#this casting department really Nailed It

[byeletty]

THE MOTHER-DAUGHTER-ISM IS SO SERIOUS I AM UNDONE

[noiriarti]

The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU) | Chapter 6

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: a lot of jerking off WC: 8.4k AN: thank you all for your patience!! i started grad school so i got a bit busy, but now i will update about once a week! thank you all for the love :) also i am so sorry about all the angst

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7

Chapter 6: Tearing

The afternoon sun filtered through his window shade and cast his room in its warm glow, but Anakin was too busy with his notes on his desk to notice. He needed something to do with his hands, just to keep himself focused, to keep his thoughts from wandering to you. To answer a practice problem, he was trying to find a specific case of heat diffusion the class had discussed--somewhere in October, he thought, but he wasn't quite sure. His desk was already messy before he began studying, but he was making it even worse with a paper thrown here, a staple there.

His eyes scanned the paper this way and that, trying to absorb any iota of information, but the words were slippery, wily things that wriggled out of his grasp. In the end, it turned out he had flipped past the page several times without seeing what he needed, and he finally found it on his fifth pass. Subconsciously, he dug his nails into his palms in frustration. Why couldn't he work? Why were you doing this to him?

His phone chimed, a text from his mom. Hey, how are finals? Doing okay?

For a few days, he'd been ducking questions about whether he was sleeping or eating enough, because he knew she'd be disappointed with his answers. He was running out of ways to change the subject in phone calls, and he knew she was catching on. Anakin decided he should probably respond.

yeah, really stressed about one of them, rest are fine. thesis going ok.

A second later, his phone lit up again.

Good luck. I'm so proud of you, Anakin, no matter what. As soon as he read it, he dropped his head into his hands. His forehead was clammy under his fingers. Of course she was proud of him unconditionally. He knew that. But he knew that he would be even prouder if he won. If he got a 4.0 this semester. Once, after he said something like that to Ahsoka, she looked at him with that knowing expression only she could produce, and asked him if his mom had ever said anything like that. Technically, no, he conceded, but he couldn't let her down.

He just felt so stupid right now, looking at the pages blanketing his desk. He'd been sitting over them for too long, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and stretch or take a break. He couldn't bring himself to do anything, really, let alone focus. So he was trapped. All he could do was just sit there, drink his Red Bull, and kind of review until he could destroy this exam next week.

Anakin decided to try another practice problem. Maybe that would make it click.

The surface tension of liquid argon is given by--

His phone buzzed against the desk. Putting it on loud was a bad idea, and he knew it. Maybe he was just looking for an excuse. It was probably his mom, saying something else. Or, he hoped as his heart jumped, maybe you were coming from the lab early and wanted to meet and study. Or hook up. Or just talk. Whatever, as long as it didn't involve his textbook. His phone buzzed again. And again.

He gave in and opened it. It was you, he found, and he grinned like a lunatic, but caught himself. Then again, he was alone, so it didn't matter, really.

But then he read your texts.

Where are you We need to talk Now

He typed back immediately, his fingers flying faster than he thought they could.

in my room is everything ok?

He looked at the screen, saw the bubbles pop up that meant you were typing, then watched as they disappeared. Anakin was frozen, his phone in his hand. We need to talk could just have been a poor phrasing on your part, right? It didn't mean what he thought it did, right? He could deny it only for about five more seconds, when the little bubbles didn't return.

Fuck. Anakin let loose a string of curses and dropped his phone on his desk. He couldn't think of a single thing that would warrant ending… whatever the two of you had. But maybe you'd realized that he was doing a lot more than what fuckbuddies (fuckenemies?) should do, that he was an absolute wreck for you, and had been for a long time.

The caffeine was getting to him, and his leg was bouncing so quickly that he swore his downstairs neighbor would submit a noise complaint. His mind started racing with all the things he never would have told you, the things that would go unsaid if you ended what the two of you were doing. He'd never tell you that he had two dogs growing up, strays, or that his least favorite flavor of Skittles was orange. He'd never tell you that he was pretty sure that he hadn't felt this way about anyone, ever, and that he had laid awake for the past two nights thinking about how, if at all, he would tell you.

Ahsoka's voice echoed in his ears, wisps of sound urging him to just say something. His mind was racing, a million trains of thought all colliding at once. He should just tell you. He'd never learn your favorite kind of cereal. He hadn't responded to his mom, fuck. He regretted having that Red Bull. He'd never tell you that he called you baby during sex because he wanted to say it other times, too. The answer to that thermo question was probably 36 Joules. He'd never tell you that if you called him a pet name he'd melt and let you win any competition because nothing would matter anymore.

But that was precisely why he hadn't told you how he felt. Because if you felt the same way about him, that would be so much better than any amount of money or award. And that wasn't the kind of person he could be.

He'd spent so long training to control that wild hurricane of emotions that pulled him through everyday life. Anakin channeled it into perfectly neat parallelized circuits and technically exquisite poomsae, but around you it all let loose, angry and passionate and just so much.

It was terrifying. You were terrifying. And there was a selfish part of him that said that he deserved to let all those feelings loose for once. To feel as much as he wanted to feel because, goddammit, he was so tired of control.

But Anakin was a lot. A handful, his teachers always said. It was what ended his previous relationship, what drove Padme away. Would it drive you away, too?

If you walked up to him in two minutes and asked him what the two of you were, if it was just casual or something more, would he have the self-control not to blurt out exactly what he was thinking? His stomach flipped at the idea of you leaving the room, leaving his life, without knowing how he felt.

You walking away from him and disappearing into another part of the country after graduation would kill him. He was pretty sure that seeing you at a reunion in five years with someone on your arm, some beautiful person who you had never hated, would smite him on the spot.

He imagined himself six months from now, when the thesis was over. What would that Anakin want for himself? Would he let himself say something? Fuck it all, he would say. And he was right.

If you were going to end things, he was going to get this off his chest. He had to. He wasn't sure he could live with himself if he didn't.

The sound of knuckles on wood cut through the silent room like a dagger through his heart. One, two, three seconds passed as he sat in his desk chair, mind totally blank. He tried to produce a coherent feeling or, if he was lucky, an entire thought, but he came up empty.

Before, it was all something nebulous, something he could just worry about. Something he could stress about. Now, it was real. You were behind that door, and you needed to talk. And there was no escaping that. With heavy legs, he dragged himself to the door.

Anakin pretended not to notice that his hand was shaking when he wrapped it around the doorknob.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The bus ride back to your dorm had been uneventful, other than the way you were staring daggers into the skull of some poor guy in front of you. He had the good sense to not turn around.

Anakin Skywalker is a thief. You clenched your fists, and you could barely feel the sting of your nails in your palms. Barriss wasn't one to lie, based on the past three years you'd spent with her. She told you the facts right after: she overheard one of the graduate students--probably Obi-Wan, but she didn't know who, just some vaguely hot older guy, she said--telling Anakin his idea for a thesis. And then Anakin ran with it.

If she was right, that changed everything. If Anakin really didn't come up with his own idea, that meant he had rigged the competition. He had a leg up this whole time. He really was exactly what you had thought for years. The golden boy of the department who had everything handed to him. And while you'd labored over choosing the perfect, most viable but impressive idea, he had just skipped right over that step. You'd cried over how hard it was to find a good idea, struggled for weeks on end last year, just trying to make something good, let alone great. And he was already weeks ahead of you in the competition.

All of his sweet gestures--staying with you in bed, holding hands in the library, getting you drinks--were suddenly less sweet. Last year, he was in the thesis lab with you, when he was working on his proposal, watching you go through ideas and get upset when they didn't work, and he knew that. And he never told you about where his idea came from, even when you were getting closer. He probably knew it would piss you off, and he still didn't tell you. He'd hidden it from you.

You didn't know if that hurt more or less than the unfairness of his advantage.

The bus slowed to a stop in front of your dorm, and you hopped off, then dashed to the elevator.

You just wanted him to tell you that Barriss was crazy, or misheard. Or anything. Anything to make it not true.

The elevator ride was agony as it whizzed up to his floor.

At his door, you hesitated. If you entered and fought, that made this real. So, so real. The second you walked through that door, everything between the two of you might change.

But you were too furious not to knock. Silence hung for a few seconds before you could hear the door unlock.

Anakin opened it to you, looking unfairly hot. Rage ripped through you as he looked at you with open affection, gesturing to enter his room, like nothing had changed. Like he wasn't lying to you all this time. You stormed in quickly.

"Anakin, I need you to be honest with me." Your voice came out tighter than you wanted as you searched his face for a reaction. He closed the door, then came to stand in front of you.

"I'm always honest with you," Anakin replied earnestly, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he forced a small smile.

You didn't smile back. "How did you come up with the idea for your project?"

"What?" Anakin blinked, caught off guard. He let out a breathy chuckle. "That--that's what you wanted to talk about?"

"Well?" You pressed, crossing your arms. The edge in your voice was obvious, cutting. You could see Anakin go through the stages of realizing what you might mean, and your stomach started to sink even deeper.

Anakin sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration. "I--Really? Okay, fine. There aren't currently any microsurgery tools that mimic human hands. They're all pincers. So I wanted to make one." Your gaze narrowed.

"And you're saying Obi-Wan had nothing to do with it?"

"What are you talking about?" It was probably supposed to sound confused, but it came out more scared. You knew him well enough to tell. God, he was infuriating.

"Did you or did you not get your idea from Obi-Wan?" The words came out like tiny daggers, sharpened steel that you spat at him. His face fell, and you could see the moment that he knew you knew.

"Look, it's not like that," Anakin said, his arms falling to his sides. His eyes were suddenly avoiding yours, like his desk suddenly contained some information he desperately needed, or, preferably an escape hatch.

"Then what is it like?" You shot back, your heart racing. You stepped closer, trying to find an answer in his furrowed eyebrows. "Why can't you just say no?"

Anakin's jaw clenched, and he was obviously searching for the right words. Words that wouldn't piss you off, probably. "Because Obi-Wan helped, I guess."

"You guess?!" Your voice cracked, incredulous.

"I mean--look." Anakin raised his hands defensively. "Sure, Obi-Wan put me on the path to it. But every second in the lab since then has been me. My design, my coding."

"What do you mean put you on the path? You mean he gave you the idea, don't you?" Your frustration with him was boiling over. Even now, he was defending himself, trying to evade this. Justifying. It drove you crazy.

Anakin hesitated, his words faltering. "I--It's not--"

"Are you seriously about to say that it's not that simple or something?" You interrupted, your voice shaking. You threw your hands up, your fury finally reaching its peak. "Because, from here, it looks simple. Like you stole your whole fucking thesis idea!"

"That's not true!" Anakin snapped, his voice louder now. It wasn't the same kind of anger you were used to seeing from him, it was defensive, almost panicked. "Obi-Wan, he just, he suggested I look at applying an old project of mine to microsurgery. And he was right. So, I guess, technically, if you're looking at it like that--sure. He gave me the idea."

You stared at him, his words sinking in. His admission hung between you like a guillotine, its rope finally snapped. The air felt tight, like you were ten thousand miles above sea level and there wasn't enough oxygen to keep you afloat.

Anakin shifted again, his anger gone, his voice softer, pleading. "It's like… I don't know. I guess I feel guilty about it. But I really needed to submit something that day, or I couldn't enter into the competition at all. It was the rules. If I don't do a thesis… I--I don't know. I just had to. And I figured I'd just use that temporarily, and pivot as soon as it was approved, It was in the end of junior spring, and I just couldn't find a topic that worked. That idea I had about hand prosthetics didn't pan out, and I was telling Obi-Wan about it in the lab, and he told me I should look at microsurgery, 'cause they have a lot of the same issues--calibrating movement to user input, holding up to wear and tear, dealing with friction and joint movement--and that I should do my thesis on it."

His eyes finally met yours again, so deep and blue that it almost made you reconsider. Almost. He was pleading, begging you to understand. "So, yeah, I submitted an early version of the idea Obi-Wan gave me. But every second of design, build, everything was me. It's my work."

You stood frozen, silent. After a few long beats, Anakin started to fidget, his hands wringing so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"If I could go back, I'd do something else. Anything else." Anakin's voice wavered, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of his guilt. "I just--I didn't know what else to do. I needed to submit something, anything. I need to win this," he finished, his voice trailing off.

The anguish over being proven right was something you didn't expect. You should have felt vindicated, that you were actually right all along about him. You should have hated him. But instead, you could feel your heart breaking, like a marionette with its strings cut, slumped over and lifeless. If he had just admitted it to you himself, maybe you could get over this. Maybe. But the fact that he hid it from you cut like a knife. Tears welled in your eyes, and your throat was drier than you'd ever felt it. The words fell from your lips softly, like you could barely get them out.

"How could you?" You felt like you'd never known him, like the person in front of you was a stranger. How could he be both this person, and the one who would keep you warm at night?

Anakin noticed the coldness of your gaze, and it gutted him. Anakin's breath caught, and you could see him shatter in real time. His cheek twitched, right under his scar, and you could swear you saw his eyes start to fill with tears. His hands were shaking where they were clasped together, and you were sure he was leaving indents with his nails. His shoulders shook under his panicked breaths.

He didn't speak for several long seconds, his mouth tugging this way and that as he tried to think of something, anything, to say.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" He asked as he stepped toward you, trying to seek reassurance to keep him from falling apart. But you couldn't give it. You didn't even know him anymore.

"I--" you opened your mouth, hesitating, before you restarted, "I don't know." Your voice cracked, but you hardened it. "I didn't before, but now I'm not so sure."

