#there are ~reasons~ she wishes she could go back

[imaginespazzi]

Our Merry Eternity

And she swears that every Christmas season, it feels like they fall deeper and deeper in love with each other.

(In which a writer would like to argue that a day after Christmas, is a perfectly reasonable time to release a Christmas fic)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff, fluff, fluff with some hurt/comfort and angst if you squint

Words: 9.4K (if I could write things shorter maybe y'all would get things faster but alas)

TW: Implied sexual content/suggestive content, mentions of divorce, mentions of injuries, swearing

A/N: MERRY (one day after) CHRISTMAS MY LOVIES <3 It seems like everyone wanted domestic fluff and who am I to deny the people what they want (even if it is a little later than I intended it to be) and I didn't realize how much I missed eternity-verse till I wrote this. I'mma keep this short and sweet and go through the basics. Such as the fact that I did not edit. I eventually will but for now, feel free to let me know about any grammar/spelling/formatting issues. And even though I haven't had the time to go through my inbox in a hot second, I promise I will soon so as always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see in the future. Have a lovely rest of your holidays my angels <3

It’s beginning (to look a lot like Christmas) 

Paige isn’t the biggest fan of Christmas; she doesn’t dislike it by any means but she’s never understood the fascination everyone else seems to have with it. Perhaps it’s because when she was younger, Christmas had been her parents’ favorite holiday to try and one-up each other. They’d competed in everything, from how big the tree was to how evenly spread the icing on the cookies were. Eventually the excitement of getting a big expensive present from one parent that would only be rivaled by an even bigger, more expensive present from the other wore off and all that was left was this hollow feeling of being torn in two. Her parents have matured now -no longer in a constant battle for her approval now that they had other kids to focus on as well- but the magic of Christmas had long worn off and Paige hadn’t bothered trying to rediscover it. 

Until now. 

Because right now, watching -through a facetime call that’s been running for almost four hours now- Azzi run around Walmart, searching for decorations and presents with her exasperated family in tow, almost feels a little magical. The way the younger girl’s eyes twinkle when she finds the perfect gift, the way her dimples deepen when she triumphantly wins an argument against her mother for an ornament her tree needs, makes Paige think that it would be so easy to fall in love with Christmas, if she got to spend it with Azzi. 

And it’s like Azzi’s reading her mind because suddenly the younger girl’s face is filling all of Paige’s screen as she holds the phone close to her face, lips pouting in a way that has the blonde feelings decidedly unfriendly feelings toward a girl she’s barely known for six months, but feels like a best friend she’s known all her life. 

“I wish we could spend Christmas together,” Azzi says with a slight whine, “and then you could help me with all of this. They’re absolutely no help-” her last sentence is cut off by her family and Paige laughs as the Fudds break out into a series of indignant protests. 

“Oh so you just want me for manual labor or something huh?” Paige teases, leaning back against her bed and folding her arms across her chest, “and here I thought it’s cause you missed me.”

“I do miss you,” Azzi says matter-of-factly.

“Nah,” Paige shakes her head, “sounds like you just need another person to slave around for you.”

Azzi's mouth falls open at the accusation as the Fudds break into laughter behind her, the sound of it making something impossibly warm bloom in Paige’s chest. 

“I do not make people slave around for me.”

“Yeah you do. You’re the princess. You order us around and we do as we’re told.”

“Here, here-ow!” Jon’s noise of agreement is cut off by his sister elbowing him in the stomach, “do all that work and get rewarded by violence too.”

“I tell you I miss you and this is how you repay me?” Azzi asks, her voice tinged with drama. 

“Nah I still don’t believe you miss me,” it’s a lie; Paige is fully aware Azzi misses her -thinks that the younger girl has to feel at least a semblance of the emptiness she feels herself at the distance between them- but she likes making Azzi repeat it; likes the constant confirmation that Azzi misses her too. 

“Of course I miss you P, after all,” Azzi’s eyes glint with mischief, “we’re engaged aren’t we? A girl’s gotta miss her fiancé.”

The cavalier use of the tone of endearment makes Paige freeze. It’s a joke; a callback to the fact that Paige had practically threatened Azzi that she’d have to marry her if the younger girl won their little pop-a-shot competition last summer at the Minnesota State fair. Paige hadn’t been thinking, it had just slipped out but then Azzi had won the game and then there were rings being exchanged and somehow the whole thing had become one big running joke between the two of them. Except, the idea of forever with Azzi doesn’t feel much like a joke to Paige. It feels like a wish, a hope, a want, a need  something she’s not quite ready to admit to herself yet. 

“I miss you too Az,” Paige says softly as they grin at each other through the phone, “can’t wait to see my best friend soon.”

Thirteen days to be exact -they’d planned to spend the last half of winter break together- but it’s not like Paige is crossing the days off of her calendar or anything. 

“Fiancé,” Azzi corrects and Paige’s heart flutters despite her brain trying to remind her that this is just a bit they’re playing at. 

“Right, so fiancé,” the word tastes like sugar cookies and marshmallows on the tip of her tongue, “you get my present yet?”

“You know I have and before you ask,” Azzi gives her a knowing look when Paige excitedly opens her mouth, “no I won’t give you a hint about what it is.”

“But Azziiiiiii-”

“Absolutely not Paige,” Azzi says firmly, “presents are meant to be surprises.”

“Aren’t fiancés meant to tell each other everything?” Paige scrunches her nose. 

“Not this. Christmas presents are a sacred secret,” the younger girl replies gravely. 

“And who made you an expert on all things Christmas presents?”

“Santa did,” Azzi retorts haughtily. 

Paige snorts, “well Santa doesn’t ex-”

“PAIGE MADISON BUECKERS,” Azzi yells and the blonde can tell by the way she winces immediately that the younger girl’s little outburst had gotten her more than a couple of wary looks, “Paige Madison Bueckers,” she hisses again, her voice much quieter this time, “you take that back right now!”

“Az-”

“Take it back!”

“Bro you’re fifteen years old,” Paige argues. 

“Believing has no age,” Azzi hums airily, “now take it back.”

“Nope!”

“Take it back or I’ll end our engagement,” Azzi threatens and Paige blanches at ultimatum. 

“You wouldn’t,” she gasps. 

“Try me.”

Paige is sixteen and she’s only really just started to learn what love is, but she thinks, as she sits on her bed bickering on facetime over the most ridiculous of topics with a girl who makes her feel things she’s never felt before, that maybe love is just something as simple and crazy as pretending admitting Santa is real so she can prevent her fake engagement, that’s almost beginning to feel a little much like a real promise, from being called off.

2. With you (under the mistletoe)

The truth is that neither of them quite remember what started the fight or even really why it had continued after. All they know is that one minute everything had been fine and then the next minute, they were fuming at each other and their plane ride back to the DMV for Christmas had passed in uncharacteristic silence. They'd parted ways at the airport -glumly sauntering over to their waiting families while decidedly avoiding looking over in each other’s directions- with a dreadful mixture of regret, guilt and the feeling of missing each other. But despite the fact that they were both clearly miserable, Paige and Azzi were both too stubborn and too eager to prove which one of them could be more stubborn. This was their first true fight after they’d gotten together earlier this year, and they were both adamant that the other one would apologize first. 

But Azzi can feel the urge to cave in grow stronger and stronger by the minute as she feels Paige’s body against her own as the blonde reaches over the younger girl to grab something from the shelf. The contact is unnecessary and she knows Paige is doing it on purpose, trying to get a reaction and it takes every inch of self-control Azzi has to not shiver as the older girl presses herself against her back, acting like whatever she’s grabbing isn’t right at the front of the shelf. Azzi tries to focus on the cookies she’s icing, tries to keep her hands still as she traces the outline of a star in royal icing, tries to do anything but focus on the way Paige’s warm breath is tickling against the back of her neck. 

It’s two days till Christmas and the Fudd family and friends have gathered to do their annual cookie baking and decorating tradition. And Katie had been clear that no matter what issues Paige and Azzi were having, they wouldn’t interfere with the open invitation that Paige had always had -since she’d moved to the DMV but even before that really- to join them throughout the Christmas festivities. Azzi had pretended to be a little miffed by it but secretly she’d been hoping that her girlfriend -god she still got such a thrill out of being able to call her that- would show up. They’d only really been apart for a day, but since they’d met, Paige and Azzi hadn’t gone often without talking to each other -whether it was in person or through text or on the phone- and so 24 hours had felt a little bit like 24 years and Azzi had spent every second missing the girl who’d long since become a part of her soul. And even though Paige had grunted about only being here for Drew’s sake, Azzi knows -by the way the blonde’s eyes had drunk in the sight of her when she’d let her into the house, by the way her stiff shoulders had relaxed just by being near her again- that Paige had missed her just as much. 

But neither of them are quite ready to admit it yet, and so, as they bustle around the confined space of the Fudd’s kitchen, Paige continues to find ways to light Azzi’s skin on fire and Azzi continues to pretend it isn’t making her burn with want. 

“Noooooooo,” a drawled out whine from the kitchen table has Azzi and Paige jumping away from each other as they both turn to look at Drew. 

Azzi’s eyes widen and Paige bursts into laughter as they take in the scene in front of them. Clearly the little boy had overestimated his strength and the piping bag had burst and now Drew stands by the table, his lips slightly parted in shock, as the red icing -originally intended for the Santa hat cookies- drips down the front of his shirt. Jon and José are doubled down in their chairs, tears practically streaming down their faces as the sound of their laughter echoes through the walls. 

“Oh my god,” Paige manages to get out between her giggles, “what did you do Drewskie.”

“Nothing,” her little brother immediately defends himself, “it literally burst out of nowhere.”

“Sure it did little Hulk, sure it did,” José teases as he swipes his finger over Drew’s ruined shirt and then licks the icing off of it, the casualness of it causing Jon and Paige to burst into another round of laughter while Azzi tries as hard as she can to keep her own giggles contained but a smile slips through the cracks. 

“It’s not funny,” Drew stomps his feet petulantly, “I’m all sticky and icky and gross. Azzi,” he looks at the brunette with imploring eyes, “tell them to stop- OH MY GOD ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME TOO.”

Azzi's eyes widen as she tries to protest, “no of course not. C’mon let’s get you a new-”

But before she can put her plan into action, clearly Drew has a different idea and before Azzi can stop it from happening, the little boy is grabbing another piping bag -this one with green icing- and aiming it straight at Jose. There’s a split second of silence as the green icing arcs through the air, almost in slow motion, before landing with a splat on Jose’s newly bought t-shirt. And then the room bursts into chaos as Drew immediately dives behind Azzi’s legs, Paige and Jon continue to lose their minds laughing and José lets out a loud scream. 

“WHAT THE FU-”

“José language,” both Paige and Azzi reprimand immediately and José glares at them but corrects himself anyways. 

“What the fudge dude,” José scowls at Drew, “this is a brand new shirt.”

For his part, the little boy shrugs, “I thought you liked eating icing off of shirts. I figured I’d make it easier and let you eat it off of your own shirt. 

If it’s possible this somehow makes Jon and Paige laugh harder and instead of focusing his wrath on Drew who’s still nestled behind Azzi’s legs, José turns on the two of them instead. 

“You guys think this is SO funny don’t you,” he says menacingly, grabbing for two more piping bags. 

“José no,” Paige is the first one to recover as she tries to turn away from the mess but it’s too late, and just as she’s trying to bolt out the door, she’s stopped by a glob of pink icing landing with a splat on the back of her plain white shirt. 

“Oh you’re so dead,” Paige whispers angrily as she turns around, grabbing another bag of icing and aiming it directly at José’s face. 

And then there’s no stopping anyone as Azzi watches as all the beautiful icing she’d painstakingly made and dyed into different colors begins to be thrown all over the kitchen, a rainbow painting itself all over the walls and floors. Drew darts out from behind her legs, joining into the mayhem as he starts to pelt Jon with all sorts of colors. 

Seeing them all distracted and knowing it’s only a matter of time before she gets sucked into all of it, Azzi slowly tiptoes backwards, wanting nothing to do with the mess, and she’s just about to turn around and run up the stairs when a low voice echoes behind her. 

“And where do you think you’re going,” because of course Paige had noticed her trying to escape; Paige always noticed when it came to Azzi. 

“Paige,” Azzi warns slowly, trying to move away from the other girl, her eyes fixated on the purple icing in the blonde’s hands, “please.”

Paige smirks as she takes another step towards Azzi, “this is a little unfair isn’t it?”

“Hey I didn’t start any of this,” Azzi puts her hands up in surrender, choosing to back away from the stairs and towards the living room instead, “go fight the people who did.”

Paige shakes her head as she takes another step, “I already got ‘em all. Amateurs,” she says cockily, “they think they can beat me in a food fight.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, “is there anything you’re not arrogant about?”

“Can’t help that I’m good at everything,” Paige shrugs and Azzi’s about to come up with a snarky retort when the blonde’s eyes soften, “except I guess- I guess I’m not too great at apologizing.”

Gone is the air of overconfidence that had surrounded the older girl just a second before and in her place is that soft, vulnerable Paige that Azzi is so desperately in love with and she can’t help but take a step towards the blonde. 

“We should both probably apologize huh,” she says quietly, “think we both said some petty shit we didn’t mean.” 

It’s true; they’d known each other so long and so deeply that they knew exactly how to push each other’s buttons, how to say the exact wrong thing to rile each other up when they were frustrated. The fight had been inevitable; an explosion of all the angst that existed between two athletes who were both fighting injuries and watching their team struggle without them. It had started with something little that Azzi can’t quite remember but then they were yelling about other things -Paige’s grievances about how Azzi had an irritating habit of hovering and Azzi’s issues with Paige’s tendency to close herself off- and it had ended with both of them near tears as they’d frustratedly stomped into their rooms. 

“I’m sorry,” Paige says it first, as she loops her arm around Azzi’s waist, bringing the younger girl as close to her as she can, “I love you. I miss you.”

Azzi smiles, her hands finding their rightful place around Paige’s neck, not caring that the other girl is still covered in sticky icing,  “don’t gotta miss me baby. I’m right here,” she says softly, resting her forehead against the blonde’s, “I’m sorry too. I love you so much.”

“Look up,” Paige says softly, as she strokes Azzi’s cheek and the younger girl does as she’s told, laughing when she notices the mistletoe hanging above them. 

“Kissing under the mistletoe? You’re so cliché Bueckers.”

“Clichés are clichés for a reason Az,” Paige hums faintly before she’s pulling Azzi into a searing kiss, holding her as tightly as she physically can. 

And yet Azzi still finds a way to tug her closer, trying to find a way to meld their bodies into one as she presses herself as close to Paige as possible. She’s just about to suggest they take this upstairs -because god has she missed being with Paige- when instead she feels the older girl pull away and before she can even react, she’s being hit in the face with a stream of bright purple icing. 

“PAIGE WHAT THE FUCK,”

“Sorry baby. Just couldn’t help myself,” Paige grins as she steps back into Azzi’s space, gently attaching her lips to Azzi’s cheeks as her tongue languidly licks away at the icing and this time the younger girl doesn’t even try to hide the way her body reacts to it, “I promise I’ll clean you up though.”

3. I’ll be home (for Christmas)

“I’m good I swear,” Azzi’s voice is raw and hoarse like it often gets when she’s been crying and despite the younger girl’s best efforts to put on a brave front, Paige can hear right through it. 

She cocks an eyebrow, shifting from her back onto her elbows and placing her phone -with the facetime call- against the headboard, “then why won’t you let me see your face?”

“It’s not me. Something’s up with my camera. I don’t know what,” and if it was anyone else, even someone else who also knew that Azzi had literally just gotten a new phone, maybe the attempted sincerity in the brunette’s voice would be enough to convince them that she was telling the truth. 

But Paige has every line of the Azzi Fudd façade memorized, knows exactly how to discern the little cadences in her girlfriend’s voice and read between the lines. She knows Azzi’s purposely refusing to show her face; knows that it’s probably because it would take Paige one glance at said beautiful, gorgeous, stunning face to know that there had been tears running down it just a little bit ago. 

The blonde sighs, choosing to let the lie go and instead focus on the precious few minutes she’s got to speak to her girlfriend in peace. This is the first time Paige and Azzi have truly been apart for an extended amount of time since the latter had gotten to UConn and somehow the past few weeks have felt worse than when they’d spent months and months apart. With Paige trying to lead an injury-riddled team and Azzi rehabbing another torn ACL, the opportunities to indulge in a proper facetimes call had been few and far between. And when they did finally find the team, it wasn’t just that they were physically tired; they were both emotionally drained too. It was hard recharging when their batteries -each other- were so far away and every call felt hollow; like something was missing. 

“I miss you,” Paige says finally, feet digging into her bed as she musters up a soft smile, wishing that she could see Azzi return it with one of her own instead of staring at a black screen with only her own face in the corner. 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” the younger girl says lightly and something uncomfortable churns in Paige’s stomach. 

“You uh- you haven’t said it back in a while,” she says slowly, trying to keep her voice casual. 

“Said what?”

Paige gulps, “that you miss me,” she gives Azzi a second to respond before her nerves have her speaking a mile per minute, “I mean not that you- not that you have to say it back or anything it’s just- you usually do- or like you always did and you just- you just haven’t said it back. And I mean I don’t say I miss you just so you’ll say it back or anything. I mean I do- you know- miss you and so that why I say it- because- because I miss you- I miss you so fucking much baby and I just- I just want you to know that but you haven’t- you haven’t said it back in a little bit and I just- Azzi,” her voice cracks as she tries not to let the tears slip through, “you do miss me don’t you?”

The other girl is quiet for so long that Paige thinks maybe she’s said too much; her mind rushes to the worst possibilities because what if Azzi really doesn’t miss her? What if her insecurities are right and the time apart has made Azzi realize that she wants something other than Paige?

“Of course I miss you Paige,” Azzi’s voice is thick with tears and all of Paige’s previous fears are replaced with worry instead, “god baby I miss you so fucking much. I miss you all the time and I’m sorry, fuck Paige, I’m sorry if I ever made you think I didn’t but baby- I-,” she’s heaving through her tears and Paige wishes she was with her; wishes she could wipe away her tears and hold her forever. 

“Azzi-”

“I haven’t been saying it back because- because-” Azzi pushes on, still struggling to speak but determined to say her piece, “I can’t okay? I can’t keep saying it Paige- I can’t keep telling you I miss you and hearing that you miss me when we can’t do anything about it. And I get it- okay- I get it. I get that you have to be with the team and I have to be here and do my rehab and we can’t- we can’t be together right but fuck- I hate it. I hate it so much.”

“Azzi,” Paige says again helplessly. 

She hates it too; hates that it’s so close to Christmas, so close to Azzi’s favorite holiday and her girlfriend is sobbing. 

“Shit. I’m being a terrible girlfriend aren’t I? You have a game in a couple of hours and here I am being a fucking selfish wet wipe instead of wishing you luck. Fucking hell,” Azzi curses and Paige can picture her frantically pulling herself together as she tries to change her tone. 

“You could never be a terrible girlfriend,” Paige reassures softly. 

Azzi ignores her, “besides, we’ll see each other soon right? You’re gonna fly home from Toronto to Connecticut tomorrow and then come home to me after right? Just a couple more days,” and it sounds like she’s saying it more to herself than Paige, “just a few more days- few more hours really. We can do this.”

“Yeah,” Paige agrees but she can’t help but feel like even that’s too long and there’s a plan starting to form in her mind; a good use of all that NIL money she’s been earning. 

“I love you P,” Azzi says softly, and despite the heaviness from before, Paige can hear the smile in her voice, “see you soon baby.”

“I love you too Az. I’ll be home soon,” Paige replies, a large grin settling onto her face as she gets ready to bring her idea to fruition; knowing that for now, their soons don’t quite mean the same thing. 

***

Azzi thinks her parents and brother must have the patience of a saint. She’s acutely aware that she’s been a miserable grinch to be around; either ignoring them or answering them with tight one-word sentences. Since she’d come down to Virginia for her rehab, she’s kept herself holed down in her room, only coming out when absolutely necessary. The worst part of it, is that it’s her favorite time of the year and Azzi’s barely participated in all the little Christmas traditions -half of which had really been created by her- that she’d normally be excited to indulge in. 

She sighs, burrowing herself further into her pillows to block out the chatter of her family upstairs. In a couple of minutes, she’s sure one of them will come rushing downstairs, pleading for her to come join them as they make Christmas themed pancakes. And she’ll refuse -just as she has with every other fun little activity- and all though whoever’s been tasked with getting her out of her cave will persist a little longer, eventually they’ll give up, that awful look, tinged in both disappointment and pity, on their face as they go back upstairs with a promise to bring her a plate in a little bit. It’s a terrible routine that’s been on rinse and repeat and Azzi thinks she’d really like to break herself out of it, but it feels like she’s drowning in it instead, and there’s not a lifeboat in sight to pull her out of her misery. 

Turning on her side, Azzi reaches for her phone, flipping to Paige’s contact and her heart aches from their last conversation last night. God she’d been so selfish, venting like that knowing her girlfriend had a game in a couple of hours; knowing how stressful each game -no matter how easy the opponent- was with an injury-riddled team. But Paige had sounded so miserable when asking if Azzi still missed her that in a way it had been infectious and suddenly Azzi found herself letting her own hurt waterfall out of her lips. 

She scrunches her nose, eyebrows crinkling in confusion when she realizes that the last text she’d sent Paige before going to sleep  -a simple you did really good today baby, i’m proud of you right after the game- had gone unanswered. Azzi frowns, looking down at her phone as if her staring harder at it might just conjure up a message from her girlfriend. She’d fallen asleep almost right after sending it and it was unlike Paige to not have answered her by the time she woke up. Azzi rattles her brain, trying to remember if the blonde had mentioned any other plans -beyond a dinner with Aaliyah’s parents that wouldn’t have kept her from her phone- but she can’t remember anything. Briefly glancing at the time and knowing that Paige’s flight to Connectcut wasn’t supposed to leave for at least another three hours, Azzi hastily texts her girlfriend again, crossing her fingers behind her back in anticipation of a quick reply. 

Good morning Paigey <3 

She gives it exactly three minutes, stomach churning when she doesn’t get a reply. 

I miss you baby. 

Another four minutes and still no reply and Azzi starts to feel her head getting heavy with that familiar weight of over thinking. What if she’d overstepped last night? What if it was too much? What if Paige had decided that she couldn’t deal with Azzi and her crap anymore?

She can hear someone starting to hurry down the steps, the quickness making her think it’s probably one of her brother’s who’s been tasked with getting her out of her room this time. But Azzi keeps her focus on her phone, ready to reject whatever offer is about to be made. The door creaks open and she doesn’t look up, typing another message instead. 

I love you Paige. 

“I love you too Azzi.”

Azzi freezes at the sound of the oh so familiar voice, her gaze moving from her phone to the doorway in slow-motion. She blinks in disbelief, mouth falling open as she stares at the figure in her doorway, taking in the sight of a disheveled blonde ponytail, the custom UConn sweats draped on a body that’s radiating exhaustion but more than anything her eyes fixates on that smile, the one that’s always been just for her. 

“Paige,” she breathes out slowly, almost as if she’s scared that saying it will make the girl in front of her disappear like a dream. 

“Hi baby,” Paige says softly, casually pointing to her phone, “I got your message.”

“You’re here,” Azzi chokes out and then, louder, “you’re here oh my god, you’re really here,” she repeats, rushing to get out of bed, desperate to wrap her arms around Paige, to hold her and be held in return. 

“Hey, hey, hey wait baby careful,” Paige chides, her focus immediately on Azzi’s knee, “stay where you are-”

“What? Why?” Azzi pouts and that elicits a little laugh from Paige as she walks over to the brunette. 

“Because,” the older girl says quietly, as she crawls onto the bed and pulls Azzi onto her lap so the younger girl is straddling Paige’s hips, “I’m here.”

Azzi looks at her in awe, hand tracing the curves of Paige’s face like she still can’t quite believe this is real, “yeah,” she whispers, “you’re here.”

And then she’s kissing every inch of Paige’s skin that she can, memorizing the way it feels soft and smooth under her lips, trying to make up for all the lost time of the past few weeks and perhaps even for when she knows they’ll inevitably have to be separated again. Paige’s grip on her waist is tight, fingers gripping her like they’re scared to let go as she shivers under Azzi’s featherlight touch. 

“I’m here,” Paige repeats again before she guides Azzi’s lips onto her own into a feverish kiss that has both of them letting out a long-kept sigh of relief. 

It starts off innocent enough, the two of them savoring the moment, savoring the feeling of finally being in each other’s arms. But then Paige’s tongue is licking into Azzi’s mouth and the younger girl is grinding her hips in the way she knows will drive the blonde a little insane as Paige’s own hands find themselves roaming underneath Azzi’s pajama shirt, rubbing circles dangerously close to the edge of her sleep shorts. 

“Missed you- missed you so fucking much,” Azzi babbles as Paige’s mouth moves away from her lips to trail a series of kisses down her jaw, to her neck before nipping at her collarbone. 

“Me too- me fucking too,” Paige mutters between kisses as she soothes her tongue over the mark she’d just tattooed into Azzi’s skin with her teeth, eyes glazing over when it elicits a barely-concealed moan from the brunette’s lips. 

“Missed this,” Azzi groans, continuing to roll her body against Paige’s, and she thinks she could fall off the edge just like this, untouched and fully clothed. 

“I know, baby. I know,” Paige pants as she continues her assault on the young girl’s skin, “gonna take care of you. I swear. Gonna make up for everything tonight-”

“No now,” Azzi whines, hands tangling in Paige’s hair and pulling in a way that has the older girl groaning into the crook of her neck, “I need you now. I’ll be quiet, I swear. Paige please.”

“Fuck baby don’t say that. You know I can’t say no to you.”

“Then don’t say no to me,” Azzi responds with a smirk, one hand trailing down to gently flick against Paige’s nipples causing the blonde to let out a conflicted noise somewhere between pure arousal and reluctant protest. 

