#just trying to have conversations with others!

[inkedinshadows]

The Value of Love

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

A/N: Thank you @batboyslutt for this request! I had so many different ideas for it, but unfortunately I could choose only one. I hope you enjoy it! 🫶🏻 and sorry for posting it later than usual, but I'm writing these day by day

Prompts: "We shouldn't be doing this. This is wrong." + "Why can't you just admit the truth?" + angst + smut + forbidden romance because of Rhys

Warnings: smut, p in v, creampie, bit of miscommunication, arguments

Word count: 1.5k

Azriel’s kisses grew more insistent as his mouth trailed down to your neck, nipping at the soft skin there. Your eyes were closed, your hands tangled in his hair, sliding down his back, holding onto him like you never wanted to let go.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he mumbled against your skin, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even lift his head from the crook of your neck. “This is wrong.”

So he’d said—multiple times already.

You rolled your eyes. “Azriel,” you groaned. You cupped his cheeks and forced him to meet your gaze. “If you say that one more time while you’re balls-deep inside me, I am going to leave. Is that clear?”

Azriel’s hips faltered mid-thrust, then stilled, though he didn’t pull out. His breath was ragged, his eyes wide, his hair thoroughly mussed from your fingers running through it.

For a moment, you just stared at each other.

It was an argument you’d had more than once before, and you knew this wouldn’t be the last time. But for him to bring it up during sex? That, you would not stand for.

Azriel closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He lowered his head to rest his forehead on your chest, his breath warm against your flushed skin. “I’m sorry, princess.”

You sighed. Careful not to brush against his slumped wings, you wrapped your arms around him and tugged him closer.

“Let’s not talk about this right now,” you murmured. These were some of the last few moments you’d have together before he left for the continent, and you had no intention of wasting them on the same old conversation. “I think we were in the middle of something.”

Azriel lifted his head to look at you, gratitude flickering in his gaze before a smirk bloomed on his beautiful face. “Yes, we were.”

He rolled his hips once, driving himself deeper inside you, and you gasped softly. From there, it was easy to forget the last couple of minutes and focus on nothing but each other.

Azriel resumed his movements, thrusting into you with slow, deep strokes that drew groans from both of you. Each sound was swallowed by a kiss—lips and tongues eager to meet, hands wandering across hard planes and soft curves. Your bodies moved together as if they were made for this, as if you and he were the only beings in the whole world and nothing else mattered.

Pleasure coiled tight in your core, ready to snap with each deliberate thrust. A whispered plea was all Azriel needed to pick up the pace. He brushed his lips up your jaw to your ear, murmuring quiet encouragements and tender words that made your heart swell.

With a breathy moan, you squirmed beneath him, fingers digging into the muscles of his arms as pleasure overwhelmed you. Azriel was close behind you, your release tipping him over the edge as well. He rocked his hips a few more times before spilling himself inside you, holding himself there for a moment, panting against your ear as you both slowly came down from your high.

You turned your head to capture his lips in another kiss, trying to convey everything you felt for him through that simple gesture—the affection, the desire, the emotions you still hadn’t voiced aloud.

Azriel kissed you back, pressing you into the mattress before rolling onto his side. He opened his arms, and you immediately snuggled closer, curling up against his chest. He kissed the top of your head, and for a few moments, you simply lay there, basking in the quiet afterglow.

But as the minutes ticked by and the lingering passion faded, his words crept back into your mind. You tried to push them away, to focus on the steady rise and fall of his chest and the lazy strokes of his hand along your back, but they refused to leave.

You hesitated briefly before speaking, your voice quiet. “Why can’t you just admit the truth?”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s just…” You searched for the right words, trying not to sound too confrontational. “You always say you don’t want my brother to know because he’s very protective of me, but I think there’s more to it.”

Azriel hummed, seemingly unconvinced. “And what do you think it is, then?”

“I think you’re scared,” you admitted. “Scared of how he’d react if he found out. That he’d tell you you don’t deserve to be with me and that I should find someone else.”

His hand stilled where it had been tracing slow circles on your hip. His expression was unreadable, his golden-brown eyes fixed on you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he pulled away. Sitting up against the headboard, his wings stretched wide behind him, casting shadows over the sheets.

“That’s not what this is about,” he said. His voice was firm, but his gaze didn’t meet yours.

You pushed yourself up as well, keeping your eyes on him. You had thought about this for a long time now—how your brother would react if he knew about your relationship. You weren’t naive. You knew Rhys would be furious at first. But you also knew he would come around and realize that his little sister was grown, that he couldn’t keep males away from her forever. That she could choose for herself who to love.

“Az,” you called, taking his hand in yours. You waited until he finally looked at you again before you continued. “I know telling him might seem terrifying, but Rhys would be happy to know it’s you. You’re his best friend, and I’m his sister. If we make each other happy, why would he be against it?”

Azriel shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

That excuse again. It’s not that simple. You make it sound so easy. You don’t understand. He wouldn’t understand. Always the same words, but never a real answer.

And you were growing tired of it.

Frustration flared hot in your chest as you pulled your hand back.

“Then explain it to me,” you demanded. Your tone was sharper than intended, but you didn’t particularly care anymore. “Because from where I’m standing, the only other explanation is that you value Rhysand’s friendship more than… whatever this thing between us is.”

Azriel’s brow knitted together, his expression torn between confusion and disbelief. “You know what this is, princess. You know I love you.”

“So you’ve said.”

The words hung heavy in the air. You saw the flicker of hurt in his hazel eyes, and your chest ached in response. But you didn’t take it back. You couldn’t.

“What is that supposed to mean?” His voice was quieter now, cautious.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze and push the words out. “It means that saying the words isn’t enough. You have to show me. And right now, you’re not doing a great job.”

Azriel inhaled sharply, as if stung. “At least I love you.”

The moment the words left his lips, regret flashed across his face. But it was too late.

They landed like a blade to the chest, slicing through the last thread of your patience.

“Y/N, I—”

You batted away the hand he reached toward you and instead got up to collect the clothes scattered on the floor.

“I do love you, Azriel,” you said, voice tight as you yanked your underwear back on. “But do you want to know why I never told you?”

He looked startled by your declaration at first, but he quickly nodded when he realized you were waiting for an answer.

“Because I didn’t want to get hurt,” you admitted, fingers swiftly buttoning up your shirt. "Because you want to keep this a secret, while I think that what we have is worth so much more than just a few stolen moments in the dark.” You slipped into your trousers, your eyes still on him. “Because I’m tired of hiding from my friends and family just because you’re scared of how my brother might react.”

Azriel said nothing. His jaw was tense, his gaze locked onto the crumpled blankets, refusing to meet your gaze.

Despite the ache in your heart, you stepped back toward the door.

“I won’t hide anymore,” you went on. “Not when it makes you miserable, but you refuse to change it. It's making me miserable too.” You let out a deep breath. “You have to make a choice, Azriel. But if you really love me like you say you do… then it should be an easy one.”

Your fingers curled around the doorknob. Still, he didn’t look at you—didn’t try to talk you out of it, to convince you to stay, to stop you from leaving.

Your blood boiled in your veins.

“Good luck on your mission,” you spat, slamming the door behind you.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug Like Angel

Lonesome Love

You're about a year old when you're dropped off at the manor by your mother, along with your birth certificate and important papers.

She never truly cared for you, so she just left. She couldn't care if she wanted to, she could barely afford you. You sometimes wonder how life would've been if she stayed and cared and hadn't dropped you off at your father's.

Bruce didn't believe he was your actual father, he thought it was someone trying to get money from him.

After some DNA tests, it was confirmed. You were his kid.

Ever since you were little, like most babies, you needed attention.

Unfortunately in a household like this, you believe you won't ever get what you want.

Your father, Bruce Wayne, never had time for you. Always on a mission.

You would try and come up to him and talk to him and try and get him to do stuff with you, like listening to music or anything, you wouldn't mind doing anything as long as it was with your father.

You tried to read fancy newspapers you didn't understand infront of Bruce to get his attention and make yourself look smarter than you are.

All he does is walk away

Tagging along behind him was Richard "Dick" Grayson. Who was supposed to be like an older brother to you.

You would always go up to him and show off, trying to look cool to him or talk to him in general.

It never really worked.

You joined gymnastics when you were 6 in the hopes of getting Dick to talk to you.

All he does is give you a "Good job birdie!" with a ruffle of your hair which you won't complain about since that's the most he's paid attention to you since you got here.

Alfred was the only one you saw and had actual conversations with. He wasn't around as often as he would like to, but he tried his best..!

You would try and join him in baking only for you to mess it up. You thought he would shoo you away but he taught you how to do it well! He wasn't always with you though, he had to go and help your father on his missions.

You feel like you shouldn't complain about the little to no amount of love. You could technically buy anything you wish for You can afford anything you want!

All the fancy clothes and all the toys you wanted! Even your room was huge!You try and stay positive through everything, everything gonna be fine.

When you were 7 years old, Jason Todd was brought into the manor.

You half expected him to brush you off like Dick and Bruce, but to your surprise, he interacted with you!

Despite the 4-year age difference, he and you were inseparable.

He read to you every night, he listened to whatever you said, even if it didn't make sense, he would play whatever with you, and he would even take you out for walks!

He told you all about his school and despite some of the complaints he had, you wanted to go to a real school so badly!

You wanted friends! You wanted to talk to others! After being homeschooled your whole life, you begged your father to please let you go to public school.

...He said no.

You were so sad! why won't he just let you go? After months and months of begging, he finally let you go to private school!

The uniform was itchy and stupid-looking and the people there were kinda rude but still! School!!

After a week or two, you were extremely popular due to your bubbly personality and your being a social butterfly!

You had so many friends, everyone at school liked you being high energy! You loved your elementary school! You were pretty smart too, you had passing grades without even trying! Even if it technically is just an addition...

You were popular with students and teachers! Everyone wanted to play tag with you and race you to the swings and hang on the monkey bars with you and-

Everything was just perfect!

Until it wasn't.

You were 9 when Jason Todd was killed by the Joker.

You sobbed when you realized he wasn't coming back. You hated the Joker. You couldn't understand why.

Why would he do that?whywhywhywhywhyehywhywhywhywhywhywhywh

You don't have anyone to help you. Sure your friends at school exist but they wouldn't understand, you're all children, and most of them have gone through similar things. They wouldnt care.

You cried and threw up so many times.

You just wanted your brother back.

You wanted him to read you a story one more time. To talk to you one more time. To play with him one more time. To see him one more time. justonemoretimepleasepleasepleaseplease

You stopped going to school for a while to mourn. It was 3 weeks before you came back.

▪︎▪︎You were 11 years old when a new robin was introduced

Tim Drake

You tried to talk to him, you did! It's just that he looked so mad whenever you tried to talk to him like you were interrupting even while just existing.

So you stopped. He made you so mad, what made him think he could just take over Jason's legacy?!

You both avoided each other like the plague. There isn't much to be said, other than how you wish you guys could get along.

You're 12 when Jason's back. He's now also avoiding you. You don't understand why. You guys were so close, what happened?

You didn't understand, you've tried so hard for all of them, so why couldn't they just see you for once?

You're done.

You can't do this anymore.

They took Damian in with open arms. Dick got close to him immediately. It feels like everywhere you look they're all together, as a family. You're so sad. You're so mad. You're so tired.

They never cared for you. You tried so hard for them. Perfect grades, multiple hobbies you hate besides one, but it's the one thing you can't get done correctly. Electric guitar.

You're done.

hi guys its me again this is highkey buns but like idk

idk when the next chapter is cominf out isigh BUTBUTBUT im still getting used to this so hi

[gf2bellamy]

queen why do i feel you'll EAT writing about shy! reader and subtly flirty post-prison reid? 🤭

shy — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: shy / awkward reader , they're working on a case so mention of victims / unsub etc. a/n: HEYY thank you for your request hope you like this i gave it my best shot <3

“And the two of you can work on the geographical profile.” 

Your head snapped up at the sound of your name, eyes meeting Spencer’s for the briefest of moments before you instinctively looked away, pretending to refocus on the files in front of you. Heat crept up your neck, and you tapped your fingers lightly against the table, a nervous habit you never quite managed to shake. 

Spencer’s gaze flickered down to your fingers, watching the repetitive motion before shifting his attention back to his own files. He knew you were shy—reserved, careful with your words—but over time, he’d started to notice something else.

You were even quieter around him. 

Forty-five minutes later, you arrived at the police station with the rest of the team. The usual chaos of a local precinct swirled around you—officers moving in and out, phones ringing, hurried conversations about the case at hand.

As the others scattered to their respective tasks, an officer led you and Spencer to an open conference room, giving you both space to work. 

You slipped your bag from your shoulder and draped your jacket over the back of a chair before settling into place. Just as you were pulling out your notes, Spencer’s voice cut through your thoughts. 

“Do you want coffee before we start?” 

You hesitated. You did, of course. You always started your work with coffee—it was practically a ritual at this point. But the last thing you wanted was to inconvenience him. 

“No, that’s fine,” you said, offering a small, polite smile before looking back at your notes. 

Spencer didn’t respond, just studied you for a moment, then turned and walked out of the room without another word. 

A few minutes later, the door creaked open again, and Spencer reappeared, carrying two cups of coffee. Without a word, he set one down in front of you before taking his own seat. 

Surprised, you looked up at him, eyes wide. “Spencer, you didn’t have to—” 

“I know,” he interrupted gently, stirring a packet of sugar into his coffee. “But you always have coffee before you start working, and I didn’t see you get one today.” 

Your fingers curled around the cup, the warmth of it seeping into your skin. You glanced away, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your lips curled up into a small, bashful smile. 

Spencer noticed. And he smiled too. 

You two worked side by side, occasionally exchanging thoughts on the profile as new details emerged. Every now and then, Spencer would glance at you, watching how you furrowed your brows in concentration, the way your fingers tapped against the table when you were deep in thought. 

At one point, a police officer working the case stepped into the room. He was friendly—maybe a little too friendly. He started asking about the case, directing every question to you instead of Spencer.

At first, you simply answered out of politeness, not thinking much of it, but as the conversation continued, it became clear that his interest went beyond the case. 

Spencer noticed immediately. The officer’s body language, the way he leaned slightly toward you, the casual, almost playful tone in his voice—it was obvious.

And it was bothering him. A lot. 

He watched as you shifted slightly in your seat but too polite to ignore the man’s questions. Spencer could see it—you weren’t necessarily reciprocating, just trying not to seem rude. Still, that didn’t stop the uncomfortable twist in his stomach. 

His grip on his pen tightened. Then, without looking away from the officer, he spoke. 

“We have to keep working on this,” Spencer said, his voice even but firm. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “Alone.” 

The single word carried weight. 

You bit your lip, lowering your gaze to your files, unsure how to react. The officer hesitated for a second, as if debating whether to challenge Spencer, but ultimately nodded and excused himself from the room. 

Once the door clicked shut behind him, the room felt quieter—almost tense. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, not quite meeting Spencer’s gaze. 

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, keeping your gaze fixed on the open case file in front of you. "I didn’t mean to—" 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Spencer’s voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable certainty in it. You hesitated before glancing up at him

You shifted in your seat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I just… I didn’t know how to get out of that conversation without being rude,” you admitted. 

Spencer let out a small hum, tilting his head as he considered your words. “You really don’t like making people uncomfortable, do you?” 

You exhaled a small, breathy laugh. “No, I guess not.” 

He nodded, then tapped his pen against the table. “Even when they’re clearly making you uncomfortable?” 

Your fingers tightened slightly around your pen. “I mean…” You hesitated, suddenly very aware of how intently he was watching you. “It wasn’t that bad.” 

Spencer’s lips twitched, almost like he was holding back a smirk. “Right. Not that bad.” His voice was thoughtful, but there was something teasing in it. 

You furrowed your brows. “What?” 

He shrugged, flipping a page in his file.“It’s just interesting,” he mused, his tone casual. “Watching someone else try so hard to get your attention.” 

You blinked, suddenly feeling warm. “What—” 

“Not that I can blame him,” he added smoothly, cutting you off. His eyes met yours, and this time, he didn’t look away. 

Your breath hitched, and you quickly dropped your gaze to your files, trying to will away the sudden heat in your face.

Spencer chuckled, the sound quiet but amused. “I’m just saying,” he continued, leaning slightly toward you, his voice lower now. “If he had been paying closer attention, he might’ve noticed that you weren’t interested.” 

You swallowed hard, fingers gripping your pen. “And what exactly makes you so sure of that?” 

He smiled—just enough to be infuriating. “Because,” he said simply, “you get a lot quieter when you actually are interested.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

Your lips parted slightly, ready to respond—except you had no idea what to say. Spencer, ever the profiler, seemed to pick up on that, because his smirk deepened just a little before he finally turned back to his notes, acting as if nothing had happened. 

Meanwhile, you stared at your files, pretending to read, even though the words in front of you had lost all meaning. 

Some time later , you were staring at the board, your eyes scanning the map and the scattered notes pinned to it. The geographical profile was coming together, but something felt off—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You were pretty sure you had found a pattern, a connection that might help narrow down the unsub’s next move, but the last thing you wanted was to sound like a complete idiot.

Especially not in front of Spencer.

The way you could barely string a sentence together around him was embarrassing enough, and the fact that he had already picked up on it made it even worse. 

Your fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the file in your hands, your thoughts racing. The more you stared at the board, the more convinced you became that you were onto something.

 Before you could gather the courage to speak, Spencer appeared beside you, his presence so close that you could almost feel the warmth of his arm brushing against yours.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as he tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the board. 

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice soft but curious. He was looking at you from the side.

You swallowed hard, your fingers instinctively reaching for the necklace around your neck, twisting the delicate chain between your fingers.

“Oh, nothing,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you quickly averted your gaze, focusing on the board instead of him. 

 Spencer didn’t move. He stayed right where he was, his eyes still on you, waiting. The silence stretched between you, and you could feel the weight of his attention pressing down on you.

Finally, he spoke again, his tone gentle but persistent. “You’re staring at the board like it’s about to reveal the secrets of the universe,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “If you’ve noticed something, I’d like to hear it.” 

 You hesitated, your fingers still fiddling with your necklace. “I just… I think there might be a pattern here,” you said slowly, gesturing toward the map. “The locations of the victims—they’re not random. They’re clustered, but not in a way that’s immediately obvious. It’s like… like the unsub is following a specific route, but he’s deviating just enough to throw us off.” 

Spencer’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and he turned his full attention to the board, his eyes narrowing as he studied the map. “Go on,” he said, his voice encouraging. 

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. “If you look here,” you said, pointing to one of the pins on the map, “the first victim was found near this intersection. The second was a few blocks away, but still within walking distance. The third was further out, but if you draw a line connecting them, it’s almost like…” You trailed off, suddenly unsure if you were making any sense. 

 “Like he’s spiraling outward,” Spencer finished for you, his voice tinged with excitement. He stepped closer to the board, his eyes darting between the pins as he followed the pattern you had described. “You’re right. It’s not random. He’s moving in a deliberate pattern, but he’s expanding his radius each time.” 

 You nodded, relief washing over you as he validated your theory. “Exactly,” you said, your voice gaining a little more confidence. “And if we can predict where he’ll go next, we might be able to catch him before he strikes again.” 

 Spencer turned to look at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s… really good,” he said, his tone genuine. “I hadn’t considered that, but it makes perfect sense.” 

 You felt a rush of warmth at his praise, and you couldn’t help but smile back, even as you tried to hide it by looking down at your notes. “Thanks,” you said softly. “I just… I didn’t want to say anything in case I was wrong.” 

 Spencer shook his head, his expression softening. “You shouldn’t doubt yourself like that,” he said. “You have a good eye for details. You should trust your instincts more.” 

 His words caught you off guard, and you glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his for a brief moment. “I’ll… try to remember that,” you said softly. 

 Spencer didn’t say anything else, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned back to the board, his mind already racing with the new information.

You stood there beside him, your heart still pounding in your chest, but for the first time, you felt a little less unsure of yourself.

Two days later, the case was finally wrapped up. The unsub was in custody, and the team was heading back to Quantico. The relief was palpable, but so was the exhaustion. You were walking toward the jet, your go bag slung over your shoulder, when Spencer caught up to you.  

 “Let me help you,” he said, reaching for your bag before you could protest.  

 “No, no, it’s fine,” you said quickly, instinctively pulling the bag closer to you.

But before you could say anything else, he gently took the bag from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments.  

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your voice soft as you glanced at him. He was walking beside you now, his pace matching yours, and you couldn’t help but notice how close he was.

Close enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne—something warm and subtle, like sandalwood and books. 

Spencer just smiled, adjusting the strap of your bag on his shoulder as you walked. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the tarmac, and the sound of the team’s chatter filled the air as they made their way to the jet.  

 “You did good work on the case,” Spencer said after a moment, his tone casual but sincere. He glanced at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Really good, actually.” 

You felt a rush of warmth at his words, and you quickly looked down, your fingers instinctively reaching for the necklace around your neck. You twisted the delicate chain between your fingers, a nervous habit you couldn’t seem to break.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “That… means a lot.” 

Spencer didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his gaze on you, steady and thoughtful. The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the jet now in sight.

The rest of the team was already boarding, their voices carrying across the tarmac as they chatted about the case and what awaited them back home. 

When you reached the plane, Spencer stepped aside to let you board first. You murmured another quiet “thank you” as you climbed the steps, feeling his eyes on you the entire time.

You climbed the steps onto the plane, settling into your usual seat by the window. Spencer followed, stowing the bags in the overhead compartment before sliding into the seat beside you.

The proximity made your breath catch, and you quickly busied yourself with adjusting your sweater, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing. 

As the plane’s engines hummed to life, you found yourself fidgeting again, your fingers toying with the necklace around your neck. It was a nervous habit, one you couldn’t seem to shake, especially when Spencer was this close. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance at you, his gaze dropping to your hands before shifting back to your face.

For a moment, he hesitated, as if debating whether to say something. Then, without a word, he reached over, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he stilled your hand. 

“You’re going to break it if you keep doing that,” he said softly, his voice low and warm. 

You froze, your breath hitching as his touch sent a jolt of electricity through you. His hand lingered for a moment, his fingers lightly tracing the chain before he pulled away, leaving your skin tingling where he’d touched you. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your face burning as you dropped your hand into your lap. 

Spencer chuckled, the sound quiet but amused. “Don’t be,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “I just… don’t want you to ruin something that’s clearly important to you.” 

You glanced at him, your heart pounding in your chest. There was something in his tone—something teasing but tender—that made your stomach twist.

“It’s just a habit,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“I know,” he replied, his eyes meeting yours. “But you don’t have to be nervous around me, you know.” 

Your breath caught, and you quickly looked away, focusing on the window as the plane began to taxi down the runway. “I’m not nervous,” you lied, your voice shaky. 

Spencer didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his gaze on you, steady and unwavering. “Okay,” he said finally, his tone light but with a hint of amusement. “If you say so.” 

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The plane lifted into the air, and you leaned back in your seat, the hum of the engines filling the silence between you. 

After a few moments, Spencer shifted slightly, his arm brushing against yours as he reached for the book he’d stashed in the seat pocket. You glanced at him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his fingers traced the spine of the book before he opened it. 

For the rest of the flight, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the occasional brush of his arm against yours sending a thrill through you.

And as you closed your eyes, the faintest of smiles on your lips, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Spencer Reid saw something in you that you hadn’t quite seen in yourself yet. 

[neptuneiris]

Back To You | (One-shot)

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader (friend with benefits)

summary: you're always there, hoping for more. to be more. to mean more and something real. but that's not what he wants, always drawing the line. until… you just can't take it anymore.

words: 19k

sorry for the delay and also sorry this is too long. i won't promise anything next time 😅 and please comment, i want to hear your opinions, a reblog is also appreciated guys.

my masterlist

warnings: angst, sex content, heartbreak.

The first time you met Aemond, it was in the same way everyone else did and in his main way of making himself known to people: quiet, calm and reserved.

If you didn't have friends in common, you know you would never have been able to get close to him. But it was your small group of friends in college that brought you together with him; Alysanne, Sara, Cregan and Jason.

From the beginning, Aemond seemed to exist in his own orbit.

While the others fill the spaces with laughter and conversation, he preferred silence. He is like a constant shadow in the group, always present but not fully integrated.

He usually didn't speak much in topics of conversation, but when he did, his voice is quiet, soft and even soothing that it was almost hypnotic.

And maybe that was what first caught your attention. Something about the way he was, that unwavering distance and tranquility that wasn't arrogant, but almost… carefree.

You understand that he befriended Cregan in one of the classes they shared together. And it was Cregan who gradually included him in the group, at the same time that Sara was also including you.

You soon noticed that, although he was present at meetings and outings, there was a pattern in his behavior.

He talked more with Cregan and Jason, not with the same ease with which they talked to each other, but with a ease that he didn't have with Alysanne, Sara or you.

It's not that he was rude, when you addressed him a few times, he responded politely, but his tone was always restrained, measured.

And not only that, you also notice that as soon as someone tries to get too close, invisible walls rise around him, high and impenetrable. And his selectivity with the people he surrounds himself with, or talks to, becomes all too noticeable.