Anakin took another step closer, reaching out with his shaking hands as if to touch you, but you backed away. His face flushed even more, hurt and frustration jumping across his features. It made you even more angry. "This is so fucking unfair, and you just--you just let it happen."

He said your name, trying to jump in, but your anger surged, and it drowned him out.

"I spent weeks getting my idea just right." Each words was more brutal than the last. "Weeks. And you got everything spoon-fed to you. Everything I worked for--and you just took it from someone."

Anakin flinched like you had struck him, but you were far from done.

"I thought I knew you, I thought I was wrong about you this whole time," you spat, your fists clenching at your sides, "But I was right all along. You're just a fucking cheater."

A tear slipped down the side of his cheek as you continued. Your voice shook as you admitted to him, and to yourself, what the worst part really was. "And you didn't even have the decency to tell me. And that makes you a fucking asshole."

He shook his head, his eyes stinging as he started to speak. "No, please, it's not--"

"Stop it!" You shouted, your voice cracking with emotion. Anakin stood frozen, his outstretched hand falling limply to his side. Your breath rushed through your nose and your pulse beat in your ears. You couldn't even see him anymore through the tears, but you refused to let them fall. To let him see you cry.

He said your name one more time, begging, pleading. For a moment, you were tempted, but the hurt was too big to ignore.

Your voice was cold, distant. "Get away from me," you ordered. Your back was rigid with anger and hurt. "And leave me the fuck alone."

Without waiting for him to respond, you stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind you.

You stalked down the hall as quickly as you could, ignoring the buzzing in your pocket as the tears you were holding back finally poured down your cheeks. You didn't even have the energy to wipe them away, you just let them fall while you punched the button for the elevator.

Only when the door closed, and you pulled out your phone to call Ahsoka, did you see his messages.

please come back we can talk this out please give me another chance

They were all sent minutes apart. You could hear his voice reading them, desperate and thick with tears. Even though you were angry, angrier than you had ever been at him, the idea of him crying still made your chest ache. And then it made you feel vindicated. But then it made you feel horrible again.

You arrived back to the lobby, then crossed the building to the other elevator bank, trying to avoid the awkward gazes the students passing by gave you. You sniffled wetly, wiping away your tears, as you ran up the two flights of steps that brought you to your room. You unlocked the door as quickly as you could, then hid inside.

Your phone buzzed again.

i understand that you don't want to talk, but the second you're ready, i'll be here. i'll always be here.

The words made you sob loudly, and you were thankful for a moment that Ahsoka wasn't home. Until you saw the text, it hadn't hit you that this was the last time you'd talk for a while. You couldn't even remember the last kiss you two had shared. The library? Was that the kiss you wanted this to end on? You'd never see his half-lidded eyes as he worshipped you, never hear him call you baby again.

Why did he have to go and fuck it all up? You asked yourself, sobs wracking your body as you slid down the door. You couldn't tell if you were more sad or angry, but you were definitely heartbroken. Lately, his casual touches, his affection, the way you slept together every night, it was starting to feel like more. But it was all gone now.

You had been numbed with caffeine and stress, but the past week, you felt like you were soaring every time he touched you. Every time he gave you that intense look he always did.

But the two of you were just hooking up. It wasn't supposed to be anything more, and you never thought you'd feel the pull to be with him when you weren't fucking, but it was like gravity. Even now, you wanted him to comfort you. Not someone, but him.

The realization that you had feelings for him hit you like a truck. All the breath was gone from your lungs, gone to some other dimension.

You liked Anakin Skywalker. Even though he was an asshole. Even though he'd hurt you. But those feelings didn't end just because whatever you were had ended, they didn't leave you alone.

You could have been his girlfriend if he hadn't hidden this from you. And that was the last nail in the coffin that made you break down fully.

You sat there, crying, sobbing, wailing, for at least another half hour before you dragged yourself to the shower. It made you feel the tiniest bit better to have your hair clean, your tears scrubbed off your face until the skin went sensitive and ruddy. When the water turned off, it was cold, and you relished the shock to your system.

And then, you started the process of getting over him. You knew you had to do it eventually, and you only had to get through finals before you could go home and forget all about him. Come January, when you next saw him in the lab, it'd be like seeing any other classmate.

That thought was enough to make you start crying again while you stood in the towel you stole from your house. Your tears mingled with the water from the shower, and it was enough to let you pretend that you weren't crying, that becoming strangers with Anakin didn't kill you inside.

You promised yourself that this would be the last time you cried this semester. That night, if you felt the threat of tears, you just threw yourself harder into whatever you were studying. There was nothing else you could do.

At the thermo exam two days later, you walked in later than you usually would for a final that was this important. When you slipped into the class, two minutes before they started passing out test papers, you spotted Anakin in the corner. Because of course you did. Your eyes hadn't stopped finding him in every photo, in every room. He had always been magnetic, and, just because you weren't together anymore didn't mean that stopped. And he was looking right at you.

His gaze ripped through you with some mix of desperation, affection, and sorrow. Anakin looked, in one word, horrible. His eyes were sunken in, red and swollen from crying. Most people would not have noticed, but you knew him too well. His dark circles had come back with a vengeance, like fresh bruises on his otherwise smooth and clear skin. His mouth twitched when he looked at you, like he was going to say something, but he stayed silent as his eyes followed your path.

Throughout the exam, you could feel his eyes on you a couple of times, but you didn't allow yourself to turn around and look. You let the calm of equations and math wash over you, and soon there was nothing but the test. The questions and the precise way you wrote Greek letters in the blue book lulled you into a state of calm you desperately needed.

When you handed in your exam, you allowed yourself another look at Anakin, and then you left the building. You didn't see him before you went on break two days later.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Two days before break, he saw you again. He hadn't changed his habits, still studied in the dining hall and had meals there, sometimes went to the library, and he secretly hoped, thrummed with anticipation, that maybe, just maybe, you'd be there too. That maybe you'd see him and realize you wanted to talk it out. That, obviously, did not happen. He spent an embarrassing amount of time awake, because you haunted his dreams whenever they came. The disgusted look on your face and the words I was right all along, you're a fucking asshole echoed in the back of his eyelids and his mind's eye whenever he laid down. So, he stayed up. More time to study, right?

He spent most of those 48 hours trying not to cry and failing miserably. Even when he broke up with Padme, it wasn't like this. He was angry, indignant, and, of course, sad, but it was the kind of sadness that settled deep on his shoulders and dulled the world around him. It wasn't the kind of sadness that wrenched sobs from his chest whenever he wasn't careful. It wasn't the kind of sadness that made him regret ever going to this college, ever meeting you.

Ahsoka cast him a funny look at him one night, when he fell asleep in a common room. She gently shook him awake, and noticed the redness rimming his eyes, and the way his hands shook from too much caffeine. She gave him a hug and made him promise to sleep tonight.

He did, and that was the night before the test. Every muscle and joint screamed in protest as he dragged himself from his bed. He arrived fifteen minutes early, just to make sure he got a good seat, and then his head kept swiveling like an owl. Every time the click of the doors opening echoed through the nearly empty lecture hall, he locked onto the person entering. He was pretty sure he'd accidentally given glares to at least four poor souls before you finally entered.

He resigned himself to the fact that he'd probably failed the exam right then.

You were even prettier than he remembered, and the depth of your eyes when you stared at him was enough to make him shudder. Even now, he'd give anything to be with you again. When you sat down and didn't look at him again for the next three hours, he felt bits of his heart break off and get trampled under equations about heat diffusion and air pressure. You turned in your test, and then left, and he looked after you longingly. His eyes snapped back to his paper when he got a weird look from the TA.

He turned in his exam paper, rushed home, and promptly passed out on his bed. You came to him in his dreams, of course. Naked in his arms, lips pliant and wanting under him. The way your tongue peeked out when you were too hard at work, or the shimmer of your eyes when he made you laugh. The betrayal on your face. Get away from me.

He spent the rest of finals in a fugue state, doing tasks and exams because he was supposed to. Then, finally, the last one passed, and he was finally released to go home. He hadn't seen you since the exam, and that was probably better for him, he reasoned.

On day 1 of break, Anakin drove the whole day and listened to absolutely depressing music the whole time. He pulled over once and, in a fit of rage, smacked the steering wheel a few times. How could he be so stupid? How was he this much of an idiot? He sat at the rest stop for another fifteen minutes, his sweaty forehead on the steering wheel. Five hours later, when he arrived home late in the evening, he hugged his mom. Everything felt a little bit better after that. He had dinner with Shmi and Cliegg, even though all he wanted to do was lay in bed and sulk. He fell asleep quickly--he was too exhausted to stay up torturing himself with what could have been.

On day 2 of break, he lay in bed and just generally moped around. He could never be still for long, so that meant getting up to eat snacks, flicking through TV shows listlessly, and trying not to look at the texts you two had exchanged. He only cried twice, once at the thought that you'd never meet his mom, and the other at the memory of your body in his arms as he fell asleep. Both reduced him to hot, silent tears.

On day 3 of break, he did yard work and drove by his old dojang to say hi to his high school coach. He ended up agreeing to teach some lessons over break to avoid having to sit at home alone with his thoughts for three entire weeks. Plus, the money was good. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be getting that thesis prize at all, at this rate. He only cried once, at night, when he thought about having to watch you work in the thesis lab without speaking to you. He wouldn't cross that boundary. You already knew he wanted to talk, and you hadn't texted him back.

On days 4-9, he taught three hours of lessons a day. It was calming, familiar. He only had to splash cold water in his face to avoid getting too upset two or three times per day, but the undercurrent of wondering what you were doing never stopped torturing him. He hadn't touched himself in at least two weeks, and he regularly had to stop his thoughts from drifting away to the last time he was inside you. Every time it happened at home, in bed, he got up and took a cold shower. It served him right. At the end of the week, he went to the mall and bought his mom a Christmas present with the money he earned. Just because he knew his mom wanted to blend their family better, he picked out something small he could afford for Cliegg, Owen, and Beru, too.

On day 10, it was Christmas Eve, so everything was closed. There was nothing to do, so he answered a few emails from Professor Jinn, cleaned the oven, and helped his mom prepare for Christmas dinner. There were files on his device he had prepared specifically to work on his thesis over break, but his project made him nauseous. He'd give it all back for a chance to start over. He'd get a B on his thesis if it would make this pain stop. He didn't touch the files, and, that night, when he finally gave in to the temptation to see if you'd posted anything on social media, he didn't touch his cock, either, even though just an image of you was enough to drive him wild at that point.

On day 11, it was Christmas, and he woke up at 4am in his bed, as hard as a rock. Anakin spent an hour tossing and turning and begging his body to just let him sleep, but, eventually he gave in. It was Christmas, right? He deserved a present. When he closed his eyes, he didn't even try to think of someone else. It was you. It had been for a while. Your little noises as he kissed up your neck, the scrunch of your eyebrows right as you came, and the tight grip of your pussy around him when he buried himself to the hilt inside you were enough to make him cum all over his hand within a minute. He found it embarrassing, honestly, that you had this effect on him. Anakin fell asleep quickly and tried not to feel too gross about what he'd done.

On day 11, attempt 2, he woke up around 11, right before lunch, and came down to wish his mother and Cliegg a merry Christmas. Beru and Owen were supposed to come for dinner, but, this morning, it was just the three of them. Anakin had no particular yearning for Cliegg to be a father figure, he just wanted his mom to be happy. If Cliegg did that, then he'd watch endless movies with the two of them, or get Cliegg a present. But if she didn't want to be with him anymore, Anakin wasn't sure he'd miss him. Their second anniversary was in three weeks, and it was a shock that it had been that much time already. When dinner rolled around, and he greeted Owen and Beru awkwardly, not sure what a person is supposed to say to a newly-acquired sibling. He'd seen them a sum total of maybe ten times, almost all of which had to do with the wedding, so they were in how-was-school and how's-the-new-job and gosh-the-winter-has-been-brutal territory. When Anakin gave them their presents, they seemed overjoyed. He'd gotten them matching scarves, each with their first initial embroidered onto it. It was a miracle they had them in stock at the mall, he thought, but the present seemed to hit the right spot. Cliegg got the aforementioned fishing pole, something his mom had told him he was prattling on about, and he got his mom a beautiful new winter coat. She had been mending hers for years, and water and snow would soak right through it, but when he saw the beautiful down puffer coat in the store window, he knew she'd love it. He was right.

Cliegg got him a Laser Distance Measure, which must have cost a pretty penny, and Owen and Beru got him various engineering gadgets (a nice mechanical pencil for technical drawings and a cable carrying case, respectively). His mother's gift, though, was something he'd never be able to forgive. She had bought him a beautiful, fresh Raspberry Pi set, with 8 GB of RAM. It wasn't the most expensive thing in the world, but the $150 or $200 that it did cost her was enough to make him tear up. He'd mentioned months ago that he was thinking of getting one for some personal projects, something for his portfolio, and she bought it. He had the good sense not to say anything like You aren't supposed to get me presents for Christmas and crushed her in a hug, the kind that whispered I know how much this is worth, and I'm so lucky you're my mom. For a second, he was worried he would cry when he saw the crow's feet appear by her eyes, and he felt how thin the skin on her hands had gotten. When had she gotten so much older? For a terrifying moment, he realized he'd have to live without her one day, but then Cliegg made some comment about how he'd made hot cocoa, and they all gathered around the living room to chat. As the last tendrils of sunlight fell beneath the swath of trees in their backyard, he laughed at something Owen had said, and he felt the tiniest bit less alone. Like maybe it didn't matter if he got an A in thermo or had the best thesis in his year. The notion left him quickly.