“I can’t,” she says finally, resting her head against Azzi’s shoulder as she purposefully grips the younger girl’s waist to keep her still. 

Azzi pouts, “why not?”

When Paige finally looks up at her, there’s a sheepish look on her face, “I made a bet with your brothers.”

“What?” 

“They said they hadn’t been able to get you out of your room and I said I could do it in ten minutes and they said it would take me a lot longer,” Paige says, hands moving animatedly and Azzi can’t help the fond smile that flitters onto her face. 

“So let me get this straight,” she says slowly, “we haven’t seen each other in weeks, haven’t fucked,” she purposefully grinds her hips down onto the other girl, “in weeks and you wanna delay it longer because you wanna win a bet against my brothers?”

Paige has the decency to look at least a little ashamed as she nods before giving Azzi a goofy grin, “yes? I love you?”

Azzi rolls her eyes as she slips off of Paige’s lap, already missing the warmth of being on top of the other girl, “can’t believe you’d rather win a bet than fuck me.”

“Nah,” Paige smirks as she stands up, her hands immediately inching themselves around Azzi’s waist, “I’d rather win a bet, use that money to get us a hotel tonight and then fuck you.”

“You’ve really thought this through haven’t you?” Azzi shakes her head, trying to hide her excitement at the idea of being in a hotel room -being alone, just the two of them- with Paige tonight. 

“Ten steps ahead always baby,” Paige grins as she presses her lips against Azzi’s, ending it quicker than either of them would like, “now hurry up so I can win this bet.”

But Azzi doesn’t move, instead she pulls Paige back into her, resting their foreheads together as she breathes in the scent of her girlfriend. 

“I’m really glad you’re home P,” she whispers and Paige smiles, gently rubbing her back, “didn’t feel like Christmas season without you.”

4. You’re all I need (underneath the tree) 

Azzi’s just putting on the finishing touches to her outfit -dangly gold hoops that Paige had gotten her just because- when she feels a pair of arms wrap around her middle, a warm body being pressed against her chest. She smiles, letting herself melt into her wife’s -God she loves being able to say that- touch, leaning her head back against Paige’s shoulder. 

“You look so pretty in that dress,” the older woman whispers into her ear as she runs her hands up and down the velvety red material covering Azzi’s body, “but you sure we have to go to your parents’ right now? Cause I think you’d look even better out of it.”

Azzi giggles; they’ve been together for almost nine years -known each other for even longer-  and yet every time Paige gives her a compliment, she feels her insides swooning, cheeks going red like she’s still a teenager whose crush is flirting with her. And she thinks this feeling will never go away, that the halo-like glow Paige’s mere presence casts around her will never fade because this love -this all-consuming sense of you’re it for me between them- is going to last forever. She’s sure of it. 

“Do you ever think of anything but sex?” Azzi rolls her eyes as she turns around in Paige’s arms, fingers immediately reaching up to fix the collar of Paige’s matching red shirt. 

Paige grins, “nah cause I’m always thinking about you and so by default I’m always thinking about sex.”

“You’re insatiable,” Azzi shakes her head. 

“Can you blame me when my wife looks like that?” Paige makes a show of looking up and down Azzi’s body, letting out a low appreciative whistle at the way the dress hugs her figure, the neckline dipping just low enough to stay respectable yet sexy. 

“You look pretty good yourself Bueckers,” Azzi hums as she grazes her teeth lightly against Paige’s neck, making the older woman shudder. 

“Careful Az,” Paige warns, the sultry lilt in her voice saying the exact opposite, “I might start getting the wrong idea.”

Azzi shrugs cheekily, “and what idea would that be?”

Paige smirks, gently tugging at Azzi’s dress to expose a shoulder before she’s attaching her lips to the newly uncovered patch of skin, “that maybe you want us to be late. Or better yet, maybe you don’t want us to go at all.”

Keening under the softness of Paige’s touch, Azzi reluctantly pushes the older woman away, and that might be worse because now she can see her eyes and the lust swimming in them makes her want to give into temptation. But they’re already running late and she has no desire to give their brother’s any teasing material, so she settles on stealing another kiss from Paige’s lips. 

“Go warm up the car,” she mutters against the blonde’s lips, gently squeezing her waist before she detaches from Paige and starts to fix her dress, “I’mma just do a quick double check and then be out.”

“Yes your highness,” Paige teases with a slight roll of her eyes before she’s grabbing both her and Azzi’s packed overnight bags and heading towards the car.  

Azzi smiles as she watches her go. As much as they joked about not going at all, both of them loved spending Christmas with their families, especially considering how the Fudds, Bueckers and everything in between had melded into one big one. Despite the fact that living in the DMV now meant that they saw at least someone in their family once a week, the idea of having everyone under the same roof was still thrilling nonetheless. 

Life had a funny way of working out. The plan had been set in motion since Azzi had been drafted to DC and although Paige had been tempted to stay in Minnesota -after all being the hometown hero picked with the no.1 pick had served her and the. team well for her first four rookie years, considering she’d helped them return to their former championship glory- they had ultimately decided that with most of their family in the DMV area, it made more sense for Paige to ask for a trade to DC than it did for Azzi to move to Minnesota. It hadn’t been the smoothest transition -they’d had their fair share of fights while making the decision and then adjusting to it- but they’d figure it out. They always did. Because as good as Paige and Azzi were at fighting with each other, they were even better at fighting for each other. 

Quickly going through the to-do-list in her brain, Azzi nods to herself as she silently checks off everything. She does a quick glance of her room, making sure that they’re not leaving anything they’d need, before reaching to grab her phone, just to text her parents that they were on their own way. Instead her eyes catch on an email notification, her heart beating erratically when she reads the name of the sender. 

Fingers fidgeting with the heart necklace Paige had gotten her years ago, Azzi slowly clicks on the notification as anticipation burns throughout her whole body. She tries to steady her breathing as she scans through it, reading each line carefully and she almost drops her phone, large hot tears dripping down her cheeks as she reaches the end of it. Her chest feels heavy with an unknown feeling and she knows she needs to get to Paige, but her feet are rooted to their spot. 

“Baby,” she hears her wife call out, followed by the sound of Paige’s footsteps climbing up the stairs, “you ready yet? The car’s already- oh my god baby what’s wrong?”

Azzi looks up from her phone to find Paige standing in the doorway. Concern floods the older woman’s sharp features as she rushes over to her, hands running all over Azzi’s body as she tries to figure out what’s wrong. 

“Az? Baby? What’s going on? What happened,” Paige asks urgently, “baby please you’re scaring me. What’s wrong,” her eyes drop to the phone in Azzi’s hands as her voice gets desperate, “did someone say something? Do I need to go kill somebody? Fuck baby please don’t cry. Tell me what’s wrong? I swear I’ll fix it but you gotta tell me baby. Please.”

Wordlessly, Azzi hands over her phone. Paige’s expression is confused and apprehensive -maybe even a little preemptively angry- as she takes the device from her wife’s hand. Azzi watches as recognition dawn of the blonde’s face when she spots the familiar e-mail address; watches as her wife goes through the same emotions she had reading through the email. When Paige finally looks back at her, her own eyes are brimming with tears. 

“Baby,” she says breathlessly, “this- I- we-,” she chokes back a sob, her voice so quiet in comparison to the loud enigma that is Paige Bueckers-Fudd, “we’re gonna be Moms?”

Azzi nods, tears continuing to spill down her cheeks as she finally manages to open her mouth, “yeah- yeah we are. Paige, we’re gonna have a baby. No two,” she corrects herself, remembering the exact words of the e-mail, “we’re gonna have two babies. Twins.”

And it’s unclear who moves first -it doesn’t really matter- but then they’re in each other’s arms, trying to hold each other as tightly as physically possible as their tears and smiles begin to blend into one. It had been a couple of months since they’d started the adoption process and they’d gone through every stage, slightly scared that something would go wrong. But they’d passed every background and family and personality check rather easily and it was this last part, the wait to hear about a child -well children- that needed them that had been the hardest of it. And now here it was, the last brushstroke that would complete the picture they’d started painting when they were fifteen. Two babies that would complete them. 

“You’re gonna be such a good Mom,” Paige mutters against Azzi’s hair, “god Azzi, baby I can’t wait to see you with our babies -fuck- our babies. Fuck baby I don’t know what you got me but I’m afraid it’s gonna have to be second best Christmas present I’m getting this year. 

Azzi laughs breathlessly, her face still buried in Paige’s neck, “think it’s gonna be the best Christmas present ever,” she slowly lifts her head so she can brush away the tears from under her wife’s eyes, “I love you. I wouldn’t wanna do this with anyone but you.”

Paige presses her lips against Azzi’s forehead, “me too baby. I love you so fucking much. You, me and our babies. It’s all I’m ever gonna want, all I’m ever gonna need.”

5. All I want (for Christmas is you) 

There’s a lot going on in her house right now -the chatter of family and friends mingling with the sounds of Christmas Carols blaring from the speakers, the mixed aroma of a well-cooked meal and freshly baked desserts, the twinkly lights strung all around the house blinking in different colors- but Paige’s entire attention is across the room where both of her two children are hanging off of her wife like baubles on a Christmas tree. Miles is situated on her lap, his head buried in his favorite place, between Azzi’s neck and shoulder. Sienna, always slightly more independent, has one hand wrapped around her mother’s ankle while she sits on the floor, her focus squarely on a princess coloring book. It’s a sight that will never stop making Paige’s heart swell with pride and happiness, her wife with their kids. 

Slowly excusing herself from the conversation she’d been having with a relative, Paige makes her way over to her family -to her whole world- with a soft smile on her face. She sits down next to her wife, placing a kiss to her temple that makes Azzi smile, before pressing one to her son’s forehead over the younger woman’s shoulder, before finally picking her daughter off the floor onto her lap and giving Sienna a kiss on her cheek. 

“Hi family,” she whispers and she thinks that if she could choose to have one picture ingrained in her mind forever, it would be a picture of the three smiles she gets in return. Miles’s is sleepy yet so sincere, Sienna’s is toothy and wide and Azzi’s- we’ll Azzi’s exactly like it’s been since they were fifteen. It’s her Paige smile, one that is bright and beautiful and magnificent and filled with the promise of i’ll love you forever. 

“Mama look,” Sienna coos, shoving her picture in front of Paige’s face, “I color a p-incess.”

“It’s beautiful Si-Si,” Paige says warmly, “I think it should probably go on the fridge once everybody’s gone home yeah?”

Azzi snorts, her voice dropping so only her wife can hear, “baby, I don’t think there’s any more space left on the fridge considering you’ve been putting up every single thing they’ve ever colored or made.”

“I’ll make space,” Paige says haughtily, “everything they make is fridge-worthy.”

Azzi shakes her head fondly but Paige knows that despite her words, she’ll be right there by her side tonight to help her make space on their rather cluttered fridge so that they could hang Sienna’s new masterpiece somewhere on it. 

“Mi’s close to falling asleep,” Azzi gestures to the little boy in her arms who’s clearly struggling to keep his eyes open, “I think we should probably let them open their Christmas Eve presents now.”

Despite Azzi trying to keep her tone to a whisper, Sienna’s ears perk up at the word “present” and she turns on Paige’s lap to face her Moms with large, hopeful eyes, “it’s pwesent time?”

“Yeah sweetheart. It's present time, but only one okay?” Paige taps Sienna’s nose gently, laughing when the little girl nods diligently and then squeals with excitement, rushing off of her mother’s lap so she can tell anyone within earshot that it’s time to open presents. 

“I was gonna tell you to get everybody but I think she’s got it. She’s got your vocal chords for sure,” Azzi nudges Paige’s shoulder teasingly before coaxing Miles’ head out her neck, “you ready to open a present Mi?”

Miles yawns and Paige can’t help but coo at how cute he looks as he stretches in his mother’s arms. It fascinates her, how despite being twins, Miles and Sienna sometimes feel like they’re years apart. And she knows they're only 3 years old, and she knows that they’ll both change over time but Paige thinks that the difference in their personalities makes them fit together even more beautifully. Sienna had a protective streak, always ready to shield her demure brother and Miles had a knack from calming Sienna down, always ready to comfort his boisterous sister. 

“MI,” Sienna yells as she tugs on her twin brother’s arm, having somehow already gathered their family into the living room, “wake up Mi. Time to open a Ch-istmas Eve pwesent.”

“I coming Si-Si,” Miles says softly as he finally waddles off of Azzi’s lap, tiredly rubbing his eyes as he follows his sister towards the barrage of Christmas presents underneath the tree. Their mothers scooch off of the couch to stand closer to the tree, Paige wrapping her arms around Azzi from behind as she hooks her chin over her wife’s shoulder. 

“Alright Si-Si,” Tim says, his eyes twinkling as he looks down at his granddaughter, “remember, you should always pick the biggest present to open on Christmas Eve!”

Sienna’s eyes widen as she takes in her grandfather’s words before her gaze drifts towards the presents, scouting for the biggest one of them all. Paige drinks in the joy on her daughter’s face when she finally spots a large box that might just be taller than she is. 

“That one!” Sienna says gleefully as she practically climbs over the rest of the gifts to get to her chosen one. 

“Careful sweetheart,” Azzi calls out, her voice laced with hints of worry as she watches her daughter try to pick up the present that’s clearly heavier than she is. 

“Uncle Drew,” Sienna croaks out, turning to Paige’s brother as she realizes just how big the present she’d chosen is, “help me pease!”

Drew laughs, wading through the sea of presents to get to his niece as he sedulously sits down to help her unwrap the gift. Paige tightens her grip around Azzi in anticipation as she watches for her daughter’s reaction. The twins are old enough this year to really understand their gifts and even though Paige is sure she knows them well enough -they’re her babies for fuck’s sake- to have gotten them present they’d love, she’s still a little scared they wouldn’t.

“Relax baby,” Azzi leans her head back to whisper into the blonde’s ear, having noticed the way Paige is fidgeting with the sleeve of the brunette’s sweater, “she’s gonna love it. She’s our daughter. We know her.”

Paige presses a delicate kiss against the back of her wife’s neck, “you always say the right thing.”

“Because I know you,” Azzi says softly, eyes crinkling in the corner as she smiles at Paige.

They’re broken out of their reverie by their daughter screaming in excitement as she finally uncovers her present -a barbie basketball court-, and just like Azzi had predicted she would, she says, “I love it, I love it, I love it. Thank you Mama, thank you Mommy!”

Paige and Azzi laugh, opening their arms in tandem for Sienna to rush into, “we’re glad you like it Si-Si.”

“I love it,” Sienna corrects as she gives each of them a sloppy kiss on the cheek. 

“My turn now?” a meek voice cuts and everyone's eyes fall onto Miles, who cowers slightly at having everyone’s attention. 

“Yeah it is,” Paige grins at her son, ticking him lightly in the stomach before pushing him towards the presents, “pick whichever one you want to open Mi.”

Miles chews at his bottom lip, cautiously observing the huge pile of presents before turning to his Mothers’ with a way expression and Paige has to hide her grin, knowing exactly what he’s about to ask. 

“Too many,” Miles says, bouncing nervously on his tiny little feet, “you help me pick pease Mama.”

Paige laughs as she gathers the little boy in her arms but not before she’s whispering in Azzi’s ear, “think he might be more indecisive than you baby,” which earns her a slight elbow to the stomach before she nods at her son, “of course I’ll help you pick sweetheart.”

She pretends to make a big show of searching for the right present, observing her son’s facial expression before she sees his eyes light up a little when she grabs a medium-size blue one. 

“Aha!” Paige yells triumphantly, causing all the adults in the room to snicker at her antiques, “think you should open this one Mi.”

Miles grins as he makes grabby hands towards the present in his mother’s hand. It takes him approximately four and a half seconds to rip off all the wrapping paper and his eyes marvel at the gift in his hands. 

“Teddy,” Miles says in awe as he clutches the cuddly stuffed toy to his chest. 

“Yeah it is baby,” Azzi nods as she kneels down next to the little boy, “here,” she points towards the blue heart on his chest, “how about you squeeze it?”

Miles does as he is told, squeezing the teddy-bear’s heart as tightly as he can and it starts to glow. Paige and Azzi’s voices ring out through the room, singing -slightly off-key- Miles’s favorite lullaby. The little boy’s eyes widen when he realizes the sound isn’t coming from his Mothers', both of whom have their mouths closed, but from the teddy-bear’s heart. 

“Now, whenever you’re scared at night in your big boy bed, you can just squeeze teddy and it’ll be like Mommy and Mama are already there with you,” Azzi says softly as she brushes her hands through her son’s hair, “you like it Mi?”

“I’m gonna call it MoMa,” Miles says in lieu of an answer as he beams up at Paige and Azzi, “like Mommy and Mama but MoMa.”

Paige laughs, her eyes suddenly starting to feel a little wet, as she wraps an arm around Azzi’s waist, watching her children fawn over the presents they’d just opened. There’s plenty more left and she’s excited to watch their reaction to opening the others but the first ones are always just a little more special. And whether it was giving Sienna a basketball court, or giving Miles a version of their voices, through these gifts they’d tried to give their children a part of themselves. 

“Hey,” Azzi snaps Paige out of her trance, her hand reaching down to intertwine with Paige’s as she begins to pull her away from their family, “come with me for a second.”

“Azzi Fudd,” Paige puts a dramatic hand to her chest, smirking as she follows her wife upstairs, “are you sneaking me into our bedroom to have a quickie? While our family and our children are right downstairs?”

Azzi  turns to her with a cheeky grin as they enter their bedroom, tracing a finger down Paige’s arm, “would you object if I was?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not. Let’s do it,” Paige waggles her eyebrows, pulling Azzi into her chest but the younger woman immediately shrugs herself out of it as she goes into their closet instead, “oh okay then, leave me high and dry on fucking Christmas Eve.”

“Shut up,” Azzi chides, still rummaging through drawers before she finally emerges from the mahogany doors with a small silver box, walking back to Paige with a small smile on her face, “I figured you should get to open a present tonight too.”

“Well the present I was hoping to unwrap was you-” her joke is cut off by Azzi laughing. 

“Baby please, you are way too old to be saying that shit.”

“Hey,” Paige says with mock offense, “first of all, I’m not that old and second of all, you’re never too old to be flirting with your wife.”

“First of all, it’s okay that you’re old baby, I like them a little older,” Azzi smirks, “and second of all, you are if the flirting's that corny and third of all,” she gives Paige a pointed look when the other woman open her mouth to counter, “shut up and open your present.”

“Still so bossy aren’t you princess?” Paige shakes her head but she does as she told, delicately removing the lid from the box and gasping when she sees the necklace inside, “baby, it’s beautiful.”

The necklace is similar to the engagement ring she’d gotten for Azzi, not the one from the fair all those years ago, but the real one. It’s a simple enough chain with a heart shaped diamond-encrusted locket, except on either side of the heart, the chain is looped into two infinity symbols. 

“Open it,” Azzi says softly. 

“What?” Paige asks, still staring dazedly at the dainty jewelry in her hands. 

“The heart,” Azzi points to the locket, “it opens.”

Paige does as she’s told, delicately using her nails to pull apart the locket and a fresh set of tears brim in her eyes when she sees what���s inside. On one side of the heart is a picture of Miles and Sienna, the twins grinning at the camera and Paige remembers the exact moment she’d taken it. On the other side, is a picture of Paige and Azzi; specifically a picture of their kiss at their wedding. 

“Baby,” Paige says again, uncannily lost for words. 

“You’re really fucking hard to shop for you know that?” Azzi says slowly, her own eyes glistening with moisture  “like what do you even get someone who basically has everything because you know- like you always say- we’re your everything -all you could ever want is me, Miles and Sienna- and we’re already yours, just like you’re already ours. And so I figured I’d just give you a reminder of it, something you can always keep with you so you always know.” 

“It’s perfect,” Paige breathes out as she holds the locker out towards Azzi, “put it on me?”

Azzi grins as Paige turns around and the blonde watches through the mirror as the chain is placed carefully around her neck and her wife firmly clasps it together before placing a soft kiss to the back of her neck. 

“I love you,” Azzi whispers when Paige turns back around, “for eternity.”

“I love you,” Paige whispers back, pulling her wife flush against her chest, the locket with her world hanging between them, “to eternity and beyond.”

[jayktoralldaylong]

One of my favourite things about Arcane is that all the couples can be read as toxic, which is GREAT.

I'm tired of people bringing morality debates into dark media. Let dark media be fucking dark. You guys wouldn't survive a day in the TMA fandom, needing everyone to be as good as gold. How are they going to make for enjoyable complex characters if they're not morally grey. In fact, I wish there'd been more expansion on just how morally black they can become!

"CaitVi is so toxic" According to lesbian statistics, that sounds just about accurate. 💀 Heck, I wish Caitlyn had done more (Not really, but it would have been nice to further explore the darkness in her heart). Isn't it adorable how she immediately folded as soon as Vi called her cupcake? Caitlyn's like one of those villains that will consistently do the most....until it comes to someone else hurting her girlfriend. The only one allowed to hurt her girlfriend is her. 💀

Then let's talk about Vi. Someone pointed out how Vi never cared about Zaun's independence in the first place and many people yelled that they were wrong. But actually, they were right. Vi never wanted Zaun. Zaun was Silco's dream, and Jinx inherited that dream cause Silco would never shut up about it. Vi wanted Piltover to take responsibility for all the shit they allowed to happen in the Undercity. That's a part of the reason she joined up with Caitlyn in the first place. Let's not forget she wasn't dissuaded when she dragged Jayce down to fight with her and he killed a child. Children been dying, it's been her whole life. Someone needed to do something about it, and Zaun would have just isolated the people from all the privileges that Piltover SHOULD have been providing for them. Some people just can't accept that Independence cannot in fact solve every problem, and sometimes independence is colonisers running away from the responsibility of fixing the mess that they started in the first place.

Besides, we all know Vi joined up with the Enforcers because "I feel like I am worthless if I can't be of service." She'd already run out of family members to serve, Caitlyn was the next best thing. She's just like Jayce.

And speaking of Jayce, let's talk about his violent levels of codependency with anyone who'll give him attention. People LOOOOVE to talk about Mel, but it's there with Viktor too. When bro wasn't basing his worth on his inventions, he was centering it around Viktor.

Viktor who decided at some point in his life that he would not LIVE without Jayce. He was fine dying without him, but living without him was unacceptable. Oh how healthy. 🙄😂 Viktor be the kind of toxic ex to threaten divorce 500 times over, then burn the world when you actually leave him. Jayce is no better cause he's the kind of guy to keep going back to his toxic Ex.

Yes, Mel is manipulative. That's what I love about her. How are you guys failing to give this woman the praise of being an outsider in Piltover, but running their entire council. 💀 Girl raises her hand once and the whole government starts spinning. She was the best sugar mummy Jayce and Viktor could ever ask for. She kept the whole city running. Literally the entire of Piltover dancing on her palm. And yes she manipulated Jayce but let's not forget she thought that was a love language. 💀 You wanna be mad at someone, be mad at Ambessa for raising her that way.

I also don't think it's fair to blame her for the Undercity situation, she's not native. Monkey see, monkey do, and not a single one of those Council members actually cared about the situation down there, it was deplorable. 💀 Jayce did way more in his two weeks as Councillor than any of those drug pushing, money laundering, Piltovian heads of government.

And that just covers MelJayVik, we don't even need to get fully into TimeBomb, cause we know what's wrong there. 💀 Surely we have not forgotten the many teammates Jinx has killed, but making sure to never kill Ekko cause that's her man. Ekko has a lot to unpack, like how his consistent and unwavering love for Jinx is an indication of a lot of doors he might not be ready to open. I know they dynamics go crazy and I love to see it.

Ambessa and Sevika are a crack ship but I'm sure we all know bedroom dynamics go crazy with Mrs. Warlord and Miss Liberation. I love it when characters clash in a toxic heap. It's insane and should be explored.

Quit saintifying my toxic ships with your woke morality debates. If you want everyone to be sunshine and rainbows then you should be watching literally anything else. 💀 "It's not healthy." GOOD, I like it that way. 💀 Angst, spice and trauma are the recipe for a plethora of explorative fanfiction. Any of their dynamics can be taken in any toxic direction and I want that EXPLORED.

[frannyzooey]

You, and this fic, own me.

This chapter had so much to give!!! I thought it was going to be pure filth and then you hit me with that ending, and I am fucking yearning for these two so goddamn bad (while also being so out of my mind aroused --)

There were so, so many good parts in this one, like the way my mouth fucking dropped open at this:

“Just another reason that maybe you should be inside that church, rather than suckin’ dick in its parking lot."

and THIS:

And so help you god, he’s wearing his tool belt. 

But THIS -- this took the fuckin' cake:

“Then play ‘house’ with me,” you purr, dragging your fingers through his hair. “You can be daddy,” you stroke down his cheek, over his lips, “I can be mommy. And you can try and put a baby in me.”

I was literally levitating at this line. ROCKETING TOWARDS THE MOON!! I was also so in love with how light and free and fun their fucking and teasing was -- the way they just slide into role play like it's no goddamn thing had me grinning ear to ear

Annnnnnnnnd then you hit me with the emotions:

The discordance stirs in your stomach. Right now, you’re actually witnessing the loving-husband-turned-infidel façade weave its way through his marriage. He’s asking her to leave…for you. To free up time to be with you. Under the guise of caring for her. 

You wish it made you feel worse. It just feels…uncomfortable to actually view firsthand.

I literally cannot even imagine what it would feel like to witness the deception happening first hand, and it's something that a lot of cheating fics don't explore? (and I should know 😌)...the way you treated this scene was literal perfection because you brought so much nuance to his emotions. He's being deceptive, but not a manipulative gross creep like this situation is often portrayed. He genuinely hurts....yet does it anyway. I'm obsessed with this scene because you're doing such a good job extending Joel, as a man, the same grace that people often give to the reader in these types of stories. They empathize with the reader feeling bad but doing it anyway, but they often villainize the man, or assume he doesn't feel as bad, ya know? Anyway, just me waxing on about your beautiful brain ❤️

I had all these amazing thoughts about your writing skills....and then they all leaked from my brain when I read this:

You: Yours is the only mouth I want sucking on these titties right now, daddy 👅

You fix your sweater and peer back through your peephole, just to see his face collapse in arousal, grinding the heel of his palm over the crotch of his jeans.