Even in the group chat Alysanne had created, he doesn't say much. In fact, he doesn't say anything at all.

He never initiated conversations or left casual comments compared to the others. And when he did write, it was only when someone asked him a question. Sometimes days or weeks would go by without his name coming up in conversation.

And, at least, at first… you didn't think much of him.

Aemond was just another presence in the group, someone with whom you shared moments but not necessarily a connection, let alone a friendship, at all. You just kept in mind that his reserved and carefree attitude made him different.

Although over time, you began to notice certain things about him that began to catch your attention.

The way he kept his distance even when surrounded by people. The ease with which he glided through life without worrying about fitting in or pleasing anyone. And the way he showed no interest in being heard or belonging.

He didn't show his emotions and it was hard to read. As well as it was hard to tell what he was thinking about, if he was thinking about anything at all.

That made him even more intriguing and that was the way he inevitably began to draw your interest.

Not because you hoped to change him or because you wanted to discover some secret hidden behind his distant attitude, but because, without even trying, he stood out from everyone else.

While the others sought validation in shared laughter and endless conversation, Aemond didn't care about any of that. And worst of all, no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, every time you saw him, every time you suddenly heard his voice, you felt something twisting inside you.

At first, you justified it as simple curiosity. But curiosity doesn't explain the way your attention kept coming back to him.

How you found yourself looking for him at every meeting, how you waited for him to speak, even if it was just to answer a simple question, and how, despite his indifference, you began to realize that you wanted him closer.

It also didn't help with how incredibly attractive he is.

Despite the scar down the middle of his face and the eye he doesn't have, actually being a prosthetic, he is beautiful.

An accident, Cregan told you, when you asked him, to get a little more information about him. But that was all he told you and with a tone that made it clear to you that he didn't even know that much. So you didn't press the subject.

Not because you weren't curious, but because you knew that Aemond is the kind of person who doesn't talk about certain things with just anyone. And over time, that distance between the two of you began to bother you.

You wanted to get to know him beyond the few words he shared with the group, beyond the occasional comments he made. So, one day, you decided to try to get closer to him.

Try to break down his walls with you.

A difficult thing to do, considering everyone knows what he's like. But not impossible. Or at least that's what you told yourself.

You have an advantage, considering you both belong to the same group of friends. But you know that won't make it any less difficult, still, it's something in your favor. The problem was that you needed an excuse.

You couldn't just show up and talk to him for no reason. You needed something that would get his attention so he would talk back to you to keep him. But there was nothing. There was no specific topic, no common theme or shared class, nothing.

But you would find it. You had to.

Until one day, you saw a change in him. So slight and so small it could barely be noticed. Anyone else wouldn't have even noticed, but you did.

A change in his cold and disinterested attitude, which was suddenly colder and more disinterested. He was more serious than usual. He didn't speak at all unless the guys asked him something.

And his look… serious and even annoyed, with slumped shoulders and as if he was more lost in thought than usual. From the morning, when he arrives on campus with his usual air of indifference, you notice that change in him.

And on a Friday, as the day goes by normally, you can't take your eyes off him.

At lunch, the group gathers in the gardens for lunch, as usual, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Jason and Cregan talk about their usual anecdotes, Alysanne and Sara laugh and tease them and he… completely silent.

Sitting at the end of the table, he has only a bottle of water in front of him, which he sips from time to time. He does not join in the conversation and gazes off into the horizon, lost in thought.

But his tense posture, hard stare and clenched jaw, you notice all that. You want to talk to him. Ask him if he's okay. But you don't want to bother him. However, Jason notices it too and thankfully asks him.

“What's wrong, dude? Aren't you going to eat?”

You immediately watch them intently.

“I'm not hungry,” he replies simply and without emotion.

“And why is that? Everything okay with you?”

Aemond nods without saying anything else. He doesn't explain, and Jason doesn't insist. Neither do the others. They simply continue the conversation as if nothing had happened.

To them, Aemond has always been like that; reserved, quiet and indifferent. But you know there's more to it.

The minutes pass and you don't know what to do. You think about what would be the most ideal way to approach him. But nothing comes to mind.

Then he suddenly stands up and tells Cregan quietly that he will be leaving for his next class. He doesn't say goodbye to the others, just hangs his backpack over his shoulder and leaves.

And it's in that instant that you make a decision.

You don't know if it's a good idea. You don't know if it will work. And you hesitate, as you watch him walk off into the distance.

You could approach him, ask him if he's okay. But you know he'll most likely pull your back out before you can even try. So instead, you pull out your phone, unlock the screen, open the messaging app and start typing.

'Hey, are you okay?'

Simple. Subtle. Polite. You don't look at it the wrong way. In fact, it might work. Still, nerves wash over you, actually not so sure. But you finally take a deep breath and press send.

Honestly, you don't know why you thought he'd respond right away. Or that at the very least, his response would come in maybe ten or fifteen minutes.

By the time night falls and you're lying in your bed, rolling through your social media and no new messages, you begin to accept that he won't reply. And that he probably just ignored the message because he's not the least bit interested.

You sigh and put your phone aside, trying to push the topic out of your mind. But just as sleep begins to grip you, the vibration of your phone startles you.

You pick up the device quickly, a spark of hope lighting up your chest, only to have it shut off abruptly when you read his reply.

'Who are you?'

Embarrassment hits you so hard you feel heat rise to your face.

Disillusion and disappointment that he doesn't even have you in his contacts. You mean… you both belong to the same group of friends and you're both in the same group chat. And he doesn't have your number?

You bite the inside of your cheek, seriously considering not saying anything else to him and pretending this never happened.

But after staring at the message for a few long minutes, you let go of the humiliation and reply in the hope that he'll get back to you in a few minutes and not until tomorrow.

'I'm Y/N.'

A few minutes pass, at most three, but you feel them eternal. All is silence, until your next message comes through.

'Why do you ask that?'

You press your lips together, rereading the screen. It could be genuine curiosity… or it could be his way of making you feel even more out of place. But you don't take it back. Not this time and not anymore.

So you sigh, settle better in bed and decide to be honest.

'Well, I saw you really off today and I just wanted to make sure you're okay.'

The 'read' indicator almost to the second, makes your heart skip a beat. And you watch, expecting to see the 'typing' later.

But seconds pass and nothing. And you watch your screen more intently, as if that will magically make him decide to write you when you want him to. And when you see that he has left you on read, again the embarrassment invades you.

When suddenly, finally, the ´typing´ appears and your heart skips a beat. And finally, his reply.

'I'm fine.'

Two words. Nothing more.

You bite your lip, reading the message over and over, not entirely what you expected and increasingly convinced that this is going to be harder than you thought.

It's not a closed response, but it's not an invitation to continue the conversation either. You could leave it at that. Decide that you did your part and that, if he doesn't want to talk, you can't force him.

But something in you is resisting. You don't want to leave it at that even though you know you're going to be disappointed and that this, his attitude, won't change overnight.

But at least you can be honest. So you write and send the message before you regret it.

'If you need someone to talk to, I'm here.'

And again, you wait.

Surprisingly, he reads your message within a second. However, disappointment again overcomes you when you read his immediate, curt reply.

'Thanks.'

All hope, anticipation and excitement evaporates from your body. You stand there for a moment doing nothing, thinking about what else to write him, wanting to be more sincere and show him that he's counting on you.

'I mean it. I'm here for you, Aemond.'

That's something you'd like to hear if you're not feeling at your best. Knowing that there's someone who cares about you and your well-being, too, would help a lot.

However, the minutes tick by and this time Aemond's reply never comes. Nor does it come all weekend.

You're hoping that at college maybe he'll reach out after the brief text exchange, even… thank you personally for caring about him, text him or something, you don't even know but you're hoping for something, anything.

But you had to know that he would remain just as distant and cold as always.

Disillusioned, you keep noticing that slight pain he seems to be stuck in but is trying to ignore every time you all get together, without anyone else noticing.

You watch him from a distance, attentive and hopeful, but disappointed that you are unsuccessful in every approach to him to initiate a conversation.

Even after the two of you spoke by message, he has no interest in talking to you in person. And he barely notices your presence, as if you weren't even there.

That hurt you, but you understood that it was about what's going on in his mind and whatever it is that has him so depressed, not because you were really the problem.

So during a meeting on campus waiting for the next class to start, everyone discusses their weekend plans.

“There's a party tonight at the Martell frat house,” Cregan announces excitedly, “It's going to be great, they always know how to make a good scandal.”

Everyone begins to agree to attend, sharing laughs and jokes about the last time they went to a Martell party, even Alysanne and Sara, already planning their outfits for the night, except for you and Aemond.

Parties aren't your favorite place, though you've been to several before and always manage to have a good time with help from the girls. And Aemond being quiet catches Jason's attention.

“You'll come, won't you?” he asks him as he gives him a friendly tap on the shoulder.

He shrugs, starting to take a cigarette from his pocket along with the lighter, not caring at all about the subject of the party.

“I don't know.”

Jason frowns, watching him blankly.

“You don't know?”

“Who doesn't know?” inquires Cregan instantly, listening intently and confused.

Jason points it out but Aemond nonchalantly lights his cigarette, while you watch the interaction of the three of them, but always focus entirely on him.

“But you always come over,” Cregan tells him just as confused as Jason.

“It'll be fun,” Jason continues, ”Besides, it's Friday night. What else could you be doing?”

“I don't really feel like going to a party,” he says, just as nonchalant as before.

“Oh, come on,” Jason urges, “We deserve it, you especially after the hell of projects we've had to submit. We need to de-stress.”

“And besides you'll be with us, what can go wrong?” says Cregan to him with his tone full of optimism, trying to convince him.

“Everything,” he tells him in his equally soft and low tone of voice as always, causing a chuckle between both boys.

“But it'll be fun, come on.”

He focuses his gaze on an unimportant point and you, listening to the conversation intently, feel that little spark in your chest lingering, watching him hopefully for him to say yes.

Then you decide to add your voice to convince him.

“You should come,” you say, catching the attention of the three of them, with your shy but firm look and voice, ”It might be a good distraction and it will help you clear your mind.”

Not exactly the best words but you try and feel your heart start to beat fast in your chest from nerves as you watch his eye meet yours.

But it doesn't last too long as Cregan speaks again.

“Yeah, dude. Let's all go together. I don't think you'll get bored but if you do, we can always leave early or switch parties, whichever is better.”

The three of them watch him expectantly for his response, to which he is a little overwhelmed by the attention. But he finally lets out a resigned sigh, feeling the weight of his friends' expectations, and nods slowly, lowering his gaze and refocusing on his cigarette.

“Fine,” he says in a low but determined voice. “But don't expect me to stay all night.”

The answer sparks a small celebration between Cregan and Jason, who pat him on the back and you avoid smiling big, pursing your lips.

“Great! That's all we asked for, mate.”

“It'll be fun, you'll see.”

Everyone else speaks again, except for him and you, as you stare at him for a brief moment, feeling the spark of hope grow bigger inside you.

Tonight may be the opportunity you need to reach out and create connection with him. Besides, it's a party, everyone will be relaxed and surely he will be too, so you can't miss the opportunity.

The night arrives and with it, the anticipation of the party at the Martell fraternity house.

As you approach the imposing house you notice the pulsating lights and vibrant music that can be heard from yards away, promising a fun and energetic night. With Alysanne and Sara, you see the groups of people talking and laughing at every corner, drinking and smoking.

And as you enter the house, the party is in full bloom, with everyone dancing and having a good time, with the smell of beer, cigarettes and even weed lingering in the air, causing Alysanne and Sara to quickly immerse themselves in the atmosphere, pulling you along with them very excitedly to where everyone is dancing.

The energy around you is contagious and as the minutes pass, you catch yourself laughing and dancing, where your worries momentarily fade away amidst the bright lights and pulsating rhythms, enjoying the moment.

Yet there is still that anticipation in you, that excitement as you look out the front door and in all directions, waiting to see him.

And in the middle of dancing with your friends, singing the songs of the moment at the top of your lungs and enjoying the energy of the whole party, just as your gaze briefly focuses on your surroundings, you finally spot a figure with silver hair moving through the crowd.

With a jolt in your heart, you focus your gaze and recognize Aemond.

He moves with a quiet grace, but his expression is a mixture of discomfort and determination. He weaves his way through the people, his gaze scanning the entire place, as if seeking a refuge or maybe a familiar face.

His posture and energy is oblivious to the frenetic energy of the party with his deliberate movements and nonchalant attitude.

And you continue to watch him, with the hustle and bustle of the party fading around you and focusing entirely on him.

You feel a mixture of relief and happiness at seeing him, relief that he has come and happiness that tonight you will finally be able to get close to him.

Aemond continues to approach the epicenter of the party, when on his way he finally meets Cregan and Jason, who greet him enthusiastically and hand him a drink almost instantly, integrating him into the atmosphere and enveloping him in their conversation.

Over drinks and cigarettes, as well as after some banter and laughter, Aemond finally begins to relax, though his movements are more restrained than the others. He would prefer less noise, but it is a party after all.

And you watch from a distance, seeing how the guys entertain him and integrate him into the party, noticing how his posture relaxes more and his expression softens, holding a bottle of beer in his hand and a cigarette in the other.

You know that now is not the time to get close, you want to let him find his own pace without pressure, so you stay in your place, enjoying the company of your friends and also the whole party.

Afterwards you join your friends for more drinks, they insist on taking pictures and videos together, you dance some more, go to get some fresh air because of how suffocated it is and when you look back towards the guys, Aemond is not there.

Cregan and Jason are there with some girls, but he especially is nowhere to be seen. You begin to feel a twinge of unease and start to move slyly through the crowd, looking for his familiar figure.

Until you decide to approach and ask for him or else you'll never be able to find him among all the people already at the party and the people still still entering the house.

“Hey,” you approach towards them, with a relaxed attitude, trying to look casual, ”Where's Aemond? I saw him arrive earlier.”

Cregan turns to you, smiling, while Jason blinks several times as if trying to remember.

“Oh, yeah, he went out a few minutes ago.”

“I think that way,” Cregan points to the backyard with a nod, ”Maybe he needed air or something, he said he'd be back soon.”

You decide to look for him discreetly, making your way through all the students, but the house is full, even more so than it was a few moments ago, with the heat and bustle starting to make you feel overwhelmed.

You think to yourself that he probably went to the bathroom, but minutes pass and being with the girls, you keep looking for him but he's nowhere to be seen.

And that's when you think about the possibility that he has decided to leave.

This leaves you with an empty feeling in your chest and you look around, letting out a long breath and inevitably already starting to feel disappointed.

You continue to scan the place in hope, but minutes pass and there is no sign of him at all.

“Hey,” Alysanne calls out to you, “What's up?” she watches you intently and with a soft smile on her lips.

“Oh… n-nothing,” you act casual, “I just need to go to the bathroom,” you point out, “I'll be right back, okay?”

“You want me to come with you?”

“No, no, don't worry, it's fine,” you assure her instantly.

Again you make your way through the students and head towards the stairs, hoping to find an empty room or a space with fewer people, since you don't really need to go to the bathroom.

At this point you already feel too overwhelmed with the music and all the people that keep arriving, making it impossible to walk. So you just want to breathe and have some peace and quiet.

Fortunately the corridors on the second floor are not so crowded, there are people, yes, but nothing like down there and you try to open the doors, cautious of course, afraid of interrupting some compromising scene.

Until finally the last door opens and it's an empty room, clearly decorated with the personal touch of one of the frat boys.

You sigh and close the door behind you, stepping inside, barely hearing the sound of music up to here and all the chaos. You plop down on the edge of the bed, trying to calm your mind and feeling the tension in your feet give way after all that dancing.

The minutes pass and although you try to distract yourself with anything on your phone, again the disappointment invades you and so does the thought, without being able to help it.

You have failed to keep in touch with Aemond and at this rate, it seems you will never succeed.

He is quite an enigma, very reserved, indifferent to the attentions that many girls in college would long to receive from him and that is what confuses you.

You think of his brother Aegon, whose behavior is the complete opposite.

Aegon adores the attention of girls, his adventures are scattered all over campus and yet, Aemond is a mystery, so secretive that even a simple friendship with him seems out of reach.

And these differences between the two brothers only add another layer of confusion to your feelings for Aemond. You can't help but wonder why someone like him, so aloof and closed off, appeals to you so much.

He won't even give you the time of day, he barely acknowledges your existence when you're in a group with the guys, his gaze barely rests on you, and whenever you try to talk to him, he barely responds and then brushes you aside with an indifference that leaves you feeling completely invisible.

Then why? Why do you keep trying?

You don't even know.

You get up and start walking slowly around the room, trying to calm your thoughts, not really knowing what to do.

You think maybe you should go back to your dorm, since you really don't want to go back down there with all the people and the commotion. But you know that Alysanne and Sara are still enjoying themselves and you leave alone.

You sit back down on the bed and run a hand across your forehead, letting out a sigh, when suddenly, the bedroom door opens and you look up almost instantly.

And then your heart leaps with anticipation and surprise.

Aemond appears under the threshold, his eye meeting yours and you both stand for a moment motionless, saying nothing.

He scans your face and the room as well, while you continue to stare at him in surprise, definitely not expecting him to appear here at all. And there's something particularly in his gaze that tells you he's also looking for shelter from the party. When again his gaze focuses on you.

"I'm sorry," he says to you, in a low, unconcerned voice, "I didn't know anyone was here."

You say nothing for a few seconds, but force yourself to react.

"It's okay," you say quickly, trying to sound calm, "Don't worry."

Again the anticipation grows inside you, this time stronger, mingling with unexpected joy.

He is not gone.

He is here.

And that rekindles the spark of hope in you, which makes you strive to keep your expression relaxed and less surprised, trying to look completely casual and act normal.

A silence settles between you, one that is both awkward and full of potential, to which you try to speak but Aemond speaks first, taking a step back and with his hand still on the knob.

"Am I bothering you?" he asks, his gaze studying you.

"No, not at all," you reply immediately, your words coming out a little more hastily than you intended.

This instantly embarrasses you and you lower your gaze for a moment, clearing your throat.

"I mean, no," you say more relaxed and in a soft tone, "It's okay if you stay. You're not bothering me," you offer him a small, tight-lipped smile, "I guess you want to hide for a while."

He looks out into the hallway, seeming to consider your words for a moment, then lets out a sigh, again watching you and finally enters the room with soft steps, closing the door behind him.

"From Cregan and Jason specifically."

You let out a small chuckle under your breath, wanting to create that light and easy atmosphere between the two of you by being open and relaxed with him so as to get him to loosen up a bit more with you.

You remain seated on the bed, as he walks over to the window and begins to pull his pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket along with his lighter.

With a deft movement, he lights the cigarette, where the small flame briefly illuminates his features before a ball of smoke dissipates into the room.

He opens the window and all the commotion outside is heard more clearly, but not enough for both of you to feel annoyed with it, feeling the night air come in to envelop you.

And you continue to sit, trying not to watch him too much, though it's impossible, he is Aemond Targaryen after all.

Still you search for something to say as he stands in a casual pose by the window, smoking and watching the night sky.

"Are you all right?" you ask finally, breaking the silence, your tone soft and gentle, not wanting to seem intrusive.

He nods, not watching you, with the smoke from the cigarette wafting around his face.

"Yeah," he replies in a distant tone, but you notice how thoughts keep running through his mind, "I'm fine."

You omit to let out a long sigh as you gently bite the inside of your cheek and watch him silently for a moment, thinking of something else to say.

Even he doesn't feel your gaze on him, where you silently admire his straight profile, his set jaw, the high cheekbones, the line of his nose, his lips... all his completely beautiful features and so ethereal.

And yet, all those beautiful features have a weight of sadness and tension, where you can see how a tide of thoughts cross his mind that seemingly only you can notice.

You see his barely-there frown and the tension in his jaw, lost in thought, with the cigarette slowly burning away between his long fingers.

You are torn between remaining silent or trying to break the ice surrounding it. You know that your words must be carefully chosen, not pushing but showing your genuine concern.

So you think your words through very carefully and finally decide to take a chance, hoping that your sincerity might do something, anything.

"I've noticed you've been... distant lately," you say, in a soft voice, "More than usual."

He doesn't respond right away, but you notice a slight tension in his shoulders. He takes a deep drag from his cigarette before exhaling slowly, his gaze still fixed on some point beyond the window, as if he's searching for answers in the dark.

Finally, he shakes his head and again responds without looking at you.

"It's nothing, just..." he is quiet for a moment, "Nothing that really matters to anyone."

Your eyebrows furrow slightly and you feel compelled to speak without thinking too much.

"It matters to me," you say in a soft tone, your gaze fixed on him, trying to let him see the sincerity in your eyes.

He slowly turns to you, finally watching you, his expression suddenly alert. There is a mixture of curiosity and anticipation on his face.

"And why would that be?" he asks you, his tone serious and slightly defensive, his frown showing his confusion, clearly not believing your words, "You don't even know me, nor I you."

The words that have come out of you so spontaneously now leave you vulnerable, but you can't back down. You feel a slight blush creep up your cheeks, but you try to stand firm even in your words.

"We're part of the same group of friends," you reply softly, your gaze fixed on him, trying to keep your composure, "We don't talk much, it's true, but I still care about you. Just like I care about everyone else."

He doesn't say anything to you right away. From a distance, he just stands there, watching you. The dim light in the room outlines the lines of his face in soft shadows.

You try not to look away from him, despite how overly intimidated and nervous you feel. And then, as if he is evaluating your words, he looks away and you see a small but visible smile curving his lips, to again raise the cigarette towards them.

"Is that so?" he murmurs and then takes a drag.

You find the scene hypnotic. The way he smokes. A simple action making him look so sexy.

And realizing you're making progress here, when you hadn't even seen him smile the way he just did, you decide to continue to be honest.

"I'm here for you Aemond, I mean it," you murmur, without hesitation, feeling the warmth of your own words. "Either way."

You watch him stare out the window for a few moments, taking another drag on his cigarette and then, he turns fully towards you.

His eye watches you with intensity and you see how there is an indecipherable glint. He tilts his head slightly, watching as he slowly sweeps his gaze over you, igniting all your alerts in you.

Still, you hold his gaze, despite the way he seems to evaluate you and make you feel exposed. He searches for the truth in your every word, as if he's waiting for you to take it back, to hesitate and consider what you're telling him.

But you don't.

Then, with the cigarette slowly burning between his fingers, with a nonchalant movement, he stubs it out against a piece of furniture in the room. And then, he moves slowly and precisely, towards you.

One step. Another step. And another. Each one filling the space between you until the distance is minimal. Until you feel his proximity and your skin bristles, before he even touches you.

Enraptured, you slowly raise your gaze to him as he steps in front of you. His knees brush lightly against yours and his fragrance envelops you, a faint mixture of cigarettes and his cologne that smells too good and intoxicating.

Your heart begins to beat quite hard and fast in your chest, not understanding what is going on. But you don't want it to end.

And being like this, in this way, makes everything even more interesting. You continue to sit on the edge of the bed, while he stands in front of you, looking at your face more closely.

The silence stretches and you see the curve of his lips lift slightly as he sees no hesitation in you. And when he speaks, his voice is low, deep and soft, infused with something that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Either way?"

His words aren't just a question. They are a challenge. A provocation.

And you don't look away, as you watch him with your big eyes, not backing down. And then, you nod.

The blue of his eye seems to darken with your response, as if you've ignited something inside him. Then, he lifts a hand and with exasperating slowness, directs it to your face and his long fingers brush your cheek.

Holding your breath, you watch him curiously and attentively, as he tests the ground, your reaction. And then his caress becomes firmer. His fingers run along the line of your jaw, slowly ascending to tangle at the base of your hair.

His thumb slides to the corner of your lips, tracing the contour with a softness that contrasts with the intensity of his gaze, while you have to remind yourself how to breathe.

"Then say it," he murmurs, leaning in just barely.

Your throat feels dry. Your lips part, watching him completely mesmerized and unable to believe this is really happening. Your words get stuck, because in this moment, with Aemond so close, with his touch igniting every part of your body, you realize there's no turning back.

"Either way," you assure him in a soft, slightly trembling voice.

"And how far does either way go?"

He holds your gaze, that blue eye burning and as if he can see right through you, something dangerous and exciting.

His hand on your face is firm, but his thumb keeps tracing slow circles at the corner of your lips, almost in a distracted, shuddering caress. He is waiting, testing you.

"As far as you need," you murmur, without hesitation.

He tilts his head and suddenly, his free hand takes your arm, making you rise from the bed as his hand on your cheek is firmer, keeping you right where he wants you.

"So any way I need?" he murmurs, a barely raspy, enveloping whisper that seems to filter through your skin.

He leans in, until you feel his nose brush against yours. And you close your eyes for a moment, trying to contain the whirlwind of emotions he's nothing short of unleashing in you.

"Yes," you say in a whisper, trying to stand on your own two feet.

Suddenly his hand on your waist grips you firmly and tightly, holding you in his orbit with an ease that takes your breath away. There is no pressure, no urgency, just a silent possession that feels more dangerous than any words.

He leans closer to you, his face descending in a movement so slow it almost seems deliberate, as if he wants to lengthen the moment, as if he's enjoying the way your breath hitches, in how your lips barely part, in the way your pupils dilate as the space between you disappears.