On days 12-17, the warm feeling had subsided, and all he could think about was what you were doing. Whether you were moving on, or if you still felt the same way he did. If you wanted him again. The fantasy of you seeing him again and realizing that, oh, actually, you wanted to work it out, and also kiss him, inevitably ended with his hand on his cock and cum on his stomach, then regret and shame for about an hour afterward. Once the studio had reopened, he kept teaching there, but with more hours this time. Also, Anakin could finally open the folder on his computer named Thesis without cringing at it, but barely. His heart still skipped about four beats when he thought about how he'd have to see you practically every day. He pushed thoughts like that from his mind as much as he could. No point in torturing himself more than the actual semester would.

Day 18 was New Year's Eve. He went to a party hosted by some of his high school friends, some rager at a frat house. He just wanted to get drunk, honestly, and this seemed like a great excuse. It was sticky and hot even right outside the door, but the sweaty blast of steam that hit him when someone opened it turned his stomach. But the beer was free, so he wouldn't complain too much. A couple of times, he noticed a girl checking him out over the bone-shaking bass. He might have made a move, if he were a different person. If any one of them was you, or had your smile, or your eyes. As soon as he noticed something that was too different from you, he averted his gaze. They were all cute, he supposed, but that didn't matter. They weren't you. When the countdown started, Anakin retreated, not interested in being pulled into some kiss that stunk of beer. Instead, despite knowing he'd regret it, he sent you a text. happy new year, it read. He blamed the tequila, and went back into the fray of cheering people.

From days 19-24, Anakin kept on keeping. Dishes, teaching, occasional progress on his thesis. He submitted over 20 job applications. Sometime in the week, in his daily rehashing of all your messages, he noticed the read receipt had popped up on his text from New Year's Eve, and he cursed himself. He was cursing himself a lot lately. Especially when he promised he wouldn't jerk off over you, but it always ended up happening. The subtle rock of his hips against the mattress when he thought of you, grinding the hard flesh against the soft material, then the sticky warmth of release and the rush of regret that always came with it. The heat of the shower made him hard when he thought about how he'd always wanted to try fucking in the shower, more specifically, fucking you in the shower. He really shouldn't, he reasoned while his hand pumped his dick.

Day 25 was spent driving again, after he gave his mom a big hug and threw his suitcase in the car. Despite himself, he realized that he was no more over you than he had been on his drive to his house. The fact that he would see you tomorrow still made him perk up and wilt at the same time. In a short twenty-four hours, you'd be real, three-dimensional in front of him again. He wasn't sure what would happen--would you kiss him? Slap him? Combust? He could never tell with you. He wondered if you'd cut your hair over break, or if you'd talked to Ahsoka about him. Whatever fantasies he'd been nursing, they were all going to be proven or disproven tomorrow. So he had to use the hour before he arrived on campus to imagine, as hard as he could, that you were in the passenger seat. That you were his girlfriend. That you had just come from meeting his mom, who had shown you a bunch of truly humiliating baby pictures and had whispered to him that she liked you when you had gone to the bathroom. For the rest of the night, that was the reality he lived in.

You had compared schedules last semester, before things got weird, and you shared only two classes, both of which were on Mondays and Wednesdays. At 10:30, you'd both be in Unsupervised Learning, then at 2:30, you'd both take Dynamic Systems and Controls. When he woke up at 8:30, he showered, then tried to wipe the tiredness from his eyes. He put on a shirt he knew you loved (you'd remarked on how well it fit him, and he didn't see it, but you did, and that was all that mattered) and his most comfortable jeans and hoodie. He secretly hoped you were doing the same kind of preening at home, trying to look good for him, but he didn't let the thought take up too much room in his mind.

At 10:25, when he walked into the lecture hall, he saw you instantly. Time stopped as he felt like someone had just gotten a particularly good hit to his solar plexus, and his whole body was responding, out of breath and weak and dizzy all at the same time. You were in the third row, to the left-hand side of the seats, and you looked more gorgeous than he remembered. How didn't he spend the whole break fantasizing about the way your hair shone or the curve of your neck? Seconds started ticking by again when he realized he was blocking the path to the seats, much to the anger of the group of people behind him. He walked down the steps to the second row like everything was normal, then positioned himself on the other side of the lecture hall. He kept his eyes firmly not trained on you for as long as he could, and, when the professor started droning, he turned to look at you, really look at you.

You had put on just a touch of makeup, something he'd noticed years ago that you always did on the first day of class. It suited you, and you looked well-rested and happy. Like you didn't miss him at all. It gutted him like a fish on the chopping block. What was wrong with him? How could he let you get away?

He turned back to the professor, pretending to be interested in the syllabus. When class ended, by the time he packed up his things, you had gone.

The second class was a repeat of the first, only in a smaller lecture hall. He tried to keep his cool, he really did, but he snuck glances. He was only human.

He didn't go into the lab for the week, mainly because he was almost done with build and was spending most of his time on securing materials for testing. They had their first practice that Monday, so he got dressed and headed over to the Athletic Center, where he grounded himself in the ritual, the calming power of it all. It was amazing to see Rex and Ahsoka again. They always made him smile, something he'd been missing over the break.

Later that week, Ahsoka invited him to your room to talk about that semester's competitions. He hesitated the appropriate amount of time before he accepted. The hallway to your room was achingly familiar, just like he'd seen it in his dreams. Only Ahsoka was home, so she wasted no time before interrogating him about what happened with the two of you.

When he told her the general gist, she had the good decency to be honest and tell him that he was kind of being an asshole by not mentioning it, but that it was normal to get advice from professors and other students. It wasn't ideal for it to be as explicitly grabbed, sure, but the point still stood.

By the time the door opened and you came in (his mind raced--from a date? from class? from some other part of your life that he would never come to know?), Anakin and Ahsoka were discussing taekwondo logistics. You looked gorgeous in the cozy cable-knit sweater you had on, and he hoped against all hope that he wasn't staring the way he thought he was.

You looked shocked for a good second before smiling awkwardly with a little "hey." You retreated to your room almost instantly, and Anakin felt a pit open up, wondering if he'd made you uncomfortable. It wasn't his fault, honestly, but he still felt guilty. He left an hour afterward.

Was this his fate? To watch you from a middle distance as you lived your life? He was trapped, pinned down like a bug, reading into everything he saw. If you were in a four-block radius, his eyes would find you. They always would. In class, he had to stop himself from turning toward you, from studying your features and trying to read anything from them. He never could.

Anakin was still fucking haunted by you, especially now that he was on campus. Everything reminded him of you. The boba place, every inch of your dorm, the emptiness in his mattress. He knew he was hallucinating when he thought he spied you at practice one day, just a wisp of hair in the corner of the room, but, by the time he did a double take, there was only empty floor there.

On Thursday, he got a text from Ahsoka.

Party tomorrow at Cody's. You should come, she had written. He didn't really, actually feel like partying. But he went anyway. Maybe he could spend enough time with his friends to forget about you.

He threw on a nice shirt, some kind of button-up his mom had gotten him, cuffed the sleeves, and set off.

It was a standard-issue party. He'd been to plenty of them, so he figured was ready and prepared for what he'd see and feel. Bass in his eardrums so loud it shook the blood in his veins. Having to scream basic conversation over music. Cheap beer and a sticky floor. Enough heat that his hair would start curling more.

It felt like home. He entered, found Cody and Ahsoka quickly, promising to return after he grabbed a drink. Anakin made his way to the folding table crammed full of bottles, as well as some kind of vile jungle juice, and took two shots. Just enough to stop thinking about you, he hoped.

By the time he fought his way back to Cody and Ahsoka, he was feeling it. Rex had joined them in the meantime, and Anakin joined the little huddle. They were talking (read: yelling "what did you say?" over the music) about one of Cody's dates that week, and Anakin let himself slip into the familiar rhythm of his friends. It was nice, honestly. He only thought of you five or six times, which was a record low.

Then Ahsoka suggested they go get another drink, and, as the four of them pushed back toward the drinks station, he saw you.

You were fucking radiant, and the breath stalled in his chest. You had always been the only thing he ever wanted to look at in a room, even from sophomore year, when you began to piss him off more than anything, but right now, you were a supernova. And he was a moth. He felt his wings get burned off as he traced the curve of your jaw and acknowledged to himself that, yeah, he probably wasn't going to get over you until you were across state lines.

You were wearing some sinfully short, tight dress, which crept higher and higher up your thighs. He could tell you weren't wearing a bra, and something stirred inside of him.

But then he saw the guy standing next to you, leaning in to tell something to your ear. Anakin hated himself for the thought, but he instantly started comparing himself to the guy. What was Mr. Boat Shoes saying to you that made you tip your head back and laugh like that? He remembered when he used to do that, when he would make you throw your head back to do more than just laugh.

Anakin felt his jaw clench and his body start to shake with the same energy that he always had before competitions, coiled like a snake about to strike.

He knew it was a bad idea, he really did. But he was never one to resist bad ideas. He blamed the alcohol. It wasn't that you were his, or some misguided attempt at owning you, but he just couldn't watch this. He couldn't let this feeling tear him apart anymore. When you swatted the guy's chest playfully, Anakin felt his eye twitch, right under his scar. Oh hell no. But he shouldn't. It was your business.

Fuck it.

Anakin started pushing through the crowd, and then he saw the guy lean in, and he saw red.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!):

@skywalkercinema @throughparisallthroughrome @anak1ns-wife @radiantvader @eloquenceinpurple @rosekillerdaughter @doblasftcisco @rhiannonhippiegirl @mistress-amidala @johnbassplayercutie @mortalheartache @xorilixx @sunnytotheend @olivia091108 @aniiuv @sotal3rsa @springnaiad @bettysgardenswift @ursogorgeous13 @avalovesjoe1 @anibeaar @anisluvrgirl @mcdonaldshelppage @usuck @sythethecarrot @lovrsm @ann4zw @gimmefood

[feyhunter78]

Jealously, Jealously

Couldn’t find a fanart I felt fit so have a gif!

Nerd!Miguel Masterlist

You’re not jealous, you can’t be jealous, because Miguel isn’t yours. You’re friends, study buddies, lab partners, platonic, platonic, platonic, so why do you feel so shitty watching him and this random girl—Ava she said her name was—flirting?

Maybe it’s because she’s flipping her long silky black hair over her shoulder, batting her thick naturally dark lashes up at him, laughing at his jokes with a laugh that sounds like music, and Miguel’s eating it up.

You’ve never seen Miguel so confident, and it hurts. You’ve been friends with him for ages now, and he’s never been so forward, so clearly sure of himself when he’s with you. He’s talking, leaning down to hear her better, letting her touch his arm, his chest, even his fucking neck.

You stew in silence, arms crossed, watching them from your place behind the Sig Epp letters.

You were supposed to be getting lunch, walking, and talking with Miguel, only stopping to say hello to Brett, but then this Ava girl showed up and all of a sudden, she and Miguel have to speak privately.

“What’s got you all heated?” Brett asks, bumping his shoulder into yours, joining you against the low wall, behind the giant painted letters.

They’re what four-five feet tall, painted in the Sig Epp colors, made of plywood and some other material you don’t really recognize, and don’t care to. They’re good to hide behind, and that’s what you’re doing.

“I’m not heated.” You tell him, rolling your eyes when Ava playfully squeezes Miguel’s bicep, her laugh ringing out through the courtyard.

“Tsst, ouch.” Brett says, jerking away from you dramatically, acting as if touching your shoulder burned him.

“You’re not funny.” You deadpan, averting your eyes from Miguel and onto Brett.

“I’m a little funny.” He says, “remember when I got Dr. Blevins to do that TikTok trend with me?”

“The one where you tried to guess which of the other professors in the department he hated?” You snort, turning to face him, leaning against the sun-bleached bricks.

It was pretty funny, Dr. Belvins wasn’t the nicest man on the planet, but who would’ve known he had such a hatred for Dr. Vervid? Though you shouldn’t be too surprised, there weren’t many people who liked the Organic Chemistry professor.

“See I’m funny.” Brett says, wriggling his eyebrows victoriously.

“You did one funny thing.”

He presses a hand to his heart. “You wound me y/n, truly, down to the deepest chasm of my very soul.”

“Alright, Shakespeare,” you laugh, “time to phone it in.”

Brett takes an exaggerated bow.

You roll your eyes but giggle. Brett is a goof, and while usually you find it all a bit ridiculous, it does the trick, the uncomfortable emotions you’re feeling lessen.

“No, but seriously, you seem upset, is everything alright?” Brett’s voice takes on a more serious tone, and he gives you a sympathetic smile. “I know we’re not close like you and Miguel, but I do consider you a friend, and if I can help, I’d like to.”

Are you crying? You think you might cry. “Shut up, why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m a nice guy, not like that, an actual nice guy, a nice person.”

You sigh and roll your neck, letting it hang to one side as you look at Brett. “I think I might be jealous?”

“Oh, of Miguel and Ava? Yeah, I see them hanging out sometimes, she’s hot.”

Gut punch.

“You’ve seen them hanging out?” You dig your nails into your palm to try and keep the emotion out of your voice. Thankfully it works.

“Sometimes, used to see them hanging out before you two got close, but it’s picked back up recently.” Brett says, casting a surprisingly subtle glance over at the dark-haired pair.

Double gut punch.

“Oh…cool.” You reach for your phone preparing to either hide in it or text Miguel and tell him you have to miss lunch, either way you’re pretty sure you’re going to start crying.