I know the desk fucking scene was so taboo and so filthy, but I felt so, so fucking soft when he said this:

setting the frame down in front of you before yanking your hair at the root and slamming his hand down next to the photo. “You stare at that girl while daddy’s tearin’ apart your slutty little asshole. Remind her that she deserves better than that piece a’shit.”

I live for this line 😭😭

And then this -- this -- was perfection:

“Baby,” he takes your face in his hands again, his expression edging on broken. On your behalf. “What has this fuckin’ monster done to you? My girl from the bar, she knew what she was fuckin’ worth. And she’d let you know it. She came first, and she didn’t apologize for it or accept anything less. What did he do to that fuckin’ girl?”

“Maybe it wasn’t all him."

I could literally envision the look on his face when she said that. What a fucking LINE, Katy and then to have it followed with her speech about how Jack isn't a monster, he's just a man??

The way you are out here giving the depth to this trope that it needs has me SAT and quite frankly, green with envy

This chapter was so fucking good 💀💀💀 ily ❤️

Good Neighbors | (joel miller x f!reader) (18+)

Part Three of Four

✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧A fic inspired by Fortnight by Taylor Swift✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧

Part One | Part Two

summary: your affair with joel heats up with a week of uninterrupted bliss. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] no outbreak!au, age gap (joel is 48, reader is 32), joel x ofc (no sexual content), reader x omc (pitiful sexual content), infidelity, daddy!kink, fingering, unprotected PIV, unprotected anal, oral (m! and f!receiving), degradation!kink, praise!kink, brief roleplaying, unashamed sexualization of the term "kiddo", discussions of SA and domestic abuse, marital discussions regarding mismatched desires on having children, reader struggles with body image as a result of her abusive husband, unhealthy/toxic age gap marriage. this chapter is a much needed break from Jack. immersion notes: reader has hair, wears dresses/makeup, and is considered a "trophy wife" type. additionally, reader is specifically implied to be conventionally thin. apologies to anyone for whom this kills immersion for, but it felt very necessary in the context of the story. word count: ~11.6k a/n: wanted to give the lovebirds a little part that's primarily fun times before shit hits the fan <3 So there will be one more chapter!

Available Only to Registered Users on AO3

[kayla-and-the-moon]

baby, it's cold outside-! ᥫ᭡.

❄️plot: it's christmas eve and peter just really wants you stay, is that a crime?

❄️pairing: gn! reader x tasm!peter parker <3

❄️tw! : nothing just peter being a sweetpea/ best bf ever / darling dork. (dunno if minimal smooching counts as a tw-)

"god it's storming out there."

in your defense when you'd walked over here, the snow had been light, but now it seemed like the entirety of the world behind the window was a turbulent flurry of white. you'd come here to drop off some Christmas cookies your mom had baked, the problem was what was supposed to be a quick visit had turned into a couple hours.

of course you had one person to blame for that.

peter was practically engulfing you, his arms winding around your midriff and his face burying in your shoulder. you can feel the bastard's evil little grin against your sweater before he gives a hum of faux innocence.

"geez, that's really unfortunate", he tuts, his chin propping up to look at your unimpressed roll of the eyes in the window reflection, "I guess that means you'll have to stay huh?"

"pete, my dad would murder you."

"i think he'd murder me if I let you go out in this weather. so eitherway it's a death-death outcome, sweetheart."

it's honestly unfair how the nerd could turn you to all disarmed and smiley with a simple, dopey wisecrack of his. you have to stifle a snort of laughter before you turn to him with a brow raise. peter isn't deterred, but maybe even more motivated, and only just continues to look at you like you hung the moon itself.

"what? i'm just looking out for my girlfriend" he shrugs, but the stupid grin on his face belies those innocuous brown eyes of his.

you're almost persuaded to stay, but there's that niggling pinch of responsibility at the back of your mind, and you're once again looking outside as if your stared hard enough the sky would clear. no such luck, god, you wished the universe loved you enough to put its snowy tantrum on pause.

"it's not that bad, and my mom might get worried," you try reasoning, already picturing your mother's hysteria wondering if the multiple thugs lurking in new york's alleyways had taken you prisoner ,"really I should go-"

"you'll get pneumonia," he simply states with a pointed quirk of his brows, "plus we can always call."

"you know as well as I do that the cell service is unequivocally wrecked right now."

"then we'll call in the morning, your mom probably knows you're here," he counters, his fingertips drawing a path over your arms, "plus, I think she's caught on you're Spiderman's personal favorite civilian"

this brings a chuckle to slip from you, shaking your head at him.

"you're very pushy, peter parker" you roll your eyes, your arms crossing stubbornly over your chest.

peter can see right behind your facade though, and in all truth, he's feeling giddy as ever. he thinks he's the luckiest guy on earth when you grace him with that sweet smile rivaling sunshine.

"i'd just like to call it opportunistic," peter beams, the satisfaction evident in the glimmers of golden lamplight in his gaze.

"c'mon baby, don't make me beg here" he implores. lord, it should be forbidden for peter parker to call you that, since you have very little faith that your knees wouldn't buckle right that moment.

his hands find the curve of your waist and before you can even whisper the hint of another weak protest, he's dragged you to his bed, letting you fall on his chest with an unceremonious thump. you can't really bring yourself to tell him off, because peter has a way of making you all soft, and sticky with lovesickness. instead you just lean in to press a kiss of cinnamon sugar to his lips, and it's your turn to grin as he chases you after you pull away slightly.

your fingers toy with strands of his mousey brown hair at his nape as you give a theatrically defeated sigh, "okay fine, if you insist."

it's then you wish you could steal peter's camera just to capture the glow in his eyes, at your words, because truly you wanted to save that view forever. his palms rest on the apples of your cheeks, as he gives a low breathy laugh, his nose bumping to yours.

"that took a lot of convincing."

a/n: so this may be kinda rushed, so mind the quality, BUT i miss my tasm ! peter parker ,and i rlly rlly wanted to put out a christmas eve fic, and miss idina menzel and michael buble started this war (frank sinatra too, so blame them). eitherway, hope you liked this tiny lil fic, happy holidays ❄️🎅💕 !!

[cheralith]

vogue (chapter two) — boss/fashion designer!geto suguru x reader ; REASONS

series synopsis ; even without much knowledge in the world of fashion, you decide that it's in your best interest to work for the country's fashion magazine powerhouse to propel your career as a journalist. however, you begin to second-guess your decision when you're faced with the grueling labor of its one and only editor-in-chief who expects nothing less of perfection. can your efficiency meet his standards or will you be out the door before you can even blink? masterlist

contains ; editor-in-chief!geto, fashion designer!geto, assistant!reader, assistant turned muse!reader, platonic roommate!ino, modern au, angst, slowburn, co-workers-to-lovers, some crack if you squint

chapter synopsis ; it's chaos at kaizen magazine and the entirety of its staff, including its editor-in-chief is stressed. you meet a particular individual at the coffeehouse who seems all too the familiar for some reason whose strange words encourage you to dabble in the world of modelling in a desperate moment.

chapter tags/warnings; she/her pronouns, afab!reader, blood mention (reader gets mild cut on finger), reader models but no mention of body descriptions, some parts not edited

chapter word count: 8.9k

now playing ; reasons - minnie riperton

↩ previous chapter next chapter ↪

Somehow, you think that your boss has it out for you more than usual this week. Granted, he’s been giving you a stink eye at all times since you first started, but you’re getting the gut feeling it’s more prominent this time around. Be it the upcoming charity gala tomorrow or the stress of pushing out this month’s issue due to some last minute… adjustments—you wouldn’t be surprised if Geto is using you as his punching bag for his own relief. 

He has never yelled at you, per se, but his soft-spoken insults and scoldings hurt you far more than anything. Whether it be you stumbling ever so slightly over your own two feet in front of him or something as miniscule as simply accidentally taking out a pen that’s lacking ink when jotting notes, Geto always seems to have some sort of reprimand at the ready. 

“Why is this packet stapled so awkwardly? You could be covering vital information.”

“Coffee spoons exist for a reason. There’s no reason why I should be using a dessert spoon for my latte.”

“I do wish you spoke with less ‘um’s and ‘uh’s every now and then. It’s quite bothersome.”

You just wish that the job application had listed “Must take on editor-in-chief’s emotional baggage 24/7.” if you knew that this job would just be mentally draining as it is physically. And to think it’s only been only around four and a half months since you’ve started! Obviously, being editor-in-chief of one of the largest and powerful magazines in the nation is going to be mentally depleting, but is there such a need to take it out on the poor associates? 

Your mind reflects back to witnessing an intern accidentally running into Geto amidst last night’s crisis when the office was busy about attempting to piece together the issue into one piece before the publisher’s deadline today, the intern’s impact causing a confetti of cut-out paper to fly about everywhere and making Geto’s afternoon matcha pick-me-up splatter green all over his cream white top. He had gently told the shaking intern, amidst his many apologies, that it was no worries before quietly telling you to head down to HR to terminate him by the end of this week. 

Chills run down your spine when you remember how quickly Geto’s smile faded and gentle eyes disappeared as they morphed into amethyst daggers the moment his back was turned to the intern. Though… you do give credit to the intern for making his shirt still somehow look fabulous with the earthy green splatter—a feat only a former fashion model was able to do. 

You don’t remember when the last time you came home before 11:00pm was or when was the last time you ate three complete meals in a day and not just crumbs of convenience store snacks. It’s been such a hectic week wrapping up the month’s issue that you’re suddenly back to your college days slurping ramen and drinking any drink that contains any amount of caffeine to give back your energy. 

You hear the beep of the microwave sing through the kitchen right next to yours and Manami’s desks, signaling your instant ramen was done, but before you can even get up, you hear the muffled sound of a something being broken inside Geto’s office, causing you and Manami to jump. Gazes suddenly flicking toward each other, with neither of you daring to make another move, a moment of complete silence drifts by before you dare to breathe out ever so quietly and almost instantaneously, Manami shouts, “Not it!” 

“Not—oh, fine…” A groan drags out of you and your eyes roll as you brush off the prideful look Manami has on her face. 

With great hesitation, you avert your direction to the frosted glass window of Geto’s office that sits a little too politely between you and Manami’s desks. Somehow, with each step you take, the impending doom that sits at the bottom of your churning stomach grows bigger and bigger and you can just barely brace yourself for the scolding that you’re about to receive—even if the cause of Geto’s frustration may have not even been at your own fault.

Your shaking knuckles go to rap at his door. A grumbled “come in” barely seeps its way through the door. You allow yourself with great reluctance to open the door to reveal a heavily breathing Geto Suguru, veins visible on his neck and forehead from the pent-up irritation that has been boiling for the past few days with the double whammy of the charity gala and the month’s issue attempting to be push out on time, which may not even be the case given that many columns had to be changed due to a specific supermodel’s recent scandal.

Upon entering your boss’s office, it was near impossible to miss the shattered glass of cucumber water that was clearly thrown at the wall behind himself, a splotch of the carpet now darkened slightly from the original color. Geto caved inwards towards his desk, his blazer from his three-piece set now draped messily over his chair and his usually neatly-made hair a little more frazzled out of its hair band than usual. On his desk were an array of magazine splits with a pile of cut-outs dedicated to said model. It startles you how many pages she had appeared in given how hefty the pile was.

“Why couldn’t she behave after the issue was printed…” Geto seethes under his breath as a poor page of the magazine draft crumples under his grip. 

You can see in his trash can the tabloid that featured the supermodel, who allegedly slandered her fellow upcoming star of a colleague backstage of a recent fashion show with the cameras still rolling in order to document the behind the scenes of all the glitz and glamour. While it was normal for models to shade one another to fight for the spotlight, her remarks in particular were rather nasty and brutish, so much so that it caused outrage amongst the public and with the latter supermodel’s fans who ended up revealing her rather… dishonorable social media presence. 

Needless to say, having her as the starlight of this month’s issue before it entered the public eye would prove disastrous for Kaizen. She decorated a large portion of the magazine from front cover to back, but the magazine couldn’t afford to have such a trashy person as their graphic ambassador—especially since there has been little to no dirt on the magazine up until now. Geto works hard to make sure any possible slander against the magazine was dealt with as soon as possible before the public could hear about it. You didn’t know how—preferably, you don’t want to know—but he does it somehow.

But the news and the outrage regarding the supermodel had been leaked only a mere eight days before the issue was to be printed, giving the entire department only eight days to fix up the issue before the deadline. To make matters worse—the issue had to be sent to the publisher before the charity gala, which were both on the same day, Friday, meaning that everything had to be finalized before 3pm that day to give ample time for the start of the gala’s last-minute organization at 5:00pm before it started at 7:30pm and for the publishing company to print the thousands of copies to be released to the city come Saturday morning.

It’s Thursday, the day before D-Day, and the office just reached noon. You have yet to eat properly, given that all you ate this morning amidst the morning rush (Geto demanded asked you to arrive at the office an hour earlier to compose the most time to work on the issue) were two pieces of toasted bread and a badly-made cup of instant coffee. 

You stare at the broken crystal on the dampened floor before going back to get the dustpan from the kitchen. Without a word, you clean up the remnants of Geto’s frustration quietly so as to not poke the beast even further with one wrong move, but of course, you somehow end up slicing your finger on a stray piece of glass. 

A loud yelp from your lips slips through the tight atmosphere of Geto’s office and blood draws fast, so fast that a few drops of crimson fall and miserably stain the pristine white carpet.

You swiftly poke your finger in your mouth and suck on it before more can ooze out, but unfortunately, your little titter was enough to break Geto out of his trance and snap his head back towards you. He spots the splotches of red on his carpet first, but then averts his gaze to you with your fingertip between your lips.

“What happened?” he urges as he approaches you. “Did you cut yourself?” 

You nod shyly, a little startled at how quickly his concern for you came to him given that your presence usually arises some sort of mild vex from him. “I apologize for staining the carpet. I’ll get a cleaner right away for it.”

“No need,” Geto mutters before beginning the dust the glass remnants himself. “I’ll call them myself. Just fix yourself up. First-aid kit is in the kitchen. Go get a bandaid—quickly.” 

For a split second, you swear you could’ve seen a grain of sympathy in his normally-cold gaze, but the illusion quickly dissipates the moment you see his eyes harden again before he snaps at you for staring. 

“Go now. Before your finger gets infected. You can’t use your hand properly with an infected finger.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod lightly and dash out of his office, fighting horribly the urge to mutter curses at him under your breath. 

The cut proves rather long and deep, you notice, as Manami gently rolls a strip of tape down a page of gauze on it as she chides you akin to a mother to take care of yourself properly and that this isn’t the week to be injuring yourself like a child. It takes up at least two-thirds of your right index finger and you’re just hoping you’ll be able to use your right hand as efficiently as possible given you still have an extensive list of emails to still send out. 

Two hours somehow pass by quicker than expected but you know that your actual day isn’t even halfway done, knowing well that you won’t be clocking out until later in the evening after everyone is gone from the office. For the most part, it looks as though some spare stock images of well-known models were able to suffice the pieces that the scandalous one left them in the columns, but there was one that needed a more specific set of poses given that it was a perfume ad and unlike the other columns, the bottle had to be held in a certain manner that would prove hard for the photo editors to attempt.

Given that the work day was ending, there weren’t many models on-call that could do a last-minute shoot on time and the magazine was running out of time. Geto… was running out of time. 

And if Geto, who was known for being rather cool-headed and rational most days, was stressed, that only meant the rest of the office had to follow—whether they liked it or not. Ultimately, his stress became infectious and it was hard to keep a mellow mind in the days filled with chaos. You were already stressed on a day-to-day basis being his junior assistant, but you were basically required to amp it up to the max with the last-minute editing of the magazine and the charity gala.

You’re in line to get Geto’s afternoon pick-me-up, with the minor adjustment of two extra espresso shots for the kick of caffeine to get him through the rest of the working hours. You can hear your name being called up, but with how drained you’ve been from the past few days, the granola bar and Redbull you had for lunch today proves not to be the most efficient source of energy and you end up tumbling over your own two wobbling legs when you rise from the waiting bench.

You crash into the chest of someone taller than you who was passing by and just barely manage to avoid the escaping coffee from the cup of the person you bumped into. Unfortunately, it doesn’t prove well for the latter, as the remainder of the coffee settles itself on the front of their shirt Panic sets in swiftly and you start bumbling apologies left and right before you can even look up to see who exactly you’re apologizing to.

When you do, you’re met with a pair of eyes hidden behind darkened sunglasses ogling at you. It struck you as rather odd—considering it was the middle of winter and that the sun was hiding behind the grayed clouds today. Maybe it was just some sort of fashion statement? 

But it’s not the glasses that captivate you. It’s the snowy locks of white hair that belong to a rather tall and leggy figure that belong to it. And despite the pure ivory, he still looks incredibly young. A man of at least six feet and three inches stands before you—a height that easily can rival your boss’s. He’s adorned in a simplistic outfit; black dress shoes with matching slacks held by a glimmering silver buckle, topped with a cool white collared shirt that’s now evidently ruined by the horribly large light brown stain you caused from his coffee.

And judging by the stitching and material of the shirt, you know damn well that the shirt isn’t cheap.

“I-I-I…” you blubber out, teary eyes widened in horror at how fast the stain spreads and how much attention you’re getting from the cafe’s customers. “I’m so sorry…”

The silence that penetrates through from onlookers is terrible and you think you’re getting a fever from how hot your face is burning up. 

Thankfully, the man breaks through it with a soft, (dare you say—handsome?) laugh. “I was looking for an excuse to get rid of this shirt anyways,” he says. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

What he says baffles you and your apologies suddenly transform into sounds of confusion to his amusement. “Huh?”

“It’s been two years since it was in season, it’s finally time to throw the old girl out,” the man shrugs nonchalantly.

Suddenly, in front of all the leering eyes of the customers in the coffeehouse, he begins to unbutton his stained shirt and you can only watch in horror with the rest of everyone else. While he still did have one last modest garment beneath the shirt, it was still a sleeveless white undershirt that showed off his visibly sculpted and lean biceps that made a couple of the women in the coffeeshop form heart eyes and bite their lips.

The man flickered his eyes, now shown to be a brilliant shade of crystal blue, to you from atop his glasses and a glint of playfulness shone through, along with a whimsical grin. “Maybe I should’ve been a little more decent. Hope you don’t mind.”

You think that the heat that flushes your cheeks is no longer from embarrassment but… bashfulness?

You attempt to gather what to say in this rather awkward moment, but the bell of the entrance door rings and in comes a young man with spiked noir locks adorned in a midnight blue suit with a visible frown on his face. His eyes skitter through the coffeehouse before landing on not exactly you… but the man before you.

“What the hell Gojo?” the young man scolds as he stomps his way over. “You said you weren’t gonna take long, so why are you stripping in a cafe?”

Gojo… why does that name sound so familiar for some reason? Now that you think about it, the entirety of the man himself seems so vaguely familiar, but you swore you’ve never seen such a unique human being before in real life.

The man turns his head over as he crumples the stain garment in his hands. He perks up in delight at the sight of him, contrary to his furrowed-brow companion. “Megumi! Sorry bud, got wrapped up in a little accident here. Take this and chuck it in the trash, will ya?”

Before “Megumi” can protest, “Gojo” tosses the shirt to him and exclaims for the onlooking baristas to make him another drink if they can. A teenage girl nods excitedly and dashes back to gather the order for the handsome, sleeveless stranger. 

Megumi hisses an annoyed insult under his breath before glaring one last time at the taller man and searching for a nearby trash can. The man turns to you again with the same smile that has a lick of mischief to it. “Sorry ‘bout my intern. He’s usually a little sour, so don’t mind him. You okay though?” 

“Uh…” your eyes glance around and notice that the commotion in the coffeehouse has started up again. “Yes, thank you. I apologize again for not watching my step.”

He chuckles. “I think you’ve apologized enough. Again, don’t worry about it—it was an old shirt anyways. Has anyone told you you’re quite cute?” 

You choke on your saliva. What an odd thing to say in such a moment.

“Wh-what?” you stifle out.

“You’re rather pretty,” the man continues, the same grin still plastered on his face; as if he means every word he says. “Have you modelled before?” 

Your jaw is somehow melded into an image that replicates a gaping fish. Somehow, you can’t find the correct words to say at this moment. And it’s not quite like you’ve never been flirted with before, but for some reason, the way that this “Gojo” says it, it doesn’t quite have that tone of flattery, but more like… offering something?

“Thank you?” you say with half-confidence. “And no… sorry.” 

“Ah, what a shame,” he sighs wholeheartedly. “Have you considered it though?”

You shake your head, and you’re appalled that the gesture only makes his eyes light up again and his smile grow wider. 

“You should try it someday! You know what—hold on. Where’s my wallet?”

The man shoves his hands in his pants pockets to attempt to look for it, but the intern from earlier suddenly appears and shows off his phone to his senior. It visibly reads 2:34 pm.

“The meeting started,” the intern seethes. “We’re late… again.”

“Oh shoot,” the tall man snaps his fingers with pursed lips. “Alright, we can get going soon. But can you do me a favor and get my wal—”

The intern glowers at him. “No. Let’s go.”

You’re surprised at how much guts the intern has, who seems to be rather younger than you by a few years and certainly significantly younger than the man before you, considering he’s the one to command his superior so strictly. Usually, it’s the other way around, is it not? Unless you’re doing something wrong?

“Aw, but—”

“Gojo. If we’re late again, the board of trustees might kick you off, remember?” Megumi says as he pinches the back of his superior’s undershirt and begins to drag him away from you. 

The mysterious man pouts childishly and whines. “Ohhh c’mon! They’re not serious! You know those old geezers are practically terrified of me!” 

You’ve never seen such a grown man act rather foolishly before, but you suppose there’s a first time for everything. As you watch him be dragged away by the intern, he salutes a goodbye to you with an all-knowing wink to finish things off before he’s shoved into a black Cadillac in nothing but his undershirt for a top amidst the chilly winter air. 

As you attempt to process what on earth just happened, the young teenage barista calls at you suddenly. 

“Hey! Did that Michizane Sugawara guy leave? The one with the white hair?” she asks you, pointing to her own brown hair. She holds what looks to be milk with a hint of coffee in it, judging by how there’s just barely a tint of brown in the plastic cup.

“Oh… him.” 

Wasn’t his name Gojo? There’s no way you could’ve misheard “Michizane Sugawara” as “Gojo” you think, with the six other syllables just simply flying in from the window out of nowhere. Unless the fatigue has finally caught up to you and you’re hearing things wonky. 

“Yeah. It seemed like he was in a rush of sorts.” 

The barista leans over the counter to see and eventually shrugs. She pushes two cups towards you—your original coffee for Geto you nearly forgot about and the newly-made coffee for the mystery man. “You can just have it then. Not too sure you’ll like it though, it’s pretty sugary, but I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Your eyebrows perk up. With how much suffering you’ve been enduring lately from your work, you might as well indulge yourself in a sweet treat as you think you’ve earned it. Plus, with how much there is more to complete for today, you’re most definitely going to need the caffeine and the communal coffee pot isn’t exactly acquired for your tastebuds. 

When you finally settle yourself down back in the comfort of your desk after the coffeehouse fiasco, you take a soft sip of the free coffee…

… only to pull a face at how ridiculously sweet it is. The barista was right. You think that there’s probably only a drop of coffee in the entire cup melded with milk and a variety of syrups and sugar. And to think this was for a grown man? 

Sighing miserably, you pour the free drink down the kitchen drain, ignoring the glob of sugar that slugs out of it before you return back to misery.

“And there’s absolutely no models left that are in proximity to us? In any of our partnering agencies?” Geto asks as he rubs his temple.

The head of the PR team shakes his head, ashamed. “All of our current models are either abroad or they’re simply unavailable as of this moment.”

He mutters to himself before gritting his teeth. “And did you try bribing them with additional pay?” 

“We tried, sir,” the head says. “And with other compensation like a guaranteed column for next month’s column or brand partnerships, but they wouldn’t budge.”

Geto sighs loudly and slides a hand down his face in exasperation, fatigue visible. It’s currently 5:51pm and the magazine has yet to find a model to try and replace the perfume advertisement. The partnering modelling firms had absolutely no models to offer at the last minute and it was too late to try and get in contact with freelance models considering communication with them proved much more difficult than those in agencies. 

“What about recycling an older ad with a similar posed model and just photoshopping the fragrances out?” Geto suggests. 

It gets shot down immediately to his dismay. “Unfortunately, that’d be violating some copyright issues.”

You watch with fidgety hands as you stand next to Manami as your boss and the PR team examines the idea board carefully, trying ways to fill in the missing column. Of course, you could chime in with your own ideas, but with how stressed Geto is currently, you didn’t want to risk adding fuel to an already violent fire. 

Geto’s eyes scan the board left to right, taking in every single piece pinned onto it for some sort of genius idea, but nothing comes to him on the third try. A rigid silence fills the meeting room that keeps everyone on edge, anticipating his next move. When Geto finishes his fourth scan, in comes another blank page, until the corner of his eye catches you standing idly in the corner. 

His gaze moves to fixate on your squirming self as you attempt to look anywhere but his stare. It proves unsuccessful, however, considering that Geto calls your name and motions you to come forward.

Geto presents you like a doll of sorts to the PR team. “(Y/N) here seems to have similar proportions to her,” Geto says, keeping two firm, large hands on your shoulders. You shiver at the strange contact “What if we…?” 

One of the team members catches his drift uneasily.

“I don’t know Geto,” he starts as he stares at you incredulously, as if you’ve grown three heads all of a sudden. “Does your junior assistant even have any modelling experience?”

“Well no,” Geto confirms. “However, we’ve attempted to use all that we have available. I think this is our last resort.”