His breath, warm with the faint trace of cigarette and mint, mingles with yours. Until his lips brush yours in a touch so ephemeral that it seems like an illusion.

A silent provocation. It's not an immediate kiss. No. He takes his time, brushing his mouth over yours torturously slow, as if giving you a chance to pull away, to stop him.

But you don't. Because you don't want to. Because you want him, so badly.

And when your body leans slightly into him, a sigh escapes your mouth before you can avoid it, needing him. And that seems to be all he needs, because then, you feel it.

His lips slide over yours with devastating precision, trapping you in a kiss that leaves no room to breathe. His hand on your cheek holds you by the back of your neck, while the hand on your waist pulls you closer to him.

He closes in a little more, tilting your face towards him as his other hand slowly slides down your waist, drawing you closer, eliminating any chink of space between your bodies.

The kiss intensifies as his tongue brushes against yours, soft, teasing, exploring with a patience and assurance that makes you shiver. Aemond does not rush. There is no desperation in his touch, just something darker, deeper, as if he wants to memorize your every reaction, every tremor of your body beneath his.

Then it's deeper and more demanding.

You have to cling to his shirt, to the folds of fabric between your fingers, because suddenly you're not sure you can stand without him.

And when he finally pulls away, just a little, just enough to look at you with that fiery blue eye, lips parted and breath hitching, you know nothing will ever be the same again.

"Tell me again," he murmurs against your lips, his forehead touching yours.

With your heart racing, you manage to hold his gaze and find the words to speak, when all you want to do is keep kissing him.

"I'm here for you, Aemond," you say, your tone soft, but confident, "Either way," you complete, without a hint of hesitation.

His gaze darkens. And then, he kisses you again.

And from that moment, that's when it all began. But only when you were alone.

There were no words about it, no questions, no explanations. The next day, Aemond behaved the same as always: serious, distant, impenetrable when you were surrounded by people.

There were no glances, no brushes, no hint that anything had happened the night before. But at some point in the night, he showed up. A short message.

A silent signal that gave way to the change in your relationship with him.

The first time you went to his apartment, there was no doubt or hesitation. He opened the door without a word and you walked in, feeling the warmth of his gaze following you closely. There were no words other than cordial ones and then there was no more preamble.

His way of touching you was firm, decisive, as if he had known you forever, as if he knew exactly what to do to make everything else disappear.

And in those moments, with his breath brushing against your skin and his hands roaming your body, you understood what this was.

It was just sex. But, surprisingly, there was something more.

Something that wasn't said out loud, but it was there, in the way his fingers lingered on your skin after it was all over. He wasn't asking you to stay, but he wasn't asking you to leave either. And somehow, that was enough.

That's how the dynamic between you began.

There were no explicit rules, but the boundaries were clear. The relationship was not based solely on desire, though.

When the two of you were alone, Aemond wasn't his usual self. He wasn't the cold, serious man everyone knew. With you, when the door closed and the world was outside, his expression changed. His barriers would crumble, if only for a moment.

There were nights when, after all, he would simply lie beside you, tangling his fingers in your hair in silence. He would tell you things he never told anyone, fragments of his mind that he rarely shared. And so did you with him.

It wasn't that he was affectionate, for Aemond is not that kind of person. But in the quiet of the night, when you were alone, he allowed himself to be something more than the impenetrable man everyone thought they knew.

In public, however, nothing changed.

He didn't ignore you, but he didn't treat you differently either. If you shared a room with others, he was the same old Aemond: observant, reserved, with an expression no one could read.

There were no signs of what went on when you were alone. It wasn't that he was ashamed of what you had, but he wasn't interested in letting the world know either.

And there were times when you wondered if this was enough for you. If you could go through with this, whatever it was, that existed only in the shadows. The doubt kept you up most of the night and distracted in your classes.

But then, there came the moments that made you forget those doubts.

When he had you against the wall or under his body, his mouth claiming yours with deep, electrifying movements, demanding and possessive.

There was tenderness in the small gestures, in the way he ran his fingers down your back after all, in the way he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear before kissing you again.

But all that only existed when it was just the two of you.

A delicate balance between what was allowed and what was not. A secret kept within four walls, where Aemond allowed himself to be more than just the man everyone knew. Where you are one of the few people he allows to see him as he really is.

And that, for now, is enough for you.

“Gods, Aemond.”

The sensation of his wet tongue exploring your pussy takes over every part of your mind and body. Your fingers grip his hair as your hips begin to roll into his face, unable to contain yourself and unable to stop the moans that escape your lips.

You let your head fall back against his pillow, closing your eyes and furrowing your brows in pleasure as you feel his lips suck and lick your clit.

Your thighs rest against his shoulders, as his arms spread you even wider for him, letting him see all of you. He feasts, tasting his saliva and your juices, unable to get enough of you.

Your whole body writhes, having no escape from his grip, as your moans and the sound of his tongue working on you fill his room. When a suck on your clit especially makes you shudder, feeling the reach of your orgasm sooner than you expected.

“Oh my—fuck, I'm gonna come,” you gasp, warning quickly.

“Yeah?” he asks you, pulling slightly away from your pussy, “Are you close, baby?”

You can't speak, just nod.

Then you throw your head back hard, moaning as his tongue finds its way through all your wetness again and one of his fingers enters you, further stimulating the arrival of your orgasm.

“Oh, fuck! Yes, Aem—

He watches you from where he is, still eating you, delighting in your expression and the way you squirm.

You bring both of your hands up to hold your breasts tightly, biting your lips and moaning loudly, feeling the heated pleasure hit you with intensity. He keeps sucking you, prolonging your orgasm, while you moan and see stars behind your eyes.

The perfect scene to make his cock harder.

He gives you one last kiss on your clit as you calm down and he moves up your body, bringing one of his hands to one of your breasts, cupping it and kneading it firmly.

His face leans toward you and he kisses you, letting you taste your flavor as he has so many times before. You feel dizzy, exhausted and overheated. But you know none of this ends here.

So you open your arms, embracing him as he makes room between your legs, never stopping kissing you.

“So pretty. So good for me,” he whispers against your lips with desire.

Hot and heavy, Aemond presses his cock against you, pressing it deliciously against your clit. You furrow your brows and gasp, still feeling the weight of your earlier, intense orgasm.

But you want more, more of him.

“Please,” you moan, rolling your hips against him, ”I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? You want that?”

Everything about him is intoxicating, enthralling, dazzling and hypnotic. You don't think clearly. Much less in sex. So you just nod, needing more of him. Your pussy clenches around nothing and it frustrates you, so you grind your hips harder against his cock.

“Don't worry. I'm going to fuck you just right,” he tells you then leaves a soft kiss on your cheek.

Agitated, you watch as he removes his boxers and his hard cock slams against his lower abdomen. Big, pale and hot.

He reaches over to his nightstand drawer, grabbing a condom. He puts it on quickly and brings the tip to your folds, wetting it with your juices and slowly opening you for him.

The contact makes you shudder and you cling to his shoulders as he slowly begins to open you up. The sensation invades you almost instantly, intoxicating you, as he fills you to the hilt.

You watch him with your mouth open, as his eye bores into yours and he drops down for a moment to watch perfectly as the two of you join, hissing, staying still afterwards to give you time to adjust.

You've felt it many times before, it's not new, you can take it in completely. Yet it feels like the first time, every time.

And then, he begins his gentle back and forth, moving in and out of you slowly, at the same time burying his face in your neck, sighing as he feels your perfect pussy squeeze him.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps in your ear, sending shivers through your body, “Squeezing me so fucking tight. Feels so good. So deep in your pretty pussy.”

“Feels good. So good, Aemond.”

Then, he begins to penetrate you with steadier movements, deep and hard.

The air leaves your lungs, as you cling to his shoulders and hug him against you as you feel his warm breath against your neck each time he thrusts inside you again.

You whimper, feeling him keep up the steady rhythm, making you bite your lip at the delicious sensation that soothes the need you feel deep inside you.

“Oh Gods,” you moan, ”Oh yes.”

His onslaught is faster and more energetic, penetrating you harder.

“That's it, baby. Wrap your legs around my torso,” he commands you in a soft, but firm, deep voice, full of lust.

And you do, desperate to feel him deeper inside you. The sound of skin against skin along with moans and gasps are all you hear in the room.

“Yeah, just like that,” he croons in your ear, ”Good girl. Just for me.”

All he gets from you is that you squeeze his cock harder. And he speeds up his movements, as he steals your breath with each thrust.

Aemond grunts and leans in a little, raising one hand to grab the edge of the bed's backrest for support to hit your exact spot with more precision and you whimper, arching your back at the delicious sensation.

He watches your every expression pleased, digging his fingers even deeper into the wood and with his other hand your skin, enjoying your pretty sounds that you make only for him.

“Aemond,” you moan.

Resting your head on the pillow and moaning without caring about anything else, you collapse. You tremble beneath him, your eyes roll back in your head, and you explode with an intensity stronger than your previous orgasm.

Feeling the way you squeeze him, he speeds up his movements, his thrusts faster and harder, reaching his own orgasm. He grunts and buries his face in your neck, grabbing one of your breasts hard as he cums inside you.

He curses, as he drops his body on top of you, breathing hard and his pulse too fast.

Then, complete silence.

Neither of you say or do anything. You both try to regulate your breathing and calm down from the high. Then, he leaves a soft kiss on your cheek, with his hand holding your face to then begin a brief trail of kisses to your lips. He kisses you deeply and finally leaves a last kiss on your forehead.

It feels like heaven and everything about him completely consumes you. It drugs you and floods you in the way you don't want it to stop. And you deeply wish time would stop so you can enjoy the moment forever.

But then, he gets off of you and lies down next to you letting out a sigh. And suddenly, coldness. There is no more affection or the warmth he used to give you.

You cover yourself with the sheets and watch him almost out of the corner of your eye. You want to get close to him, to hug him and have him make you feel safe and well cared for after the act of intimacy, like before.

But before you even try anything, he reaches over and takes from his nightstand a cigarette, lighting it. He makes himself comfortable in his own way and takes drags while staring at the ceiling or a spot in the room.

You bite your lips and look away from him, having no idea what to say.

The smoke reaches your nostrils and you both stay like that, existing, saying and doing nothing for a few long minutes. Then you see the time and it's late.

It's dangerous for you to go home by yourself, even in an Uber. And by his behavior, you doubt that he will tell you that you can stay or that he will drive you home.

You don't want to be later so you let out a long breath and without looking at him, you sit up with the sheets on your chest and start looking for your clothes.

"Where are you going?"

His question surprises you and catches you off guard instantly, so you turn to look at him a little uncertainly as you tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear.

"It's late. I should be going."

He checks the time too and watches you with a frown.

"Don't you want to stay?"

"Hum... I don't know," you shrug, "You want me to?"

"Yeah," he says nonchalantly, "You've stayed many times before."

"Yeah, I know, but... I don't know. I thought you didn't want me to stay this time."

He holds his frown as you watch him exhale smoke from between his parted lips, making a confused gesture with his head.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I just thought about it," you shake your head, averting your gaze from him.

You feel his gaze on you as you bend over and pull on your shirt so you don't sleep completely naked. And he doesn't even tell you to wear his, like he used to a time ago.

He used to tell you that he loved seeing how his shirts looked on you and now... nothing.

"I'll drive you home in the morning. Don't worry," he tells you in that again nonchalant and... distant tone.

"Yeah," you murmur, turning to lie down next to him.

He lasts a few more minutes smoking his cigarette staring at the ceiling and nothing else, while you silently watch the features of his handsome face and the movements he makes with his hand and cigarette.

Finally he stubs out and throws what little is left of it in the trash, then turns off the lamp and begins to settle in next to you. He leans towards you, puts an arm behind your head and pulls your body towards him to sleep together, as before.

You place your head between his chest and neck as he wraps both arms around you and rests his head on yours, releasing a long breath to finally fall asleep.

For a moment, the action and the way you both are comforts you. His closeness and the way he holds you, makes you feel safe, comfortable, warm and makes those butterflies flutter in your stomach.

But you notice the little differences.

His touch is different, his nonchalant and distant attitude is transmitted through his movements and this... it felt like a mechanical movement, a movement caused by habit and almost forced.

It's like he has to, not because he really wants to. There are no little kisses or little caresses before bedtime while he holds you. Nothing. He doesn't make you feel the way he used to.

But at least he holds you.

And you settle for that, still with sadness in your heart and with the feeling that something has changed and you don't know what it is but, it gives you a bad feeling.

At least he's still doing these little things that used to make you happy. But... again, it's not like before.

You prepare breakfast for Aemond and yourself.

You woke up earlier than usual just so you could prepare a decent breakfast for him so he wouldn't go to class on an empty stomach.

You know that his classes start earlier in the day compared to yours and you have been listening to him take a shower for a while and now he is probably finishing getting ready to leave.

A few minutes ago you received messages from Sara asking you where you will celebrate your birthday tomorrow. You just had to tell her a place and she and the guys will take care of the rest.

You feel visibly excited about it. Although Aemond hasn't talked to you about any of that but... you are hopeful.

At that moment he appears down the hallway, ready to go to class, heading quickly towards the living room where his backpack is, shooting you a brief glance.

"What are you doing?"

"I made breakfast," you tell him, making him coffee the way he likes it.

"I don't have time," he tells you hurriedly, not even looking at you.

That makes you stop and look at him confused.

You shouldn't either, in fact, they are little things that anyone would tell you are unimportant but... you notice them and it sets off another alarm in you.

"Aren't you going to have breakfast?" you ask him confused.

"No."

"But you always eat breakfast even if you're late."

"I can't now, Y/N. My first class is important," he tells you again with that coldness and almost... annoyance.

You watch him for a few seconds without saying anything. And then you watch all the breakfast ready in front of you as you bite the inside of your cheek, again feeling that bad feeling and discomfort running inside your body.

"Go get changed so I can drop you off at the dorm in passing," he tells you, "I don't have much time. We have to go now."

Surprisingly you don't want to.

Normally you would have accepted without even hesitating but now...you feel like you're annoying him and you don't want to do that with this too. Besides, he looks very rushed.

"Don't worry. I'll take the bus," you say without emotion, leaving everything on the table and heading towards his room to change.

"As you wish," he says behind you, unconcerned.

A sharp pain settles in your chest and you try to control yourself, not wanting to overthink things, even though you are already doing so.

With the sadness inside you, taking your time, you change and improve your appearance just a little. Normally you would have taken a shower here too but now you don't want to do any of that. You just want to go home.

You're barely finishing putting on your pants when you see him appear under the door frame with his backpack on his shoulder.

"Hey," he says to you in a surprisingly soft tone compared to a few seconds ago, "What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?"

"Huh?" you look at him confused and attentive.

"Do you have plans tomorrow afternoon?"

You think about it for a moment, not expecting his question.

"Hum... no, not yet. In the night it's just the hanging out with the guys."

"Yeah, I know. But I thought we could do something the two of us before we go meet them."

And then, again that little hope appears and every ugly feeling from before is replaced.

My birthday.

You think instantly, feeling hopeful and excited. Surely he has a surprise for you and everything you were thinking before about his attitude and behavior, surely it's just because he has a lot to do regarding his classes and it really has nothing to do with you.

"Like what?"

He puts on a small half smile.

"Just be ready at six. I'll call you and pick you up."

"Oh, okay. Yeah, sure," you nod, smiling softly.

"Okay," he murmurs, "I'll see you later, then."

"Yeah. Drive safe."

He leaves and eventually so do you, it being a common routine where you know how to secure the door to his apartment when you're the last to leave.

Despite attending to your classes and work, you couldn't help but think of a thousand ways and things to do where Aemond will probably surprise you.

You didn't talk to him for the rest of the day. You texted him once you got to your residence and your day was almost over but he didn't respond.

Then you took a shower, finished some chores and watched a new episode of the show you are currently watching. Every once in a while you couldn't help but check your phone to see if you got a message from him or if he called you, but nothing.

Until eventually you fell asleep.

And the next morning, when you wake up, it's your birthday.

You get lots of messages and congratulations from your friends. Sara tags you on many Instagram stories wishing you a happy birthday. Other of your classmates also congratulate you and you spend part of the morning smiling and replying messages.

You FaceTime with your parents and family members you haven't seen in months. Even though the vacations are fast approaching, you've already made plans with Aemond to stay with him.

You receive more congratulations from cousins, aunts and uncles, you also talk to your grandparents and answer more messages from your friends.

Until you look for a specific person, there is nothing. Aemond hasn't texted or called you. The message you sent him yesterday he hasn't even seen it and that seems weird to you.

But the day is just starting so there is still plenty of time.

You also remember that he has something prepared for you this afternoon, so you look forward to whatever it will be. You know he will text or call you later.

You get ready and choose an outfit that makes it clear that this is your special day. You do waves in your hair and make your makeup a little more bold. Finally you apply lip gloss and head to campus.

You meet your classmates, they give you their best wishes, your professors also congratulate you on your birthday and your day is potentially going great.

Still, the hours pass and Aemond still hasn't contacted you.

That seems weird to you. But it's still early. So you follow the corresponding schedule of your classes and keep your mind busy for a couple more hours.

You finally get an hour's break and take a seat at one of the tables outside in one of the many gardens on campus. You pick up your phone and frown when you see that Aemond still hasn't texted you.

Confused, and just to put your mind at ease, you decide to text him yourself, asking if he's okay. But the messages don't reach him, confusing you and drawing your attention even more.

Either he has no signal wherever he is or his phone is turned off, which is very weird.

You tell yourself that surely he must be busy and will call you soon. You mean... he has to, right? It's your birthday and he has a plan for the two of you in a few more hours.

At that moment, you run into Jason, Cregan and Sara, who lock you in a tight group hug, congratulating you on your birthday and making a bit of a fuss.

"How's the birthday girl doing?" Jason asks you, smiling.

"Great," you assure him.

"Did you get any presents?" asks Sara.

"Mmm… yes, from some classmates," you reply with a small soft smile, "My mom also send a video with my little brothers. We promised to celebrate when I see them on vacation," you pause for a moment, hesitating if you should ask what's really on your mind.

But finally, you decide to do it in the most casual way possible.

"Oh and... have either of you seen Aemond?"

"I haven't," says Sara.

"I called him but sent me straight to mailbox," says Cregan.

"I think I saw him heading toward that building," Jason points out, "About two hours ago."

So he did come to class.

That's what your mind immediately thinks. But you don't understand what's going on with his phone.

"Yet he said he's going to the pub later," Cregan says.

"Yeah, that's where the whole group will finally be together," agrees Sara cheerfully.

Well, at least you know he's okay. And if he doesn't text or call you, you're sure he'll pick you up at your dorm like he said he would.

You linger for a few more moments chatting with the guys until eventually everyone heads off to their next class, hours pass and you finally finish your classes.

You quickly head to your residence to touch up your makeup and put on another outfit. You have exactly half an hour until six o'clock and Aemond arrives.

You put on your playlist of the moment and undecidedly start looking at all the outfits that are for the whole occasion. You don't know where Aemond will take you so you want to be prepared in case of anything.

You also make sure of your lingerie.

You recently bought a couple of new outfits and now seems like the time to break in a new one.

With Aemond it's almost a law that you'll both find the time wherever it is to obviously do... that. He's insatiable and goes crazy over every new outfit you put on and you really want to surprise him.

You finally finish getting ready and look at the time on your phone, it's exactly six o'clock. And excited, you wait for him.

Usually Aemond is very punctual. The time he says he will arrive, he arrives exactly at that time. But ten long, eternal minutes go by and he doesn't show up. And that really seems very weird to you.

Then fifteen, twenty minutes and he still doesn't show up.

If something got in his way, he would usually let you know. But you don't get a text or a call from him. So you decide to call him yourself.

Finally the call comes in and you wait for him to answer, relieved that his phone has a signal or is on, whatever happened. But he doesn't answer.

You call again, nothing. And again, nothing. Bewildered, you text him, telling him you're waiting for him. But nothing, he doesn't answer, doesn't tell you anything, doesn't even read them.

You start anxiously moving your foot up and down and call him a couple more times, but he doesn't answer. And that's what happens for over an hour, waiting for him to call you or say something, anything, but nothing.

Feelings of disappointment, sadness and anger wash over you. You plop down on your bed and continue to stare at your phone waiting for something, anything, with a bitter look on your face. But, again and as lately, nothing.

He hasn't even said happy birthday. He hasn't said anything at all. And the plan for both of you, completely forgotten.

When then, a terrible realization begins to dawn on you.

He maybe...?

No.

You immediately say to yourself, in denial.

He hasn't forgotten your birthday. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do that to you. He couldn't.

Frustrated, you let out a long breath as the thought begins to creep deeper and deeper into your mind. Not leaving you alone and wanting to convince you that's exactly what happened. Or else he would have responded to your message from this morning and you both would be together right now.

But you tell yourself that maybe something happened. Something he didn't plan for. Maybe something important and he can't communicate it now, but eventually he will.

You're sure he wouldn't do something like this to you, so it must be something unexpected and important.

You chase away all the negative things you're thinking and think about Cregan saying he's going to the pub anyway. You know that right there he'll give you an explanation and make it up to you, you're pretty sure.

So you wait for the time you agreed to show up at the pub with Sara, all the time still hoping to hear something from Aemond, anything. But nothing.

Finally he arrives.

His arrival completely steals your attention. You watch as he enters the pub with a completely disinterested and... resigned look on his face. As if he doesn't really want to be here.

This gets your attention even more but in front of the others, you hide it and don't immediately approach him, as if you haven't been waiting for him all this time.

Jason and Cregan literally rush towards him, while you sit there talking to Sara and your other classmates continue to talk and drink.

Sara is talking but you're not really listening to her, as out of the corner of your eye you watch him, talking to the guys with a tense posture and a somewhat irritated look on his face.

And after a few minutes, the guys practically drag him over to the table where you are, cheering him on.

The three of them take a seat, he specifically in front of you and all he does is give you and Sara a slight nod of his head in greeting and... that's it.

And that's the point where you finally don't understand anything.

He hasn't even said happy birthday to you. Nor does he give you the signal to both speak privately. He doesn't even seem to have your numerous missed calls and messages you left him in mind.

What's wrong with him?

He's looking all around, until the moment comes when, of course, he takes his lighter and his cigarette and doesn't even glance at you. He doesn't join in the conversation either. He doesn't really do anything.

And you start looking for the perfect opportunity to approach him and ask him to explain himself.

And you think it finally comes when he gets up and says he's going to get a drink, heading with dispassionate movements towards the bar.

But the bar is in plain sight and your drink is still full. So you start taking quick sips to finish it without drawing attention to yourself. Still, you watch him and are more confused when you see him with his back to you typing on his phone, waiting for his drink.

There's no way he hasn't noticed the numerous messages you've left him.

You don't understand why he hasn't spoken to you all day and why he seems to be ignoring you. You just don't understand anything.

And just as you're about to get up to go with him, he returns with drink in hand and a seriousness in his eyes that you haven't seen for a long time. So you last a long time at the table, talking to the guys, waiting for the opportunity that keeps not coming as time goes by.

You also talk to your classmates at the other table and from time to time you watch him, if not all the time, wanting him to look back at you but nothing.

He seems distracted, serious and irritated. Everything about him you can see and notice.

When suddenly he stands up without a word and you watch intently as he heads for the restroom.

The perfect opportunity!

From the tables where everyone is sitting, they can't see the small hallway leading to the restrooms. So you let a few small seconds pass, act all normal and casual, and finally get up and tell Sara that you will go to the restroom and will be back in a moment.

You do everything normal, although you don't really do anything inside the restroom, except stand at the entrance and listen attentively for the moment when the men's restrooms door opens so you can go out and bump into him.

And that's what you do the moment you hear the door open, hoping it's him and not someone else.

And to your good fortune, it's him. And he watches you the instant your figure appears in front of him, both of you stopping your steps.

"Hey," you say a little uncertainly, looking at him slightly confused and with nervousness creeping over you.

And he speaks to you with the most disinterested and cold tone he has ever addressed you with. His gaze cold and distant.

"Hey."

This confuses you even more and you decide to get to the point directly, needing to know what's wrong with him.

"Are you okay?"

He frowns, as if your question is absurd.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well... I haven't heard from you all day. I called you many times and left you several messages, but you didn't get back to me."

Aemond raises an eyebrow, as if he doesn't understand what you're saying and starts pulling his phone out of his pocket, seemingly unconcerned.

"You did?"

"Yes," you say, feeling more lost than ever, "I wait for you."

"For what?"

You stare at him incredulously and with all the bewilderment in your gaze, parting your lips.

"For what?" you repeat, not understanding, "Yesterday you said you'd pick me up at six. You didn't tell me where we were going and so I kept calling and texting you but you never answered. You didn't even let me know you weren't coming," you say looking at him confused, "Something happened or... you forgot?"

The change in his gaze is subtle, but you can see it. Something inside him softens, watching you silently, with realization. And upon seeing your gaze, he averts his gaze full of resignation as he takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his face.

"Fuck," he mutters.

And you watch him the whole time, clearly waiting for an explanation.