Brett snaps to attention and reaches out to put a hand on your shoulder. “Shit, y/n, I didn’t even—I’m sorry.”

“No, no, Miguel and I are just friends, I don’t care who he hangs out with, it doesn’t matter to me.”

Totally doesn’t matter that he defended you against Kron, that he said he wanted to have a daughter with you. That you almost kissed, that he’s coming with you to the semiformal, that you eat lunch together every day during the week, totally doesn’t matter.

“Oh well...I don’t think they’re dating or anything, Miguel isn’t like that, he wouldn’t…” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “He’s not the kind of guy to lead someone on.”

“I said we’re just friends. Bye Brett.” You snap, shoving your phone back in your pocket and readjusting your backpack as you speed walk in the opposite direction of Miguel. Hoping fervently that you can make it back to the Humanities Building, then to the parking lot, before he notices you’re gone.

Of course, you have no such luck, and you can hear Miguel calling out to you, then your phone lights up in your hand.

“Hey.” You say, keeping your voice calm.

“Y/N, where are you going, I thought we were getting lunch?” His voice is so sweet, so concerned, and you hate him for it.

“I forgot my next class was canceled, and I have a big essay coming up, I’m just going to go home and work on it.” You lie, digging your car keys out of your backpack.

“Oh…okay…” You can picture him, standing there all alone, looking down at his feet, clutching the strap of his backpack protectively, his voice thick with disappointment.

You hate yourself for feeling guilty, but then you remember he’s not alone, he has Ava.

“Just go eat lunch with Ava, you guys seemed pretty cozy, don’t let me interrupt.” You can’t stop the venom from dripping into your voice.

“Interrupt? Y/N, you wouldn’t be—no, I’m not—Ava is just—it’s not like that.” Clearly, the words are spilling past his lips faster than his brain can process them.

“I don’t care, go, have fun, do whatever you want.” It’s petty, and unreasonable, you know, but you’re hurt, and you want him to hurt too. You hang up and put your phone on do not disturb, slamming your car door shut and heading home as you burst into tears.

Directly connected parts are: Flowers On Your Doorstep and Semiformal Kisses and Cat Fights

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey

[pookalicious-hq]

Tolerate It.

Paige Bueckers x reader || next: n/a || masterlist

(there will be a pt 2!!)

notes: ANGST , ooc paige cuz obviously she isn't this mean, also not really a lot of paige sorry- sorta setting it up for the caitlin picking up the pieces in the second part.

now playing: tolerate it by taylor swift

(Y/n) would not do this to herself again. The warmth that once kissed her features had long since burned out. Her head hung low, eyes tracing the trail of melted wax pooling under the once-lit candle. Each droplet seemed to echo the tears she dared not shed.

How long had it been? The streetlights pouring in through the windows had been the only thing capable of illuminating the empty chair. Unfortunately, that allowed (Y/n) to continue to remind herself that someone was supposed to be sitting across from her.

Her absence was equally overwhelming as her presence. She sat atop a pedestal of achivements. Before, they had been equals, minds intertwined through a delicate thread of gold. Eventually, she rose too far for (Y/n) to reach.

As (Y/n) stared into the flickering flame, the room felt suffocatingly silent. The oppressive stillness was broken only by the faint hum of the streetlights outside, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. The empty chair stood as a silent reminder of her absence, its weight pressing down on (Y/n) 's heart like a leaden anchor.

It seemed as though now, Paige only tolerated her love.

The click of an unlocked door echoed throughout their shared apartment, bouncing off the walls.

Steps sounded, their treads light, careful not to disturb the sleeping night.

(Y/n) kept her gaze locked on the wall ahead, lest her tears fell as she found Paige’s blameless eyes.

“You didn’t have to wait for me, baby.”

“You shouldn’t have kept me waiting.”

Paige’s face carried no regret. Her eyes shut, breath from the depths of her lungs was let out in a sigh. 

From her seat, (Y/n) craned her neck upwards to meet Paige’s unbothered gaze. She searched within Paige’s eyes, there laid not even a hint of remorse.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, (Y/n) .” 

She felt the weight of Paige's words like a physical blow, knocking the breath from her lungs. The ache in her chest deepened, a gnawing emptiness that threatened to consume her whole. She struggled to find her voice, to articulate the storm of emotions raging within her.

"You don't know?" (Y/n) 's voice rang with a mixture of hurt and indignation. "Of course you wouldn’t know how it feels to wait for someone."

Paige's expression remained impassive, unmoved by (Y/n) 's pain. It was a familiar sight, one that she had grown accustomed to over time. The realization only fuelled the bitterness welling up inside her. Wood gathered under her nails, scratched off as she gripped the table. Whether it be for stability or out of anger.

"I'm tired of waiting for scraps of affection, Paige," (Y/n) 's voice wavered, betraying the depth of her despair. "Why can’t you see me."

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of their breathing. In the dim light of the room, (Y/n) could see the weariness etched into Paige's features, a reflection of her own exhaustion. She always wondered how Paige could be so oblivious to her pleas for affection. 

Long ago, Paige had thrown her weight onto (Y/n) , overwhelming her senses all at once. Perhaps dulling out what their relationship really meant. When Paige suddenly stopped reciprocating anything, (Y/n) had been thrown off balance. Where had the longing gazes departed to? The warmth coursing through both their veins turned cold. Though it had been evident who was was capable of living that way.

"I know," Paige finally spoke, her voice soft but devoid of warmth. "And I'm sorry."

Eyes shut, (Y/n) scoffed. “So?” She questioned, surely that wasn’t all Paige had to say.

It was all she ever did. Early on, (Y/n) worshiped those little apologies. Welcoming them as they had been all she had wanted to hear from her lover. Soon enough, it had been clear that Paige was accustom to using empty words.

And so, (Y/n) found herself trapped in a cycle of longing and despair, unable to escape the crushing weight of her unrequited affection. 

“I said I was sorry. What more do you want?” At this point Paige stood, exasperated and defensive. Her eyes turned sower, expression twisted as she took in the state of (Y/n) before her. 

“Where did you go?” (Y/n) questioned, her voice down to a whisper.  As the candle burned low, casting eerie shadows that danced like ghosts in the darkness, (Y/n) knew she would not do this to herself again. But the ache in her heart, the echo of her lover's absence, remained as a haunting reminder of what she had lost.

“Why are you so sensitive? I just came back from Em’s, calm down.” The answer shot out, burrying it’s resentment into (Y/n) ’s gut and spreading throughout her blood.

“No, Paige,” At last, the table became stained with tears. Ever so slowly, (Y/n) ’s heart broke. “Did you ever love me?”

(Y/n) s heart sank as she waited for an answer that would never come. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and shattered dreams. With a heavy heart, she rose from her seat, her gaze lingering on Paige's impassive form for a moment longer before turning away.

As she stepped out into the cool night air, (Y/n) felt a weight lift from her shoulders, a sense of liberation washing over her like a cleansing tide. The streets were deserted, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights overhead. 

The night air was cool against her skin. (Y/n) breathed it in deeply, letting go of the pain and disappointment that had held her captive for so long. 

She left behind the empty promises and broken dreams of her past. She walked with her head held high, her heart filled with hope for the possibilities that lay ahead. And as she disappeared into the night, leaving behind the echoes of a love that was never meant to be, she knew that she was finally free.

a/n: OKAY HOPE YALL LIKED IT (may or may not be based off of my own experiences-) sorry for not that much Paige, but send in more requestssss LOVE YALL MWAH

[damn-stark]

Chapter 24 Lambs to the slaughter

Chapter 24 of Moonlight

A/N- *TEHEHE*

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy and SA, angst, fluff!!!, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 465-469 & just a part of 480

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

Aemond. What of Aemond? Aemond this. Aemond that. Aemond, Aemond, Aemond is all you hear, it’s all anyone talks to you about like if you’re his keeper, like if…

They think it’s easy growing to hate him like they despise him, but have they really asked if it’s easy for you to view him with anything but with the eyes of love? Have they considered the fact that you grew up together, that even despite your feuding families, he and you never treated each other with anything but kindness? Don't they remember that you have a son together and have two more children on the way?

Did they forget that you married each other months before your supposed date?

Just because you left his side weeks prior doesn’t mean that you still don’t harbor the same feelings of deep love, because you do. You still hold hope and great love for Aemond—it’s a sickening fact for them to comprehend maybe; he did kill Lucerys and your grandmother. Your mother also has Daemon by her side so she doesn’t yearn, Baela is heartbroken but she loved Jacaerys, someone on the same side of the war so she could never understand, and Rhaena hasn’t found anyone to love so dearly and deeply so she doesn’t understand the ripping pain one feels when they mention killing him as easy it is to breathe; and you hope she never gets to feel such torment.

Maybe if Cregan was by your side, forgetting the love you hold for Aemond would be easier, but he’s leagues away and will remain leagues away. Thus you’re stuck being tortured with each word uttered in the Small Council hall, feeling like a blade is sinking deeper into your flesh.

“Would you have me pardon the Kinslayer, the False King, and Daeron as well?” Your mother presses your grandfather, making you suck in your cheek and gnaw on the inside as you let the winter sun bask your face as it casts through the glass doors—“Would you have me send them to the faith like Helaena and Alicent? They who stole my throne and slew my sons?”

You can hear the anger in her voice, the utter disbelief brought by such a daring suggestion.

“Spare them and send them to the wall,” your grandfather dares to continue sharing despite the visceral anger in your mother's tone. “Let them take the black and live out their lives as men of the Night’s Watch, bound by sacred vows.”

Daemon scoffs and Baela retorts against your grandfather. “What are sacred vows worth when you have dragons there to accompany you and give you an escape from such a fate?”

That’s true. There’s no use sparing them and sending them to the wall if their dragons still live, and you can’t imagine either of the three men letting their dragons go.

“And what are vows to oathbreakers?” Your mother echoes. “Their vows did not trouble them when they took my throne.”

“Giving pardons to rebels and traitors will only sow the seeds for fresh rebellions,” Daemon interjects to agree with your mother, making you dig your nails in your palms as more and more come to an agreement over something that you already knew was going to happen. Yet it never felt as real as it does now as they finally agree on the fate of your husband.

“The war will only end when the heads of the traitors are mounted on spikes above the King’s Gate, and not before,” Daemon adds. “Aegon will be found in time hiding under some rock, and I alone will finally depart to go after Aemond.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as his threatening words steal your breath and finally shove the rest of that sharp blade into your chest.

“Baela and I could go after Daeron,” you suggest and spin around to face the table of people, catching your mother snapping her head toward you and looking at you with horror she can barely hide—“Daeron’s dragon is small, Astraea and Moondancer can easily bring him down together. Or I could go with Addam and Seasmoke, Astraea and Seasmoke are well acquainted, they work well together.”

Both Baela and Addam don’t speak to argue, they look at you with determination, but your mother shakes her head right away without as much as thinking about it. “No…no. You are with child,” she finds the best and most effective excuse. “And you are my heir. I cannot put you at risk.”

You blink in disbelief and then slowly walk towards the table to argue. “It’s because I’m heir that I should be out fighting. When I was with the Green Army, men were more inspired when I spent my time with them. Now imagine when the army of men sees me fighting with them. The crown has to be seen fighting with the army, and if not you then I should do it.”

Your mother challenges your narrowed gaze but before she can counter, your grandfather does. “The Queen and you are both right,” he says but neither of you or your mother let go of each other's gazes—“You should be seen fighting along with our men, but you are with child, and already far out. It’s dangerous. Perhaps once the babes are born you can go out on dragonback again.”

“Then what am I supposed to do until them?” You ask with a scoff.

“Learn by my side,” your mother snaps back, making you hold her gaze for a tense second before you realize that you won’t win against her, so you roll your eyes away and return to your seat around the table, causing Ser Cane to push the chair in for you the moment you sit.

The truth is you knew the answer before your mother could say it but you were hoping that you were wrong. But nope.

“Ser Hugh and Ser Ulf can take the war to Daeron,” Daemon offers a solution. “They will fly to Tumbleton to help defend the town as it stands between the Hightower army and the city, and that’s where they will at last destroy the dragon and the boy.”

You glance at Ser Ulf, and right away as if he can sense your gaze, Ser Ulf spares you a glance and sits up rigidly before averting his gaze and agreeing to Daemon’s plan.

“It will be an easy feat for Silverwing and I sense you lot say the dragon is only a babe.” He still manages to be stupid, making you roll your eyes.

“My wife resides at Tumbleton with her brother,” Ser Hugh speaks with more grace. “Vermithor and I will fight with our lives.”

Your mother nods gently in appreciation and comprehension before her attention returns to her husband as he interjects. “The Lannister’s and the Baratheon’s should be destroyed as well, so their lands may be given to men who have proved to be more loyal, such as Ser Hugh and Ser Ulf,” he says ever so calmly as if he didn’t just utter the worst thing he could possibly ever suggest. And you don’t stand alone in your horror, your grandfather quickly shares his disagreement with the outlandish idea.

“Half the Lords of Westeros will turn against us if we are so cruel as to destroy two ancient and noble houses.”

Ser Ulf’s eyes that were quick to bulge out at the idea of being a Lord, then slowly droop back to normal as he hears the quick protest. And you don’t make him any happier since you too speak up against the terrible idea.

“My grandfather is right, we will lose this war if we just give the noble houses away to people who were nothing but strangers mere months ago,” you don’t shy away from being so bold even if the men share a look.

