back, playing with your hair. it was peaceful, so peaceful that you secretly wished for your days to be like this. you were almost lulled to sleep by jaehyun before you opened your eyes when he whispered into the quiet room.

“we’re unconditionally timeless, and so is our love.”

far too exhausted to reply back, you just smile. you snuggled into his body, melting into him before you drifted off to dreamland. however, it wasn’t until you woke up the next day and felt the cold that you knew. 

jaehyun was gone, gone from your life once more. the intimate night you two shared last night, his parting gift.

there was no getting back together, no peaceful nights where the two of you lay in each other’s embrace. you cried and cried that entire morning, and silently prayed for a day where you two could reunite again. for fate to align you two again because after all…

jeong jaehyun was your first love and last love.

© jhdyuiee

2024. 11. 03

final a.n: AHHHHH, jae leaves tomorrow. i don’t know what to do guys, like my man is leaving for the next 2 years. like what do you mean my man who has served needs to serve more?! consider this story as my last jaehyun fic while he is still a free man, lol, and no this doesn’t mean i’ll stop writing abt him. instead, think of this as a new beginning (?) okay i think that’s enough… i’ma go now! i hope you all enjoyed this read (wrote it in one day, very proud of my dedication after all the chaos school has brought me) and i’ll be sure to upload lots this month! stay safe, may we jaehyun fans make it until may 2026!

p.s: the cover picture makes me go feral, i just had to include it!

[manicpixiedreamedwins]

Okay look— gently, I’m going to need people to stop dunking on Edwin for not “getting” how bad Charles’ home life was for a few reasons.

We see in episode two that Charles tells Edwin he doesn’t want to talk about dads. While this may seem small, I have to wonder how many little throw away conversations over the years they have had like this. In this moment we know what Charles’ dad was like because he told Crystal— but this conversation is all the insight we ever get into Edwin’s dad. They don’t talk about family because Charles shuts the conversation down. And Edwin stops, because he is trying to make Charles feel comfortable.

In the Devlin House Edwin starts to notice something is wrong, but Charles brushes Edwin’s observation aside. Once Charles is stuck in the loop though, Crystal is pretty firm with Edwin that he should have known this was because of Charles’ Dad- to be fair, she is probably stunned that they’ve never talked about any of it in thirty years. But the interactions tell us a lot.

So Edwin changes tactics. Clearly this is important somehow. He tries again when Charles is talking to him while he’s reading Monty’s astrology book…

Only he gets shut down again.

And then again. Edwin is trying to connect but he’s made a few unsuccessful attempts. (He does manage to talk to Charles after they solve The Case of the Two Dead Dragons, but that’s mostly because Charles decides he is ready to talk when Edwin reaches out).

It is not that Edwin doesn’t care or isn’t trying. It’s that Charles was not letting him in, which is completely understandable, and we all make choices about when we feel ready to talk about what happened to us and how much to share of it. I don’t actually think letting Charles lead the conversation was as bad as a lot of people are making it out to be, because pushing him to talk before he was ready also could have been a lot. But then they talk on Charles’ terms and Edwin manages to offer comfort a way he needs (although that is, admittedly, probably just scratching the surface).

Anyway, that’s my thought of the day and it was full of typos because sleepy

[starogeorgina]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader

Warnings: Smut, swearing, power imbalance, incest, cheating

1.01

Your fingers twitch as you approach the queen’s private quarters. It would be the first time you had been in it; since being brought to Dragonstone, you’d mainly remained in your own bedchamber, the sept, or Aegon's Garden. You weren’t allowed to wander the halls yourself, and you most definitely weren’t privy to the information being discussed during the council meetings.

“Princess,” Ser Erryk tilts his head slightly and opens the door, letting you inside.

You avoid the knights face; up until a few moons prior, Ser Erryk was one of the kingsguards sworn to keep you and your siblings safe; however, when your father died and Aegon was placed upon the throne, Ser Erryk left kings landing and fled to Dragonstone to swear his sword to the queen.

Walking further into the room, your eyes land on Rhaenyra; she was sitting hunched over at her desk, scowling at the scroll in her hand. You stare at her for a moment; her silver hair was unbraided and fallen waves swayed around her face, and she was wearing a light gray nightgown. It seems she was getting ready to retire for the night before deciding to summon you.

“Your grace.”

She lets out a frustrated sigh and drops the scroll. Rhaenyra shakes her head. “Meleys head was paraded through kings landing for all the small folk to see.”

“Oh.”