"Sorry," he finally says, watching you and his voice deepens, "I forgot. I was busy."

You blink, watching him sadly and uncomprehendingly, frowning at him.

"You forgot?" you repeat in a mumble, shaking your head and shrugging.

"It wasn't intentional," he tells you in a more serious tone, "I was busy and I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you later, okay?"

But something in his words doesn't convince you, and you continue to stare at him with that look that begs for deeper answers.

"But why would you forget? Where were you?"

"I already told you I was busy."

"Yes but you were the one who told me that—

"I know," he cuts you off sharply, "And I forgot because, for the fourth time, I was busy. Now stop making a big deal out of it and stop whining like a little girl."

Pain flashes across your face as you take a step back, bewildered and surprised.

He has never spoken to you this way before. Nor has he ever behaved with you the way he is behaving now. You just don't understand. But then... again that thought comes to your mind as you watch him with your parted lips.

The realization comes and hits you to make you see the reality. And you watch it sadder and more confused than before.

"You don't even know what today is? Did you forget too?" you ask him with your voice cracking in disappointment and disbelief, "I-I... I just... I just wanted to know if you were okay and where you were. And I don't think it's fair that—

"Look," he says, interrupting you with a coldness and a look full of annoyance, "Just because we slept together doesn't mean you're my girlfriend Y/N, because you're not. Let's make it fucking clear to you once and for all and stop thinking you have the right to demand explanations from me that I don't have to give you. You're just a convenient fuck and that's all, do you understand?"

His words fall like a weight on your chest and everything around you seems to stop. Your breath catches and your throat closes as you stand there, not knowing what to do and unable to believe what you just heard.

You can't believe he, he, said that.

Not the Aemond who looked at you with that intensity that seemed to promise more, who always found a way to make you feel special, even if it was in the privacy of bed or in the shadows of your moments together.

But here he is, looking at you coldly and honestly, also with some annoyance, as if you were just another problem he doesn't need to solve, but to get rid of. And really meaning every word he says.

You don't say anything. You just can't. The lump in your throat makes it impossible for you to speak and tears burn in your eyes, threatening to fall.

You try to stand firm, but every second that passes is a struggle not to break down in front of him. When then, you hear Sara's voice.

"There you are!"

She exclaims, approaching with a huge smile.

"What are you doing? We're waiting for you. It's time to sing happy birthday."

You don't see it but the confusion in Aemond's eye appears when Sara mentions the word birthday.

And you nod, biting the inside of your cheek, instantly pretending that everything is perfectly fine and you weren't heartbroken just a few seconds ago.

You swallow hard, controlling yourself.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go."

She takes your arm and leads you along with her towards the table with the candle-decorated cake that all your friends together have bought for you.

Sara also makes sure to place your gifts around for pictures while you take a seat in the middle in full view of everyone and continue to hold your ground.

Aemond eventually approaches the table as well, you feel his closeness without even looking him, at the same time as everyone starts singing for you.

The room is filled with laughter and voices, with the hubbub of your friends singing a rousing and somewhat off-key version of 'happy birthday'. Sara is at your side, smiling radiantly, as the others raise their glasses, animated and happy.

And you... you smile too.

A wide, almost perfect smile that seems to fit the scene. But inside, you feel how every second that passes is like a knife pressing against your heart. An uncomfortable knot forms in your chest as you struggle to keep your composure.

Don't cry. Don't cry now.

You repeat yourself over and over, forcing yourself to keep up the facade. You know your friends are here for you, that they really want to see you happy, but all you can think about are Aemond's words and how he reduced you to something insignificant.

Your hands are tense, clenching the edges of the table as if that will keep you on your feet.

Your jaw aches from pretending so much, from holding back the tears that burn in your eyes. But, fortunately, you're doing a good job and no one notices.

However, you don't know it either but Aemond does.

He has come close enough to see your face. And although at first glance you look radiant, he knows you too well and something in your smile, in your eyes, tells him the truth and that smile is not real.

You don't see it, but you feel his gaze on you, so intense. As he purses his lips and continues to watch the scene, remorse hitting him with a force he didn't expect.

The last chords of the song echo as everyone applauds, cheering and encouraging you to blow out the candles. You take a breath, blinking rapidly to clear any sign of your emotions.

"Go on, make a wish, birthday girl," Sara tells you excitedly.

You lean into the cake, closing your eyes.

Your mind, treacherously, can't help but return to Aemond's words, again feeling the urge to cry. And yet, you make an effort to push those thoughts to the back of your mind, at least for now.

And finally, you blow out the candles.

Applause fills the space again, and you smile as everyone begins to surround you, offering hugs and warm words. When your gaze inevitably meets his.

He's still there, standing a little apart, watching you with a mixture of guilt and something else you can't quite decipher. He doesn't even try to come closer and you're grateful for that, because it's the smartest thing he can do now.

You look away from him and continue to thank them, doing the best thing you know how to do: pretend.

You laugh lightly at a comment from Sara, accept another hug, and even allow someone to smear a bit of frosting from the cake on your nose.

It all seems so normal, so perfect, but you know it's not.

Aemond is still there, motionless, watching you. And even though you try to ignore him, you can feel his gaze burning into you. He knows he has crossed a boundary tonight. He knows he's hurt you and you're like this because of him.

"Happy birthday, Y/N."

One of your classmates says to you as he hugs you. Then someone else hugs you and says the same thing, then another person and another.

But the voice you most longed to hear saying those words to you is absent and the emptiness it leaves weighs heavier than you'd like to admit.

But one thing is guaranteed and that is that you're fucking done.

After your birthday celebration, you went home earlier than you normally would have stayed to celebrate. But you just couldn't pretend anymore.

Aemond is the one who always takes people who live near him with him in his car. But this time it was Sara who did you the favor after telling her that you appreciated everyone's great gesture for celebrating your day but you weren't feeling well.

You received a couple of texts from him during the ride. Messages you decided not to read or you would end up crying with Sara in her car. So you stood your ground and made a promise to yourself that you wouldn't cry for him once you got to your dorm.

Obviously, you failed.

As soon as you finished taking off your clothes to put on your pajamas and started removing your makeup, inevitably the first tears started to fall. And then, you were a complete mess.

You weren't helped by the fact that his texts kept coming. And you had an idea what they were saying, so the very pain and bitterness deep inside you made you strong enough to not read anything, turn off your phone and go to bed to sleep.

But clearly nothing ended there.

You expected that he would later try to talk to you, no matter what.

So you did what you had never done before when it was about him and what he sometimes did when it was about you; you sent him straight to voicemail and didn't respond to any of his texts for days.

Y/N, please.

I didn't fucking mean it.

I'm sorry.

Can I talk to you?

Call me as soon as you can.

I know you're mad at me but I needed to talk to you, please.

That and more similar texts is what you've been getting these past few days. Days in which you have fortunately managed to avoid him on campus. And not just him, your other friends too or else he'll intercept you with them and you won't have a subtle escape.

And you don't want that.

You don't want to be weak enough in front of him to listen to his justifications and forgive him so easily. What he did to you, what he said to you… is not worthy of forgiveness.

You never realized before how insignificant you are to him and how he truly sees you. You are not even a little bit special than you considered him to you.

But that what happened, it broke your heart but it has also opened your eyes. You know you won't be able to hide forever. You also know that eventually meeting Aemond either alone or with people would be inevitable.

Besides, your friends were already starting to notice it weird that they didn't see you around, so you meet up with them in the usual campus gardens and act completely normal.

When Aemond also joins shortly after.

Everyone greets him as normal when he arrives and he greets them back with his usual nonchalant and serious attitude. However, you don't greet him. You don't even look at him.

You take the opportunity to do one of your homework right there, participating in the conversation from time to time but without being involved, just accompanying them and nothing more.

He takes a seat in front of you, where you instantly feel his piercing, burning gaze. You feel him silently begging you to look at him, to give him a chance to talk, to not ignore him anymore. But that's what you do, you ignore him.

“And how are your vacation plans going?” asks Cregan.

Inevitably, you tense up at the question. And the memories come back.

“Come with me.”

“Where to?”

“To Dragonstone.”

You press your lips together and more purposefully pretend to be completely immersed in your homework, when the truth is you hear the entire conversation.

“Where are you going?” he asks Jason.

“Sunspear, with my whole family.”

“And you?”

“I'm going home, Winterfell,” Sara replies.

“Winterfell?” repeats Cregan confused, “ You didn't say you were going to the beach?”

“Nope. I'll relax in the cabins with hot tubs,” she says with a smug grin, “How about you?”

“I'll go to the beach, definitely. I'm thinking Runestone.”

They go on to talk about their plans, places and so on. When they ask Aemond and you particularly pay more attention to that.

“You haven't changed your plans? You're going to Dragonstone?”

And his quiet, soft, nonchalant voice is not long in coming.

“Yes.”

And you continue to pretend. Pretending that you're not listening, that it's not a big deal, and that you secretly didn't have the same plan to go with him. And you're so immersed in it, you didn't think about the fact that eventually you'd also be asked the same question.

“What about you, Y/N? You said you had plans too.”

Shit.

You try to look like the question hasn't caught you off guard. And you quickly compose yourself. You raise your gaze to them, all but him, and speak with a nonchalant attitude and tone.

“Actually… no,” you place a soft smile, ”I'm going to stay here.”

“Oh really?”

“And why is that?”

Everyone looks at you in surprise and bewilderment. But, specifically, a burning, piercing eye watches you with more intensity than before and with a annoyance you can feel through your skin. Betrayal and pain, even. And honestly, it bothers you, too.

What was he expecting after what happened?

You try not to let it affect you, pretend he's not even here. And you deliberately ignore him.

“Maybe I'll visit my mom for a week or two,” you explain calmly, “But I'll stay most of the time here. And that's okay. It's no big deal.”

The guys give you their opinion and invite you to spend the vacations with them, somehow not wanting to leave you behind. But you turn them down politely, thanking them for their concern and saying that what you want is some time to yourself. And they understand.

And then, Aegon appears.

His entrance is, as always, loud and carefree. He wears a wide grin and a mocking twinkle in his eye as he greets everyone.

“Ah, look at this boring group alone,” he says, plopping his body down next to you on the grass.

Everyone waves at him, even you.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“The vacations.”

“Oh yeah, I can't wait. I need a break from all this,” he says as he lets out an exaggerated sigh and everyone in the group watches him with raised eyebrows.

“You? A break?” Sara asks him.

“Sure,” he shrugs, ”I'm a student too.”

“You've been drinking and going to parties every day,” Jason tells him amused, “What break are you talking about exactly?”

Everyone in the group laughs, even you, except him.

Aegon tries to justify himself, but even he knows he's a mess. When suddenly, his gaze fixes on you, raising an eyebrow and placing a smirk as if something has suddenly crossed his mind.

“Hey, Y/N,” he nudges you lightly with his shoulder, ”it was your birthday, right?”

You bite the inside of your cheek and nod with a small smile, trying to keep your composure.

“Why didn't you invite me?” he asks, feigning indignation.

Cregan scoffs.

“I invited you, you idiot.”

“Oh, right, right,” Aegon replies with a carefree laugh, ”I'm sorry I didn't go. I had another little party. Aemond was there too, wasn't he, little brother?”

Aemond's silence is immediate and deafening. He says nothing, and that makes the atmosphere suddenly heavy, for you.

And something inside you twists. And you look down at your notebook, trying to control your emotions and everything you're thinking. But you can't.

A party. He was at a party, on your birthday.

“And how was that party?” asks Cregan.

“Oh, fun, as always,” Aegon replies with a light tone. “They were our childhood friends, the Baratheons, the Tyrells, the Martells, and the Lannisters.”

Your heart stops for an instant.

Lannister.

That last name weighs on your mind like a rock.

“Yeah, it was really fun,” Aegon continues with a smile, “Even Aemond had a good time.”

The sound of his scandalous laughter fills the air, but is suddenly interrupted by Aemond's cold, cutting voice.

“Shut the fuck up.”

The elder only shrugs with a smirk and raises both hands in surrender.

“Oh, fucking spare me. You know how it is with him,” he says while at the same time starting to get up, ”First he's fine and then suddenly he turns into fucking Maleficent, like at that party.”

He waves a lazy goodbye as the guys wave goodbye to him. And you get caught up in his words.

Even Aemond had a good time.

Now you understand. He forgot your birthday because he was with them, with Cerelle.

A pang of pain runs through your chest at the thought of what that implies, of what probably happened between the two of them.

And whatever it was, it didn't end well, because afterwards he went to the pub and he was so distant, so quiet, so cold and so upset that that's why he said those ugly words to you and treated you the way he treated you.

Otherwise, he would have stayed with her and you wouldn't have seen him on your birthday.

Still, the betrayal in your chest is palpable and growing bigger. He still showed up, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't forgotten you on your fucking birthday.

You press your lips together, trying to hold back the tears. You won't give him the pleasure of seeing you break. Not now, not here. Least of all when you feel his gaze on you, his gaze intent, fixed and more insistently on you now that you know.

With a new bitterness settling in your chest, you refuse to give him what he seeks. You keep your eyes anywhere but on him, resisting the storm of emotions that threatens to overflow inside you.

A few long minutes pass with the guys making any topic of conversation and that stare starts to bother you more and more, so you decide you've had enough and start putting away all your books and notebooks.

“I have to go now. I can't be late for my next class,” you let them know as you get up with all your stuff, ”I'll see you guys later, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Sure.”

“See ya.”

You settle your backpack on your shoulder and with your phone in hand, you start walking away from them towards your corresponding building.

And as you walk away, a notification comes to your phone, followed by another. You stare at the screen and your breath catches for a moment, reading the texts, from him.

Are you fucking serious?

How long are you going to keep this shit up?

You scoff, shaking your head slightly. You don't even open the chat to let him know you've read it. And in fact, with a bitter look on your face and a new hurt feeling, you block him.

The first week of vacation, you went to visit your Mom in Highgarden.

It wasn't a difficult decision because you knew a few days away from Kings Landing would do you good. And being with your Mom and younger brothers you knew it would be just enough to keep you busy and spend time with all of them.

Sara sent you pictures and videos of her time in the mountains of Winterfell, enjoying big cozy cabins and fancy hot tubs.

For a moment you regretted turning down her invitation, but as you laughed and played with your brothers, you were happy to be with them after so many months without seeing them.

You also sent him pictures of your home, the lake in the garden, flowers and the big woods, as well as selfies of you and your brothers. Through the group chat, Cregan and Jason also sent pictures of their vacations, both of them at the beach and tanning.

One thing you noticed, inevitably, was the absence of Aemond.

He usually doesn't send messages or pictures of what he's doing. But you assumed he would when he was in Dragonstone, maybe even a picture or two. But nothing. Complete silence. Just like you.

You blocked him from social media too. He has no way of knowing what you're doing and where, just as you have no way of knowing about him. And it was a kind of relief you hadn't experienced about him before. It was good to breathe and not be on the lookout to recognize red hair near him.

And the more it made you realize how much better off you are without getting involved with him.

In fact, you stayed home for more than two weeks. You couldn't help it after your brothers asked you to stay with them longer. Until you finally let Sara know you were going back to Kings Landing the next day.

It wasn't a hard goodbye, but your Mom and brothers were sad. You promised to come back, like you do every year on the next vacation. And finally you get on that plane.

It's not a long trip, thankfully. And when you land, surprisingly it's raining. The weather is cloudy, cold and perfect for welcoming you in to watch movies curled up in your bed.

So you order an Uber and soon you're on your way to your residence, letting Sara know of your movements at all times, just as she keeps bragging to you about her days in those comfy cabins.

As you arrive, the rain is still pouring down and you run towards the doors with your suitcase in one hand and the other protecting your head, even though you are already partially wet.

You enter the building, shaking off the water, and climb to the second floor. With your keys already in hand, you start thinking about what you're going to have for dinner and what movie will be the first of your marathon.

But then, you notice something.

Or rather, someone.

In front of your door, sitting on the floor with his head slightly tilted down, there is someone. Surprise forces you to slow your steps and your breathing quickens slightly as you recognize him, even before he looks up.

Aemond.

He turns his head towards you and his one visible eye meets yours. His expression is a strange mix between seriousness and something else… something softer, more vulnerable.

His lips are pressed together and the raindrops that surely reached him glisten on the ends of his hair. For a moment, you stand frozen in the hallway, not knowing what to say or do, with the sound of the rain out there filling the silence between the two of you.

You don't know exactly how long it takes, that you swallow hard and finally speak, taking a couple of cautious steps towards him.

“Aemond?”

He doesn't say anything. He makes what appears to be a defeated gesture and rises from the ground, letting you see his profile straight ahead. He has the same look as before, with his hoddie's cap pulled up over his hair and he leans against the hallway wall behind him, looking at you and nothing else.

You shake your head, not understanding.

“What are you doing here?”

You ask him in surprise and confusion. And inevitably, seeing his state, you shouldn't but begin to worry about him. Has something bad happened to him?

“You didn't go to Dragonstone?” you ask him later as you remember, feeling more confused than before.

What is he doing here instead of enjoying his vacation at his family's huge, luxurious beachside mansion?

And he finally speaks in his low, soft tone.

“No.”

You frown, only with his answer creating more questions in your mind.

“And what are you doing here? How did you know I was coming back today?”

“I asked Sara.”

You part your lips, confused.

“Why would she tell you that?”

“You blocked me from everywhere, Y/N,” he tells you in a low, obvious tone, as if he had no choice.

Confusion and anger slowly begins to creep up on you. But you know you can't be upset with Sara, not with her. None of the boys know what you had with Aemond, they didn't even suspect it then and they certainly won't now.

Surely she saw it as a casual question, something insignificant, as if he had asked her about anyone else. So you can't be bothered. However, you begin to feel the awkwardness, as well as the slight sense of betrayal in your chest. And the bitterness.

“You haven't told me what you're doing here.”

“I need to talk to you,” he says, taking a step toward you.

“About what?” you ask him instantly, confused and with a defensive tone, clearly annoyed.

Everything you have done regarding him, blocking him, not speaking to him anymore and walking away, is more than enough to make him understand that you no longer want to have anything to do with him.

And you know he understands that, so why is his need to keep doing this? Asking for you and looking for you?

You are sick of this situation.

And Aemond, noticing this, your look, which you've never given him before, before your birthday, is not something he's used to. Neither is your tone of voice and the distance you keep from him, when before you always wanted to be near him, almost all the time.

He feels more guilty and like an idiot than ever.

He lowers his gaze, trying to find a way not to keep fucking this up, to be able to talk to you, to let him into your life again. Then, just like he used to be with you when it was just the two of you, he drops his strong walls and for the first time, he comes across in the most honest and sincere way to you.

“I miss you.”

Your body immediately tenses as you hear those two words come out of his mouth. His voice, lower and laden with a sincerity you didn't expect, cuts your breath for a moment.

Your first impulse is to want to laugh, not out of amusement, but as a bitter, incredulous reaction.

And without saying anything, you watch him seriously, waiting for him to say something else, something that would make sense of his presence here, in the rain, in front of your door. But he doesn't.

He just watches you, his shoulders slightly down, and that vulnerability that he rarely lets show in him.

And seeing that you don't react, that you're still watching him even in that way, in that way he's not used to, when before it was a tender and loving look, now there's none of that… he hates it.

So he hurries to speak again, to explain himself, to make you understand.

“I know I fucked up. I didn't mean to tell you all that on your birthday. You didn't deserve it and I'm sorry. I was an idiot,” he says, ”But I miss you and that's why I'm here.”

You shake your head slightly, watching him earnestly and attentively, while at the same time folding your arms, in an attempt to protect yourself from the wave of emotions that threatens to attack you.

He looks at you pleadingly and you look at him serious, disinterested, with the distance marked and the bitterness still inside you.

“That's it?”

His face contracts slightly in frustration.

“Y/N—

“If that's all, you can go,” you interrupt him, quickly pushing past him with your suitcase in hand and trying to get into your dorm room as fast as you can to leave him behind.

But you knew you wouldn't make it.

His hand immediately takes you gently but firmly by your arm, stopping you and turning you back to him so he can see your face and speak to you.

“No, that's not all,” he tells you instantly, “I-I… I want things to go back to the way they used to be.”

“And how were things between the two of you before exactly?” you inquire, taking a decisive step toward him, “You want to go back to the whole ‘no strings attached’ thing? To seeing each other in secret and me still just being your convenient fuck and nothing else? That's what you want?”

Your tone is a poison dart, and you see him recoil, as if your every word burns him. His jaw tenses, but he doesn't say anything right away.

“Say it, “you challenge him, taking a step closer, your eyes boring into his, ”Tell me it wasn't just that. Tell me it wasn't just… that I wasn't just—

Your voice cracks, and you hate that it does. Because even though you're upset, even though you want to stay strong, it's too much. He still affects you even more intensely than he did before.

He looks at you, his lips parted, as the rain continues to fall outside.

“That's what I thought,” you whisper at last, releasing yourself from his grip.

You hold the keys more firmly in your hand, avoiding shaking, to insert it into the lock of your door. But he, not wanting it to end like this, stops you.

“You never said anything. You seemed fine with all of it. Now why the sudden change?”

You close your eyes tightly, no longer able to hold back the tears in your eyes. The bitterness, the sadness, the pain, the betrayal, everything stirs inside you. It hurts you and there seems to be no end to it, because again you turn to face him.

And seeing the tears threatening to run down your cheeks, something in his gaze softens, not expecting to see you like this.

“Are you fucking serious?” you say to him almost in a whisper in a shaky, bitter voice, “After what you did, what you said, how do you expect me to be okay to keep being with you?”

He lets out a long breath.

“Y/N… you weren't just that. You never were. And I… I was upset that day. And I shouldn't have taken it out on you, I know that. But I promise you weren't just that to me.”

You shake your head, not believing his words for a second. Not anymore.

“The thing here is, your words don't mean anything to me anymore.”

He takes a step toward you.

“I didn't mean to… I didn't think that—

“That's the problem, Aemond, you never think of anyone but yourself,” you interrupt him in a harsh, annoyed voice, ”Everything is always about what you want, what's convenient for you.”

He shakes his head.

“That's not true—

“Of course it is,” you take a shaky breath and your words coming out softer, but no less sharp, “ And even now, after all, you don't understand how much you meant to me. Because I didn't matter to you, ever.”

No matter how many times he tells you that it was not so, you will not believe him, because he did not necessarily prove to you before something that can prove his words. There are no facts, there is nothing.

And that same bitterness, makes you finally be brave, speak up, get it off your chest. So you don't let him talk so you can get it over with once and for all.

“You know what happened?” you ask, ”I got feelings. That's what happened.”

And there it is. You've said it.

Those words you never said long ago so as not to scare him away from you, how you knew it would happen, without putting you and what you felt first. But still, without having said it before, you ended up with a broken heart.

The weight of your words falls between the two of you like an invisible wall, so palpable you can almost touch it. Aemond seems to freeze, his eyes anchored on yours.

“That's why things can't go back to the way they were, because, of course, that's not what you want. What you want is an idiot who is at your beck and call whenever and however you want her to be.”

Your words hit him unexpectedly.

And the change in his expression is immediate. All the vulnerability he had shown disappears from his face.

And once again you are in front of the Aemond everyone knows; the cold, distant, serious and inexpressive Aemond. His gaze, once pleading and remorseful, becomes hard and distant.

His jaw visibly tenses and you notice how his shoulders square, adopting that defensive posture you know so well.

“Don't say that,” his voice comes out low, strained. “It wasn't like that.”

“It wasn't?” you inquire, pursing your lips, ”You said I was just a convenient fuck. I'm sure you can find someone else, then.”

Every word comes like poison from your lips, and though it pains you to say them, you know they're true. You see it in the way his face contorts slightly, as if your words have hit him where it hurts the most.

But he maintains that typical attitude of his, that mask of indifference he has perfected over the years.

You wait for him to contradict you, to deny it, to try to justify it. But nothing. He says nothing. He just stands there, staring at you seriously, jaw clenched and looking like he's having an internal fight, struggling against his thoughts, not knowing what to do or what to say.

And you again press your lips together, having enough of this.

”Get out.”

And he finally reacts, lowering his gaze and letting out a deep sigh, pursing his lips and looking at you again with a serious look.

“I can't give you what you want, Y/N.”

“But you do want me to give you what you want,” you say firmly and curtly, “Because Cerelle didn't, right?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can think about what you're going to say. But there it is, you've said it too.

His lips part, his whole body tenses, watching you in surprise and mild confusion, definitely not expecting that from you. And there, you leave him speechless, trying to understand how it is that you know about her.

And although for a second you look unsure about what you've said and regretful, you also decide that you're not going to keep quiet about it any longer. And you continue, with bitterness in your eyes and in your tone of voice.

“You forgot my birthday, because of her,” you say, each word like a dagger, ”You were late because you were with her.”

“How do you know about her?” he asks you instantly, his voice like ice.

You swallow hard softly, holding his gaze despite the pain it causes you.

Of course he would ask you that.

“I noticed something between you, when she went to the same parties as us,” you reply, “The way you looked at her, how your mood changed when she appeared and when you both disappeared,” you say with those moments replaying in your mind, still so present, “And then Aegon, drunk as usual, told me a few things.”

