#one (1) chance with him that’s all I want

[no-144444]

HI!!!! I am such a huge fan of your work, could i request something with charles where the reader is max verstappens sister but she's a pop star (think sabrina carpenter) and charles and her are dating on the dl but he goes to her concert and gets spotted and then everyone goes crazy with fan theories and they hard launch with the music video, and max is pissed because a, she's off limits to drivers. and b, why didn't they tell him.

anyways, that was just my thoughts, thank you girl!

don't dim your light- c.l

summary: you have a secret boyfriend and an album coming and you realise that hiding yourself and your life only makes you feel like shit.

pairing: charles leclerc x fem! verstappen! popstar! reader

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Being the sister of Max Verstappen meant two things: 

1: You were famous. 

2: You were off-limits to every single other driver.

Too bad that you’d fallen for your brother’s rival (/husband???). Charles was perfect, everything you’d ever wanted in a man. He was kind, caring, thoughtful, and most of all… fucking gorgeous. It had been months of sneaking around because, while Charles didn’t feel scared at all to drive a car around at top speed, actually risking his life, he was scared of your brother. Like, scared to death. 

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“Bebé,” he whined, holding you against him. “My love! Do not leave me here!”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling, as you pushed his hands off of you. “I have to catch my flight!”

“But if we don’t spend Christmas together I won’t see you until the summer!” he groaned. 

“The joys of dating a popstar, I guess,” you shrugged, grabbing your suitcase. You pressed a kiss to his cheek and smiled. “I’ll see you in Monaco, alright?” 

He frowned then pressed his lips to yours as hard as he possibly could. “I love you.”

“I love you too, you big sap,” you smirked. He rolled his eyes.

“You are so mean to me, you know that?” he huffed. 

“Bye Charles!” you called after yourself, leaving his Monaco apartment. 

It had been 7 whole months of bliss with Charles. Obviously, you’d met him prior to the first date, knowing him quite well from all the stories Max had told you, but shockingly, it took a Puma brand ambassadors dinner for him to make the first move. He was evidently very nervous, but you’d started to love his weird dorky qualities. He was sweet, and kind, and that’s all you really cared about. 

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“London, can we make some noise?!” you cheered. The stadium roared back to you. You had done it. You’d sold out the O2 for 4 whole nights. You were one of the biggest pop stars on the planet. “Are you guys ready for one last song tonight?” they screamed back at you. “Alright, this one is new, I hope you like it!”

The intro to Bed Chem started, and you knew everyone already knew it (it had been leaked a few months ago), but you danced and sang it exactly how it was meant to sound. One thing you loved about being on stage is how free you felt. All of those people were there to see you, which melted your heart. You loved every single fan you’d ever come across and appreciated every single one of them. They made you, they made your success. 

As the song finished, ‘new album out next week! xxx’ flashed behind you on the screen, and the crowd went wild. 

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You walked into your dressing room, exhausted from the night, and slightly hurt that despite offering to fly them out, none of your family came. You understood, Max’s career was important, and it was his last chance before the regulations changed to get the most out of the car. He wanted his fifth so badly, mostly because he wasn’t sure he was going to stay around from 2026 onwards. He had a family now. He had a baby and P to take care of. He didn’t like the media circus that F1 had turned into, or the fact that it was a popularity contest. Your entire family had been built around Max, and you knew why, but it didn’t make it hurt any less when you were reminded of the fact that you were just the second kid. 

“My love!” Charles cheered, wrapping you up in his arms, startling you. “You were incredible! You were amazing!” he pressed kiss after kiss to your neck and cheek as you hugged him back, ecstatic that he was here. 

He had taken the time out of his insanely busy schedule, on a race week, to come see you on the literal other side of the world. He truly was the best boyfriend in the world. 

“What are you doing here?” you chuckled, shocked by his presence. “You should be getting ready for Japan!”

He shrugged. “I’ll be fine in Japan, I wasn’t going to miss you performing!” 

You pulled him closer once again, pressing your lips against his. “I fucking love you,” you whispered, trying to make your voice sound steady. 

“I love you too,” you smiled, pulling back. The way he looked at you. All the love in the world. Like you hung the fucking stars just for him. He adored you, and you felt it. You felt  bathed in his light the second he walked near you, that’s how much he loved you. “Don’t cry,” he frowned, wiping the tears you hadn’t even noticed were falling, away. “I hope they’re happy tears,” he teased. 

You nodded, burying your head in his chest. “They are. They really are.”

He wrapped his arms around you and held you tight. “I’m glad.”

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y/nverstappen

liked by charlesleclerc, maxverstappen, and 8,983,837 others

y/nverstappen SHORT N SWEET OUT ON THE 6TH OF APRIL BITCHES!!!!!!! ROYAL COURT (with lady broski) OUT ON THE 8TH OF APRIL BITCHES!!!!

comments

user8: prepare to be SICK of me

brittanybroski: ROYAL COURT MENTIONED 💯💯💯💯💯💯 -> liked by y/nverstappen

user999: SHE'S GLOWING

user7: not the grinch picture 💀

maxverstappen: Congratulations Y/n! -> liked by y/nverstappen

user66: DID ANYONE ELSE SEE WHO WAS AT HER SHOW????? -> user92: LITERALLY! -> user933: charles what is you doing here loca?

calebhearon: SHE'S STUNNING -> liked by y/nverstappen

oliviarodrigo: and she's serving. as per usual. liked by y/nverstappen -> user88: LOCA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE -> user22: THE GIRLS ARE HEALING.

user09: now i need to know who bed chem is about... -> user44: thick accent... (charles leclerc) -> user94: officer it's this one! -> user88: on MY cellular device? -> user21: me when i'm delusional.

user802: BED CHEM ATE SO FUCKING HARD OMFG

user213: where is her family? she sold out the O2 for 4 consecutive nights AND is releasing her second album, and they're nowhere to be seen? jos 'i support my daughter' verstappen my ASS. -> user2342: right? It's so unfair, her entire life has been built around max and he couldn't even go see her on the biggest night of her life while pierre gasly and charles leclerc can? It's bullshit.

user90: she's so hot i cannot do this anymore.

user87: charles lurking in the likes...? -> user36: tbf a lot of the drivers follow her, it could be a coincidence.

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f1gossip

liked by pierregasly, landonorris, and 890,848 others

f1gossip Drivers Charles LeClerc and Pierre Gasly were seen at a Y/n Verstappen concert in London this week! They seemed to be enjoying themselves, though there was no sign of Max anywhere!

comments

user88: pierre and lando are messy

user99: WHERE WAS MAX? THIS WAS Y/N'S BIG MOMENT???

user929023: OMFG BED CHEM IS ABOUT CHARLES WTF -> user97437: no it's not she can't steal my husband -> user4: she can, and she did

user772: he looks so drunk in the last photo lmao

user942: WHAT A SUPPORTIVE BOYFRIEND!

user847: Pierre's sunglasses are taking me out rn 💀 -> pierregasly: what's wrong with them? -> user88: ARE CHARLES AND Y/N TOGETHER??? -> pierregasly: 🤷🤷🤷

user92: they'd be so cute together!!!!

user902: omfg max would KILL him if they're together

user935841: do we all remember the interview where max said he'd fucking shove any of the drivers off the track if they went for his sister? like does charles have a death with? is he not despressed enough?

user91234: charles when i catch you

user7: if he stole my wife, i'm going to be pissed (i've never met her and she doesn't know i exist)

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"People saw you today," you yawned, laying in bed with Charles. The concert was over, and Charles had surprised you with his presence, though it was more than welcome. You were both lying in the luxurious hotel bed as you settled down for sleep, his arms wrapping around you.

He nodded. "I know. I just thought people would assume we're friends though."

You rolled your eyes. Bullshit. “You’re such a bad liar,” you chuckled as his jaw dropped at the accusation. 

“I am not lying!” he stressed, but his smirk gave him away. 

“Charles LeClerc, you wanted people to find out, didn’t you?” you gasped, hitting him with a pillow. 

“I did not!” he hit you back.

What ensued after was a pillow fight that ended with you holding him down against the bed, and his lips on yours. The amount of alcohol you'd both consumed meant that the kiss was messy, but amazing all the same. It was all teeth and tongue, all passion, all Charles.

“You were so pretty up there,” he whispered against your mouth, completely at your mercy. “Felt like you were singing just to me.”

You chuckled, pulling back. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded, biting his lip. “So perfect,” he sighed. 

“I still think you wanted people to find out,” you argued, getting off of him. 

“Well of course,  but that’s-”

“Charles!” you squealed.

"My love!" he chuckled, holding you closer. "How in the world, do you expect me to try and hide the fact that I love you-?"

He was interrupted by your phone ringing. You groaned, he groaned, yet you got up and sat up, grabbing it, answering without looking at the caller id.

"Are you dating Charles?" Max's voice sobered you up pretty quickly. You stuttered for a moment, then laughed.

"W-what?" you questioned. "No."

He huffed from the other side of the phone. "Are you sure? What was he doing at your show?"

You rolled your eyes. "I don't know, maybe he actually enjoys my music and wanted to come see me? Is that so outlandish?"

"You know that's not what I'm saying."

"Yeah, you're not even interested in my life enough to ask. The shows were great, thanks for asking dickhead," you scoffed before ending the call and blocking his number. He was so... self-involved. He'd stopped caring about you and your interests when you were only kids, too focused on the plan to notice that fact that you were there, and that you adored your big brother. Nevertheless, he didn't care, so you had to stop caring too.

"Are you alright?" Charles whispered, wrapping an arm around you.

You nodded, too fragile to answer. You knew you'd break down crying if you answered verbally, so that would have to do.

"I'm sorry," he pressed gentle but grounding kisses to your neck and back as you gave yourself a moment to soak it all in. "I know how hard this is on you. I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to apologise for loving me," you whispered, your voice breaking.

He chuckled. "I'll never apologise for that," he smiled against your skin. "I'm just sorry that your family are... difficult."

You nodded, leaning into him. "They are."

"You were radiant up on that stage tonight," he beamed. "Don't let them dim your light, please baby."

You nodded. "You're right. No more dimming lights."

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The song was simple and from your next album, it could be your second single of the album, and you knew it was catchy and good. It was a good plan, a great plan, even. You and Charles would hard launch your relationship to the world with a music video appearance. Not only would it show the world your relationship, it would also be a great way to generate buzz for your upcoming album. Win-win. The idea was sexy and cool, and shooting it was as much fun as you'd imagined (aka, a lot of kisses, a lot of him touching you, and a lot of retakes), and by the end of the shoot you were convinced it was your best video yet.

You weren't going to tell Max before the video came out. You weren't interested in getting two different lectures, so you decided you'd prefer one long one. Charles supported your decision, and didn't tell anyone shit until the night the video came out.

By then, it was fair game.

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charlesleclerc & y/nverstappen

liked by pierregasly, arthurleclerc, oscarpiastri and 6,893,234 others

charlesleclerc isn't she lovely? please, please, please mv out now.

comments

user92: YOU'RE JOKING

user23: WHAT A PERFECT COUPLE

user9535: stood up and applauded.

user76: this is my niche and i'm so here for it.

brittanybroski: MY WOMAN, NOOOOOOOOO

user024: she's perfect. she is so perfect.

user924084208: can i be her when I grow up? (i'm 34)

user3: she's kind of a slut... -> user9: please please please for the love of god shut the fuck up

user45: idk who I want to be more -> user83: charles. -> user82: charles. -> user08424: charles. -> user36824: charles. -> user24: charles. -> user1: charles. -> user56: charles. -> user75: charles.

pierregasly: KNEW IT FROM THE START ->charlesleclerc: is that because we told you or...? -> pierregasly: trying to steal my thunder rn is CRAZY -> charlesleclerc: trying to make this about yourself rn is CRAZY -> y/nverstappen: BOTH of you are acting like idiots, please refrain

y/nverstappen: ilysm -> charlesleclerc: i adore you -> user923: sleeping on the highway tonight!

lewishamilton: :) -> charlesleclerc: thanks bud :)

user834: what does he see in her?

user2: what does she see in him?

user5: is she aware of his cheating scandals in the past? -> user34: it's almost like people can grow and change! hope this helps xxx

user645: she is about to get her heart broken

user2321: she couldn't have picked someone more... suited to her? -> user8: mate she's a popstar and the sister of Max Verstappen, what about Charles LeClerc isn't 'suited' to her?

francocolapinto: 😍😍😍 -> user830: what is blud doing?

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y/nverstappen

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, pierregasly, and 4,873,933 others

y/nverstappen just 2 days until the album, here's so photos of yours truly to hold you over 💋

comments

user935: anyone notice how max has been MIA and angry since her London shows?? -> user5684: i'm employed what does this mean? -> user33: stop trying to stir shit up bro

charlesleclerc: beautiful girl liked by y/nverstappen

user88: max looked like he was ready to kill charles today lmao

user93940924: she's glowing

user6: not mentioning charles i see... -> user9: girl fuck off -> user4: they've been publicly dating for 2 days, calm down.

user09: sigh... i could treat you better y/n... -> charlesleclerc: no you could not. -> pierregasly: let's reel it in buddy ffs -> charlesleclerc: what??? is defending my honour cringe now? -> pierregasly: not just now, it always was.

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When the album launched, you were nestled in your apartment, alone. You were so excited for a night nice in, but of course, your plans were foiled by a knock on the door, and an outpour of dutch from your brother's lips.

"Fuck off Max," you shouted from your side of the door. "I don't want to talk to you."

"I'm missing a race for this," he sighed, his voice softer than you'd heard it.

You opened the door, and he did something unexpected. He hugged you. A full-blown tight hug, the kind he hadn't given you since you were a kid.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Why didn't you tell me?"

You shrugged, pulling out of the hug. "I wasn't interested in the lecture."

"But I know Charles, I could've... I don't know, helped?" he paced around your kitchen. "I just... I don't understand why you felt like you couldn't tell me."

"Max, you said you'd shove anyone off track if they went for me, so I don't understand your disconnect. I'm happy with Charles, like really fucking happy. He makes me feel great, and he cares about me. He loves me. And I'm so sick of trying to make myself smaller so that i can fit into your life. I adore you Max, genuinely, I do. You're my big brother and I love you, and you should be celebrated for your incredible accomplishments, but so should I. I'm not going to sit here and make myself any more unhappy just because it'll make your life easier. I-I won't do it. I want to be able to post my boyfriend, go support him at races, and everything else all the other girlfriends can do. I'm not going to hide him or myself to make you more comfortable," you pushed through the tears building behind your eyes, and stared him right in the eyes. He needed to hear that your life wasn't just about him.

He was quiet for a moment. "I'm happy for you, and I'm sorry that I'm not very good at... being there for you."

He looked uncomfortable. He'd never been very good with his emotions, so that was probably the best you were going to get.

"Thank you," you smiled. "And you really didn't have to miss a race for me, but thank you anyways."

He nodded. "I care about you. I want you to be happy," he explained, looking down.

You were both silent for a few seconds.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" you offered.

He looked up and smiled. Same old Max. Same old you.

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y/nverstappen

liked by landonorris, charlesleclerc, maxverstappen, and 6,243, 563 others

y/nverstappen: and she's out! thank you all so much for the love, mwah!

comments on this post have been limited

maxverstappen: Very proud!

charlesleclerc: i love you so much you're so pretty (please please please let me come over tonight)

landonorris: SHARPEST TOOL IS SUCH A BANGER liked by y/nverstappen

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navigation for my blog :)

ferrari masterlist

[redwinelew]

saw you’re taking requests! would love to get a lewis teammates/rivals smau where they’re both in love with each other but idiots in realizing it

repressed, compressed | lewis hamilton [1/2]

social media au. east-asian + female + driver!reader

summary as requested!

face claim chloe bennet

song compress / repress by trent reznor & atticus ross from the challengers (2024) original score

warnings suggestive (when have i not write a fic that is not), a lot of banters, lewis being an asshole a bit, a little misogynistic tone (not from lewis ofc), probably inaccurate timeline

author's note timeline is a mess so fuck it we ball. george is merc reserve driver bcs i love him so we're keeping him around here.

english is not my first language. all pictures taken from instagram, pinterest and twitter. credit to owners.

[part one] [part two]

masterlist | request info | requests are CLOSED!

ynln just made a post!

♬ Demons • Hayley Kiyoko

liked by lewishamilton, oscarpiastri and 1,882,627 others

ynln me when i'm not driving a car in circles and nobody pisses me off

view all 3,246 comments

user MOTHER JUST POSTED

user thank god she's alive

user caption omg not the shade 😭😭

user user and yet the person she's shading has the nerves to like her post — liked by ynln!

user user the fact that he doesn't even follow her 🤭🤭 but let me keep my mouth shut for now

user can't wait for the break to end i miss watching the races

ynln user u and me both except i'm driving

lewishamilton demon is exactly what you are

ynln lewishamilton omg why are u so obsessed with me 😰😰😰😰😰😰

lewishamilton ynln i'm really not

ynln lewishamilton then stop terrorizing my comment section nobody wants u here

ynln lewishamilton also that was a mean girls reference but ofc your old ass wouldn't get it

user ynln OOOOHHHHHHHHH

user ynln MIC DROP

user ynln lewishamilton i like how u guys are fighting on track but roast each other on social media

ynln user lol i would actually fight him rn if given the chance

lewishamilton ynln i'd like to see you try

ynln lewishamilton i'm literally taller than u but ok

mercedesamgf1 ynln lewishamilton okay that's enough.

ynln mercedesamgf1 oh ffs

user mercedesamgf1 i could practically hear toto's voice rn scolding his children

user GOOSE CAMEO LET'S GOOOO

user user goose?

user user her dog's name!! y/n named her dog after goose from top gun bcs she once said that she was obsessed with the film as a child and even had a top gun themed birthday party with tom cruise's face on her cake and everything lol you can find the picture on google . she wanted to become an air force pilot bcs of the film but her family didn't let her so she tried out karting and the rest is history!!

user user oh that's kind of adorable 🥹🥹 i wonder how she felt when lewis said that he was almost in top gun maverick

ynln user absolutely grateful that the greatest legacy sequel of all time wasn't ruined by his presence. the only time i'm happy for our packed schedule

user ynln 😭😭😭😭

lewishamilton ynln you are just bitter that you didn't get tom's autograph when he was at silverstone

ynln lewishamilton yk what fuck you

lewishamilton ynln i bet you'd like that wouldn't you

user lewishamilton WOAH@!_:3;3!#?

user lewishamilton WHAT DID HE SAYYYYYYY

mercedesamgf1 lewishamilton ynln i'm not getting paid enough for this shit

user mercedesamgf1 poor admin 😭😭

lewishamilton just made a post!

liked by ynln, annaxsitar and 1,729,113 others

lewishamilton ready and energized 👊🏾

view all 15,859 comments

user BARK BARK GRRRR

user raw and passionate.

user until the neighbours know his name

user as someone who bickers with lewis a lot, y/n sure does like his posts

user user especially the shirtless ones 😭😭

user user i have his notifs on and yet when i open his posts y/n is always here first 😭😭

user 100plus ahh caption 💀💀

ynln god help whichever f1 staff that is going to be fired for this

lewishamilton ynln you literally posted your whole ass the other day

ynln lewishamilton oh so you were looking?

lewishamilton ynln in your dreams, l/n

ynln lewishamilton i bet u do dream about this ass, hamilton

mercedesamgf1 ynln lewishamilton what did we talk about arguing on social media

user mercedesamgf1 omg admin is here

lewishamilton mercedesamgf1 she started it first

ynln lewishamilton u mean fulfilling your life long dream of seeing my ass? no need to thank me babe

georgerussell63 ynln i'm next to him he's blushing right now

lewishamilton georgerussell63 get out of here this doesn't concern you

ynln georgerussell63 oh? 😏😏😏😏 do tell me more

lewishamilton georgerussell63 please don't

ynln lewishamilton boo hoo too late he just dmed me 😝😝

user lewis saw y/n post and was like yk what i'll do you one better 😭😭

user user no complaints here though 🫦

user i just KNOW that mercedes and f1 publicists are tired of y/n and lewis bullshit 😭😭

user it's the way y/n and lewis practically canNOT stand each other on track but are flirting on instagram

user user y/n flirts with everybody and i don't mean that in a misogynistic tone but as in she's just nice that way

user user i don't think the hate is real, maybe it's just for pr

user user i don't think lewis has the time to do this length of pr anymore 😭😭 it's been happening since y/n joined mercedes which has been YEARS

user user also would be weird on mercedes' side. they are putting the only black and female drivers in f1 history against each other? this does not look good on their part

media day!

race day!

post race!

taglist @seonghwaexile @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @nothaqks @serendipityf1 @jajouska @cowboylikebrie @kpop-obsessed-girly

[exocaliii]

❦︎ And You Look Half Dead Half The Time

(pt. 1) (pt. 2)

| Kang No-eul / Guard 011 x fem!reader |

side! | Se-mi / Played 380 x fem!reader |

Summary: For six years, you've watched your best friend and only companion mourn a child she barely got to know. Now, you're given a chance that might finally rid her of this lifelong guilt.

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: death, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, making-out, fingering + cunnilingus (r! receiving), bathroom sex, one use of Y/N even though I tried my best to avoid it lol, extreme jealousy/possessiveness, no-eul is not playing about her girl in this one LOL

A/N: finally reached the romance stuff in this one but there's still some build-up of course, hope you all enjoy and as always, i appreciate any type of feedback or comments, they make the writing worth it!! :D this is so self indulgent omg

—

When the platform begins to spin, you feel a firm grip on your hand, looking up to find Se-mi already staring at you with a calm expression on her face.

“Stick with me.” 

You nod, and before you’re able to check on Min-su, you’re nearly thrown off your feet by the sudden stop of the surface you’re on. 

“10 players.” 

The boom of the announcer clears your senses, and as Thanos and Nam-gyu laugh and spin, you see another group of five waving their hands for more people. You shout at the loudest volume you’ve used since arriving here for them to come over, and with a tight grip on Se-mi’s hand, you drag her to the open room right across the arena. Thanos, Nam-gyu, and Min-su (who you can now see was hiding behind Se-mi) follow right along, and, thank goodness, the other team of 5 do the same. 

“Are you okay?” You don’t respond to Se-mi's question because the answer should be obvious with the way you’re trembling, but she only nods in understanding. “Just stay calm, it’ll be fine.” You want to believe her, you truly do, but you see Min-su’s fear, and in that moment, you accept that this may be the game that kills you. 

The lock clicks open.

Your group of ten steps out, stepping over the blood of those who lost the last round.

You want to retch, but you stay focused and get back on the platform. 

With your hand in Se-mi’s, you block out the happy singing of Thanos and Nam-gyu, opting instead to pat Min-su’s back when you see him basically shaking like a leaf. He jumps, but turns to you with a grateful look in his eye. You pray that he lives, because someone like him should not die in a cold place like this.

“4 players.”

Your heart drops. Thanos glances back and forth between the three of you as Nam-gyu stands at his side. Your heart feels heavy in your chest, and your legs are stiff, ready to run. His eyes stop on Min-su, and you know what’s about to happen.

“You-”

“I’ll go.” 

Se-mi barely has a chance to react before you rip your hand from hers and run to find another group. Somewhere in the bustle of the crowd, you swear you hear her call your name, but you’re too locked onto three men in the distance. They’re already in the room, but they’re calling for a fourth person. Fear threatens to strangle you as you run over, the countdown playing loud in the overhead speaker. Their eyes are desperate, arms open to beckon you over to save both your life and theirs.

 

At the last second, you basically ram into one of the men as you barrel into the room, one of them slamming it shut behind you not even a second before the lock clicks. No one speaks as shots ring out from outside the room, and you begin to come to terms with your act of sacrifice for someone you had just met yesterday. 

Fuck, what were you thinking? Are you in this to win or not?

The lock clicks open, and you all step outside. There’s even more fresh blood on the ground, blood that you ignore as your eyes search the arena for your old group. 

“Y/N!”

You spin fast enough to snap your neck at the sound of her voice, and Se-mi runs over to you followed by the rest of the group. You think she’s about to hug you but she stops just short of it, arms lowering back to her side awkwardly before she resigns to grabbing you by the shoulders instead. For a second, you stare at each other in silence, neither knowing what to say.

“Oh shit, that was too cool girl.” Thano’s voice ruins the moment, but before you all begin heading back to the platform, you hear a soft voice from behind Se-mi.

“Thank you.” 

Min-su meekly looks at you with obvious guilt, and Se-mi drops her hands from your shoulders to take your hand as you all walk back towards the center. It’s comforting to have her hand in yours again (especially after you almost died letting go of it).

“It’s fine, I already saw the other group before leaving.” Obvious lie, but he didn’t need to know that. 

As you all begin to spin again, Se-mi gives your hand a short squeeze before looking down at you with a gentle smile that, as always, almost looks like a smirk.

“I was right about you.” You chuckle at this and turn away to hide your reddened face, but of course, the moment doesn’t last very long. 

“3 players.”

The three of you barely spare a glance at Thanos and Nam-gyu before you grab each other’s hands and run off, hearing the rapper scream a curse at your betrayal. You almost want to laugh, but you’re too focused on holding onto Se-mi and Min-su’s hands for dear life as you run towards one of the few open rooms still available. 

They’re filling up too quickly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see two other groups scrambling towards the one room you have your sights set on. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you come to the horrifying realization that groups of three might be too small to fit everyone that was still alive, even if they were all paired up. The thought makes your legs move that much faster, but just as you’re about to reach your safe haven, a body collides with yours and sends you flying towards the floor. 

10 seconds left.

“Min-su?!” He was on your left, but where is he?

7 seconds left.

“Get up, get inside the room!” Se-mi. You’re pretty sure it’s her rough hands that grab your sweater and pull you up.

5 seconds left.

“Where is he?! Min-su!” You stumble over your feet, your mind reeling as you’re bouncing back and forth between trying to find him and trying to follow Se-mi into the room.

3 seconds left.

“Wait! Wait, please help me!” He’s half on the ground, half fighting against a man trying to get up in front of him to enter a room to your right. You’re already in yours, and an arm wrapped tight around your waist prevents you from running out to save his life once again. 

1 second left.

“Let go! Min-su!” 

The buzzer sounds right as the door slams shut in your face.

The lock clicks shut.

Somewhere outside, you hear gunfire and the desperate cries of men and women who failed. 

For a second, you think you can hear him begging for his life, but then a single shot rings out and his fate is sealed.

—

Somewhere in the haze of emotions, you continue to grasp onto her arm like a lifeline. Your head rings, and you don’t even hear the announcer’s call for each of the next two rounds. It’s Se-mi who makes sure you’re right next to her the entire time, no matter which group you join or which room you scramble into. She doesn’t bother to ask if you’re okay (because it is extremely obvious this time, with tear tracks on your cheeks and shallow eyes staring into the distance), but her firm hold on you still shows her underlying care. That, and the slight shake of her body reminds you that despite her previous bravado and confidence, she’s still human just like you. 

When the game ends, you step over the blood of the losers to make it back to the main room (you wonder if you had stepped on Min-su’s as well - the thought of it makes you sick to your stomach). 

Thanos greets the two of you with excitement even after you left him and Nam-gyu in the dust, but you don’t even have it in you to entertain his antics now. Your head was pounding, and the only thing keeping you from curling up into a ball on the spot was Se-mi’s arm around your shoulders; she was holding onto you like you would curl up and die if she let go, which you might. 

When you both settle into her bed, you really begin to feel the weight of his absence. 

“I’m sorry for grabbing you like that,” she says, her voice quiet as if you were a deer about to sprint away. “...You wouldn’t have made it in time-”

“I know.” You’re curt, almost rude, and you feel bad immediately for your outburst. It wasn’t her fault, you reminded yourself. It wasn’t her fault that your first selfless moment in this hellhole means nothing now. “I… I’m sorry. You saved my life. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” Her hand caresses yours, soothing you into finally allowing your tense body to relax.