“We,” you pause and sigh, choosing to sit back with your back straight and your nose slowly rising in the air. “We can offer them pardons and fair terms. Nothing more and nothing less, they still rebelled against the crown. They should be grateful that we are not asking for their heads.”

Your grandfather looks at you and offers you an agreeing nod and a proud smile before he turns to your mother and Daemon. “The Princess is right. Her suggestion is wise.”

Your mother and Daemon share a speechless look before she focuses on her clasped hands and thinks for a moment, letting a silence blanket over the table in which you find Ser Ulf again and make him squirm once more.

Addam catches you torturing the man this time and finds your gaze to shake his head at you and share a twitching smile that he doesn’t let himself fully express. You albeit don’t feel shame, you beam at him in return before you look away and return your focus to your mother.

“Alright,” your mother breaks the silence and drags her eyes up. “I will follow the Princess’s suggestion, but only after we put an end to the usurper, the Kinslayer, and Daeron.”

Your amusement dies and you look at the table with conflict.

“Once they are dead, the rest will bend the knee,” your mother continues to spew. “Slay their dragons so I may mount their heads upon the walls of my throne room. Let the men look upon them in the years to come so they might know the cost of treason.”

You agree with her, you want to show your support, but Aemond comes to mind and you can't muster the will to want him dead. You only hurt at the thought.

“Very well, so we are agreed then,” Daemon interjects and nobody voices any protest, bringing a conclusion to the matter.

“Good, now we can go to our respective tasks,” your mother chimes in. “Daemon will go after Aemond. Ser Hugh and Ser Ulf will set off to Tumbleton. Rhaena will return to the Eyrie with Morning to at last go through our part of our pact so Lady Arryn may finally send her men. Baela will return to Dragonstone to defend it, and Addam will remain here to defend the city. Seasmoke, Astraea, and Syrax will suffice for the defense of the city.”

You nod lightly without looking back at her since your thoughts have all returned to Aemond, to the point you stay glued to your seat until it’s just Ser Cane, your mother, and you in that hall.

“What is it?” Your mother tries to probe, but when you meet her gaze you offer her a soft smile and a different response than the one she was looking for.

“May I go with the others to the Dragonpit so I may take Astraea out? I’d rather have her out so she’s able to just fly in and fight if the need arises.”

Your mother nods right away. “I don’t see why not. Ser Cane, why don’t you accompany her, the others will depart with their dragons, I don’t want the princess to return alone.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Ser Cane assures your mother of something he had already planned to do.

“Thank you, Mother,” you offer her before you finally rise from your chair and leave with Ser Cane, Rhaena, Baela, Daemon, and the other two Dragonriders toward the Dragonpit. Albeit the carriage is taking a longer way to avoid the smallfolk's wrath considering taxes were raised and they don’t like that they did.

“So Rhaena,” you interject in the silence and drift your gaze to her across from you. “Are you ready to shove it in the face of the old hag that you have a fierce dragon now?”

Rhaena scoffs and shares an amused smile with Baela before she responds. “She’s not old.”

You shrug and flick your wrist. “She was a bitch, so it’s the same thing. Shove it in her face.”

Rhaena smiles at her hands and you lean toward her. “Are there any cute knights or wards there?” You continue to pester her to make the ride more tolerable. “Someone who’s caught your eye?”

Rhaena’s eyes widen and she passes her father an awkward look before she looks back at you and whispers your name, making you scoff in amusement. “What? I can ask, I’m a married woman with a child, there’s nothing wrong with it. Ah! I can introduce you to some Northnermen if you want.”

Rhaena sinks further in her seat and Baela nudges your arm so you can keep teasing her sister, letting Daemon see the remnants of what you all used to be before this war tore your old selves to shreds.

“There’s Addam too,” you say and giggle. “Mayhaps you can stay here and…keep watch with the good knight.” You nod and Baela grins. “For I am too far along in this pregnancy to do a thing.”

“Stop,” she whispers and turns her head away to look out the window.

“I know! I’ll slip something in your late-night teas and toss you in a boat!” You exclaim. “Nothing screams romance like a good adventure!”

“Oh, a good adventure?” Baela whispers in your ear. “Is that what you and Lord Stark did?”

You snap your head to her and push her gently. “Baela,” you hiss between laughter.

“Oh and Addam is good with kids, Aerion adores him,” you keep trying to warm Rhaena to Addam. “And he’s funny and sweet.”

“Then you marry him,” she mutters, making you and Baela laugh.

“Oh well if Aemond dies, then Baela and I have decided to travel to Yi-Ti and there we will find our husbands bathed in gold,” you share lightheartedly as you and Baela hold each other's gaze and try not to burst out laughing. “If not well I hear Dorne has some very handsome bachelors. Or well…we’re up for anything really.”

Rhaena rolls her eyes and you and Baela just share a teasing smile before you pat her leg and let your face fall soft yet serious. “It’s not wrong to let yourself find some pleasures, Rhaena. It’s a war not the end of the world, so don’t forsake your heart's desires.”

Finally, Rhaena looks over at you and loses that annoyance she carried on her face and offers you a soft look before she nods in comprehension, making you smile at her before you drop your gaze and caress your belly as both Aemond and Cregan come to mind.

Will you curse your twins because you let your heart love too freely?

You didn’t mean to, but you couldn’t help what you felt either. He was oh so kind, his love just consumed you, and Aemond…you loved him since you were a little girl. Not because in the back of your head, you knew that you would be married off since you were Targaryen, no, your love for him was born from your own desires. Your love for him consumed you too. And now you’re paying the price.

What a travesty...

Not loving them, just the complication of it all.

Nevertheless, the rest of the ride to the Dragonpit is silent since everyone’s mind is on their tasks, on the war, and the worry over the Smallfolk possibly seeing the carriage.

They don’t but it's not like you would have worried either way because as messy as it would've been, Daemon and Ser Cane are with you. They would’ve handled things a lot better than Aegon’s Kingsguard did when it came to protecting Helaena and Alicent that one time.

Yet, since you weren't spotted in the carriage or walking in the Dragonpit, you all had an easy transition from the carriage to the pit where you go to unchain Astraea yourself.

“<Hello, my girl,” you greet your dragon who already has her eyes set on you. “I’m here to free you at long last.>”

Astraea groans and you chuckle as you pat her side.

“<I know you’re upset, but now you can be with Seasmoke, and hunt over the water with your heart's desire,>” you tell her which she huffs to in response.

Once you set her free she shakes her neck like a dog shakes their body and then turns her head to press her snout against your belly.

“<Ah,” you breathe out and caress her. “Yes, they’re getting bigger. Heavier too.>”

Astraea keeps her snout pressed against your belly, causing the babes inside you to start moving which in turn makes you start smiling in awe.

“Oh,” you coo before you lean down and press a kiss on the top of your dragon's snout, making her open her eyes and pull her head back to look at you with her pupils wide and focused on you. “<Are you still mad at me?>” You ask before you shoot her a grin and then turn around. “<Go out, I’m going to get Shyrkos out for Aerion.>”

Astraea does as you say and you do as said, taking Shyrkos out of her crate and letting her perch herself on your shoulder before she wraps her long tail around your neck. The moment you’re out of the caves you see that Rhaena and Baela had stayed behind to wait for you, albeit Astraea and Moondancer have both put a good distance between them and the wild dragon Morning, choosing to ignore her existence and sticking close together instead.

“Be careful, the both of you,” you direct at the twins. “And Rhaena, please no more running off.”

“The same goes for you,” she redirects, making you smile at the ground but say nothing in return.

“If you find yourselves in trouble send a raven,” you let them know. “I will try to be there. Or you know, I will let someone know.”

Baela scoffs and closes the gap between you to pat your belly before she grabs your hands and gives them a comforting squeeze.

“By the time I see you again you might have already birthed twins,” she says with a tiny smile. “I hope they're boys. Jace bet that you were going to have all boys. All seven of your children.”

Your breath hitches and your eyes soften at the sweet mention. “Did he now?” You ask softly. “Well, I hope he’s wrong. Aemond and I want girls.”

Baela grows physically disgusted at the mention of your husband's name so you leave it at that and just work towards ending the conversation. “Well, I hope Jace’s ghost knows he will be wrong.”

A sad smile appears on her lips and you mirror it before you stroke her knuckles with your fingers. “Until we see each other again, cousin. Take care.”

Baela meets your gaze and nods softly. “Until we see each other again.”

You offer each other one last smile before you meet up with Rhaena, and unlike Baela, you grab Rhaena’s cheeks, and she cups yours before you embrace each other.

“Don't strain yourself okay?” She tells you sweetly.

You nod but you can’t truly mean it, you just nod to assure her. “Don't get too wild now that you have a dragon, hm?”

She scoffs softly and nods too. Does she mean it or is she just assuring you like you did with her? Who knows, but you can’t pick at it so you let it be and trust that she’ll do the right thing.

“Take care,” she says as she pulls away.

“You too,” you return the comment before you step back and watch the twins go to their dragons. When Baela has mounted Moondancer, and Rhaena has mounted Morning and starts holding on for dear life since the dragon keepers say that the wild dragon is too old and wild now to be saddled, you walk them all the way to the exit, choosing to remain hidden under the shadows of the Dragonpit so you’re not seen by onlookers as you watch your cousins descend to the skies and get lost in the clouds.

After they're gone you stay where you are and Astraea walks to the exit to wait for your okay to leave since you haven’t mounted her to descend to the skies together.

“<Go,>” you let her go free from the confinements of the dragonpit which she probably thinks is a dungeon, and once she is also lost in the clouds you crave some freedom as well before you return to the Red Keep.

“Why don’t we walk back to the Red Keep,” you tell Ser Cane as he walks up to you.

“It wouldn’t be wise,” he says right away, making you turn to face him and throw a hood over your head that covers your hair and keeps Shrykos hidden.

“And if I close my cloak,” you trail on as you button your cloak and hide your elegant and expensive gown. “My gown is hidden. See. I am like them now.”

Ser Cane tilts his head up and looks at you with a quizzical brow. “I could overpower you and force you on the carriage,” he shares but not as a threat, more as a warning. “It would save my heart from strain.”

You flash him a smile. “Strain? Ser, it’s a simple walk. Besides I need it, the twins need it. The Maester says it’s healthy to walk. I must walk actually.”

Ser Cane draws in a deep breath as he narrows his gaze to a pointed look and weighs whether to disobey your desire or give in.

“It’s a long walk,” he says as he puts his hands on his hips. “We walk halfway. The carriage will be waiting for us at that halfway point so we can ride the rest of the way back home. It’s that or I sweep you off your feet here and now.”

You hold his gaze for a moment, feeling your smile turn to a grin before you beam at him and nod. “Okay,” you give in without a fight, making him sigh deeply in annoyance before he walks away to let the carriage driver know about the plan, leaving you waiting under the exit, wishing for the sun to return and once again bask you with its warmth.

Alas, the clouds are greedy and steal the sun’s spotlight, forcing you to bask in a winter chill instead, but you don’t curse it and wish to disappear, you welcome its cold embrace and you can only do that so easily because you’ve been surrounded by a colder climate. Otherwise, you too would cower inside your home to stay close to your fire, and not even dream about walking amongst the people who need to be out and about in the coldness, and those who don’t mind the winter's chill, like you do when you leave the Dragonpit.

“…barbarity! Demons!”

Shouts catch your attention, taking your gaze to a cobbler square down the street from the Dragonpit.

“They crawled out of the pits of the Seven Hells!” A skinny man proclaims to no one. No one is gathered around him, but he still carries this passion in his eyes and in his voice that doesn't let him care that he speaks to an empty square. “They are unnatural creatures made by sorceries of Valyria!”

You finally come to a complete stop and become the old man’s only listener.

“They are a curse upon our earth! Both Dragons and Targaryens alike!” He keeps proclaiming and shaking his fist and stump.

“Princess let’s keep moving,” Ser Cane presses as he grabs your arm, but you stay put, forcing him to stay behind like a tall lurking shadow.

“Risen from the vile cesspit where brother lay with sister and mother with son…”

You scoff at the lie and mutter. “Sheep.”

“…where men rode demons into battle whilst their women spread their legs for the dogs!” He continues and this time one single person takes their time to stop not so far from him and listen to the trash that comes out of his stinking mouth.

“Sheep,” Ser Cane echoes. “But in a time of fear the Shepherdless sheep gather around the bravest of them,” he speaks wisely, making you step back to fall by his side instead and continue to watch the old dirty man, but also steal glimpses at your sworn protector.

“The Targaryens escaped the doom, fleeing across the seas to Dragonstone, but the gods are not mocked!” The man follows up with more cruel words. “Now the second doom is at hand!”

“Yes,” the single person agrees, making the corner of your lips curl to a displeased frown.

“The False King and Whore Queen shall be cast down with all their works,” the old man continues to shout. “And their demon beasts shall perish from this earth!”

You fist your hands and start to narrow your gaze to a piercing glare.

“The Whore Queen birthed a demon who disguises itself as an alluring siren, but it walks amongst fire! It’s a Fire Demon!”

“Infected sheep should be taken out before it infects the rest of the flock,” you speak to your sworn protector as you keep your eyes trained on the old man spewing nothing but false claims.

“He’s an innocent and ill man, Princess,” Ser Cane responds without hesitation so his own advice doesn't go unheard. “Take him down now and the tension between the crown and smallfolk increases. They are looking for any wrong step to use as an excuse to revolt.”

You hum and study the scene while you listen carefully. “All those who stand with them will die as well! Only by cleansing King’s Landing of dragons and their masters can Westeros hope to avoid the fate of Valyria!”