“What did he tell you?” he again asks you instantly, serious and thoughtful.

The rigidity in his body, the tension, is more evident now, as is the vulnerability and sadness in you as you talk about her. And you avert your gaze, with every word coming out of your mouth aching, but needing to say it all.

“That the two of you had a thing. That you're in love with her, but she's not in love with you.”

The muscle in his jaw tenses so tight you fear he'll break his teeth, his breathing grows heavier, and for a moment, you see a flash of raw pain in his eyes before the mask of coldness falls back into place.

“The worst part is that I've known that for a while now,” you continue, your voice cracking slightly despite your best efforts, ”I kept hoping I meant more to you than just your way of filling that void.”

For a moment, your mask of coldness cracks. But only for a moment. And you see a glimmer, of something deeper in her gaze. Guilt? Remorse?

But just as it appears, it vanishes. You notice how his hands open and close at his sides, a nervous gesture he rarely displays. His gaze again seems to search for something on the floor, before meeting your gaze again.

And when he finally speaks, his voice comes out lower, more controlled, as if each word is carefully measured.

“That was never my intention.”

It's almost as if the words hurt as they come out, as if a part of him wants to say more but doesn't know how. And you scoff, incredulous.

“Sure, you didn't mean to treat me as your second option and break my heart with every cold, disinterested attitude every time she came back to break yours?”

The silence that follows is heavy, laden with all the unsaid things between you.

“I can't give you what you want,” he repeats resignedly, watching you seriously.

“Then leave.”

“Y/N—

“No,” you interrupt him instantly, stepping back instinctively, ”I'm done here. I'm done with you. So leave. Don't come looking for me, ever again, do you understand? I don't want anything to do with you anymore.”

You are clear in your words. You're not playing games. You're not hesitating for a second. And you're being terribly honest.

Something snaps inside you, but there's also something starting to break free. There's no turning back now and you both know it, because this time, finally, you chose to put yourself first.

So you walk into your dorm room, while he stands in the middle of the hallway, not saying or doing anything else. And then you close the door.

AEMOND POV

There is something off… in the way you are no longer around.

It shows in the small details, the way you slowly disappeared from his life. In the way a message with your name no longer appears on his phone, nor a call.

In the way he was unconsciously so used to visiting you in your dorm or your going to his apartment. The way you used to fall asleep next to him in his big bed. The way you would make breakfast for the two of you before you went to class.

The way you both exchanged subtle glances when you were in a group with the guys or at parties. The way in secret encounters, stolen kisses in the shadows and passionate moments in his bedroom.

But there was also the way you always waited for him.

That's a thought that hits him with the force of a delayed revelation, something his own selfishness kept him from seeing before.

When he would ignore your texts or calls, when he wouldn't meet you, when he would cancel plans at the last minute, when he would disappear for days and barely be around, for her… for Cerelle.

Even on his bad days, after every fight with her, he would come back and there you were, without protest or asking for explanations. And then it was back to the usual routine; all secret. And casual.

He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath. He looks at the clock on his nightstand; midnight. He can't sleep. His mind keeps him awake, because all he can think about, is you.

Since the day of your birthday, specifically, you've tormented his mind. Ever since he knew he fucked up, ever since you stopped answering his texts, calls, to ignoring him even when he was in front of you and leaving him behind, you haven't stopped rolling around in his mind.

He was supposed to be right now in Dragonstone, enjoying his vacation, like everyone else before the new semester crushes him with new difficulties, responsibilities and pressures.

But he decided not to go, because he couldn't. Because you were supposed to go with him.

He doesn't even want to admit how much that idea excited him. The two of you had made the plan, you were supposed to go with him. But when you canceled, without even telling him directly, it disappointed him in a way he didn't expect.

But he doesn't blame you. He can't. Not after what he did.

He's too proud though, too stubborn to accept it ending like this. He refuses to let you go, even when you've made it perfectly clear that you want nothing more to do with him. He can't help but seek you out, pursue you, unaware of the damage he continues to cause.

That's why he went looking for you. But he had already lost you, for a while now.

And he misses you. By the Gods, how he misses you.

He took you for granted, thinking you would always be there for him, even with his bad moods and his habit of taking it out on others, like he did on your birthday.

A growl of frustration escapes his throat as he brings a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes tightly.

The memory of that day haunts him like a curse. Not only did he ruin everything between you two, but he did it on your birthday. Your damn birthday that he forgot.

Guilt and regret flood him inside as he lies in his bed. And every memory, every mental image is a reminder of what he has lost because of his own stupidity.

How could he have been so blind? So selfish?

The silence of the night is deafening, interrupted only by the soft ticking of the clock and his own breathing. His eyes burn with exhaustion, but sleep refuses to take him.

Not when your voice echoes in his mind, repeating those words, “I kept waiting to mean more to you than just your way of filling that void.”

Suddenly, the silence is broken by the ringing of his phone. His heart violently flips in his chest, and for a moment, he thinks it might be you. His hands move with almost desperate speed to reach for his phone.

But hope dies quickly when he sees the name on the screen; Cerelle.

He stands completely still, watching the screen light up again and again with her call. And for the first time, something changes inside him. Instead of the usual anxious fluttering in his stomach when he sees her name, instead of that compulsive need to answer immediately, he feels… nothing.

Or maybe not nothing. He feels tiredness. A deep, overwhelming tiredness.

He knows exactly why she's calling. He can picture it perfectly, another fight with Aegon, tears in her voice, needing someone to listen to her, to comfort her. Needing him, not because she really wants him, but because it's convenient.

Because she knows he is always there, waiting like an idiot, ready to pick up the pieces his brother leaves behind.

“It wasn't your intention to treat me like your second choice? To break my heart with every cold, disinterested attitude every time she came back to break yours?”

The irony is not lost on him, he did to you exactly what Cerelle does to him. He used you to fill a void, to not feel so alone, so unloved.

The phone stops ringing, only to start again almost immediately. This time, however, he feels no hesitation. With a decisive move, he turns it off completely, cutting off the call and any chance of further messages.

He drops back onto the bed, his mind inevitably drifting back to you. It's as if he can't help himself, as if all his thoughts have a direct path to your memory.

He sees your face with a clarity that hurts him, the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed, how your nose crinkled slightly when something bothered you, the softness of your cheeks when you blushed, the way your hair fell over your face when you concentrated on something.

Your lips… the way they curved into a smile, how they felt against his, the taste of your kisses. Every detail of you is burned into his memory.

The silence of the night seems to taunt him, reminding him of all the times he could have done things differently, all the opportunities he had to value you as you deserved and wasted thinking of someone else.

He lost you because of his own stupidity, because of his inability to see what was in front of him until it was no longer there. For chasing an illusion with Cerelle while he had something real with you.

And now, it's too late.

thank you for reading!

[moonstruckme]

hi Mae could do a reader with Spencer (or any boy u want!) where she's feeling super nauseous and throwing up a lot and trying to hide it from him like may be it's early on and she feels embarassed? I went out to brunch with a friend and idk what happened but I think I got food poisoning I've already thrown up twice and still feel so so sick

Ugh food poisoning is the worst, but I hope you're over it now lovely! Thanks for requesting <3

cw: vomitting, nausea

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Part of you thinks you should cancel. You’re not a very good time right now, nauseated and shaking a little from the exertion of walking from your car to the host’s stand. Spencer deserves a date that doesn’t have to scope out bathrooms like escape routes the moment she enters the restaurant. But oh, he’d been so sweet in asking you. All soft eyes and gentle voice, and he’d sent you the menu to make sure you found something you liked before he made the reservation. You know it can’t have been easy to get, at a nice place like this on a Saturday night. Really, at the end of the day, there is simply no world where you cancel on Spencer. 

You paste on a smile for the hostess, wondering if she’d find it odd if you leaned on her stand for support just for a moment. “Hi,” you say. “Um, I’m meeting someone, I think he’s already…” 

A touch at your elbow prompts you to turn. 

“Hi,” Spencer says. 

You go a bit breathless at the sight of him. Spencer in a suit. His hair still messy as if he ran his hands through it after leaving home, the top button of his shirt open like he had it done up all the way and then felt too constricted. He looks handsome and endearing and nice. Your sundress and half sweated-through makeup feel suddenly, hopelessly inadequate. 

“Hi,” you say back. “Sorry, I thought you’d already be sitting down.” 

“I wanted to wait for you,” he replies simply. He turns to the hostess. “For Reid?” 

As she walks you to your table, it dawns on you what an idiot you are. Possibly the only thing you could do to Spencer that would be worse than cancelling on him would be to show up as you are now. Listless and unprepared for conversation. You’re going to have to order either the smallest thing on the menu or nothing at all, and he’s going to think you don’t want to be here with him. And for yourself, you want to experience this—a first date, with Spencer, and quite possibly your only date—with all the appropriate butterflies and nervousness. Instead, you just feel…tired. And sick. 

“This is really nice,” you say as you sit down. 

“Yeah?” Spencer reaches for the carafe in the center of the table, pouring water into your glass and then his own. “I’m glad you think so. I’ve only been here once, but I thought it was good then, so. I hope you like the food.” 

He spills a little bit of water on the tablecloth, missing his glass. Winces as sharply as if he’d shattered it. Oh god; he’s nervous. You’re going to so disappoint him. 

“Sorry I was late.” You take your water, the cool glass against your hand a relief. “I was…” Well, you were vomiting in your bathroom. “I got a bit tied up on my way out.” 

“That’s okay,” he says easily. “You look really beautiful.” 

You wish you could tell yourself he was only a good liar. You feel clammy, and disgusting, and entirely undeserving of sitting across from him, but it’s all earnestness in Spencer’s puppy brown eyes. 

“Thank you.” Your voice has gone soft with sincerity. “You look very handsome, too. I’ve never…I don’t think I’ve seen you in a suit.”

Spencer smiles, bashful. “I should probably wear them more for work. Most of my team does.” 

“I like what you wear,” you say. “It suits you. Very professor-y.” 

Drinking water was a bad idea. You’ve been too greedy for the cool feel of it going down your torn-up throat; your glass is nearly empty already, and already it wants back up. 

“It would probably be more professional if I dressed like the others, though.” He gives a one-shouldered shrug. Adorable. “I am a professor, but I’m also a profiler, so…” Spencer’s smile slips when you swallow against the nausea tightening your throat. “Are you okay?” 

You press your lips into a smile. “Yeah, sorry. I don’t think there’s anything unprofessional about your regular clothes. I like your cardigans.” 

“They’re not…they’re not unprofessional, I guess, but I…” You can see Spencer’s brain working, his eyes moving over your face as you struggle to appear attentive. “Sorry, are you sure you’re okay? You look uncomfortable.” 

You could almost laugh, if you weren’t feeling so awful. Trust Spencer to tell it like it is. 

“I’m okay,” you say. “Sorry, I’m not feeling great, but I’m fine.” 

“You’re not?” Spencer looks troubled. Sad, puppy brown eyes. 

Oh, and there are the nerves you’d been missing. Malicious, evil butterflies turning your stomach into an inhospitable environment. 

You stand, your chair squeaking against the floor. “I’m so sorry,” you say in a rush. “I’ll be right back.” 

You are not, unfortunately, able to keep that promise. You spend the next twenty minutes kneeling in a bathroom stall, trying to convince yourself they probably keep the floors very clean in a nice restaurant like this while your body rejects the water you had and then several phantom meals it suspects you might’ve had while it wasn’t paying attention. When you finally emerge, Spencer is waiting outside the bathroom with a glass of water. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking it from him. You’re wary of repeating your mistakes, but you take a small sip to appease him before simply giving in and pressing the cool glass to your temple. 

Spencer assesses you with his gaze. You resign to it, knowing he’ll have you figured out by now whether you make it easy for him or not. 

“How long have you been sick for?” he asks softly. 

“It’s not contagious,” you want him to know. “It’s food poisoning, I’m pretty sure.” 

“That’s not…what I’m worried about.” Spencer sounds almost hurt, but his touch is gentle as he brings his knuckles to your forehead. “You didn’t have to come if you weren’t feeling well.” 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. You’re too exhausted to pretend at being anything else anymore. “It was stupid. I didn’t want to bail on you, but instead I’m ruining it.” 

“You’re not ruining it.” His first knuckle moves almost imperceptibly, a tiny caress. “This isn’t your fault. We can do this another time. Did you drive here?” 

“Yeah,” you say meekly. 

Spencer frowns. “Can I take you home? You’re too hot to be driving yourself.” 

He flushes instantly, though you weren’t going to say anything. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I know.” 

“Here.” He guides you to a bench, his hand ever so gentle on your waist. “Wait here, okay? I’ll grab our stuff.” 

You’ve fully given into wretchedness. You have no shame about resting the side of your head against the wall, closing your eyes until Spencer returns with a touch to your shoulder. He’s carrying his jacket and your bag, and the sympathetic look the hostess shoots you says that he’s conveyed you’ll be abandoning your reservation. 

“You don’t have to drive me,” you say as Spencer leads you outside, one hand at your back like he’s afraid you’ll keel over. “I can get home alright. I don’t want to throw up on your nice suit.” 

“I thought you liked my cardigans best.” If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was teasing you. “Anyway, the idea that you could be sick again this soon isn’t consistent with the idea that you could get home alright.”

It’s so him, the way he reasons this out, like he’s outlining an argument you’d never honestly expect to win. It reminds you that you’re on a date with Spencer Reid, and that makes you feel worse. 

You let him shepherd you to his car and sit you in the passenger seat. He buckles his seatbelt, looks over to see that yours is on, and his hand twitches as if it’s going to reach for yours before rerouting to the ignition. 

“Spence…” 

“Hm?” 

“Just, thank you. And I’m sorry, for making us leave.” 

“It’s okay.” He says it so easily, like a given. He does reach for your hand now, his fingers closing over yours to give the gentlest of squeezes. “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t ask to be sick.” 

“I’m really sorry I ate that sketchy pasta last night.” 

Spencer laughs. It’s a lovely sound, lovely enough to make you smile despite the roiling of your stomach. 

You say, in a softer voice, “I think it would have been a really nice date.” 

“We’ll find out,” he says surely. “Maybe next week, if you’re not doing anything. We could come back here, or go somewhere if seeing that bathroom again will make you uncomfortable. I know that for some people nausea can be a Pavlovian response. You spent…a long time in there.” 

You stifle a groan, leaning your head against the window and turning your face in humiliation. Spencer’s thumb stroking down the side of your hand makes it all worth it.

[gf2bellamy]

Hi!!

I’m back with another request because I loved the last one (thank you btw)

Essentially Reader and Spencer are in a secret relationship due to the fact they both work for the BAU. However, someone in the BAU (I don’t really mind who) notices that Spencer starts doing things for Reader that he didn’t do before (carrying around her favourite candies or helping her with her go bag). That person proceeds to try and get a confession out of the two of them/ confront them

hopefully that makes sense, and I apologize if it doesn’t.

Thanks!! 🫶🏻

-B

observation — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think ? a/n: hii B !! thank you for your request <33 I had so much fun writing this i love penelope so much

“Thank you,” you said with a warm smile as you took the coffee from Spencer’s outstretched hand, fingers brushing briefly against his. He had remembered exactly how you liked it, down to the smallest detail, just as he always did. Your gaze flickered down to the other item in his grasp—a familiar, perfectly frosted donut from your favorite bakery. You accepted it with a grateful hum.

“You’re an angel,” you sighed contentedly, sinking your teeth into the soft pastry.

He didn’t say anything at first, just offered you that small, knowing smile, the one that made your chest feel a little lighter. His hazel eyes lingered on you for a second longer than necessary before he gave a slight nod and turned back toward his desk. 

Across the bullpen, Penelope Garcia perched on the edge of Derek Morgan’s desk, idly twirling a pen between her fingers.

She hadn’t been paying much attention at first—her mind had been occupied with whatever conversation she and Derek had been having—but something about the moment between you and Spencer made her pause. 

It wasn’t unusual for Spencer to do kind things for you; in fact, it had almost become routine. But there was something different this time. Something in the way he looked at you, the way your eyes met his in that brief exchange.

It was subtle—maybe too subtle for most people to notice—but Penelope was observant. And she knew a meaningful glance when she saw one. 

Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head slightly, watching as Spencer settled back at his desk, his posture a little too relaxed, his focus not entirely on the file in front of him. Then she looked back at you—still happily munching on your donut, a barely-there smile lingering on your lips. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Penelope’s eyes widened slightly as realization dawned, but just as quickly as the thought entered her mind, she shook her head, pushing it aside. Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe she was reading too much into it. 

Still… she made a mental note to keep an eye on the two of you.

Just in case. 

For now, she turned back to Derek, who was watching her with an amused smirk. 

“Something on your mind, Baby Girl?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Penelope pursed her lips, stealing one last glance at you and Spencer before turning back to Derek with a dramatic sigh. 

“Oh, nothing,” she mused. “Just… observing.” 

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s never just ‘nothing’ with you.” 

Penelope only smirked in response, filing her suspicions away for later. 

The next time Penelope’s curiosity was piqued was when the entire BAU team was making their way to the jet. It wasn’t often that she had to join them on cases, but when her technical expertise was needed in the field, she had no choice but to trade her cozy tech lair for the fast-paced world of profiling. 

As she strolled alongside Derek, chattering about the latest tech upgrades she wanted for her office, something caught her attention. 

Spencer. 

More specifically, Spencer carrying your go-bag. 

Her eyebrows lifted as she watched him adjust the strap over his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. You walked beside him, laughing softly at something he had said. He was smiling, too—not the awkward, barely-there smile ,but the warm, comfortable kind. 

Huh. 

Penelope’s eyes narrowed slightly behind her glasses. Her eyes were locked on the two of you as you boarded the jet.

And that’s when she nearly lost it. 

Because, oh. Oh. 

You sat down next to Spencer—nothing unusual about that—but the way you did it made her jaw nearly hit the floor. 

Legs touching. No space. At all. 

Not even the usual “oh, it’s a tight fit” kind of situation—there was plenty of room on the jet. But you? You had chosen to sit so close that if one of you so much as moved an inch, you'd basically be in each other’s laps. 

Penelope turned her head slowly, as if to make sure she wasn’t the only one seeing this. But the rest of the team didn’t seem to think anything of it. Emily was already flipping through the case file, Rossi was drinking his coffee, and Hotch, well—Hotch probably knew but was choosing not to acknowledge it. 

She turned back just in time to see Spencer shift slightly, angling his body toward you as he mumbled something. You responded with a soft chuckle, nudging his arm playfully. 

That was it. 

That was the moment Penelope Garcia officially entered investigation mode. 

“Oh, this is interesting,” she murmured to herself, a slow grin spreading across her face. 

Derek, who had been about to sit down, paused mid-motion. “What’s interesting?” 

Penelope shook her head, plastering on her most innocent expression. “Oh, nothing at all, my delicious chocolate thunder,” she cooed, reaching over to pat his cheek. 

Derek rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I know that look, sweetheart. Spill.” 

But Penelope just hummed, settling into her seat with a knowing smirk. 

Oh, she was going to figure this out. 

And when she did? 

Oh, you and Spencer were never going to hear the end of it. 

The next time something happened was a couple days later.

Penelope had seen a lot of things in her time at the BAU—gruesome crime scenes, mind-bending mysteries, and things that made her want to bleach her brain—but this? 

This was something else entirely. 

She had suspicions, of course. She wasn’t the team’s resident gossip queen for nothing. She noticed the little things—the way Spencer always seemed to hover a little too close to you and the way you looked at him like he personally hung the stars.

But this? This was undeniable. 

Garcia had just stepped out of her office, stretching after a long day of staring at computer screens, when she spotted you and Spencer waiting by the elevator. At first, she didn’t think much of it—just two coworkers leaving at the same time. Normal. Totally fine. 

And then she saw it. 

Spencer’s hand. 

On your lower back. 

The casual intimacy of it made her stop in her tracks.

And just when she thought she couldn’t possibly be more stunned—he leaned in and kissed your temple. 

Kissed. Your. Temple. 

Before she could even react, the elevator doors slid open, and you both stepped inside, completely oblivious to the fact that Penelope Garcia had just witnessed the biggest secret of the year. 

She stood frozen in the hallway, her mouth slightly open, her mind racing. 

No. No, no, no. She had to be hallucinating. Maybe she had spent too much time staring at screens and was now seeing things. Maybe someone had slipped something into her coffee. 

But no. This was real. 

Her hands flew to her mouth, suppressing the squeal threatening to burst out of her. 

“Oh. My. God,” she whispered to herself, eyes wide with a mix of shock and happiness. 

The entire night, Penelope tossed and turned in bed, her mind racing with one singular thought—How did you and Spencer hide this for so long? 

She prided herself on knowing everything about her team. Not just their work habits, but their favorite coffee orders, their comfort movies, even the ridiculous little quirks that made them who they were.

But somehow, somehow, she had completely missed the fact that Spencer Reid had been in a secret relationship with you—for who knows how long. 

It was unacceptable. 

So, instead of getting a good night’s sleep, she lay awake, replaying every interaction, every inside joke, every moment she had brushed off as just “friendship.”

And now? Now it all made sense. 

By the time morning came, she had given up entirely on rest and got to work earlier than anyone—which, for her, was unheard of. 

Hotch had to do a double-take when he walked into the bullpen, his brows lifting slightly at the sight of Garcia standing there, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently against the floor. 

He debated asking. 

Then decided, Nope. Not his business. 

With a subtle shake of his head, he continued toward his office. 

Garcia, meanwhile, was waiting like a hunter tracking its prey. She was ready. The moment you and Spencer stepped foot into the bullpen, looking far too relaxed for people harboring a massive secret, she pounced. 

“Finally!” she exclaimed, her voice cutting through the quiet morning air. 

Both you and Spencer froze mid-step, your expressions instantly shifting into matching looks of confusion. 

“Uh… good morning to you too, Pen?” you said hesitantly, giving her a small smile. 

You walked toward your desk—right across from Spencer’s—placing your bag down and shrugging off your jacket. But before you could settle in, Penelope cut in with a pointed, “You two. We need to have a talk.” 

Spencer blinked. “About what?” 

She scoffed, throwing her arms up. “Oh, don’t play dumb with me, Doctor Reid.” She turned to you. “And you! I expect this kind of top-secret, under-the-radar stealth mode from him, but you? I thought we were closer than that!” 

You blinked, completely lost. “Penelope, we have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Penelope scoffed again, crossing her arms as she glared at the two of you. “I’m so mad at you,” she huffed. 

“Why?” Spencer asked immediately, concern lacing his voice. His brows furrowed as he glanced between you and Garcia.

Penelope’s glare deepened. “Why? Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you two have been sneaking around behind my back for—who knows how long?! And I had to find out on my own?” 

You felt heat creep up your neck. “We weren’t sneaking—” 

“Oh, please,” she cut you off, waving her hand. “I saw him kiss your temple last night at the elevator! I’ve seen the way you two look at each other, all googly-eyed and disgustingly adorable—and yet, nobody told me? Your best friend?” 

You and Spencer exchanged a look, and even without speaking, you knew you were both thinking the same thing. 

Busted. 

You sighed, rubbing your arm. “Okay, yeah… we’re together.” 

Penelope gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “I knew it!” 

Spencer cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with all the attention. “But—Garcia, please don’t tell anyone,” he said quickly, adjusting his bag strap. 

Garcia’s mouth fell open in offense. “Excuse me?” 

“Please,” you added, stepping forward with a pleading look. “We just… we wanted to keep it private for now. It’s not that we didn’t want to tell you, we just—we weren’t ready for everyone to know yet.” 

Penelope stared at you both for a long moment, lips pursed, clearly debating whether to accept this explanation or not. 

Then, finally, with a dramatic sigh, she rolled her eyes. “Fine. I won’t tell anyone.” 

Spencer let out a relieved breath, and you smiled gratefully. “Thank you.” 

“But,” she added sharply, pointing a finger between the two of you, “I expect to be the first one to know when you are ready to go public. I want details, I want stories, I want all the romantic fluff I was robbed of for—how long?” 

You bit your lip. “…Almost a year.” 

Her jaw dropped. “A Year?!” 

You winced. “Uh… surprise?” 

Garcia groaned, throwing her head back. “I cannot believe I missed an entire year of cuteness. This is a disaster.” 

Spencer shifted awkwardly. “Well, statistically speaking, keeping a secret this long in a workplace environment is actually quite rare—” 

“Oh, don’t you dare start throwing statistics at me, Doctor Love,” Garcia interrupted, narrowing her eyes. Then, her face softened as she let out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh, you two are so lucky I love you.” 

You grinned. “We really are.” 

Garcia huffed but smiled anyway. “Now go, before I change my mind and announce it to everyone.” 

You and Spencer didn’t need to be told twice. With one last grateful look at her, you turned to head toward your desks, your shoulders brushing as you walked. 

Garcia watched you go, shaking her head with an affectionate smile.