Something about her gentle demeanor coaxes out a more peaceful side in you, and you lean your head on her shoulder. You’re pleasantly surprised at her lack of resistance, and something in your gut burns when she leans her head right back on yours. 

For a second, you think about No-eul and feel a strange amount of guilt creeping up on you, but Se-mi changes her grip on your hand slightly to interlace your fingers and it all goes away. You owe nothing to her. Companionship isn’t something she should bar you from looking for when you face death at her hands everyday now. 

What’s so wrong with finding your own comfort in the beautiful, kind, and unexpectedly soft woman sitting next to you? 

—

350 million won. 

It’s enough for those smugglers, enough for her, and so, it’s enough for you to change your vote. 

When red LEDs light up your face and you begin exchanging your blue patch for a red one, you feel the weight of the entire situation crashing down on you. 

You chose life this time. From now on, if you die, it won’t be of your own volition anymore. This fact disturbs you greatly, so you’re quick in pushing through the crowd to get right back to Se-mi’s side. You’re glad she chose to live too. If you made it out of here, you wouldn’t want to lose contact with her. Trauma bonds are pretty strong apparently. 

—

When two groups of men start walking out of the bathrooms covered in blood and money begins to fill the pig again, you shuffle a bit closer to Se-mi, and her grip on your hand tightens. 

Supposedly it was a brawl, and from the frantic head counts of both sides, the O’s had lost one extra man. The sight of a bloody Nam-gyu shuffling onto Thano’s bed, shaking from the drugs with a frantic, bloodthirsty look in his eyes made your stomach drop. Now, there was no idiotic rapper to take hold of his leash, and you were sure he would want to kill you two after you turned your backs on him twice. 

The cold steel of the fork you took from dinner provided a comforting weight inside your pocket. 

“Se-mi.” She turns towards you.

“Yeah?”

“Sleep on this side tonight, okay?” Your grip on her arm is tight and you know you must look completely shaken by now, but she still gives her signature confident smirk.

“Sure, but you better make it worth my while.”

Your face goes red and you scoff, making her chuckle. God, you’re glad you have someone like this by your side.

—

When the screams begin, you immediately dig into your pocket and pull out your makeshift weapon. You want to call out for her, but you’re terrified that if you make a single noise, you and her will be swarmed by the wolves tearing apart the people all around you. 

Where the fuck are the guards?! No, who are you kidding, of course they would sit by and let you kill each other. Probably the highlight of their night. Under the fear, you feel so much anger and pain at the situation that you can barely focus.  

No-eul’s face flashes in your mind once again but now, you’re beginning to struggle to differentiate her from the other murderers all around you. 

No, no, no. You can’t think that way. She’s not like any of them.

“You traitor bitch!” You turn your head down to look for the familiar voice, and to your utter horror, Nam-gyu is standing right below you. Across from him (and cornered against the wall) is Se-mi. Even with the strobing lights, you can see the intense fear under her angry expression. “I’m gonna fucking gut you!”

When he charges at her, you make one of the easiest choices of your entire life and roll off the side of the bunk. 

You nearly miss your landing, but your fork doesn’t and his scream of pain reveals that instantly. You take both him and yourself to the ground, but your heart is racing and you can still feel him bucking from beneath you, so you don’t get a chance to breathe before yanking the fork out of his shoulder and slamming it back down into the side of his neck. The feeling of it sinking it and spraying your hand with hot blood is sickening beyond belief, but you block out everything except the feeling of his squirming beneath you and raise the metal above your head again. 

You aren’t sure how many times you bring it down on him, but a body colliding into yours knocks you out of your spiral.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Se-mi’s voice barely comprehends in your ears, but you can feel her arms around you clearly. “He’s dead, it’s okay, we’re okay.” Her hand rubs your back soothingly, and only then do you realize there are tears pouring down your cheeks.

Your chest heaves as you openly sob, clinging to her like a lifeline and unintentionally smearing the back of her sweater with Nam-gyu’s blood. You shut out everything but her voice, and even when the guards enter and fire into the air, you don’t find yourself flinching once, simply dropping to the floor still in her arms.

—

When some of the players gun down all the guards in the room, you hide in the corner with Se-mi (who was still whispering comforting words into your ears). You watch as players 120 and 456 take center stage in the room, shutting down the last bits of the riot and forcing the one square-mask guard onto his knees. They call for others to join them, others with military experience or even those with the faintest idea of how to use a gun. 

Of course, you had military experience right alongside No-eul, but the ache in your body and the tight grip Se-mi has on you keeps you from getting up. Your head pounds and spins as your eyes begin trailing around the slaughterhouse of a room. 

Dead people in green, dead people in pink. Your eyes linger on the guards and their triangle-masks, immediately recalling the shape No-eul had on hers. 

What if…

No.

The moment the team of rebels leaves, you go to get up but a tight grip on your forearm drags you right back down. 

“Hey, hey, where are you going?” Her eyes are confused but her voice is just as gentle as it’s been the entire time she sat there combing her fingers through your hair and whispering about how brave you were and how thankful she was. “Talk to me please, what’s wrong?”

“I just need to check something, that’s all.” She doesn’t look satisfied, but Se-mi lets you get up after you give her a brisk hug and a strained smile. 

With a shaky breath, you begin to make your rounds. You can feel the eyes on you as you walk up the first guard and pull off their mask, letting out a quiet sigh of relief at the lack of familiarity in their dead eyes. 

With each one, you grow more and more tense, steeling yourself for the possibility of seeing No-eul’s empty, dead eyes staring back at you. 

It would be the thing that kills you. The loss of your reason to fight in the first place. 

Kneeling down next to the final guard, you can barely breathe as your fingers brush against the edge of their mask. Your hands are shaking so bad and you curse yourself for your sudden lack of strength. You would die if it was her. You would pull that fork out of Nam-gyu’s neck and jam it in your own if it was her. 

Shutting your eyes tightly, you tug it off and let it clatter to the side. Your breathing slows when you peek and immediately recognize the face as belonging to a younger man’s, not your No-eul. 

Please God, give me this one thing and let her live. Let us leave with my blood money and never come back.

—

You can’t even feel joy or disappointment when the rebellion inevitably ends in a whimper. 

456 is dragged in and from a quick glance around the room, you see that 001 and 390 are missing as well. 120 and 388 sit dejectedly not too far away from you, and you can’t help but feel for them; they were people, far stronger than you, that failed to be the heroes. You can’t judge them, you never even considered fighting alongside these brave people in the first place. 

Now that everything has calmed down again and lights-out happens like every other night and not the bloodbath that ensued earlier, you’re far more aware of the sticky feeling of blood on your skin. Your sweater even feels slightly heavier, the entire front of it stained with deep red fluid.

“I-I need to wash this off.” Se-mi, who was almost drifting off next to you, shoots awake and gets up right behind you.

“I’ll come with you.” It’s an unspoken fact that she definitely would, but you’re still happy at the confirmation. 

In the haze of everything that’s occurred, you completely forget that No-eul has been the only reason you’ve been able to get into the bathroom these days, and the only reason she lets you in is because you’re you. So, when you call out and the door opens as usual, you’re confused at her stiff posture. However, after a weird awkward silence, she steps aside to let both you and Se-mi in, almost slamming the door behind you two. 

—

No-eul’s eyes trail you two as you enter the bathroom together, and she can barely control herself from charging in there and kicking 380 out altogether; she had warned you about people like her, so what were you still doing clinging to her side like that? Moreover, seeing the blood practically covering your entire front was like a gut punch. 

She should’ve been there. She should’ve blown the heads off of whoever did that to you. She’s been careless, and she understands that now.

The worst she felt was during the Mingle game. Each time she had been sent in, her breath would hitch and she would hesitate for a few seconds at the entrance, eyes scanning the wide open area for any signs of you. Every single time she failed to spot the number 037 on the clothes of those she shot, a weight would be lifted off of her shoulders. 

After the final round, the room doors had opened just before she was able to leave through the soldier’s door. She takes the chance to search for your kind face, and instead is faced with the sight of you practically hanging off of 380, a lost, soulless look in your eyes. Pain for your sadness mixes with some other ugly emotion, and for a second, she lets herself imagine how your expression would change if she sent a bullet through 380’s heart. 

Would you cry out for that woman, or would you call No-eul’s name out of instinct, like a lost animal begging for comfort?

In the end, she simply leaves with her fellow soldiers, silently cursing herself for such a violent thought. 

—

As you scrub the blood off your face, neck, and hands, you do your best to not let your gaze drift back over to Se-mi. She finishes cleaning up long before you, and you can feel her eyes on you as you scrub away. But no matter how hard you seem to scratch at your hands, the faint red tint just won’t come out. Your breathing grows heavy, and you begin to rub at it harder with the soap. 

Your hands are still red.

The blood from his neck covers your hands, the sounds, the sounds-

“That’s good enough,” a soft voice sounds from beside you, gently taking your hands in hers as you shake.

“No, no, there’s still blood, I-, there’s still…” You turn your hands this way and that, examining them and the red tint you can’t seem to get rid of.

“It’s not blood, you’ve just been rubbing too hard…” She shushes you gently and her thumbs begin tracing circles on your raw palms. “I’m sorry you had to do that, I really am.”

You can only shake your head and press your face in the crook of her neck. It’s a familiar position, one you were in only last night but with a completely different woman. She’s just as soft as No-eul, but she doesn’t wrap her arms around your body and pull you close. Instead, her fingers find the zipper of your bloodied sweater and gently begin to pull it down. The motion makes you back away a little, and she lets your sweater fall to the ground after tugging it off you. 

It’s freeing without the weight of all that blood on you, and your heart swells when she takes off her own jacket to put it on you. This is the kind of care you rarely find yourself receiving, and whenever you did, it was usually by the hand of only one other person. You would have never expected the cocky, confident girl you met two days ago would become this important to you. 

You were right about her. Se-mi was the ever genuine, ever caring woman you hoped she was after your first real conversation together, and you wonder if the world finally decided to go easy on you for once by sending you a beacon of strength in the middle of this hellhole. 

“Thank you, Se-mi,” you breathe out, the feeling of her fingertips grazing the skin of your arms still present long after her hands have dropped back to her side.

She doesn’t respond. Her gaze is still heavy on you, but this time, you hold eye contact and let yourself drown in her eyes. For a split second, you’re sure you see them dart down to your lips, and you think she might just eat you alive with the way she’s examining you.

In an act that surprises even yourself, it’s you who leans forward and presses your lips against hers. Cliche fireworks don’t go off, but the second she reciprocates by grabbing the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, you feel the tension between you two finally reach a high point, and it’s euphoric.

You hold each other with pure, unadulterated desire as one of her hands travel down to your waist, pulling you in. The kiss deepens and somewhere in the back of your mind, you think of No-eul. She was right outside that door, what if you were caught?

What the hell are you thinking about right now?

“You’re beautiful, so perfect,” she whispers, and her words make your heart beat that much faster. “My brave girl.” Se-mi breaks the kiss to press her lips against your neck now instead, drawing a moan from deep in your throat. She’s still holding onto you like her life depends on it. 

Unfortunately, your mind is still whirling and you have to remind yourself once again that you owe No-eul absolutely nothing. She shouldn’t and wouldn’t be angry over you finding someone to love, who loved you in a place like this. Is it wrong to search for comfort when you’re so sure you might die tomorrow? Especially from someone like Se-mi, who has done nothing but protect you and care for you.

Your hands tangle in her hair as she slides a hand beneath your shirt-

“Player 380.”

You spin around as the door slams open, a gruff voice making you jump apart from Se-mi. You shouldn’t feel ashamed, but you do, especially when you can feel No-eul’s eyes trailing up and down your disheveled form, and you know she knows exactly what happened here.

“Get back to the room.” You look down to see her revolver gripped tightly in her hand, as if she’s fighting the urge to lift it.

“Just give us a couple more-”

“Now.” She practically growls out that last word, and you can hear a click in the silent bathroom as she loads her revolver at her side. 

Se-mi is brave, but she’s still smart enough to realize that she’s being threatened and would not win a fight against the taller woman with a loaded gun. WIth her head held high, she takes your hand and begins walking around the guard, but No-eul steps in her way and shakes her head.

“037 stays.” You all pause, and Se-mi grips your hand tighter.

“What? What the fuck are you on about? Just let us go back to the room-”

“She stays. Now get out before I make you.” No-eul takes a step forward, hand raising to point the barrel of the gun in Se-mi’s face. 

It’s difficult to hold herself back when she’s this close to doing what she wants with this random woman who’s begun impeaching on her world. The barrier holding you and No-eul together, apart from everyone else, has been disrupted, and she begins to wonder if you’ll actually hate her if she pulls the trigger now. She wants to, especially hearing you fucking moan for this woman.

Where else has she touched you? 

Her trigger finger twitches. 

“It’s okay, Se-mi,” you whisper, breaking your gaze from No-eul to look over at her. 

First name basis? You really want her to kill this woman.

“Just go, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Se-mi looks at you, confusion apparent in her features, but your face is perfectly calm and even though that disturbs her a little, she accepts it. She’ll trust you to stay alive with this psycho.

“Okay, just call out for me if you need anything.” No-eul scoffs at this, earning a glare from Se-mi before she walks out the bathroom. She spares you one final glance over her shoulder, and with a nod from you, she exits.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?!” You’re practically burning with anger at her behavior, but No-eul ignores your outburst and walks over to the door, turning the latch to lock it before turning back around to look at you. “You think ‘cause you have that mask on you can just go around pointing your gun at everyone?!”

“And what the hell were you doing?” She pulls her mask off, throwing it to the floor before pulling down her face covering. Now, you can actually see the anger simmering beneath her eyes, an accusatory look on her face as she steps closer. “Were you planning on having sex with her or something? This stranger you just met?”

Your face begins to burn for a different reason now.

“That’s… that’s none of your business. I’m a grown woman, I can decide what I want to do or not do.” Your voice is far too unsure and she laughs sarcastically. Running a hand through her sweaty hair, she approaches to stand right in front of you. Your breathing slows as her eyes trail down your face, locking onto the number 380 right above your heart. Her lips curl into a frown and she grabs Se-mi’s sweater, looking like she wanted to burn a hole through the number on your chest. 

To her, it’s a reminder of her failure to protect you as she swore she always would, and now, in the wake of this failure, another person has come along and threatened to take her place - a place in your life she would kill anyone to keep. 

“Take this off,” she breathes out. The air is tense, and you almost want to deny her just to see what she would do, but fuck, she almost looks genuinely hurt and you can’t say no now. 

With your eyes still locked onto hers, you slowly pull the sweater off and let it drop to the ground at your feet. Her eyes are still pinned to your chest, but now you’re so close that you can feel her soft breathing on your face. You swallow harshly and press your face against her shoulder, bunching up her pink tracksuit in your hands as you pull her closer. The feeling of her so close again kills all the tension in your shoulders. This is the safest you’ve felt in 24 hours, and it’s in the arms of a woman who’s been killing people like you the entire time. 

You’re almost a bit ashamed, but what’s wrong with being a bit selfish for once?

You’re shaking in her arms when she pulls back slightly to cup your wet cheeks in her hands. You hadn’t even realized you had started crying again, but now, she’s looking down at your glassy eyes and swollen lips with so much intensity that you forget why you were crying in the first place. Her thumb swipes a tear off your cheek before she leans down, lips brushing against yours. 

“My beautiful girl.”

Finally, nine years after the day you met, she presses her lips against yours and claims you as hers. Faintly, you feel your back collide with the wall behind you as her tongue slips in your mouth. You’re holding onto her suit for dear life as she practically devours you, and you wonder how you were ever angry at this woman. It’s far more intense than the softness you experienced earlier with Se-mi, and you’re beginning to feel the effects of being pent up for so long. 

It’s not like you’ve never had sex with her before (to be fair, it’s only happened once), but this was far too emotional to be compared to the drunken haze you were both in when she fucked you over the seat of her van. There were no kisses shared then, no gentle caress of your face before she took you for herself. 

You’re dragged from your own thoughts when you feel a hand slide under your shirt and bra, gasping into her mouth as a cold hand cups your breast, roughly pinching your nipple between two fingers. You whimper right into her ear as her lips move down to your neck, sucking and biting as you openly pant. She’s practically surrounded you by now, but it’s not enough. 

With trembling hands, you grab the zipper of her pink suit and yank it down to reveal her slender body underneath. She practically tears the black turtleneck underneath the suit off as you stare. Your fingers scratch down her toned torso and you drink in the wonderful groan that leaves her mouth. As you’re preoccupied, she tugs on the hem of your sweatpants, pulling them down right along with your panties in one pull. 

Faintly, as her hands grip the plush of your thighs, you try to determine if you’ve ever felt such strong feelings of desire, of love, of anything with anybody. 

No, you’re sure you’ve felt this before. 

Your eyes shoot open as she calls your name. Somewhere in the haze, No-eul has dropped to her knees in front of you, and now, she’s looking at you like you hold the world in your hands.

“Do you still love me?” A pause, and her fingers press harder into your thigh, cold leather gloves long forgotten on the floor. “Can you still accept me?”

Every moment that you remember being so close to that overwhelming emotion, No-eul is right there next to you. 

“I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

A tear falls from her pained eyes, but you aren’t given the opportunity to wipe it away before she leans forward and presses her open mouth against your core. A gasp leaves your mouth and you immediately tangle your fingers in her short hair. It’s a bit too much to take in all at once - the woman you’ve loved for years is fucking you, and this time, you think she might actually love you back.

No, who are you kidding, you know she loves you. Maybe not as much as you love her, but she has to love you if she’s on her knees like this for you.

With the comfort of this knowledge, you lean your head back and lose yourself in the feeling of her tongue deep inside you, strong hands holding you still against the wall even if your legs feel like giving out. As your moans and pants fill the room, you beg internally that Se-mi isn’t waiting right outside the door to walk you back (or at least let the sound-proofing be decent). 

Unsurprisingly, after a couple years without any genuine intimacy with anyone (you couldn’t bear to let anyone fuck you after No-eul did), you reach your peak quickly. It doesn’t feel like some triumphant moment; your legs shake as the tight coil in your stomach unwinds and it’s satisfying to some extent, but you can’t stop the sudden rush of tears that follow. 

Why did your acceptance of your feelings for her have to come in a place like this - covered in the blood of someone you killed with your own two hands? 

Your legs finally give out in your grief, but she’s quick to catch you, leaning back to properly sit down on the floor as she carefully guides you onto her lap. For a moment, you just tuck your head in her neck and cry as a hand gently rubs your back. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” No-eul whispers, caught up in her own guilt for leading you down the same hateful path she accepted long ago. Why did you have to love her? Why did you have to follow her road towards self-destruction, the one she vowed to shield you from?

You want to tell her that she has nothing to be sorry about because you chose all of this on your own, but you can’t bring yourself to speak. You’re worried that if you open your mouth now, all you’ll do is start spouting nonsense about how much you love her and how much of your humanity you would forsake to protect her dream. 

Instead of further exposing yourself, you gently take the hand she’s kept on your waist and guide it down lower once again. To her credit, she understands right away and you’re given no time to prepare for the two long, slender fingers she pushes inside you. The sound of your sharp inhale right next to her ear must’ve been enough confirmation that you were okay, because she immediately starts moving them up and down inside you, rubbing gently against your still sensitive walls. 

Your hands wrap around her back and grip her shoulders as your hips begin to move in tandem with her hands, your heavy breathing a stark contrast against her soft one. The hand she had on your back is still there, soothing you until your tears turn from ones of sadness to ones of pleasure. 

As the high you’re chasing starts to get closer, you tear your nails down her back. Even though she’s still the same person as she was minutes ago, something feels different this time.

“Please don’t stop, please-”

“I won’t, I swear.” The hand on your back flies down to grip your hips to hold you steady as your movements grow more frantic. “I’ll never let you go, not for anything.”

You almost fall forward when she suddenly leans back, but you catch yourself on her shoulders once again. This time, she looks you square in the eyes as she pushes you over the edge, her gaze filled with an emotion you know too well.

“I love you,” she breathes out, and this is all you need to fall apart in her hands. “I’m in love with you, I can’t let you go, I won’t.”

In the afterglow of the moment, she wraps her arms around your waist and pulls you right up against her body.

“Even if you can’t love me anymore, I’ll continue holding onto you for the rest of my life.”

You smile at her words. You feel more content than you ever have before.

It wouldn’t be so bad to die in this place now.

—

A/N: my bad min-su fans and nam-guy fans, its for the plot y'all😭😭also if im being completely honest, I started writing writing this longass story just for smut with no-eul but it got so unexpectedly deep cuz I couldn't handle writing it with no build-up or emotional tension or ANYTHING

hope y'all enjoyed and LOL to the fellow FREAKS out there I hope the smut was alright cuz that was the most difficult part for me... LMK WHAT U THINK!! pt. 3 is coming in SEVEN MONTHS LMFAO😭😭😭SEASON 3 SAVE ME... SAVE ME SEASON 3

also if u request feel free to add details and stuff I might be able to build it into a longass story like this (but WOW this took too long) also I LOVE TO WRITE SAD SHT!!! SEND ME SAD SHT ILL LOVE IT!!

Taglist: @asvterias

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

wait did I say 16 or 18? I meant 18 for the Oscar request please the “Silly me to assume that you would care.”

I fucked up +:ꔫ:﹤

Prompt: 18. "Silly me to assume that you would care."

𖦹 op x reader ₊˚⊹♡

𖦹 angst + fluff ₊˚⊹♡

masterlist ☾☼

it had started after hungary. you had noticed it, but decided to wait for oscar to approach you. he never did.

there were way too many people online who said that oscar's first win wasn't deserved, that lando had gifted the win to him. it was a fucked up strategy call, and lando and oscar had both agreed on it later. but, the amount of fans who blamed oscar for the radio conversations between lando and will during the race was putting a weight on his shoulders that he didn't need.

there were some who hated on his teammate as well, for not spraying oscar with champagne on the podium, but lando had. oscar knew he had. just like oscar knew that lando didn't blame oscar for the fucked up race they'd had.

but, it got worse, when he couldn't get pole positions, and he tried his hardest for a win. he got p3 or p2 but never good enough for p1. he was losing himself in his work, and you could see it. you tried your best to let him know that you were there for him, you came for more races, you cheered for him from the paddock itself. you hoped and hoped and hoped that your presence would be enough for your boyfriend.

the pressure kept getting worse, affecting his relationship with his own teammate as well. oscar was so desperate to prove himself, that the risky move he made in monza had only led to a mclaren 2-3 instead of a 1-2 as planned. you had watched oscar beat himself up about it, and you had watched the team principal scold oscar for the move as well.

he had confided in you later that lando and him had spoken about it, and that his teammate didn't blame oscar, which just made him feel worse. but, before you could offer comfort or advice, he had fallen asleep. on the other side of the bed, far away from you. that's when you noticed the ache in your chest for the first time.

when oscar got his second win in baku, you had been overjoyed. you stood with nicole at the parc ferme, cheering for your boyfriend. you were immensely proud of oscar, and you knew he was too.

he had rushed over, celebrating with his team, and even hugging his mom. you were right beside them, but he hadn't hugged you. he hadn't even looked at you. that's okay. he was full of adrenaline. he probably didn't notice you standing there. that's okay.

of course, you got to congratulate him later. you hugged him, and he hugged you back, before someone stole his attention, and without a second glance, he left.

the ache in your chest returned.

thats okay. he was a winner. he deserved the attention he was receiving.

you'd only hoped that it would be better from then on. that he wouldn't feel so much pressure, and he would make time for the two of you again.

he didn't.

andrea had asked him to help lando in the world drivers championship, and oscar hadn't been keen about it. he hated the thought of giving up a position, no matter who it was for. he deserved to have wins under his belt, and he was also a racing driver. but, again, lando and him had spoken about it, and cleared out what lando expected from him as "help" and what he didn't want oscar to do.

you had found out about that through social media. not directly from your boyfriend.

the ache was back.

that's okay. he'd been busy.

it was a few weeks later when it all came crashing down.

it was your birthday. you knew oscar was busy at the mtc, so you organised a candle light dinner with his favourite and your favourite. you hadn't had the chance to speak to oscar throughout the day. he was busy working, and you didn't want to disturb him.

you had put on your brand new dress, and you looked beautiful, if you said so yourself. you were proud of yourself, and you were excited for the night.

you sat in different positions, trying out which one was the most comfortable, and which one would make oscar smile. you eventually settled with just sitting on your chair of the small round table where everything had been set.

you checked your phone. 7 p.m. you smiled. oscar must be on his way.

but, 7 turned to 8, and you slouched in your seat, looking out the window.

and then, 8 turned to 9, and you became to play games on your phone.

9 turned to 10, and you slipped off your shoes and started watching a random show on netflix to pass the time.

by the time, 10 turned to 11, you sighed, giving up hope. you stood up, ready to change out of your outfit, when the door opened. you were so tired, you didn't even want to greet your boyfriend, or acknowledge him.

you just quietly made your way to your suitcase and pulled out your pajamas.

"what's this? did i miss date night?" oscar asked, confused, as he kept his bag inside the cupboard.

"no." you responded curtly, not even looking at him as you made your way to the bathroom.

"i didn't have anything in the calendar for a date night," oscar said, looking at his phone.

"cause it wasn't." your tone was flat, and oscar could tell something was wrong.

"then, what am i missing?"

you didn't respond, and instead changed out of your dress and into your pajamas quietly.

as you exited the bathroom, oscar asked again, "y/n, what am i missing?" he was starting to sound annoyed, but you didn't care.

before he could ask again, because you refused to respond, you just didn't have the energy, your phone rang. it was your sibling, and you let out a little smile.

answering the call, you put it on speakerphone as you folded your dress neatly.

"hey, birthday girl!" your sibling said from the other side.

you laughed at the excitement, a little bit of joy in the pit of sadness you had found yourself in.

"happy birthday! you're so old now!" you laughed again.

"thank you," you said softly, tears brimming your eyes.

"what are you doing now?"

"oh, just heading to bed. it's 11:30 here, and i'm exhausted from celebrating all day," you said with faux enthusiasm in your voice.

"alright, alright, im gonna let you sleep. good night! love you,"

"love you too," you said back, and then hung up the phone.

"y/n," oscar started.

you didn't respond. you just started packing up everything you had set out.

"i'm so sorry i forgot. we've got the constructor's and we're all really focused on it-"

"it's fine, oscar. it doesn't matter." you said, just wanting to sleep.

"we're under a lot of pressure, you know that. you knew what you were getting into when we got together, you knew this is what my life is like," oscar argued.

"yes, oscar, i knew." you pulled back the covers.

"then, why are you so mad? why can't you be more understanding of it instead of being all passive aggressive about it? i made a mistake! i'm sorry! what more do you want me to do?" oscar burst out.

the tears finally fell as you shouted, "nothing, oscar! i don't want you to do anything about it because you haven't been doing anything about us for months now!"

"thats not fair-"

"not fair? really, oscar? was it fair when the only things we spoke about was the races and the team and your teammate? was it fair when you didn't even notice me cheering for you at the parc ferme at baku? was it fair that half the things i now know about you or your team or your formula one life, i find out through social media?" you screamed.

oscar looked away.

"was it fair that i had to organise my own birthday dinner, and buy myself presents from you, only to be forgotten?" you whispered, the tears falling onto the duvet as you stood by the bed.

"i'm stressed out, y/n, i need to focus on my career, i need to focus on the championship. you know that." oscar said.