“It was on the order of Aegon’s council. The dowager queen and Aemond stood on the balconies of the red keep overlooking this... abomination.”

“I believe it is a half-truth, your grace.”

Scoffing, she finally turns to look at you. “I did not ask what you believed in.”

“Forgive me; I thought I may have some insight, but I overstepped.”

Her gaze is intense. “You’ll do well to remember you are my hostage.”

She was right; you were taken from kings landing against your own free will, yet Rhaenyra hadn’t been cruel to you once. You had been well fed and clothed, and not once had anyone spoken out of turn to you. She holds your stare for a moment before turning back to look at her desk.

“You look different,” you say, breaking the silence. “During the day you look at what I imagine Queen Visenya did, but here and now I’d say you resemble her younger sister, Rhaenys.”

It may have been an odd thing to say, but it was the truth; there was a stark contrast between how fierce she looks during the day and night. Sighing, Rhaenyra stands with her arms crossed. “The path I walk has never been trod. I must be sure I only seek counsel from those I can trust.”

“I’m no fool; I do not think you’ll trust me so easily, but I must say if you think me being a hostage would lure my husband here, then you are mistaken; Aemond cares only for his own ambitions.”

“You know the enemy well, and that makes you valuable.”

You feel your cheeks start to heat up and rub at the back of your neck, desperate for the conversation to change. “There are very few who would have the authority to order something as heinous as beheading a dragon. My mother wouldn’t have the stomach for it, and Aemond knows how special our dragons are; he practically worships his own.”

“What of Aegon?”

You stiffle a laugh. “Forgive me, tis not funny; it’s just Aegon’s thoughts go no further than whores and wine. Although his hand has no respect for our house's symbol, I suspect it was him.”

“So Otto was behind this.”

“No, your grace, my grandsire was sent away from court. Cristion Cole is his new hand.”

She looks genuinely shocked to hear that. Shaking her head, she starts to walk in the direction of her bed. “You may go and retire for the night. I will... we will speak more in the morrow.”

“For what it’s worth, I always thought you would have made a good queen.”

Rhaenyra abruptly stops walking; she stills for a few seconds then suddenly rushes over towards you, pulling you into her embrace. Her nose brushes against the side of your neck; her action has a certain sweetness to it. Unintentionally, your lips skim against her jawline, and you notice the way her breathing quickens, and you feel her heart racing faster in her chest.

“I accept you as my queen and ruler, Rhaenyra,” you mumble, moving to kiss her neck.

Her hand gently strokes the back of your hair, careful not to pull on your braids. Your own hand slowly moves from her back to her ribs, then up towards her breast. You momentarily stop to see if Rhaenyra slaps your hand away or tells you to stop, but she doesn’t; instead, the smallest whine leaves her mouth.

Still kissing her neck, your fingers trace over the delicate fabric covering her body, and you palm at her chest, enjoying hearing her moan. You lower the fabric of her nightgown enough for her breast to become exposed; her skin is soft beneath your fingers.

Your foreheads touch as she kisses you; her lips were soft and tasted of mint; no doubt she has drank tea recently.

Moving your mouth downwards, your teeth lightly graze her nipple, not enough to cause pain but enough to get a reaction. You swirl your tongue around her nipple before taking it into your mouth. Rhaenyra arches her back, “Oh gods.”

All you can focus on is giving her pleasure. Between licking and sucking, you say, “I want to make you feel good, my queen; I know how frustrated you must be.”

Before Rhaenyra can say anything back, there is a knock at the door, causing the two of you to jump apart. She fixes her nightgown, clears her throat, then calls out, “Come.”

Elinda enters the room with a smile on her face and a tray with fresh tea on it.

—

For weeks you wanted to interact with those on Dragonstone; let them know you played no part in your mother and brothers doings, but now standing across the table from Lord Corlys and Prince Jacaerys, you wished for nothing more than to hide in the privacy of your chamber.

Rhaenyra gives her son a knowing glance, and he eases up slightly.

In truth, you had been worried about how Rhaenyra would act towards you after what happened the night before. It had crossed your mind she would ignore you, but she had invited you to join them in the chamber of the painted table. It wasn’t quite a council meeting with only four of you, but it was a start to gaining her trust.

“My mother says Cole is now Aegon’s hand,” Jacaerys says sharply.

“Her grace is correct. My grandsire and Aegon had a falling out, and he made Criston his new hand.”

“What did they fall out about?”