[rosiecosy]

text me when you get home˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

(seungcheol x reader)

"in 3, 2, 1..."

deet deet deet

the sound of the 5 pm office clock brings bliss to your ears. cue the shuffle of chairs, the murmur of goodbyes, the distant hum of printers still running.

and just like clockwork—

5:01 PM

cheolie: text me when you get home.

you don’t even think twice before replying.

you: okay, okay, dad lol

he doesn’t respond, but you know he’s rolling his eyes. with a grin, you tuck your phone away, grab your bag, and head toward the entrance.

but then—

"hey, wanna grab dinner with us?"

your coworker’s voice stops you in your tracks. you hesitate for only a second before nodding. why not?

one dinner turns into a long conversation, laughter stretching into the night, your phone untouched at the bottom of your bag.

seungcheol, on the other hand, is not having as great of a time.

your apartment buzzer blares at 11:47 PM.

the sound startles you, cutting through the peaceful haze of post-dinner sleepiness. furrowing your brows, you shuffle over and press the intercom.

"who is it?"

"who do you think?"

you freeze.

seungcheol.

oh, shit.

you scramble to unlock the door, and the moment you swing it open, you’re met with your very unamused boyfriend standing in your doorway, arms crossed, brows furrowed, looking every bit like a disapproving dad.

"um. hi?" you offer, trying for innocent.

he exhales sharply. "do you know what time it is?"

you wince. "…a little past eleven?"

"almost midnight," he corrects, stepping inside, and you immediately register the telltale signs of his concern—his hoodie is slightly disheveled, his hair is tousled like he ran his fingers through it too many times, and his phone is still in his hand, like he’s been checking it repeatedly.

guilt seeps into your stomach. "cheol, i—"

"you forgot." his voice softens, but his expression remains firm. "i waited. i called. and when you didn’t answer—" he sighs, rubbing his temple. "you scared the hell out of me."

you bite your lip. he really did wait.

before you can apologize, he sighs again and suddenly pulls you into his chest, arms tight around you with his chin resting on the top of your head.

"don’t do that again," he murmurs. "please."

you wrap your arms around him just as tightly, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. "i won’t," you mumble. "sorry."

he huffs. "you better be." but then, quieter— "i'm glad you’re safe, baby."

you pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him. "you’re really cute when you’re worried, you know that?"

his pout deepens. "i’m not cute, i’m serious."

you poke his cheek. "so serious."

"you’re the worst," he mutters, but his lips twitch, and when you press a quick kiss to his pout, he finally lets out a reluctant chuckle.

"yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he grumbles, ruffling your hair. "but next time? text me when you get home."

"i will," you promise, and this time, you mean it.

because as much as you tease him, as much as he nags—you know it’s just because he cares

[pbaz7]

FLIGHT 2136: PART 1

paige x azzi

word count: 4.7k

A/N: This is me attempting to continue a story that someone else started so there’s a little bit of 1st person at the beginning. The two of them don’t know each other in this universe 🫣 Let me know what you think and leave live reacts and comments if you can 🫶🏼

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1st Person POV - Tuesday

The morning light filtered through the windows of Ronald Reagan National Airport, casting a golden hue over the terminal. I walked with an easy confidence toward my gate, the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air from the small kiosk in the corner.

My Delta flight to Hartford, Connecticut, was set to depart soon, and while most travelers shuffled impatiently in their boarding groups, I moved at my own pace, having the quiet privilege of a first-class ticket.

I wasn’t nervous for the trip to Harford. I never got nervous.

Traveling was second nature to me, and today was no exception. Adjusting the strap of my carry-on, I took a quick glance at my phone. Still good. The game wasn’t until Thursday, which meant I had more than enough time to settle in–explore Storrs a little before tip-off.

“Flight 2136 to Storrs, now boarding.”

As the flight crew called for first-class boarding, I stepped forward, handed over my ticket, and was waved through without a second glance. Within seconds, I was making my way down the jet bridge, the cool air-conditioning of the plane a nice contrast to the warmth of the terminal.

Seat 2A. Window. Perfect

I slid into the seat, stretching out with an appreciation for the extra space. The quiet hum of boarding announcements and the occasional shuffle of bags filled the cabin, but I was content. This was going to be a good trip. I’m making the right decision.

A movement beside me caught my attention. Someone slipped into the seat next to mine with an easy kind of grace. At first, I didn’t think much of it, but when she settled in, a sense of familiarity stirred in my chest, so I glanced over slightly.

Azzi Fudd. That’s ironic.

UConn’s star shooter. One of the most talented shooting guards in the country.

For a brief second, I considered saying nothing–letting her exist in peace for the duration of the flight. But then, why would I? Hesitation had never been my thing.

I turned toward her, offering a small but confident smile. “Good morning.”

She glanced over, her expressions polite but neutral, clearly used to traveling alone. “Good morning.”

Leaning back, I let my posture speak for itself–relaxed and effortless. “What’s got you flying to Connecticut on this random Tuesday?”

She let out a soft chuckle, as if the answer should have been obvious. “I go to school there. Was visiting family for a few days.”

I nodded, letting the moment stretch just enough to spark curiosity before adding, “I’m flying in for the game on Thursday.”

This caught her attention. Her head tilted slightly, and she gave me a curious look.

I let the silence linger, enjoying the moment before saying. “I hope you have a great game, Azzi Fudd.”

A small, almost shy smile crossed her lips, her guard lowering just a fraction. “You know who I am?”

I held her gaze. “Yeah, I know who you are.” Then I smiled softly.

She studied me for a second longer, as if trying to piece something together, before letting out a quiet chuckle and turning her attention forward.

Still, I could tell she was thinking about our exchange. I’d seen that look a few times before–the subtle mix of curiosity and amusement. The kind that said, Who is this person?

Which is nice. Something about her not recognizing me made me smile internally. Made a lot of questions fly through my head.

The flight attendants moved through first class, offering pre-departure drinks. I opted for water and Azzi did the same. The cabin was filling up quickly, the sounds of rolling luggage, hushed conversations, and the occasional overhead bin slamming shut blending into the usual pre-flight chaos.

As the final passengers trickled in, I glanced at her again. She was settled comfortably, dressed in a UConn hoodie and joggers, her hair pulled back. Even here, in an airport, getting ready to go 30,000 feet in the air, she carried herself like a top athlete–poised, confident, focused.

Eventually the engine rumbled to life as we pushed back from the gate. I kept my gaze ahead, but I could feel her sneaking quick glances in my direction, still trying to figure me out.

Finally, she spoke.

“So, are you a UConn fan, or…?”

I smirked, turning toward her just slightly. “I just respect greatness.”

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “That’s not really an answer.”

“Sure it is.” I leaned back in my seat. “I appreciate good basketball. UConn typically plays good basketball.”

She considered my words, then nodded, satisfied with my response–for now.

“You from Connecticut?” she asked, shifting slightly to face me better.

“Nope.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So you’re flying in just for the game?”

I nodded. “Yeah something like that.”

“Must be a big game for you to make the trip.”

I shrugged. “It’s basketball and it’s UConn. It should be a good game. Why shouldn’t I?”

She smiled again, this time more openly. “I like that answer.”

I smiled softly, letting my gaze linger for a moment longer before looking away.

The plane started its ascent, leveling off the ground. So I pulled out my phone, flipping through my playlist, but I could feel her still looking at me, still wondering.

I let the silence stretch a little longer before glancing at her. "You always sit next to people who know exactly who you are, or am I just lucky?"

Azzi laughed at that, shaking her head. "This is definitely a first."

"Glad I could make your morning interesting."

She tilted her head slightly, as if she was debating something, then asked, "So what's your story? You a journalist? A scout? Former player?"

I chuckled. "You tell me. What do I look like?"

She squinted, pretending to analyze me. "Hmm... not a journalist. You don't have that nosy energy and you aren’t leading the conversation much."

I smirked. "Good start."

"Not a scout either. You're too relaxed."

"Keep going."

She tapped her fingers on the armrest. "Former player?"

I gave a small shrug. "Something like that."

Azzi gives me a curious look so I simply add, “Tore my ACL.”

Azzi nods at this, a few thoughts flickering across her face, before she decides to be satisfied with the answer, even though I hadn't really given her a complete one.

For a while, we just sat there, the quiet hum of the plane filling the space between us. It wasn't an awkward silence-it was comfortable, like two people who had met at just the right time, in just the right way.

Eventually, she glanced over again. "Since you know who I am, do I get to know who you are?”

I turned toward her, meeting her gaze with a confident ease. "You'll figure it out."

She let out a breath of laughter, shaking her head. "Mysterious huh."

I grinned. "I try."

She didn't press further, but I could tell she wanted to. Instead, she leaned back in her seat, arms crossed loosely, a thoughtful look on her face. The rest of the flight stretched ahead of us, and something told me this conversation was far from over.

The flight had settled into a steady hum, the initial rush of takeoff giving way to a quiet cruise above the clouds. I let my head rest lightly against the seat, simply watching the muted sunlight filter through the window as I got lost in my thoughts.

After a while, I reached into my bag and pulled out a book, flipping it open to where I’d left off. The familiar weight in my hands was comforting, and I easily lost myself in the rhythm of the words.

A few minutes passed before I felt it–that subtle sensation of being watched. I didn’t reach right away, just kept reading, letting the moment stretch. But sure enough, when I shifted slightly, I caught Azzi glancing at the pages from the corner of my eye.

I turned another page, pretending not to notice, until she finally spoke.

“Not many people our age read these days.”

A small smirk tugged at my lips as I glanced up, amusement flickering in my eyes. “Our age?”

Azzi shrugged, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “Yeah. You carry yourself a certain way. Too confident to be young, but definitely not old.”

I chuckled at that, licking my slightly dry lips before I titled my head. “Twenty-two.”

Azzi nodded, like she had just proven a point. “Exactly.”

Something about the way she said it–so certain, so sure–made me grin. I let the moment linger for a beat before turning back to my book, the words on the page suddenly a little less interesting than the person sitting next to me.

Azzi had gone quiet again, but I could tell her mind was still turning.

She was debating something, mulling it over like a question she couldn’t shake. I went back to my book, letting the silence settle, but it didn’t last long.

“Okay, I’m sorry—I can’t help it,” she finally said, exhaling a quiet laugh. “I need some more answers from you.”

I arched a brow, slightly amused at her behavior, before slipping my bookmark into place and setting the book down on my lap. Adjusting slightly, I leaned against the window, fully turning my attention to her now.

Azzi met my gaze for a brief moment, her brown eyes flickering with something unreadable when they met my blue ones before she blinked away breaking the eye contact as she shifted just enough to regain composure.

“I’m usually not much of a talker,” she admitted.

I tilted my head slightly, a small smile playing at my lips. “But?”

Azzi exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite believe herself right now. “But you know who I am, and you’re flying in for the game on Thursday. That seems like the universe trying to tell me something. Like I should talk to you more.”

I laughed at that. “God works in mysterious ways.”

That made her smile. “So you’re religious?”

“I am.”

Azzi nodded, taking that in, before grinning. “You’re a woman of few words.”

I chuckled. “I’m not much of a talker these days.”

Azzi picked up on that instantly. “These days?”

Her curiosity was sharp, intentional. She seemed to pick up on little things that most people didn’t. I met her gaze again, letting the words settle between us before answering.

“Things kinda just happen in life that change how you used to be,” I said simply, my voice carrying something quieter. Then, with a small, almost nostalgic smile, I added, “I used to be a chatterbox.”

Azzi studied me for a moment, then exhaled a soft chuckle. “I see you’ve opted for more of the mysterious route these days.”

I smirked. “Something like that.”

She hummed, shifting slightly in her seat. “How much do you know about me, exactly?”

That question made me grin. I could tell she was fishing, trying to gauge just how much of her life I’d kept tabs on if any.

“I just follow basketball,” I said smoothly, tilting my head slightly. “I don’t know much about you specifically… if that makes you feel better.”

Azzi let out a quiet laugh, a smile tugging at her lips. “I never said I felt bad about it.”

That made me squint slightly, studying her. There was something playful in the way she said it, like she was testing the waters, waiting to see how I’d respond.

After a beat, I nodded. “Fair.”

Azzi held my gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes before she finally looked away, exhaling softly. She drummed her fingers against the armrest, like she was debating whether to keep pressing or let it go.

I figured she would drop it, but then she glanced back at me. “So, if you just follow basketball, that means you’re a fan of the game itself—not necessarily the players?”

I smirked slightly. “That’s what I said.”

Azzi hummed, shifting in her seat so she was angled toward me again. “Alright then. Who’s your favorite team?”

I chuckled at that. “You want the real answer or the diplomatic one?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh, so there’s a wrong answer?”

“More like one that might bruise your ego a little.”

Azzi let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Now I have to know.”

I leaned back, letting the suspense build for a second before finally answering, “I’ve always been a South Carolina fan.”

Azzi made a face at this answer. “Wow. That’s crazy.”

I laughed. “I warned you.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “You had me thinking the universe was setting something up here, and then you hit me with that.”

I smirked. “Didn’t realize this was a dealbreaker.”

Azzi tilted her head, pretending to think. “I guess I’ll allow it.

I let out a soft laugh, nodding. “That’s generous of you.”

She grinned but didn’t say anything for a moment, just studying me again, like she was still trying to piece something together. Then, finally, she asked, “So… do you still play?”

I ran my fingers along the edge of my book, considering my response. “Yeah. Just not this season.”

Her eyes flickered with recognition. “Because of the ACL?”

I gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

She exhaled softly, like she understood exactly what that felt like. “That sucks.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Tell me about it.”

Azzi tilted her head, studying me again. “What position?”

“Point guard.”

She grinned slightly. “Figures.”

I raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Azzi smirked. “You carry yourself like one.”

I chuckled, shaking my head a little. “And how exactly does a point guard carry themselves?”

She shrugged. “Like they’re always in control. Always seeing two steps ahead of everyone else.”

I hummed, amused. “Insightful.”

Azzi leaned back in her seat, a knowing look in her eyes. “I have my moments.”

I let the moment stretch between us, then smirked. “You’re not wrong, though.”

She smiled, like she already knew that. “Figured.”

After this Azzi kept the conversation going, steering it effortlessly. She asked about my recovery, how long I’d been in D.C., and what I thought of UConn’s season so far. I answered when necessary, but mostly, I let her take the lead, watching how she engaged—curious, thoughtful, but never overbearing. It was easy, the kind of conversation that didn’t require effort.

At some point, the captain’s voice crackled through the speakers, announcing our descent into Hartford. The mood between us shifted—not awkward, just quieter, like we both knew whatever this was, this easy back-and-forth, would soon come to an end.

The plane touched down smoothly, and after taxiing for a few minutes, the seatbelt sign flicked off. Azzi and I stood almost at the same time, and for the first time, she actually noticed my height.

Her gaze flickered upward, just slightly. Not by much—maybe an inch and a half, two at most—but enough for her to register it. I saw the way she took in the difference, her eyes narrowing just a little before she smirked to herself.

I grabbed my carry-on from the overhead, and just as I was about to step aside, an older woman across the aisle struggled to pull down her own bag. Before I could think twice, I reached up, easily grabbing it for her and setting it down with a polite smile.

Azzi was already in front of me, but I caught the way she paused, how her eyes flicked toward my arm. It wasn’t much, but I knew what she saw—how the muscles, usually understated, tensed for just a second, giving away what I was in fact an athlete.

She didn’t say anything, but there was something in the way she blinked, like she was filing that detail away.

I smirked slightly. “See something interesting?”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled. “Just confirming my suspicions.”

I let out a quiet chuckle, grabbing my bag as we started moving down the aisle. “And what suspicions are those?”

She looked forward again, shaking her head like she wasn’t about to give me the satisfaction of an answer. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

I huffed a small laugh, following her off the plane. “You have no idea.”

As we filtered out into the terminal, the steady hum of airport chatter surrounded us. The moment was nearing its natural end, both of us instinctively moving in different directions. I adjusted my bag, glancing ahead when Azzi suddenly slowed, turning back toward me.

“Alright,” she said, her voice light but pointed. “Can I finally get your name?”

I exhaled through my nose, pretending to consider it for a moment before cracking a small smile. “Paige.”

Azzi repeated it softly, like she was testing how it sounded. Then, her smile grew. “Paige.”

I nodded.

Her eyes flickered with something—curiosity, maybe. “Where are you sitting Thursday, Paige?”

I huffed a quiet laugh, shifting my weight slightly. “You’ll see me, don’t worry.”

Azzi let out a laugh of her own, shaking her head. “Mysterious until the end, huh?”

I smirked.

She took a small step back, still holding my gaze. “Alright then. I hope I see you Thursday, Paige.”

“See you Thursday, Azzi.”

I turned first, heading toward baggage claim, but I could still feel her eyes on me for just a second longer before she finally walked away.

3rd Person POV - Wednesday

The low hum of conversation filled the diner, a cozy spot just off campus. The kind of place where students and locals alike came for a quick, unpretentious meal. Azzi sat alone in a corner booth, her food pushed slightly to the side as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone between bites of her sandwich. She had just finished practice, still dressed in a UConn hoodie and sweats, her legs stretched comfortably under the table as she enjoyed the serenity of being alone after a long day.

The bell above the door jingled as another customer walked in. Azzi didn’t look up at first, too focused on her own space, but a shift in the atmosphere made her glance toward the entrance.

Paige.

Azzi blinked, caught off guard for a second. Paige moved through the diner with the same confidence she had on the plane–unhurried, assured, like she was exactly where she was meant to be. When their eyes met, a small smirk tugged at Paige’s lips as she adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and changed direction, walking toward Azzi’s booth without hesitation.

Azzi leaned back slightly, watching as Paige came to a stop at the edge of the table.

“Didn’t take you for a diner person,” Paige said, tilting her head as she glanced down at Azzi.

Azzi quirked a brow. “And what exactly did you take me for then?”

Paige exhaled a quiet chuckle. “Not sure yet.”

Azzi let out a small laugh at that, shaking her head. She gestured toward the other side of the booth. “Since you seem curious, you might as well sit.”

Paige didn’t hesitate to take the invitation, sliding into the seat across from her. The air between them felt the same as it had on the plane—slightly charged, neither of them in a rush to give too much away.

For a moment, Azzi just observed her. The dim lighting of the diner softened Paige’s sharp features, but there was still something unreadable about her, a layer just beneath the surface that Azzi wanted to press into.

“So,” Azzi started, fingers tapping lightly against her cup, “what brings you here?”

Paige leaned back, resting an arm on the top of the booth. “Needed some food and this was near my hotel. Didn’t expect to run into you if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

Azzi gave her a look. “Didn’t expect, or you don’t mind?”

Paige smirked slightly, neither confirming nor denying. Instead, she nodded toward Azzi’s half-eaten sandwich. “That any good?”

Azzi shrugged. “It’s a sandwich.”

“Helpful.” Paige snorted, glancing toward the menu.

Azzi studied her for a second before speaking again. “So, you gonna tell me where you’re sitting tomorrow, or are you still trying to be mysterious?”

Paige grinned. “Wouldn’t be any fun if I told you.”

Azzi shook her head, amused. “You really don’t give anything away, do you?”

Paige’s smile softened, but there was something thoughtful in her expression. “Not much to give these days.”

Azzi caught that phrasing again—these days. She let it settle between them for a moment before leaning forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table.

“You’re interesting, you know that?”

Paige raised an eyebrow, lips twitching like she was trying not to smile. “That a compliment?”

Azzi mirrored her expression. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, leaning in just slightly. “You haven’t decided if you’re complimenting me?”

Azzi opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted when the server appeared at the table setting a water down. The girl gave Paige a once-over, her gaze lingering a lot longer than necessary. It wasn’t subtle, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Paige blinked, raising an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

The waiter, undeterred, flashed a grin and asked flirtatiously, “What can I get for you?”

Paige tilted her head slightly. “I’ll just have what she has.”

The waiter jotted it down, her eyes flicking back to Paige, clearly intrigued. “I’ve never seen you around here before,” she said, voice tinged with interest. “I would’ve remembered a face like that.”

Paige gave a tight, polite smile. “I’m not from here. Just visiting.”

The server hummed thoughtfully, clearly trying to piece something together, before she walked off with a final lingering glance.

Azzi watched the whole interaction with mild amusement, eyes flicking to Paige’s expression. Once the server was out of earshot, Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You certainly have a way of leaving an impression.”

Paige shrugged, leaning back in her seat again, her lips curling up into a faint smile. “Guess it’s a talent.”

Azzi couldn’t help but laugh at that. “A talent, huh? I’m starting to see why you don’t need to talk much... you let people do it for you.”

Paige’s smile softened slightly as she shifted in her seat, taking a moment before responding. “It’s easier that way. Sometimes.”

Azzi leaned back, propping her chin up in one hand. “And what makes it easier?”

Paige’s eyes flicked to Azzi, as if weighing whether or not to answer. There was something about her, something quiet but intense that made Azzi lean in just a little closer, her curiosity growing.

Finally, Paige shrugged slightly. “Not everyone needs to know everything.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Is that your way of saying I won’t get the whole story?”

Paige chuckled softly, meeting her gaze. “I didn’t say that. May it’s just not the right time yet.”

Azzi didn’t push. Instead, she just smiled, amused by the game they were starting to play.

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” Azzi said, leaning back as she crossed her arms with a grin. “Maybe I'll try to get you to talk tomorrow.”

Paige shot her a look, her lips curling into something a little more playful. “Yeah maybe you’ll get lucky.”

Azzi let the words hang between them for a moment, her grin deepening. “I think I like my odds.”

Paige only hummed, picking up her water and taking a sip. “Do you?”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, studying her. “You don’t seem like the type to say things you don’t mean.”

Paige set her cup down, her expression unreadable. “And what type do I seem like?”

Azzi’s gaze flickered over her, deliberate but not too obvious. “Still figuring that out.”

Paige let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “That why you keep asking so many questions?”

Azzi smirked. “Something like that.”

Paige tapped her fingers against the table. “And here I thought you were just being friendly.”

Azzi leaned forward slightly, her voice light. “Maybe I am Paige.”

Paige arched a brow, but before she could respond, the waiter appeared, setting down her plate.

“Here you go,” the waiter said, her tone lingering as she looked at Paige with clear interest. “Can I get you anything else gorgeous?”

Paige offered a polite but tight smile. “No, thank you.”

The waiter hesitated just a second too long before finally nodding and stepping away.

Azzi, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, took a slow sip of her drink. “You make friends fast.”

Paige picked up her sandwich, glancing at Azzi with a smirk. “You jealous?”

Azzi exhaled a short laugh, shaking her head. “Not even a little.”

Paige chuckled, digging into her food. “Good. I’d hate for that to be another thing you had to figure out.”

Azzi’s gaze lingers on Paige for a moment before she speaks again, her tone smooth but laced with something playful. “So, you’re telling me there’s a chance?”

Paige picks up her fork, raising an eyebrow. “A chance for what exactly?”

Azzi shrugs, pretending to be casual. “For me to get some answers out of you tomorrow.”

Paige pauses briefly, just enough for the words to settle, before taking a bite of her food. “Didn’t say that.”

Azzi watches her, amusement flickering in her eyes. “But you didn’t say there wasn’t.”

Paige smirks slightly but doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a direct answer. Instead, she gestures toward Azzi’s plate. “You done with that?”

Azzi leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Trying to change the subject?”

Paige shrugs, blue eyes glinting a little. “Just figured you might be too busy trying to figure me out to actually eat.”

Azzi lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “I can multitask.”

Paige tilts her head slightly, as if assessing her. “Good to know.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a second longer than necessary, a quiet challenge passing between them, before Paige finally breaks eye contact to take another bite. Azzi smirks to herself, leaning back against the booth.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, eyes flickering over Paige with something unreadable behind them. “You’re really hard to get a read on.”

Paige let out a soft chuckle, tearing off a small piece of her sandwich. “That’s funny. You seem to be doing just fine.”

Azzi smirked. “Am I?”

Paige shrugged, popping the bite into her mouth. “You tell me.”

Azzi watched her for a moment before shaking her head with an amused smile. “You like making people work for it, don’t you?”

Paige leaned back slightly. “Depends on the person.”

Azzi hummed at that, tapping her fingers against the table. “And what about me?”

Paige didn’t answer right away, just let the moment hang between them before finally saying, “Guess you’ll have to figure that out Azzi.”

Azzi exhaled a short laugh, shaking her head. “You don’t make anything easy, do you?”

Paige smirked. “Where’s the fun in easy?”

Azzi opened her mouth to respond, but then her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then let out a small sigh. “Alright, I gotta get going.”

That’s when she reached for her wallet, and Paige immediately waved her off. "I got it. Don’t worry about it."

“I can't let you do that."

Paige met her gaze, smirking. "Azzi, it’s a sandwich. Ten dollars won’t kill me."

Azzi let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Fine, but I’m getting it next time."

Paige arched a brow. "Next time?"

Azzi pushed up from the booth, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Yeah, next time." She adjusted her jacket before glancing at Paige one last time. "I’ll see you tomorrow, Paige."

Paige watched her for a second before nodding. "I’ll see you tomorrow, Azzi."

Just as Azzi turned to leave, Paige called out, "Hey, Azzi."

Azzi stopped, looking back with a curious expression. "Hm?"

Paige hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing her words before saying, "I need you to be open-minded tomorrow, okay?"