"of course i know that. i always know that. but, do you know that i got an award at my university? do you know that i've gotten my dream job back home? do you know that i've been requesting they let me work from home so that i can follow you around and be the dutiful wag?"

"you never told me any of that! how am i supposed to know any of that if you never tell me?" oscar yelled.

"i did, oscar! i sent you pictures, i texted you first thing! all i ever got was a fucking thumbs up reaction. you didn't even have the decency to type out a fucking congratulations!"

"yeah, well, i'm busy with my career too! you're not the only one who's got things going on in their life, y/n! i've got to focus here completely!"

you scoffed, sniffling a little. you nodded. you picked up your phone and your wallet and a jacket. "you're right. you should focus on your career and your life. you do that. silly me to assume that you would care about mine."

you walked out, slamming the door. tears streamed down your face, and you walked to the elevator where you wiped your face. you asked the receptionist for a room, whichever they had available for you for the night. with the key in hand, you walked to that room. you pulled the duvet back, and settled in bed, and you slept in that new room.

you ignored your brain reminding you that oscar hadn't followed you, hadn't texted you or called you.

you ignored your brain, and you let yourself sleep.

the next morning, there was still no texts from oscar, and you rubbed your chest as the ache grew. ignoring it, you checked out of the room, paying whatever amount had to be paid, and went back to the room you and oscar shared.

opening the door, you realised that oscar had already left for the day, and willing yourself to not cry, you began packing your suitcase and picking out your outfit for the day.

you weren't going to sit in the hotel room all day. your flight back home was tomorrow, and you were going to explore the city. yes. that's what you were going to do.

you packed a small bag, and got all your necessities, and you spent the day roaming the streets and eating food from vans, and enjoying. you couldn't remember the last time you truly enjoyed like this.

of course, a huge part of you wished that you could feel this with oscar. you desperately wanted to. but you couldn't. you weren't sure where your relationship with oscar stood at this point. you wanted to make it work. you loved him. you wanted him to be your endgame.

but at the same time, if he wasn't going to give you the same efforts or the same affection, then would it really be worth it? you had some self respect. you weren't going to let him push you around or anything. you needed to be viewed and valued as an equal, and you needed to be supported and cherished.

you knew that a conversation with oscar would make or break your relationship. the two of you were rational adults. all that was needed was a serious sit down conversation.

by evening, you had seen everything that you wanted to. you had decided to have dinner at the hotel itself, in the comfort of the bed and your pajamas. you had bought little gifts for all your friends and family and oscar's family, and yes, for oscar as well. you could pack quickly while the food came, and then get a good night's sleep. that was a good plan.

as you unlocked the door with your key card and entered the room, you stopped short.

oscar stood on the other side in a casual formal attire, your dress from last night laid out on the bed, a candle lit dinner behind him, and a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand.

your mouth opened to say something, ask something. but you were at a loss of words.

"i fucked up." oscar started.

his voice broke you out of your trance as you entered the room and closed the door behind you, locking it.

"i fucked up really bad. i got so lost in my own thing and trying to make a name for myself and prove to people that the expectations they set for me are true, that i-"

he took a deep breath, trying to find the words.

"-i treated you like you weren't important. but you are. you are so important to me, and i hate myself for ever making you feel like i don't care about you, because really, you're the only thing that keeps me going every day. i'm sorry, y/n. i've been a shitty boyfriend, and i'm sorry that i needed you to tell me that for me to realise.

"i promise, i'll be better. i'll do better. you're it for me, and i made this mistake once, i'm not going to do it again." he finished, his chest heaving.

"okay," you said. you didn't know what else to say really.

"okay?"

"okay," you nodded, with a small smile.

"okay. do you maybe wanna have dinner with me and pretend that it's your birthday?"

you bit your lip to hide a smile, as you walked over the bed, picking up the dress. you made your way to the bathroom, stopping in between and leaning up to press a soft kiss against oscar's lips.

"okay,"

"okay."

he smiled, and you thought to yourself that everything was going to be okay now.

✩♬₊˚.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

i hope you enjoy this! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04

[axxa-the-allikatt]

Soooooo I finally got some free time 😃✊ here’s your order of bllk characters with their short s/o with a side of some suggestive interactions 🤌. I’m making it a short series since I probably can’t finish so many characters in one sitting, so tell me if there is anyone specific you’re looking for. I’m gonna start off with my favourites, humour me.

***

1. Size doesn’t matter. I mean your height- your height doesn’t matter.

-Isagi definitely, but also anyone else who might fit this category like Bachira, Kunigami and maybe Niko + Any character from other shows that you think might fit, ignoring the mention of the bllk program <3

The first time you encountered him, the two of you were around only 11 years of age. You had been walking by the park, back home after school, when a ball had come flying at your face, knocking you squarely in the jaw. You had two broken teeth because of this, and the boy who had kicked the ball, our little sweetheart, had insisted on taking you to his home, bawling his eyes out all the way for no good reason, while you intermittently spat what blood was spilling from your gums, freaked out by the little crybaby.

Once all that confusion and worry had passed by, your parents had been given his address so that they could come pick you up.

And that was how you’d snatched a place in his life. That and the fact that once you had managed to get your hands on his address, you would randomly drop by his house on your way home, uninvited, scare the living daylight’s out of him, gratefully accept what titbits his mother would humorously provide you with, give his father a salute on your way out and never bring up the visit again.

Over the next three years, the two of you had gained a reputation as a pair, and it was a well known fact that wherever one of you were, the other was bound to be close by. So much so that your school teachers often questioned one of you when the other was absent to class.

You had grown fond of the silly boy you had met by chance and had often made him extremely flustered with your quite direct flirting conquests, while he hid behind his hands like maiden.

This was quite hilarious to due to the fact that over the years you had remained a short, skinny kid, where as the other boy had out grown you and was now both taller and more muscular due to his football training.

Your friendship came to an abrupt pause as you were to move across the world for your father’s job, with only a week’s notice to make the most of your time with the other boy.

In a moment of childish desperation, the boy had confessed to you asked you out on a date which earned him a good thwack on the head. For what joy was he asking when you were moving half way across the world in a few days and were going to return god knows when. But you had agreed nonetheless, admitting that you liked him too and that you wanted to make the most of your time with him. Ah. Young love.

Four years passed as you lived your life abroad, finishing high school, making new friends, having fun, not growing any taller, but most importantly, you had kept yourself up to date on the events happening in blue lock. Since when did your silly boy get so… egotistical? It was concerningly endearing.

Finally, you received news that you would be moving back to Japan, back into your old house, by yourself, to pursue your studies in psychology and you desperately hoped that he hadn’t moved in that time. The Blue lock program had ended a year ago, and he might have been selected for a team somewhere across the world.

Your fears dissolved into confusion then disbelief as you were met with the sight of the same boy waiting for you at the airport, with a stupid grin on his face, which was doing nothing to hide how obviously he was trying not to cry like the way you used to tease him about.

The second he laid his eyes on you he broke into a sprint, crashing into you as you tumbled over the luggage, putting your arms around him and spinning him around, bursting into laughter as his feet dragged around behind him. He had annoyingly gotten taller.

The two of you had somehow managed to get to his car before you gently pushed him against the door, crashing your lips onto his as he slid down against the door, lowering himself to your height.

Like I said, height doesn’t matter in your relationship. He’s more than eager to kneel to you. You’re the boyfriend.

***

Next up- the boys who think that since they’re taller, they’re the man in the relationship. They get put in their place 🪭. I’ll post it by next week. Probably.

[hivemuthur]

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 1.

viktorxfemale!reader mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch. 2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6 | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 4,3K

summary: Reader is a second-year science student that had just switched schools to escape the suffocating love of her parents and Viktor is being a black cat all the way through. A 12-chapter story of two emotionally problematic people falling in love through acknowledging each other's imperfections.

author's note: This is less introspective than my other fics, attempts to be lighter and funny at times. World is completely made up, even though contains some real things in it. Viktor's disability is present, but decreased (no back brace and breathing affliction). I will soon create fic masterlist and pin it on my blog and will be linking chapters with future updates.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

You sat wedged between a hot, doe-eyed girl named Sue who was going to be your roommate, and some skinny guy whose name you hadn’t caught—Callum, maybe? Your friend Hale had ditched you to join his theatre group on the other side of the campus, leaving you to navigate introductions with your new course mates alone. Changing universities mid-degree was stressful, but staying back in Sheffield with your parents had been worse. So, yes, it had been the right call. A very good call, you reminded yourself.

Camden had a tiny science department with a handful of brilliant professors. It wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t Sheffield. And it had Hale, who had convinced you to come down south with promises of freedom, self-discovery, and the chance to reclaim your status as the unstoppable friend power-couple you’d been in high school (not that you had mattered at all back then, of course).

The room buzzed with overlapping conversations and sporadic bursts of laughter, the faint thrum of inoffensive pop music humming from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner. The second-year welcome party was more like a casual gathering, hosted in one of the university lounges with just enough couches and harsh fluorescent lighting to feel awkwardly cozy. You sipped from a plastic cup of lukewarm cider, your attention flitting between three different conversations happening around you.

To your left, Jayce was in the middle of an animated retelling of how he’d nearly blown up a lab during his undergrad years. His booming laugh and sweeping hand gestures kept everyone engaged, even those who had only half-heard the setup to his punchline. You found yourself smiling despite having missed most of the story. You vaguely recalled his introduction earlier in the evening—Jayce, one of the TAs for your course this year. From Sheffield, like you. Big personality, bigger grin.

On your right stood Viktor, the second TA, his hands resting lightly on his cane. He exuded a quieter kind of presence, his sharp amber eyes scanning the group with an air of detached curiosity. He’d joined the circle mid-conversation, offering the occasional dry comment that earned chuckles from those paying attention.

“You’re training to be a geneticist?” Viktor asked, leaning slightly toward you. His accent caught you off guard—it was Slavic, you thought, though you weren’t confident enough to guess further. You made a mental note to ask him about it one day.

You blinked, surprised to be addressed. “Oh, yeah,” you replied quickly, nodding. “Second year. Still deciding whether I want to focus on medical or research applications, though.” You paused. “You’re in bioengineering for your PhD, right?”

“Correct,” Viktor said with a slight upward quirk of his lips. “It is refreshing to meet someone undecided. Most claim they will change the world before finishing their first term.”

You laughed nervously, unsure if he was mocking you or just making an observation. “Yeah, I’m saving that for third year.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his expression hovering somewhere between amused and sceptical. “Ambitious,” he said dryly.

Before you could respond, Jayce turned toward you, pulling the group’s focus with him. “What about you? Have you had Professor Albin yet? He’s a character, let me tell you. Loves his experiments more than his students.”

You grinned, drawn into the shift in energy. “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard about him. But wait, is he the one who smokes under the laboratory fume hood?”

Jayce snapped his fingers in mock recognition. “Exactly! Last year, he almost caused the whole building to evacuate because he didn’t realise the hood was broken.”

The group erupted into laughter. You found yourself relaxing, leaning into the easy rhythm of the conversation. You missed the glance Viktor cast your way, faintly bemused.

He cleared his throat, a subtle gesture that drew only a few eyes. “Albin may be forgetful, but he has published groundbreaking work on single-cell RNA sequencing. One might forgive the eccentricities, no?”

The remark hung in the air for a beat, slightly out of sync with the conversation’s playful tone. Jayce, quick to keep the mood light, grinned and waved it off. “True, but it doesn’t make his lectures any less painful.”

The laughter resumed, bubbling back up with ease. You smiled, but something about Viktor’s expression lingered in your mind—a subtle tightness around his mouth, almost imperceptible but impossible to ignore once noticed.

You thought to say something, maybe steer the conversation back toward him, but Jayce was already pulling your attention with another question, his energy impossible to resist. The moment slipped away, and with it, that fleeting glimpse of something unreadable in Viktor’s eyes.

The party dispersed shortly after midnight, and you went to find Hale for the promised cigarette and your earlier-agreed session of impression comparing. You spotted him by the fountain, his tall figure hunched over in his velvet vest, already smoking.

“My darling!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide in a theatrical flourish. “So, spill the tea—how was it? Anyone hot? Anyone you already hate? Good decision? Bad decision?”

“Uh… Can I bum a fag? I forgot my pack in the room.” You patted your pockets distractedly as Hale swept you into his arms, spinning you around dramatically. He placed his own cigarette between your lips with a flourish.

“I’m going to burst if you don’t tell me right now. Your mother already hates me—I need to know you don’t hate me too!”

“Joanne is going to be fine,” you replied, rolling your eyes but letting yourself be twirled in your exaggerated tango. “She already sent me, like, a thousand affirmations for my ‘new beginnings.’”

Hale dipped you low, grinning. “And?”

“I… don’t know,” you sighed as he held you in the dramatic pose. “It’s a bunch of nerds, like me, so I guess I’ll be alright.”

Hale gave you a pointed look, his brow furrowing. “You are not just some nerd. You are brilliant, and they are not ready for you.” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, his voice gentle but firm.

“Alright, alright,” you muttered, waving him off with a small smile. “Full report is as follows: Sue, my roommate—hot and completely oblivious about it. Nobody else really standing out. It’s an even mix of guys and girls.” You started pacing along the edge of the fountain, ticking details off on your fingers. “We’ve got two TAs: one would make you drool, and the other one would make you run for your life.”

“I have to meet them both,” Hale declared with a dramatic flourish, grinning mischievously.

Hale twirled you one last time before pulling you upright with exaggerated care. “You’re lucky I’m such a gracious dance partner, darling,” he said, letting you go with a flourishing bow.

You laughed and brushed your hair out of your face. “Oh, you’re too kind. I didn’t know you’d start your evening in full drama mode.”

Hale smirked, looping his arm through yours as you strolled around the fountain. The air was crisp, the faint glow of the nearby building lights reflecting off the water. “I’m always in drama mode. You know this. Now, tell me—what’s the plan tomorrow? More parties? Some secret nerd ritual?”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your shoulder. “Yes, we are totally raising someone from the dead tomorrow,” you smirked. “The TAs are swinging by each room tomorrow to hand out schedules and do a quick orientation. Viktor mentioned it tonight in passing.”

Hale gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Viktor, you say? Is that the one who would make me drool or the one who’d send me running for my life?”

You laughed. “The latter. He’s got this whole ‘intimidating genius’ vibe going on, but I can’t tell if he’s just really smart or if he practices those broody stares in the mirror.”

“Oh, I have to meet this man,” Hale said with a gleam in his eye, spinning you around. “And what about the one who’d make me drool?”

“That’s Jayce,” you replied. “Big, loud, charming. Like a golden retriever who also happens to be jacked and into science.”

Hale pretended to swoon, leaning on you for support. “Be still, my heart. This place might actually be worth sticking around for.”

You smirked, brushing ash off your borrowed cigarette. “Speaking of sticking around, how was your night? Any tragic love stories waiting to happen?”

Hale shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Same old faces, same old dramas. Nothing new. Nobody around here who could really crush my heart, but you know me—I’ll eat anything when I’m starved.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “That’s the spirit. Settle for mediocrity!”

“It’s a survival skill, darling,” Hale replied, grinning as he plucked the cigarette from your fingers and took a long drag.

You walked in silence for a moment, your steps slow and unhurried. You glanced at the fountain, its gentle ripples catching the light, and exhaled a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“I think it was a good decision,” you said softly, breaking the quiet.

Hale raised an eyebrow, handing the cigarette back to you. “Camden? Or letting me drag you here tonight?”

“Both,” you admitted, a small smile playing at your lips. “Thanks for making me come. For once, I actually feel… scared of something. Not stuck.”

Hale’s expression softened, and he threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “That’s because you’re brilliant, and the world doesn’t stand a chance against you.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into the gesture, taking one last drag of the cigarette before flicking it into the fountain.

“Here’s to not being stuck,” Hale declared, lifting an imaginary glass.

“To not being stuck,” you echoed, laughing as the two of you turned and headed back toward the dorms.

***

The sound that woke you and Sue was impossible to describe—a cacophony of metal being violently banged together, accompanied by a high-pitched whining noise. Then came loud banging on the door.

A soft groan came from Sue’s bed as she rolled out, stretching her limbs before sinking onto the floor and curling into a foetal position. “I think it’s the TAs,” she said weakly, yawning.

You decided to be brave, though your first instinct was to shove a pillow over your head and wait for the monster to go away. Dragging yourself out of bed, your head pounding from the cider and cigarettes you’d had with Hale the night before, you trudged to the door. Your expression was one of pure pleading as you opened it and asked, “Is this really how you guys want to start this relationship?”

In front of you, Jayce froze mid-motion, one frying pan held in each hand. Viktor stood just behind him, clutching a bicycle horn and smirking mercilessly.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Jayce boomed, lowering the frying pans slightly but keeping his grin firmly in place, like a weapon. “Ready to seize the day?”

You squinted, shielding your eyes from the hallway light as though it were a personal attack. “Seize the day? I’m about to seize your frying pans and toss them out the window.”

Jayce laughed, completely unbothered, while Viktor raised the bicycle horn and gave it a sharp honk. “Consider it your wake-up call,” Viktor said smoothly, his smirk deepening. “Promptness is a virtue, no?”

“I’m promptly considering murder,” you muttered, glaring at them both.

Behind you, Sue groaned from her spot on the floor. “I’m not coming out. Tell them I’m dead.”

Jayce leaned sideways to peer into the room. “Good morning to you too, Sue!” he called cheerfully.

“Sod off,” Sue replied, her voice muffled by her arm.

Viktor glanced at Jayce, shaking his head slightly as though disapproving of his partner’s antics. Then he turned his attention back to you. “We are here to distribute schedules and perform a brief orientation,” he said, his tone more measured but no less smug. “You should be grateful. Only the science department students receive such... personal service.”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I feel so special. Is banging cookware a requirement of this personal service, or is it just a special treat for us?”

“Just for you,” Jayce said with a wink. “And hey, it worked, didn’t it? You’re awake.”

You sighed, stepping back to let them into the room. “Fine. Come in. But if you touch anything, I’m calling security.”

Jayce sauntered in like he owned the place, plopping the frying pans onto the desk with a loud clang. Viktor followed more quietly, his eyes sweeping the room in a quick, assessing glance. He placed the bicycle horn next to the pans, the absurdity of the scene making you shake your head in disbelief.

“You’re like two chaotic sitcom characters,” you said, rubbing your temples. “And I’m the poor, sleep-deprived protagonist who has to deal with your nonsense.”

Jayce grinned. “I like to think of myself as the lovable goofball.”

“And Viktor’s the straight man?” you guessed, glancing at him.

Viktor’s lips twitched, but he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he handed you a neatly folded piece of paper. “Your schedule,” he said. “I trust you can manage to read it despite your current... condition.” He gave you a once-over and added, “Nice pyjamas.”

You looked down at yourself, remembering too late that you were wearing red cotton pants with white hearts and an oversized Nirvana sweatshirt. It was a damn nice set of pyjamas—what was the problem? You snatched the paper from him, your mouth twitching into a reluctant smile despite yourself. “Thanks. I’ll try not to faint from gratitude.”

“Much appreciated,” Viktor replied dryly.

Sue, still sprawled on the floor, finally raised her head and groaned. “Do we at least get coffee with this torture?”

Jayce perked up. “Now that’s an idea! Viktor, we should’ve brought coffee.”

“I am not your barista,” Viktor deadpanned.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the morning starting to chip away at your hangover. “Alright, alright. Give us five minutes, and we’ll join the rest of the poor souls you’ve terrorized this morning.”

“Make it three,” Viktor said, his smirk returning as he turned toward the door.

Jayce followed with a wave. “See you downstairs!”

As the door closed behind them, you turned to Sue, who was now sitting up, her hair a wild mess.

“So,” you said, leaning against the door. “Drool-worthy or run-for-your-life?”

Sue blinked, still half-asleep. “What?”

“The TAs,” you clarified, holding back a grin. “Jayce and Viktor. What’s the verdict?”

Sue rubbed her eyes, yawning. “Jayce is like a golden retriever on caffeine. Viktor... is something else. Sharp. Kinda scary. But, like, in a hot way?”

You snorted, tossing the schedule onto your desk. “I’m just trying to survive their weird buddy cop energy.”

Sue flopped back onto the floor with a groan. “Wake me up when it’s over.”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “It’s never over, Sue. Welcome to Camden.”

***

Orientation and the first classes passed in a blur of introductions, schedules, and information overload. By the time the fifth person introduced themselves, you’d already forgotten the first three names. Professor Heimerdinger, perched at the front of the lab like an animated encyclopaedia, launched into an overview of the semester: rules for grades and exams, expectations for in-class behaviour, and a note about optional after-class activities for the particularly ambitious—or masochistic.

You braced yourself for the inevitable repeat classes like chemistry and biophysics, but it didn’t bother you. Repetition wasn’t so bad if you could zone out without missing much.

Jayce and Viktor drifted through the room during the lecture, their presence oddly complementary—one buzzing with boundless energy, the other moving with deliberate precision. They pointed out key locations: lab glass, gloves, coats, goggles, and the cabinets you’d definitely forget the moment you walked out. They handed out maps of the department and listed their office hours. Standard procedure. Functional. Dandy.

When it was finally over, Sue nudged you, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Wanna head to the bar nearby?”

“You want to drink again?” You raised an eyebrow, though her expression hinted at ulterior motives.

Sue tilted her head, all innocence. “Or… maybe I want to go to the bar to spy on our TAs,” she said, her gaze trailing after Jayce and Viktor as they left the room.

You sighed, exasperated but amused. “By my calculations, we have about a week to live before we’re buried in coursework.”

“Exactly! We should enjoy it while it lasts.” Sue clasped her hands together and unleashed the puppy eyes. “Please?” she added, her lower lip quivering with Oscar-worthy conviction.

You rolled your eyes, defeated. “I am genuinely terrified of you. And convinced I’ll never be able to say no to you. Fine. One condition: I get to drag Hale along.”

“Is Hale your hot theatre friend?” Sue’s excitement was palpable, her grin wide enough to make you laugh.

“Yes, and he’s also gay, so don’t get your hopes up. He’ll break your heart,” you warned, pulling out your phone to text him.

“I am desperate for a gay boyfriend, so please drag him along whenever you feel like it,” Sue replied, already on her feet, coat slung over her arm.

Your phone buzzed almost instantly: I know the place – seedy shithole. Be there in no time! Hale’s response sealed the deal. You were officially going to a bar to “spy” on your TAs.

The bar was, indeed, a seedy shithole, but it had a quirky charm. Posters plastered the walls, advertising plays, gigs, and questionable student endeavours. Lamps made of beer bottles cast a dim, golden light, and the furniture was an eclectic mix—like someone had raided every grandmother’s attic in a three-mile radius. A fireplace crackled in one corner, surrounded by mismatched cushions for floor seating, and a jukebox stood proudly by the bar, humming with potential.

You approached the bar with Sue, scanning the menu. Sue’s brows furrowed in confusion as she searched for something that wasn’t beer. The bartender, a man with a weathered face and a disarming smile, leaned in. “What can I do for you, honey?”

Sue’s voice turned soft and sweet, almost like a fairy casting a spell. “Do you have anything… sweet?”

The bartender paused, giving her a look like he’d climb mountains to fetch whatever she wanted. For a moment, you wondered if he might actually run to another bar, buy something sugary, and bring it back. The thought made you chuckle as you watched Sue charm her way to a perfect drink.

“Let me surprise you,” the bartender said, flashing Sue a sweet smile before turning to you. “And for you, darling?”

“I’ll just have a pint, cheers,” you replied, your gaze lingering on the heartwarming interaction between the adorable Sue and the massive, tattooed bartender.

“Ah! Let me get this,” you registered an arm sliding between you and Sue, holding a credit card. “Since we forgot the coffees this morning,” Jayce’s familiar grin soon followed, putting a face to the offering hand.

“I’ll be the one buying drinks for my pookie today,” a strong arm wrapped around your neck and shoulders, and you immediately recognized Hale’s voice from above you. “Let me guess… drool-worthy and”—his eyes shifted toward Viktor—“run-for-your-life?”

“I’ve also been called ‘the straight man,’” Viktor remarked, giving you a questioning look.

“Ah, I can see why,” Hale replied, on the verge of ruining your chances for any semblance of dignity this semester. Then he turned to Sue. “And you must be the hot Sue?”

“Oh my god, did you say that?” Sue squeaked playfully, leaning over to grab your hand. “I think you’re hot too,” she added with a wink.

You wanted to sink deep underground and let the demons of hell swallow you whole.

Waiting for your drink to be poured, you watched Jayce, Sue, and Hale drift toward the fireplace sitting area, Hale’s arm already wrapped around your roommate as they chatted animatedly.

“You seem to have a lot of opinions already formed,” Viktor’s voice came from above your shoulder as he reached for his drink—a vodka on the rocks.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll indeed run for my life,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Is that so?” His tone was smooth, with just a hint of challenge.

“Absolutely,” you replied, leaning in slightly with mock seriousness. “You’re giving off dangerous, 'I’ve got a sarcastic comment for everything' vibes. It's a threat.”

Viktor chuckled, the sound warm and surprisingly disarming. “A threat, huh? I’ll have to be careful then.” He took a sip of his drink, his eyes glinting. “Don’t worry. I won’t bite.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile forming at the edge of your mouth. “I wasn’t worried.”

For a moment, you both stood there, the noise of the bar buzzing around you. Viktor’s gaze lingered a moment too long, making you feel slightly off balance. Then, with a casual shrug, he turned back to the group by the fireplace.

“Let’s go join the chaos,” he said nonchalantly, throwing you a brief glance over his shoulder as he walked away.

You followed, still trying to shake the unexpected buzz of the encounter. It was weird how Viktor could throw you off without even trying.

By the time you approached the group, Hale had already charmed Jayce and Sue, effortlessly pulling them into his world with animated tales of his theatre exploits. He gestured enthusiastically, his voice rich with excitement. “So, we’re doing Rocky Horror Picture Show this year for the mid-semester final,” he announced, his theatrical tone drawing everyone in. “We’re looking for actors—are any of you up for it?”

Sue, looking both intrigued and a little unsure, glanced over at Jayce, who was already grinning. “I’m afraid that my singing would have you fail the final, Hale,” Jayce said with a laugh, clearly weighing the possibilities. “I will gladly come and watch, though?”

Hale grinned wider. “I’ll put you in the front row! And Y/N’s been trying to convince me to take on Frank N. Furter’s part, which made me think she’d make a killer Janet.”

At that, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, your playful tone cutting through the banter. “Only if I can play Magenta,” you said, tossing your head back slightly. “Otherwise, it's a no-go.”

The group chuckled, but Jayce, who had been half-listening as they continued talking, suddenly perked up. “Wait, hold on. Are you both actually from Sheffield?” He leaned forward slightly, clearly curious.

You smirked, folding your arms across your chest and leaning in, dropping the playful façade for a second. “I don’t have my Pulp T-shirt on me today,” you quipped, “but I can show you my ID?”

Raising an eyebrow, you knew full well that a bit of playful sarcasm could spark a reaction. Viktor, standing just a few steps behind, glanced over at you as your words hit the air. His eyes flicked between you and Jayce, his attention sharpened but still calm, like he was quietly enjoying your back-and-forth with the others.

Jayce laughed, shaking his head. “You really are from Sheffield, aren’t you?”

“Born and bred,” you shot back with a grin, your hands slipping into your pockets. “Don’t let the accent fool you.”

Viktor took a small sip of his drink, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his gaze as he continued to watch you. You had a way of carrying yourself—like you knew how to hold your ground, even when teasing. And now that you had mentioned it, there was a non-Sheffield accent lingering underneath your words.

“Eh, it’s not a place for stars like us,” Hale mused, giving your thigh a playful squeeze.