Somehow, you’re a little offended that your being is just simply a “last resort” to him, even if it is true. 

The PR team’s director's shifty eyes land on each of his team members with visible hesitation. With a cracked voice, he softly announces, “Well, technically speaking, there is… one more option.” 

Geto cocks his brow, his hands still firmly locked onto your shoulders with a whisper of a tighter grasp, as if you’re some sort of scurrying mouse ready to escape his hold at any given moment. “Well?”

The director’s mouth opens and closes for a given moment, attempting to choose the right words to say.

“Technically, we don’t have to use just our partnering agencies,” he begins quietly. There’s now a visible sweat misted on his receding hairline. 

The way Geto’s eyes narrow so suddenly makes everyone hold their breath for what comes next. Because, from the looks of it, everyone seems to know what the director is going to suggest and Geto’s reaction.

 “We’ve got contracts with every single management in the city. What? Are you saying we reach out to other cities’ talent managements? That’s rather tedious.”

“No, sir, that’s… not what I meant,” the director swallows thickly. “There’s technically one agency that we don’t have a con—”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Geto’s stern words ring loud and clear. While his voice volume is still the same as always—soft with an obvious austere to it—his words are tight and evident. The emphasis of the curse word gives more than just a sharp edge to it, leaving no room for negotiation. 

Yet, one of the female team members pries anyway. She was hired around the same time you were, but because she didn’t interact with Geto as much as you did, so she didn’t know about how no meant an absolute no when it came from Geto Suguru just yet. Poor thing.

“But this agency has an abundance of models to choose from at their hand!” she exclaims with wide, desperate eyes. “I do think it’s a better decision to contact Infi—”

“I said no.” Geto turns to her and gives her a hard scowl before she can even finish her words. “Do not even say the name around my presence. I have forbidden any contact with that agency for a good reason. They only bring trouble and mayhem and disorder. Remember the Mei Mei scandal? The Kinji Hakari incident?” 

Everyone except for you tightens their shoulders and lips at the mention of the particular models. This isn’t the first time you’ve been kept in the dark, since you’re still just as a new hire as the female team member, but something is telling you that this news is much more hush-hush than the other gossip you’ve heard. Geto sighs again, their tensing bodies giving him a clear answer.

“We have done well without them for how long this magazine has existed for the past few years under my leadership,” Geto says. “I see no need to get in contact with them when we have a perfectly good substitute right here.”

His hands pat your shoulders again to properly show you off once more. The PR team goes to scan you up and down with their beady eyes, mutters of half-confident approvals and some other comments that you’re a little offset by rumouring around the meeting room. 

The director eventually sighs and gives in, considering that there weren’t many hours left in the day and that he and his team just wanted to go home. “Okay, we’ll use your junior assistant for the replacement shoot. We’ll tell Miguel, the photographer, and the fashion stylists to get ready for her.” 

Geto turns to Manami. “Go with them. Just ensure that the creative team will not cause a fuss with the choosing of the model. We don’t have time to dabble in feuds now.”

Manami nods and begins to lead the PR team to the studio, leaving you and Geto in the awkward quietness of the meeting room. Eventually, he releases you from his grasp and lets you breathe normally once they all leave. 

Geto leans on the table and returns to rubbing his forehead, muttering to himself at what he just did. You plant your stiff self back to your original position firmly.

“Sir,” you cough out with a voice crack with the lack of use from your voice. A heat rushes to your face and you clear your throat to properly speak. “Sir… I… don’t think I’m the right choice for this job.”

Geto lifts his head up from his hand and stares at you dully. “Excuse me?”

A shiver goes down your spine. Of course you forgot your consciousness and dared to question the Geto Suguru, editor-in-chief of the powerhouse fashion magazine in the country. But… even so. There were some limitations that you dared to even ponder about and though you were a lowly assistant, you still deserved to try and voice your own opinion on this matter. 

Especially since you’re going to be affected in more ways than one.

“I…” you start slowly. Your gaze meets the carpet of the room to try and ease yourself out of the intimidating stare of your boss. “I truly don’t think I’m the right fit for this particular feat. Like what they mentioned, I don’t have any modelling experience and I’m sure it’d cause the shoot to be more prolonged than it should be.”

“You don’t need modelling experience for this,” Geto begins. “I’m not asking you to be a model. I’m asking you to be a replacement.”

The familiar odd hurt singes at you again when Geto labels you as nothing more than a prop. Something about him shoving you in a magazine filled with well-experienced and trained models feels like cramming a piece of plain cardboard in a nearly-done puzzle, its individual pieces adorned carefully with each other to create something beautiful and ornate, only to be interrupted by a spare piece of something that just barely imitates it. You may have all the right curves and edges crafted by Geto’s hands, but you know that you don’t belong properly amidst the magazine at the end of the day.

The perfume ad takes up three pages of the entire magazine—two pages for the actual photoshoot and one for the description of it along with its reviews—not much in comparison to the articles written in it. But it’s still enough to composite a significant chunk for the magazine. And enough to make you feel overexposed to a public that in your rational mind, is not going to give you a second glance much more so than the actual product when reading the magazine. 

But right now, that unwanted attention is all you can think about. 

“But still—” you start with a tight throat. “Manami might be a better suit than I am. Or quite literally anyone in the office.” 

“Manami has been feeling under the weather as of recently,” Geto interrupts and shakes his head. “If we had more time, believe me, I’d be searching for a better fit for the ad as well, but right now, given the current predicament and since most of the employees have gone home, we don’t have many options left.”

Geto turns to you and though his face remains stony, his iris eyes gleam with a hint of desperation. 

“You’re my best choice right now, (Y/N).”

Time goes still for a moment and you can hear a voice echo in the back of your mind as Geto gazes at you. 

“Have you modelled before?” 

When you blink, a crystalline blue pair of eyes flashes through your vision all of a sudden. You step back a little, slightly startled at the hazy vision you have of the “Gojo” man from earlier and his proclamation to you.

The tone of the man’s voice echoes through your mind. In a typical male fashion, that sort of sentence would most likely be played off as a flirtatious intent. But the way that he said it made it seem like some sort of actual encouragement, like an urge of sorts for you. It felt genuine. Sincere, even, as if he wanted you to do it for no one but yourself. 

And though as of now, you’d technically be doing it for Geto… you can’t help but feel an urge just to try it to see how you yourself would like it. To see whether or not you’d actually fit into the mold of a “model”—even an amateur one. 

You suppose… that there’s a first time for everything.

Shuffling your feet, you swallow the last bit of qualms down and let most of your nerves go, choosing to settle in what could be as of this moment. Even if you’re not ready for it, you think you should at least try. 

And in the end, if not for Geto, perhaps for yourself.

You lift your head up and lock eyes with Geto’s with a more determined look on your face. The hesitation is still faintly there, but the ghost of it is overpowered by your resolve.

“Okay.”

“Alright, now peek your eyes over the newspaper a little bit, sweetheart! Make it playful!” the photographer chimes as he readjusts his position with his camera. 

The photoshoot set is a makeshift cafe, to properly highlight the coffee and sugar notes of the new fragrance you hold in your hand. The backdrop is a fake interior window of the cafe looking out into a winter wonderland. Makeup and clothing took awhile to prosper considering you had to take off your previous makeup and let the MUAs do their magic on you and that you had to test multiple layered clothing sets before the photographer approved of the final one appropriate for the shoot. It didn’t help that you put up a fight to keep your glasses on and that the MUAs had to attempt a look that would highlight your features with your glasses.

You can’t tell whether it’s the nerves of you modelling for the first time or the heat of the lights that’s making you flushed. Something about the flashes of lights felt almost exhilarating to you. It’s foreign, but somehow, they embrace your being like a long lost friend of sorts. You have yet to get used to the blinding white lights from the flashes, but you only have to endure it for a good hour or so. The repetitive mantra of “You’re just trying this out.” echoes in your mind over and over again, even though you already know you seem to not be cut out for this sort of position.

It’s much too hot in the studio, you feel your body being rather awkward, and you don’t appreciate the onlookers that watch your every move as you reposition yourself to the photographer’s demands. You’ve already knocked over a couple of fake cappuccino mugs since your limbs still aren’t working correctly and you can’t seem to make the right facial expression to your degree.

It’s clear your nervousness is evident, considering you can see Geto discussing quietly with the creative director as they examine you closely from the corners of your eyes. 

“She’s rather… stiff,” the creative director mutters. “You sure there wasn’t anyone on call?”

Geto hums monotonously as he watches as you attempt to find the right position to try and capture your side profile while showing off the perfume itself. “If there were, they would’ve been here by now.”

“Yes I understand, but,” the director fights the urge to wince as your bracelet gets caught in the chair handle. “I don’t know if this shoot will be proper enough to display in the zine this issue. Can’t we just talk with them and discuss moving the ad to next month’s?”

“No, they’re releasing it the same day the issue comes out. They want people to know about it as soon as possible,” Geto murmurs. “To ask that from us is to ask them to push back their release date.  We don’t have that sort of power.”

The creative director sighs and silences himself, wallowing himself in a state of doubt as he and Geto continue to watch the scene before them. Perhaps it’s the state of weariness that Geto has accumulated from the past few days, but he genuinely doesn’t think you’re doing too bad of a job for your first (and probably last time, given the anxiety still within you) time modelling. He thinks the angles of your face hit the light just right when it counts properly, and that the clothes that drape you fit you more than accordingly; it’s surprising given that there was no time to tailor them to properly suit you but somehow, you made it work.

There are certain moments that your nerves fade from view when the director asks you to make a certain facial expression. The little surprised face you make when you hold the perfume up to your face was most likely the money shot, but there were much more shots that could be used for the ad that he didn’t anticipate. 

There was one where your eyes stared directly into the camera from a three-fourths angle, a certain warmth to them compelling him to look further into you. Another one was a mild bokeh effect of you sipping coffee from a mug from a lower point of view, where the perfume was fully into view. But Geto was still somehow locked onto your figure from the background despite how crystal clear the bottle was. Either way, there was still a plethora of good shots to use despite you not being a professional model.

“But I do have to admit,” the creative director starts slowly, capturing Geto’s attention and breaking him from his gaze as he fixates on you repositioning yourself on the cafe bench, legs crossed to show off the mocha boots that adorned your calves. “She’s not really all that bad. I can see some potential in her.”

Geto’s body remains still, but his eyes shift to stare at the director from the corner of his eye, watching carefully as he examines you from the set. He narrows his purple eyes as he picks up on a mild lip bite from the creative director as you shed the trenchcoat to reveal a black fitted mini dress with a turtleneck, a vintage cowboy belt cinching your waist. While you’re still modestly covered, it’s the way you show off your long legs emphasized by the short skirt of the dress and the fitted heeled boots.

“I wonder if she’s single…” the director murmurs so softly that Geto just barely picks up on it.

“I completely forgot,” Geto interrupts rather loudly, making the director’s fixed stare falter as the shoot continues. “I believe I left a file in regards to the perfume’s licensing in the meeting room. Would you mind getting it for me? I’ll keep an eye on the shoot.”

The creative director’s brows raise. “O-oh! Yes, of course. I’ll be right back then.”

Geto watches as the director shuffles out of the room and out of view from you. Truth be told, the file was finalized a while ago. But something about how the director was looking at you made Geto wary of his intentions with you, if he had any at all.

Something about it made him a little aware that your temporary spotlight shone a bit brighter than he originally thought it’d be.

The shoot finishes up within the next hour, giving the team a good handful of images to choose from for the column before the issue is printed. Manami is with you in the dressing room as the MUAs carefully take off your makeup and reveal your raw face to everyone, peeling away the heavy amounts of concealer that hide the darkness embedding the rim of your undereyes.

“Christ, how many hours did you sleep last night?” she questions when you give a large yawn.

“I should be asking you that question,” you quietly remark back, studying her equally tired features. “If anything, you need the rest more than I do.”

Manami had been feeling quite ill as of recently, possibly due to the colder weather. She claimed that it was just the new diet she had been trying out to properly fit into the dress that she was planning to wear for the charity gala, but it was clear that no diet was capable of causing stuffy noses, consistent sneezing, and a mild fever. You had encouraged her to try and take some medicine and go home yesterday, but she specifically said that, “Geto will have a guillotine ready come tomorrow morning if I dare to even think about taking a day off right now.”

“I’m fine,” she sniffs with half-assurance as she snatches a tissue from nearby. “Besides, people say you burn more calories when you’re sick so hopefully I can lose another half inch off my waist by tomorrow.”

“Oh, so you admit you’re sick,” you point out with a mild smirk.

 “I-I’m not sick—!” she falters before her nose begins to twitch. “Ahchoo!”

You hum, ignoring her protests. It’s currently nearing seven in the evening, and you’re sure that work is just beginning to wrap up as of this moment. Thankfully, everyone agreed to do the work for the perfume ad tomorrow before the finalized issue is shipped to print, but you still had to edit some articles, as well as help Geto still gather materials for his newest fashion line that he only tended to work on in the evenings of the weekdays.

He leaves earlier than you and Manami do, since he often piles the nonsensical work to you and her. You wouldn’t be surprised if he left the office without another word considering he was attempting to push out his new line by the end of next month.

In the past few months, you can’t say your work as a journalist has improved since your time at Kaizen, but you can at least say that your friendship with Manami has blossomed and sailed a little more smoothly than your first few weeks of working with each other. She was still a little snippy towards those below her like the college interns and the other entry-level employees, but you were specifically her junior, so you suppose it gave you special access to a much more kind, yet still sassy, side of her.

You spot the paleness of Manami’s usually glossed lips and how fatigued she looked. It didn’t help that the dressing room was quite warm so she looked rather blushed in the face. She leans back on the couch and puts a hand over her eyes to block out the glaring white light of the vanity.

“God, shut that thing off,” she quips as she lazily wags a finger to the vanity lights. “Feels like I’m staring right into the Sun itself.”

The lights are turned off and the room dims. You chew on your lip before deciding to sacrifice your time a little longer in order to help her out since you knew how badly she wanted to attend tomorrow’s charity gala and show off her new Emilio Pucci dress.

“You should go home,” you say quietly. “Get some rest before tomorrow. I can take care of the Book and the rest of his bullshit.”

She chuckles at your mild cursing regarding you-know-who. “Yes, because that went great last time…”

“I swear I won’t mess up again! That day was just out for me, I swear,” you pout, “But really, you should go home and get some sleep. I know you’re gonna come in tomorrow regardless of what I say, so at the very least take some medicine and sleep.” 

Manami pokes an eye out of her hand to study your pleading ones. She gives in rather easily, sighing heavily. “Fine. But if you mess up anything, it’s all on you,” she states pointedly and unlocking her phone to notify Geto you’ll be taking care of her duties tonight. 

She shortly leaves the office when you clean yourself back up to your day’s attire. The company car comes promptly on time and you begin to wave goodbye to her, but she opens the window halfway and motions you with a shaky finger to come forward.

“No funny business,” she mutters sternly through her mask. “I mean it. He’ll have your head first, then mine if you pull anything.”

“I swear, nothing will happen,” you promise to her. “Now go home. Or else that that cold will be taking more than just a half inch off your waist.” 

She rolls her eyes but you can see the faintest grateful grin from the inside of her mask as she rolls the window back up. You watch until the black car disappears from view and into the city traffic before you go back into the office to wait for the Book to be finalized with its editors.

It reaches your hands eventually just a quarter to 10:00pm, a little earlier than expected. Another company car comes by and picks you up to get his dry-cleaning as well, and you arrive at Geto’s apartment just shy of 10:30pm. 

The heavy doors seem much more intimidating the second time around. Perhaps it’s because they knew what happened last time and are just waiting to see what incident occurs today this time around. But you shake your head out of your apprehensiveness and decide the only thing that will be happening behind those doors is just you placing the Book down on his coffee table and leaving to go home and sleep before D-Day.

The entrance was the same as always—decorated with a great assortment of artistry of different mediums. In the corner was the marble dragon and beside it was the archived Basquiat piece that must’ve cost an arm and leg to purchase for the typical person. Up ahead was the entrance to the living room and in the center of it stood the coffee table. 

The coffee table. 

All you have to do is just simply put the Book on the coffee table.

Then leave.

Then just leave. Do not do anything more than that. 

“No funny business.” Manami’s warning chimes in your mind again with each step you take to the living room. 

“No funny business,” you repeat to yourself under your breath, clutching the Book tightly to your chest as if it was the most fragile thing on earth.

You eventually reach the beginning of the living room and spot the very ottoman that had caused you to have a much more humiliating night than anticipated during that one day you were given the simple task of dropping off the Book from Geto himself. You hadn’t been asked to do so since then, shamefully. It’s tucked away safely on the side of the sofa, meaning you had to intentionally yourself into it to try and re-enact your foolishness again. 

The coffee table stands before your knees and you stare at yourself in the reflection of its glass.

“No funny business.”

You gingerly put the Book down on the center of the coffee table, your fingertips brushing against the many pages of its draft and a relief begins to fill your nerves the moment you’re about to break contact with it…

… until a familiar voice calls to you just as your fingers let go.

“(Y/N)?” Geto calls from above. “Is that you?”

You freeze on the spot. You swore to yourself and Manami that there would be no funny business today, and you were doing such a good job! Did you accidentally leave mud tracks behind? There wasn’t any rain today. Did you leave something else at the office that you needed to bring? No, Manami said he only needed the book… so did you do anything at all that would cause your boss to randomly call out to you during such a menial task?

With a rigid neck, you turn to him slowly with a pained smile and the Book officially set on the coffee table. “Yes, hello. Sorry to interrupt… I was just dropping off the Book.”

Geto peers down at you from the second floor’s staircase. He’s shed his waist coat and has left himself in his grey button up that’s relieved of three buttons at the top, just shyly showing the beginning of his chest and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A rare sight—considering that Geto was often covered from head to toe in fabrics then even seeing him in a short sleeved shirt was a rarity.

“I see,” he says, scanning you from above with his cat-like eyes. 

You don’t know what to do. You just needed to drop the Book off and you were so unbelievably close to completing it without trouble. “Did you… did you happen to need something else by any chance?” you ask nervously.

“Ah, well,” Geto starts to your dismay. He pauses palpably before motioning you to come up. “I actually may need your aid on a piece I’m working on. Come upstairs.”

And miraculously, your throat closes up as you struggle not to burst into tears.

All you wanted to do is just drop the Book off! 

Despite all the curses that marathon through your head that you aim at your boss, you gather up the courage to shove down any questions of doubt and take your tired legs up the winding staircase. Something is telling you that this is a trick—that when you reach the top, Geto is actually just standing there with your termination letter, telling you that you forgot a vital rule to never go anywhere more than the living room in his house. But because you can rarely ever refute your boss in an effort to spare your sanity, you do as he says willingly like an obedient dog.

By the time you reach the top, there is no pink slip for him to display to you, but instead is an open door that faces the staircase directly. Inside, Geto stands in front of something, and you can see a tape measure around his neck more clearly, as well as a pin cushion on his wrist that usually holds an expensive watch. The room itself is rather large, with a variety of supplies garnered across a pegged wall with rolls of fabric decorating two of the walls. It’s Geto’s atelier room for his fashion line, you detail, the one that he stormed out of with Shigemo that time you had to drop off the Book. 

Without turning around, Geto calls to you, “Well don’t just stand there.”

Another thick swallow just barely passes through your dry throat. You prompt out an apology and slowly shuffle into his studio, where you see where the magic happens much more clearly and what exactly he was crafting on so late at night.

Geto moves aside for you to take a proper look at the mannequin adorned in a beautiful A-line black dress with a square neckline and ghostly, sheer sleeves. Around the waist was a loose string of pearls with a matching pearl necklace. It was a simple-looking dress from afar, but up close, you can tell that only a creative genius like Geto himself was capable of making something so minimalistic look so regal.

“Oh my…” you murmur softly as Geto pins a piece into place in its sleeve. “It’s beautiful.”

Geto hums flatly.

“I’m glad you like it,” he begins as he lifts his head to properly face you. One of his arms goes to lean against it (are those tattoos?) and you can feel his eyes scan you up and down like what he usually does in the morning as he examines your outfit. But something about this particular feat feels a little more intimate than usual, and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “You don’t happen to have an outfit for tomorrow’s gala, do you?”

“Well, um,” you mumble, fidgeting with your fingers. Initially, you were just going to use a plain white, sleeveless dress you had used for a work party you spoiled yourself with before you left your former workplace since it was a rather expensive and nice dress, but as you second-guess, you’re sure Geto wouldn’t approve of a dress that you had bought on clearance at the nearby outlet mall. So you meekly reply with, “... no, not really.”

You’re expecting some sort of scolding from him, possible Geto telling you that you need to be more prepared for such an event and that the last few days’ events were no excuse for sloppy planning, but instead, you’re even more startled when he says something completely unexpected that makes your eyes widen beyond your glasses’s frames.

“Good,” he says and gestures to his creation. “Because I want you to wear this for tomorrow night.”

↩ previous chapter next chapter ↪

a/n ; i have rewatched the devil wears prada for the 123894th time before the year ends and have decided to bring this series back to life because i think it's much to good to give up on 🙂↕️ i don't know if i'll start a taglist just yet, but maybe, we shall see.

i'll also will be using she/her pronouns with an afab-hinted!body from this point on. i'm also still in debate of writing smut since 1) i'm not very good at writing it, 2) i don't usually like to write it lol, and 3) but i still do consider it as some sort of breaking point eventually between geto and reader. so if there will be in the future, it will be tagged and most likely will be extremely mild.

thank you for reading as always! i hope you enjoyed this chapter and this series so far. likes, comments, and reblogs are always noticed and heavily appreciated! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ !!! until next time!

[anarchomitsumi]

going back to the big question on ch65—when shima is disappointed that what mitsumi likes about him is his "kind façade"—i find it such an interesting problem.

shima HAS put on the kind facade to get mitsumi to like him. but the thing is—that's just what you do when you have a crush !! you do nice things for that person to get them to like you !

shima seems completely incapable of differentiating when he's putting on a front, and when he's being genuinely kind. he picked up the people-pleasing habit as a child, and now he doesn't know when he does it as a reflex and when he genuinely wants to be nice to someone. he doesn't understand how his kindness towards mitsumi is any different.

what he doesn't realize though, is that he's been genuinely kind to her since the beginning.

accompanying her to the student council even if he wasn't going to join himself

going to starmax with her because she said she'd always wanted to go, and helping her to become friends with makoto.

taking her goals seriously and promising to support each other with their future aspirations (my fave scene forever and ever)

going to the zoo together and hoping she'll come to love tokyo !

and he's not only been kind to mitsumi, but to mika too. noticing when she was feeling insecure and acknowledging her great style. telling her to aim for top during the volleyball tournament, and in the process reassuring her that she doesn't need to hold back her ambitions or her strong character to be likeable. and many more—to many people around him.

at some point in the upcoming chapters, shima is gonna have to realize that "being kind to someone so they'll be kind back" isn't emotional manipulation—it's just what getting to know someone is like. plain and simple. he isn't sick n twisted and tricking his friends into liking him, they just happen to like him.

the fake kindness was a problem in the begging, when he genuinely used it as a facade and didn't express any of his actual feelings. or with many of his classmates, that—like I've talked about before—see him as a status symbol rather than a person. but with mitsumi and his friends, he's kind to them and they're kind right back.

shima's problem with his own kindness doesn't really stop there, though. the actual underlying problem is the sentiment that he isn't a good person. he sees himself as a manipulative monster (re: self-identification with frankestein's monster), so no affection coming from him could ever be well meaning.

however, if he stopped for a second he'd realize that his wishes to become a better person—"i want to be as emotionally brave as mitsumi", "i want be confident in my kindness", and "i want to encourage others more"—have more to so with....self-confidence than anything else (i say at the risk of sounding like a scamming life coach). he ought to accept he is good, too. not he "could be good", he is good. already.

and if skip and loafer is good at something, it's at making its characters change their perspectives on others. like in the first chapters makoto stopped thinking of yuzu as too popular to understand her, mika stopped feeling so jelous of the other girls or looking down at mitsumi, and shima stopped thinking of mitsumi as naive—or how ujie has recently stopped viewing shima as shallow—skip and loafer tells us new poeple are usually not as antagonistic as we initially think. maybe shima will apply that sentiment to himself soon. after all, when mitsumi says she's been saved by his kindness, it's because she has her reasons.

[ar-ghilas-vir-banal]

You know what. I’m calling myself out here. I got to thinking about it and I’m going to walk this back.

Flemythal is the embodiment of Mythal’s wrath and vengeance, if I’ve understood correctly. The piece of her that could be ruthless and cruel. But Flemmeth looks like, well, Flemmeth. Her voice is her own. Her body is her own. The fact that she leans into this side of Mythal speaks to her own disposition.

The form we see as being Mythal is what she looked like. She was a spirit of benevolence. She was called the All-Mother. Those are soft things. Gentle things. And in whatever way (I personally think as a son to a mother but whatever) Solas loved her, it was that face and voice that drew him from the Fade. The gentle, beautiful, soft spoken person who told him she loved him and that they were dearest friends and “oh no this mark doesn’t brand you as a slave, my dear friend, just every single other person who wears it, I promise” and he believed her.

And he obeyed her wishes.

This is the person who turned away from him and joined the Evanuris despite Solas’ begging, building a home for her, trusting her. She’s the one he grieved and tried to avenge.

The powerful dominating presence was absolutely there but it was tempered by the other parts of her. Wielded with soft words and a gentle face.

My comment about “he’s afraid of YOU?!” is one made by a person just seeing a picture. Solas had thousands of years to know her. This is the woman who, and I quote: “Pulled you from the Fade you loved and sent you into war. I used your wisdom as a weapon and it broke you.”

She stole him from his home.

- It’s fine, I love you, you’re going to love it. I need you.

She threw him into war. War. War is hell is a saying for a reason. It is. Now imagine centuries of it. Solas went from existing happily in the Fade to WAR. The worst experiences a person can live through, he went right into as a new, spirit-born elf. I can’t even imagine.