“Fear clings to anger,” you speak up and slowly take your eyes off the dirty old man. “If we let him speak he can attract attention, but a shepherdless flock leads themselves to the slaughter.”

“Aye,” Ser Cane agrees. “So it’s said.”

“We either let him snuff himself out, or let the infection spread until that takes them all out.” You finish saying and then meet Ser Cane’s gaze to seek his thoughts.

“Yes, in matters like these, there’s no penetrating them. Not us…”

“They’ll see it as an attack. They’ll believe he’s right, turning them all against us,” you continue for your sworn protector. “If attention is what he manages to get, that is.”

Ser Cane hums. “Exactly. Best leave it be. Now come on.”

You hum and steal one last glimpse at the old man, but don’t let your gaze linger so he doesn’t catch you staring and manages to recognize you.

Yet even as you continue walking away you continue to probe on the matter. “If the infection doesn’t kill then, if they don’t lead themselves to slaughter…then what?” You ask. “If we kill them that would hurt us. His word and belief would be spread and kept alive.”

Ser Cane sighs and parts his lips to give you an answer. Yet before he can he points his chin at you. “What do you think we would do at that point?”

You blink and look around to find your thoughts, finding one in particular that you pick on. “If one person turns too many then…we infiltrate them, tear them down from the inside so they think they sabotaged themselves. That would turn his words and belief to nothing because the people want to be angry, but they won't want to suffer the same fate so their same fear will disillusion them.” You say and quickly return your gaze to Ser Cane, noticing his lips tug to a smile.

“Wise. Spoken like a true heir,” he praises you, making you smile proudly.

——

*NOT SO MUCH LATER*

“Just down there,” you let Addam know as he follows you downhill where you would sneak off to train, where ocean waves hit the stone platform, and you’re far from the busybodies that occupy the castle and have a chance at disbursing your peace.

“Are you sure?” Addam queries hesitantly from behind you before he jogs down to fall by your side. “I mean I don’t want someone to get the wrong idea.”

A smile flashes on your lips and you show your amusement to Addam before you tap your belly. “The wrong idea with these two? I’m sorry but given my current state I’m not considered desirable, so no one will think a bad thing at all.”

He huffs. “I think that carrying children doesn’t make you any less beautiful,” he tries to assure you.

“Thank you, Addam, but…it’s complicated, besides, Ser Cane is with us. He'll stop you before you can even form a mischievous plan, isn’t that right Ser?”

“I’ll push you in the water and no one will be the wiser,” he deadpans, making Addam confused on whether he’s joking or not since Addam can’t read Ser Cane like you can.

“He’s joking,” you soothe Addam’s worry before you nudge his arm. “Should I worry about you? You're quiet.”

Addam meets your gaze and parts his lips, but he lets a breath of air escape first before he forms his words. “Why do you trust me so wholeheartedly and not the other two? I haven’t given you a reason to deserve your devotion and yet you are devoted to me. I…” he trails off and drops his head, bringing you to a slow stop and forcing him to one too that has quite the distance in between.

“I am no one yet you treat me like you’ve known me our whole lives. In a way no one else has. No one here I mean,” he continues to say, making your lips form to a pitiful frown—“You have every reason to look at me the same way you did at the Gullet. The Velaryon name doesn’t change who I really am, so why?”

You swallow back a thick lump that forms in your throat and study his face twisted with insecurity and confusion.

“I…tend to trust too blindly,” you admit in a lighthearted tone. “It’s a problem that’s been brought to my attention before, so maybe you’re right, maybe I should doubt trusting you. I shouldn't rely on my beliefs, but,” you pause and take a couple of steps closer to him before you come to a stop and continue softer and with a hint of sorrow in your voice. “The truth is that you out of everyone here has made me feel less alone.”

You catch him by surprise, making him lift his eyes off the floor to look at you with disbelief—“That day at the Gullet I was a bitch, I was insecure about what I thought you were going to take away from Aerion and I had no right. I was wrong and I'm sorry. You are a very great guy from what I’ve witnessed so far, and ever since that night at the dinner, you’ve kept me from sinking into a pit of darkness.”

His breath catches and his lips twitch to a smile. “And you…have saved me from feeling alone without my brother while I stay in this strange place,” he shares, making you slowly grin. “So thank you for trusting me.”

You nod softly and blink repeatedly as tears sting your eyes. “Thank you…for reminding me how it feels like to laugh. It’s been only a couple weeks but having nowhere to go has made it feel like we’ve known each other for years.”

He laughs and nods in agreement. “It really does.”

You share a breathless laugh before you close the gap between you to pat his chest with your fist, making him look at the gesture before he lifts his fist and mirrors your actions, but in a much more gentle manner. It’s like a light feathered touch that you still feel and leaves you lingering in his presence for a moment longer before you finally continue down your path side by side.

“You know I always had these big dreams,” Addam shares. “And now that I’m out here doing something it's nothing like how I expected it to be.”

You sigh deeply. “Yes,” you talk softly. “I understand what you mean. Do you regret any of it though?”

Addam shakes his head. “Not yet.”

You pat his back and praise him. “Good for you.”

He meets your gaze and offers you a tiny smile. “Thank you.”

You chuckle before you skip forward to get a bit ahead of him. “Tell me, Addam. Now I'm being serious, how many sailor shanties do you know?” You probe and peer at him over your shoulder.

“Many but unfortunately I was not blessed with the right set of pipes to sing any,” he says before he shoots you a pointed look. “I hear you have a gifted voice. The Siren of Driftmark is your name, no?”

You flash him a smirk over your shoulder before you nod proudly. “Yes. I love singing, that's why I asked if you know sailor shanties. I want to learn more, and with my father gone, I have to rely on you. It’s too bad you can’t sing though, we could’ve formed a band.” You frown dramatically before you spin around and face your sworn protector.

“Can you play an instrument or sing, Ser?” You direct your question at Ser Cane, causing the man to lay his eyes on you and remain quiet for a long moment hoping you’d drop it, but you wait with your eyes on him the entire time.

“I can play the lute…quite well,” he reveals, making you beam at him.

“Great! Thank you for sharing, I shall keep it in mind for my own personal advantage,” you tease him before you turn back around and face the platform you’re approaching. “Thank you by the way Addam, for agreeing to come train with me.”

Said man scoffs. “You didn’t really give me an option. Using your power over me kind of forced me to train with you.”

“I had to,” you remark. “No one else will because I am with child. And a woman.” You complain with annoyance before your tone quickly flips to excitement. “But I do plan to keep my promise and teach you how to do archery from your dragon. I must teach you on the ground first though, I can’t just throw you in the water and tell you to swim.”

He hums and then giggles at your choice of words before he picks up his pace to walk at your side and reach the platform at the same time.

Yet, the moment you step foot on the stone ground a racing pair of footsteps echo, stealing your attention to the incomer who turns out to be Ser Jason.

“I’m sorry to disturb you Princess, but, the Queen Dowager has requested an audience in the throne room,” Ser Jason shares between heavy pants.

Yet as out of breath as he is you don’t take his news seriously. “The Queen can handle it by herself. I’ll stay here for this audience.”

Ser Jason shakes his head. “No,” he breathes out. “Alicent requested an audience with you alone in the Throne Room.”

You’re hit with overwhelming curiosity, slight surprise, and annoyance only because of course Alicent is requesting an audience with you without the presence of the Queen in her own throne room. It makes you wonder what she’s up to.

“All right.” You nod lightly before you draw in a small breath to give Ser Jason a command. “Let the Queen know of the audience. I want her to go.”

Without hesitation Ser Jason nods before he turns around and runs off again, letting you turn to Addam with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, perhaps we can come back later, or tomorrow. Is that fine?”

Addam nods, of course, and reassures you so you don’t feel guilty. “Of course it’s fine.”

You offer him a thankful smile before you retake the path you just walked and return to the Red Keep. Once you’re inside and approaching the Throne Room, you don’t linger back to wait for your mother. You know she’ll join you eventually, she’d be curious as to what Alicent could possibly want; that’s why you let the guards open the doors for you and let Alicent see you and believe that you're there to fulfill her request without an ulterior motive.

She must think you’re like her and her children, but you’re not and the moment you strut down the room with your nose in the air, bathing yourself in every beam of light that casts through the windows on the walls, she sees that. She didn’t want to see it before out of her own hate and pride, but as her eyes follow you down the great hall she sees just how much your presence alone steals the breath of the great hall.

She looks at you now and it’s like the sun came out of hiding to shine just for you. Viserys would tell you that all the time, “the sun shines just for you,” he would say from the moment you were born and he laid eyes on you for the first time. Alicent’s stomach always twisted with jealousy so she refused to acknowledge anything great about you, but here you are now, walking past her without sparing her a glance, as if you don’t exist in the same realm and she sees it. She sees you and you are what every heir should strive themselves to be.

You are everything her children could never be. She sees that and realizes how much Aegon would have benefited from marrying you instead, but then again you would have eaten him alive. Aemond and you could have been such a glorious example of what a ruling couple should be, but you are right, he is the way he is because of her, she wronged him. She wronged them all, she sees that and so much more, but doesn’t acknowledge it. She can’t, so she pushes it to the back of her head and instead notes that you don’t even climb the steps to the throne. You keep yourself at the foot of the stairs that lead to the throne and take command from there.

“Goodmother,” you greet her with surprise. “What a surprise.”

Alicent curtsies, causing her golden chains to rattle. When she’s up right again she meets your gaze and you continue to fill the silence. “To what do I owe this surprise? I mean an audience in the throne room without her grace is quite the scandal.” You chuckle dryly.

It’s almost like she herself had an ulterior motive. It’s like she wanted you to feel superior and steal control above your mother.

“I’ve come to plead for your help,” she reveals, piquing your interest. “I heard of your mother's plan to slaughter my sons and I must ask you to save them.”

Your lips slightly part in surprise but before you can think of uttering a word she continues.

“You love Aemond. You are married to him and share a beautiful child. Y-you were on our side once, so I must ask you to change again, to save Aemond, to help Daeron who is innocent in this war. And Aegon…”

You raise an eyebrow to await what comes out of her mouth for him.

“He’s an invalid now. He can’t father any more children. He’s a cripple. He will be no threat I swear, just please—You who has the power and the skill, please help me. Save them. Save Aemond and you can be the ones on the throne instead,” she pleads desperately with actual tears creeping out of her big brown eyes. “Please.”

You narrow your gaze to watch her closely and just as you gather a breath to respond, the doors open and your mother, the Queen walks in, pausing in her stride to look at Alicent who now looks baffled by your mother’s presence.

“Your Grace,” you greet her with a mischievous smirk as you curtsy. When she reaches you you move aside to let her walk past you before you swiftly turn around and follow after her. Albeit you stop by the Iron Throne to stand beside it and let her be at the center of attention to take command now.

“The Dowager Queen has sought my audience to beg the mercy of her children,” you tell your mother to catch her up. “She wants me to spare them from their fate, but Daeron is no innocent boy. He’s slaughtered men with the armies because of the war you helped start. And Aegon,” you pause to scoff finding it crazy that you have to tell her why he’s not worth saving.

“Did you know he barged in my quarters when Aemond left for Rook’s Rest,” you begin to share, feeling your mother's eyes on you, and seeing Alicent’s hurt at what you’re preparing to share—“It was no friendly visit. He didn’t come looking for his brother, he went in there drunk looking for me. Do you know why?”

Alicent averts her gaze and with that look alone you know she has an idea. Yet you still share it.

“It seems you have some idea, but I’ll share it anyway. He went there to grope me, to assault me while Aemond was gone because he knew I wouldn't fight back. He would’ve gone further if it wasn’t for my sworn protector barging in,” you sneer and glare at her for demanding the mercy of such a disgusting man—“I can’t imagine what he’s done to other poor girls who weren’t as lucky, but I’m sure you can and still you want me to save him? And all behind the Queen's back?” You scoff and look at her with disgust as you go quiet and let your mother interject now.

“Is this your plan Alicent? Scheme behind my back hoping my daughter will betray me? Then again why am I surprised? You promised to surrender Aegon and the Red Keep, and your son was gone proving you a liar. So I’m not surprised that you stoop so low,” your mother seethes, and Alicent shakes her head before she tilts it up to meet your mother's gaze and finally give a response.

“Is trying to save my children stooping low when it’s something you yourself would have done in my position? Can you blame me for trying to save them from such a fate?” She cries. “Is that a sin?”

Your mother shakes her head. “No,” she says back. “But going behind my back hoping to plot something with my heir is.”

“And she proved ever so loyal,” Alicent mutters. “I praise you for that, but please hear me,” she begs as she falls to her knees, making you and your mother share a look before you return your attention to Alicent.

“We can divide the realm. You could have the Vale of Arryn, the North, the Crownlands, all the lands watered by the Trident, and the Isles,” Alicent shares, making you smile at the floor—“Aegon could have the Stormlands, the Westerlands, and the Reach, to be ruled from Oldtown. Please,” she pleads with tears crawling down her cheeks and eyes, and that desperation breaking her voice.

Alas, your mother doesn’t even debate what she asks. She gives her a response immediately. “No.” She feigns a laugh and scorns her. “Your sons might have had places in my court if they had kept faith, but they sought to rob me of my birthright, and the blood of my sons is on their hands.”

Alicent drops to her hands and mutters something you and your mother manage to catch. “Bastard blood, shed at war.”

You quickly look to your mother and she rises from the throne right away but stays where she is to snap back.

Yet before she can Alicent continues to throw out her angry filled words. “How many more must die to slake your thirst for vengeance?”