“My darling, brilliant man, you know all I wish for you is to never step foot in that shithole again and rise to stardom so fast the bystanders get their eyes burned,” you replied with a dramatic flourish, your grin wide and teasing.

Jayce laughed, raising his beer. “Well, before anyone dies burned by Hale’s halo, I guess we could all drag along back for Christmas together?”

“Jayce, if there is anything to drag by then, be my guest,” you responded with a quiet clank of your glass against Jayce’s.

“Oh yes, Christmas is a must. I have to bring a peace offering to Y/N’s mother for stealing her precious daughter away from the family nest,” Hale said, making an exaggerated frightened face when mentioning your mum, Joanne.

“Hale, repeat after me: Joanne is going to be fine. It’s about time she grows up.”

***

Jayce and Viktor walked down the dimly lit street, the buzz of the bar still echoing in their steps. The night air was cool, and the muffled sounds of laughter and music faded behind them as they made their way back to the dorms.

“I love freshmen,” Jayce said, a grin tugging at his lips.

Viktor shot him a sidelong glance. “That’s disturbing.”

“Come on, they’re cute.” Jayce shrugged; his tone playful. “Good idea with the morning orchestra, by the way. Got them all riled up.”

Viktor’s lips twitched at the memory. “The girls sure have their eyes on you.” He looked at Jayce, raising an eyebrow. “You planning on visiting Y/N’s family for Christmas already?”

Jayce laughed. “I don’t know, man. I have a feeling her eyes are actually on you.”

Viktor paused mid-step, narrowing his eyes. “She literally called me 'the straight man' and the 'run-for-your-life-one.' I highly doubt it.”

Jayce nudged him with his elbow. “You know nothing about girls, Viktor.” Viktor gave him a sceptical look, but Jayce’s grin only grew wider, and for once, Viktor couldn't help but wonder if Jayce was right.

[holylulusworld]

Roll the dice (1)

Summary: You’re in trouble, and it’s all your fault.

Pairing: Mobster!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Warnings: mafia au, angst, mentions of criminal activities, mentions of sickness, mentions of stealing, scared reader, bruises, hand around throat (non-sexual)

Catch up here: Roll the dice (Prologue)

Holding your breath, you watch it land on… 3

“Three,” you murmur, scared to the bones. While Steve smirks darkly, you wring your hands. This can’t be good. Of course, it can’t. All your life, you never had luck in the game. Why change your bad luck now? “What does it mean?”

Steve crouches down to grab the dice. He chuckles as you try not to faint. His cheer presence is intimidating. Having him up close while he holds your life in his hands is terrifying.

“OH, you got lucky, doll,” he taunts. Steve grabs your hand to place the dice in the palm of your hand. “Three means roll the dice again.”

“Again—” you whimper. Rolling the dice once was scary, and you made peace with death, even embraced it with open arms to end this nightmare you’re living in. Rolling it again means doom. “No… please decide.”

“I don’t make the rules,” he lies while his smirk deepens. His cheeks dimple and he almost looks like a beautiful angel, if not for the dangerous glimmer in his ocean-blue eyes. “How about I explain what every number means before you roll the dice again?”

A question is not in his words. He will tell you what the numbers mean, whether you want it or not.

You nod the moment his features darken. “Yes. Please.” You’re surprised the words come out of your mouth at all. It was a struggle to bring yourself to speak to him.

“One means quick death.” You shudder at his happy smile. “Two means painful death.” You whimper as he cups your jaw to force you to look him in the eyes. “You already know what three means.”

Steve watches your eyes glistening with unshed tears. He grins like the devil as he leans closer, his nose brushing yours.

“Four means an eye for an eye. In your case, it means paying me back my money, but ten times the amount you stole from me.” He hums when you silently start to cry. “I like five very much. It means working for me for the rest of your life. You already know about six, too.”

None of the options are appealing to you. Steve lied. There’s not a chance you get to walk out of his office alive and unharmed. You’ll never roll a six.

“So, go ahead,” he purrs your name and points at your hand. “Roll the dice again.” Steve gets back up to sit back down on his armchair, smirking as you stare at him with teary eyes. “Now!” He growls as you hesitate.

“Okay,” you sniffle and drop the dice, not even looking at it. You hold your breath and close your eyes.

“Aw, you’re a lucky lady,” Steve whistles. “A three again. Wow! I don’t think anyone ever got it two times in a row.”

You shudder. A three means you must roll the dice again. For a third time, you grab the dice and throw it toward Steve’s feet. It’s all a game to him.

“Another three,” he laughs in your face. “Pick it back up, lucky doll. Maybe this time, you’ll get a six, huh?”

Gritting your teeth, you glare at Steve. He’s toying with you, and you hate that you’re too weak to fight him. Before he can get mad, you move toward the dice to roll it again. You watch it stop at three and sniffle.

“Again.” He says.

You roll the dice. Three.

“Again, doll.”

Three.

“And again.”

Three.

You scream and throw the dice against the wall. “Why don’t you just kill me? I know this dice is manipulated!”

“You accuse me of lying!” Steve rises from his seat to grab you by your throat. “I gave you the chance to save your life! You’re not only a thief but ungrateful too!”

“It only ever shows three!” You claw at his hand, trying to get it off your throat. “Three. Three. Three!”

Heat speckles all over your face and neck. Your body becomes heavy, and your eyes flutter shut. You try to fight the invisible power dragging you into darkness, but it's useless.

“Hmm…yeah. That’s much better, isn’t it? Letting me take control over your body, life, and mind. You never stood a chance, doll.” Steve presses a kiss to your trembling lips before your head lolls back. “Did you honestly believe I would let you walk out on me? Of course, the dice shows whatever I want.”

A few weeks earlier, the night you stole from Steve…

“Steve, I don’t know why you let her get away with it. Man, she didn’t even avoid the cameras,” Bucky grunts. Steve and he are watching you walk toward the back entrance, your bag filled with the money you stole from your boss. “Let me stop her.”

“No,” Steve smirks. “I want to know why she found the guts to steal from me. She was always a shy little mouse. I wonder what happened.”

“With all due respect, that’s just stupid,” Bucky huffs. He can’t believe his friend lets a random employee get away with stealing from him. “This could ruin your reputation.”

Steve chuckles. “Buck, she won’t get far. I told Sam to keep an eye on her, and Jensen is checking on her digital life. I’m still Steven Grant Rogers, not some inexperienced newbie. Likewise, I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re playing with fire, Steve.” The brunette can only watch you sneak out of the door, the money still in your bag.

Steve grins like the wolf he is and says, “I think it will be worth it, Buck. I haven’t had much fun lately. I’ll get me a sweet little mouse to toy with...”

Tags in reblog.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Arrest Me, Cop Cutie

Part 1 -> Part 2 -> Part 3

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After another failed attempt at a date, Tim goes undercover. You have no choice but to arrest him, and he's unhappy with the decisions you make trying to do so.

Warnings: brief angst, minor injuries, fluff, Tim gets flirty when he's undercover, mention of drug trafficking, typical show warnings

Word Count: 2.3k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

she puts the short in shorty, and he looks like he wants to chase me. cop cuties, cute and on duty, navy blue booties, go ahead and lock me up.

“So,” you begin.

“Don’t,” Tim interrupts, raising one hand from the steering wheel to point at you. “Just don’t.”

“Big, bad Bradford believes in jinxing?” you ask sarcastically. “And here I thought you were just keeping up appearances to hide the softie within.”

Tim sighs, slowing as he hits his blinker. You’ve been trying to get dinner together for weeks. Something comes up whenever you attempt to go somewhere together or meet at a restaurant. The first time, Tim got called in for a last-minute Metro assignment. Most recently, you were both alerted of a nearby officer-involved shooting. So far, tonight seems quiet, but you understand Tim’s hesitance to admit it. Though you’re still confused about why Tim agreed to get dinner with you after you handcuffed him to a guardrail in a warehouse-turned-drug-house, you want the date to go well. Is it a date? you ask yourself. Tim never clarified if this was for both of you or just for the apology you offered to give.

Tim parks outside a restaurant Lucy recommended and waits for a moment. Everything remains calm, and you smile because you can finally have dinner with Tim Bradford.

And then your phone rings, so the moment is shattered.

“Hello?” you greet, closing your eyes. You listen to Angela’s quick recount of the last half hour, then say, “Yeah, I can be there in a few minutes… Mmhmm, no problem.”

Ending the call, you drop your phone to your lap and shake your head. “I’m so sorry, Tim. Lopez needs-“

Tim’s phone ringing cuts you off, and he shows you Angela’s name on the caller ID before he answers. A moment later, he shifts into reverse and backs out of the parking space.

“Jake Butler,” Tim says. “I thought we threw him in jail after the Vegas incident.”

“We did,” you answer flatly. “Guess he got out. If I find him, he’s going to pay for ruining everything.”

“Did Angela tell you anything else?”

“Just that he was back on their radar, and they saw an opening to figure out the operation.”

“Fantastic,” Tim deadpans.

“Hey, bro!” Jake exclaims as you and Tim enter the interview room with Angela. “Whoa, you clean up nice, man? You on a date or something?”

“Something,” Tim replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “Get to the point, Butler.”

“Must’ve been a good something,” Jake murmurs. He looks at you and smiles before explaining the deal going down tonight.

“What is your boss expecting you to bring?” you inquire.

“Good work ethic,” he says, shrugging. “And product, obviously.”

“How much product?” Tim presses.

“The exact amount that is in my car.”

“We’ll be confiscating all of that after the operation,” Angela reminds him. Turning to you, she says, “He’s offering his car as part of the deal with the DA. This guy has only spoken to Jake here on the phone, so there’s not much of a chance of anyone close to him noticing any difference when Tim walks in.”

“Yeah,” Jake drawls. “Y’all see the tats, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “We see the tats.”

“How long do we have?” Tim asks.

“Drop is at 6,” Jake says. “I park in the underground lot, go up to his penthouse, and we work from there.”

“Specific,” you mumble, drawing a grunt from Tim.

“Thanks, Mr. Butler,” Angela says. “And if anything you told us was wrong, we’re throwing your deal in the gutter with your future. Okay?”

“Yeah, shawty.”

Tim rolls his eyes and follows Angela out of the room. You linger until the door is closed and ask, “Is there anything else you think you should tell us?”

“There’s a panic room,” Jake admits. “Code was 1016 last I was there.”

You nod, then exit the room and wonder what you’d be doing right now if your night had gone according to plan.

“UC parked in 238, underground lot,” someone radios.

You watch the cameras in the surveillance van, tracking Tim’s movements toward the penthouse. While Tim was being transformed to look like Jake, you insisted on staying with Metro for the duration of the operation. You must be close enough to bail Tim out if things go south, you explained. Your captain then brought up the defiance of direct orders during your last Metro op. You were only allowed to join the team with Angela’s vote of confidence and your promise to do anything and everything they say to keep Bradford safe.

Tim knocks on the door and greets the large, armed man who opens it. He sounds like Jake, but you know it’s Tim, and your heart rate speeds up with each step he takes inside. Once he’s in the penthouse, you can’t see him. You can hear him through a long-distance microphone attached to the sniper’s rifle across the street. His tracker blinks on one of the screens, and you clench your jaw as you listen and watch.

“Where’s my stuff, Butler?” someone yells.

“Whoa, man, I wasn’t gonna cart that kind of purchase past the doorman,” Tim argues with a chuckle.

“Whose decision is that? Whose paying for all of it? Who got you out of jail?!”

That answers one question.

“Last we talked, you told me to park, come up here, and we’d work from there,” Tim reminds him. “If you changed the plan without telling me, I guess that’s on me.”

“That was never the plan. Are you trying to screw me, Butler?”

“Nah, man, just a miscommunication. Tell me what you want me to do to fix it.”

The man hesitates, then repeats, “Fix it?”

You stand as the officer sitting across from you prepares to open the door. The van is painted to look like an internet service vehicle, so you could park close to the apartments where Tim is.

“Yeah, I’ll do whatever it takes,” Tim replies.

The unmistakable sound of guns racking fills the van, and the Metro commander radios for everyone to move in now. Running through the parking lot and into the building, you don’t notice the stares you receive, only the intel communicated through your earpiece.

“UC held at gunpoint,” the sniper alerts. “I don’t have a clear shot. Three armed men, plus two at the door.”

“Suspect has cameras on his floor,” another voice says. “Approach from the southern elevators and utilize limited penetration entry through the front door.”

You race up the steps, your heart pounding like it will break through your ribs. Tim is in danger, his life is being threatened, and you’re terrified that you’re too far away to save him. When you reach the landing on the penthouse floor, you struggle to focus on your job. With a deep breath, you remind yourself to obey for Tim. If you rush in, you’ll just get yourself killed, too.

“Hold!” the commander instructs. “We’ve lost visual. UC is moving west.”

“There’s nothing to the west,” Angela replies. “It’s blocked off. Probably utilities.”

“The panic room!” you remember.

“Butler didn’t tell you where it was,” she argues. “We can’t tell on thermal.”

“It’s probably lined, but you’re right.”

“We don’t have time to wait,” Angela decides. “Assume our UC is in the panic room but keep your eyes open and stay alert. Breach.”

You’re fourth in line as you enter the penthouse. Seven Metro officers against five armed criminals is as close to a fair fight as you can expect in your line of work. When you step inside, the man who was guarding the door runs toward you. Dropping your gun, you brace yourself against his hit. His hands shove into your shoulders, and you grip his wrists as he pushes you against the wall. Everyone around you is fighting, so you hold your own against a man who outweighs you and towers over you. Tim is nowhere in sight, nor is Jake’s employer, so you’ll have to fight through this chaos to find him.

Tim watches as the man leading him through a lead-lined hallway types 1-0-1-6 into a keypad. It opens a door into what is clearly a doomsday-style panic room, and he raises his hands as he’s shepherded into it. The heavy doors silence the fight outside, so Tim doesn’t know whether his backup is on the way or if they can locate this well-hidden last resort.

“Where’d the cops come from, Butler? You workin’ with them now?” the man demands, brandishing a curved knife.

“What cops, man?” Tim asks, his voice rising in imitation of Jake.

“The doorman saw a whole team of uniformed tactical guys rush into the place! That’s not what I signed up for.”

“Me neither! Do I look like I’d be making a deal with cops? I’m low-time, I’d go to jail either way and you know better than some attorney that I don’t do cells.”

“Then tell me how they found us right after you did!”

Tim steps back, creating room between himself and the knife. Without any weapons, he would prefer to de-escalate the situation verbally if possible. As the man looks at him, he sees a crazy look in his eyes and assumes the verbal response is no longer an option.

The Metro officers who entered the penthouse with you zip-tie the wrists of the five armed men while you look for an entrance to the panic room. A small latch on the side of a bookshelf catches your attention, and you tug it. The shelf pops away from the door, and a hiss sounds as you pull it open farther.

“I’ll get the UC,” you offer.

“We’ll keep these guys quiet,” an officer replies. “Radio if you need help.”

You nod once, then jog into the hallway. There’s a keypad halfway down the hall, and you hold your tongue between your teeth as you type in the code Jake gave you. Another door hisses as its seal is broken.

“Knock knock!” you call, raising your gun to your shoulder as you move toward the lead door. “LAPD Metro, come out with your hands up!”

You’re met with silence, and you work to steady your breath as you near the door. Before you nudge it open, someone hits it with a quick downward slap. Off-balance, you let the gun fall as you stumble inside.

The man you recognize as Jake’s employer manages to get you on the ground, and you twist to elbow him in the throat. He swings his fist down, and you don’t see the blade tucked between his fingers. He hits your jaw, and your cheekbone stings as the tip of the knife scrapes across it. Pulling your knee up, you aim between his legs. He buckles forward, and you wrap your arms around his upper body. Swinging your leg, you flip to be on top of him.

Panting, you demand, “Roll over. You’re under arrest.”

He groans and doesn’t move. After you knock the knife away from him, you pull his arm to flip him onto his stomach. With your knee pressing between his kidneys, you pull a zip-toe closed around his wrists, then sit back on your heels.

Tim smirks at your position, and you shake your head as you move into a half-kneel position. Wiping blood from your cheek, you push yourself to your feet.

“Jake Butler, you’re under arrest,” you say. “Put your hands behind your head, interlace your fingers.”

Tim looks at your cut cheek, then at the man zip-tied and squirming in pain beneath you.

“Yeah, I’ll comply,” Tim drawls. “Since I’m making it easy, could you try to make the whole arrest me thing a little sexy? I’ve always had a thing for cop cuties, with their navy blue booties.”

“Shut up,” you demand as you pull his hands behind his back.

“Yeah, go ahead and lock me up,” he continues as you secure the handcuffs around his wrists.

“I’m 10-4 in the panic room. Butler and his employer are in custody,” you radio.

An officer appears in the doorway to help you escort both men to the patrol cars waiting outside the lobby. He hauls Jake’s boss to his feet and leads him out of the panic room. You follow, leading Tim through the penthouse and into the hall.

After the elevator closes and all the arrested men have been escorted out, you remove his cuffs. He turns toward you quickly, his jaw clenched tightly. You recognize the look and know he’s about to yell at you.

“I know, I know, you never put the cuffs on me,” you say before he can begin. “Sorry, but there were too many people who could see.”

“You really think that’s what I’m mad about?” Tim questions. “I don’t care what you do to UCs.”

“Then what are you mad about?” you ask softly.

Tim raises his hand to your face but stops before he touches you. His hand falls, and he says, “You got hurt. Medics will be ready at the station.”

As Tim turns away from you, you wish he had touched you.

At the end of the day, you exit the station and sigh. You received treatment for your minor injuries, completed the reports, and patrolled before your end of shift. Walking through the parking lot, you keep your eyes down and think about last night.

“A cut cheek isn’t getting you out of dinner,” Tim calls.

You look up at the sound of his voice and see him leaning against the tailgate of his truck.

“If you’re still up for it,” he adds.

“You’re just saying that because I’m a cop cutie,” you reply, smiling.

Tim groans at the reminder of what he said while he was undercover. He raises his hand again, but this time, he places his palm on your jaw and gently traces the bottom of your bandage. His movement and his touch say more than he ever has.

“If we finally go on a date, do you think we could stop arresting each other?” you inquire.

“Maybe,” he answers, opening the passenger door for you.

“That sounded too hopeful.”

[astrxq]

Stage Light, Palace Light .II

jacaerys velaryon x theatre!reader

words: 10.8k

notes: tumblr won’t let me post this as a full fic so i’m dividing in half… though i think that kind of takes away from the whole thing, it’s the only way for me to post it :(( i hope the length doesn’t scare you away 😭

content!!: jacaerys secretly attends a theater in town, disguised as a commoner. captivated by a fearless and enchanting penniless actress, he asks for a private reading of one of her plays for a chance to see her again. — luke is alive in this, notttt following canon events obviously.

both parts will be posted simultaneously!! so you don’t have to wait for me to upload it if you want to read it :) — [tap here for part 1!]

Through the castle's stained glass windows, the moon cast fractured patterns across Jacaerys's chambers. He sat at his desk, turning the sapphire ring over and over in his hands, watching how the moonlight caught in its facets. The familiar weight of it felt wrong now, tainted by the memory of your fingers pressing it into his palm.

A soft knock at his door made him start, quickly slipping the ring onto his finger. "Enter," he called, his voice rougher than intended.

Lucerys's familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway. "Well, this is new," his brother said lightly, though his eyes were sharp with concern. "You're actually in your chambers at this hour? I had to check twice to make sure I had the right room."

Jacaerys didn't respond, his thumb absently running over the dragon engravings on his ring. Lucerys's casual stance shifted, and he closed the door behind him with deliberate care.

"Jace?" he asked, dropping the teasing tone. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Jacaerys replied automatically, the practiced lie tasting bitter on his tongue. "I'm just tired."

Lucerys crossed the room, settling into the chair across from his brother's desk. "You've been 'just tired' all day. Barely touched your food at dinner. Haven't gone near the stables." He paused, studying Jacaerys's face in the moonlight. "Haven't sneaked out to wherever it is you've been disappearing to for the past months."

Jacaerys's hands stilled on the ring. He seemed to think for a second. “Yeah, just tired.”

“It blew up on your face, didn’t it?”

Jacaerys flinched at his brother's words, his fingers tightening reflexively around the ring. The moonlight caught his profile, highlighting the shadows under his eyes and the tension in his jaw.

"That obvious, was it?" he asked, his voice hollow.

Lucerys leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Only to someone who's been covering for you."

He watched as Jacaerys resumed fidgeting with the ring. In the dim light, it took him a moment to recognize the glint of their house seal on the sapphire ring.

"So that's where it went," Lucerys said softly, letting the door close behind him. "I thought you'd lost it."

Jacaerys didn't look up, his fingers still tracing the dragon engravings. "I did lose it," he said, his voice rough. "She found it."

Lucerys stilled. There was no need to ask who 'she' was – he'd watched his brother sneak out enough nights to guess. "Ah," he said carefully, moving to lean against the window frame.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft scrape of metal against metal as Jacaerys continued to turn the ring.

"She gave it back," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Pressed it into my hand like it was burning her." He let out a bitter laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Told me to go home. To go back where I belong."

Lucerys watched his brother carefully, noting how his shoulders curved inward, how his normally perfect posture had crumbled.

"It was always coming, wasn't it?" Lucerys said softly, though there was sympathy in his voice. "You did lie to her, after all."

"You're not helping," Jacaerys snapped, the words sharper than he'd intended. His hands were white-knuckled around the ring now, the dragon engravings surely leaving marks in his palm.

"I'm not trying to help," Lucerys replied, moving closer to rest a hand on his brother's tense shoulder. "I'm trying to understand. All these months, what did you think would happen?"

Jacaerys shrugged off his brother's touch, standing abruptly. The moonlight caught his face, revealing the raw anguish there. "I didn't think," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I just... I wanted to be near her. To be someone who could be near her."

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Gods, you should have seen her face when she realized. Like I'd broken something irreparable."

Jacaerys dropped his hands, staring unseeing at the moonlit patterns on his desk. "She called me 'Your Grace' at the end. Like she was trying to remind herself who I really was." His voice turned bitter. "Who I've always been, apparently."

Lucerys was quiet for a long moment, watching his brother's reflection in the glass. "What was she like?" he finally asked. "When you were just Jace to her?"

The question seemed to physically pain Jacaerys. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, his breath fogging the surface.

The raw longing in his voice made Lucerys's chest ache for his brother. "And now?"

"Now she looks at me like I'm exactly what I am," Jacaerys said bitterly. "A liar. A prince. A fool who thought he could have something real in a life built on pretense."

Lucerys watched as his brother's fingers pressed against the window pane, leaving ghostly prints in the condensation. "She taught me her lines sometimes," Jacaerys said, his voice distant. "Said I had a gift for tragedy." A broken laugh escaped him. "I suppose she was right about that."

"Jace..." Lucerys started, but his brother wasn't finished.

"She tried to be so proper about it, so careful. 'My prince' this and 'Your Grace' that, like she was trying to build walls between us with every title." His forehead pressed harder against the window. "I think I preferred it when she was angry."

"Was she?"

"For a moment. But then she just looked... sad." Jacaerys turned suddenly, his eyes bright in the darkness.

"She has this laugh," he continued, "when something genuinely surprises her. Not the polite one she uses for the audience, but this bright, startled sound. And when she's really focused on something, she bites her lower lip, right at the corner..." His voice cracked. "Gods, Luke, what am I supposed to do?"

"You know what you have to do," Lucerys said gently. "What you've always had to do."

Jacaerys's forehead pressed harder against the glass.

"Brother..." Lucerys stepped closer, but Jacaerys waved him off.

"I can still feel her hands," he whispered, staring down at his own trembling fingers. "When she gave the ring back. She was so gentle about it, even then. Like she was afraid of hurting me, after everything I'd done to her." A ragged laugh escaped him. "She even fixed my cloak before sending me away. 'It's not safe for a prince to be out so late,'" he mimicked, his voice cracking on the words.

"You're going to make yourself sick," Lucerys observed quietly, noting how his brother's shoulders shook.

"Maybe I deserve to be," Jacaerys replied, but there was no heat in it, just a bone-deep exhaustion. He slumped back into his chair, the moonlight casting harsh shadows across his face.

Lucerys watched his brother for a long moment, then sighed softly. "I'll tell mother you've caught something," he said, moving to perch on the edge of the desk. "A fever or stomach ailment. Something that'll keep you out of court for a few days at least."

Jacaerys looked up sharply. "You don't have to–"

"Please," Lucerys cut him off with a wry smile. "You look wretched enough that no one would question it. And those tedious trade negotiations with the Iron Bank representatives can survive without you staring miserably into space."

"I wouldn't–"

"You would. You are." Lucerys gestured to where Jacaerys's fingers still worried at the ring. "Besides, I doubt anyone wants to hear your thoughts on maritime tariffs when you're like this. You'd probably accidentally start a war just to have something else to be miserable about."

That earned him a ghost of a smile, though it faded quickly. "The maesters will want to examine me," Jacaerys pointed out.

"Let me handle them." Lucerys waved a dismissive hand. "I'll tell them you've got that stomach bug that's been going around the kitchens. No one wants to get too close to that." He paused, studying his brother's drawn face. "Take a few days, Jace. Get some sleep. Stop turning that ring before you wear through it."

Jacaerys's hands stilled, though he didn't let go of the ring. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"Don't thank me yet," Lucerys replied, standing. "I'm still going to make you tell me everything about her eventually. When you're ready." He moved toward the door, then paused.

"And Jace? Try to actually sleep, would you? Brooding in moonlight might suit your current mood, but you look terrible."

"Thanks," Jacaerys said dryly, but there was genuine gratitude in his voice.

Once the door closed behind his brother, Jacaerys turned back to the window. The moon had shifted, casting new patterns across his chambers, but he barely noticed. His mind was still in a torch-lit theater, replaying the gentle pressure of your hands as you straightened his cloak one last time.

***

The days blurred together in Jacaerys's chambers, marked only by the rotating cast of concerned visitors. His mother would sweep in each morning, her silks rustling as she pressed a cool hand to his forehead, murmuring about his pallor. The maesters followed with their endless questions and concoctions, puzzling over symptoms they couldn't quite identify. None of them recognized the way his eyes kept straying to the window, to the city beyond where a certain theater's torches would be lighting for the evening performance.

Lucerys was the only one who didn't try to diagnose him, who simply sat in comfortable silence or brought books from the library that went unread. Sometimes he'd catch his brother staring at that sapphire ring and start talking about mundane castle gossip, a transparent but appreciated attempt at distraction.

Meanwhile, across the city, the theater carried on as it always had. You moved through your performances with practiced grace, delivering your lines perfectly, but something felt hollow now.

Each night, your eyes would drift to that shadowed corner where he used to sit, and each night you'd feel foolish for looking. The seat remained empty – not by design, simply by chance – but it felt like a physical presence, a reminder of everything that couldn't be.

Sometimes, during quiet moments between scenes, you'd catch yourself listening for familiar footsteps that never came. Your hand would brush against a dog-eared script, and you'd remember how he'd help you practice, the way his voice would shift with each character. The memory would make you pause, make your chest tight with an emotion you refused to name.

You told yourself it was selfish to miss him, to hope that somehow he'd appear in those shadows again. After all, hadn't you been the one to send him away? Hadn't you been right to do so? But still, each night, your eyes would search the crowd, and each night, that empty seat seemed to mock you with possibilities that could never be.

In his chambers, Jacaerys would press his forehead against the cool glass of his window, knowing that somewhere out there, you were performing. He wondered if you still bit your lip when concentrating on a difficult scene, if you still gestured with your scripts when explaining something passionate. He wondered if you thought of him at all, or if you'd already begun the process of forgetting the false dock worker who'd turned out to be a prince.