Azzi’s brows furrowed slightly, intrigue flickering across her face. She studied Paige for a beat, noticing the subtle seriousness in her expression, then nodded slowly. "Okay."

A small smile crossed Paige’s lips. "Thanks."

Azzi returned the smile before stepping back. "Bye, Paige."

Paige watched her leave, tapping her fingers lightly against the table, a thoughtful look settling in her eyes before she went back to eating her sandwich.

[heavensarcher]

Ok so I went to a concert a few years ago (honestly a miracle because I don’t attend concerts cos sensory nightmares) for an artist I’d listened to exactly the latest album for. I loved their new album! It was great! I found out they were performing their tour of said album at the moment (!!!) and they would be in my city (!!!!!!!!) and managed to get myself a ticket (!!!!!!!!!!!!!).

I was fucking jazzed. Listened to the entire album multiple times a day for like a week in the lead up just to be doubly on top of it.

Now, the album is very emotionally hard. Like a lot of deeply personal music that came from a variety of traumatic events. The artist came out to start the show and very bluntly said, “look, I just had a really hard series of conversations with xyz and abc places, so rather than ripping all that back open again through performing the full album (as they had been the whole tour), do you guys mind if we do maybe a few and then you guys can just shout out some other stuff of mine you’d like to hear and I’ll play those”

And the immediate “oh no” in my SOUL. Like it was honestly a lovely thing - they sat on the edge of the stage and with a folded up paper and pen just started jotting down peoples suggestions and chatting and the entire concert had this lovely relaxed vibe from that moment on and I was just hunkering awkwardly in my seat because I don’t even know their other stuff. I don’t know if I like it or if I’m going to not like it and everyone here seems to know all this stuff from back when they were in a BAND. I didn’t KNOW they’d been in a band!!!!

And you know what? I didn’t love all of it, but some I really did! So I started trying to guess the names of some of the songs I hadn’t heard of and jotting them down on some scrap paper I’d found in my bag, but some of them I was just rapidly scrawling lyrics because I couldn’t work out the title. I was kinda embarrassed about the whole thing so I was trying to keep it on the Down Low.

Then it happened.

These two older ladies saw me WRITING during the concert, and specifically they noticed me writing down the SONGS like a FRAUD

And you know what they did?

Corrected my rapidly scrawled lyrics and gave me the proper title of some of the songs so I could find them better later. Gave me another one to add because it was their favourite and I had to have a listen.

Turns out people at concerts just love that person/band’s music and want to share it :) so the next time I didn’t feel as awkward xD

[brittle-doughie]

Orchestrated Arrival (Pure Vanilla Cookie)

Previous Story

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[Main Story]

Therapy Progress Note

Y/N Cookie has improved drastically since the last visit with me, being more lively and engaged with my questions and conversations. Their previous symptoms have since cleared up and appear to be back to normal condition. There was one particular thing of note was the incense they carry with them, but they’ve told me that it was just for personal reasons.

I ask that Y/N Cookie returns to me in a week to see if their progress continues to improve. Seeing their smile reminds me of why I chose this line of work.

- Chamomile Cookie.

———————————————————————

You looked up at your drawer mirror, that light in your eyes that wasn’t there before, giving you confidence that you were back. Back in control.

You look over to the incense that was in the burner, giving off that fragrance that you’ve welcomed into your life. You kept counting your stars that Golden Osmanthus Cookie was able to help with your…problem.

You kept inspecting yourself when you noticed that the smoke from the burner had stopped, looks like it ran out of incense. No matter, you open your drawer to get out the next one..until you kept reaching around in there and noticed there wasn’t any.

Well..that was okay, the other drawer also had more, you’ll just open that and get some mo-there wasn’t any in there either.

Now you really started to worry as you go through the drawers to try and look for where you placed the incense, unable to locate any as your searching grew more frantic. You were practically opening any cabinet or drawer and flipping them upside down to look for something, anything!

That hazy feeling in your head was slowing returning and along with it, came their voices again…

…

…

You: “Oh no…”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Yoohoooo~! If it isn’t my dearest little Cookie!”

You: “What?! You’re here already?!”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Aw, that’s no way to greet a close friend of yours~!”

You: “We’re not friends. I only allowed you to help that one time and you still had to go overboard with it!”

You sigh to yourself. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you looked like a crazy Cookie talking to thin air from an outside perspective.

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Tsk tsk tsk. I did as you asked, you never said HOW I should do it. Or did that not matter to you in the heat of the moment~?”

You: “Yeah, because I’m not as nuts as you are.”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Oh, Y/N Cookie! I’m so hurt~ There’s no need to get mad with little ol’ me~ Those three are still alive, right~?”

You only grumbled as you get up to head out the door, only for your hand to freeze up right as it was about to touch the doorknob, confusing you.

You: “What the…”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Believe me when I say that I hate doing this, but it seems you leave me with no choice!”

Your hand leaves the doorknob as you grabbed your arm with the other one.

You: “No way, it hasn’t been that long yet!”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Oh no, you see, I’m different compared to my…friends. Nothing you can do will deter me from you…”

You: “Get out of my head!”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Oh, but it’s just so snug in here! All of these feelings! All of these memories…you’ve been quite the busy Cookie longer than I expected!”

You: “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “If you don’t want to take a trip down memory lane, then listen to what I have to say, cutie~”

You: “……*sigh*..What is it?”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Surprise! You’re going to Beast-Yeast again! This time, to see the greatest show master across the land, me!”

You: “Of course it’d be that, as if your friends weren’t enough…”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Aw, don’t be like that. My acquaintances may be a little..intense, but I promise to you that they do care!”

You: “One of them tried to mess with my mind and the other gave me these invisible scars of sort. Is that caring to you? Not to mention that you tried to mess with my head too!”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Things might have gone a little off script, but I promise it will be different this time!”

You: “And if I say no-“

Shadow Milk Cookie: “THEN YOUR KINGDOM WILL SUFFER FROM YOUR CHOICE!”

You: “What?! You can’t do that! They have nothing to do with this!”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “You’ve forced my hand, Y/N~ I’d hate to hurt you much more, but I will have your little pals on strings if you say no~ I don’t need my puppets alive to toy with them~”

———————————————————————

A brief flash of an image coursed in your head. Your kingdom on fire. Houses in ruin. The grass was wilted as Cookies fled from the chaos.

There in the sky were Crowned Cupcake, Salsa, and Dumpling Cookie. Their limbs twisted and broken on blue strings, their necks…necks don’t bend that way…

The flash goes away as quickly as it came, making you gasp.

———————————————————————

You: “No, you can’t…”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Oh, but I will! So, what will it be? No pressure~”

You: “I….I…”

*KNOCK KNOCK*

???: “Y/N Cookie? Is everything alright in there?”

You snapped your head to the door to the voice on the other side of it.

You: “Dumpling Cookie?”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Tick tock, honey~”

———————————————————————

Dumpling Cookie: “Y/N Cookie? Are you..”

The door to your chambers opens as you step out, as you adjust your outfit with a determined look.

You: “I’m fine. But I have to go and attend to something. I’ll be back when I can.”

Dumpling Cookie: “What? This is abrupt of you, I can come along to assess the situation-“

You: “No need, I can handle myself.”

Dumpling Cookie: “Y/N Cookie, do you not remember what I said earlier? If anything is a problem, you can tell me…”

You: “Don’t you trust me that I can handle things on my own?”

Dumpling Cookie: “I’m not doubting you, but..I just wanted to know if you were okay…”

You: “I am, don’t you worry. I’ll see you around…”

You go and head off down the hallway. Dumpling Cookie wanted to reach out and go to you…but stopped herself.

You made your choice clear…

…

…

…

???: “Are they gone?”

Dumpling Cookie sighs as she looked to the side solemnly.

Dumpling Cookie: “Yes…”

Salsa Cookie and Crowned Cupcake Cookie step out of the darkness of the hallway behind her.

Salsa Cookie: “Good. We’re getting to the bottom of this.”

Crowned Cupcake Cookie: “It hurts me to see my dearest shun us out, we need an explanation from them!”

Salsa Cookie: “Don’t be too sad, Dumpling Cookie. Y/N Cookie is clearly hiding something from us and we’re going to figure out what.”

Dumpling Cookie: “I just feel like we could have waited for them to tell us on their own terms…”

Crowned Cupcake Cookie: “The more we wait, the more they could get hurt!”

Salsa Cookie: “Remember, this is for their own good…”

Dumpling Cookie still had conflicted feelings, right as she headed into your chambers alongside the two.

———————————————————————

Pure Vanilla Cookie: “Y/N Cookie, you’re here!”

You: “Y-yeah, here I am.”

Pure Vanilla goes to hug you close as the others head over, glad to see you return to the Faerie Kingdom after many months.

Pure Vanilla Cookie: “Are you okay? Are you well?”

You: “Yes, I am…well….”

Your eyes twinkle a certain blue.

You already regret coming here…

———————————————————————

“What do you mean you won’t hand over control of them?!”

“This wasn’t what we agreed on…”

“Oh please, my friends! You two had your chance with my dearest! Now it’s my time to shine with my special reunion with them~”

“And what if you fail?! We’ll be losing them again from the palm of our hands!”

“It will be a pity if it happens…”

“I’ve got this under control. It’s either us or their kingdom falling under ruin~! They’ll be in our grasp when I’m done with them~”

“You have better be right….”

“Yes, I can’t lose them again….”

———————————————————————

[lostatsea-blog]

Bringing Home the Gold (Part 4)

Alexia Putellas x England Reader

Will Y/N and Alexia find their happy ending?

For a brief moment time stood still. The two of you were frozen, unable to take your eyes off each other. Alexia looked tired and was dressed in her Spain tracksuit with a cap; your heart ached at how utterly beautiful she looked even when dressed so casually. Realising that you had frozen at the top of the stairs just staring at her, you took a step forward and Alexia saw that as her cue to stand. As you took in her appearance, you were drawn to how nervous she looked. She was finding it difficult to keep eye contact, her gaze drifting down to the carpet at her feet. Your heart clenched causing your stomach to roll while your mind filled with a million different reasons why she looked so nervous – none of the reasons your mind conjured were good.  

“Why are you here?” the words were out of your mouth before you could stop them and you frowned at how harsh you sounded. You opened your mouth again, fully intending to correct the tone you had just used, but your mouth was now in control and taking absolutely no direction from you “Your supposed to be in Ibiza enjoying your holiday with Jenni” You knew it was a low blow when you saw the hurt flash across Alexia’s face. It was only there for a second before she regained her composure.  

“No one has been able to contact you for four days and this is what you say?” Alexia challenged “You told me not now and not here and then you just disappear. Did you expect me to just not care?” her voice demanded no longer trying to hide the hurt and frustration she was feeling.

“In all honesty, I didn’t think you would care! It would mean you no longer had to pretend and you could give all of your time to Jenni” You replied. You watched the words hit the Spanish captain and could see her body recoil at the implication behind them. You knew you were being unfair, Alexia had never given you any reason to believe that she would cheat but you were hurt, you were humiliated and you wanted her to feel even a fraction of what you had been feeling.  

A door slamming on the floor above reminded you that you were stood outside your flat, which was not the best place for this conversation.

“Let’s do this inside” You sigh moving past her and opening the door. You walked in and took your coat off assuming that Aleixa was following you – it took a moment to realise that she hadn’t. She remained in a state of uncertainty at the threshold “You can come in Aleixa” you sighed

“I didn’t want to assume” she whispered and you knew, in that moment, Alexia was unsure of her place; something very new to the Spanish midfielder. She did not know how to behave in this space that was only yours or how to interact with this version of you. She followed you in and you led her into the kitchen. You observed her, without being obvious, as she took in your little flat. There were different collectables on the walls and signs of your achievements over the years. You saw the briefest of smiles as her eyes landed on your framed photo from the Euros. You busied yourself making coffee for the two of you, delaying this conversation as long as possible. When you finished making the drinks, you placed hers in front of her. She smiled softly; you had made her favourite drink just the way she liked it. It gave her a renewed sense of hope, like you were thawing a little and were open to what needed to be said.

“You didn’t go to Ibiza” you stated but she understood the question

“Did you think I would go when I had no idea where you were or what was going on” she asked

“And yet, for someone who didn’t know where I was, you seem to have had no trouble finding me” You snarked and again you wanted to kick yourself and tell yourself to shut up! What the fuck was wrong with you? She had come looking for you and somehow tracked you down and you wire sniping like a petulant child

“Y/N” she sighed heavily “Please stop! I used every contact I knew to try and find out where you might be” Your heart swelled at her admission as you understood the effort she made to find you. This had never been a test. You had not done this to see if she would try and find you (you had genuinely felt so overwhelmed you didn’t know how to function) but the fact that she had made you feel like you mattered to her. The other side of your brain wouldn’t allow you the luxury of letting down your guard, reminding you that she could have tracked your down to end your relationship in person. Alexia would not end things in a message or over the phone.

“Alexia, I don’t know what you want me to say” You respond your brashness suddenly deflating

“I hate when you say my name like that” She muttered with a quiet huff

“it is your name” You retort

“Not usually with you” and she was right. It was very rare that you used her full name, preferring to use terms of endearment or just a shortened Lex.

You genuinely wanted to scream. There was no one in the world who could get you as agitated and wound up as Alexia Putellas. The painful irony being that she was also the only person who could calm you down and alleviate the pain you had been feeling the last four days. Your snark came from fear. If you could give her a reason to end the relationship, then it wouldn’t have been about Jenni; It wouldn’t have been that you were second best or just not good enough. You were about to open your mouth to ask her to just get on with it, so you could begin the process of getting over her when she muttered “I’m sorry”

You blinked rapidly trying to process those two small words. Two words that could mean anything. I’m sorry I can’t do this, I’m sorry it’s not worth it, I’m sorry you’re not who I want. She must have seen the confusion and apprehension on your face because she continued “I’m sorry for hurting you the way that I did! My actions, I did not realise at the time what they implied or how it would look to you”

“Look,” you began “I know you and Jenni have history..”

“Don’t excuse what I did” She interrupts “You do that often, allow me to behave selfishly and excuse my actions”

“Lex,” You begin and watch how she swallows at the use of her pet name “I just want you to be happy – what ever that looks like” you step forward and take hold of her hand. You had always found it hard to stay mad at Alexia and when you thought about it, it was probably why you had turned off your phone. What you felt for the blond ran so deep that all it would have taken was a conversation and you needed to be mad at her for a little while.

“My happy is you” she leaned forward and brushed her nose with yours sending shivers down your spine. From the very first night you kissed her, she had the ability to take your breath away with barely a touch. Feeling bolder, she caught your lips in a soft kiss “You are more important than any history or any team. Jenni is my past but you are my forever” her hand reached up and swiped at tears you did not even realise were falling “I would never betray you Y/N, I swear. With everything that has been happening inside the team, In my mind I was showing support and solidarity; Alba helped me realise the implications behind the actions.”

Unable to maintain the distance any longer you surged forward cashing your lips together in a desperate kiss that longed to forget the hurt of the past few days. As you broke apart, you pulled her into your arms, something you had wanted to do since the end of the final. Her arms slipped further around your middle and you felt her grip on the back of your shirt tighten as she held you in a desperate grip afraid that you would pull away.  

“I am so proud of you” you whispered the words you had longer to say before the medal ceremony; the words she had said to you as you spotted the shirt “You are a World Cup Winner and I am so immensely proud of you Lex – Your brought home gold!”

You knew that there was much more to talk about. You knew you would have to tell her about your fears and insecurities but that could wait. The situation with the Spanish National Team was complicated and while you desperately wished you could protect Alexia from all the shit, it was not your fight; it was hers. Your job was to stand by her side while she showed the world just how incredible she truly was; while she made history and while she took strides to improve the game for the girls who would come after her.  

@wosof1

[artisiumstudios]

Au where Stan finds the duffle bag.

HEAR ME OUT-

Basically it’s like a week or two before the science fair, Stan is minding his business (sort of) and while he’s going through a closet/cabinet trying to find some supplies, either for the Stan’o’War or his car, he finds a duffle bag. Curious he rummages through the bag, inside are some toiletries, 20 bucks, and clothing- wait a second. Those are his; his shirt, his pants, his socks— all stuff he has been missing for a couple of weeks. He’s confused, scared, and worried.

Why would his stuff be in here? Why are there toiletries? Why is there money? And who put them there? Unfortunately he already has his answer. Pa was always clear that none of his children would continue leech off of him. If you had nothing to prove then you had nothing to take. The conversation behind the principal’a door swarmed through his mind. How long had pa had his bag packed? Was this always the plan? Was Stanley really that worthless?

But that didn’t matter because Ford wouldn’t choose a school over him! They were going to sail the world together and that would be that, to hell with Pa if he wanted Stan gone then fine he didn’t need him, he didn’t need anyone but his brother and the sea!

At first Stan wants to tell Ford about what he found, but decides not to because in the end it won’t be important. So he keeps quiet and decides to take the bag into his car, after all hey 20 bucks and he gets his stuff back! He can’t leave it in his room cause if Pa finds out he was snooping through his stuff, well he’d rather not think about that.

Then the conversation on the swing set happens, and Stan’s head starts spinning. So it wasn’t just Pa who wanted Stan out, Ford was willing to ditch him too. Stan feels betrayed and hurt, he doesn’t know what to say or what to do. He starts to question his theory, did ford help pack his bag? Was that why he had been so distant lately, feeling guilty for letting his Pa kick him out and even helping him with the bag?

Did ma know? Eventually Ford leaves, huffing from Stan’s lack of enthusiasm and response, mumbling about being jealous that he has a better future up ahead, not just some silly childish dream. Stan snaps, not physically, not with his words: just emotionally.

Fine if they don’t want him there then he’ll just leave. That night while everyone is asleep he grabs all of his money, more clothing, a sketch book, his comics— a picture of him and ford on the stan’o’war— and some other things he thinks might be valuable or just handy. And he drives away.

Nobody notices Stanley’s disappearance the next day, not until night has fallen. Ford cheerfully excited with his new full ride scholarship, goes and tells his parents. Caryn is happy, tears of joy falling down her face as she hugs her intelligent baby boy, his father gives a small smile and a nod— he gives his approval. But the mood changes once he questions where Stanley is. No one has seen him in hours, actually his car has been gone since early morning. They wait awake all night, hoping for some sign, some clue!

Filbrick grunts as he walks up to the closet, his eyebrows furrow ever so slightly, his lips pressed in a tight line. He sighs deeply.

Eventually a report is filed, but there is not much they can do, if Stanley ran away then he isn’t missing, and the police refuse to do anything about that.

Anyways thats like yk the beginning of how this whole thing happens but here are some other thoughts and ideas:

Stan:

Without Filbrick telling him he’s not allowed back into the family without a million dollars, Stan isn’t as driven by money as in canon. He doesn’t have a need for large amounts of money therefore he doesn’t have a need to do sketchy jobs just to satisfy his need to have his family back. In other words he doesn’t have as much trauma as in canon and is actually more able to settle down without being on the run or in survival mode. The first couple of months he just spends driving as far away from the East as possible making his way over to New Mexico where he settles down, first as a bar tender then eventually as a mechanic, he lives comfortably in a crummy apartment but hey he doesn’t really need much

Unfortunately he does get bored, even if it’s not with his brother he does crave adventure. And while fixing a this guys truck he overhears of a town called Gravity Falls, where weird creatures tend to reside in. So you guessed it, he picks up and drives from New Mexico over to Gravity Falls Oregon.

He gets a small but nicer apartment this time around and first he works as a mechanic. Immediately he starts to get a sense of the place and its weirdness and he loves it! (Ford would love it here-) .

Since the blind eye isn’t a thing people have two reactions to the weirdness of gravity falls: freak tf out or shrug and go on with their day. Stanley being Stanley gets the great idea to act sort of like a monster hunter/ putting small attractions up with the less violent creatures, not the mystery shack, but more like the mystery circus!

Eventually Stanley gets the name Monster-Lee for his ability to be able to fight off creatures so easily (mostly through bribery or fists)

Ford:

He still leaves for West Tech, but now he's fallen into extreme stress/anxiety and a bit of depression. Why did his brother leave? Why didn't he say anything? Is he okay? Why did he ever let their father get between them, he should've spent more time with him when he had the chance-

Unlike canon, Ford has no resentment/grudges to hold over Stanley, rather he holds that anger towards Filbrick especially when he found out that he had planned to kick Stanley out-- for being the reason Stanley left.

While Ford does still want to study anomalies, he also takes engineering classes, he wants to develop better technology and hopefully resources for run away teens/homeless teens.

While he doesn't meet Fiddleford as his roommate, he does meet him at a robotics convention where they instantly become friends. After college they develop a small company based around the idea of being able to find people, now expanding into different areas.

Ford is a lot more open with the fact the not only is he a twin, but he likes to talk about his younger twin brother who supported him and always stood up for him.

Part of the development with the technology involved finding people in forest dense areas, especially with a lot of caves (please tell me someones seen that one chart) Which then leads them to gravity falls as their first test area, small enough to test their tech, but still forest dense to get sufficient results.

and then these three bozos find each other lol. anyways thats all i got , i thought of this in the shower like 30 minutes ago and decided to procrastinate on my HW writing this lol. anyways

[partoffantasy]

Tension and Takedowns (Part 1) - Garrick Tavis

⸻ image credits to scribe.jesinia ⸻

summary: when her friends suggest she find someone to release her tension, reader finds herself watching Garrick spar, and her friends waste no time teasing her about it. But when she’s forced to face Garrick in the ring, the heat between them intensifies.

pairing: garrick tavis x fem!reader warnings: tension, sparring word count: 1.9k

Part 2: Click here

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The air in the training gym was thick with the scent of sweat and the sound of bodies colliding. The grunts of effort and the sharp cracks of fists meeting flesh filled the space, the sound barely dampened by the padded floors. Cadets sparred all around, all of them desperately preparing for the upcoming challenges. After all, it was common knowledge that few would live to see graduation. Why hold back when tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed?

Y/N wasn’t holding back, but she was distracted. Liam’s fist shot out, and she barely dodged in time, feeling the breeze of it against her cheek. “Seriously?” he huffed, stepping back to reset. “You’re usually quicker than that.” “Yeah, well, I have a lot on my mind,” Y/N muttered, wiping sweat from her brow before falling back into a fighting stance.

Nearby, Violet was locked in a match with Rhiannon, their movements fast and fluid. Rhi had Violet pinned for a moment before Vi twisted, using her smaller frame to slip out of the hold and retaliate with a swift jab to Rhi’s ribs. The two grinned at each other, neither gaining the upper hand for long. Sawyer, Ridoc, and the rest of their group stood at the edge of the mat, taking a break from their own sparring sessions. It didn’t take long for the teasing to start.

“I swear, the two of you are wound tighter than a crossbow,” Ridoc said, nodding at Y/N and Violet. “You know, there’s a simple solution to all that tension.” Sawyer laughed. “Yeah, it’s called getting laid.” Y/N rolled her eyes, shifting to block Liam’s next strike. “Oh, really? Is that all it takes?” Violet snorted but didn’t look away from her match. “They’re just mad we have standards.”

“You’re acting like you have options.” Ridoc ducked as Y/N threw a training dagger in his direction, barely missing his shoulder. “Woah, woah! I’m just saying, it’s a war college! You’re supposed to—” “Supposed to what?” Y/N cut in, leveling him with a glare. “Hook up with some guy who probably won’t be alive next week? Great plan, Ridoc.”

Liam chuckled, shaking his head. “You could at least have some fun before you die.” Violet sighed, finally pinning Rhiannon to the mat. “Right, because random, meaningless sex is going to solve all our problems.” “Maybe not all of them,” Rhi admitted, breathless, “but it’d definitely help with some.” Before Y/N could retort, movement on the far side of the gym caught her attention. She wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Xaden and Garrick had stepped onto the training mat, their shirts already discarded, muscles flexing under the glow of the lights. The conversation died instantly. Violet, still sitting on Rhi, tilted her head. “Well. That’s distracting.” Y/N swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of the heat pooling low in her stomach. Rhi, looking equally entranced, muttered, “Think they’d let us join?”

Liam and Ridoc exchanged glances before smirking. “You know, Garrick doesn’t have a girl,” Liam pointed out. “Maybe you should try your luck, Y/N.” Y/N barely heard him. Her eyes were locked on Garrick, her mouth suddenly dry. His body was carved muscle, broad shoulders tapering down to a firm waist, his tanned skin glistening under the training room lights. The sharp angles of his jawline were softened slightly by a hint of stubble, and when he moved, the powerful ripple of his back made her stomach tighten. He wasn’t just attractive—he was devastatingly, unfairly gorgeous.

Her pulse quickened as her mind wandered, imagining the feel of those rough, calloused hands gripping her waist, the press of his body against hers. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to look away, but it was useless. Ridoc let out a low whistle. "Damn, Y/N, if you stare any harder, you might set him on fire." "Or melt into a puddle right where you stand," Sawyer added with a smirk. "Honestly, at this point, I don’t even know why you’re fighting it."