- You’re helping me, you’re doing the right thing, you’re making a difference, Wisdom. Wear my brand. Yes it’s usually for slaves but… just do it. For me. You know I love you, right?

She twisted his purpose from Wisdom to Destruction. If you’ve played his personal quest in Inquisition, you know how horrible this is for a spirit. It’s torture. It’s torment. It’s enough for them to wish to die.

- But it’s so necessary, love. We have to win this, or it’s all ruin. Make me a weapon for my war. Serve me and know I love you. You’re fine. Enjoy yourself. Don’t you like the power? Don’t you like how strong you feel, Pride? I brought you here. I’m why you have it! I made you.

So when we come to the end and he’s cowering before her as if she’s about to do it all again, and she just “oh, I broke you… you’re free. We both did so many bad things together because you did everything I required because you loved me… you can stop now, I guess :)” I have to feel like Morrigan was just staring holes in the woman’s back and yanked her back into that idol as quickly as she could. You abused me the same way you did him and now that he’s good and crushed by the final realization that all this suffering was for nothing because you were too stupid to listen TO THE VOICE YOU PULLED FROM THE FADE BECAUSE HE IS WISDOM EMBODIED and got yourself killed, you won’t be touching him again.

Let this poor man go home and take his wife, thank whatever gods there be for her, and leave them alone. Oh and you know what super funny? They’re still going to be cleaning up your mess there too.

I completely understand why every analysis about Mythal in DA:TV is so intense, whether pointing to her as an abuser towards Solas, or whether saying they should share responsibility for all the shit they did, but in truth, the only thing that makes me hate her most is her character visual design.

too Barbie'd for me. Ghilly steals her lunch at school

this woman though. "and I will have her avenged" in Kate Mulgrew's voice. we are in awe when we see her. we fear her.

it is said that Flemeth's fragment has been improving over the years. clearly this has also occurred in the aesthetics. girl, it's called fashion

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Heart on a Chain (Scrooge!Aemond x Reader)

Christmas day and a recently rediscovered ring bring unpleasant and unwanted memories.

Pairing: Ebenezer Scrooge-coded Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Angst :(

Author's note: The guy that played young Scrooge at the Christmas Carol I went to today was hot and the way he carried himself reminded me of Aemond so... here we are. Wrote this in less than two hours lmao.

-

Heart on a Chain

Christmas Day.

For the past two years, Aemond had not given more than a passing thought to the holiday. That thought being annoyance at having to pay his employees a full day’s wages for no work.

It was just another day. He woke, read the papers while he ate, then went to the office. He balanced the books, double-checked the work of his clerks, and inspected the warehouse’s stock. He sat with his business partner and discussed new prospects.

Even now, Cole was telling him about a potential new partnership he’d identified. A newly founded firm, desperate for reputable clients, would be almost too easy to maneuver into a contract that would heavily favor Targaryen & Cole. Ordinarily, Aemond would be eager to sink his teeth into the prospect, but now…

Now, he could not focus on Cole’s words. He could not bear to look at the pages of figures strewn on the table before them. He couldn’t even remember the name of the new firm, or what it was they did.

His entire world had faded to the ring that sat in his pocket.

Dull, cheap gold set with a pathetically small cabochon – he didn’t remember what the stone was, just that it was vaguely red. It looked ridiculous against the fine gold chain he’d purchased. That was the reason it remained in his pocket, rather than around his neck, he told himself.

It certainly wasn’t because he was afraid to see it out in the open, to be reminded of the slender hand it had once graced and the woman it had belonged to.

He hadn’t thought of her in years. Had not let himself, from the moment the door closed behind her. The same door that now loomed behind Cole, where the dented brass bell swayed slightly from the draft, just as it had three Christmases past…

“Aemond?”

He held back a sigh. Why did she have to come now? He was busy, as he told her he would be. He did not want to be disturbed, as he also told her. He had even agreed to go to Christmas dinner at her parent’s house that evening to ensure she would not bother him during the day.

Yet, here she was.

“Yes, dearest?” he called as he climbed off the ladder. Best to be sweet now, to soothe whatever mood had taken her this time. If she came all the way down to Cornhill and made it past Cole in the office, she must be in quite the state.

Indeed, as she found him amongst the massive rows of shelves, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shone with tears that sparkled with the reflection of his lamp. Still, she was beautiful. If only she would content herself with what he had to do to ensure the security of their life together.

She stopped, straightening her shoulders. Her furious blinking betrayed the fact that she was battling her tears to keep them from falling. “Aemond, we need to speak.”

“I assume there is something particular you wish to speak about?” He was distracted as he walked toward her, the label on one of the crates he passed catching his eye.

That order was supposed to be shipped out days ago. He’d dock Cargyll’s wages by half this week for allowing such a major error. The recipient of this shipment was very particular and would undoubtedly complain that his goods were late.

“We must discuss our agreement,” her voice, now bordering on shrill, reclaimed his attention.

What was there to discuss? He’d agreed to go to her house after he finished work at six, and… damn. When he pulled his watch from his waistcoat, he found it was already half-past seven. Still, dinner wouldn’t be served until eight. He had time. “I admit I’m running late, but with all the workers out for the holiday – ”

“Not about that agreement, Aemond. About our engagement.” A heavy stone settled in Aemond’s stomach, chill as ice. She continued, “I cannot help but feel that an idol has displaced me in your affections.”

The stone turned hot and rancid with anger. “And what is this idol, may I ask?”

“A golden one.” Her tears vanished, replaced with cold righteousness. “Wealth and power, and everything else your father denied you.”

“Is it a sin to seek security? To endeavor to escape the cruel grasp of poverty and helplessness?”

She came closer to him, setting a gloved hand on his arm. He had to resist the urge to pull away. “Your fear and resentment have overpowered your nobler aspirations,” she said softly. “Now, your only passion is gaining more and more, beyond what is necessary.”

Aemond took her hand, suppressing the urge to seize her shoulders and shake sense back into her. “Even if that were true, I am not changed toward you.”

To his horror, she pulled away, shaking her head.

“Dearest?”

She flinched as if the word struck her. “Our agreement was made long ago. When we were poor and in love and content to remain so.”

“I was a boy, then,” he scoffed.

“And I loved that boy!” She fell quiet for a moment, turning away from him when he reached for her. “But that boy is gone, and my heart aches for him. It is in his memory that I release you from our agreement.”

Until that moment, Aemond had nearly forgotten he had a heart. But her words shattered it, and pain wracked through his chest. Juvenile fear and distress took hold of him. He approached her, oblivious to her feeble attempts to move away, and took her in his arms. “Dearest, I do not understand. Have I ever sought release?”

“Not with words.”

“In what, then?”                     

She finally faced him again, and he knew he would never forget the horrible sight of her heartbreak and disdain – disdain for him. “In a changed nature and spirit. You do not look at me as you used to, Aemond. I used to feel beautiful when you looked at me, but now, I feel like a burden saddled upon you.”

“That is not true,” he begged.

“Tell me, honestly,” her gaze and voice steadied, even as tears spilled down her soft cheeks. “If you were to make the choice today, would you choose a dowerless girl?”

Aemond wanted to say no. But the world would not form. All he could say was, “You think not.”

The tension in her body vanished, her shoulders sagging and her head drooping. She looked up at him with despairing conviction. “With a full heart, for the love of who you once were, I release you.” She backed away from him, and his heart went with her. “May you be happy in the life you have chosen.”

She had only taken three steps away when he called her name, extending a hand to her.

But when she set her hand in his, he harshly pulled away.

He extended his hand once more. “My ring.”

It was her ring, he knew. It always was and always had been, even when he had forgotten about it. It was likely why, that night, he had thrown it carelessly into a dresser drawer to get it out of his sight. To forget the pain that had been contained within that strange, reddish stone.

But his maid had found it three days prior and given it to him, unleashing all that pain back into the heart-shaped hole in his chest. It was ruining him, that pain, clouding his mind and stealing away his better judgment.

“Aemond?” Cole’s voice was filled with annoyance. “Have your senses fled with the workers? What is wrong with you?”

Wrong? Nothing was wrong with him. Something was missing. She was missing. “Forgive me, Cole,” he said. “I must have eaten something odd. I’m afraid I am out of sorts.”

“Well, you’re no use like this. Go home. Come back all the earlier tomorrow, though!”

Aemond was already out the door, his coat only half-buttoned.

Home. He needed to go home, eat a hot meal, and go to bed early. Yes, a good rest would fix whatever had gone wrong inside him. He just needed to get home.

His feet didn’t take him home. They carried him to a place that he may once have called home but no longer. Equally traitorous, his hand raised in a fist to knock on the door he once would have entered without a second thought.

A cheering from beyond the door halted his movements, and Aemond moved to glance through the nearest window.

There she was. Just as radiant as he remembered. Even more so, for she smiled.

She smiled at the babe she held in her arms.

A babe who bore the same smile as its mother. But its eyes and hair were different. Those had been inherited not from its mother but from the father who stood behind the child and mother, looking on them both with unabashed adoration and pride.

Aemond had looked at her in much the same way, when he had been capable of feeling such things.

All the air left his chest. Had he ever been able to breathe? Perhaps he would die before he remembered how to. Part of him wanted to.

But somehow, he pulled enough air into his lungs to fuel his body as he walked across town to his own home. He ate his dinner, read the evening papers, and retreated to his bedroom. There, he readied himself for bed. Yes, a good night’s rest would cure him of this ailment.

He did not realize until he laid upon his bed that the cool metal of a chain rested against his skin.

If he could not bear his heart in his chest, he would wear it around his neck.

[getthehexstrap]

You're the girl that I want.

Stalker!jinx x fem!reader

summary: jinx sees a pretty girl walking down the streets of zaun one day, she decides then that she's going to have you no matter what it takes.

warnings: stalking, kinda perv!jinx (sorry...) voyeurism, mentions masturbation, dom!jinx, bondage, wlw makeout sesh you're welcome, fingering (r!receiving), clit play, degradation, dumbification, choking, dirty talk, reader is lowkey (highkey) just as freaky as jinx

genre: smut

a/n: this kinda has a weird plot, i've never written in this style so bare with me. the smut also isn't my best i wrote it in a rush but either way, i hope you all enjoy 💋

not proofread

MDNI

Your boots clicked against the wet ground of Zaun as you made your way home after your night shift at The Last Drop. The streets were pretty much empty, only littered with the homeless and drunks.

Footsteps could be heard faintly behind you but you paid no mind to it, figuring it just to be someone else taking the same route as you.

Jinx saw you leaving the bar as she was also on her own way home. Her eyes were set on you the moment she saw your pretty face, and the tight outfit that hugged your body just right.

She wanted you, and instead of walking up to you like a normal person, she decided she was going to follow you home— to make sure you got there safe, of course. No other reason.

♡

A deep sigh echoed throughout the room as you sunk into the warmth of your bath. Your head leaned against the back of the tub, eyes closing gently as you let your stress just leave your body. After, you wrapped yourself in a towel and grabbed your dirty clothes from the floor.

You looked through your dresser in just your underwear, back free as you looked for a shirt. The sound of a stick cracking outside your window caught your attention instead, but as you turned your head, there was nothing there. Must've been an animal.

Turning back to your dresser, you come to realize that all of your sleep shirts were dirty. "Fuck." You sighed under your breath. Exhausted, you just decided to go to bed how you were.

°○°○

Days later, you're back in your bed, fast asleep after the rough shift you had tonight.

Your blanket rested at your hips, moonlight peeking through your window and casting over your chest.

Jinx was mesmerized, eyes set on you. She's just making sure you're safe, people are crazy. She can't risk anything happening to her pretty girl.

She stared at the way your breasts sat so beautifully in your small tank, how peaceful you looked, the way your hand rested on your lower stomach.

You shuffled in your sleep, face scrunching softly. Jinx raised an eyebrow as she watched your shuffling continue, until your eyes fluttered open. She watched in a trance from her place in one of the bushes by your window as your hand moved the blanket.

Your black panties hugged your hips, your top stopping right above your belly button, giving her the perfect view of your body.

One hand traveled lower as the other began to tease one of your nipples through your shirt.

Your fingers traced over your clothed slit slowly as you tucked your lip between your teeth. Jinx's eyes were set on that hand specifically, wishing it was hers as she watched it slip underneath the material.

♡

It had been a month.

Jinx hadn't made any moves, she just followed, and watched. This time though, things were different. She got in.

While you were taking your nightly bath, she snuck in through your window.

Now, she's peeking through the crack of the door, scanning over you as you rest your head against the tub. She watches again as your hand slips between your thighs.

By the time you get out, she's back outside your window without a trace.

°○°○

A couple days pass and this has now become Jinx's routine. Sneak in, sneak out. This time, she stayed.

So, to your surprise when you leave the bathroom in only a towel to find a girl sitting in the corner of your room, you don't know whether to scream or run. She stares at you intensely, gaze solely locked on you.

You open your mouth to scream, but in a pink flash she's behind you with her hand wrapped around your mouth.

"Shh, pretty baby. Don't be scared, I'm not gonna hurt you." Jinx spoke softly in your ear, trying to calm you down.

You relax a bit but still tremble against her front, fear coursing through you. Jinx removes her hand slowly, and when she's confident you won't scream she rests her hands on your waist.

"W-what are you- who are you?" You ask with a shaky voice, you think you've seen her somewhere before just not sure where. Jinx giggles darkly as she brushes hair away from your neck with her nose. "Don't worry about that, just wanna play with ya, toots." She whispers before peppering kisses along your neck.

Your body betrays your minds fight to not break and cave to how good her lips feel against your skin when she gently nibbles on your sensitive spot, and its been so long since you've had someone to do this for you. You gasp at the feeling, eyes fluttering as if you're in some daze and you don't have a stranger in your house doing this to you.

The daze wears off, and you gain some composure again as you scream. "Get away from me!" Trying to get out of her strong grip. "Fuckin' stay still." She groans into your neck before gripping it with her hand, tight enough to make your head feel dizzy.

"Be a good girl f'me and stay still, or else I'll have to hurt you— and neither of us want that, do we?" Jinx makes her voice sound so sweet, almost innocent, it almost has you believing her. "You're— You're crazy!" You try squirming again, instantly regretting it when her grip tightens around your throat, and you can't get a single noise out.

Jinx's eyes are angry. "What did I say?" She growls in your ear, cheek pressed against yours.

Your eyes flutter closed, and it doesn't go unnoticed when your thighs absent-mindedly squeeze together on their own. Jinx giggles again, using one of the hands on your waist to grab one of your thighs, spreading you open. You cave, letting her. You know it's crazy, but for some reason you don't care.

"Oh, I'm gonna have so much fun with you."

♡

You haven't seen her since, she left after that. It had been two weeks, and to be honest, you think you missed it.

But, it was the most 'exciting' thing that had happened to you in months. You missed the adrenaline rush. You missed the fear the she rose in you. You missed how good she made you feel while barely doing anything. How she smelled. The way her hands gripped your throat. The way she looked at you like you were the prettiest thing she'd ever seen.

You knew it was insane, but you wanted it back. So you waited, content that you wouldn't freak out again, but she didn't come back. Not for months. You still had moments where you felt someone watching you. The hairs that stood up on the back of your neck when you were taking a bath, but when you turned around there was no one there.

So, you stopped waiting. You decided, as crazy as it was, you would look for her.

You spent a week asking around if anyone's seen a girl with bright blue braids and pink eyes, and even at the mention, people would go wide-eyed and not give you an answer.

That was until you started asking at work, word got to Sevika, so word got to Jinx.

You got home that night, sighing as you threw your bags on your bed. Taking your hair down, you look in the bathroom mirror, jumping when you saw her reflection. You spun around quickly, heart thumping in your chest, just like you wanted.

"Heard someone's been asking for me. Miss me already, toots?" Jinx teases, slowly sauntering towards you. She stops at your feet, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Your chest heaves as your breathing gets quicker and heavier, the adrenaline coursing through you all over again. You look up at her, eyes big and your lips parted. "You look so pretty when you're scared, baby." She coos, hand gripping your jaw.

Jinx stares down at you, tilting her head in curiosity. "Now why was the one screaming for me to get away, looking for me?" Her eyes have a glint of mischief in them as she inches closer.

She glances to your lips once before looking back to your eyes. You involuntarily follow, eyes gazing at her pretty pink lips for a second too long. "Oh, I see." Jinx smirks before lifting your chin up and leaning in, lips softly brushing against yours.

You were the one who closed the gap, pressing your lips against hers desperately. Your hands grasp the back of her head, pulling her closer. Jinx's hands grip your waist as she returns the kiss, gently biting your bottom lip. You moan softly, pulling back with dilated pupils and heavy breaths.

Another kiss is placed on her again, pushing her out of the bathroom as you do.

She pulls your shirt off in the process, and unclasps your bra so easily it's almost concerning.

She twists, shoves your bags off the bed and pushes you down on the mattress. Her eyes are wide, and you swear they're glowing. She grins before crawling up to hover over you, meeting you in another kiss.

Your lips part in a gasp, giving her an opening to slip her tongue in and she takes it. You moan into the kiss again, placing your hands on her back. Your heart is racing again, and your head feels dizzy from the rush of it all. This is insane.

She bites your bottom lip again and your hips buck against hers. She pulls back slowly, a small string of saliva connecting you together. Your eyes are heavy as you look up at her again. She smirks, hands tracing down your stomach before she stops at your hips. She mumbles something incoherently, unbuttoning your jeans for an unexpected second time now.

Your breathing is quick, and your chest moves up and down with each breath. Jinx looks up, noticing the soft pants from your direction. "I can hear you breathing. Nervous, baby?" She tilts her head, studying you. You nod slowly, eyes never leaving hers.

Jinx pouts as she slips her hand into your pants, slowly cirling over your panties. "Poor baby, don't be scared. You know I won't hurt you, unless you make me." Her eyes stare into yours, almost promising her previous words. You swallow hard, nodding as you try not to make any noise.

Jinx leans forward to kiss up your stomach as her hand slips under your panties, met with your soaked cunt. She giggles, but doesn't say anything. Your heart is beating so fast she can hear it.

Kisses trace up your skin, stopping right between your breasts. Her eyes are locked on you as she sucks a nipple between her lips. A soft whine leaves from your parted lips as you watch, the ache between your legs becoming unbearable.

Teeth scrape across your sensitive nipple and you hiss, hips squirming. "Movin' too much." Jinx groans, sitting up between your legs as she reaches in your nightstand, pulling out a rope and handcuffs.

You look at her confused, knowing they're not yours. She giggles as she shrugs. "Left these here last time after you fell asleep, incase I ever needed them." She says it so casually it makes you feel like your heads spinning.

Before you know it, your wrists are handcuffed and placed above your head, and you're stripped of your pants with your ankles tight to either bed post. If you were nervous before, you're definitely terrified now. You hadn't expected this at all, but the burn of the rope against your skin and the way she's eyeing you down sends a rush of excitement to your pussy.

Currently, jinx is rested between your legs, eyes bearing into yours as she sucks on your thighs. She's dangerously close to your core, ghosting over it as she switches between thighs. She's teasing now, wanting to see how far she can push you.

Finally, you break. You desperately try to thrust your hips towards her but fail, completely stuck in your position. That realization sends a ping of worry through you, but it's quickly forgotten about when her middle finger swipes through your cunt, collecting the wetness by your entrance before she drags it up towards your clit. Jinx's finger rubs tight, quick circles against your sensitive bud, relishing in your whines and pleas for more.

Completely lost in the feeling, it catches you off guard when she spits on your clit before slowly rubbing it in, watching the way it mixes with your arousal. Your lips part in a soft gasp. "Dirty girl, letting me touch you like this and you don't even know me." Jinx murmers, lips kissing your thigh again as she watches the way your body reacts to her rubs and occasional pinches.

Minutes pass and you're thrashing, trying anything to get her to finally fuck you. Your whines and whimpers do nothing but boost her ego as you pathetically beg for her, mind going dumb as you crave more.

"P-please baby.. need more." You mewl, squirming as she giggles against the inside of your thigh, middle finger still restlessly rubbing at your clit. At this point your cunt is leaking onto the sheets, a wet patch of your arousal painted right below you. "Shhh. Take what I give you, slut." She bites down on your thigh, leaving a mark.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes, so close yet so far to being able to reach that edge. "Please, I need you inside of me." It comes out in a whimper, and you can't even bring yourself to be embarrassed anymore. Jinx finally moves her hand lower, teasingly circling your entrance with two fingers.

"Want me here, hm?" She looks up at you, a playful look in her eyes as she pushes in for a split second before pulling back out. "Answer me." Jinx's voice is dark, and her touch becomes harsher. "Ye— yes. Please?"

Jinx can't help it. It's not her fault you look so cute, all soaked and vulnerable, completely at her mercy. She wants to draw this moment out for as long as she can, and she knows the moment her fingers slip inside of you and bring you to that peak, it's over.

Either way, she obliges, deciding that the sounds of your pleasure are much better than your pathetic ones of desperation. Jinx's fingers pump into you slowly, and she swears she could've came right then and there at the loud moan she just ripped from you. She wanted more of those.

Her fingers pump into you faster, filling you up and stretching you out. She's mesmerized by the way your walls suck her fingers back in every time she goes to pull her fingers out a little. "You're practically swallowing me up, toots! Has it really been that long since you've been properly fucked?" She teases, glancing up to see the look on your face.

Your eyes are lidded, brows softly furrowed in pleasure, lips parted as quiet whines leave them, and you're staring right back at her.

Jinx curls her fingers, pressing against that spot that makes you feel lightheaded. She pulls another loud moan from you, only this time she got it while you staring into her eyes.

That had Jinx hooked.

She repeatedly curled her fingers into that spot, all while thrusting her fingers into you at a speed you'd never experienced before. Your eyelids begin to flutter, taking your attention away from her. "Look at me or I'll stop." Her tone is firm, yet her pace never slows.

You try your best to listen, struggling to keep your eyes open. "Good girl, pretty baby. You'd do anything to keep me fuckin' this slutty pussy, wouldn't you?" Jinx teases, a mocking pout on her lips.

A borderline pornagraphic noise echos off the walks as you toss your head back, thighs beginning to shiver around her hand. "Anything! Anything you want!" You whine, looking back down at her. Your head feels fuzzy, and you look back down at her. Jinx smiles, loving how you've just completely given in to her.

With one final curl of your fingers, your mouth falls open with a cry as your head rolls back again. Your thighs struggle to stay still as you cum on her fingers, soaking her hand and more of the sheets below you.

She might just have to make you a nightly visit again.

[sunsburns]

this came to me in a dream last night but imagine bsf!vi spying on you and your date (fem!reader, hints of caitvi x reader)

clearly, violet isn’t the jealous type, there wasn’t much that she was usually up against anyway. she was just… looking out for you—it was hard to trust some random date you met on an app or through some mutual friend.

“you don’t trust anyone, vi,” you said, smoothing the last stray pieces of hair in the mirror. vi stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame like she had nothing better to do, her arms crossed over her chest.

“i trust people,” she shot back. her tone was defensive like you’d accused her of something worse. “i do!”

“right,” you replied, your smile a little too knowing for her liking.

your phone buzzed on the counter, and vi’s gaze flickered to the screen. here, it read. she watched as your expression shifted—nerves and excitement mixed together in a way she didn’t see often.

“they’re outside,” you said, glancing at her. vi didn’t budge, just gave a small nod like she wasn’t planning to leave her spot anytime soon.

“have fun,” she said after a beat,

you grabbed your jacket and stepped past her, pausing just long enough to catch her eye. “don’t wait up.”

vi smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “sure. i’ve got better things to do than babysit your bad decisions.”

and by better things, she meant standing there, riling herself up for no reason. vi lingered in the doorway long after you left, her arms now loosely hanging at her sides. she could picture it too clearly: you sitting at some café, that soft, nervous smile you got when you weren’t sure what to say, your fingers brushing over the edge of your cup, looking as good as you always did. only this time, that smile wasn’t for her. it was for some fucking stranger.

her jaw tightened as the thought settled in. what kind of person even asks you out like this? who were they to deserve your attention, your time? vi didn’t even know their name, let alone what they looked like, but the image of some faceless jerk talking too much, maybe trying to impress you with something lame, was enough to make her roll her eyes.

she wasn’t jealous. she wasn’t.

jealousy was messy, and vi didn’t do messy. she wasn’t the type to get all worked up over something that wasn’t her business. this wasn’t her business. except—what if this person turned out to be trouble? what if they hurt you?

shit, what if you liked them?

“sounds like jealousy to me,” caitlyn’s voice chimed through her phone’s speaker a few minutes later.

vi’s jaw tightened as she paced the room, staring at the faint reflection of herself in the window. hooded sweatshirt, messy hair, no real plan—she looked like someone gearing up for trouble. “shut up, it’s not.”

“uh-huh,” caitlyn said, entirely unconvinced.

vi exhaled heavily, tugging her hood up like it might smother the heat creeping up her neck. “i just… wish i knew what was going on. that’s all.” her voice was quieter this time, almost an admission.

she hated not knowing. not knowing who this person was, what they wanted with you, what you were saying to them right now. were you laughing? leaning in close?

“you just gotta chill,” caitlyn said, her tone softening slightly. “you’ll hear all about it when the date’s over, i’m sure. you’re overthinking this.”

“i have an idea,” vi said suddenly, the words spilling out before she’d fully thought them through.

“oh no.”

a slow, mischievous grin pulled at vi’s lips, and her pacing stopped. her fingers flexed at her side as a plan began to form. it wasn’t smart. it wasn’t subtle. it was terrible. “how quickly can you come over?”

“vi, whatever you’re thinking—”

“just get here.”

——

“i can’t believe you’ve dragged me into this,” caitlyn muttered, her voice low and filled with annoyance as she tugged the brim of her cap down further over her face. the fabric shadowed her sharp eyes, which were darting toward the café window like she was already second-guessing her decision to come.