The week crawled by, measured in missed performances and untouched meals, in concerned looks and knowing silences. In the end, you were both right – it was impossible, it could never work, it had to end this way. But knowing that didn't stop either of you from searching – him through his window, you through your crowds – for something you knew you wouldn't find.

Lucerys had always been the softer of the brothers – both in appearance and temperament. Where Jacaerys had inherited their father's sharp features and commanding presence, Lucerys's face held a gentler cast, his smile coming easier, his manner more approachable. He was the one who smoothed ruffled feathers at court, who knew all the servants' names, who could talk his way out of trouble with nothing but charm and well-placed sympathy.

And he was also, notably, the one who meddled.

Which was precisely what he was doing now, standing before his mirror and adjusting a dark cloak that was decidedly less fine than his usual attire. His chambers were quiet save for the soft rustle of fabric as he secured the clasp, mentally reviewing the path through the castle that would draw the least attention. He'd spent enough time covering for Jacaerys's excursions to know exactly which guards were amenable to looking the other way, which corridors were least patrolled at this hour.

The Jacaerys he knew would have at least tried to sneak out by now, would have found some excuse to pass by the theater, even if just to torture himself with a glimpse. But instead, he'd spent the week alternating between staring out his window and turning that sapphire ring over and over in his hands, barely eating, barely sleeping.

No, this wouldn't do at all. And if Jacaerys wouldn't go to the theater, well... Lucerys tugged his hood lower, checking his reflection one last time. Someone would have to go in his stead.

After all, what were younger brothers for, if not to meddle in matters of the heart?

From his hidden vantage point in the shadows – the same corner his brother had haunted for months – Lucerys watched you command the stage. It took him less than a minute to understand why Jacaerys had been so thoroughly captivated. You moved with a natural grace that had nothing to do with practiced choreography, your voice carrying to every corner of the room without losing its intimate quality.

Your eyes would drift to this shadowed corner, just for a moment, before you caught yourself and looked away. It was such a small thing, so quick most wouldn't notice, but Lucerys saw how your smile would falter slightly afterward, how your hands would fidget with your scripts in a gesture that seemed born of recent habit.

He recognized the look in your eyes – he'd seen its mirror in Jacaerys's chambers all week. The same careful mask of composure, the same barely concealed longing, the same hurt trying to disguise itself as acceptance.

You nearly missed your cue when you first spotted the cloaked figure, your heart leaping traitorously before you caught the subtle differences – the softer jaw, the way he held himself without that familiar tension. When he shifted and scratched his cheek, revealing features that echoed Jacaerys' but didn't quite match, you knew exactly who had come to your theater.

As the last remnants of the audience filtered out, their conversations fading into the night, you moved through your familiar closing routine. Scripts needed to be gathered, props returned to their places, torches extinguished one by one. It was methodical work, the kind that usually helped quiet your mind after a performance.

But lately, each task seemed to carry its own weight of memory – the way he would help you sort the pages, how he'd lean against that column while you checked the props, his quiet laugh when you'd dramatically recite lines while cleaning.

You were reaching for a fallen script when you felt it – that familiar presence in the shadows. The quality of the silence was wrong, the weight of the presence slightly off. Still, you kept your back turned, your fingers gripping the script too tightly as you spoke.

"You know, for someone raised in a castle, you Targaryens have a terrible habit of lurking in shadows."

There was a soft exhale behind you – not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh – and you knew immediately it wasn't Jacaerys. This breath carried a different cadence, a lighter note.

"Ah," came a voice that was similar to his but softer around the edges, "I suppose some habits run in the family."

You turned then, slowly, to find a figure standing where Jacaerys used to wait. The hood was the same, the stance similar, but everything else was just slightly different – like looking at a familiar painting that had been done by a different hand.

"Prince Lucerys," you said softly, without hesitation.

You'd heard of him at public events, of course – the gentler brother, the one who could charm a crowd with a smile. He looked the same as Jacaerys, only with softened features which made it obvious he was younger.

Your hands fidgeted with the script, an unconscious echo of nervousness. "I assume you're not here to audition."

He pushed back his hood, his smile was apologetic, but his eyes were sharp with assessment.

"No," he agreed, staying where he was as if afraid of spooking you. "Though I must say, I understand now why my brother spent so many nights here. You're quite captivating on stage."

You turned away, busying yourself with straightening already-neat piles of parchment. "If you're here about Jacaerys–"

"He doesn't know I'm here," Lucerys interrupted gently. "In fact, he'd probably be furious if he knew. He's spent the week in his chambers, supposedly ill with some mysterious ailment that has the maesters quite confused."

Your hands stilled on the papers. "I'm sorry to hear he's unwell," you said carefully, your voice steady despite the way your heart clenched. "But I'm not sure what that has to do with me."

"Isn't it obvious?" Lucerys's voice was kind, almost too kind. "He's not sick. He's heartbroken."

You closed your eyes briefly, willing your voice to remain neutral. "That's hardly my concern anymore, Your Grace."

"Please," he said, "if you're going to break my brother's heart, you might as well call me Lucerys."

When you faced him again, Lucerys's expression held none of the accusation you'd feared. Instead, there was something almost sad in his smile, like he was watching a tragedy unfold on stage.

"I didn't–" you started, then stopped, unsure how to finish that sentence. Didn't mean to? Didn't want to? Both felt like lies, and you'd had enough of those lately.

"I know," Lucerys said softly. "Neither did he." He moved closer, but carefully, like approaching a nervous animal. "He's been staring out his window for days, you know. Always in the direction of the theater. Turning that ring over and over until I thought he'd wear a groove in it."

Your throat tightened at the image. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I've never seen my brother like this before." Lucerys's voice was quiet but intent. "He's always been the perfect prince – duty first, propriety above all. Until you." He tilted his head, studying you. "Do you know what he said to me? That you taught him how to laugh. How to be human."

You turned away sharply, but not before he caught the flash of pain across your face. "It doesn't matter what he said. What either of us said. Some things are impossible."

"Impossible?" Lucerys repeated thoughtfully. "Or just difficult?"

"Both," you said firmly, though your voice wavered slightly. "He's a prince, I'm a–"

"A remarkably talented performer who made my brother happier than I've ever seen him," Lucerys interrupted. "Who, if I'm not mistaken, misses him just as much as he misses you."

"That's not fair," you whispered.

"No," he agreed softly. "None of this is fair. But I'm not here to talk about what's fair. I'm here because my brother hasn't eaten properly in days, because he looks at that ring like it's both salvation and torture, because he keeps whispering your lines to himself when he thinks no one can hear."

A bitter laugh escaped you, though it sounded more like a sob. "The night he lost the ring..." You shook your head, turning back to face Lucerys. "He was already pulling away. Even before I found it, he was... distant. Guilty. Like he'd finally remembered who he was, who I..." You swallowed hard. "It was so easy to believe he'd just wanted some fun with a common girl. A story to tell his noble friends about the theater performer he'd charmed."

Lucerys's face softened with understanding. "That's what you thought? That he was just..."

"What else was I supposed to think?" Your voice cracked slightly. "He was withdrawing, making excuses, before he even knew I had the found his ring." Your fingers twisted in your skirts.

"He was scared," Lucerys said quietly. "Not of you finding out, exactly, but of losing you once you did. He'd convinced himself that the moment you knew who he really was, everything would change."

A sad smile crossed his face. "I suppose he was right about that, at least."

"Everything did change," you whispered. "Because everything had been a lie."

"Was it?" Lucerys asked, his voice gentle but challenging.

You pressed your lips together, fighting back the sting in your eyes. "It doesn't matter if they were. A prince can't... we can't..."

"Can't what?" Lucerys pressed. "Can't care for each other? Can't find moments of happiness in each other's company?" He paused, watching you carefully. "Can't love each other?"

The word hung in the air between you, making your chest ache. "Please," you said softly, "don't make this harder than it already is."

Lucerys sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture so similar to his brother's that it made your heart clench. He was quiet for a moment, his eyes distant as if working through a puzzle. Then he looked at you with renewed focus.

“What if..." he started, then paused, choosing his words carefully. "What if the castle requested a reading of one of your monologues?"

You stilled, looking at him warily. "What?"

"It wouldn't be unusual," he continued, his voice taking on that careful diplomatic tone you imagined he used in court. "The castle often hosts performers. And that piece you did tonight – the one about the warrior queen – it has historical significance. Educational value." His lips quirked. "The sort of thing that would be entirely appropriate for a royal audience."

"Are you..." You shook your head in disbelief. "Are you trying to orchestrate an official reason for me to..."

"To be in the castle? Where my brother wouldn't have to sneak around in hoods and lies?" Lucerys shrugged, but his eyes were sharp. "It would be completely proper. Above board. Just a performer doing what performers do – sharing stories with those who wish to hear them."

"My prince–"

"Lucerys," he corrected gently.

“Lucerys," you amended, "you can't possibly think that would solve anything. One performance wouldn't change who he is, or who I am, or–"

"No," he agreed. "But it might be a start. A chance to see each other in the light, without pretense." He tilted his head. "Unless you truly don't want to see him again?"

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with possibility.

***

Lucerys burst into Jacaerys's chambers with more force than necessary, finding his brother surrounded by the usual crowd of concerned maesters. The room smelled of various herbal concoctions, and Jacaerys looked thoroughly miserable as they debated his mysterious symptoms.

"Out," Lucerys commanded, channeling their mother's authoritative tone. "All of you. I need to speak with my brother."

The maesters hesitated, exchanging glances. "My prince, we haven't finished–"

"You've been 'not finished' for a week," Lucerys cut in. "And remarkably, my brother is still alive. Now out." He softened it with a diplomatic smile. "Please. Court matters."

Once the door closed behind the last grumbling maester, Lucerys turned to his brother. Jacaerys was still in bed, looking pale and disheveled, the sapphire ring glinting on his finger.

"Get up," Lucerys said, moving to Jacaerys's wardrobe and pulling out clothes.

"What?"

"Up. Now." Lucerys threw a fresh tunic at his brother's head. "You need to be dressed and presentable in the next quarter hour."

Jacaerys caught the tunic reflexively but didn't move to put it on. "Why?"

"Because," Lucerys said, now rummaging for appropriate boots, "there's going to be a performance in the great hall, and you need to look like a prince instead of a lovesick ghost."

"I'm not attending any performances," Jacaerys said flatly, though something flickered in his eyes at the word.

"Yes, you are." Lucerys threw a pair of boots beside the bed with more force than necessary. "It's a historical piece. Very educational. Mother specifically requested your presence."

"Luke–"

"And," Lucerys continued, now advancing on his brother with determined purpose, "if you don't get out of that bed right now, I will tell mother exactly why you've been 'sick' all week. I'm sure she'd love to hear about your nightly visits to the theater district."

Jacaerys stared at him, a mix of betrayal and confusion crossing his features. "You wouldn't."

"Try me." Lucerys grabbed his brother's arm, physically pulling him up. "Now get dressed. And for gods' sake, do something with your hair. You look like you've been wrestling with ravens."

"Luke, what are you–"

"Twelve minutes," Lucerys interrupted, already heading for the door. "If you're not ready by then, I'm sending the maesters back in. All of them. With their most experimental remedies."

The door closed behind him with a decisive click, leaving Jacaerys standing bewildered in the middle of his chambers, clutching a fresh tunic and wondering what exactly his brother had planned.

Jacaerys stood at the back of the great hall, tugging uncomfortably at his formal attire. The past hour had been a blur of Lucerys's insistent shepherding, servants fussing with his appearance, and his own mounting irritation. Now he lingered in the shadows – a habit he couldn't seem to break – watching as various nobles filtered in.

"Stop fidgeting," Lucerys murmured beside him. "You look like you're attending an execution rather than a performance."

"Maybe I am," Jacaerys muttered back, his fingers absently finding the ring on his hand. "My execution, if Mother realizes I'm not actually sick."

"You'll thank me later."

"Doubtful." Jacaerys leaned against a column, falling into the familiar melancholy that had haunted him all week. Even the grand hall's usual splendor seemed dulled, the afternoon light filtering through the high windows doing nothing to lift his spirits. His mind kept drifting to another performance space, torch-lit and intimate, where—

The great doors opened, and two members of the Kingsguard entered. Jacaerys barely glanced up, used to the ceremonial display of court life. But then he caught a glimpse of who they were escorting, and his whole world tilted on its axis.

You stood between the guards, clutching a script in hands that trembled slightly. You wore your best performance dress, your hair arranged more formally than he'd ever seen it, but you were unmistakably, achingly you. The afternoon sun caught you differently than torchlight had, making you look both familiar and strange, like a dream he'd had too many times to count.

His breath caught audibly, making Lucerys smirk beside him.

"Luke," he whispered, his voice rough with panic and something else entirely, "what did you do?"

But Lucerys just smiled, watching as you were formally announced to the court. Your eyes hadn't found Jacaerys yet, fixed carefully on some middle distance as you followed the guards' lead. But your fingers worried at the corner of your script in that familiar way that made Jacaerys's chest ache.

"Breathe, brother," Lucerys murmured, noting how Jacaerys's hands had gone white-knuckled on his chair's armrests. "She's here to perform the warrior queen's monologue. Very educational. Historical significance and all that."

"I'm going to kill you," Jacaerys breathed, but he couldn't take his eyes off you. You looked so out of place and yet so perfectly right, like a character from one of your plays stepped into reality.

And then you looked up, your eyes finally meeting his across the great hall. The script trembled visibly in your hands for just a moment before you steadied yourself. Something passed between you in that look – recognition, longing, fear, hope – all wrapped in the formal distance required by your surroundings.

Jacaerys forgot to breathe entirely.

"Kill me later," Lucerys said softly, satisfaction clear in his voice.

"For now, just watch. And breathe, for gods' sake, before you actually do need those maesters."

But Jacaerys barely heard him. He was too caught up in the way you held yourself – proud despite your obvious nervousness, every inch the performer even in these overwhelming surroundings. You looked different in the daylight, more vulnerable somehow, but also stronger. The sun caught the subtle tremor in your hands as you opened your script, a gesture he'd seen a hundred times in candlelight.

A hush fell over the hall as you began to speak. Your voice carried differently here than in the theater, the acoustics grander, but the emotion in your words was just as intimate. It was the warrior queen's monologue – the one you'd practiced with him late one night, when he'd read the opposing lines and you'd laughed at his terrible attempts at different voices.

He knew every word, every pause, every subtle shift in your expression. But watching you now, in the harsh light of reality rather than the forgiving shadows of the theater, felt like seeing you for the first time all over again. You weren't just performing for the court – you were commanding the space, making the grand hall feel as intimate as your small stage had been.

His fingers found the ring again, tracing its familiar edges. You reached a particular line – one where you always bit your lip slightly before delivering it – and his breath caught again as you did exactly that, the gesture so achingly familiar it hurt.

"Stop looking at her like that," Lucerys whispered. "People will notice."

"How else am I supposed to look at her?" Jacaerys breathed back, not taking his eyes off you.

"Like a prince watching a performance," Lucerys replied. "Not like a man watching his heart perform in front of the entire court."

But it was too late for that kind of pretense. Because you'd reached the climax of the monologue – the part where your voice always carried a particular kind of raw honesty – and your eyes found his again, just for a moment. In that look was everything: the nights in the theater, the weight of secrets, the gentle press of your fingers returning his ring, the impossible distance between who you both were and who you'd pretended to be.

And Jacaerys knew, with sudden, crushing clarity, that he would never be able to look at you any other way.

Queen Rhaenyra leaned forward slightly in her seat, her eyes bright with genuine interest as your performance drew to a close. The great hall remained silent for a heartbeat after your final words, before breaking into appropriate, measured applause.

"Remarkable," she murmured, her voice carrying that particular tone that made both her sons tense slightly. "To memorize such a lengthy piece..." She turned to Jacaerys, and there was something knowing in her smile that made his stomach drop. "Wouldn't you agree, sweetling?"

Jacaerys forced himself to meet his mother's gaze, though he could feel Lucerys shifting nervously beside him. "Yes," he managed, his voice steadier than he felt.

"The theater district has always produced exceptional talent," Lucerys offered smoothly, but Rhaenyra's attention remained on her eldest son.

"Indeed," she said softly. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth as she watched Jacaerys's fingers unconsciously find his ring again.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, finding not the judgment he feared but something softer, more knowing.

"Mhmm," Rhaenyra hummed, her eyes drifting back to where you stood.

"The court always needs cultural enrichment," she said, rising gracefully. "And that was indeed an... educational performance." Her eyes met his, sharp with understanding. "Perhaps we should arrange more of them."

Your voice carried through the final lines, steady despite the way Jacaerys could see your hands trembling slightly around your script. The court burst into appreciative applause – of course they did, how could they not when you'd made the grand hall feel as intimate as a torch-lit theater? – but he barely heard it over the rushing in his ears.

You dipped into a perfect curtsy, every inch the professional performer. But as you straightened, your eyes found his again, and for a moment the carefully constructed walls of propriety cracked. There was something raw in your expression, something that made his chest ache with recognition.

"Breathe," Lucerys murmured again, nudging him slightly. "The entire court doesn't need to see you looking like you've been struck by lightning."

But how could he breathe when you were there, so close yet impossibly far, being led away by the Kingsguard as formally as you'd entered? Your back was straight, your steps measured, but he knew you well enough to see the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers still worried at the corner of your script.

"I need to–" he started, already half-rising from his seat.

Lucerys caught his arm. "Not yet," he said quietly. "Wait until the court disperses. Unless you want to cause a scene that would make both your positions more difficult?"

Jacaerys sank back down, his fingers finding the ring again. A nervous tick of his.

"Turns out," Lucerys said softly, watching as you disappeared through the great doors, "You’re not the only one who's been miserable this past week." He paused, then added, "She looks at that empty seat in the theater the same way you look out your window, you know."

Jacaerys closed his eyes briefly, the words hitting him like a physical blow.

Lucerys's words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, but they ignited something sharp in Jacaerys. His eyes snapped open, narrowing as he turned to his younger brother, who was still watching the now-closed doors with a smug, self-satisfied expression.

"You went to the theater?" Jacaerys hissed, his voice low and furious.

Lucerys barely spared him a glance, his nonchalant demeanor only fueling Jacaerys's anger. "Someone had to check on her," Lucerys replied, crossing his arms. "You certainly weren't going to."

"You had no right," Jacaerys snapped, keeping his voice low enough to avoid drawing attention but failing to mask the edge of his temper. "You don't get to meddle in this. Do you have any idea–"

"Do you?" Lucerys cut him off, his tone sharper now as he turned to face his brother fully. “I brought her here, didn’t I?”

Jacaerys stiffened, his jaw tightening. "That’s not the point, Luke. You went behind my back–"

"Because you weren’t doing anything!" Lucerys shot back, his voice rising slightly before he checked himself, glancing around the room.

"Luke..."

"She'll be escorted to the eastern solar," Lucerys continued casually, as if he hadn't just shaken his brother's entire world. "To rest after her performance. It's only proper to offer refreshments to our honored performers, after all." He stood, stretching deliberately. "The guard rotation changes in about ten minutes. Just in case you were wondering, though I bet you knew that already."

With that, he left Jacaerys alone with his thoughts, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the great hall as the court slowly emptied around him.

Jacaerys found himself standing outside the eastern solar far too soon and not soon enough. His heart hammered against his ribs as he noted the momentarily empty corridor – Lucerys's timing, no doubt. The same patterns of afternoon light that had caught in your hair during the performance now spilled across the floor at his feet, making patterns that reminded him of torch shadows.

He raised his hand to knock, then hesitated. What could he possibly say? 'I'm sorry' felt inadequate. 'I miss you' felt too raw. 'You were magnificent' felt too formal. All of them felt like poor substitutes for the tangle of emotions in his chest.

Before he could decide, the door opened, and suddenly you were there. You must have heard his footsteps, must have been waiting. You wore the same dress from the performance, but your hair had started to escape its formal arrangement, soft wisps falling around your face in a way that made his fingers itch to brush them back.

For a long moment, you just stared at each other. The silence stretched between you, heavy with everything unsaid.

"My prince," you finally murmured, dropping into a curtsy that felt like a blade between his ribs.

"Don't," he whispered, the word rough in his throat. "Please, not you. Not after..." He gestured helplessly, unable to find words for what he meant. Not after you'd known him as just Jace, not after you'd laughed with him in shadows, not after you'd taught him how to be human instead of just a prince.

You straightened from your curtsy but didn't meet his eyes, your fingers worrying at your script in that achingly familiar way. "I don't know what else to call you anymore."

"My name," he said softly. "Just... just my name. Like before."

Your eyes finally met his, and the raw honesty there made his breath catch.

“How are you?" he asked softly, the question feeling simultaneously inadequate and overwhelming. He wanted to ask so much more – how had your week been, did you still bite your lip when practicing new lines, did you miss him as desperately as he missed you?

You let out a small, bitter laugh. "I'm..." Your fingers traced the edge of your script. "I've been better. The theater feels... different now."

"Different how?" His voice was barely above a whisper, afraid to break whatever fragile moment this was.

"Emptier," you admitted, then seemed to regret the honesty. "Though that's foolish, isn't it? It's not as if we ever sold out performances. One empty seat shouldn't matter."

"But it does," he said quietly, understanding exactly what you meant. His fingers found the ring again, a habit he couldn't seem to break. You noticed the movement, your eyes following it before quickly looking away.

Your eyes lingered on where his fingers traced the ring before you forced them away. "I suppose it does," you said softly. "Though it shouldn't. Just like I shouldn't keep expecting to turn around and find you in the shadows."

"I wanted to come back," he admitted, his voice rough. "Every night this week, I've stood at my window, thinking about how easy it would be to just..."

"Put on a hood and pretend?" There was no bite to your words, just a quiet sadness. "We can't go back to that, Jacaerys. You know we can't”

The sound of his name on your lips made his chest ache. "I know. But I miss..." He paused, struggling to find the right words. "I miss how you'd gesture with your scripts when you were excited about a scene. How you'd laugh when I tried different voices for the characters. How you–“

"Please don't," you whispered, but he continued anyway, the words spilling out like he couldn't stop them.

"How you'd bite your lip right before a difficult line – like you did today, with the warrior queen's speech. How you'd let me help you practice, even though I was terrible at it. How you made me forget about titles and duties and just feel..."

"Real?" you offered quietly, and he nodded, the simple word capturing everything he'd been trying to say.

"You were the most real thing in my life," he said, taking a step closer. "Are. The most real thing."

You didn't step back, but your fingers tightened on your script. "And what good does that do us? Being real doesn't change who you are, or who I am, or what's possible between us."

"Doesn't it?" He was close enough now to see the subtle tremor in your hands, to catch the faint scent of stage powder that always clung to your clothes. "You're here now, in the castle. Properly, formally. No hiding, no lies."

"For one performance," you reminded him gently. "One afternoon of pretending we're not what we are – a prince and a common performer who forgot their places for a while."

"Is that all it was to you?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "Just forgetting our places?"

Your eyes met his, and the honesty there made his heart stutter. "You know it wasn't," you whispered. "But sometimes knowing that makes it worse."

He wanted to reach for you, to brush back those escaped strands of hair, to remember how it felt to be close without the weight of titles between you. But he kept his hands at his sides, one thumb still absently tracing the ring.

"I dream about you," he admitted softly. "About the theater, about your laugh, about... about everything we could have been if I'd just been honest from the start."

"And what would that have changed?" you asked, but your voice wavered slightly. "Would it have made me more suitable? Made the court more accepting? Made any of this possible?"

"Maybe not," he conceded. "But at least it would have been real from the beginning. At least we could have faced it together, instead of..."

"Instead of me finding out from a ring?" The words were quiet but they hit home, making him flinch.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Gods, I'm so sorry. I never meant..."

"I know you didn't," you said softly. "That's what makes it harder. Nothing about this was meant to hurt anyone, and yet..."

You took a shaky breath, taking a small step back. The afternoon light caught the unshed tears in your eyes, making them shine. "And yet here we are," you said softly, "still hurting each other by wanting impossible things."

"They don't have to be impossible," he said, but even he could hear the desperation in his voice. "We could..."

"Could what?" Your smile was gentle but heartbreaking. "Could meet in shadows forever? Could pretend that duty and birth and responsibility don't exist?" You shook your head. "You're a prince, Jacaerys. A good one. The kind who puts his people first, who understands duty, who..." Your voice caught. "Who shouldn't be asked to choose between his birthright and a common girl who performs in torchlight."

"Don't," he whispered, "don't talk about yourself like that."

"Like what? Like the truth?" You gestured to your performance dress, to the grand solar around you. "Look at where we are. Look at how many plans and schemes it took just for me to be here properly, just for one afternoon." Your fingers brushed his sleeve, so lightly he might have imagined it. "You belong in sunlight, my prince. Not hiding in theater shadows."

"I belong with you," he said roughly, but you were already shaking your head.

"No," you said softly. "You belong to your people, to your duty, to your name. And I..." You smiled, though it trembled at the edges. "I belong to my stories, to my stage, to the world we create in torchlight."

He reached for you then, unable to stop himself, but you stepped back. "Please," he whispered, though he wasn't sure what he was begging for.

He caught your wrist just as you were turning away, his touch feather-light. The guards would be returning any moment, but he couldn't let you leave, not yet, not like this.

"Would it be terribly improper," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, "for a theater performer to give the prince a goodbye kiss?"

You stilled, your back still to him, and for a moment he thought you would refuse. But then you turned, slowly, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of longing and resignation that made his chest ache.

“Terribly," you murmured, but you were already reaching for him, your fingers ghosting along his jaw. "Absolutely forbidden."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. "I won't tell if you won't."

Your laugh was soft and broken, but then your lips were on his, gentle and desperate all at once. It was different from your kiss in the town’s shadows – more bitter, more final. He could taste the salt of tears, though he wasn't sure if they were yours or his.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer for just a moment, memorizing the feeling of you against him one last time. Your fingers curled into his formal clothes, and he felt the script press between you, a reminder of everything that separated you.

The kiss ended too soon, both of you aware of the approaching sound of armored footsteps. You pulled back just enough to rest your forehead against his, your breath shaky.

And then you were gone, slipping back into the solar and closing the door between you just as the guards rounded the corner.

Jacaerys touched his fingers to his lips, where he could still taste the bittersweet mix of your kiss and your tears. The guards nodded respectfully as they passed, never knowing that they'd just missed watching a prince's heart break in the afternoon sun.

He turned from the solar, still touching his lips, only to nearly collide with his mother. Her silver hair caught the afternoon light, her expression curious as she steadied him.

"Careful, my love," she said, then peered past him toward the solar door. "Has our performer already left? I wanted to congratulate her personally. That warrior queen monologue was quite moving."

Jacaerys struggled to compose his features, though he knew his mother's sharp eyes missed little. "I believe she's still..." his voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "She's still inside, yes."

His mother's gaze sharpened, taking in his flushed face, the slight redness around his eyes, the way his fingers kept straying to his lips. "Feeling better, I see," she said carefully.

"Much better," he managed, though the words felt like ash in his mouth. "The maesters were very... thorough."

His mother studied him for a long moment, her eyes lingering on where his thumb was absently tracing his ring. Something flickered across her face – understanding, perhaps, or memory – but she simply smiled and patted his cheek.

"I'm glad," she said softly. "Though perhaps you should rest a bit more. You still look... unwell." There was a gentleness in her voice that made his throat tight, a careful kindness in how she didn't mention the obvious tears in his eyes or the tremor in his hands.

"Thank you, Mother," he whispered, grateful for her pretense, for allowing him this small dignity in his heartbreak.

She squeezed his arm once, then moved past him toward the solar door.