“Jaehaerys death,” you look down at the table and pray no tears fall. The death of your nephew was devastating. “Or how his death was handled, I should say, my grandsire had Jaehaerys body paraded throughout kings landing for all to see and forced my mother and sister to go along with the body despite Aegon and Helaena saying they didn’t want that.”

Rhaenyra shakes her head and quietly says, “Helaena is innocent in all of this.”

“The gold cloak, Blood, said it was he and a rat catcher who... did what they did, but he didn’t know the man’s name, so Aegon had all the rat catchers hung, their bodies left to hand and rot in the street. My grandsire feared this would upset the order of things, and then Criston was made hand.”

“And how has Cole fared as a hand?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at Jacaerys questioning. "Well, as I was taken from the Sept the following day, I am unclear as to what has happened. But I imagine Aegon will be outnumbered. Cole will be working with Aemond.”

“And what happened at Rook’s rest,” Lord Corlys, is rawer than you expected. “Was there doing?”

“I could not say, but I think the only thing Aegon loves more than himself is Sunfyre; I don’t think he would knowingly risk his dragon's safety.”

The following hour is tough; the Prince and Lord ask you question after question; none of you could give a real answer to it. It was hard; they were both grieving, as was Rhaenyra, all because of your brother-husband's actions.

You finish the remaining wine in your glass and meet Rhaenyra’s gaze. “If I am to continue offering you information, I must be assured of one thing.”

Her eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “And what is that?”

“Helaena and her child, along with Daeron, are spared.”

Rhaenyra nods, so you keep your word and continue. “The Greens Council is a mess; it’s disorganized, and my mother is losing all control she had over my brothers.”

Jacaerys tilts his head to the side; he seems genuinely curious. “How so?”

“Aegon does not thank her for forcing him to be in the position he is in, and she blames Aemond for starting this war, and he disagrees.”

“Do you?”

Your fingers knot together; it was a difficult question to answer. “I think the war started the day my mother and grandsire began plotting to usurp the throne.”

“Thank you, princess,” Rhaenyra says before anything else has been asked. “That is all for today.”

—

“Thank you, Elinda; that is all for tonight.”

“Your grace,” the handmaiden picks up a tray with an empty bowl on it then leaves the queen's chambers.

After you were dismissed earlier, you were yet to see anyone else until you were summoned to the queen's chambers again. You were still confused about why she asked for you the first time, but you’d find out another day. Rhaenyra was already pacing back and forth, so this wasn’t a good time to ask. She was wearing a nightgown similar to the one the night before, except this one was a lighter shade.

“The cobblestones are strong, but you may still put a hole in them, yet.”

She briefly lets out a chuckle but continues to pace. You step forward and reach for her hands, stopping her from walking anymore. “Rhaenyra, what’s wrong?”

She chews on her bottom lip, looking deep in thought before answering. She smirks, “I’ve found myself frustrated again.”

She pulls you in for a kiss while walking backwards until her bum hits the edge of her bed. Rhaenyra sits back and brings the bottom of her nightgown to her hips and opens her legs, giving you access to her bare cunt.

Nothing else needs to be said.

You go down onto your knees and press a kiss to her damp curls. Your eyes locked with her as you spread her fold’s open with your fingers before licking her, savoring her sweet taste.

“Oh fuck,” Rhaenyra’s moans and puts her legs over your shoulders.

You continue teasing her with your tongue before moving your attention to her clit, which you begin to suck on. Rhaenyra’s fingers tangle into your hair, her tight grip causing your braids to fall out of place. Her thighs begin to shake around your head as she comes.

While she compares herself, you lean back on your heels and press your cheek to the inside of her thigh.

“I had no idea you would be so good at that.

You chuckle, “Do you want me to do it again?”

“If you wish it.”

[aangelinakii]

THE SCHOOL RUN.

— step-dad material.

summary : you're a single mother dating gotham's very own jason todd. here's a little insight into his relationship with your daughter <3

note : reader is fem and the child is a seven year old named tanya, also female :)

need me to pick up tanya today? x

you kept reading and re-reading jason's text, chest warm with adoration — or was that the fever?

after dropping off your daughter to school this morning, whilst at work you began to grow horrificly ill. judging by the clammy sweat running down your forehead, and the way your features sunk into your face, you were allowed to go home early.

but this meant not being able to pick up tanya; not in this condition, at least.

jason, the man you were dating, as he did every day, texted you a good morning, and asked if you wanted him to swing by after you got home from work.

super sick, just got a bad fever out of nowhere?? don't think you should come round, don't want to give you anything

but you should've known jason would find a way to handle things, to make your day easier. that's just the kind of guy he was.