“you love this,” vi said casually, fiddling with the drawstrings of her hoodie.

“no, vi, i really don’t,” caitlyn shot back, her words pointed but softened by a resigned sigh.

as they approached the café entrance, vi glanced inside, her eyes instantly locking onto you. there you were, seated across from somone who smiled at you. vi hated them already.

caitlyn slipped into a barstool near the window, unfolding a newspaper she’d grabbed from the stand out front. her face was completely hidden behind the thin pages. vi, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as subtle.

her hood was yanked low over her face, and the sunglasses perched on her nose were oversized and crooked, like she’d grabbed them in a hurry. vi hovered awkwardly by the counter, pretending to study the menu even though her eyes kept flicking over to you.

“you’re staring,” caitlyn hissed from behind the paper.

“am not,” vi muttered back, but she didn’t look away.

you were laughing now, that light, effortless kind of laugh that vi rarely saw unless she was the one making you smile. her chest tightened as she watched you tilt your head toward your date, your expression so open, so trusting.

“they’re not even funny,” vi grumbled, narrowing her eyes at your date.

“oh, please,” caitlyn whispered harshly, her exasperation cutting through vi’s muttering. “you’re acting ridiculous. do you even have a plan?”

“i’m working on it,” vi mumbled, finally tearing her eyes away to stare at the drink options on the board. she wasn’t working on anything. she just knew she had to be here—close enough to hear the cadence of your voice.

your date said something else, and you laughed again, this time louder, brighter. vi’s fists curled at her sides as her gut twisted uncomfortably.

“this is a terrible idea,” caitlyn said, sighing heavily as she lowered the paper just enough to glance at vi. “you’re a disaster.”

“shut up,” vi shot back under her breath. but deep down, she knew caitlyn was right.

disaster or not, she wasn’t leaving until your date was over.

[fairvstairs]

THOUGHTS/HEADCANONS ABOUT THE ITHACA SAGA

SPOILERS

Yes, Odysseus learned from Scylla (he used the light of the torches to find his targets) and Poseidon (he showed no mercy) but can we talk about the parallels with Polyphemus?? The "enough"??? Hello??? I don't know you but after he says it, in the chorus where they say "Odysseus", I can hear "Polyphemus".

The way his voice kept going down down every time he talked to the suitors because he was PISSED but how it came back to normal when he just said "No". That man was proud of himself in that moment.

At the end you can hear the "Just a Man" melody because Penelope loves him despite all of the horrible things he has done because, after all, he is just a man who was trying to go home.

Both his mother and his wife waited for him for years, he lost his mother because he was too late and he would have lost his wife too if he had gotten there any later.

Telemachus was scared his father wouldn't embrace him as his own because he thought he couldn't live up to who his father was.

"My son I'm finally home!" I'M CRYING I CANT OMG HES FINALLY HOME FINALLY.

Kind of wish we had more moments between Athena and Odysseus and between Telemachus and Odysseus.

His aim was always to come home to his wife and son BUT he started becoming the "monster" when someone was threatening them: he killed the infant because his family would have been hurt if he had let him live, he tortured Poseidon because he wanted to destroy Ithaca, he killed the suitors because well- you know.

At the beginning of "Would you fall in love with me again?" Odysseus sighs and says Penelope's name but later he opens the door and she starts to talk (sing), he was mentally preparing himself to face his wife, he was facing the fact that he did all of this to come back home but that she may not love him anymore (for a good reason). Penelope sings about doing things for love and Odysseus doesn't understand that she is still talking about him. HE Is the best of them all, HE is the one whose aim is true. He thinks she's ready to find a new love.

Penelope is such a smart character omg. She spent 20 years with suitors breathing down her neck, she understood that her time was running out, she made an impossible challenge AND she helped her husband realize that she would love him no matter what. He spent so many years trying to survive, she knew sweet words wouldn't have helped. The queen of Ithaca and of avoiding miscommunication.

I was a bit mad at Odysseus for his reaction to Penelope's request to move the bed (the music in the background gave me anxiety, it felt like he was getting angry) but that went away as quickly as it came, I'm glad they are okay.

I love how it all ended with "I love you", that's all Epic was really about. Odysseus made so many mistakes, suffered so much, all because of the love he has for his family.

-

These are just my opinions, please no hate! I'm a bit tipsy and English is not my first language so there could be (there will be) so many mistakes.💐

[raven-dor]

close to you

in which fred weasley and his best friend are oblivious to each other's feelings

PAIRING: fred weasley ii x gryffindor!reader, fred weasley ii x fem!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, obliviousness!!, arguing, misunderstanding, poor theodore nott jr

WORD COUNT: 3.0k

“Godric.” James groaned, holding his head between his hands. “They’ve been arguing for hours.” 

Roxanne laughed. “You think we’d be used to it by now.” She crossed her arms. “What are they arguing about this time?” 

James scoffed, leaning back into the plush Gryffindor common room couch. “Oh, you weren’t listening?” Roxanne shook her head. He smirked, sighing as if he was disappointed. “Allow me to enlighten you. Your darling brother brought up the fact that Ophelia Scamander was going alone to the Yule Ball.” 

“Alright?” 

“I’m almost certain he brought that up to get a reaction from Y/N.”

Roxanne laughed. “Is that what started this then?” 

James shook his head, thoroughly entertained that Roxanne hadn’t caught on yet. “What started this was that Y/N brought up she already had a date.” 

Roxanne’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking.” 

“I wish I was. Your brother overreacted…” 

“Typical.” 

“Hence the argument we’ve been spectators to for roughly-” He checked his watch. “Ten minutes.” 

“That’s it!” 

They looked over, surprised that steam wasn’t hissing from Y/N’s ears. Her voice was shrill, ringing through the otherwise empty common room. “Come find me when you become an adult.” She stormed off, her gaze fixed on the exit. 

Fred scoffed, yelling after her. “Jokes on you. I already am!” 

The portrait door slammed shut, and an uncomfortable silence fell over the room. James coughed. “Trouble in paradise?” 

Fred glared, plopping on the couch beside him. “Shut it, you.” 

Roxanne sighed. “Freddie, why do you think you were so upset about this?” 

“I assumed we were going together.”

James grinned. “And why’s that?” 

“I know where this is going, James. We’re best friends.” Fred almost looked dejected as he said it. “Nothing more.” 

Roxanne laughed. Godric, it was a miracle he survived day to day with how thick he could be. “Do you ever stop and think that perhaps the reason you and dear Y/N/N argue so often is because you fancy each other?”

“Rox…”

James sighed, looking at his cousin guiltily. “She’s not wrong, Fred.” 

Fred groaned. “Not you too.” He stood up, his hands on his hips. “I’m off to find Y/N.” 

“Have fun!”

“Bugger off, James!” 

The library was quieter than the Gryffindor Common Room, that much was evident. The majority of the student body could be found there at any time of day staring at textbooks, committing their information to memory. She smiled to herself, it was nice to have the solitude the library offered compared to the chaos her home brought contained. It almost made her laugh: Fred had no right to be that upset, but she couldn’t help but feel butterflies erupt in her stomach whenever he had an overprotective stint. He was gorgeous, anyone with eyes knew, the way his eyes lit up when he was passionate about something. And the fact he was so annoyed with her choice of date made her dare to think that-

“Y/N.” 

“Fredrick.” 

He sat down, carrying a look that mirrored that of a kicked puppy. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. It wasn’t fair.” 

Ah. She felt disappointed. “That’s very… responsible of you.” 

“Do you, do you have anything to say?” 

“Do I?” She scoffed, setting down her quill to see if he was being serious. “Am I supposed to be apologizing as well?” 

He sighed. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. I just-” 

“What?” She snapped. “What did you just-” 

“I can’t stand you being mad at me.” He hissed. “I know it’s my fault, love.” He reached out, holding her hand and rubbing the back with his thumb. “You’re my best friend, and we can’t be mad at each other forever.” 

It was like a bucket of cold water thrown on her face. Why had he always felt the need to break her heart? “I don’t know what gave you the impression I was mad at you Fred.” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” He laughed. “The fact that you stormed off and have been avoiding eye contact this entire conversation.”

She stuck her tongue out. “You’re my best friend too. And trust me, I could never be mad at you.”

“Good.” He smiled. “Have you found a dress yet?” 

She shook her head. “I haven’t, actually. Would you want to come along? Roxie already got hers, and the rest of the girls had them shipped in.” 

“Sounds like you've already planned my Saturday.” 

She shoved his arm, glaring. “Oh, because you had such compelling plans.” 

“Godric, woman, stop pulling me,” Fred whined.

She rolled her eyes, pushing open the door of Gladrags. “Would you rather have frozen? Really, you should be thanking me.” She let go of his hand to remove her coat, and Fred almost outwardly whined from the loss of touch. “It’s not my fault you walk slower than a flobberworm.” 

They strolled through the aisles, and every so often Y/N handed Fred a dress to hold. “Are you excited?” 

“To watch you play dress up for two hours?” He smiled sarcastically. “Ecstatic.” 

“Guard my room will you.” She yelled through the curtain. “Do you swear?”

He nodded, smiling to himself. “I solemnly swear.”  

She rolled her eyes, laughing to herself. “Is that a reference to that stupid map?” 

“Love, they’re all starting to look the same.” 

Y/N glared, visibly defeated by the many hours of trying on dress after dress after dress. “If I knew you would be so unhelpful I wouldn’t have brought you.” 

He held his hands up in surrender. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I do.” 

Fred stood up, and she naturally followed after him. “You need something different. Not something you find at first glance.” She smacked his arm, obviously taking offense. “I wasn’t saying you have bad taste, I’m just-” Her eyebrow raised impatiently. “Getting to the point.” He stopped, pulling out the most stunning dress she’d ever seen in her life. “I know that I don’t have the best taste-” 

“It’s perfect.” She squealed, kissing him on the cheek. “You’re perfect.” 

He laughed, handing her the dress. “Go on, then.” 

She ran to the dressing rooms. The dress he'd picked was white, with (what looked like) a thousand layers of tule, all coming to an end at an empire waistline. Jewels had been expertly sewn in, and as she looked closer, she realized they were snowflakes.

The back would prove to be an issue, she thought as she closed the curtain. She could lace most of it herself, but- Godric, she would need someone else to help her. “Fred.” 

A beat of silence. “Everything alright, love?” 

She took a deep breath. “I need your help.” 

“With?” His voice sounded tight. 

“I can’t-” She huffed, picked up the front of the dress, and walked out of the dressing room. “The lacing...” Fred stared, and her heart skipped a beat, there was that look again. “Stop looking at me like that.” He stepped forward, whispering gently.

“Turn around.” 

“Excuse me?” She tilted her head. 

“The lacing.” He reminded her why she'd even called for his help. “Turn around.” 

She obliged, smiling to herself as his fingers grazed her back. “You picked the perfect dress, Freddie.” 

His cheeks felt like they were on fire, tightening the laces once more before tying a bow. “It’s nothing…” She turned around, and he realized how serious this moment really was. “You know, you look like the moon itself.”

She laughed, actually laughed. He almost glared, here he was complimenting her, and she laughed at him. “What’s so funny?” 

“I’m sorry, it’s just that you looked so serious when you said it.” 

“Oh really?” He raised an eyebrow, a smile creeping on his face. “Well, remind me to never compliment you again.” 

“No!” She begged. “Please, don’t.” 

“Fine, fine.” Somehow his arm had found its way around her waist, and time seemed to stand still. It felt natural almost, like her waist had been made for his arm to be draped around it. “You’ve convinced me.” 

“What are we doing? This is-” 

“Y/N." He swallowed, his mouth felt dry. "I need to kiss you now. Is that- okay?” 

She nodded, her eyelids lulling in anticipation. “Yes.” 

“I- I’m going to-” 

“Fred, just kiss me!” Her voice was ruder than she intended, her eyes widening. “Sorry, I-” 

“I don’t think we should.” He whispered. “It would only-” 

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she felt like she could die right there. Her voice broke as she spoke. “Can you undo the laces please?” 

He nodded. “I’m sorry-” 

“Fred, just do it.” Her voice was harsh, and his fingers fumbled with the strings. “Don’t apologize to me. We both wanted to, just…” The dress was loose, and she crossed her arms, barely holding it up as she turned around. Her eyes were glassy, and Fred had never felt this guilty in her life. Tears were steadily streaming down her face. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone about this.” 

“I-”

“Promise me!”

“I promise.” 

She shoved past him, pulling the curtain shut. “I think you should leave.” 

“Y/N…” 

“Fred, go away.” 

Her tone dripped with venom. He’d never heard her sound that betrayed, more angry, and it made him want to stay even more, to help her and make up for his cowardice. “Love, let me-” 

“Just stop!” She screamed. “I think it’s best if we take a break.” 

“A break?” His voice sounded nervous. Good, she wanted him to squirm like she just had. “From what?” 

“Whatever this is Fred. I’m tired of it. You- You coward.” She walked out of the dressing room, glaring at her best friend. “I have feelings for you and I can’t- I can’t be around you like this. So please just don’t talk to me.” 

She stormed out of the shop, leaving Fred alone with his thoughts. He was empty, he realized. It was stupid: honestly, the most foolish thing he’d ever done, backing out of something he knew he'd wanted to do for ages.

She was right, he was a coward. How many, he asked himself, could stand in the face of perfection itself and not crumble? He pushed open the curtain, frowning at the dress that had been thrown on the ground. 

“Excuse me?” He stood up, turning around to see an older witch looking at him with blatant concern. “Is everything alright, dear?” 

“I’d-” He took a deep breath, folding the dress delicately. “I’d like to buy this dress please.” 

The older witch nodded, leading him to the register. “She’s very lucky.” 

He laughed, shaking his head. “I’m the lucky one.” 

“Y/N!” Roxanne called out from the bottom of the stairs. “There’s a package for you.” 

Her mother wasn’t due to send her a care package for another week. Her eyebrows furrowed as she climbed out of bed. She’d wanted to sleep as long as she could before getting ready for the ball, but the universe had other plans for her. “Who’s it from?” 

Roxanne shrugged. “Don't know.” 

Y/N laughed. “A lot of help you are. There’s no note?” 

She shook her head. “It’s a pretty big box.” 

Y/N nodded. “Thanks, Rox.” 

“Can I-” Roxanne smiled. “Can I come with you?” 

“Do you even need to ask?” Y/N wiggled her eyebrows, racing up the stairs, with Roxanne hot on her tail. They jumped onto Y/N’s bed, ripping the box open eagerly. 

“A note!” Roxanne grinned. “Any idea who could be your secret admirer?” 

“Not a clue.” She was lying through her teeth of course, but she couldn’t tell Roxanne this secret. This one had to be just for her and Fred. Taking the note from her friend's hand, she carefully opened it, her cheeks flushing at its words. 

“You were right?” Roxanne murmured. Y/N turned around, glaring. “Sorry. It’s just so interesting.” She pulled the dress out of the box, smiling softly. “It’s a beautiful dress.” 

“It is.” Y/N stood up, holding it against herself as she looked in the mirror. “It really is.” 

“I’ll see you down there, yeah?” Roxanne squeezed her hand. “You look radiant, truly.” 

“Thanks, Rox.” Y/N squeezed back, taking a deep breath. “I’ll see you soon.” 

It was a few moments later before she felt brave enough to walk down the grand stone steps. She could hardly breathe, and wearing this dress- Merlin, she hoped tonight was perfect. She rounded the corner, gripping the railing with all of her strength. The crowd at the bottom of the stairs hadn’t turned around in awe, which did wonders for her nerves. She would have hated for people to fuss over her. 

What had made her nervous was the fact that ever since she’d stepped out from behind the corner, Fred had been staring at her so intensely, that she thought she would burst into flames.

Behind Fred, was her date, Theodore Nott. Much like his father, he was stoic and knew what he wanted. When he’d asked her, she thought it had been a joke. But he'd proven to be a kind man underneath it all, and she knew she would have a nice time with him.

Now, she was dreading seeing his face; there was no way that he'd see past her evident feelings for her best friend.

When she finally reached the bottom of the stairs, they was practically standing face to face. Her heart lept, frozen in time. Fred was just standing there, staring at her as intently as before. She quickly stepped around him, making her way to Theo before she would do something she'd regret. 

Her date was rather cheery, which made her cheery as well. He bowed, taking her hand and kissing the back gently. “Your beauty rivals that of a veela, Y/L/N.” 

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” She grinned, standing on her tiptoes so that she could kiss his cheek. “But thank you.” 

He smiled, extending his arm. “Shall we?” 

“We shall.” 

“She looks perfect,” Fred murmured, watching her walk into the ballroom. 

Roxanne nodded. “She does.” 

“I’m an idiot, Rox.” 

The girl smiled. “We all make mistakes, Freddie.” 

“I should’ve kissed her.” He whispered so quietly she almost hadn’t heard him. “Has she-” 

She shook her head, and Fred laughed. “How did you know?"

“She’s my best friend, and you're my brother. I know you two better than I know anyone." She smiled, hooking her arm through his. "I knew something was wrong the minute she came back without you."

“I love her.” He practically whined. “Do you know what it feels like to not be with the person you love?” 

She shook her head once more. “I don't. But I can imagine that it’s painful, and it hurts. But then you realize that you would go through it all again…” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Just for the chance to be with them.” 

“Are you having a good time?” Theo felt helpless as he watched his date stare at another man. “I’m sorry if I-” 

“What?” She shook her head. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Are you having a good time?” 

“I should ask you that.” She frowned. Theodore hated it when she frowned, she was too beautiful for that. “I haven’t been a proper Yule Ball date.” 

He smiled, murmuring to himself. “I should have known.”

“I’m sorry?” Her heart stopped. 

“I never should have asked you.” 

“I’m confused.”

“Well, it’s obvious you wanted Weasley to ask you. Right?”

“I-” She looked out at the dance floor, smiling faintly at his horrible dancing. “Unfortunately.” 

He nodded, standing up. “You won’t mind if I-” 

She shook her head,  “I’m really sorry, Teddy.” 

He laughed. “You’re the only person that calls me Teddy.”

“Go talk to her.” Roxanne nudged her brother. “If you keep staring at her from across the room she’s going to think you’re obsessed with her.” 

“I am.” He corrected. “Obsessed with her.” He looked back, tilting his head. “You think I should?” 

“Freddie…” James groaned. “Go talk to her before I do. I’m getting sick of this back and forth. OW!” 

Fred looked over, laughing as Roxanne smacked their cousin over the head. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. Just stop fighting.”

“She’s waiting for you.” Fred tensed at the familiar voice. “Nott.” 

“Weasley,” Theodore responded. “I need you to swear to me that you won’t hurt her.” 

“What are you-” 

The Slytherin’s eyes looked dark, and a chill ran down his spine. Theodore stepped forward, whispering. “Swear it, Weasley.” 

“I swear.”

Theo smiled, not bothering to address Fred any longer, and waved goodbye to the two spectators. “Roxanne, Potter.” 

James glared at their peer as he walked away. “What an odd bloke.” 

She looked radiant. The wind elegantly blew what hair had fallen out of her updo. She looked straight out of that muggle film she’d forced him to watch.

The dress was glowing in the moonlight, she looked like pure magic, but he knew there was no way she wasn’t cold. She always had a shiver, even if it was bright and humid outside. He shrugged his suit jacket off, walking beside her and draping it over her shoulders. 

“Thank you, Freddie.” 

Merlin, her voice was like music to his ears. “Anytime, love.” 

She hadn’t bothered to look over, and it brought comfort to him that she knew it was him without looking. He took a side step closer to her, whispering so that only they could hear. “You wore the dress.” 

She nodded. “You have great taste.” 

“I do, don’t I?” She rolled her eyes, finally looking at him, and he smiled, even if her look was a glare. He held his hands up in surrender, which seemed to be a common theme between them. “All jokes, love.” 

“Did I-” She sighed, turning toward him. “Did I read it wrong?” 

He shook his head. “No.” 

“And if I want to kiss you again-” 

He lunged forward, he couldn’t help himself any longer. He was a coward then, but Godric help him if he was a coward now. Their lips were still touching when he spoke next. “I love you.”

Her eyes were teary. “Fred…” 

“I know you love me too.” He smiled, kissing her again lightly. “In my soul, I know it.” Grabbing her hand, he pulled it up to his chest, placing it directly over his thumping heart. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, I’m sorry that I ignored it, but I’m here now, and I-” He grinned, kissing her again. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

“Yeah?” He nudged his nose against hers. “You do know you’re stuck with me, right?” 

“Freddie…” She laughed. “We've been stuck together for eighteen years. The chance to lose me has passed."

"I have never..." He whispered. "And will never want to lose you."

Her heart fluttered, caressing his cheek gently. “It’s snowing.”

He nodded, placing his arm around her waist, swaying back and forth. “It is.”

She giggled. “My, you’re smooth.”

“I pride myself on my charm.” He whispered, leaning down.

Her eyes fluttered shut. “As you should.”

He smiled, their lips barely touching. “You know, you really do look like the moon.”

taglist: @beebeechaos

[1moreff-creator]

Okay listen, listen. Eden's Garden CH1 was great and I loved it and I'll make a more detailed analysis post about it at some point. And Eva in particular is fantastic and my favorite character. There's just- There's just a little, little issue I have with her FTEs, and if I don't talk about it I'm gonna explode. 

Spoilers for P:EG CH1 and Eva's FTEs.

CW: I am about to be a Massive Fucking Nerd on main.

This post was originally going to be about how Eva's papers, the way she describes them, sound like they kinda suck. But then I realized that the way she describes the Riemann zeta function… is just wrong???? Like, it doesn't converge to- EVA WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING?!?!?!?!

Like, look, I don't think "Eva sucks at writing papers actually” is the conclusion I'm meant to reach after doing her FTEs. I'm also pretty sure the mistakes she makes when describing the Riemann zeta function (henceforth "zeta function” for brevity) are just mistakes on the writers’ part, which is fine because that thing is very confusing. 

And to be clear, Eva being bad at writing papers doesn't mean she's actually bad at science. I mean, she apparently solved the goddamn Riemann Hypothesis, and doesn't even think it's that big a deal!

Eva, sad [3rd FTE]: They'll put it on my gravestone: here lies the girl who could barely solve Riemann's stupid hypothesis. 

(Thank you Ani from youtube for uploading these things it makes citation so much easier <3)

Girliepop if I solved a problem that's stumped mathematicians for over a hundred years (which carries a million dollar prize btw), you bet your fucking ass I want that on my gravestone! And look, I know that this is not necessarily due to her doing more impressive stuff in mathematics. That it's more so because she's internalized what other people think about her skills, and since a lot of people erroneously believe math is uncool she doesn't think this is as big a deal as it is. But the fact that she managed to solve this thing at all, not to mention at eighteen years old, already puts her in contention for best mathematician of the damn century. And that's incredible, because math is badass. 

In short, Eva's cool and a great mathematician. But the way she talks about her other work, the papers she wishes got more recognition, makes me really doubt her actual skill as a writer of these papers. Let me explain. 

There are three papers Eva mentions writing, or thinking about writing, across her FTEs. One about literature, another about lightspeed travel, and one about the Riemann zeta function. 

Eva [1st FTE]: Earlier this year, I wrote a whole paper on an obscure subgenre of Western speculative fiction… I spent weeks on it, expecting it to receive a lot of attention from literary critics…

Eva [1st FTE]: I could write a research paper on the theoretical possibility of lightspeed travel, but no one would care, because…

Eva [4th FTE]: …I wrote a paper about how you can use tabletop gaming to understand [the Riemann zeta function].

Now, I can't say anything about the literature paper, because she gives no details on it. I also don't know enough about literature to know how long it usually takes to write papers on it, so I'll take her word for it that working for weeks on it is notable. 

For the hypothetical paper about the "theoretical possibility of lightspeed travel", I have my doubts, but she also doesn't give enough details about what that paper would entail for me to definitively say anything about it. We'll get back to this one, though.

Meanwhile, the paper she gives the most details on is the Riemann zeta function one, and… yeah that one's trash. 

There’s two reasons I say that. One is the technical issue with the description she gives, which basically boils down to “there’s severe inaccuracies in her explanation and also she just straight up gets some things wrong,” and is extremely nerdy and math heavy to explain; and the other is a much more fundamental problem with the very thesis of the paper, which doesn’t require math to explain, but I’ll leave for later. 

I’ll start with the technical side and the things she gets wrong about the zeta function. I’ll try to make this accessible for non-math nerds, but fair warning, this is pretty difficult math so I can only do so much. That includes keeping to the tabletop analogy Eva used in the spirit of the thing. 

By the way, take everything I'm about to say with a grain of salt. I'm a third year Physics major, so while I know way more math than the average person, I am by no means an expert. I am liable to get things wrong. In fact, I actually didn't know anything about the zeta function or the Riemann hypothesis before seeing these FTEs, I just researched them because I got curious about the Riemann hypothesis after seeing it show up in not one, but two fangans I've seen (it has a cameo in DR Despair Time if you're curious). However, even though I'm not an expert, I think I know enough to definitively say Eva's very wrong about a few things.

Lots of math incoming, TL;DR after the next red title

As a refresher, this is a paraphrased version of what she explains.

Eva (Paraphrased) [4th FTE]: Take 1, ½, ⅓, ¼, and so on for infinity, and pretend they are characters in a tabletop game (TTG). An enemy casts a status effect on your denominators so that they are all raised to the power of p, where the value of p is decided by dice roll. Now your characters are 1, 1/2ˆp, 1/3ˆp, etc. For your turn, you add all of your characters together, and that’s the zeta function ζ(p) = 1 + 1/2ˆp + 1/3ˆp + ... What is the value of ζ(p)?

This is good, that sum is indeed the first way to define the zeta function (more on that later), so it's correct. However, she then makes two statements. 

Statement 1: If p is higher than 1, then you get a whole number; a number without decimals. ( ζ(p) = a whole number). Statement 2: If p is lower than 1, then you get 0, “an infinite amount of zeroes.” ( ζ(p) = 0).