Then she was gone, slipping into the solar to congratulate the performer who had so moved the court, leaving Jacaerys alone in the corridor with the ghost of your kiss on his lips and his mother's words echoing in his ears.

He touched his mouth one last time, then forced his hand down to his side. The afternoon sun continued to spill through the windows, indifferent to how it had witnessed both a kiss and a farewell, both a beginning and an end.

Somewhere behind that closed door, you were probably curtsying to his mother, probably hiding your own tears behind proper words and formal gestures. And he would never know, because some moments couldn't last, no matter how desperately you wished they could.

***

The light was fading from Jacaerys's chambers, but he hadn't bothered to light any candles. He sat in his window seat, absently watching his younger brothers play on the floor with their wooden dragons. Aegon was making elaborate swooping noises while Viserys carefully arranged his army of carved soldiers.

The door opened quietly, and their mother's familiar silhouette appeared. Queen Rhaenyra smiled at the sight of her youngest sons sprawled across the floor, their games having thoroughly disrupted the usual order of the chamber.

"Mother!" Viserys called out, abandoning his soldiers to run to her. She caught him easily, pressing a kiss to his dark curls.

"My little dragons," she said warmly, then looked up at where Jacaerys sat, still staring out the window. The same window, she noted, that faced the direction of the theater district. "Jace?"

He turned slightly at his name, though his fingers continued to trace the sapphire ring. "Yes, Mother?"

Rhaenyra studied him for a moment, taking in the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. "Walk with me?" she asked softly.

Aegon looked up from his dragons, his young face scrunching in concern. "But Jace was going to tell us about the warrior queen! He promised!"

"Later, little one," Rhaenyra said, giving Jacaerys a meaningful look. "Your brother and I need to discuss some matters of court."

Jacaerys stood slowly, like every movement cost him effort. As he passed his brothers, he ruffled Aegon's hair, managing a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll tell you the story tonight," he promised. "All about the queen who had to choose between her heart and her crown."

Rhaenyra's expression softened at his words, and she held out her arm for him to take. Together, they left the chamber, leaving the younger princes to their games and wooden dragons, unaware of the real dragons that sometimes had to sacrifice their hearts for duty.

Jacaerys walked beside his mother through the sun-dappled corridors, his heart still heavy in his chest. She kept a leisurely pace, her silver hair catching the light as she spoke.

"You know," she said casually, as if discussing the weather, "mothers have a particular talent for knowing when their sons are lying." She cast him a sideways glance. "Even when those sons think themselves quite clever about it."

Jacaerys's steps faltered slightly. "Mother–"

"Your brother, for instance," she continued, her lips quirking in amusement, "is not nearly as accomplished at deception as he believes. He told me so many times that you were ill, I half expected to find you on your deathbed." She paused, her voice softening. "Instead, I found you sneaking out to the theater district nearly every night."

He stopped walking entirely, his face draining of color. "You knew?"

"My love," she said gently, turning to face him, "Did you think the town guards wouldn't recognize you, even in the dark?" Her eyes were kind as she studied his stricken expression. "Though I must admit, I didn't realize quite why you were so drawn to that particular theater until today."

Jacaerys closed his eyes briefly, his fingers fidgeting again. "I never meant to…”

"Lie?" His mother's voice held no accusation, only a soft understanding that somehow made it worse. "No, I don't suppose you did. Sometimes the heart leads us to do foolish things, even with the best intentions."

She reached up, smoothing an errant strand of hair from his face in a motherly gesture that made his throat tight. "Though next time," she added with a hint of wry humor, "perhaps don't make your brother work quite so hard to cover for you. The poor boy nearly tied himself in knots trying to explain your mysterious ailment to the maesters."

Jacaerys felt a flush of shame creep up his neck. "I'll apologize to Luke," he murmured. "I shouldn't have involved him."

"No," Rhaenyra agreed, though her eyes held a glimmer of amusement. "Though I suspect he rather enjoyed the intrigue of it all." She began walking again, drawing him alongside her. "Tell me about her."

The words caught in his throat. He'd spent so many nights watching her on stage, memorizing every gesture, every lilting note of her voice, and yet now he found himself struggling to capture her essence in words.

"She's..." Jacaerys started, then faltered, unsure how to describe the way you made torchlight feel like sunlight, how you could make a cramped theater feel like the grandest hall in the realm. "She's remarkable," he finished softly.

"Yes," Rhaenyra agreed, a small smile playing at her lips. "I rather thought so myself when I spoke with her." She glanced at her son, noting how he tensed at her words. "She was quite composed, you know. Though her cheeks were rather flushed, and her eyes..." She paused delicately. "Well, they matched yours in their redness."

Jacaerys's fingers tightened around his ring. "Did she seem..."

"Heartbroken?" Rhaenyra supplied gently. "Yes. Though she tried admirably to hide it behind proper courtesies and formal words." She squeezed his arm. "She has a strength about her, your performer. Even in grief, she carried herself with dignity."

"She's not mine," Jacaerys whispered, the words raw in his throat.

"No," his mother agreed softly. "Though I suspect she wishes she could be, as much as you wish you could be hers."

She stopped walking, turning to face him fully. "You know, when I went to congratulate her, she was standing by the window, touching her lips." Her eyes held a knowing sadness. "Much like you were when I found you in the corridor.”

Jacaerys felt heat rise to his face, but his mother only smiled.

"She spoke beautifully of the theater," Rhaenyra continued. "Of the magic of stories, of how a simple stage can become a battlefield or a lover's garden or a storm-tossed ship." Her voice softened. "She reminded me rather a lot of myself at that age – so certain that duty and heart could never align, so resigned to choosing between them."

"Did they?" Jacaerys asked quietly. "Align?"

Rhaenyra's smile held centuries of understanding. "Sometimes," she said. "When we're very lucky, or very brave, or both." She reached up to cup his cheek. "The realm needs its stories, my love. Its theaters, its performers, its moments of magic in torchlight." She paused meaningfully. "Perhaps even its princes who understand the value of such things."

Jacaerys stared at his mother, hardly daring to hope he understood her meaning. "Mother?"

"The court does need cultural enrichment," she said carefully. "And it would be a shame to let such talent remain hidden in the lower town, wouldn't it?" Her eyes sparkled with something that looked suspiciously like mischief. "Though perhaps next time, we might arrange it without quite so many elaborate deceptions and mysterious illnesses."

For the first time in days, Jacaerys felt something like hope flutter in his chest. "You mean..."

"I mean that there are many ways to serve the realm," Rhaenyra said softly. "And many ways to honor both duty and heart, if one is clever enough to find them." She squeezed his arm. "Though perhaps we might start with properly introducing your performer to the court, rather than having her sneak in through side doors?"

Jacaerys let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob. "I don't deserve your understanding."

"No," his mother agreed, her eyes twinkling. "But you have it anyway. That's rather the point of being a mother." She began walking again, drawing him alongside her. "Now, tell me more about these performances of hers. I found her warrior queen quite compelling – though I suspect you found all of them equally so?"

As they walked through the fading sunlight, Jacaerys began to tell his mother about torchlit evenings and practiced lines, about the magic of stories and the girl who brought them to life. And if his voice caught sometimes, or if his fingers still worried at his ring, Rhaenyra pretended not to notice, content to let her son's heart begin its slow journey from breaking to healing to, perhaps, hope.

***

The whispers started the moment his horse's hooves touched the cobblestones of the theater district. Faces appeared in windows, merchants paused mid-transaction, and children stopped their games to stare openly at the prince riding through their streets in broad daylight.

No hood this time. No shadows to hide in. The sun caught the sapphire of his ring as he dismounted, the same deep blue as the formal clothes that marked him unmistakably as Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.

The theater looked different in daylight. Smaller, perhaps, though no less beloved. The morning light caught the faded paint of its facade, highlighting worn spots he'd never noticed in the torchlight. The poster from your last performance still clung to the wall, the edges curling slightly in the breeze.

He could hear your voice before he even reached the door – not performing, but running lines to yourself the way you always did during morning rehearsals. The sound made his heart stutter in his chest.

The door was unlocked, as it always was during rehearsal hours. He paused with his hand on the handle, remembering all the times he'd slipped in through the back entrance, hood drawn close. But that wasn't who he was today. Today, he was exactly who he was meant to be.

The hinges creaked – they always had, though the sound seemed louder now – and your voice cut off mid-line.

You stood center stage, script in hand, frozen in the shaft of sunlight that streamed through the high windows. Your practice dress was simpler than your performance attire, your hair loose around your shoulders the way he'd rarely got to see it. The surprise on your face would have been comical if it weren't for the way your hands started trembling.

"My prince," you breathed, already dropping into a curtsy. "I... we weren't expecting..."

He took a step forward, then another, letting the door fall closed behind him. The familiar smell of dust and wood and old velvet wrapped around him like a forgotten embrace.

"I missed morning rehearsals," he said simply.

Your laugh was shaky, uncertain. "You never attended morning rehearsals."

"No," he agreed, moving closer still. The floorboards creaked under his formal boots – so different from the soft shoes he'd worn in his disguise. "But I always wanted to."

You watched him approach, your eyes darting between his face and his clothes, lingering on the way sunlight caught his ring. "The whole district will be talking," you said softly.

"You're causing quite a scene," you murmured, nodding to where the whispers had started up again outside. "The prince, in a common theater..."

"Good," he said simply. "Let them whisper. Let them see." His voice softened. "Let them understand that their prince values more than just swords and politics – that he values stories, and art, and..." He reached up, his fingers ghosting along your cheek. "And the people who bring them to life."

Your breath caught at his touch. "Jace..." The name slipped out before you could stop it, and you immediately pressed your lips together, as if trying to take it back.

"Say it again," he whispered, his voice rough. "Please. Say my name."

You hesitated, your gaze searching his as though you might find some answer hidden in the stormy depths of his eyes. His touch was warm, grounding, and yet it set every nerve alight, a paradox you couldn’t quite reconcile.

“Jace,” you breathed, softer this time, as if the name itself was fragile, something precious you were afraid to break.

His eyes closed briefly, the sound of it a balm to wounds you didn’t even know he carried. When he opened them again, the intensity in his gaze pinned you in place.

“I’ve spent too long as a title, a duty, a shadow. But when you say my name…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I feel like myself again.”

"I love you," he said simply, his hand still extended. "In shadows and in sunlight, in torchlight and in truth. And I'm done pretending otherwise."

Your hand trembled as you reached for his, your fingers hovering just above his palm. "Your mother..."

"Knows," he said softly. "Has known, apparently, for quite some time." His lips quirked in a small smile. "She thinks the court could use more cultural enrichment."

You stared at him, comprehension dawning slowly. "That's..."

"A way forward," he finished gently. "If you want it. No more shadows, no more hiding. Just... this. You, and me, and your stories. In sunlight."

Your eyes were bright with unshed tears, but your smile – your smile was like watching the sun rise. "You impossible man," you breathed, shaking your head as a laugh escaped, soft and disbelieving. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me?”

“I’m asking for everything,” Jace said, his voice steady, though his hand still hovered just short of yours, waiting. “And I’m offering the same.”

Your fingers trembled as they reached for his, but you didn't pull away. "The court won't like it," you whispered, even as your hands intertwined. "A common performer, elevated so high..."

“The court will do as the Queen says,” he said, a grin appearing to cover half of his face.

You laughed softly, though it caught on something that might have been a sob.

"This is the most real thing I've ever done." He glanced around the theater, at the dust motes dancing in the morning light, at the worn stage beneath your feet. "This is me, standing in sunlight, telling you that I love you. That I've loved you since you first made me believe in the magic of stories. That I want to build something with you – something that serves both the realm and our hearts."

Your breath hitched. "You've never said that before," you whispered. "That you love me."

"I was a coward," he admitted, bringing your joined hands to his lips. "Hiding behind a hood, pretending I could keep my heart separate from my duty." His eyes met yours, clear and certain. "I'm not hiding anymore."

The sound of whispers outside grew louder – more people gathering, no doubt, to witness their prince standing in a common theater, holding hands with a performer in the morning light. But for once, you didn't pull away, didn't try to maintain proper distance.

His smile faltered slightly. "I'm sorry," he started, but you shook your head.

"Don't be," you said, squeezing his hand. "We needed that time – those moments in torchlight, when we were just ourselves. It let us..." You paused, searching for words. "It let us build something real, before we had to figure out how to make it fit in the world."

"What happens now?" you asked softly, your free hand coming up to trace the formal embroidery on his sleeve – so different from the plain clothes he'd worn in shadows.

"Now," he said, smiling slightly, "you finish running your lines. And I..." He glanced at the script still clutched in your hand. "I help, badly, the way I always did. Though perhaps this time I won't have to whisper."

You laughed then, real and bright, the sound echoing off the theater's walls. "You were a terrible scene partner."

"I was," he agreed, grinning. "But I made up for it with enthusiasm."

"You did," you said softly, your eyes dropping to his lips for just a moment. "Though I seem to remember you being better at other kinds of performance."

His breath caught as you stepped closer, your fingers trailing up from his embroidered sleeve to the collar of his formal coat. "Oh?" he managed, his voice rougher than before.

"Mhmm," you hummed, rising up on your toes. "Would you like a demonstration?"

The sunlight caught the gold in his eyes as they darkened, his hands tightening on your waist. "I believe," he murmured, "that would be most educational."

You tilted your head, your hand brushing up to cradle his jaw, the stubble beneath your fingertips grounding you. His lips hovered close – so close you could feel the tremor of his exhale against your skin. And then, finally, he leaned in.

The kiss was soft at first, as if he feared breaking you. His lips brushed against yours in a way that sent a shiver through your body, light and careful, but quickly deepened into something fuller, something aching. His mouth opened slightly, inviting you in, and when your tongue slipped past the curve of his lower lip, he groaned low in his throat – a sound that sent a thrill rippling down your spine.

It was wet, eager, yet tender, a dance of give and take, of exploration and familiarity. His hand splayed wide against your back, pressing you closer, as though proximity alone could erase the years spent apart, the careful boundaries you'd both maintained.

Between breaths, his lips barely parted from yours, you murmured, “I love you.”

The words spilled from you like a secret too heavy to carry anymore, your voice trembling with raw honesty. His response was immediate – a sharper pull, his lips chasing yours with urgency, his tongue sweeping against yours in a way that made your knees weaken.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads pressed together as his thumb traced lazy circles on your jaw. His eyes searched yours, a soft smile curving his lips despite the heat still pooling in his gaze.

“I take this as a yes?” he murmured, his grin widening when you laughed softly and kissed him once more, just to tell him yes without words.

Outside, the morning sun continued its climb through the sky, painting the theater district in shades of gold. The whispers would spread, the stories would grow, and soon all the realm would know of the prince who chose a performer, who dared to love in sunlight rather than shadow.

But in that moment, standing on your worn stage with his arms around you and the taste of his kiss still on your lips, none of that mattered. You had found your way back to each other, not in the secretive depths of night but in the honest light of day. And this time, neither of you was letting go.

taglist: @smurfelle @elliaze @sillylittlepenguin181818 @lustrz-anna @lovelyteenagebeard @misshale21 @cecestea @n4tsha @inspirationquxxn @rin588 @anoravx @bbubbllejisoo @vividxpages

gc lovelies tags: @benjinotes @earth4angels @xxselenite @eldrith @princessbellecerise @bryscorner @v3laryons @vee-mage @softspiderling @swordgrace @hxtd @divinesolas @housetargaryenloyalist @bucksplum @cregan-starks @fyrewept

[wearysparrows]

Flesh of my Flesh

ao3/masterlist

Part 1 / Part 2/ Part 3 (here)

Summary: You play a game of tag in the forest with your closest friend, Sylus. You eat at a local diner in the dead of night. You dream of consuming him.

CW: implied afab reader but no pronouns used, no use of 'Y/N', reader is MC, primal chase, you play tag with Sylus, depictions of eating, a diner date, eyeball licking but its in a dream, cigarettes, not beta read, minor depiction of Sylus torturing someone 5.8K

A/N: Please mind the tags. The latter portion of this work is inspired by this lovely piece by @relentlessconqueror.

In the serene dark of the forest, you walked next to Sylus. The bodies of the birches and firs grew so tall into the night that they nearly blotted out the light of the moon overhead. A wetness hung on the air, the kind that fed the moss under your feet and the fungi that erupted from it. The soft earth was pliant underneath your steps, with a springy return to it that aided your stride. Sylus had given you hold of his arm, lest you stray from him in the darkness – as if such a thing were possible. You glanced at the man whose arm you held, the leather of his jacket somehow warm under your fingers, despite the chill in the air. A black cigarette hung from his lips, its own orange moon in his mouth. He returned your gaze, taking the cigarette from his lips into two of his fingers. He exhaled smoke from his nostrils.

“Sylus,” you called, though he was already looking at you. He stopped, pausing the both of you. When his name fell from your lips, tilted his head, offering you a questioning upturn of the corners of his mouth in return. You were comfortable enough to make your childish need known to him, and that he would likely indulge you. After all, you were more similar than you had ever realized before. He leaned down towards you, as if to better catch your words. His hair fell over his forehead.

“I want to play.” 

On the distant highway, a car passed, and the light of its headlamps cut into the trees. For a moment, Sylus’s eyes were illuminated. They reflected the light in a way that was inhuman, a flash of the yellow-green reflective organ behind his iris – so brief you wondered if it had been real. At the Hunter’s Academy, you had dissected the eye of a Wanderer for an anatomy course. Lying behind its retina was the organ that reflected light back onto the eye – the tapetum lucidum –  allowing increased visibility in the night. Common in nocturnal creatures. You knew humans lacked this organ. You swallowed. His eyes never left yours.

“What would you like to play?”

You took a step back from him, and he took one towards you, closing the distance between you before it had even had the chance to occur. The smile hadn’t gone from his face, and he raised an eyebrow, as if sensing your intention without the need for the passing of words between you. You pointed at him, your fingertip brushing his chest.

“Let’s play tag. You’re it.”

Sylus nodded without a second thought, snuffing out his cigarette into the portable ashtray on his keys. He returned it to his pocket.

“I’ll give you a ten second head start, then.”

Sylus was being courteous, you knew. You were strong – light on your feet from years of hunting Wanderers. You were quick, too. No stranger to sprinting, with a lung capacity that rivaled most individuals of your size. But Sylus was a big man, with long, powerful legs. If he wanted to, he could outstride you in seconds. It wouldn’t be fun for either of you if he caught you immediately, though. He would give you a chance.

“One,”  he said, voice teasing, the number long and drawn out. As he spoke, you saw the liquid change in his demeanor, the preparedness of his body to launch itself into the hunt, no longer a man at rest, but a beast prepared to strike.

  You turned on your heel, pushing yourself into a run on the spring of the damp earth beneath you. No particular direction called to you – you simply went opposite of Sylus. Your blood coursed through your newly working limbs, heating you outward from your core and into the swing of your arms, the movement of your legs. Your breaths came in practiced counts, and the exhilaration of your own prowess made you feel even lighter on your feet. You couldn’t quite run at full speed, though – your vision alternated between the ground before you and the space in front of you, avoiding rocks and roots, the tree limbs that snatched at your clothes, slicing at your skin. The weather was just cool enough that you could see the condensation leave your nose with each outward breath. Under your jacket, you felt the first wetness of the sweat of exertion.

You strained your ears to hear beyond your own breathing and heartbeat. Trees passed you by in a blur of greys and greens, an endless sea of the same repeated images. You had already strayed far from having any idea of your location. There was no point in taking note. As you ran, you counted. Ten seconds had long passed, but you couldn’t catch wind of Sylus. On you went, knowing that looking behind you would only stall your progress.  You began to feel the familiar burn in your muscles, the result of pushing yourself from zero to one-hundred in the span of a moment. The red gem you wore around your neck – a gift from Sylus – bounced up and down against your chest, trying to escape its chain. You clasped it in your fist to still its movements. It was dark, and you could see less than a foot in front of you. You wondered if Sylus was toying with you, staying behind to let you run yourself ragged before he would spring himself on you at the last moment. You relaxed your pace at the thought.

 Just as you began to slow to ease the tension, your ears pricked at a sound – footfalls growing closer behind you, the brush of clothing against itself. Your heart picked its pace back up, your skin alight with the feeling of being stalked in the dark. You pushed yourself harder, willed yourself to go faster, but the sounds behind you kept their quiet pace, inching ever closer. For a time, the distance remained the same between the two of you. Even if you increased your pace, forcing your feet to pound the ground even harder, he maintained the distance. Not closing it, not letting up. 

Knowing he could gain on you easily at his leisure, you decided to make a turn, trying to throw off his line of action. You made an immediate right, digging your heels in to change your directory, leaping over a fallen bough before you. You landed softly on the plush dirt. You felt yourself beginning to tire from the constant pace, from the effort of avoiding rocks and roots, the changes in the elevations of the earth. Still, you ran from him. You thought you heard the click of the metal of his belt, the sounds of his steps somehow even closer than when you had changed your direction. Running miles over the grounds of Linkon was nothing for you, but the thinness of the air and the unevenness of the ground had you breathing through your mouth, panting, feeling a pack of black dogs nipping at your heels. The saliva on your tongue was thick, the cold air drying out your teeth. So long had you known Sylus that you could sense his presence behind you, keeping pace at a distance he chose. But it was different, singular in its oppressive need to catch you. You knew you shouldn’t – that it would mean the end of the game – but you chanced a look backwards over your shoulder as you ran. The need to see your pursuer overrode the need to escape. He was close, so close you could almost make out all of his features. But most striking of all were his eyes, stark pinpoints of crimson in the darkness. They seemed to glow, red and hot with the chase. A primitive fear lanced through you, and rational thought drained out from your feet, soaking into the dirt. He was reaching for you, going to get you, to consume you – teeth around your neck, over and over, your jugular crushed under his hot breath, no more than flesh between his teeth. The new adrenaline of your fear gave you one final push forward, but you hadn’t been looking in front of you. A root reached up from the earth, catching the toe of your boot, sending you careening towards the ground. 

You tried to propel your body forward away from his grasp while in the air, but to no avail. His hand caught you around your middle, easily eclipsing your stomach. Primal panic pumped through you, the feeling of an animal just shy of the claws of a predator, dangling from the teeth of the moment. You heard yourself yelp involuntarily, and turned towards him, scrabbling at his hands and arms with your nails, your legs kicking. The knowledge of your relationship was momentarily forgotten, replaced only with the need to flee. The force of your resistance sent the two of you sprawling, and you felt Sylus close his arms around your entirety as you fell. He landed with a soft thud against the earth, the wind just knocked from his lungs. You were straddling him, head pressed into his chest from firm his grip on you. Something reached your ears, and you realized it was the sound of his laughter, not triumphant, but an exhale of exhilaration.

“You’re pretty good at running away. But I’ve got you, now.”

His voice was a rasp against your skin. He made no move to let you up. You pressed your nose into his chest, unabashed in inhaling his scent. The smoke of the cloves clung heavily to him still, the citrus of his cologne – but most prominent was the masculine smell of his sweat, fresh from the well of his skin. It was somehow different this time (for you knew all of his scents), laced with some layer of excitement, the rush of his blood, the pleasure of the chase. It was, in some sense, the smell of his desire for you. Your own desire, what you thought must be of another kind entirely, clawed its way through your belly, a wanton creature, slick and wet inside your innards. He surrounded you in every way, and you were so empty of him. You made move to sit up, and he let you, hands drifting to your waist, instead. Underneath you, in the moonlight, it was as if it was you who had caught him. 

His jacket was unzipped, and his black shirt underneath rode up, exposing the taut flesh of his abdomen to your eyes, decorated with a trail of white hair that disappeared into his pants. There was a tension in his neck, you saw. His tendons slid over each other under his skin, his jaw working at nothing. His Adam's apple cast a strong shadow on his neck. What little light the moon shone on him reflected the sheen of his sweat on his forehead, his hair brilliantly white in its light. He was totally still under your observations, save for his eyes, which darted around each contour of your face, pupils just nearly eclipsing that infernal, otherworldly red. You saw his breaths come through his nose, the rise and fall of his broad chest underneath you. Unthinkingly, you spread your hands out on the skin that was open to you, splaying them open on his abdomen. There was a stutter of a breath that he took through his mouth, this time. His skin was still slightly damp, warm underneath the cooling skin of your fingertips. You pushed his shirt up, up, until his chest was fully exposed. He made no move to stop you. As your heart came back into your chest, so too did the reality of the situation. You, astride the lap of your closest friend, his shirt exposing his flesh, a pale silhouette against the dark of the earth beneath him. His chest still heaved, no longer with physical exertion, but with something else. His thumbs dug into the crests of your hips. Unable to produce anything else, you managed a single word.

“Sylus.”

You felt his arousal clearly underneath you.

Your mind worked feverishly to still itself. It wasn’t because it was you – just the nature of two bodies against one another, the pump of adrenaline, the intimacy of closeness with another thing with the pulse of life in it. A biological response. This was not the first time this kind of thing had occurred between you, nor was it likely to be the last. Sylus never addressed it, so neither did you. On top of him here, there was no corpse of you – only the delicate satin of the darkness. A great indulgence and a sense of restraint all at once. You could never let those threads snap.

And so you took his shirt by the hem, and pulled it back into its place, shielding the ghost of him from your prying eyes. Sylus, ever following the whims of your strong and strange moods, sat up, wrapping his arms around you. He lifted the two of you to a standing position with only the power of his legs, and set you gingerly to your feet. The ease with which he lifted you never failed to reignite a sense of exhilaration in your blood. That blood rushed eagerly to your head, and you saw spots before you could formulate further thought. When you finally blinked them away, Sylus was kneeling in front of you. You spoke downwards, in the direction of the broadness of his back.

“Why are you kneeling?”

You heard the breathlessness that still tinged your voice from your game. You felt a tug at your ankles. His fingers were deftly reworking the laces of one of your boots. He stood back to his full height before responding, having righted the lace.

“Your shoe came untied when you fell. I can’t have you falling again on my watch, now can I?” 

His former statement was matter of fact, as if there were nothing strange in the nature of him on his knees, adjusting your shoes. He looked at you with those same eyes, full of a mirth you couldn’t source. There was a ceaseless yearning in your chest, the need to reach for him, to be consumed by him, to consume him. The game of tag only made the wound weep harder. It was clear there was affection in his actions, but of what kind, you were afraid to know. You wanted to ask him; do you love me? If so, how? In what way?

But instead, you conjured only this:

“Sylus, would you kill for me?”

You saw the rare flicker of surprise over his features, then the return of his smile that came more and more easily, around you. He answered the invisibility of your ache, rich and warm.

“My light, I already have.”

You sat across from Sylus in a booth seat, a wobbly table separating you. He had brought you to this diner on his bike – the only place that was open so late at night in a small town like this. The interior was charmingly out of date, with wood paneling lining the lower halves of the walls, the upper portion of which had probably at some point been white. Now, it was an aged ivory, colored by smoke. In the center of the diner, a traditional wrap around bar curled, complete with stools, though no other patrons graced it. The two of you were the only customers. The red leather of the booth seat creaked underneath your movements as you adjusted yourself to be more comfortable. You fiddled with a leaf of the fake plant that lived at the end of the table against the wall. It stalwartly protected the salt and pepper shakers in its shade.

Your eyes drifted to Sylus, who was focused on you. Having your attention on him, he tapped the top of your hand with his index finger.

“Hungry? You should eat something, sweetie.”

You took a moment to appraise the state of your body. You were hungry. Sylus had worked diligently to bring back the appetite that had left you along with your family before you met him. There was always food, even when you rejected it. Slowly, he had you eating on a regular schedule again. It showed in the new definition in your muscles, in the energy that prickled under your skin. That residual fog hardly plagued you, now. You nodded, flipping up the hand he had tapped, opening your palm to him. He stroked it idly with two fingers. You grasped them between your thumb, index, and middle, trapping them in a cage. 