after lingering on the text for a few moments, your fingers tapped away at the screen. that would be amazing, thank you jace 🩷

car, not bike, you quickly added.

as much as you loved impromptu motorcycle rides, arms wrapped around his waist, fingers able to trace the muscles in his stomach through the fabric of his shirt, it wasn't something you wanted your daughter to be doing. especially on her way back from school.

with a stuffy sigh, you clicked your phone off, screen going black, and reached over to place it down on the coffee table.

bed-ridden by your new ailment, you'd decided to set up post on the couch, just in the middle of it all — kitchen right there, toilet next door, tv and all the netflix movies at the click of a button. tanya had a few fuzzy disney-themed blankets, which you'd bundled up in.

apparently it's best to sweat out a fever, no matter how excruciating it is.

if you weren't already sick, the thought of your child having to be returned home by the hand of another would send you trembling. you trusted jason — more than anything, you did — but, as a mother, there was always that fear in the back of your mind that something could happen. she was only seven, but you'd have to let her go eventually. best to start weaning off it now.

by the time you'd decided on a meaningless show to play as you drift off asleep, the lock on the other side of the door began to jiggle momentarily before creaking open, and you pushed yourself up to peer over the back of the sofa.

out of the shadows of the hallway, your two little bundles of joy shuffled into the apartment, tanya coming through first.

immediately, as soon as she spotted your lazy smile, tanya's face brightened, and she came bounding towards you.

"mama!" her cheerful voice chimed through the flat as she shrugged off her backpack, discarding it on the floor on her way to the couch.

from behind, jason, metres above her, gave a soft, undisguisable smile as he watched her, placing the chain of the key you'd given him on the empty coat hook beside the door. he was sure to kick off his shoes before treading into the rest of the flat, steps soft despite his size.

as he approached, he leaned down for a moment to pick up tanya's bag by one of the straps, the sheer size of it smaller than both of his hands put together.

reaching over the back of the couch, you held your hand out for your daughter to take. "mama's sick, so i don't want you getting too close, okay?" if the words weren't enough, tanya's nose scrunched up at the hoarseness of your voice, causing you to chuckle. "how was school today?"

"school was fun!" tanya's high-pitched voice squeaked as she ran around the couch to sit next to you (and to probably change the channel to cartoon network, or whatever it is she likes to watch nowadays). conversations were always fun with her; not too commital.

while she wasn't looking, jason stepped toward you and smoothed a hand over your hair, before pressing a soft, silent kiss to it — the only part of you not covered in a slick layer of sweat.

"and how are you, handsome?" you hummed, grinning up at him as he placed tanya's pink rucksack on the cushion beside you.

tanya shot the two of you a grimace as she bounced onto the couch, kicking off her school shoes. but as soon as you willingly handed her the remote, her expression brightened, and she was quick to change the channel.

"just glad to see my two favourite ladies," jason replied, smiling at you charmingly all the while. the smile you fell for, and just seem to keep tripping over. and then he focused on the telly, as it switched over to a kids' show. "what you watching, tan?"

barely sparing him a glance, tanya sunk back into the pillows of the sofa, absently tugging one of her princess blankets from your body to pull over her lap. "my little pony. twilight's brother is getting married, but his wife is actually queen chrysalis, and his real wife was kidnapped! it's my favourite one i've seen."

jutting out his bottom lip and nodding, impressed, jason gave a soft gasp. "sounds interesting. what happens in the end? does twilight's brother get married to the one he truly loves?"

maybe it's the fever-induced hallucinations, but you swear you saw him glance at you when he said that; but it was gone as soon as it came.

"of course he does!" tanya grins, finally able to pull herself away from the screen to look up at him. "that's why it's my favourite; because they love each other like you and mama do."

[midnighvtm4ss]

Omg i absolutely loved rosemary!!! Also the fact it’s based on a Sierra Ferrell song is amazing. That brings me to my request to maybe an Arthur fic based on her song “I Could Drive You Crazy” 🤭🤭🤭 I feel like that song is so Arthur and his darling girl coded

I COULD DRIVE YOU CRAZY

cw: fluff, hunting, pre-canon, two idiots in love, arthur is crushing so hard it’s actually embarrassing

wc: 3,3k

a/n: the way I SCREAMED when I saw your request anon !! i loove Sierra Ferrell she’s one of the few artists i have constantly on repeat. Sorry I took my sweet time replying but I had to make this piece good. This is a little insight on Arthur and his darling girl pre-relationship dynamic ! Thank you for requesting and I hope you like it <3