(You’ll notice I put that last thing in quotes. I’ll get back to it)

Now, I’m going to ignore a few minor inaccuracies which Eva likely makes to simplify the concepts, because they’re not too important. For example; you can’t “add” infinite numbers, that’s not a thing. An infinite series can converge, which is slightly different from arithmetic addition. However, the two things are close enough that, for most people, the distinction doesn’t really matter. In other words, I’m fine with her saying she’s adding infinite numbers together, and similar claims. 

There's one inaccuracy I can’t gloss over, though; Eva never tells Damon which dice is rolled to determine the value of p. In math terms, she never tells him the domain of the function (the domain of a function, btw, is the set of values for which the function is defined). Are the values p can take real or complex? Can it be any real/complex, or are there restrictions? 

For the unaware, since this is gonna come up, I’ll define a complex number using the TTG analogy. A complex number is a special character born by adding together a real number "r" (one of the numbers you’re all familiar with), and another real number "b" equipped with (math: multiplied by) the Epic Tier item known as the imaginary unit “i”. This Epic item has the property that iˆ2 = -1. So basically a complex number "z" is one where

z = r + bi

where r,b are real and i is the imaginary unit. "r" is known as the real component, and "b" is the imaginary component.

(Note: All real numbers are complex numbers where b=0, but not all complex numbers are real)

In case you’re curious, these things are used in several fields, such as the study of electrical circuits with alternating current, and they appear in relation to the Schrödinger equation- I’m getting off track.

So, what dice does Eva want the opponent to roll to define p? Well, she never says it, but we can infer. She says that p can be “higher than 1,” and that clues us in that she’s probably rolling the dice of real numbers. After all, there’s no universally agreed upon definition of what it means for a complex number to be “higher than” another complex number. Meanwhile, she doesn’t mention any restrictions on what value p can take, so it’s safe to say she’s implying that p can be any real number higher than or lower than 1, aka any real number except maybe 1. Now, the zeta function doesn’t actually have that domain, but we’ll get to that.

For now, let’s analyze her statements assuming p is any real number other than 1. Let’s take a look at the first one. 

Statement 1: If p is higher than 1, then ζ(p) is a whole number; a number without decimals. 

This is wrong. Just so we’re clear, I could probably prove, with my somewhat limited math knowledge, that this statement can only work if the domain is more restrictive than “all real numbers other than 1” as described previously. It'd have to be defined only in whole numbers, for example.

However, I don’t need to. One of the first lines in the Wikipedia page of the zeta function says that ζ(3) (which is the value you get after “adding all your characters” when p = 3) is an irrational number. That is, among other properties, a number with infinite decimals. Eva could not be more wrong if she tried. 

(Btw, yes I'm using Wikipedia as my only source. Not particularly rigorous research on my part, but this is a silly Tumblr post about funny killing game, there's a limit to my insanity)

I don’t even know how this happened, btw. It’s pretty clear this is a goof on the devs’ side (perfectly understandable btw, it took me several reads of the Wikipedia pages for both the zeta function and the Riemann hypothesis to even get them enough to write this post, and as stated I study a lot of math for my career), but I genuinely don’t know where they got the idea from. There’s nothing I could find about whole numbers in relation to the zeta function. There’s connections to prime numbers, which are all whole, but the series doesn't converge to them, the connection is a bit weirder than that. There's also some stuff Euler found about it converging to rational numbers for negative integers, but again, not whole numbers, and not even for real values above 1. So, yeah, no clue.

Anyways, what about the other statement?

Statement 2: If p is lower than 1, then you get 0, “an infinite amount of zeroes.”

This is also obviously wrong. In fact, reader! Can you think of a counterexample which is immediately obvious if you think about it for two seconds? A real number p lower than 1 such that ζ(p) isn't 0?

If you said “zero, because zero always breaks everything in very obvious ways,” you have good intuition! You could have also picked any other real number lower than 1, but those are less obvious.

For 0, the reason it’s so apparent is that any number raised to the power of zero is just 1, so 1 + 1/2ˆ0 + 1/3ˆ0 + … just turns into 1 + 1 + 1 + … and so on for infinity. Very obviously, the series diverges, it “goes to infinity.” This is very different from converging to 0.

And just so we’re clear, the series also diverges for any real value of p lower than 1, though I’ll leave proving that one as an exercise to the reader, with the help that I’ll tell you the infinite series 1 + ½ + ⅓ + ¼ + … also goes to infinity. Again, Eva could not be more wrong if she tried. 

So, what went wrong here? Turns out, the way Eva defined the zeta function as an infinite series (a "sum of infinite numbers”) only works when p is a complex number with a real component higher than 1. That’s why it was important for her to say what dice we were rolling to determine p, what the domain of the function defined by the series is. For other numbers, you need to define zeta in different ways.

And what happened to the whole “infinite zeroes” thing? Well, you see, I have a theory. I think the devs must have read that the zeta function had “an infinite amount of zeroes for values of p with a real component lower than 1” (which is true, but doesn’t mean what they think it means), and misinterpreted from there. Fair mistake. I kinda wanna correct it using the TTG analogy, but I’ll leave that for the end of the post because it’s gonna derail the entire thing.

(I got carried away and explained everything I understood about the Riemann zeta function oops)

What you need to know for now; you can do some math tricks to define the zeta function outside of the infinite series Eva described, though a lot of those tricks are way above my pay grade. That way, you can evaluate the function for any complex value of p other than 1. In other words, you can roll different die for p, but it requires redefining what you're doing with that p.

Turns out, in doing that, some funky shit happens, and any time p equals -2n for any n which is a natural number (that is, p = -2 or -4 or -6 or -8, etc.), the zeta function will go to zero. Those values of p are known as the “trivial zeroes” of the function, and are obviously infinite in number. However, note that these trivial zeroes are exclusively negative even integers; there are plenty of real values of p lower than 1 for which the zeta function is not zero, so Eva still isn’t correct at all.

Though, to be clear, there are also zeroes of the function other than the trivial ones. This is actually where the Riemann hypothesis comes in. The hypothesis is that any non-trivial zero of the zeta function has a real component of exactly ½, with the only difference between them being the imaginary component (if you didn't follow, again, more detailed explanation at the bottom of the post). This (in our world) has not been definitively proven to work for every non-trivial zero, though it does work for the first several trillion. 

Absurdly nerdy math rant over

So TL;DR, Eva made some pretty big mistakes when talking about the convergence of the zeta function, mainly stemming from not properly defining its domain, but also just straight up getting the convergence wrong. It doesn’t converge exclusively to whole numbers for real numbers above 1, and has to be defined in a different way for real values below 1, not to mention that she never brings up the full function is actually defined for complex numbers other than 1. 

Obviously, this all likely stems from the creators not actually understanding the zeta function themselves, which is pretty funny.

But you wanna know what the bigger issue is? That even if Eva had properly explained the zeta function, her paper would still suck ass. Because there’s a much bigger, more fundamental issue with the very thesis it upholds.

I want you to take a step back. Really look past the complex math and weird terms and the contrast between the very serious sounding Riemann zeta function and the somewhat silly concept of a TTG… 

And realize that the thesis of the paper Eva describes is “analogies exist.”

She can frame it however she likes, but ultimately, that’s what the point of the paper was. Eva, where the hell did you even get this published? In fact, I think it’s silly for you to say that it’d have been better received if your talent was different, because without it, I don’t see a world where this shit could even be submitted to any journal with even a modicum of self respect!

And look, she’s not wrong. I get her point, that mathematicians often don’t put in enough effort to communicate their work to the layman, and would benefit from explaining things in more creative ways. That’s cool. But that’s the kind of thing you would write for, like, an article or something.

But a paper is specifically meant for research. Calling this thing a paper almost feels insulting to mathematicians. Like the concept of using analogies to explain math is an unprecedented discovery that required actual research to figure out. Unless this paper was also the one where Eva solved the Riemann hypothesis (which God I hope that was a different paper), there's no new information being presented here. It's at best a personal opinion piece, which is not what scientific papers are for. 

Am I silly for getting hung up on the wording of this being described as a paper instead of an article or opinion piece or whatever? Well, this entire post is silly, but I don't think it's because of that, because words mean things. And a scientific paper carries certain connotations that do not align with what Eva describes.

And this little issue casts doubt in her general skill as a paper writer. That's why I'm a bit skeptical about the paper she mentions about the "theoretical possibility of lightspeed travel.” Because, quite frankly, that paper topic sounds… meaningless? Like a bunch of technobabble?

Like, what exactly are you discussing about lightspeed travel? In fact, what are you actually referring to when you say "lightspeed travel"? Matter approaching lightspeed, or reaching or even exceeding lightspeed? The latter two are impossible according to current scientific consensus, btw. Or is she discussing a particular trick to get something from point A to point B in less time than it would take for light to cover that distance? There are papers discussing stuff like that, even if all the mechanisms are also thought to be impossible by consensus. And regardless of what she means by "lightspeed travel", what does she mean "theoretical possibility” of it? Like, genuinely, I have no clue. Is she speculating on whether or not it's possible? Is she speculating on the properties such travel would have? Is she proposing a theoretical method to do it? Is she doing something else entirely? The premise of the paper is too vague, is my point. 

This worries me because… well, to put it bluntly, experts in related fields (such as mathematics) attempting to make cool sounding physics theories (such as a paper on the "theoretical possibility of lightspeed travel", whatever that means) which are completely wrong and nonsensical is a real, observable phenomenon in our world. Check out Angela Collier's "physics crackpots: a 'theory’” to find out more. And also check out the rest of her youtube channel it's great.

What Eva is doing with that paper honestly sounds remarkably close to what Angela describes there. In fact, let's check out whether or not Eva's hypothetical paper fits any of the four points Angela brings up to spot a crackpot theory.

1. “Addresses THE BIGGEST PROBLEMS in physics.”

By this, Angela means that the theory addresses a problem or topic that anyone with a passing interest in physics knows is a big deal. Things like dark matter, gravity, black holes, and yes, "lightspeed travel.” You're not going to see anyone with a crackpot theory on the equation of state of real gases or Eddy currents, because by the point you know what those things are in enough depth to be interested in them, you probably also know enough to determine what a good physics theory is and what isn't. Eva's paper fits this point, but that doesn't necessarily mean Eva is a crackpot physicist, right? 

2 and 4. “Lacking mathematical rigor, experimental data, etc.” and “They are not physics theories”

I grouped these two because it's impossible for me to know whether Eva's paper would actually fit these points or not. She doesn't give enough details for me to say. I can tell you for sure it's not gonna have experimental data, but since it's theoretical physics, that's fine. So, we can maybe give her the benefit of the doubt? As long as she doesn't fit the last point too well maybe-

3. “Respond with anger, claim physics establishment has blacklisted them, cite Galileo/Einstein/etc."

Oh no. 

Eva [1st FTE]: I could write a research paper on the theoretical possibility of lightspeed travel, but no one would care…

Oh no chat. She might actually be a crackpot physicist. 

It doesn't help that her mentality in general is actually very in line with the mentality described in the Angela video mentioned above. That because she's a smart person (which she is; again, solved the damn Riemann hypothesis), she should be able to easily become recognized and respectable in any field she takes interest in. But that isn't how the world works. There's a reason people spend years of their life studying literature, physics, or mathematics, just to truly get a grasp of each discipline individually. 

Ok, but, like, what's my point? Am I going to include her misunderstanding of the zeta function and the possibility of her being a "crackpot physicist” in any character analysis? No, of course not. You're very clearly meant to think Eva is genuinely skilled in every field she approaches, because this is a fangan and Ultimates can bend the limits of humanity to fit a narrative. I'm perfectly willing to accept that Eva solved the Riemann hypothesis, as you've seen throughout this post, even though I'd be highly skeptical of anyone making that same claim in the real world, "Ultimate” or not. The same way I'd accept that a fictional character of any kind could manage to accelerate a particle to exactly lightspeed, even though I'd immediately call bullshit if someone claimed to do it in real life. The standard for believability is different for fictional characters than real people, basically.

Really, when you boil it down, I only take issue with the things Eva says because I'm genuinely passionate about the topics she mentions, and because she gives enough details about her work for me to see the cracks in the writers’ knowledge of them. I'm assuming this is a common issue with any fangan that tries to really explain what being an "Ultimate” in a particular field entails, because no one is actually well versed enough in sixteen different talents to actually say that for sure. That's why Eva off-handedly mentioning that she solved the Riemann hypothesis is much more effective as a way to establish her skill than trying and failing to get her to actually explain the zeta function. 

All in all, this is just a purely self-indulgent post for me to vent about issues I have with the way the writers tried to convey Eva's expertise. Feel free to completely ignore this for character analysis, because I sure will. I just needed to talk about it because I would explode if I didn't. Anyways, hope you enjoyed! If you made it this far, you deserve a function named specifically after you! See y-!

Oh right I almost forgot.

My Own Explanation of the Riemann Zeta Function Using the TTG Analogy

(Explained by someone with little more than Wikipedia access, take all this with a grain of salt)

Think of finding the zeroes of a function as a boss fight. You go up to them, and you cast a spell, generally in the form of a number, such that the function becomes zero when you cast it. For example, the Easy Function

f(x) = 2x - 6

can be defeated by casting “3”, since 2x3 - 6 = 0. 

Every function also has a “domain”, which is a set of spells you can actually cast against it. For example, since 1/0 is undefined, the Medium Function g(x) = 1/x has a domain of all complex numbers except 0. Casting 0 against g has no effect. You need a special spell, “limit when x tends to infinity” (or negative infinity) to defeat it.

The zeta function is a Legendary Boss, defined by the infinite series ζ(s) = 1 + 1/2^s +1/3^s + … 

(I changed p to s for a reason trust the process)

Many mathematicians had tried to defeat it before, but it seemed futile*. Its domain was thought to be all real numbers higher than 1 (they originally didn't think to use complex numbers against it), but no matter what number was picked, that first term was too powerful. Even casting “limit when s tends to infinity” only got zeta down to 1. Nothing in its domain seemed to work.

Until Riemann arrived. 

The zeta function chuckled, thinking this one to be like all the many others before him. But the legendary mage Riemann had many a trick the zeta function hadn't seen before. Tricks to make make the domain of the function larger, so that new Number Spells could be cast against it. Where everyone else had only ever attempted to cast real numbers against this boss, he wouldn't be satisfied with that. Without warning, he cast the first of many powerful spells needed to do what needed to be done.

"Domain Expansion; Proof of Complexity"

Since you already knew this part, I'll skip the proof, but basically, Reimann quickly showed that the infinite series which defined the zeta function for real numbers higher than one actually worked for any complex number with a real component higher than one.

The zeta function was impressed, but unconcerned. It knew damn well there was still no spell in this new domain which could possibly defeat it. "Nice try, but I'm not scared of some imaginary unit” it claimed. 

“I'm aware,” claimed Reimann. He raised his hands again, his mana swelling, and the zeta function frowned. “But you're mistaken if you think this is the end.”

Reimann looked at the Legendary Boss in front of him, and cast the following, powerful incantation, with the help of the runes described below. 

"Domain Expansion; Analytic Continuation"

To truly defeat the zeta function, one must understand the concept of an analytic continuation. This is where I falter, for I myself don’t understand what the fuck that is. However, what I've been able to gather is that the function 

𝜂(s) / (1 - 2/2ˆs) where 𝜂(s) = 1/1ˆs - 1/2ˆs + 1/3ˆs - …

is equal to the zeta function in the zeta function's domain, but is also defined outside of it. In particular, it's defined for any complex number with a positive real component, except for the points where

1 - 2/2ˆs = 0

(can't be dividing by zero after all!). That last thing excludes 1, for example.

Basically, think of the spell "Domain Expansion; Analytical Continuation” as a shapeshifting spell that transforms the zeta function from the previous definition:

ζ(s) = 1 + 1/2ˆs + 1/3ˆs + … for s complex numbers with a real component higher than 1.

to now being defined as:

ζ(s) = 𝜂(s) / (1 - 2/2ˆs) for the previously described new domain.

That way, its domain is expanded to include complex numbers with a real component between 0 and 1, aside from those where 2/2ˆs = 1.

But of course, Reimann wouldn't be satisfied with that. The next spell was simpler, but worthwhile nonetheless. 

"Domain Expansion; Limiting Singularity Removal"

See, turns out, all the points "z” where the analytic continuation was undefined, other than 1, where removable singularities (I think? I don't actually know much about complex functions :v), which means the spell "limit when s tends to z” returns a finite number l. That way, you can define ζ(z) = l for all of these removable singularities, expanding the domain of the zeta function to all complex numbers with a positive real component, other than 1.

Don't worry if you don’t know what a limit is or you didn't follow this part, it's not too important for this. After all, that last spell didn't worry the zeta function. What had truly taken it aback was the analytic continuation, which suddenly exposed a few weak spots of the zeta function to the world. Now, Reimann could defeat it once and for all, as long as he found the right spell in the new domain. 

However, the zeta function was a Legendary Boss for a reason. "Fancy tricks, but it won't be easy to find something to actually defeat me, you know,” it bluffed, hoping intimidation would work. Foolish hope.

"Oh, certainly,” Reimann agreed readily, smiling. The zeta function was confused for a moment, until it realized something horrifying. 

Reimann's mana was swelling again. He wasn't done. And for the first time since it's run-in with Euler all those years back, the zeta function felt true fear.

“It won't just be easy,” Reimann smirked. “It will be trivial.”

"Domain Expansion; Functional Equation"

This is another point where the math is beyond me, but I'll try to explain. Basically, Reimann proved that that equality up there holds true as long as s is a complex number with a real component strictly higher than 0 and strictly lower than 1.

However, you'll notice that if you take s as a complex number with a real component equal to or lower than 0 (other than 0 itself), then the right side of the equation is actually well defined, because 1 - s is a complex number with a positive real component (and not equal to 1 unless s is exactly 0), meaning ζ(1 - s) is well defined. You also don't run into issues with any of the other factors of that equation, including the Gamma function (𝚪). What that means is that this equation can be used to extend the zeta function's domain to all complex numbers other than 0 and 1. 

Think of this domain expansion as a shapeshifting curse. If you cast a complex number with a real component strictly higher than 0 (other than 1), then the zeta function defends by turning into either the analytic continuation from before:

ζ(s) = 𝜂(s) / (1 - 2/2ˆs)

or the limit for any values where 1 - 2/2ˆs.

Meanwhile, if you cast a number s with a real component equal to or lower than 0 (other than 0 itself), then the zeta function shapeshifts to be:

ζ(s) = 2ˆs 𝜋ˆ(s-1) sin(s𝜋/2) 𝚪(1-s) ζ(1-s)

The final step is yet another Domain Expansion; Limiting Singularity Removal on 0, where ζ(0) = -½. Again not really important for us. 

In any case, Riemann had done it. Five consecutive domain expansions, so that the zeta function's domain now included all complex numbers except 1. The zeta function was on its last legs, all that was needed was the final touch. For the inexperienced, you might think finding a zero would still be difficult, but the truly expert mages among you might have already noticed the weak spot in the functional equation. 

The sine function. A Common Enemy which goes to 0 whenever it's attacked by a whole number equipped with the Legendary Tier item 𝜋. And when a complex number with a negative real component is cast against the zeta function, sin(s𝜋/2) becomes one of the factors.

"You know what this means, don't you, zeta?” Riemann asked. And the zeta function couldn't muster a response before the legendary mage cast his final spell. "You lose.”

"Simple Spell; Negative Even Integer"

-2, -4, -8, etc. Any even integer s causes s/2 to be a whole number, so sin(s𝜋/2) goes to zero. And since it's multiplying everything else, the entire zeta function goes to zero. These negative even integers are known as the zeta function's "trivial zeroes", and because there are infinite negative even integers, it can be said that the zeta function has an infinite amount of zeroes.

However, just because the Riemann zeta function had been defeated, doesn't mean Reimann was satisfied. See, Riemann noticed that there were other values which could defeat the zeta function, and weren't negative even integers. These are the zeta function's non-trivial zeroes. And he noticed that all of these zeroes followed a pattern, so he tried to cast a Prophecy Spell.

A Prophecy Spell (or a theorem, in real math terms) is one that makes it so that, when certain conditions are met, something happens without fail. To cast a Prophecy Spell, you must prove it, which means using other prophecy spells, runes and unbreakable laws (axioms) to certify that it's a valid prophecy. 

I'll give you an example in case you're not used to the concept of mathematical proof, and cast the Prophecy Spell “if b is a real number, then b0 = 0". To prove it, I'll use two axioms (these are the building blocks of mathematics, and don't need to be proven because they just Are).

1) 0 + c = c (0 is neutral to addition).

2) b(c + d) = bc + bd (Distributive Property)

Now, observe the following:

1) b(c + 0) = b(c + 0) [Trivially true.]

2) bc = bc + b0 [0's neutrality used on the left, distributive on the right]

3) 0 = b0 [Because bc = bc, you can nullify the terms]

I chose this because it happens to be the reason you can't divide by 0. Division is formally defined as multiplication with the reciprocal, so to divide by 0 you must first define its reciprocal 1/0. 1/0 would be defined as a number such that 0 x 1/0 = 1. But we just proved there's no real (or complex) number for which that can be true, so 1/0 isn't a number, thus is undefined.

In any case, now you know what's needed to cast a Prophecy Spell. However, Riemann couldn't finish the Prophecy spell about the non-trivial zeroes. He couldn't find proof or a counterexample to refute it. And so, his unfinished Prophecy Spell went down in history… as the Riemann Hypothesis.

“All non-trivial zeroes of the Riemann zeta function have a real component of exactly ½.”

Although it's been proven to hold true for trillions of non-trivial zeroes, it has never been properly proven or refuted, so the Riemann Hypothesis remains… unsolved. 

God that was nerdy and cringy as hell. It was also super fun to write so I don't care :D 

*Look, for the purpose of the post, I'm saying Riemann did all this shit and is the first one to find a value for which the zeta function becomes zero. This is likely not historically accurate. I'm just doing it so the explanation flows better. This should only be taken as an explanation of the function itself, and not the history behind it.

[oceanicwriting]

is not allowed.

summary: since the holidays began, you have taken care of the youngest son of the berkshire family. one night, while the little one sleeps, the creature's older brother is home, and the sensations begin to be too intense to keep you standing.

pairing(s): non-wizard!lorenzo berkshire x non-wizard!fem!reader

a/n: my first lorenzo fic! i tried my best :-)

+18 smut, oral sex (fem receiving), masturbation (fem receiving), cursing, silence sex (?)

ㅤㅤㅤ—we're leaving! —mrs. berkshire announces, appearing in the kitchen where franklin, her youngest son, is eating dinner—. remember...

ㅤㅤㅤ—no more video games and straight to sleep when the clock strikes eight —the little one interrupts, receiving a loud kiss from his mother and four pats on the back from his father—. you've already told her many times, mom.

ㅤㅤㅤthe woman laughs, and even if franklin had told her, she repeats her conditions again in a whisper. when they leave, the boy starts talking about his best friend carl's birthday party.

ㅤㅤㅤever since summer started and you returned to your hometown, you've taken care of franklin berkshire. your mother, who has been a friend of the family for a while, had helped you get the job that the other babysitter had abandoned for no apparent reason. no one talked about it, and when you asked franklin the first few weeks, he always got in a bad mood.

ㅤㅤㅤ—and lisa made out with holden —he says, finishing telling all the things that happened on that birthday. you look at him, surprised by what he had just said—. a kiss on the cheek.

ㅤㅤㅤ—that seems more appropriate to me. aren't you, like, five years old to be making out? —the little boy's face at your words makes you laugh, but you stop when you notice that he is pushing the asparagus away from his salad—. you must eat everything that is on your plate, young man.

ㅤㅤㅤ—we are ten years old. —he answers, crossing his arms—. and i do not like asparagus.

ㅤㅤㅤyou laugh softly, but you stop when lorenzo berkshire, the oldest son of the family, appears well dressed in the kitchen.

ㅤㅤㅤ—she told you that you have to eat everything, dwarf. —his thick voice fills all the empty space of the place, and you can notice how franklin tense with his presence—. she will accuse you with your mommy.

ㅤㅤㅤyou knew they didn't get along at all. franklin started saying he was a fool from day one, and when you met him, you could only confirm it.

ㅤㅤㅤ—lorenzo...

ㅤㅤㅤ—you don't order me around —franklin says, getting up from his chair to leave the kitchen with quick steps.

ㅤㅤㅤlorenzo rolls his eyes, and you go after the little boy, but you stop to look at him and say—: can you stop picking fights with him? he's just a kid.

ㅤㅤㅤhe looks at you. his cold, disinterested eyes are attractive, making you forget that you're after the boy.

ㅤㅤㅤ—will you wash this glass for me, darling? —he leaves the glass in which he drank water and smiles satisfied—. thanks.

ㅤㅤㅤyou want to say something, but lorenzo walks out the door to the garage, not in the mood to listen to you much longer.

ㅤㅤㅤwhen you meet franklin in the living room, you notice that he's still frowning. to cheer him up, you suggest to play a board game until eight o'clock, filling the room with your laughter and complaints every time you beat him. you play until the phone rings the alarm that tells you to get him ready for bed.

ㅤㅤㅤ—are you still mad about your brother? —you ask. he's lying in his bed, covered up to his neck, and his uneasy gaze glued to the ceiling of the room.— you know he does this to make you angry, franklin. you shouldn't listen to him.

ㅤㅤㅤ—he's an idiot.

ㅤㅤㅤyou nod softly, leaving a kiss on his forehead to wish him goodnight and leaving the room. as usual, you leave the door ajar in case he wakes up in the middle of the night and goes down to the first floor.

ㅤㅤㅤmr. and mrs. berkshire would arrive home around midnight, so, killing time, you start washing franklin's dirty dishes.

ㅤㅤㅤwhen it was around ten at night, you decided to watch a movie in the living room, but you couldn't do it without some snacks to accompany you. in the cupboard, you look for a bag of popcorn to make in the microwave, although you didn't finish closing the appliance because lorenzo's presence in the kitchen makes its way like a tornado.