“What about you? Are you hungry?” 

You tugged on his fingers. He watched the movement as he answered.

“I’ll eat if you will eat.”

A  non-committal answer, but one you would accept. Sylus rarely expressed base needs – I’m hungry, I’m tired – but he certainly did inquire after yours on the regular. You flipped his hand over with your fingers, pinning it down. He met your eyes again, raising his free hand to signal the waitress over. She drifted out of the center bar and towards you. A waifish sort of thing, with an air of confidence about her that came with age. Soft blonde hair, a delicately sloping nose. The uniform she wore was baby blue, with white lapels and buttons. Antiquated by anyone's measure, sure, but cute. She regarded you with an amiable smile, hardly seeming to acknowledge Sylus’s presence.

“Can I start you off with some coffee?”

She had a strange lilt to her voice, like it was an effort to speak with any sort of inflection. You glanced at Sylus, who merely shrugged. It was the dead of the night – but this was normal for you, now. You returned your eyes to the waitress. 

“Sure, thanks. Um,”

You were about to ask for a menu, seeing as there wasn’t one lining the walls, nor one in front of you, but Sylus commandeered the attention of the waitress, and was listing off a rather egregious number of breakfast dishes. You surmised he must have been here before – or he was simply making demands. They were both equally as likely. The waitress scribbled furiously on her notepad, nodding as he spoke. She offered you a smile full of brilliantly white, straight teeth before disappearing into the kitchen. It was deadly silent in the diner. You scrutinized Sylus. You hadn’t even had a chance to consider what you might like to eat before he had taken the initiative. You tapped his hand, reflecting his earlier actions.

“Did you order the whole menu, or what?”

Sylus sat back against the cushion of the booth. It was too small for him – his shoes were touching yours under the table, and very nearly his knees, as well. He tapped your foot with his own. Once, twice. Your stomach flipped with each touch.

“Would you like me to?”

You sighed, relenting. There wasn’t any winning with him – but you weren’t exactly losing, either. He was no stranger to your food preferences, this you knew. Sometimes, he had to remind you of something you didn’t like while you were mid-order. All the time you had spent together had allowed him to know you better than you knew yourself, in some regards. Sylus was shedding himself of his jacket when the waitress returned with the carafe of coffee, and you thanked her quietly, unsure if she had even heard you, for she disappeared as soon as she came. You filled both of your cups, then stopped just short when filling Sylus’s. You nudged the cup at him.

“Black or room?”

You always asked him, even when you knew what his answer would be. 

“It doesn’t make a difference to me.”

Sylus’s fingers were about to close around the rim of the cup, but you swatted him away, sliding the cup towards yourself instead. Sylus parted his lips into a smile.

“Kitten has claws.”

You rolled your eyes in his direction, reaching for the sugar and creamers. One packet of sugar and two creamers went into his cup. He watched all of this with marked interest, fingers interlocked beneath his chin, supporting it. You took the spoon from your own coffee, and used it to stir his. You slid the cup back to him, and he caught it in his left hand. He brought it wordlessly to his lips, seeming not to care about the still piping temperature of it. You watched as his plush lips disappeared around the rim of the cup, hiding all of his features from you, save for his eyes. They stayed interlocked with your own as he sampled your concoction.

You tilted your head at him, and gestured to the coffee cup as it left his lips and returned to the table.

“How is it?”

He was quiet for a moment. His gaze, still locked with yours, only seemed to intensify. You felt as if he were skinning you with them. Salt on so many wounds. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end. 

“It’s sweet. Not bad.”

His tone had taken on a sense of languorousness, dark and slow. You swallowed the saliva that had been gathering in your mouth, and were almost certain Sylus was able to catch the sound of it sliding down your throat by the way his gaze drifted to your neck. You couldn’t hold it, and your own eyes drifted to the tiles. They were strange. Black and white, checkered. The more you tried to look at them, the more they blurred together. They swayed in your vision. You concluded that looking at Sylus was the better option. He was sipping at the coffee you had made him, his phone open on the table. 

“No service out here.” 

He murmured the statement into his cup. You leaned over the table, peeking at his phone. He was right – not a single bar. 

“Scared?”

You nudged his knees apart under the table, and put one foot in his lap. His hand immediately came to rest on your ankle, and squeezed idly up your calf. He blinked at you, lips curling up on one side.

“Are you? All alone out here, with a bad man like me. No one to call.”

As he spoke, his evol pinned your wrists together in your lap. He was grinning. You made a show of pretending to struggle against your bonds. In the back of your mind, you knew that despite your own strength, you wouldn’t have been able to break them. He had held you captive just like this more than once when you first met – and so did the linkage. The memory was fresh and distant all at once.

“What will I do now that the one person I’d call for help has turned on me, and is holding me captive?”

You were smiling, teasing, and saw something come over Sylus’s features. Something he tried to school into his usual expression. Something you couldn’t place. Then suddenly he was standing, and instead of sitting across from you – he sat down next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. The bonds of his evol were gone without a trace. His warmth seeped into you, his sudden proximity finding your heart thudding away at its cage. His casual closeness was a delicious form of torture. You wanted more than anything to put your hand on the meat of his thigh. It touched yours, flush. He spoke, leaning his head towards your ear.

“I don’t need bonds to keep you near me anymore. Isn’t that right?”

You watched as Sylus’s hand crawled into your lap. He wrapped his fingers clean around your wrists, connecting them with his thumb, replacing the shackle of his evol. You could feel the calluses of his palms, the roughness of his hands. Your breath was stuck in your throat, the blood rushing to your ears and face. You lowered your voice to a whisper, feeling narrowly aware of the fact that you were technically still in public.

“I don’t mind being bound to you. By you. As long as you’re by my side.”

There was a shift in Sylus’s body, a spike of energy radiating off of him, and he leaned impossibly closer to you. So close that you could hear his lips part from each other as he prepared to speak. The sound of the footsteps of the waitress returning seemed to stop him. He let some of his weight off of you – but his fingers didn’t release your wrists. You didn’t want him to. It wasn’t like being shackled – it was secure. Safe. Protected. You forced your eyes from the pretty bouquet of your hands and his, and craned your neck around Sylus’s big body to see what was being brought to you. The waitress had arrived with a whole damn cart of food, steaming hot dishes of all types of breakfast items. Omelettes, sausages, pancakes, bacon, waffles, hash browns, toast – the works. She was organizing them neatly on the table with practiced ease. The combination of the sight and the smell made your mouth water. Sylus thanked her, and you caught the undercurrent of enthusiasm in his tone. He gave your wrists a final squeeze before releasing them from his grasp. You mourned their absence despite yourself. 

You turned towards Sylus at the same time he turned towards you.

“How are we going to–”

“Eat anything–”

You stopped yourself as you realized your sentence was crashing into his – or was it his into yours? Sylus put a set of silverware in your hands, wrapped in a cloth napkin. He started again.

“Eat anything you’d like.”

You appraised the food before you. Sylus seemed to be waiting patiently for you to make the first choice – so you picked something that looked good at random. A stack of pancakes, with a generous pat of butter on top. Perhaps too many pancakes. You unrolled your silverware, and spread the butter on top of them.

 Satisfied that you were eating, Sylus pulled a plate towards himself. It was mostly meat, coupled with a side of eggs. You watched him in your periphery. It was good to see him eat, a sort of vicarious satisfaction. You liked the sound of the click of his teeth on his fork, the movement of the muscles in his jaw. Even the sound of his chewing was good. What you couldn’t eat, Sylus did. You hadn’t initially pinned him for a big eater because of his refined tastes, but you came to find a man his size consumed a considerable amount of food. You ate next to him in relative silence, and his elbow bumped yours, occasionally. Neither of you mentioned it. His thigh hadn’t stopped pressing against yours, either. In reality, the booth was too small for two people to be eating next to each other – but again, neither of you mentioned it. 

As for the food, nothing was wasted, and you came away a little too full. You wiped at your mouth with the cloth napkin, hoping to catch any mess. Sylus had produced a comically large roll of cash from his pocket, and was putting it into the fingers of the waitress, who seemed too shell shocked to know how to respond for a time, and then collected herself, thanking him quietly. Her eyes came back to you, and you sat up a little straighter under her attention. The question of why he couldn’t use his card briefly crossed your mind.

“I hope it’s not too strange of me to say, but the two of you are a beautiful couple.”

You almost instantly found the words to correct her, not wanting Sylus to think you entertained the idea, that you had any misconceptions about your place in his life. No, we’re not dating, he’s my best friend. But Sylus was quick to speak, stopping your statement before it could even start.

“Thanks.”

The waitress nodded, floating away with little clicks on white kitten heels. She wiped the already clean bar with a rag. Your stomach was practically in the soles of your feet. Somehow, his lie scathed more than if he had told her the truth. You knew it was easier than explaining, saving him the effort of articulating the strange closeness of your friendship. Still, it put a slippery hope in your fingers that you had tried so many times to let go of. By now, your hands were permanently imprinted with its shape.

You dreamt of Sylus often. 

Sometimes, these dreams differed little from reality. Mundane happenings, not of any note. Sometimes things were strange, off. Sometimes, you dreamt you were Sylus, sure and strong. A man bent over at the waist before you, somewhere devoid of light. Your evol had already cut out his tongue. There was nothing left, save for a punishment. A cane in your hand. You swung it into his soft abdomen.

Thwack!

Then, against his spine.

Thwack!

He crumpled before you.

But this wasn’t that kind of dream.

You were somewhere achingly familiar – Sylus’s bedroom – or perhaps a cave. Dark and warm. The air warped around you, unable to keep its shape for long. Sylus was holding you around the waist as you straddled him. But his hands were creeping up, locking around your ribcage, lifting you up just so you were looking down at him, directly into his face. There was something peculiar there. Something different. A shadow on his jaw, above his head. When you tried to chase these shapes with your eyes, they dissipated like the smoke from his lungs. You tried to feel them with your skin, instead. You cupped his jaw with your palm. Felt the sharpness of it, the proud bones of his face. But there was that eye. That right eye of his, so irresistible in its pull. It called to you with your own voice – or was it his voice? You couldn’t be sure. His lips weren’t moving, but you heard him, still. Not with words. His feelings merged with yours like cool water trickling from your scalp, down your spine, absorbing into your skin. Impressions, ideas. Memories.

…need me. Use me. Claim me.

His right lid was open and inviting before you. He hardly blinked. It was as if he was waiting for it. Expecting it. Wanted it. His aura was palpable with excitement, breath coming quickly.

You parted your lips, tongue slipping out between them. You closed the distance between his right eye and your mouth. Your tongue met his eye, first the tip, then flat against it. It was wet against wet. Sylus’s hands around your waist squeezed, scratched, but made no move to push you off. He took a great shuddering breath. 

A bizarre copper-salt taste, the tissue more delicate and pliant under your touch than you could have ever imagined. You curled your tongue around it, slipping it under the bottom lid and against his tear duct. He was shifting underneath you, body racked with tension, legs just short of thrashing. But his hands kept you firmly in place. He was making sounds, you realized, with each movement of your tongue. Soft grunts and whines, pleasure and pain indistinguishable from one another. He was hard underneath you.

…take me. All of me, and more. Use me.

Slowly, slowly, you felt your tongue slide into the space behind his eyeball, through its inner corner. It was coming away easily, announcing its new home with the slick, wet sounds of release from Sylus’s socket. It fell away with a schluck, into your waiting mouth, still white hot with the life of him. Without warning, it dissolved, shrinking there in the heat of your throat, until it had melted away like snow, leaving only its essence behind. You swallowed. A sweet, melancholy floral taste. A cavernous pain sat in the center of your hips, a splitting and a reconnection of the sacrum. There was an ache that was deeply satisfied, an emptiness, filled. You were one with him, finally.

Your eyes snapped open in the waking world. 

Sweat was sticking you to the silk of the sheets, and you turned on your side to escape from it. The air felt cool on your back where your body’s fear had soaked through your nightgown. As you turned, you became acutely aware of another body next to yours. This was not your room.

Sylus.

You were in his bed, after all. You feared to wake him with your movements, but he was already turning towards you. You faced each other in the dark. You could just barely make out his features, cast almost blue in the lack of light.

“Are you alright?”

You were certain he hadn’t been sleeping. His voice lacked the roughness that it would take on when he had just woken. His hand brushed the hair from the back of your neck, releasing the heat that was trapped there. You shuddered, involuntarily. 

“I had…a dream. About you.”

You weren’t sure how to quantify it. Neither bad nor good seemed fitting descriptors. 

“What kind of dream?”

His fingers dislodged a lock of hair that your sweat had stuck to your forehead, and then returned to holding the back of your neck. A grip that possessed. You were reminded he could see clearly in the dark, for his eyes had a kind of phosphorescence to them in the deepest of nights. Outside, the rain battered at the windows of Onychinus’s base. 

You weighed the truth of your dream. You and Sylus shared many things, some of which were beyond your understanding. There was a tie there that Sylus couldn’t offer you a full explanation of. You teetered between the fear of his disgust, and your all consuming trust in him. The latter won out.

“It was so strange. I... ate your eye. You were seizing underneath me, in pain or…I don’t know. But you didn’t want me to stop. You held me in place. Told me to keep going.”

Sylus’s fingers stroked the back of your neck, sending a tingling sensation shooting up and down your spine. You adjusted your ankles, rubbing them together under the blanket. His voice was coarse. It melted into the dark, as if it were a part of it, coming from all around you.

“Were you satisfied?”

“I’m…not sure. In the dream, I think so.”

Sylus braced his other hand around your lower back, and drew you to him so that you were laying on his pillow, just above him, your body against his. Your lips hovered just next to his right eye. 

“Then it was a good dream.”

tags: @villain-of-the-dark, @withering-dream

[curiouspupsicle]

Good Omens Fan Fiction Friday (1/10/25) - "Mixed" AU Fics

Okay, this is a weird theme. But it occurs to me that some of my fave fics have been tales where one of our ineffable pair is mortal while the other remains a supernatural being. It's a rich starting point for fiction. And it brings some creative results.

Let's start off with The Scarecrow (M) by AppleSeeds in which a lonely Aziraphale inherits a 14th century home. One night, the scarecrow he's been talking to in the field mysteriously appears in his bedroom. It's a little spooky with a sweet ending. Also by AppleSeeds is Ghost (T) in which Crowley finds a posh ghost sharing his flat. Said ghost is apparently worried about him and makes him dinner and draws him relaxing hot baths. Imaginative story with a surprising ending.

I'll admit this next pick gave me pause. I avoided it for a long time before reading thanks to the explicit rating, presence of a sleep paralysis demon, and the dub consent tag. But when I took a chance, Be Still, My Love, Be Still (E) by @entanglednow quickly became a fond favorite. It's amazingly tender. And the writer finds a creative way to incorporate consent into a relationship where one party is paralyzed and unable to speak. I highly recommend this lovely story.

Want some demon/human fluff? Check out Blue Roses (G) by NotEvenCloseToStraight. The demon Crowley owns a flower shop across from a cute bookshop owner. He "talks" the flowers into behaving in a way that will ensure he gets a shot at making the relationship progress.

The monarch of comic asides, @wyvernquill, gives us a crossover with a famous musical in The Serpent of the Opera (T). The wily Phantom, er Serpent, kidnaps Eden Opera House's bookkeeper, Aziraphale. Hilariously oblivious Aziraphale assumes it was so he could play matchmaker for the Serpent with his true love. Loads of laughs. Fun to see the extremes to which denial can go. In 21 Grams (T) by @hakunahistata, Hell gives 7-year-old orphan Anthony the ability to see demons. As you can imagine, he's terrified. But he gets help from angel Aziraphale after praying. So thankful to @addledmongoose for suggesting this. I absolutely love it.

Aziraphale buys a cottage for a great price in @commodorecliche 's in the house we remain (M). But the books authored by a former owner, Anthony Crowley, who died on the property, keep turning up in surprising places. A sweet, ghost love story.

Crowley finds Aziraphale working in a library on earth after losing track of him a year after leaving the bookshop in Among the Stacks (NR) by MeinirRhos. But Aziraphale doesn't remember being an angel. And is apparently mortal? Of course, Crowley has no choice but to love him anyway. The opening line: "What do you wear to mourn when all you ever wear is black?" Yep. lots of angst but a happy ending.

My final choice is a fandom classic beloved by many. So if you haven't read it, I highly recommend the series, Pray for Us, Icarus (G & T) by Atalan. Crowley becomes human and reincarnates over 300 years. Aziraphale tries to restore Crowley to his immortal, demonic status but only ends up hurting them both. It will break your heart. And heal it by the end. I promise.

Did I miss your favorite tale of a mortal/supernatural pairing for our adorable Good Omens characters? Share in the comments. More recommendations each Friday--follow and reblog if you like what you see.

[tech-luver]

It's exam season and to help me cope I've been writing fun stuff between study sessions. Maybe my opinions could be appreciated and debated on the interwebs.

Ranking (some of) the LL crew based on who would let you take a nap on them and how comfy that nap would be:

Rodimus: 6/10 He would be so down with you taking a nap on him but he's very sharp and very distractable. His neck flare plate(?) would prevent you from sliding off but you better hope when something get his attention you don't get crushed in his neck cabling. I think he would try to remember you are there, maybe poke at you when he's bored, but if he's active, try is the key word there. Bonus points for running warm though… hopefully not too warm.

Megatron: 8/10 A solid nap to be had. Good flat shoulder plating and he would never forget you were up there. Loss of points over the fact he would only let it happen if he really liked you and, lets be real here, there would always be that prickle at the back of your neck over how low your defences are and how many organics this mech has crushed.

Ultra Magnus: 10/10 The holy grail of naps, plenty of flat surfaces to rest on, no one can bother you cuz almost no one is as tall as him, he would willingly be your alarm clock, always knows you're there, incredible nap spot. Only issue would be convincing him, but you could make up something about how humans need to nap in high places or whatever and he would fold in concern for your fragile human health.

Ratchet: 5/10 Half of the battle is getting him to agree and the other half is trying to fall asleep whilst he grumbles, he also moves around a lot cuz he never rests and is always helping bots in the medbay. I don't know if you can fall asleep to the sound of metal being welded together or someone getting yelled at for injuring themselves doing something stupid but… all the power to ya.

Drift: 9/10 Respects the need of the nap, it's basically like meditation so he gets it. His calm energy really helps when drifting off. I think he likes the idea of protecting a little human as they snooze which gives him guard dog energy when you're out, no ones messing with you and ruining your beauty sleep. Lose a point cuz he is sleek in design so fully resting on him comes at a risk.

Rung: 4/10 Doesn't mind if you ask but, I'm sorry, he's too rounded, not good for lying down. Although, he would be very careful and gentle with you so it just might work out. He works in a quiet environment which is nice but if he is having/about to have a therapy session he will ask you to leave, patient confidentiality is important to him. You would have to schedule your naps with him which is not the point of naps.

Cyclonus: 1/10 Zero flat surfaces so you would need to strap in. I don't think he would want you napping on him, he would constantly need to check you haven't fallen to your death and would find it awkward talking to people with something hanging on his shoulder. Would tell you to just go back to your berth or find a non-moving flat area, why do you want to nap on a Cybertronian anyway? A single point for at least being nice about it when he denies you.

Tailgate: 7/10 Absolute sweetheart about it but there's nowhere to really lay down on him. He would offer to hold you as a solution, which, if you don't mind being cradled like a baby (or having other people see you being cradled like a baby, tanking your reputation), seems alright. Since you are right in front of him at all times that way, there's no chance of him forgetting you're there. Will shush other people if they're being too loud around you. High chance of inducing cuteness aggression in him when you're asleep and softly snoring, will go for the cheeks.

Swerve: 3/10 This mech spends all his time loudly blabbering in a bar, noise needs to not be an issue for you. Similar issue with Tailgate where laying down is difficult. Unfortunately, does know what a human baby is so will coddle and humiliate you if you agree to being held. Another issue, the prankster Swerve is, you can't trust this guy to not draw on you or not steal something from you and hide it in an unreachable spot or not put you on a floatie in the middle of the oil reservoir. Gets some points cuz only HE can mess with you, anyone else tries to wake you up and they're out the bar.

Whirl: 0/10 …I mean there is literally nowhere to lay down, he's too damn skinny. You…could take a chance with his giant chassis but you'll probably slide off or look like you're in a baby holder if you strap yourself down. IF you are successful at staying in place (somehow), he would just bother you the whole time or not give a shit you're there and start running around. Worst case, he tries to use you as a meat shield to get away with annoying bots cuz "If you try to punch me, you'll punch the squishy human as well!"

Brainstorm: 3/10 Mech hangs from the ceiling sometimes. Sure, he has some alright shoulder plating to work with but his spontaneity could literally throw you off. Would allow a nap but wouldn't check on you, too absorbed in his work. If he was bored and didn't have any ideas coming to him, you could suggest a sleeping bag that attaches you to mechs you want to sleep on.

I know I've missed some bots, maybe my stress will produce a part 2.

[peachhcs]

the new guy | the wonder years

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

will finds out about samy's new boyfriend kevin after thinking there might be a chance for them after they kissing at her senior year kickoff party

wc: 1.7k

cooked this up because 1. i love wonder years and 2. i don’t think i’ve ever written everyone meeting kevin for the first time (i’m also running out of pics so im resorting to gifs lol)

au masterlist

it was a typical friday night for the boys. they raced home after their game to change and make it to samy's first soccer game of the season that started promptly at 7. their goal this season was to make to every single one of her games that didn't coincide with their own games. ryan's mom's suv was definitely going to be put to good use.

the seven of them piled in and were on the road by 6:15 which was record time for them considering their game just finished at 5:30. will was feeling a bit giddy tonight. he had a great game with two goals and an assist and now he was about to see samy for the first time since last weekend. he was still thinking about that drunken kiss they shared.

he knew they were just playing with one another like back in april during that seven minutes in heaven, but will couldn't help thinking that maybe it meant something more this time. it'd been on his mind since last weekend when it happened and the boy started wondering what exactly the relationship he had with the girl was. they were friends, yeah, but..could there be a possibility for something more?

will's never really thought of her that way. maybe that one time when they were twelve, but that didn't count because they were twelve. all he knew was that she'd been on his mind a lot more recently and he started wondering what it meant or if it was even normal to be thinking of his best friend that much? surely it was because he thought of all the guys in the car with him a fair amount. either way, will was excited to see her.

they pulled into the already full lot exactly fifteen minutes before kick off. gabe was texting marcie and riley asking where they were sitting as they walked towards the bleachers. they spotted the two girls in the student section and quickly joined them.

"i'm surprised you guys made it in time," marcie teased and made room for the seven of them.

"you should've seen will barking us around. he was not playing around," ryan teases the blonde who flushed. he scanned the field for samy.

she was by the bench talking with some of the girls. her captain band was wrapped proudly around the top of her shin before her socks started. will knew how hard samy worked for that honor this season and he was proud of her for finally being able to show it off and lead the girls to another successful season in her last year.

"this should be an easy sweep. central michigan has always had a shitty defense," marcie mumbled as the boys' gazes swept over to the other team warming up.

will's gaze followed the other students in the stands. he recognized some of them from the parties samy dragged him to. being in the student section really made the boys feel like they were in high school which was another reason why they wanted to go to the games because they got to experience high school traditions the dev program didn't give them.

samy finally waved up at the stands to the boys who eagerly waved back at her. will smiled widely when he caught her gaze. he watched her gaze fall to the other side to wave at her parents and then the next person she waved at caught him off guard.

it was a guy with brunette hair about three rows down from them. he was taller and stood with some friends that looked to be on the boy's soccer team. samy was smiling widely at him and will's stomach twisted seeing her wave at him.

but he tried to not think about it too much. maybe he was just  a friend? yeah, a friend. she could have friends. will was thinking about this too much.

the game was a clean sweep like marcie said. samy's team scored three goals, one of them being from samy and she assisted the other two. the students cheered for them as they ran up to the bleachers to give out high-fives before running back to the benches. the students began filing out of the bleachers to meet the players in the parking lot after their post game debrief.

the boys talked with marcie and riley waiting for samy to come out. her parents joined them a second later where ellen and jim happily greeted them and thanked them for coming. will was too immersed in his conversation with drew and aram that he didn't see samy come out and turn her attention to the boy she waved to before the game started.

she greeted him with a warm hug and blushed when he gave her flowers. will didn't see them coming until gabe nudged his shoulder and marcie ran to hug her best friend.

"you played so well!" the girl exclaimed making samy flush.

"thanks for coming guys. i didn't actually think you'd make it on time," the soccer player said the the boys.

"thank will. he got us moving," ryan clapped his friend's shoulder. the blonde smiled softly at her. she returned it before directing her gaze back to the boy will saw earlier.

he quickly noticed the flowers in her hand and the shy expressions on both of their faces. that twist in will's stomach quickly returned as he put the pieces together.

"there's someone i want you guys to meet. this is kevin," samy introduced him and he shyly waved at everyone.

for a second, everyone looked at will while the blonde had a blank expression on his face. the excitement he had earlier started fading as he realized what this meant.

"nice to meet you. we're samy's hockey friends," ryan finally said and held his hand out. he was always the one to break the ice first. kevin shook his hand.

"good to meet you guys. samy talks highly of all of you," kevin chuckled.

will struggled to meet samy's gaze that he knew was on him because she was searching for his approval. he didn't really know what to think.

it was dumb to think that maybe he had a chance with her. samy was right. those two kisses were just for fun because they were drunk half the time anyway. it didn't mean anything and will shouldn't have thought it did. he swallowed and sucked up his pride.

"didn't know samy had a new fling," drew chirped up with a small, teasing smirk.

"we've been talking for a few weeks," the girl giggled and then will's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. a few weeks? she's been talking to this guy a few weeks and they still made out in her friend's bathroom last weekend. were they even official then?

"we've been keeping it on the down low until making it official a few days ago," kevin slung his arm around her shoulders.

will found gabe's gaze beside him. the dark-haired boy spoke with his eyes like he knew exactly what will was thinking. gabe didn't really know about the drunk make-outs will and samy have done, but he could probably take a guess. it was fairly obvious whenever the two came back out of the bathroom. all gabe did was place a hand on his friend's shoulder and offered a tight-lipped smile to the new guy in front of them.

"well, it's nice to meet you, kevin. hopefully we'll see you around more," gabe said.

"we're gonna head out, but thanks a lot for coming guys. i always like seeing you guys up there," samy grinned and walked back through the parking lot with kevin.

ellen and jim wished the others goodbye and safe travels back to plymouth. the boys glanced between one another.

"sorry i didn't mention anything. samy wanted to like..surprise you guys," marcie said and looked at will. everyone seemed to be looking at will.

"it's fine. he seems cool," the blonde finally said.

"i know you guys are..and we tease you guys about.."

"no, we're just friends, you know that. all of that doesn't mean anything to us," will cut marcie off, managing his best smile. the others exchanged quick glances before deciding to let it go for now. they said goodbye to marcie and riley before climbing back into ryan's suv to head back.

the car ride was a bit silent. will stared out the window suddenly rethinking everything. he should've known him and samy's relationship would just be a friendship and nothing more than that. it was stupid of him to even think otherwise. they hardly even talked too. usually, samy would be all over him after the game and wanted to talk until they had to leave.

she just left without even saying a word to him really. that did kind of hurt.

ryan dropped everyone back off at their houses. the two boys walked back into the house in silence. ryan didn't want to prod, but he's also never seen will so quiet before.

"look, i know it's not my business, but are you good?" the brunette raised his eyebrow when they were away from the prying ears of their moms.

"i'm fine, why?" will didn't meet his gaze.

"you're just weirdly quiet," ryan mumbled.