Rhi, still sprawled on the mat beneath Violet, raised a brow. "Yeah, Y/N, you’re always talking about high standards, but Garrick? That’s about as high as they come." Liam snickered. "You should probably stop pretending you’re not interested before we all start taking bets on how long it’ll take you to crack." Y/N scowled, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. "You’re all insufferable." "We’re just speaking the truth," Ridoc shot back, grinning. "Now go shoot your shot before someone else does." Maybe she should.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

A few days had passed since the gym incident, but Y/N still hadn’t quite shaken the way Garrick looked when he fought—or how her friends wouldn’t shut up about it. Unfortunately for her, things were about to get a lot worse. Xaden stood before their squad, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “You all fight like reckless children,” he said flatly, scanning the group. “It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long.”

“We’re first-years,” Ridoc muttered under his breath. Xaden’s sharp glare cut his protest short. “No excuse. You’re in Flame Section, and you’re flying with us, which means you need to be better. Garrick is going to make sure of that, since he is the best fighter in the quadrant.” At his name, Garrick stepped forward, arms loose at his sides, but his presence was impossible to ignore. Y/N kept her expression neutral even as her stomach twisted.

He let his gaze sweep over them before speaking. “I don’t care if you think you can fight. You’re going to be better by the time I’m done with you.” A collective groan rose from the squad, but Y/N barely heard it. She was too busy cursing whatever gods had decided to play with her fate.

Training started immediately. Garrick moved through them, correcting form, adjusting stances, and calling out weaknesses with brutal honesty. He was a firm but fair instructor, and his reputation as the best fighter was evident in the way he carried himself. Y/N had done her best to avoid being singled out—until the moment she felt his eyes on her. “You’re up,” Garrick said, his voice smooth but commanding.

Y/N swallowed hard and stepped onto the mat. “Against who?” A slow smirk spread across his lips. “Me.” She barely had time to register those words before he moved. Y/N dodged the first strike by instinct, stepping back quickly, but Garrick was relentless. He pushed forward, his movements fluid and controlled, forcing her to defend rather than attack. Every shift of his body was measured, precise, like he already knew how she would respond before she did.

“Come on, Y/N,” he murmured, circling her. “You’re faster than this.” Heat curled in her stomach at the way he said her name—low, teasing, confident. She grit her teeth and refocused, lashing out with a calculated strike. He blocked it effortlessly, catching her wrist in a firm grip and twisting just enough to throw her off balance. She stumbled, and before she could recover, he used her own momentum to spin her. The next thing she knew, her back was against his chest, his arms locked around her in an unbreakable hold.

Her breath caught. The air between them felt thick. He wasn’t holding her tightly—just enough that she could feel the solid muscle against her back, the heat radiating from his skin. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she knew he could feel it. “Getting distracted?” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. Y/N clenched her jaw, trying to shove down the shiver that ran through her. “Not in the slightest.”

His chuckle was dark and knowing. “Liar.” She twisted sharply, trying to break free, but he anticipated it, spinning her again until she was pinned beneath him on the mat. His weight was braced above her, close enough that she could see every detail of his face—the way his hazel eyes burned with challenge, the smirk that played at the corner of his lips.

Neither of them moved. The world around them faded, the sounds of sparring and training dulling into the background. It was just them, breathing in the same heated space, locked in a fight that had nothing to do with physical strength anymore. Garrick’s gaze flickered to her lips before meeting her eyes again. “You going to surrender?” Y/N’s heart pounded. She knew he was talking about the fight. Knew he was waiting for her to say she gave up.

But there was something else in his eyes, something that made her wonder if he wasn’t asking about something much bigger. Her fingers curled against the mat. “Not a chance,” she whispered. Garrick’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with something almost wicked. He left her on the ground. Instead of stepping away, he shifted his stance again, rolling his shoulders like he was getting comfortable.

“Good,” he drawled. “Because I’m not done with you yet.” Before she could react, he lunged. Y/N barely dodged, twisting away from his reach, her pulse hammering as she forced herself to move, to focus. He was fast—too fast—but she refused to make it easy for him. She countered with a sharp kick, but he caught her ankle effortlessly, twisting just enough to send her staggering back.

She caught herself, breathing hard. “Cocky bastard.” He grinned. “You’re just now figuring that out?” Y/N growled and went on the attack again, throwing a series of strikes that he blocked with frustrating ease. He was toying with her, letting her get close before slipping just out of reach, every movement done to frustrate her.

“Come on, Y/N,” he taunted, dodging another punch. “You’re holding back.” “I’m trying not to break your nose.” “How considerate,” he mused, sidestepping her next strike and catching her wrist. “But I can take it.” She yanked free, heart pounding, but before she could fully regain her stance, he moved again. A well-placed sweep sent her sprawling, and in a blink, he was on her again, pinning her wrists to the mat, his weight caging her in. After a moment of silence and heavy breathing, Garrick pushed off of Y/N and held her hand towards her.

Y/N took a breath, forcing herself to ignore the lingering heat between them as she took it. His grip was strong, steady, and as he pulled her to her feet, he leaned in just slightly, his voice barely above a murmur. “Good.” She barely had time to process that before he shifted into a fighting stance again. Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “We’re going again?” His smirk was all challenge. “Unless you’re ready to admit I’ve won.”

Like hell. She launched at him without warning, but Garrick was ready. He dodged her strike smoothly, grabbing her wrist and twisting just enough to send her off balance again. This time, she caught herself before he could take her down completely. They circled each other, breaths quick, movements sharper now, the tension between them only growing with each strike and counter. Every time she tried to gain the upper hand, he turned it back on her, forcing her to push harder, fight smarter.

The fight dragged on, sweat dampening her skin, her muscles burning—but she refused to stop, refused to let him have the satisfaction of winning so easily. Then, in one fluid motion, he caught her again, spinning her so her back was against his chest just like before. His lips brushed close to her ear. “Still pretending you’re not interested?”

Y/N froze. Her stomach flipped violently as realization slammed into her. He knew. He had known all along—about the gym, about the things she and her friends had said. Heat crawled up her neck, but before she could recover, he was already stepping away, leaving her standing there, breathless and exposed.

Part 2: Click here

[buck-star]

Valentines sparkle

Overhearing a conversation between two girls, Logan doubts himself a lot more than he should. Trying to have you see and feel the sparkle of Valentine’s Day.

Pairing: Worst!Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.082 Words

Warnings/Tags: fluff, softness, insecurity, mention of past sexual content, petname [trouble, baby]

Authors Note: Thought about a little something for the Event Loveuary by @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt, so here you are. Have fun and enjoy. There are one or two scenes where I could definitely think about a little something, if someone is interested. Divider made by me.

Events: Sweetheart Bingo [Row One-One | I’m yours]

Masterlist | Logan Howlett Masterlist

His eyes roam over the aisles of the shop; everywhere is pink and red stuff, heart-shaped or with hearts and flowers on them. His heart clenches as he notices another girl with her best friend walking to the little spot with chocolate and little boxes made for rings or cards — concerts, trips, everything.

“Maybe he’s asking me then. I saw he looked at these little boxes last time we went shopping. And today he went out, telling me he has to get something from the office. The office isn’t open today,” she says with a wide grin on her face. Her best friend giggles slightly, looking at the boxes as well; her eyes light up when she sees a small one she likes.

“Hopefully I will be that one. It’s so pretty,” she mumbles and lifts a small box in a heart-shaped form with small roses all over it. She holds it almost in her friend's face, who’s looking through the others to find her favorite. “Does he even know what you like? I mean, he’s a man after all, isn’t he?”

Both of them laugh. The girl who’s talking about her boyfriend nods. She’s reaching for another little box and holding it out. It’s a rose-shaped box, and there are a few little roses too. “He does, mostly. But look at this box; you can let them engrave your names in it.”

They put the boxes away again but keep standing there. The girl who’s pretty sure her boyfriend is going to ask her to marry him points at a few more things, telling her friend she needs that too. While her friend always shows other stuff that she likes and keeps asking if the man really knows what her friend likes.

“Lo? Baby?” Your soft voice comes from behind him when you place some sweets and drinks in the cart in front of Logan. He’s turning around, a slight frown on his face, but he tries to force a smile on his lips and nods. “Hey, you good? You look… I don’t know, confused, unsure?”

“Mhm, ‘m fine, trouble,” he grumbles and turns back to the cart and shoves it in front of himself through the aisle. You walk next to him, keeping a close eye on your boyfriend, who does not look as good as he tries to pretend. “Need something else?”

You shake your head and lead him to the cashiers. Logan nods; he’s not too much into shopping, and the conversation between these two women made him feel uncomfortable. An aching feeling in his chest while he thinks about the relationship with you.

“Baby, can you please—“ you giggle when you pull the cart closer to you. He narrows his eyes, looking at you, then at the cashier, and nods. Logan didn’t notice his tight grip around the cart or that he remained in his spot while the people before you already walked out of the shop.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and helps you with the groceries. You notice Logan’s narrowed eyes, his lips in a thin line, and his jaw clenched harshly. It’s a wonder that he doesn’t crush the eggs he’s holding in his hands, or the bottle he’s handing you.

You stay quiet, not wanting to make him feel more uncomfortable. So you just pay and let him push the cart out of the shop to the truck. He’s grumbling under his breath, his knuckles turning white with the force he’s using to hold the handle of the cart.

“Lo, you know, whatever it is that bothers you, you can talk to me. You don’t have to break the cart to get out of your mood, and you don’t have to swallow it all,” you say softly, placing your hand on his thick, hairy arm. His green eyes drop to your hand; he loves how small your hand looks compared to his arm, but he keeps his cold expression. Logan lets his eyes trail down your arm, over your shoulder to your face. His eyes lock with yours, and he nods.

“I know, trouble,” he whispers. Of course, he knows. You sit down at night with him to make sure he knows that he’s not alone. You’re staying up all night with him when he has nightmares and is afraid to get back to sleep. “But it’s nothin’.”

You nod, not convinced by him, but you don’t want to push either. So you just put the groceries in the car. Logan keeps grumbling and mumbling under his breath, his eyes moving back and forth between the shop and you, but he doesn’t say a word.

The drive back home is quiet except for the music, the only sound next to the engine that fills the car. Logan acts like he’s focused on the street, even though you feel his eyes on you every now and then. They are piercing, intense, and something is bringing deep inside of them, a fire he doesn’t dare to let out.

His lips part, but he stays quiet. You look out of the window, watching the people and houses pass by. Logan and you live outside of town, in a little wooden house that offers the two of you a comforting and relaxing place without too many people around.

He parks the car and gets out; you follow him. Logan’s intense stare is still on you when you grasp two of the paper bags to carry them inside. He does the same, but instead of just two paper bags he takes six and brings them into your shared house.

Shopping with your boyfriend is pretty easy since he can carry so much more, and you don’t have to walk back and forth to carry all the groceries. You kick the door closed and shrug off your jackets and shoes, walking into the kitchen where Logan is already unpacking all the groceries.

“Trouble?” He asks, his voice shaking slightly, and he keeps his back to you. You hum, letting him know he can continue talking. “‘M sorry. I just… I got lost in my thoughts.”

“I know, you’re an open book for me, baby,” you reply, walking over to him. You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him from behind while you push your head underneath his arm to look up at him.

Logan looks down, smiling softly at you. You’re just too adorable when you do that. His heart skips a beat, but the flutter is soon replaced with the heavy uncertainty again. “There were two girls who talked about one of the girl's boyfriend. She said she thinks he’s asking her to marry him, and her friend asked her to… if he even knows her because he’s a man,” Logan whispers, turning around in your warm embrace to face you. You’re tilting your head up, listening intensely to your boyfriend. “I don’t want to disappoint you with not getting engaged on Valentine's Day… and I… I don’t know if you… thought I would ask you to, or if I know you to buy you something you would like; I’m a man too.”

You chuckle softly; this man is just too adorable for his own good. “I don’t expect you to ask anything like that, Lo. I don’t even expect a present from you for Valentine’s Day or any other event,” you say softly, bringing your hands to his firm chest.

“But I wouldn’t even know what you like anyway,” he grumbles, doubting himself. Even though he should know better, even though you know better, you let him speak without interrupting him. “I’m your boyfriend; I should give you something. I should know what you love, what I could get you as a present.”

You smile, snaking your hands from his chest up to capture his cheeks and pull him down, his face only inches away from yours. “You remember what you got me for Christmas?”

Logan’s lips curl into a soft smile, and he nods his head immediately. His green eyes light up, and he grabs your waist tightly, pulling you closer. “This big stuffed animal, it doesn’t even fit in our bed, but you love it, trouble. Of course, I know what I gave you for Christmas; how could I forget that sweet smil—“

His eyes widen when he notices; he knows you. Logan knows what you like. He gave you a present for Christmas that made your smile bigger than he has ever seen a smile and your eyes were brighter than the sun when you unwrapped it.

“I know you… I know what you like; that’s why you mean?” He asks. You nod with a soft grin on your lips. “But that’s different; you told me you liked it. But—“

“You don’t have to read my thoughts, Lo,” you mumble. Logan shakes his head; he would love to read your thoughts. He would love it to make sure you always get what you want.

“But… even though I know what you like. Or you tell me what you like. Celebrating such a day…? It feels just like I don’t deserve to celebrate it. I don’t think I deserve you, and yet we want to celebrate it?”

“We don’t have to. We can also spend the day like every other day,” you say softly, but Logan shakes his head. He doesn’t want to disappoint you. Maybe you wouldn’t be, but he would be at himself for acting like it’s nothing special. “But you deserve love, so much love, so don’t dare to doubt it, Lo. But if you doubt it, then I will prove to you that you’re wrong. Because I love you, every day. Not just on Valentine’s Day.”

“I love you too, but you love special days; you love Valentine’s Day…” he mumbles, remembering the conversation you had on a date where you saw some hearts and roses, and it reminded you of Valentine's Day. You confess that the sparkle of the day wasn’t there since you and your ex-boyfriend broke up, but you still liked the thought of it and hoped someone would bring back the sparkle one day. “I want to bring back the startle for you. I want to be the one who gives you a reason to love Valentine’s Day, to love every day with me.”

“I love every day with you.”

“Trouble… I want to make it a special day. So shut up and be good for me,” Logan grumbles, a soft smile on his plump lips. “Do you remember the little cabin with the sauna and the hot tub?”

You nod with a grin; the sauna and the hot tub were a lot of fun in every way you can think of having fun with Logan. “Mhm… how can I not after having to clean the whole sauna because someone thought about spilling his cum everywhere but where he said he wanted it to be?”

Logan blushes, his fingers digging further into your skin, and he leans his head down. “You’re playing with fire, trouble.”

“It’s true. You said you want—“ you tease with a smile but get interrupted by Logan, who narrows his eyes slightly. He digs his fingers further into your skin, pulling you closer with a low grumble in his chest.

“How about we keep your pretty mouth shut before I have to stuff it?” Logan growls, pressing his plump lips on yours to shut you up. You chuckle, kissing him back softly while you try to push your tongue through his lips. Logan groans into your mouth, not letting you dominate him in the slightest. “We are spending Valentine’s Day in that cabin, in that hot tub, in that sauna. With movies, sunsets, sunrises, and food. Maybe some chocolate and ice cream, too.”

And so you do; you spend Valentine’s Day with Logan in that pretty cabin. Most of the day in either the hot tub or the sauna with Logan buried inside of you. Or on the couch in his arms while he turns on one cheesy movie after the other. Logan even asked you to let him help you cook the dinner for the two of you, even though he spent most of the time kissing your neck and keeping his strong arms tightly around your waist while he mumbles praises about how good you feel and how perfect you are. And yes… he helps you to bring back the sparkle of Valentine’s Day, not just for you, but also for himself.

Wanna see some more of Logan and Trouble? Let me know if you have any ideas.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @alexxavicry @gremlin-girly @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @princesscore-angel @fandomxo00 @blackhawkfanatic [tag yourself]

[imsofreakingtired]

I am so so so so sorry if this is too close to nsfw (in my head it's very fluff/comfort but I apologise if it makes you uncomfortable bc I'm not sure), but thinking about Sevika w/ a partner who's been pressured by their ex's into doing things like sexually and her just reassuring them that like no baby I wanna hold you what r you talking ab I've been here all of 15 seconds I'm not tryna fuck calm down

And her partner who is so so surprised wdym ??? You just wanna spoon me isn't this the part where you grope my chest and Sevika is like BABY NO

I don't know I'm using her to cope this is so self indulgent I just wanna hear your thoughts on it

i love this idea, thank you for the request anon...and shitt this one was so personally relatable to me 😔

things i wanna say to you

content warning(s): mentions of trauma from past relationships, angst, hurt/comfort

"there's things i wanna say to you, but i'll just let you live like if you hold me without hurting me you'll be the first who ever did."

~~~

“Your beauty…it’s a blessing.”

It’s a sentence that returns and returns to you. It’s a truth you hold in your hands, or wear on your shoulders like a mantle you can’t take off. You have heard it, in one form or another, from the lips of lover to lover. They whispered it to you in the heat of sex, like a special confession only for you, and then vanished like a vapor. 

Your body is like a hotel, you think—a pretty room that people pass through and love only in the moment. When was the last time you were held without the other person’s hands hungrily seeking your breasts? When was the last time you were kissed without their hands roaming your body like an impatient, starved animal? 

Once, you had worked up the courage to confront them. You told them, “hands off.” You don’t exactly remember how the conversation went. But you know that it ended in them laughing in your face, suggesting you work at Babette’s if you wanted compensation for your body. 

When they were gone, you stood in the silent room and wondered if they were right. You wondered if it was your fault. If your body was the only good thing, the only worthy thing about you. If you were nothing more than a pretty face and a blank canvas waiting to be ruined. If you were asking too much when you asked for even just a shadow of respect. 

You stopped speaking after that. 

~~~

Shortly after you began to work for Silco as his record scribe, you met his henchwoman, Sevika. Immediately you knew she was different. She didn’t look at you the way others did—in fact, she barely looked at you at all. When she spoke to you she looked down at you over her hooked nose, her handsome, perfect nose, in a way that made you feel both insignificant and the only woman in the entire world. She didn’t give you flattery about your appearance, spoke bluntly when you made mistakes. 

Still you caught her staring at you from time to time when she thought you were too immersed in work to notice. But her face betrayed nothing. Her brows were always drawn together as if everything in the world annoyed her. You assumed she was only scrutinizing the way you worked. You wondered if Silco had ordered her to monitor you, assess your performance. You worked harder as a result, feeling oddly gratified to be watched for a reason other than your appearance. 

So one could imagine your shock when Sevika strode up to your desk one morning and said, “get your coat. Walk with me.” 

From that day on, you were hers. 

~~~

The first night you moved into her apartment had been a hard day at work. You had been at the desk all day without a single break, trying frantically to keep up with the endless flow of Shimmer shipment records and orders. Sevika had been on her feet from dawn to dusk—you hadn’t seen her for two consecutive minutes even though you worked in the same building. 

The night had deepened, the sky outside dusted with faint stars. You were undressing for bed. If you were tired, how exhausted must Sevika be? You paused in front of the mirror before you slipped the nightshirt over your body. Maybe she would want to let off some steam. Maybe she expected it from you. Hesitantly, you put the nightshirt on. You didn’t want to, but you felt like you owed it to her. Like she deserved it.

Sevika came in, her mechanical arm detached and water glistening on her face from a quick wash. She smiled slightly when she saw you waiting on the bed. “There’s my girl. C’mere.”

She sank into the bed you now shared with her, and obediently you crawled over and folded yourself into her embrace. Her right arm curled around you protectively. Her warmth, her strength, the tautness of her muscles against your skin. It was heavenly. 

She sighed into your neck, and it made you shiver slightly. The question tiptoed to the end of your tongue: can we…can we maybe just stay like this? 

But you feared she would say no. You feared she would be mad. And leave you. 

You waited for her to make the next move, to start pulling the shirt over your head, or turn you around so she could grope between your legs. When several seconds passed and she did nothing, you realized that maybe she was waiting for you. 

Reluctantly, you pulled yourself away and began to take off your shirt. 

Sevika sat up, confused. “What are you doing?”

You freeze in your movements. Your shirt falls back down over your chest. “I—you don’t want to…?”

She shook her head, lips curling in a bemused smile. “Baby, relax. I’ve been here fifteen seconds.”

Slowly, you returned to her, and she pulled you close once more. Sevika felt the shudder of relief that went through your body. Though you didn’t see it, her face creased with concern. She had noticed the apprehension in your eyes, nearly bordering on fear. And she made a mental note to herself to find whatever fucker had hurt you and made you so scared. 

~~~

[kiragecko]

I recognize that I'm probably not the target of this post. Or, at least, the reblog. But, this IS on topic, even if it has a different energy!

-

It can be challenging to renavigate a relationship with a subject when your previous relationship was HEAVILY effected by a cultural context that is no longer there.

I used to dip my toes into the Harry Potter fandom despite not being able to read the books. (I read for writing style, and hers didn't work for me.) This was back in the mid-2000s, and a huge number of my peers had grown up transformed by this series. They were now adults who considered it an important childhood touchstone. Saying that I hadn't liked the writing style, but thought the ideas were cool, could offend people who thought it was EXTREMELY well written.

So I learned to enjoy the fandom from the sidelines, accepting that I was a bit of a curmudgeonly fun-killer. Keeping the grumpy bits quiet.

And then public opinion shifted, and shifted HARD.

And suddenly the carefully mapped ground was unknown again. People wanted to rant about how the writing sucked. How terrible the ideas were. Positivity got attacked. Quiet enjoyment of fan creations was seen as public support of Rowling's beliefs. Mild comments about the writing being only okay gained "agreement" that it sucked and had never been worth enjoying. There wasn't ROOM to process my opinions about her beliefs for quite a while, because I was too busy trying to figure out how to reconcile with a completely new environment, which was equally dissonant with my opinions of the book, but in very different directions and with a LOT more aggression!

The urge to talk about not liking the books was STRONG. Because I HADN'T been able too before! People got mad if I tried! But I was used to a context of people assuming the book was great, and needing to contrast what I was saying with that assumption. In this new context, where the books were stupid and full of hate and poorly written, my statements sounded REALLY different. They echoed with all sorts of other voices that I wasn't expecting to be there.

-

I rarely make absolute statements, so I didn't come off as delighting in people's suffering if it gave me a chance to be right. There are some benefits to anxiously stuffing every sentence with context and exceptions! But I have a lot of empathy for some of the people saying tone-deaf things now. Because not everyone is able to master new tones at the same speed.

Sometimes people are still processing the fact that they might not get argued with if they state that the Anansi Boys wasn't that good, and they've been wanting to complain about Anansi Boys for YEARS without having to acknowledge that they HAD enjoyed Neverwhere and Sandman. And that gets in the way of the fact that something terrible has come to light.

Or they they try to talk about how Mr. Gaiman selling Good Omens 2 always felt disingenuous. Him telling people that Terry Pratchett would have wanted him to make it. They've never said it before, because fandom should be FUN, and it was just a little thing. But they care about Mr. Pratchett's memory a lot, and it had BOTHERED them. But bringing it up now gets them accused of 'boasting', and 'pretending that they knew all along'.

And sometimes, they're trying to work through a hard topic by finding its limits. They need to be able to explore 'everything he ever did sucked' before they can accept the nuance that 'he made beautiful works and also hurt people badly'.

-

There are a lot of people who jump to easy absolutes, rather than grapple with complexity. That's who this post seems to be about, and they aren't who I'm talking about.

But, conversely, It's easy to say the 'right' things when you were never invested in a topic. And you have the social skills to pick up what the 'right' thing is.

If you already HAD complex feelings about a topic, it can be harder to throw them aside and only focus on the 'right' thing. If you WEREN'T 100% buying into someone's public image, there's a period of working through your shit that kind of needs to happen.

-

Anyways, I've always been a bit uncomfortable about Neil Gaiman. I didn't think Anansi Boys was that good, and gave up after a few chapters. I wasn't surprised when people started coming forward, because there's been a little 'be careful here' tag attached to him ever since I read about the Good Omens photo shoot where he wore black and Terry Pratchett wore white and they joked about it. Something about how Mr. Gaiman told the story.

All of that is a bit tone-deaf to bring in now, even though they're things I've had to process over the last few months. They're part of my relationship with Gaiman's works that I had pushed to the side, and now need to recontextualize, but they aren't directly about the people who have been hurt.

I didn't predict that Gaiman was a sexual predator. I've recommended Gaiman's books in the past, and think his writing is some of the most gorgeous, poetic stuff I've ever read. Neverwhere is amazing. Sandman is also amazing, even if it, too, added some warning tags to Mr. Gaiman's file in my head. I don't think I'm vindicated in any way by what happened, or that talking about my previous reservations is a sign that I was oh so enlightened.

But I'm also 40-ish? I have enough experience to recognize that the world has endless 'clues', and they should be noted down, but not trusted. Maybe the first time something like this happened, I WOULD have excitedly talked about all the puzzle pieces I had gathered, which now fit into place. (But I was offline back then, so we'll never know.)

Gaiman seems to have hurt a lot of people, and lied a lot, and broken people's trust. All of which is more important than my feelings about a disappointing book that everyone kept bafflingly hyping. But in this sudden space for processing what he's done, the pressurized stuff inside of me needs to be processed before I can focus on that new content.

So the disappointing book gets priority.