The late noon sun bathed the camp in a cold, bright light, casting the long shadows of the nearby douglas fir trees stretching all around you as it began its slow but steady descent behind the rolling hills of the Tall Trees region as afternoon approached. The smell of woodsmoke and simmering stew filled the air, mixing with the earthy scent of pine and the faint aroma of freshly turned earth. You stood beside Pearson, by the cooking wagon. Your hands busy chopping vegetables while the man stirred the stew pot, his gruff voice occasionally muttering to himself as he adjusted the few seasonings Miss Grimshaw desperately requested to add into his infamous venison stew. Abigail stood nearby, cleaning the dishes used in the morning. Her laughter light as she shared stories about young Jack with you.

“Jack’s been askin’ after you,” Abigail said with a fond smile. “Ever since he learned how to say your name he’s been saying it non stop. Makes me miss the time when the only things he could say was ‘mama’ and random bubbling noises”

“He’s a sweet kid,”

“Yes, and a spoiled one too. No matter how much I try, he refuses to go to sleep until he hears your voice telling him a goodnight story”

You chuckled, feeling a warmth in your chest at the thought of the boy’s eager face. “I’ll have to think up a good one for him tonight, then.”

The sound of approaching hoofbeats drew your attention away from the conversation. You glanced up just in time to see the men returning from their latest job. Dust and sweat clung to them, their faces weary but carrying the unmistakable look of men who had just succeeded at their mission. Among them, a particular figure caught your eyes. Arthur Morgan dismounted with practiced ease, his broad shoulders slumped slightly by the fatigue of the day’s event. Even from a distance, his presence was commanding, a strong aura following him as he led a tired Boadicea toward the hitching post.

Even from a distance, there was something about Arthur that drew your eye—his quiet strength, the way he moved with precise purpose, his steady presence that always seemed to bring a sense of security to the camp. You watched as he handled the reins, hitching Boadicea and patting her dark brown mane, undoubtedly praising her for a job well done.

Was it possible to be jealous of a horse ?

His gaze briefly scanned the camp before it landed on you. For a fleeting moment, your eyes met, and you felt a flutter in your chest. You quickly returned your attention to a particular interesting piece of tomato you had cut, wishing for your burning cheeks to calm.

“Mister Morgan!” Pearson’s booming voice cut through the air, making you wish the earth would swallow you whole. “We’re runnin’ low on meat. Reckon we’ll last two more days with what little I have.” Pearson’s voice lowering to a more quiet tone as Arthur inched closer to the wagon. “Can you head out and bring somethin’ back before it gets dark?”

Arthur looked over at the stew pot, his face churning with an unreadable expression, then back to Pearson with a nod. “Sure, Pearson. I’ll head out now.”

As he turned to leave, something inside you stirred. You weren’t sure if it was the desire to escape the mundane tasks of camp, to immerse yourself in the unknown beauty of the wilderness or, more than that, the desire for a chance to spend time with Arthur, to learn from him, to be close to him. Nonetheless, before you could second guess your action you placed down your knife, stepping forward, the words hurriedly leaving your lips as in fear you might stop them if they took a second longer to pronounce.

“Mister Morgan,” you called out, your voice a little hesitant. “May I come with you?”

He paused, turning to face you fully. A faint hint of surprise washed over his face. His aqua eyes, always so full of depth and intensity, softened slightly as he considered your request. “You sure ‘bout that? Huntin’ ain’t exactly a walk in the woods.”

“I’d like to learn,” you insisted, your heart beating faster as you met his gaze under his worn gambler’s hat. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a gesture that seemed almost shy. He nodded. “Alright, then. Let’s get goin’.”

It took an immeasurable amount of strength to refrain yourself from smiling brightly at the man in front of you. You promptly returned to your cutting station, untying your apron in quick movements. Abigail came closer to you, taking the apron from your hands and putting it on ready to replace you in your work. As you two locked eyes, a knowing smile adorned the brunette’s face, making you flush.

Your steps were quick as you followed Arthur to the hitching post, your Hungarian half-bred just a few feet away from Boadicea. You gently pat her, giving her a stalk of celery you stole from Pearson. Circling around to tighten the strap of your saddle you felt the heavy gaze of the outlaw follow your every move. His muscular form already mounted on his horse. You mounted your horse, not wanting to trouble Arthur and make him reconsider his decision. He cleared his throat before speaking,

“We’ll go through the woods on the left near the lake,” he stated, tutting at his horse to move forward “Mac told me he found a few deer tracks down there.”