ㅤㅤㅤthe garage door had closed so hard that it practically echoed throughout the block, and his footsteps weren't far behind. his whole body moved tensely towards the kitchen exit, dragging an air full of rage.

ㅤㅤㅤ—franklin is asleep, lorenzo. —the simple sound of your voice makes him stop halfway, turning on his heels—. i would appreciate it if you did not stomp so hard on the second floor.

ㅤㅤㅤhis eyes scan your body, this time more slowly than before leaving a few hours ago. the confusion in your gaze is obvious, but lorenzo does not seem to notice it. he was so angry at the way his now ex-girlfriend had treated him that he did not notice anything other than the figure of your body.

ㅤㅤㅤ—what time do my parents arrive? —he asks, walking in your direction slowly.

ㅤㅤㅤlorenzo berkshire is a tall boy with brown hair and eyes. his smooth, flawless skin gave the impression that he had never had a bad day in his life. he was spoiled, envious, demanding, and the epitome of beauty in all its letters.

ㅤㅤㅤ—at midnight —you answer, putting the bags of popcorn in the microwave and walking to find a bowl to put them in.

ㅤㅤㅤ—that gives me enough time —he says. you were going to ignore his words and the way your body reacted to feeling his gaze on you, but you can't when his hand tightens on your arm—. do you have a boyfriend?

ㅤㅤㅤ—what? —you pull on his arm to get him to let go of you, but there is no reaction from him—. what are you doing? leave me.

ㅤㅤㅤhe shakes his head, cornering you against the nearest wall.

ㅤㅤㅤ—do you have a boyfriend?

ㅤㅤㅤ—why do you care?

ㅤㅤㅤyour head spins from the strong scent of alcohol on his breath and expensive perfume wafting from his bare neck. lorenzo has his dark eyes glued to yours so intensely that it was suffocating.

ㅤㅤㅤ—no. i don't have a boyfriend.

ㅤㅤㅤhe smiles, satisfied that he doesn't have to do much more to get an answer out of you. his tongue runs over his teeth in the middle of his smile, and you feel a dead weight fall on your stomach. the hand that was holding your arm began to rise with the tips of his fingers caressing your skin. when he reaches your neck, without stopping to look at you, your whole body bristles.

ㅤㅤㅤ—lorenzo, what are you...?

ㅤㅤㅤ—so precious.

ㅤㅤㅤhis face moves closer to the crook of your neck, leaving wet kisses, running his tongue over it, and sucking on parts of your skin. your perfume stings his nose, and you can feel him sigh against you. the sensations blooming unsettle you because you knew you were doing something that wasn't allowed. something forbidden was brewing between you two, and you had to do something before it get out of control.

ㅤㅤㅤ—lorenzo, wait —you say, pushing him. he responds to your reaction with a raised eyebrow—. your brother is sleeping upstairs.

ㅤㅤㅤyou should have said something else to stop him, something as simple as not wanting to do it, but the unsatisfied feeling had already begun to torture your mind.

ㅤㅤㅤ—then you better not be so boisterous, precious.

ㅤㅤㅤlorenzo pulls your arm, pushing you afterward against the island. everything happens so fast that from one moment to the next, you are sitting on the raw ivory of the island, half dressed and feeling his mouth wander fearlessly along the expanse of your torso. this time, he bites, licks, and sucks more roughly than a few minutes ago when he hid his face in your neck.

ㅤㅤㅤyour breathing becomes disordered when you can feel his messy hair tickling the inside of your thighs. his face so close to your needy pussy makes you clench the throbbing wetness. lorenzo smiles like a predator and begins to kiss the expanse of your soft legs.

ㅤㅤㅤ—l-lorenzo —you try to say, formulate a complete sentence that would make him enter his five senses, but you can't when you yourself feel your own desire forming—. please.

ㅤㅤㅤhis mouth slams against your pussy, making you jump at the sensation. lorenzo's tongue wanders between your lips, clitoris and entrance as if he wanted to memorize every texture he can find. it's a matter of time before your moans have to be silenced by your own hand.

ㅤㅤㅤlorenzo berkshire knew how to tap his tongue against your folds, how to suck on your clit until you were satisfied and how to look at you to turn you into a bundle of muffled moans. although you would never have imagined it, now that you see him there, you think about how much you would like to do it more often.

ㅤㅤㅤshortly after, one of his hands joins the wetness of his mouth, burying himself without any preparation in you. tears accumulate in your eyes from the combination of his fingers probing your insides roughly and his mouth demanding more every time a moan escaped you. the sensations begin to drive you crazy.

ㅤㅤㅤhe can notice the way your thighs squeeze his head, so he sucks and flicks his tongue faster as his fingers don't leave a moment of peace. as surprising as it may be, the desire you had built up explodes against his face buried in you. his fingers are the first to break contact, but his lips are still there, taking every drop of your liquids.

ㅤㅤㅤ—e-enzo.

ㅤㅤㅤhe looks at you, letting the cold of his absence crash against your pussy.

ㅤㅤㅤ—what's the problem, darling? why do you have that face? —the mocking tone that colors his voice only sends thousands of exciting signals throughout your body—. i can't wait to be inside you.

ㅤㅤㅤlorenzo unbuttons his shirt, throwing it to the floor and unbuttoning his pants afterward. when he's half naked, you can make out the bulge pressed against his underwear, a bulge that he leaves free before your gaze, and he smiles satisfied by the expression on your face.

ㅤㅤㅤ—you're going to come ask me for more, i know it —he says. there's so little shame in his gaze that you can't believe what you were about to do—. this is all for you for tonight.

ㅤㅤㅤhe takes your legs, his hands burying themselves in your skin to put them on his shoulders. your back falls against the cold surface of the island.

ㅤㅤㅤ—why aren't you saying anything?

ㅤㅤㅤyou look away, knowing that you were a terrible liar and in a vulnerable state like this, you wouldn't be able to go unnoticed. you wanted him to bury himself in you, to find a space inside you and make you cum like he did a moment ago. lorenzo can't stand that you don't look at him and pulls your hair to force you.

ㅤㅤㅤ—come on, tell me.

ㅤㅤㅤhis brown gaze fixed on yours and his erect member pushing against your pussy don't let you think clearly.

ㅤㅤㅤ—lorenzo, please. i need you to do it.

ㅤㅤㅤa smile draws on his lips, pushing the tip of his cock against your entrance.

ㅤㅤㅤ—you need me to do what? —he whispers, slowly thrusting inside you—. so tight.

ㅤㅤㅤthe sensation starts to burn, hurt, and transform into a thousand other things in moments.

ㅤㅤㅤ—answers the fucking question.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i need you to make me come again, please. lorenzo, i need you.

ㅤㅤㅤwith one push, he finds himself balls deep inside you. your legs are on his shoulders, hugged by one of his arms, and his free hand covers your mouth as you let out a loud moan. the sensation filling every corner of your body so perfectly that it was exquisite.

ㅤㅤㅤ—shut your mouth, shit.

ㅤㅤㅤthat doesn't stop his movement, going in and out faster each time. lorenzo was just as eager as you to feel you. ha was watching your breasts bounce from the rhythm he's set, eyes filled with tears from the inability to moan like you want and hot air hitting his hand. he loved the sight so much that he could fuck you all night if he had the chance.

ㅤㅤㅤ—more? —he questions, still moving his hips.

ㅤㅤㅤyou look at him, his breasts as erratic as yours and his collar bouncing every time he hits you. the sound of your skin colliding is heard louder and louder on the walls of the kitchen.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i can feel you want more when you squeeze my cock.

ㅤㅤㅤyou nods, almost crying desperately.

ㅤㅤㅤlorenzo's back and forth starts to get messier but fast. the feeling of his cock burying itself deeper and deeper, drowning your moans each time and holding you were turning your head into a jumble of insane thoughts.

ㅤㅤㅤhe can notice how your body reacts, squeezing his cock more and more. then, letting go of your legs to fall on either side of his hip, he begins to massage your clit in quick circles. your back arches from the outbreak of all your desire about to explode again.

ㅤㅤㅤ—come on, precious, cum like you wanted.

ㅤㅤㅤlorenzo stretches over you, uncovering your mouth and kissing you in a messy movement. that had been enough to make you come in a scream that is muffled against his hot mouth. his member still inside you, his tongue now wandering around the inside of your mouth and his hand coming up to hold you cheek. there was so much charge in that kiss that the separation of his body against yours is surprising.

ㅤㅤㅤ—clean up this mess before my parents get here —he says, taking his clothes and putting on his pants.

ㅤㅤㅤsomehow, confused and weak, you try to clean up the mess until you realize that you just had sex with the older brother of the boy you were going to take care of for the rest of the long summer.

[widebrimmedhatsblog]

okay...here goes...

(I wish you would write) a modern short au about Violet as a celebrity or princess or something, and Xaden as her bodyguard🤭🤭🫶

Okay I'm cheating a little on this one because I have something like this in my drafts already!! This was actually one of @skyfallscotland's prompt fics in which Lilith was the US President, and after a failed assassination attempt on the campaign trail, she assigns Xaden to be Violet's body guard. For reasons I hope are obvious, I don't want to finish it anymore. However, the first chapter was done in it's entirety by the time I scrapped it, so you can have 2.3k ish words of body guard Xaden!! (below the cut)

When Violet gets a knock on her door, she is not expecting it to have anything to do with her mother. The entire reason she’d gone to college in California was so that anything having to do with her mother would be a country away. And for the most part, it had worked. Her freshman and sophomore years had gone off without a hitch. In her classes that aren’t 99% poli sci majors, she doesn’t even get recognized, and she couldn’t be happier. 

She abandons her spot on the couch, and sets her planner to the side as she stands to answer the door. She doesn’t bother checking the peep hole, because she assumes it’s doordash for Ridoc, or last minute school supplies for Sawyer, or Rhiannon staying very ahead of her Christmas shopping. 

What she sees instead is a man. He’s tall, with dark, wavy hair, and dark skin. His arms—very broad, ridiculously so, some might say—are crossed over his chest— which is also notably broad. He’s squinting at her like he’s scrutinizing something, which is uncalled for, in Violet’s opinion. Maybe she isn’t dressed to impress just yet, but the only thing she’d been planning on impressing was her planner, and it didn’t have eyes, so her combo of old sweatpants she’d cut into shorts and a gigantic tie-dye t-shirt with her school’s name on it had been perfectly appropriate. 

“You just open the door all the way, without knowing who’s outside?” the man demands. He stares at her as does it, unflinching and unyielding. 

Violet, naturally, does both flinch and yield, because she’s entirely confused. She takes a step back, to get a better look at the man, to try and see where on earth he gets his audacity, but she comes up empty. 

“Do I know you?” she retorts, indignant. 

He matches her indignation, card for card. “Do you not have a chain on your door?” 

“Of course I don’t have a chain on my door. This isn’t New York.”

“Do you think crime only happens in New York?” The man demands. “Do you think that none of your mother’s enemies can run a google search and find out where you are?” 

He shouldn’t have brought up her mother. He’d been so hot before he opened his mouth, but even still, he could have saved the whole thing and escaped with his hotness intact if he’d avoided bringing up her mother. 

“Okay,” Violet says, “This was fun. You can go now.” 

She moves to slam the front door shut, but he shoves out an arm, blocking her. 

“See?” he says. “This is why you need a door chain. You can’t keep me out. You’re not strong enough, but metal is.” 

She stares at him for a second, blinks, then decides. 

“Okay. You can leave, and also, fuck you. Who the hell do you think you are?”

He’s still holding her door open, so she cannot make him leave, unless she resorts to something petty like kicking his shins. His arm, outstretched to support the door, looks…enticing. She’ll give him that. He has an enticing arm. Assholes are, technically, allowed to have enticing arms. 

“You know who I am,” he replies. His tone betrays no humor, which is ridiculous, because there’s no way he’s serious. 

“I don’t, actually, or I wouldn't have asked,” she snaps. “Not that I care. You have one more chance to tell me, then you’re going to need to get the fuck out, or I’m going to scream at the top of my lungs, and my two male MMA fighter roommates are going to come out here and kick your ass.” 

Ridoc and Sawyer only took one MMA class as a bonding experience, but Violet knows they’ll at the very least get this man out of the doorway. 

The man studies her with that same analytical look he’d donned when she first opened the door. He looks her up and down, then comes to his conclusion. 

“She didn’t tell you.” 

“Who,” Violet seethes, “is she?”

“Your mother, “ he says, though he’s speaking slowly, thinking as he goes, “She didn’t tell you. She didn’t call you or anything?”

“The last time my mother called me was in the year of our lord two thousand and sixteen, and that was genuinely only because she thought I had been abducted, so no. My mother didn’t call me.”

She pushes against the door with all she has, and still, he doesn’t move. He might have over one hundred pounds on her, though, given his size and his muscle mass. She will definitely have to get creative. There’s a vase on the coffee table Rhiannon won’t miss. 

“I’m your new bodyguard,” the man says. He holds the hand that isn’t holding the door out to her, anticipating a handshake. “Xaden Riorson.” 

Violet stares at him, at his hand, and at him holding out his hand. She says, “No you’re not.” 

“I’m not Xaden Riorson, or I’m not your new bodyguard?” he asks. “Because I'm pretty sure I’m both.” 

“No,” she shakes her head furiously, emphatically. “No to both. You’re neither.” 

He sighs, shoves his hand into his pocket, and emerges with a badge. It has its own little leather case, but the badge itself is shiny and gold, with an eagle at the top and a silver star in the center. 

“Happy now?” he asks, voice dry. 

He’s not just a bodyguard. He's from the secret service. 

“I’m happy that you found your way into a costume shop, but it is that time of year,” Violet says. And she’s right. With the start of August comes a proliferation of Spirit Halloweens. One on every corner, practically. 

“It’s a real badge, Sorrengail.”

She hadn’t told him her last name, and she hates that he already knows it, that he knows her mother. It doesn’t give him any legitimacy, though. He’d said it himself—she’s really only a google search away. 

But, if he’s actually Xaden Riorson, so is he. 

“Hang on,” she says, brain already speeding down this train of thought. “Stay outside, or I will actually commit a crime.” 

She steps back from the door, and he raises his non-braced hand in surrender. He leaves his badge out, and though Violet keeps her eyes on him, he doesn’t move over her line in the sand. 

She finds her phone  abandoned on the couch. She turns it on quickly, and her eyes scan notifications, but there is, of course, nothing from Lilith. Even though it shouldn’t, her heart still sinks. She should know better than to allow hope to thrive where her mother is concerned, but evidently, she doesn’t. 

She opens Safari without checking her other notifications, and types in his supposed name. Xaden Riorson. 

The results are inconclusive. No one, it seems, knows what Xaden Riorson is up to. 

“Give me your driver’s license,” she demands. 

He sighs, irritably, but then he’s digging in his pocket once more, revealing a wallet, and presenting her with his ID. He holds it over the threshold, so she plucks it from his fingers and holds it up in the light. 

It looks real, though Violet’s never been big on fake IDs, because she’s never been big on doing anything she thinks might make her mother think she isn’t perfectly capable of caring for herself. Illegal activities fall squarely on her no-no list. 

The picture matches, though Violet’s almost certain there’s a way to make that happen with fake IDs, too. She thinks she’s supposed to see a line somewhere in the middle of the ID, if it is real, but she’s also not entirely sure that isn’t actually the procedure for counterfeit money, and the longer she holds his ID up to the light without finding said line, the less sure she is of the line’s existence at all. 

Finally, she says, “Hmm.” 

“Hmm?” he presses. 

“Well, I’m starting to think you’re Xaden Riorson, but that makes the secret service thing even less believable,” Violet says. 

“Does it?” His voice is bone-dry, but Violet doesn’t mind. She’ll get to the bottom of this without his help. 

“It does, because the Xaden Riorson I knew of was a senator’s son, and the sons of senators don’t just up and join the secret service.” 

“They don’t?” he asks, still dry as ever. 

“They don’t, because joining the secret service means you’re literally willing to die for the president.” 

“And senator’s sons can’t do that?” 

Other senator’s sons could, Violet thinks, but not Fen Riorson’s son. Fen Riorson had not been just any senator. Last election, Fen Riorson had been her mother’s main opponent, and when Americans went to the polls, they had not picked him. 

He’d died six months after the election, but not before hundreds of articles were written, claiming he wanted to share classified government intelligence with the public, things the people deserved to know, but those in office were too cowardly to tell them. 

His secrets died with him. 

And Violet knows her mother is a lot of things, but she wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t make the son of her biggest political rival her daughter’s bodyguard. Her daughter doesn’t even have a bodyguard, because her daughter does not need a bodyguard. 

“You can’t,” Violet says. “You, specifically.” 

“Well, unfortunately for you, Sorrengail, I did. What’s it gonna take for you to believe me? Want to see my work email? Want to meet my team?” 

She’s trying and failing to remember how hard it is to fake an email, or a series of emails, but he keeps talking. 

“Of course, I could just call your mom.” 

Her gaze darts to his. “You could call her?” she asks, but then, her brain catches up to her tongue. “Well, there’s AI now. You could fake her voice.”

“God, okay, you can call her and you can ask her three questions only she knows. How’s that? Do we have a deal? Because believe it or not, I have a job to do.”

She does not believe it, because if she does believe it, she is that job. She cannot be his job. 

“Fine!” Violet snaps, “Fine. I’ll call her. Don’t you dare come in.” He sighs that same exasperated sigh, and still, he doesn’t move. Violet moves to her contacts—she hadn’t lied about her mother’s radio silence. She really hasn’t talked to her mother on the phone in eight years. They also don’t text. Most of her communications are through her mother’s Chief of Staff, Colonel Aetos, who still goes by his military title. 

Still, her mother is in her phone under “birth giver” which had felt incredibly edgy when she did it at thirteen, but now makes her tilt her phone closer to herself, in case Xaden sees. 

Her mother’s personal line is secure, and though she doesn’t always carry her phone on her, she’s heard from Mira—who actually makes calls to their mother, when she’s not underwater—that their mother is good at picking up the phone. 

It rings once, and Violet bites her lip. It rings twice, and Violet’s foot begins to tap a thundering beat. 

It rings three times, and her mother’s voice sounds in her ear. 

“Violet?” Lilith asks. 

“Traditionally, “ Violet says, “people answer phone calls with ‘hello’.” 

“Traditionally, you don’t call me,” Lilith retorts. “I thought someone stole your phone.” 

“Nope. I’ve never had anything stolen from me because I am exceedingly competent.” Xaden huffs at this, which Violet cannot understand. She’s making a valid point. “And because of this exceeding competency, I can’t understand why there is a man at my door claiming to be part of the secret service. Can you comprehend this, mother?”

Violet will not be calling her mom.

“Is the man Xaden Riorson, or a member of his team?” Lilith asks. Violet thinks the world is sinking beneath her. She is slipping through the cracks. “Because if that’s the case, then yes. And he’s not claiming anything. Did he not show you his badge?” 

Violet swallows. Her throat is very, very dry. “You can get those badges anywhere.” 

“No you can’t. I have a country to run and an election to win, Violet, so if that’s all you had to say, I need to go.” 

She hasn’t spoken to her mother since her last mandatory Christmas visit. She’d spent the entirety of the summer sweating in California. And still, her mother doesn’t want to talk to her. 

“I don’t need a secret service agent, Mom,” Violet snaps. She feels suddenly sixteen again, when her mother was still her mother. 

“Correct. You don’t need one, you need four.” 

“I do not need four! I have never needed four!” 

Xaden Riorson is watching her start a screaming match with her mother, and Violet knows she should be embarrassed, but she’s too angry. She doesn’t have any energy to spare. 

“Did you hear that I was shot at recently, Violet?” 

“Of course I heard! Not from you, of course, because that would be too much to ask!” 

“Then connect the dots. You’re too intelligent to question me on this. Let Mr. Riorson do his job.” 

“He’s not Mr. Anything! He’s twenty-two!” 

“He is twenty two, which will make his work with you significantly easier on you. He’s also very good at his job. You’ll be safe. I don’t care if you’re angry with me if you’re safe.” 

“That’s ridiculous!” Violet seethes. “You’re being unreasonable! I have kept myself perfectly safe-” 

She is cut off by a beep. Her mother has hung up. Violet stares at the phone in her hand for a moment, then aggressively redials her mother’s number. 

Her mother doesn’t answer. 

Xaden Riorson is still in her doorway. 

“I didn’t quite realize it was like that between you two,” he says, casually, as if he didn’t just witness a sacred portion of Violet’s life imploding in her hands. Her privacy, destroyed. 

[sunny374940]

Your happiness is all I need

Another little story about Emmrich and Rook’s daughter Elanora. She is not a morning person.

Here on ao3

“Elanora, wake up,” Emmrich whispered, stroking a hand against his daughter's cheek. She was so precious as she slept, cheeks round and face peaceful, eyelids fluttering with the remnants of a dream.

“Mmph.” His hand was swatted away and Ellie buried her head under the blankets. So much for waxing poetic. Maker, there were two of them now. As if it wasn't enough that waking Rook up was always an ordeal, their daughter had to join the ranks. And she used to wake up so early when she was a baby. A touch too early, perhaps, even earlier than Emmrich, and now he regretted ever wishing she would sleep in a bit. Why was he the only person to get up at a reasonable time around here?

“Ellie, you will be late for your lesson.” He gave her blanketed form a gentle shake.

A hand snaked out from under the covers and for a moment he hoped that they could be done with this charade. But no. The hand patted around, searching, and then it arrived at its target, the dragon plushie Taash gave Ellie for her birthday. It was dragged into the depths and Emmrich sighed. This called for harsh measures.

“Very well, young lady, you are forcing my hand.”

He drew back the covers and gathered the girl into his arms. She made half-hearted attempts to escape him, still clutching her dragon close, but he wouldn't be swayed. He carried her down the stairs and into the dining room. Rook was sitting at the table, hair still mussed from sleep, squinting at them groggily. Emmrich deposited Ellie onto her chair.

“Hey, bug,” Rook said, drowsiness thick in his voice.

“Hi, dad,” she mumbled and lay her head down on the table. Emmrich found himself chuckling at the sight. Though not related by blood, those two couldn't be more alike. He took up a hairbrush and set about taming Ellie's dark curls into a braid, as it had been her favourite way of wearing her hair lately (possibly related to finding a certain dragon hunter extremely cool).

Manfred came in bearing tea and breakfast. Toast with butter and raspberry jam for Ellie, the remains of yesterday's chocolate cookies for Rook and bread with cheese and tomatoes for Emmrich. They ate in companionable (and in some cases sleepy) silence.

“Now go get yourself dressed, please, we will be leaving shortly,” Emmrich said as he was getting up from the table.

“I don't wanna,” she whined, flopping onto the table again.

Rook was watching her speculatively and there was mischief in his eyes when he addressed her.

“El?”

“Yeah?”

“I bet I can get dressed faster than you.” He grinned and jumped up from the table, running up the stairs.

“No you can't!” she screeched after him, taking off so quickly that her chair almost toppled over.

Emmrich sighed fondly as he listened to them bicker through the task of changing clothes. They were running back down the stairs a short time later, Ellie jumping over the last few stairs to land in the hallway with a flourish and Rook (of course) foregoing half the stairs entirely and vaulting the railing.

“Daddy, I won,” she sing-songed at Emmrich proudly.

“I expected nothing less from you, my dear.” Emmrich bent down to kiss his daughter on the forehead. She chose a dark blue sweater for today, the one he knitted for her with little dragons done in a warm yellow along the hemline. It was painstaking work, but well worth the look in her eyes when he'd given it to her.

Rook was scowling behind her, pretending at being angry. “I will get you next time,” he grumbled.

She stuck out her tongue at him. “No you won't. “

“Elanora, we do not stick our tongues out at people.”

Rook stuck his tongue out at her and Emmrich pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

“Are you done, darlings?” he asked, feeling a bit exasperated. A double “yeah” was produced, the perpetrators gratifyingly sounding at least a little ashamed of themselves.

“Where are we going?” Ellie asked, curious.

“You will see. Today, you will be learning something a little different.”

The answer did nothing to satisfy her and she spent the walk pestering them both, but they held fast, unwilling to spoil the surprise. They arrived at the library and there was a familiar figure waiting for them at the door. Ellie gasped.

“Neve!”

“Hey, Sparkle,” Neve greeted with a smile. “Emmrich said you wanted to learn ice magic?”

Ellie was looking between Emmrich and Neve with round eyes, as if she could hardly believe her luck. He nodded at her in encouragement.

“With you grasping the basics of casting so well, I thought you deserved a little surprise.”

Ellie flung herself at Emmrich, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Thanks, daddy!” she said, smiling joyfully.

“You are welcome, my dear,” he said, stroking her hair.

She let go of him and bounced over to Neve, eager to begin, and it was exactly the same bounce in her step that Rook had when he was happy. She started chattering at Neve, excited to start her lesson. Emmrich put an arm around his husband's waist, pulling him closer, and placed a kiss against his temple.

“And you're sure this isn't gonna bite you in the ass later?” Rook asked with a laugh.

“Language, darling,” Emmrich chided, hoping Ellie hadn't heard. “And possibly, but there is nothing quite like making the two of you happy, so you must forgive my indulgence.”

“Is that right? I know what would make me happy right now,” he said, angling his face up for another kiss, but they were interrupted by Neve's voice.

“You can go make heart eyes at each other somewhere else, we've got this,” she called to them as she took Ellie's hand to lead her inside.

“Yeah, go away, we're gonna be busy,” Ellie added, all seriousness and determination, ready to get on with learning to make ice knives.

“But pick me up for lunch, okay?”

“Of course, my dear, lunch would be terribly dull without you,” Emmrich said and left with Rook to spend some more time kissing. The lengths he would go to to make his husband happy (he was of course being entirely selfless).

They did pick her up for lunch and that evening there was a lump of ice on the ceiling, where Ellie was aiming for an unlucky fly. The fly got away.