“You tell me,” your mother spats. “If you hadn’t raised your son to take my throne their lives wouldn’t be put at risk, your lover and your brother wouldn’t be dead, and you would not be in chains, but alas these are the consequences of your actions.” She huffs and walks to where you are to continue. “Speak again of bastardy, and I will have your tongue out.”

Your mother turns swiftly and storms out. You linger behind and face Alicent to speak about her. “Have her locked in her chambers with no more visits from her daughter or grandchildren. If she wants to plot behind the Queen's back again, have her tongue cut out, and then we can decide where she goes.”

“Princess,” the guards say in comprehension and then bow their heads before they grab Alicent’s arms, whilst the Dowager Queen herself snaps her head up and looks at you with her eyes widened in horror.

“Your Grace?!” Alicent asks for your mother's support and your mother stops in her tracks but only supports you.

“Do as the Princess says. It will serve as punishment for what she tried to scheme today.”

You flash Alicent a sweet smile laced with malice before you give her your back and follow after your mother, finding yourself catching up to her right away and following at her side instead.

“Forgive me, Mother,” you interject once you put some distance between you and the throne room. “For giving Alicent that punishment just now and putting you in a difficult position where you had to choose my choice.”

“No,” your Mother doesn’t hesitate to answer. “You don’t have to apologize. It had to be done. She tried to scheme behind my back. She’s lucky that her punishment wasn’t more severe.”

Yet she’s unlucky that she got a punishment. Alicent almost returned to her quarters without consequence and all for what? Your mother's soft spot for her?

Then again can you blame her when you have your own soft spot for Aemond?

“You were quick and smart with the choice,” she praises you sweetly. “Good job.”

You can’t help yourself, you let a proud smile tug on your lips as those words have a way to make you feel flustered.

“I want you to accompany me to my chambers before we go visit the children,” your mother interjects with a colder shift in her voice, but when you face her you don’t see disappointment or something that tells you that she feels concerned and therefore you should too. You instead see her lips formed into a frown and her eyes slowly filling with conflict.

“Alright,” you give in and do as she says, proceeding to follow her to her quarters and see her walk to her bed to sit on the edge before patting the empty seat next to her.

You flash her a look of confusion but you also don’t sense that you should stay put or be hesitant, so you take her offer and lock eyes to speechlessly question why you’re in the position you’re in now.

“Why,” she begins quietly and drops her gaze. You follow her line of gaze, catching her fiddling with her rings—“Why didn’t you tell me about what Aegon did?” She finally asks what was troubling her mind and what made her bring you here. And you expect to feel tears, but your chest just tightens as you recall that memory.

“The truth is,” you pause and take a minute to collect your thoughts before you scale your eyes up and look at her averted gaze. “I’ve been trying to forget because maybe I was over dramatic. I…told Alicent now to make her feel bad and give her a reason why Aegon out of all her sons can’t be saved.”

Your mother slowly brings her eyes up and catches your gaze with her eyes brimming with tears and her eyebrows knitted together as anger, pity, and agony also fill her heart and become present in her features.

“But it’s not over dramatic. Aegon…he still took advantage of his power to take advantage of you,” she says as her voice breaks and trembles out of guilt. “It’s not over dramatic and I’m sorry you had to be in that position because of me. Because you wanted to fight for our cause.”

You lean forward and grab her hands to try and offer her consolation. “Don't blame yourself, okay? It was not because of you and it was not because of anyone else. The only one to blame is Aegon, okay? Just him.” You whisper and stroke her knuckles, causing your mother to look down at the way you’re softly caressing her before her eyes find yours again, and she then suddenly embraces you.

“I’m still sorry it happened,” she whispers and cups the back of your head to press you firmly against her.

Your smile trembles as the corner of your lips pull up to a wobbly smile. Yet as much as you feel the need to, you don’t cry, you hold your tears back and put all your emotions into clutching onto her as if fearing her comfort and her warmth will disappear if you don’t hold onto her. “Thank you,” you share your gratitude before burying your face in the crook of her neck.

After a while of being wrapped in each other's embrace you pull back but just enough to lay your head on her shoulder and have her lay her head on top of yours.

“Did you tell anyone at least? I would hate that you kept it in for so long,” she says softly in the silence, and you nod gently.

“I told Aemond, he comforted me about it and only spared Aegon because he was already half dead.” You scoff with amusement and find yourself smiling softly like some love-struck fool as you remember Aemond’s comfort.

“Hm,” your mother hums and you can sense her judgment, but she doesn’t say a thing about it, choosing silence over saying something offensive. She just can’t fathom Aemond, introverted, black sheep, and kinslayer Aemond being anything but angry.

“Are you…worried about Daemon?” You change the subject as you let yourself touch on a specific matter in hopes of relating to someone about this pit in your stomach that you feel every time you think about Aemond when you’re apart.

“When he’s away I mean,” you clarify. “When he’s in a dangerous situation like now. Do you ever feel a pit in your stomach?”

Your mother sighs deeply and takes a moment of silence before she gives you a response. “Yes. I never had a reason to feel it before,” she shares. “But I do now. Why do you ask, my Sweet?”

You shake your head gently. “I just wanted to know if it was normal. I wanted to know if anyone else felt it too for someone they loved.”

Silence follows once again. It lasts longer than before but once again she breaks it and this time she’s much quieter as if she’s being careful. Not because she’s afraid of hurting you, she’s afraid of hearing your response because she knows what you’ll say and she knows the pain that comes with it.

“Do you love him?” She asks.

You draw in a deep breath and after releasing a deep and shuddering breath you give her the response that makes her stiffen. “I do,” you speak softly with each word filled with sincerity and such an obvious affection. “I love him with all that I am. All that I’ll ever be. And all that I ever was. I try,” you breathe out shakily. “I try not to, trust me,” your voice quivers. “I try, but…I can’t let him go. My heart refuses to let him go. Even if I have love for another my heart still calls out his name. The very memory of him makes my heart sing and dance even though I know he’s done things to hurt me.”

“Why?” Your mother asks hesitantly even though she knows that question is stupid. She just has to ask because she can’t imagine how someone could love someone who's killed people they love, who’s pure evil and twisted with darkness.

“I,” you pause and take a small breath. “Love him,” you sigh. “Because he’s entangled in my soul. Because he loves me, every part of me, like the darkness that would scare many others away. Because he understands what it’s like to yearn for something that’s in our reach but couldn’t be ours. Because without saying a word he knows everything I feel and everything I want to say. Because I enjoy being the one to make him smile and laugh, and because he loves me in such a deep and selfish way that I have always wanted to be loved…and I could give you thousands of other reasons without growing tired, but I know you would so…that’s why.”

Your mother swallows thickly and understands why you stayed with Aemond as long as you did when you had every chance to leave him during the war. She understands the pain that shows on your face every time someone mentions having to kill him.

“But I know he can’t be mine forever,” you mutter and she hears it now, the pain that she can’t see because you’re not facing each other—“I know what has to happen. I…know,” you say something that you didn’t even have in mind, you just said it on the spot because if you said what you truly wanted to say, then it would be a lie. And even if you have lied, even if that’s not something you struggle with, saying that you made your peace with Aemond having to die can’t even form into words in your mouth.

“It will hurt,” your mother says softly as a way to warn you of the pain that you have yet to experience. “Every time you look at your children it will hurt because you will see him in them. But before you know it, your heart will sing and dance and swoon for someone else and all he’ll be is a memory of your long life.”

You nod and want to say those two words you uttered before, but you can’t even form them in your mouth, so you just nod so very lightly that it barely would count as a nod.

“Like Lord Stark,” your mother brings him up again. “You love him too, yes?” She asks.

“Yes,” your voice quivers.

Your mother wants to probe like she did with Aemond, but it wouldn't be appropriate so she’s just left wondering.

“He’s a good man from what I hear and he’s your friend, and I want you to know that you can choose who you want to be with. I won’t force you into a loveless relationship just for some political advantage, okay?” She asks for comprehension—“You have the freedom of choice.”

“Okay,” your whisper comes out shaky and you cling onto her more firmly than before as you seek her comfort for the ache that already torments you.

If only you could hold onto her forever. The world would feel safer that way and any pain would immediately be cured, but alas what you want can’t happen, so you let her go and try to fill the rest of your day with other things that won't make that torment hurt you any deeper.

And it works.

For a time.

“<Ready?>” You ask Aerion and his blue eyes turn to his dragon, letting you place another piece of meat in front of her. “<Dracarys Shrykos>,” you command, and the hatchling steps back before she blows out fire and burns the piece of meat, making Aerion laugh and then attempt to talk or give the same command, but he can’t form the words so he coos and Shrykos crawls to him and nuzzles her head against his chest.

You smile with awe and as you do an urgent knock raps on the doors, piquing your interest and turning your head to face them. “Come,” you welcome the visitor and watch the doors of your chambers open and reveal Helaena in her night attire and with her hair flowing down her back.

“Why can I not see my mother?” She gets right to the point as she averts her eyes. “I could not have dinner with her, and now I can not bid her goodnight, why?”

You share a speechless look with Vanessa and when you get off the floor she takes your spot to watch over Aerion, while you approach Helaena.

“Your mother has to be locked in her quarters because she wanted to scheme with me behind the Queen’s back,” you share even though you know that will offer her no comfort. “She’s already a prisoner so to spare her from death we took away her freedom. I’m sorry Helaena,” you speak confidently but yet in a comforting tone so she doesn’t stress out more than she already is.

Yet she can’t seem to accept her mother's fate. “But I always bid her goodnight, and who will I have dinner with now?”

You sigh and feel pity for her but you don’t take back your decision. “It had to be done. I’m sorry.”

Helaena shakes her head and begins to pace, making your ache for her even worse.

“Helaena,” you try to speak to assure her but she puts her hand up to motion you to be quiet.

“It’s all what must be done,” she mutters something you can barely catch. “Everything. Why?”

She stops so you make your way to her and try to cup her shoulder to have her give you her attention, but she then turns around by herself and looks at you with her eyes wide and glistening with tears, but also laced with distress.

“What will you do?” She directs her question at you now. “Aemond will die in fifteen days. What will you do about it?”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief as you feel that pit in your stomach again, followed with that deep heart aching agony.

“What?” You ask breathlessly and she clutches onto her hands and slightly narrows her eyes.

“It has to be done,” she remarks with a hint of frustration. “And you can’t do anything about it.”

You shake your head as you don’t accept what she just revealed even though everything inside you knows she’s not lying. Because why would she?

“No,” your voice cracks as you look at her with desperation.

“He was never going to live through this. Everyone knows that” she continues to say, bringing frustration out of you now—“It’s his fate. And nothing you do will ever change it.”

Tears break out of your eyes as you clench your jaw and look at her with frustration and anger before your emotions flicker to desperation. “Please,” you beg and grab her arms. “There…” you trail off as you think about her words, as you think about that son that you will have in a future that you accept and acknowledge that it’s how the story will unfold, but that part of you that loves Aemond blindly and with every part of you pretends to be clueless as to what you know to only focus on what you want.

“There must be a way,” you try to get an alternative out of Helaena since she knows so much, but her expression remains pointed and frustrated.

“There isn’t. What will you do about it?” Her voice slightly hisses, making you pull back and look at her with a slow-forming glare.

You don’t continue with an answer. The room is left deafening, and since you won’t give her what she wants she leaves and you’re left standing in your agony and desperation that is so blinding and demanding that it overwhelms you with the thought of one single solution. A daring thought.

You must go to him. Convince him to let this fight go. You have to find him.

Thus you march out of your quarters and take the path to Helaena’s quarters knowing that’s where she’ll be headed, and luckily she didn’t make it far at all so you catch up to her rather quickly. And when you’re face to face it’s that same desperation that demands her knowledge of Aemond’s whereabouts.

Helaena gives them to you so you march back into your chambers and right as the doors close, Vanessa presses you since she knows you all too well. “What are you doing? You cannot go after him. He can’t be saved. He won’t want to.”

You face her with agony clinging in your eyes that makes them glisten with unshed tears before you utter one single thing. “I have to try.”

It’s stupid. Foolish and thoughtless, but you leave the Red Keep through the tunnels, find Astraea resting in the cove she usually is to be close to you if a need arose, and at last fulfill that longing to get lost in the clouds.

Once again you’re leaving without saying a word, out of desperation and high emotions. Your stance is still with your mother, that hasn’t changed and won’t change anymore. You still have the need to fight in this war, that need hasn’t left either, but you have to try and save the man you love. You have to for the sake of your love, for the sake of simply trying to save him from his doom because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you love someone.

Leaving was selfish you understand, chasing after him was selfish but the disappointment your mother, your cousins, and even Cregan will feel when they hear you went after Aemond doesn’t cross your mind when you find him, and when your eyes meet in the middle of that lush and lively forest.

In a way, it feels like he knew you were coming, that you were going to be outside of the hut he’s staying in, but after he surpasses his own self-conflict between reality and an illusion, he’s completely overwhelmed with disbelief by your presence. The kind of disbelief that has his lips parting just slightly, and makes his blue eye wide and glimmery as the spots of moonlight that burst through the treetops enlighten his long and beautiful face.

“It’s you and me,” your voice travels through the quiet night, hitting his ears and only breaking it to him more that you’re not some illusion cast by his solitude and yearning to see you. You’re real, you’re there before him holding his eyes with a teary gaze that only makes your eyes that much more beautiful.