You simply nodded, not trusting your voice to give away your feelings.

The air was cooler than the already crisp air in camp. Beneath the canopy of trees, the sun’s rays filtering through the needles of the pine trees in dappled patterns on the forest floor. The smell of pine and earth was much stronger here, mingling with the fresh scent of moss and the faint musk of animals that had passed through earlier. Arthur led the way, silent and sure, while you followed close behind, too occupied by taking in the view to initiate a conversation.

Passing through a particularly steep path Arthur signaled you to stop. He hopped down from his horse, walking a few feet forward before stopping. You copied his action. The ground beneath your boots was soft, a carpet of moss and pine needles that muted your footsteps.

“First rule of huntin’,” Arthur began, his voice low and steady as he crouched down to examine a set of tracks in the soft dirt, “is patience. Animals can sense when somethin’ ain’t right, so you gotta move slow and stay quiet.”

You nodded, kneeling beside him as you peered at the tracks. They were faint, just a few indentations in the earth, but Arthur pointed them out to you with practiced ease. The proximity of him, the way his voice dropped down on to a near whisper, sent a thrill through you that had little to do with the hunt and everything to do with the outlaw beside you.

“There,” he said, his hand brushing against yours as he pointed. “That’s a deer track. See how the hooves dig in? Means it was here not too long ago. We follow these, and we might just catch up to it.”

His touch was fleeting, but it left a warmth on your skin that lingered long after he pulled his hand away. You nodded again, trying to focus on the task at hand, reprimanding your mind for wandering to such thoughts. But it was difficult with Arthur so close, his presence almost overwhelming in its quiet intensity.

Together, you moved through the woods, following the tracks with Arthur’s guidance. You moved in silence. The woods offered you the calm noises of the rustling of leaves, the distant call of a bird, and the soft crunch of your boots on the forest floor. Every now and then, Arthur would pause, his head tilting slightly as he listened for any signs of movement, his sharp eyes scanning the space surrounding you.

Finally, after what felt like hours to you but was probably only a few minutes, you spotted the deer—a lone buck grazing in a small clearing, its head down, completely unaware of your presence. Arthur’s hand came up in front of you, motioning you to stop and you both knelt down behind a fallen mossy log, using it for cover.

He handed you his rifle, his hands steady as they helped you position it against your shoulder. His touch on you gentle, guiding you with the same care and precision he used in everything he did. You could feel his breath on your neck, making the small hairs on your nape stand up. The brim of his hat grazing your hair as the heat of his body so close to yours made your heart beat so violently that you were sure Arthur could hear it.

“Alright,” Arthur whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in even close. “Here’s where it gets tricky. You gotta stay calm, keep your breathin’ steady, and line up your shot. Don’t rush it. As long as we don’t make a sound the deer will be there. Let the moment come to you.”

“Steady now,” Arthur murmured, his voice low and soothing. You took a deep breath, the crisp air filling your lungs. “Just like that. Breathe in… and out. Always pull the trigger on empty lungs”

You tried to focus, tried to steady your breath as he instructed, but the closeness of him, the deep rumble of his voice in your ear, made it difficult to concentrate. You aimed at the deer, your finger brushing the trigger, but your hands were trembling ever so slightly.

“Breathe,” Arthur reminded you, his hand coming to rest lightly on your shoulder grounding you, steadying you from the imminent recoil of the rifle. “You’ve got this.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your chest, and then you squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, echoing through the trees.

A second passed where it was deadly silent, you opened your eyes to check on your target but your aim had been off. The bullet whizzed past the deer, embedding itself in the trunk of a nearby tree. The deer’s head shot up, and in an instant, it bolted, disappearing into the underbrush before you even had time to lower the rifle.

Your shoulders slumped in disappointment, and you let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry, Mister Morgan,” you muttered, gloomily handing the rifle back to him.

But Arthur wasn’t upset. Instead, he gave you a reassuring smile, his eyes warm as he shook his head with a strange myrth. “Don’t be sorry. You did good for your first try. Takes time to get the hang of it. Deer’s easy to track but a damn tricky target, especially when you’re just startin’ out.”

His words were kind, but you couldn’t help the sense of failure that settled in your chest. You had wanted to impress him, to show him that you could be just as capable as any of the men in the gang, but instead, you had let the moment slip away making a fool of yourself in front of him. You lowered your gaze to your lap, playing with a stray cotton strand of your blouse.

“Come on,” Arthur said, standing and offering you his hand. “Let’s see if we can track somethin’ else. We’ve still got some daylight left.”