"i'm fine. it's nothing," the blonde shrugged and as much as ryan hated prying, he kept talking.

"look, i know the teasing we make at you is all in good fun about samy, but..i didn't know she was talking to someone. i'm sorry."

"why are you sorry? it's not like we were like together or liked each other," will said quickly and ryan gave him a look that both of them knew the blonde was not telling the full truth or at least that ryan saw right through him.

"right, yeah," the brunette mumbled. they left the conversation at that because ryan wasn't gonna poke anymore. will was left to think about ryan's words and what exactly they meant to him because surely, he didn't actually like samy like that.

right?

[clemelntine]

Episode 7 stray thoughts

With screenshots because I take too many, and if I don't use them for something, it'll feel like a waste.

All this lovey dovey stuff is making me hopefull that it will all be okay. I know it wont be, but still

Dunk needs to stop with the love drunk eyes. Its actually driving me insane.

This entire episode is just establishing that they all do love each other. Kant and Style are shown to love them because even in the face of danger, they still stay, and Bison and Fadel are shown to love by the fact that they don't kill their boyfriends.

Thank you to who- and whatever came together to give us Joong in a croptop with a hip tatoo

I get Fadel tbh. I too would sniff Style if i got the chance

Oh little christmas child, cute. I can sense the Chekhov's gun being loaded.

The indirect confessions this episode are actually driving me insane

Oh the heartbreak of this scene. The betrayal in both their eyes.

That is such a sad birthdaycake actually. Like the one singular birthday candle, the shitty graphic printed on it. Like what did Fadel ask for to get this cake?

We know Style calm down

It's looking like it

Oh Fadel you absolute piece of shit. The selfsacraficial tendencies oozing out of this man

Even when he is talking about the harm that he plans to do to Style he cant help but let himself slip up. He still warns Style cuz he still doesnt want to see him suffering.

Another indirect confession

And a direct one

I forgot how similar kantbison and jackjoke were, like the northern lights suddenly made me think of yinwar, and now i can't stop thinking about their similarities. The past of theft, present of betrayal. The knowledge that they both have of each others crimes and the willingness they still have to be there for each other. Heartbreaking.

911 is a odd number to pick for his hospital room. Like it's a number with such significance and to then show it so directly in the shot. I can't stop thinking about what it means.

Oh what a stunning shot. The way it is devided into two parts. The blue tints, the heavy shadows, stunning.

Omg that yell

Oh how vulnerable.

Another confession. A direct one this time

I didnt need a comparison of the eclipse boat scene.

I love it when Khaotung plays little balls of anger. Like Gaipa is cute and whatnot but Bison and Ray are just so petty and enraged and it looks so good on Khao

I love Style and his lil annoying ass comments so much

For those curious I took 135 screenshots this episode. 86 of Fadel and or Style, 40 of Kant and or Bison, 6 of Bison and Fadel, 1 of Bisons birthday cake, 1 of Keen and 1 of Jay (styles dad)

Favorite scenes

All of the attempts that Style made to flirt

Honestly the entire episode slapped

[apeninastory]

ivan as a tragic-love character (pt.4c?) (nowhere edition)

Part 2 here. I RE-READ THIS A COUPLE OF TIMES BUT HONESTLY MY BRAIN IS SO FRIED I AM NOT SURE WHAT THIS POST CONTAINS. i may have exagerated and also forgotten something, but there is at least another post abt ivan waiting, soooo...

omg i feel like i could write a whole book abt ivan, i swear. i am finally where i wanted to be - the new song, the one that took over my brain and that i kinda want to listen to in repeat for the rest of my life.

and mind you - this is "Ivan Part 1". PART. 1. WTAF.

9] nowhere.

this is probably the moment nowhere is born. ivan's hypocris and dissonance gave birth to this - which may be why the lore of this CD tells us it was found by chance, stored in Anakt Lost and Found Center and recorded as sold by an unknown donor. that means, he probably composed, wrote and recorded nowhere back in anakt, before graduation - though i like the idea of ivan composing this after it, in the period of time he didn't see till, mizi and sua, a period where memories might have taken over his mind and made him nostalgic, restless.

[who is the unknown donor and why is it ivan himself?]

i feel like it is much more personal and raw than black sorrow, and since i am obsessed with ivan, i can't resists its call - it is now my favourite among all the alnst tracks.

the cover.

this is, like, the first step. where the tears start.

it is not our first time seeing little ivan from the slums-arc, but every time, it feels like a punch on the face. the little snaggletooth is there, he is dirty and wears worn out (lab?) clothes and his eyes are so so empty, i can barely stand looking at him without crying.

another important element: the small feet belonging to one of the kids - toes are missing. did those, dunno, froze and got removed? did adults/aliens remove them to torture the kid/make him incapable of running away/as a punishment of sort? no idea. as i said, i love the idea of ivan being born in an illegal factory for pet humans - it would fit so so well - born as a commodity from the very beginning.

like, how much more miserable do i want my baby to be? yes.

the title.

it's nowhere, but for the cover they went like "no, let's play something" and split it in now here. obvious question: why?

nowhere is undefined - it's a no-place, it means "not in or to any place; not anywhere". it might suggest ivan's lack of a sense of belonging, again, the insecurity that comes with not having a stable life - practically and emotionally.

now here is a bit more defined - here is a place, but where, exactly? and is it only a place or more a situation, a moment, a condition? probably both - like, "now i am here, doing this, being this, within this situation and that's it". the song should tell us more!

the lyrics.

and then the music starts.

In love with you When you were mine In love with you (reverse?) In love Love Love always You In love Love always

wow. just - mindblowing.

this is Ivan's solo, his own song, like hyuna's drunk & party and love & peace. the appearance of the world love is incredibly important, but i don't think it defines the theme of the whole song.

what it does is set the pov - this song is written/composed in a moment where ivan: already knows this word + thinks he knows what it means (and links it to till).

the fact that these verses sound radio-like, distant, as if ivan is listening to them instead of actively singing. it creates a gap between them and the rest of the song. it feels like he is composing the song in a moment when he already knows is love is doomed, so he rewinds back to his own origins and speaks abt himself. the song is written by a Ivan who already knows everything, so we can find traces of "future events" in verses of the song that are supposedly about the past.

these words also sound distorted - love is not sweet sounding and charming and light, like my clematis, nor it is energetic and hopeful like unknown until the end, with till wishing to know more and singing abt his resilience. no. in nowhere, love is raspy and numb and has darker hues - it is obsessive, haunting, just like how these verses resound for the entire song in the background.

they sound like a condemnation and a reminder: ivan loves, can't help but love, has no choice but to love, is condemned to love, chose actively to love. they also sound like he is drilling the word into the listener's head by repeating to it non-stop, in an obsessive cycle.

Nowhere, from beginning to end a stained history It freely chatters away That always happens to me

Key words: history, beginning to end. i already said many times, but ivan is a narrator. this is the starting point of ivan's story, ivan's realities, both the one he begins to write abt himself (or tries to) and the one from where we can glimpes at the real ivan. the lyrics might have started with "once upon a time there was a black-haired boy..." and get the same effect. he recounts a history (his own) that is real to him, that mirrors his life - but we can't totally believe him. let's keep this in mind!

we know this story ends in black, with an empty spot and blood (black soooorroooooow), but how does it start? this song has references to ivan's past and life at anakt, so it was probably written slighlty before graduation (since the CD was found in anakt warehouse and an unregistered track - how ivan recorded it is a mystery, but we know he has knowledge and priviledges other do not have). either that, or after graduation/before alien stage, and he somehow found a way to sneak the CD there.

that is probably why he writes "from beginning to end, a stained history": he remembers the beginning and is in a position where he can already predict the end of the story - stained, never pure, since the very start, as if his life was destined to be like that.

what abt the "freely chatters away" verse? i'm not sure, because how can someone's history chatter away? i think we can see it as "it freely chatters away from my mouth", like this story spills from ivan easily, like he can easily build lies for the sake of keeping this illusion, this mask he has, going. the expression apparently indicates someone speaking fluidly, in a relaxed way, but also rambling for a long time. it may suggest that, while from the outside ivan looks smooth and collected, from his point of view this is all rambling, it's the fictional-ivan he created for the sake of the society he lives in - a ivan he needs and uses and maybe resents.

"that always happens to me" reinforces the "beginning to end" part of the song - he is singing abt a common theme in his life in a dejected tone, resigned, like he knows/feels he can't do anything abt it and is okay with it. the stain is permanent and he is destined to "that".

Nowhere, rose-tinted rigid dream and hope It's stained with blood That's just how it is That always happens to me

this is where it gets super super interesting. if in the previous part ivan was warning us abt this being a story (his story and/or the story he is writing abt himself), we are now within ivan's narration.

ivan is still nowhere, but we have some coordinates: a "rigid dream and hope" dyed in rosy hues. he tells us about the existence of a dream immersed in a light, delicate color - the color of stereotypical love/affection (?), of beautiful things. also, this dream/hope is rigid, which is not very dream-like or hopeful.

contrasting images, how fitting for our living oxymoron!

a dream may be something that is commonly regarded as beautiful and ideal (a dream), but that for ivan is rigid - forced? unnatural? a dream he has to fit in in order to survive/blend in/function in the society he finds himself in, perhaps. i explained how other kids at anakt see him and how he makes himself friendlier and smilier. this may be it.

we could also make it abt romantic love. maybe ivan is trying to fit into a vision of love he can't fully embrace/mirror, so he perceives it as stiff. i hope i'm about to phrase it in the right way, but a nice example might be the contrast between mainstream and/or hetero depiction of love vs lgbt depiction of love. ivan being (canonically?) gay gives this idea even more credit - in a normal world, without aliens, surrounded by ways of loving ivan doesn't identify in, this sentence presents his discomfort abt not fitting in stereotypical love.

of course alnst!ivan doesn't have that benefit, but i think this discourse may work as some sort of parallelism: ivan can't love the way he sees other people love. take mizi and sua, for example. in ivan's eyes, they fit the "rose-tinted dream and hope", it is not "stiff" if he puts them in it, then he thinks about himself, abt how he loves (loves till) and it doesn't work anymore.

[we could associate it to till's depiction of love - the rosy hues of this dream are not to be intended as stereotypical, but as the ideal love till wants (sees in mizi) and ivan can't give - perhaps, but i'd like to focus on ivan]

"it's stained with blood", here we come to the stained history from before - stained with what? eh. ivan's life started with blood and ended with blood (his own), but also the blood of humanity, of the people he meets, also destined to a bloody end because of the world they live in. a rosy dream, a rosy hope, the blabbering wonders of a young mind end in red, in blood, and the contrast is as good as it is painful. what is the point of trying to fit in an illusion like that when he already knows what the end will be? that's why his story was stained from the beginning - the end was clear as day since ivan's first opened his eyes.

yeah. "that's just how it is", after all, from ivan's pov. he is resigned to it, so the illusion gives him no comfort, prevents him from fitting in. and again, it is something that always happens to him. what is it? not belonging. he is nowhere, in a story written by him that is stained since the beginning (his birth) to the end (his death), a story with no hope of redemption or finding better condition - a story where not even a dream can give him hope.

My sky, shaped by the world doesn't even let me stand under it I lay down and look at yesterday's daydream, all torn up

i love this part. okay.

"my sky" - the sky is something everyone has above their head. it's just there, no matter the planet. adding "my" kinda gives it something poetic abt it, as if the narrator is not reffering to the sky, but a particular something/someone that can be equated to the sky. while this is a possible interpretation

[again, the sky and the color teal resonate with each other, it is an interesting way of fitting till here, but it's not only that!]

we need to dig a bit more. how many skies did ivan see? the one in the slums - glimpses between rundown buildings -, the night sky before his auction, the fake baby blue at anakt, the red metor shower sky with till, the (fake?) one above the stage he died on. what do the have in common? all are concessions/creations given to him by others. adding "my" makes it interesting, because the sky is not something that can belong to a person, but we know ivan feels a connection with what the sky holds.

"shaped by the world" - that's why he added this. it is "his" sky in the measure which it was shaped by someone/something else. his birth, aliens, till, these are all entities that influenced the "sky" ivan claims as "his", as if to say "i can't have the whole thing because so many have taken it away from me/have limited the sky i could reach".

"doesn't even let me stand under it" - not only that, not only the slice of sky he can have is limited, his sky (this remaining slice) doesn't even accept him. how heart-breaking is this? because we know the sky isn't guilty - this is how ivan perceives himself. he feels rejected by people and by the world, as if it was saying to him that he shouldn't have been born. after all, if the sky does't let him stand under it, what place does ivan have left?

this speaks to me abt his authentic inability to belong. while i think we can say that it is not true that he is unwanted, it is not true that the world rejects him, i can sure understand why he sees himself like that - abandoned, ill threated, sold off, "unloved", used as a commodity. his view of himself, crooked as it is, is not baseles.

he can't have a physical place - so he creates his own reality.

saying "I lay down and look at yesterday's daydream, all torn up" makes me think abt little ivan, back on the ground, staring up the same way we would lay on grass and watch the clouds move.

"yesterday" - we can take it literally, so the day prior, of more figuratively, it may refer to the past. the story progresses: there was a time when ivan used to have dreams, maybe rose-tinted, maybe those same dreams he can't fit in now, and he regards them now as something from the past, from which he now distance himself

"daydream" - these were not unconscious dreams made at night, but dreams he conjured willingly, his own narrative, the story of the ivan he wanted to be all tangled in this song.

"all torn up" - like he knows better, now, than to abandon himself to them. they are all torn up, probably by the awareness that they are dreams, and that ivan can't fit in.

ivan is talking abt the attempt at dreaming he made when he was young, and abt his discovery/awareness that it doesn't work for him. let's think of the meteor shower event with till. by escaping with him, ivan tried to fit into till's dream (freedom), but failed. so he stares at this, at his "yesterday's daydreams", and replays them in his mind.

does this mean he stops dreaming? honestly, i don't think so. ivan is a hopeless romantic (not strictly related to love, but "of, characterized by, or suggestive of an idealized view of reality"), a drama queen, a narrator. part of the frustration this song suggest may be related to the fact that despite knowing it is useless, he can't help but doing it.

welcome to humanity, baby! human beings and their souls crave for art.

Fly far, far away Never, never again Come back to me Because it's easier to forget It's so typical Typical to me

although not explicitly said, it appears that here ivan is not talking to himself, seems to be referring to a "you". he doesn't have problems with mentioning himself in the lyrics (happens to me, my sky, I lay down), so it must mean something!

i am a bit torn, here, because it could still mean that he (present ivan) is speaking to little ivan. like he wants to chase away his vulnerable and inexperienced past self, so distant from the ivan he became and needs to be in order to live in relative peace until the end. "fly away from my mind, don't let me reminesh, don't let me remember, forgetting is easier, safer, as i am used to force myself to live survive in ignorance". he could also be asking him(self) to escape, at least within the dream - to go far, far away, in a safe place, so not to experience what he had.

but. in love with you, when you were mine. daydreams and hope and blood stains, a sky that doesn't want him... it feels like ivan isn't only at war with himself, but with a different stain, a different imprint, a different someone. the robotic voice is still there, in the background, like a reminder that this is not only about the ivan-self.

ivan is trying to get rid of something.

he is inviting that something to go away, or maybe chasing it away from him, to safety. imagine that something is a someone. imagine that someone is till. now take these words and make them abt till: "fly away from my mind, don't let me reminesh, don't let me remember, forgetting is easier, safer, as i am used to force myself to live survive in ignorance". what if he is telling till to go away becausse he doesn't want to hurt him with his words and behaviour anymore? what if he also doing it for himself? because if ivan doesn't think abt till, if he doesn't think abt the meteor shower, if he doesn't think about alien stage being the place where one of them will probably have to die, he can put all his efforts into his performance and win. we know he can - r3 ended with him making 90 points. till is good, but r6, absent-minded till? ivan could win. it's just that in the end, he can't.

i like both interpretation, because they both force ivan to face parts of himself he probably doesn't like or can't accept or even better, can't understand.

Wake up, wake up In my overwhelming daily life Is it for real? An existence like dust I can't stand to look at it Close my eyes And my mind

"wake up" - he is talking to himself now. as i said, i don't think adult ivan stops dreaming just because he can't abandon himself to his daydreams the way others do. the point his, waking up is like a slap in the face for him - his daily life is overwhelming: medical experimentations, lessons, alien stage awaiting him, songs to record, death, and what remains of him? "an existence like dust"

he can't stand the idea of keeping his eyes on it. he can't find refuge in the dream (so he turns off his mind), he can't find solace in reality (so he closes his eyes). are you starting to get why the song is called nowhere?

Worse and worse This painful wound I become more and more numb In the dark City lights I Can't find anyone Anyone Anyone

the "painful wound" can be a a trauma (his past, threatment at anakt, meteor shower) or simply a mix of everything - it can be his whole life, perceived as a festering wound he can't heal from, that makes him number and number to everything, both dream and reality. the darkness has lights, but no one in sight.

Nowhere, from beginning to end a stained history With that revolting tooth That always happens to me

the chorus repeats, but with a variant - "With that revolting tooth", the saggletooth we and the alien public all love.

hatred toward himself - ivan is incredibly critical of himself, but not in a neautral, objective way. he finds this detail of him "revolting", which is too strong a word and confirms that he cannot be objective when it comes to himself. baby, you are beautiful???? NOTHING is revolting abt you. what the hell.

it may be a reminder of something that happened to him in the slums, though. a trauma, a critica, tortures? i wish i knew!

Nowhere, seeped in purple rigid dream and hope It's stained with blood That's just how it is That always happens to me

his dream and hope take a different hue - purple. it is getting darker, if we think they were initially tinted in a rose-colour. it feels like his daydream is maturing, that there is a temporal shift, so while his first daydreams were rosy, growing up they became purplish. heading toward black?

That's just the kind of kid he is, so laugh Laugh, because he can't do anything No one cares about someone like him There's nowhere in the world for him to rest That's just how he is

another super interesting part. look at the change in subject: he.

i wrote abt ivan's dissonance, his splitting in two, the frustration he feels with himself. i also said he is trying to get rid of something, and it makes a lot of sense that that something is the side of himself he resents/can't understand/can't reason with.

notice how the way he sings this and the next part gets quicker, more raspy, less elegant. it feels like a punch in the face with how intense it is. ivan sounds resentful. not angry, maybe - his voice is soft, haunting, resigned for most of the song, but here? he is letting it all go. he is venting, releasing. "there is nothing to do, kid, things are bound to stay the way they were, the way they are, so just laugh and keep smiling because no one will ever care about you. don't even try, don't look for a place to be, this is how things are and no amount of dreams/efforts will change things up."

so. he is talking to himself. nowhere is a letter to his past self - little ivan, lost between the slums, his daydreams and the hope to be loved. his tone grows louder, more livelier for a moment, because he is feeling it all.

He's smooth, flexible, quite easy Just go past it like it doesn't bother you It's nothing, shake it off and stand tall Again, it's nothing, shake it off and stand tall Like nothing happened

and after talking to himself, he mentions till. i can't fit the English sentence here as something ivan tells himself/kid ivan, it is far from how he perceives himself. the sentence is also in English, so it's like he is highlighting the change in subject.

that's why he reminds himself "don't bother, don't think, ignore it all, forget that it all happened". what? the meteor shower. it comes back to that as a moment where not only till, the whole dream of ivan being able to fit in splits and falls apart - the starting point of the dissonance that will lead ivan to composing this song.

Wake up, wake up In my beautiful life Is it for real? An existence like dust I can't stand to look at it Close my eyes And my mind

the dream has collapsed, so back to reality - the reality he built for himself, where he can control things. this life is beautiful, but it is obviously a lie, because his existence is still like dust, and he still needs to keep eyes and mind closed.

the wound keeps festering - the reality he builds for himself is to have the illusion of a place to stay, but not a mind-numbing one. he knows he doesn't belong, doesn't pretend to find a place for himself, that's why the rest of the verses are the same. it's still him and he is still aware, but there is a disillusioned acceptance to his role.

Nowhere, from beginning to end A festering histerie With these cruel lips That always happens to me

this is also where the anger and loathing he feels toward himself most emerge, i think.

"festering" reminds us of the wound ivan lives with, the one that keeps hurting and keeps him numbed to the pain, but here it is linked to hysteria ("exaggerated or uncontrollable emotion or excitement"). so it really is something ivan feels he can't keep under control. perhaps, the process of putting all this darkness in a song was meant to be cathartic.

"with those cruel lips" makes me wanna scream. because even though i logically link this to ivan and to what he said abt himself in this comic, the song keeps presenting us with instances where we can link some verses to till instead - ivan has been cruel to him, from ivan's pov, but maybe, a part of ivan also blames till for cruelly ignoring him and his sorrow.

Nowhere, seeped in black rigid dream and hope It's stained with blood That's just how it is That always happens to me That always happens to me That always happens to me

"seeped in black"!!!!! darkness fell, ivan's heart is still once more, he is once again in control - resigned to his fate, or better, the fate he assigned himself.

"black" winks at black sorrow - and perhaps this is the moment ivan began to plan his willing demise.

this may also be why the cover says "now here": ivan is here, in pre-alien stage, with this song in his hands, with these memories freshly extracted from his mind, freshly recollected. he disposes of it all and goes back to the short life that remains him, the chaos in his head appeased, the confusion numbed, ready to head toward the black end.

° * °

ivan is presented with all these contrasts and complications and differences between what he would have wanted to be (his dream) and what his reality has to offer (till loving mizi, ivan loveless and unlovable, a death game with an inevitable ending).

i thought nothing hurt more than black sorrow, but this song is painfully ivan. it couldn't have gotten more personal than this, and it makes my heart ache so much.

this is the song the pictures ivan most perfectly. this is also the song ivan never wanted us, everyone, to find. the dissonance and hypocrisis in himself grew to a point that he probably needed to let it out - and what's the best way to do it for someone like ivan who seldom even feels like needing to let it all out? music. he has been studying it profoundly, knows it can be cathartic - has seen his friends, especially till, use music as a medium for emotions, both controlled and bottled up.

he composes and writes this to be abt himself - maybe abt his friends, maybe against the system -, but he does and narrates himself the way he sees himself, the ivan that he thinks he is. we know he is an unreliable narrator, and the song tells us exactly that: this is ivan, someone who can't be trusted when describing himself, so in a way, the unreliability is ivan's most accurate portrait.

he probably felt naked after recording this, so i have a strong feeling ivan himself disposed of it - that is why it was "found" in a warehouse - as the song is ivan's story, but also a cry against the system for making him like this and a love/hate letter, to till and to himself. he couldn't let anyone find it before his death, now, could he?

PART 4 coming soon?

[burnwater13]

Din Djarin holding Grogu, while brandishing his pistol. Image of 1/6 scale Hot Toys Din Djarin Mandalorian, showing Pedro Pascal's face, with box and other images in the background. Photo by me.

Grogu had been splitting his time between his dad, who was spending the majority of his time swapping stories with his friend Lacc Straso, and Dagon and Peli, who were working diligently on fixing the N-1. Grogu’s official job was to keep the other droids and mechs out from underfoot, except for Thirty, who was a real expert at starship maintenance. Everything was going pretty well, until Grogu heard a thump, a crash, and a ‘for cryin’ out loud’ from Peli. That last bit got everyone’s attention. 

Grogu rushed in to see what had happened. He’d designated himself as the lead first responder for any injuries, fires, spills, or arguments between the two lead technicians. He hadn’t had to take care of any of those things yet and was glad to have a chance to leap into action. When he entered the repair space he couldn’t tell what the problem was. Peli wasn’t jumping up and down as she so often did when she dropped a tool on her foot and Dagon wasn’t doing anything other than trying like heck not to laugh. 

“Any one care to explain what happened? That didn’t sound like a good sort of crash.”

Trust his dad to get right down to the nub of the problem.

“Actually, it was a good sort of crash. Peli and I had been discussing how the lower housing of the thruster control tunnel was assembled because we have to take it apart to replace the part that created the failure mode you noticed, and it just required a tap from a mallet. You’re very lucky that hasn’t fallen off during your use of the ship. Apparently none of the fasteners were in place and that’s what we’d been talking about.”

Dagon was smiling and seemed pretty happy with himself. Grogu could understand that. They had been trying to fix one problem, located another, and would be able to fix them both. A sort of win-win-win. But just one glance at his dad told him that Din Djarin was not happy with that answer. They’d traveled all over the galaxy with that what ever it was housing not being properly attached and Grogu knew that his dad was imagining everything that could have gone wrong anytime they had used the N-1. That was a lot for a Mandalorian to take in, especially one like his dad, who was so proud of that ship and the paces he had put it through. 

It was like riding a fathier in a race and discovering, after you cleared the seventeen jumps and run that five klick track to post the fastest time ever, that your saddle had never been clipped properly and any wrong move would have had you eating dirt and being trampled. Which was strange, because Grogu was pretty sure that Mandalorian training included all actions to take when something went wrong. If anyone was going to be prepared for that, it had to be Din Djarin. 

“Lacc? Do you mind keeping an eye on these two? I think Grogu and I should go fishing.”

“Right now?”

Lacc was shocked at his friend’s request and so was Grogu. Grogu wasn’t sad about it, but he was pretty surprised. He wondered why his dad thought right now was a good time to go fishing.

“Yup. This whole thing started because Grogu wanted just spend the day with me fishing. We were going to go to the Pika Oasis. Then I got that armor that once belonged to Pre Vizsla and it became apparent that I needed to go to Mandalore and sort that out. But that’s when the N-1 had the malfunction and I found out you were still here so I thought we’d just hitch a ride and go to Naboo. Now, I realize I just should have taken Grogu fishing. He’s been a real trooper about all this and I don’t want to take that for granted.”

Wow. Grogu had never heard his dad speak for such a long period of time when no one was threatening either one of them. He felt so special right then he didn’t know what to do. 

“Ah. Spoken like a father. Good for you Djarin. Of course I’ll watch over these two. When you and Grogu return from the Oasis, the ship will be working, you’ll have had some time to relax, and I can tell you who to talk to about that armor. That should save you some time.”

Grogu could hear the pride in Lacc’s voice, as well as something else. Maybe it was happiness? Joy? Humor? He couldn’t tell. It was another good example of why Mandalorians should be able to take their helmets off whenever they wanted to. Then Grogu would know if the older man was just happy for his dad or if was teasing him about something.

“Thanks. Okay, Grogu, come on. We still have a few hours of light left. We can catch some gorgs, or some scalefish. Didn’t Diggle and Daggle say that the Oasis was home to scalefish?”

The Mandalorian had scooped Grogu up in the most undignified way, but considering how sentimental his dad was being about the whole, could have faced a catastrophic in-flight failure at any moment in the N-1, Grogu decided not to make a big deal out of it. Instead, he tapped his head against hid dad’s helmet and chirped that everything would be all right. The worst thing that could happen at the Oasis was getting sand in his armor or even falling in the water. But Grogu was prepared to help with one of those because he found the Mandalorian’s choice of words when he sand in his boots of the crevices of his cuirass more than a little fascinating. 

“What? You two are leaving just when this is gettin’ good? Hope you have a good time. It you’re lucky you’ll only bring back a good appetite. Ha!”

Grogu just smiled at Peli. He understood that she liked having an audience, but sometimes you just had to spend time with the person who meant the most to you, even if they weren’t very good at fishing, didn’t actually eat fish, and hadn’t remembered to bring the fishing gear with them. But that was fine. He just hoped that they had some fun doing something that other dads did with their children. You know, spending time talking about how everything was better, worse, more fun, more dangerous, and not nearly as nice as it could have been, until you joined their lives. Then they just lived with their heart’s outside of their bodies and worked to get used to it. So a good time, all around. Yippee!