You took his hand, feeling the roughness of his warm calloused palm against yours as he pulled you to your feet. The warmth of his touch, the easy way he smiled at you, made it hard to stay upset for long. There was something about Arthur—something steady and reassuring—that made you feel like everything was going to be alright, even when things didn’t go as planned.

You dusted off your skirt, it definitely wasn’t the best clothing choice for hunting but you had little to no time changing into a more comfortable outfit. You thanked whoever was above that this week wasn’t your turn to wash the camp’s clothes. Karen sure had a great load of work ahead of her.

The two of you mounted back up on your horses and continued deeper into the forest, the trees growing denser as the light began to fade. Arthur was patient, showing you how to look for signs of wildlife, teaching you how to move quietly through the underbrush without making yourself known to the animals you were tracking. His calm demeanor, his quiet confidence, made you feel more at ease, and slowly, you found yourself relaxing into the rhythm of the hunt.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting the forest in a soft, amber glow, you spotted something moving in the distance—a wild boar, its dark shape partially hidden by the underbrush as it ate the roots of a bush near a fallen log. You felt a surge of excitement, your heart beating faster as you pointed it out to Arthur.

“There,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you hopped down from your horse. “There’s a boar!”

Arthur followed you down his horse. His eyes followed your gaze as he nodded, his gaze narrowing as he assessed the situation. “That’s a good target. Boar’s got tough skin, but he’s not too fast. You ready to give it another try?”

You nodded, your grip tightening on the rifle as Arthur handed it to you once more. This time, you felt more confident, more focused. Arthur had shown you what to do, had taught you how to read the signs, how to stay calm and patient. You could do this. You needed to do this.

You crouched down behind a bush making sure you had a clear view of the target. Arthur stayed close, his presence a steadying force as you lined up your shot. “Remember,” he said softly, his voice just above a whisper, “breathe slowly, keep your hands steady, and don’t rush it. You’ve got this.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill your lungs as you focused on the boar. It was still rooting around, completely unaware of you and Arthur watching from the shadows. You steadied the rifle, your finger brushing the trigger, and then, with a calmness you hadn’t felt before, you squeezed.

The shot rang out, sharp and clear in the evening air. This time, your aim was true. The boar let out a sharp squeal, its body jerking as the bullet hit its mark. It staggered for a moment, and then it collapsed, its movements ceasing as it fell to the ground.

For a moment, you just stood there, staring in disbelief. You had done it. You had actually done it.

“I did it,” you whispered, a smile slowly spreading across your face as the realization sank in. “Arthur, I did it!” you said turning to face Arthur. You couldn’t believe yourself. You actually hunted down some game. A laughter came up to you, heartily and genuine.

Arthur’s face lit up with a grin, his eyes shining with pride as he clapped you on the back. “Good girl. Nice work. That’s some fine shootin’.”

His praise warmed you more than the fading sunlight ever could, and you felt a surge of joy and accomplishment. But it wasn’t just about the hunt—it was about the way Arthur was looking at you now, with a gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, as if he was seeing you in a new light.

The two of you approached the poor boar, and Arthur knelt beside it, inspecting your handiwork with a nod of approval. “Perfect shot,” he said, glancing up at you from under his hat with a smile. “Damn, you’re a natural.”

Your heart swelled with pride at his words, and you couldn’t help but brightly beam at him, feeling a warmth in your chest that had little to do with the successful hunt and everything to do with the man beside you.

As Arthur worked skinning the animal and preparing the boar to transport it back to camp, you found yourself stealing glances at him. Although he was now covered in blood you couldn’t help but find him even more attractive. You watched the way the fading light played across his features, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw, the curve of his plump lips, the intensity in his eyes that seemed to soften whenever he looked your way. There was something different about the way he was acting around you now, a quiet affection in his gaze, a tenderness in his touch that hadn’t been there before.

Once the boar was ready, the two of you began to head back to camp, the weight of the animal stowed on the back of Boadicea as you carried its pelt. The forest was quiet now, the sun nearly gone, leaving the trees bathed in the soft, dusky indigo light of twilight. As you rode, side by side, you could feel the connection between you and Arthur growing stronger with each step, an unspoken bond that neither of you had to put into words growing evermore.

“Thank you for teaching me, Mister Morgan” you said softly, stopping your horse just a few feet away as the camp came into view, the warm glow of the firelight welcoming you back. The distance giving you both one last moment of privacy. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I didn’t think I’d be any good at it.”

Arthur glanced over at you, his expression thoughtful. “You don’t need to be so formal with me now, you can call me Arthur,” he started. “Besides, you’ve got a good eye,” he said, his voice sincere. “And you listen, which is more than I can say for most people in this godforsaken gang. You did real good out there.”

The praise made your cheeks warm, and you ducked your head slightly, feeling a little shy under his gaze. “I had a good teacher.”

Arthur shook his head at that, hiding his face under the brim of his hat as he mumbled to himself something you didn’t quite catch.

“Maybe we’ll do this again sometime,” he said, his tone casual but with an underlying amusement that betrayed his carefree tone

“I’d like that,” you replied, your voice soft as the two of you approached camp, the sounds of the gang's usual chatter welcoming you back. “I’d like that a lot.”

As you helped Arthur carry the boar to Pearson, who greeted you with his usual gruffness but a nod of approval, you couldn’t help but feel that something had changed between you and Arthur. There was a new understanding, a deeper connection, something that went beyond the simple companionship you had shared before when you occasionally chatted while you worked on the camp’s chores.

As the evening wore on and the camp settled into its usual rhythm, you found yourself glancing over at Arthur, who was seated by the campfire, his gaze occasionally drifting your way. And each time your eyes met, there was a spark—a shared smile, a lingering look—that hinted at something more.

And in that moment, you knew that this was just the beginning. The beginning of something special, something that neither of you could quite put into words, but that you both felt growing with every passing moment you spent together.

[harunayuuka2060]

Lucas: YOU DID WHAT?!!!

MC: You're making my ears bleed, Sir Lucas. *chuckles*

Lucas: *the sound of him facepalming*

Lucas: Listen here, Your Majesty. Yes, you're incognito. But please, for the love of Arendelle,

Lucas: DON'T JUST ACCEPT STRANGERS IN THE PLACE YOU'RE STAYING AT!

MC: *chuckles*

Lucas: *sigh* You're not listening to me. Of course, why would you? You're the reigning monarch.

MC: Please don't say that. Your insights have always been helpful.

Lucas: Hmph.

MC: Turning to another matter, I would be interested to learn more about my little brother—ah, my apologies, I mean the prince regent.

Lucas: He's been managing the state affairs seriously, Your Majesty.

MC: Ah, I see. That explains why he hasn't had a moment to return my call.

Lucas: No, that's not the reason at all. He misses you so much, yet he doesn't want to hear your voice because it will only make him miss you more.

Lucas: *sighs* I feel bad for His Royal Highness for having an older sibling who won't stay at home.

MC: *chuckles* My apologies.

Riddle: ...

Trey and Cater: ...

Riddle: I've received word from the headmage that half of our students wish to change dormitories.

Cater: Wow... That many?

Riddle: It seems they felt compelled to comply with the Queen of Hearts' rules. HOW INEPT OF THEM!

Trey: *is not really surprised*

Cater: So, what are you going to do now, Riddle-kun?

Riddle: ...

Riddle: I have no comment on this matter. If they wish to depart, they are free to do so. However, they should not expect me to welcome them back once they realize the missed opportunity.

Trey and Cater: ...

Riddle: *is on his way to class when he hears the students passing by*

Student A: We should ask the headmage to designate Ramshackle Dorm as an official residence, thereby appointing MC-senpai as a dorm leader.

Student B: Do you think he'll agree?

Student A: He doesn't really have a choice. Half of the Heartslabyul students have nowhere to go, and it would be difficult for us to adapt if we're to be accepted by other dorms.

Student B: Guess you're right.

Riddle: ...

Trey: The headmage denied the students' request to formalize Ramshackle Dorm as an official residence.

Riddle: Huh? Why? What's the reason?

Trey: He said that MC proposed an alternate solution.

Trey: Which is to send the students back to Heartslabyul.

Riddle: HUH?!!

Trey: They believed it was merely a misunderstanding and that things could still be resolved. They even mentioned their willingness to engage in a conversation with you to uncover the cause.

Riddle: ARE THEY IMPLYING THAT I'M THE PROBLEM?!

Trey: I don't think that's that...

Trey: They've already talked to our students and they just want to hear your side.

Riddle: ...

Riddle: Very well. I will send them a formal invitation to Heartslabyul.

Trey: ...

Trey: Just a fair warning. Riddle can be hot-headed sometimes.

Trey: Are you sure you really want to talk to him?

MC: Yes. He seems to be a diligent and competitive leader.

MC: I will enjoy talking to him. *smiles*

Trey: ...

Trey: *sigh* Well, I warned you.