“You and me,” you whisper again and step forward, falling in the soft and bright white light that the moon casts down on the earth, making Aemond gasp softly as he sees how truly divine you look in your silk light sea-green gown that’s accompanied with a pearl and crystal chain over your torso.

Truly your beauty transcends that of the moons, the suns, and all and every goddess that ever existed. He’s always known it, but as you stand before him under the soft light of the moon that fact is much more true because you’re there for him.

How could he be so stupid as to make you leave him? And how could you be so stupid as to return to him?

“Now and forever,” you finish and make tears run down his face as he nods in agreement.

Your lips pull to a shaky smile as you see his reaction and before you know it a force that’s not your own pulls you to each other, causing you to meet in the middle and kiss as if you’ve been apart for decades and only had each other's imaginations to feel the taste of each other’s lips. Nothing of what happened only a couple weeks ago comes to mind, it’s like it never happened at this very moment. It's like he was never angry that you left. It’s you and him and your dragons in the middle of some forest in the Riverlands until it’s just you and him in that hut unable to even think of letting each other go.

You are one flesh, one heart, and one soul for who knows how long. All you know is the taste of each other's mouths, the feeling of each other's flesh on the tip of your fingers as you run them over the perimeters of each other's bodies, and the sound of every pant, gasp, and moan that leaves your lips.

It’s all bliss, every second that your bodies and hearts are intertwined. Nothing else matters, nothing continues to matter, and the definition of love, true love was, and is clear as you take in the sight of each other while you remain in bed ignorant to the outside world.

“You know,” he speaks in that soft and gentle voice that you love and makes you feel relaxed. “I saw Alys and she told me something,” he says and places his hand on your belly, piquing your interest.

“What?” You ask in a whisper against his lips as if it were a secret that the space around you can’t know.

A smug smile tugs on his lips and he glances down at your belly covered by furs and shares what he knows against your lips. “The twins are girls.”

You look at him with disbelief for a second before you begin to grin without even bothering to question him. “Really?!” You exclaim and throw your hand on the side of his face to cradle it and press your own face closer to him.

He hums in agreement and you pull back to turn and smile at the ceiling. “So it’s Daenys and Daenerys?” You muse as you caress your own belly. “Yay.”

“What about Daenys and Naerys?” He suggests but you don’t even consider it, you just turn him down right away.

“No, Daenys and Daenerys has a much better ring to it don’t you think? Considering they’re twins?” You quire as you turn back to your side to look at him.

“I suppose,” he mutters.

“You suppose right.” You nod, making him chuckle breathlessly.

“Aerion?” He asks when his laugh dies down.

“Big,” you share happily. “Scooting on his behind to get to places. And wanting to burn down the Red Keep with Shyrkos. He keeps wanting to say Dracarys but he can’t. Luckily.”

Aemond flashes you a grin and goes quiet. He then lets his eye wander down, and it’s at that moment that you bring your hand up to cup his face with the gentlest touch, and take your time to caress his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb while you just study his face slowly falling as he grows flustered by your softness, that he knows he doesn’t deserve you after what he did to hurt you.

“Forgive me,” he mutters and moves his hand up your belly to stroke a scar that is no longer marking your skin. “I hurt you that day and I’m sorry. I…” he trails off as his voice cracks and takes in a deep breath before he slowly finds your attentive gaze. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know what I was doing. Harrenhal…was driving me mad. Every night I closed my eyes, I saw you die or I saw Lucerys. My greatest fear haunted me every time. My past followed. And it all chipped away at my sanity a little bit at a time until I couldn’t know between what was real and what wasn’t. And it’s no excuse, nothing could excuse what I did, but I needed to tell you,” he says with a deep breath that lets you see that weight rising off his shoulders.

“You understand right?” He asks for reassurance, and you exchange a breath in and out without changing that softness in your eyes and give him the reassurance he seeks.

“I understand,” you say sincerely and lean in to press a gentle kiss on his lips. “I understand you,” you repeat yourself against his lips, making him bring his hand up to clutch onto your cheek before he presses his forehead against yours.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile and butterflies flutter in your stomach before you echo his sweet words. “I missed you too.”

He hums and you hum back to tease him, holding his love-stricken gaze and taking a small breath in, leaving the room in silence. However, it’s in that comforting silence that the memory of why you came to him in the first place finds you, creeping into your mind and making your lips slowly lose hold of that smile, and making your eyes slowly droop and lose that happy glimmer that was caught within them.

Aemond notices your shift in emotions and looks at you with concern, but you can’t utter why you’re in agony so quickly with that breath you just drew out. You don’t want to ruin the moment that just had him smiling and enamored.

You want to live in the bliss for at least a second longer, so you close your eyes and stroke his cheek with your hand to be a part of that moment for just a little longer.

Just a few seconds longer…

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Next chapter someone finally croaks…

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber

[godihatethiswebsite]

Everything's Perfect

✽ Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!reader

You find yourself learning a painful lesson in futility when a possessive romance becomes too stifling

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

This small bit of madness was partially inspired by this post from @shotmrmiller. Thank you for your constant barrage of depraved juicy thoughts that feed us mere mortals!

Trigger warnings: stalking, unhealthy relationships, minor smut, pet play?

You’d planned it perfectly.

A couple months' careful preparation finally come to fruition as you shoved the last of your precious belongings in your oversized purse and headed towards the front door, ignoring the pang in your heart and the tears building behind bloodshot eyes as you cast your gaze one final time over the place you’d called home before departing the space forever.

You never thought you'd see the day you'd walk out on Simon Riley - simultaneously the best thing that ever happened to you and the unfortunate reason for your abrupt upheaval. The man you would have surrendered your entire being to…

…until the avid eagerness with which he wrapped your pliant form around his meaty fingers became far more predatory than it was enthralling.

At first you’d loved that about him; his borderline obsession granted you the freedom to be as clingy as you liked without overwhelming or smothering his own flames of passion. He let you express your need for him in ways that would’ve sent lesser men running for the hills. There was no judgement for the amount of affection you practically drowned him with - whether that be the hours long phone calls or back to back text messages. How you always felt the compulsory need to be physically attached even when the two of you were merely existing separately in each other’s presence. 

How you craved the nights laying cock drunk tangled in soaked bed sheets, far too shattered and dumb from overlapping orgasms to do anything but take what he gave you, whimpering like a broken toy as his wide hips battered your abused and messy quim with still no end in sight. Even overstimulated and far past the point of exhaustion, you couldn’t slake the insatiable voracity to be pumped full over and over again.

You’d ignored his own flags too, viewing them in a positive light instead of the much more sinister undertones they held. How quickly he’d moved all your belongings into his flat. The possessive grip he held on you in the presence of others. The need to know where you were at all times and showing up unannounced on the rare instances you’d forgotten to text him.

He had you apologizing for it bent over the kitchen table when you got home that night, manicured nails adding to the already bountiful collection of claw marks scratched into the polished wood.

To you, all those things were just the little ways he showed how much he truly cared.

You would’ve kept on ignoring it if not for the worried looks your close friends gave you each time you showed up to a weekly get together covered in fresh marks and bruises from being well loved. It grew frustrating having to submit to their scrutinizing over and over again. Quite honestly it had you rethinking your affiliation with them over their refusal to just drop it already.

No, he hadn’t really choked you last night. ‘But think what would happen if he did. He might not know his own strength!’

Let me ask Simon if it’s ok for me to come that weekend. ‘You shouldn’t need his permission to live your own life!’

That was just a happy coincidence that he noticed Sarah’s car out front and decided to pop in the other day. ‘How can you not see he’s stalking you?!’

It was easier to disregard their warnings than to heed them. They didn’t get Simon like you did, hadn’t spent enough time in his orbit to understand the intimate connection that tethered you to his very existence. With him there was no pretend at moderation for normalcy’s sake. Just the unimpeded loyalty that went beyond the acceptable standards of polite society.

That was just us… wasn’t it?

For as much as you protested otherwise, slowly but surely your friends’ words chipped away at your head, speaking into a subconsciousness that had been long shoved to the back in favor of romance and happily ever afters. Situations were analyzed from every angle for a hint of foul play. Spoken words were picked apart letter by letter for ulterior meanings. His once soothing touch now resulted in goosebumps that had nothing to do with the dampness of your gusset. 

You couldn’t deny the validity of some of their claims, the growing unease at the way he treated you. The curiousness of how he hinted to you about events that transpired that morning you hadn’t yet brought up. You hadn’t wanted to discover if that glint peeking out from behind the leaves of your fern on the top shelf of your bookcase was merely a trick of the light.

It was getting harder and harder to unblur the lines between devotion and obsession.

Friendly gatherings that used to be a time for unwinding and giggling over mimosas turned into laying out intricate battleplans for how best to escape him safely, keeping in mind his uncanny abilities as a soldier and the connections that came with it. 

It would have to be done while he was deployed, when he was stuck out in the field with no way to follow. Cash only, no debit. A new phone number. Renting out a secluded place under a fake name. The girls would put a duffle bag together for you that they would keep locked away in one of their closets. Most of your stuff would have to be left behind, only grabbing and smuggling out whatever you could easily carry in your purse. Your friends would all pitch in to provide the rest.

That’s how you found yourself standing in the threshold of the home you once enjoyed together, precious memories ghosting through rooms pulling at emotions you weren’t allowed to feel anymore. 

All that had to be in the past. Your future wasn’t his anymore.

After half a year of sharing your life with a man you had one day hoped you’d share a lifetime with, you sent him one last text of remorse for the unforeseen situation, wished him the best and begged for forgiveness with the closing line ‘don’t come looking’.

It killed you to lock the door behind you and walk away from it - from him - pathetically leaving your key under the mat and getting in the taxi parked out front which would take you to the first of many destinations. 

You hadn’t been involved in the planning aspect of this part, the girls taking care of all arrangements to keep anything from potentially popping up in your browsing history. They didn’t know what types of programs he had access to so high up in the military - the kinds of connections he’d made that would give him full access to every millimeter of your life. 

Were your electronics being hacked and monitored for suspicious activity? Was there a hidden tracking program running in the background on your phone? Cameras in your rooms invading your privacy?

There was an extreme amount of paranoia surrounding this whole endeavor. One false step and they could just be leading you right back into his awaiting and dangerous arms. 

Part of you wasn’t entirely sure if that was such a bad thing. Even now, sitting on a train bound for the middle of nowhere, you didn’t really want to leave him. 

It was a complex war between your head and your heart. For all his faults, Simon never made you feel inferior or worthless, a common complaint you had about past relationships filled with less than ideal treatment. He’d been supportive of your hobbies and dreams, not belittling of them. He didn’t blink at your weird quirks or have unexpected violent outbursts whenever you interrupted his private time. He took you out on dates and narrowed his eyes when you’d tried to bring your wallet with, taking exception to the notion of you paying before you explained you’d never not had to.

(‘just need a little fuckin’ to sort that habit right outta you’, he’d claimed afterwards with your knees pushed back to your ears and his girth pounding away at your insides)

But your friends said this was for the better. They had your best interests at heart, supporting you in your efforts to get as far away from London as you could to start anew, someplace far out in the open countryside where you had no family or connections to link back to you. 

Two switched train lines, a crowded bus, and another cab ride later, you were finally holed up with your scarce belongings in a room half the size of your old apartment with three other roommates you didn’t know. It hadn’t taken long to unpack all your belongings, counting the money stashed away in a hidden envelope to see how much you had to get by with until you found yourself a proper job out here. 

But hunting for that would start tomorrow. Tonight, you just wanted to sleep off the exhaustion after a full day’s worth of travel.

You ignored the overwhelming sense of loneliness curled up on a thin creaky mattress under a scratchy worn quilt, checking your new phone at the end of the night to read the various well wishes and best of luck’s from your friends, texting the group chat to let them know you’d made it safe and sound and would update them tomorrow morning. Just as you went to turn your phone off for the night, you noticed an unread message from an unknown number waiting in your inbox - odd, considering the girls had been the ones who bought it for you and put in all their contact info ahead of time. They should’ve been the only ones with access to this number. 

‘Must just be spam’, you rationalized to yourself, moving your thumb to swipe it into trash… but hesitating. You didn’t know why you felt the need to click on it instead, a gnawing dread in your gut speaking against the denial in your brain. 

You opened it.

The world came to a halt, stomach roiling with nausea as you whimpered in alarm, the hand holding your phone trembling as you read it over and over again, committing the words to memory. You shoved the phone under your pillow as if putting it out of sight would solve all your problems, yanking the covers up over your head and squeezing your eyes shut tight.

Sleep didn't come easy to you that night or any of the ones following - not as you were continuously haunted by the lingering shadow of the impossible message left for you by your now ex boyfriend.

‘I’ll see you in a month.’

What you thought was perfect at first glance was in fact dappled and moth ridden with substantial holes. What's more, you knew he knew it too.

The following month was spent in a state of constant terror, insecurity laced through your nervous system like a shot of fentanyl in your veins. Even from so far a distance Simon toyed with your fragile mind. Wanted you to fester in unknown anticipation, a stillness in the air that felt more like the deep breath before the plunge, the prelude to an eventual inevitability heralded by those six little words.

It invaded every aspect of your daily routine. Too paranoid of the foreboding message, you tried to leave your new abode as infrequently as possible, burning through your savings on first month's rent and utilities, the small percentage that went towards paying for groceries. Incorrectly assuming you’d have acquired new employment by now to cover your remaining expenses, you closed out the tabs for the job websites with a huff of anguished frustration, rough fingers combing through frazzled hair and faltering in the act of actually searching. 

If you succeeded in landing a job then you'd have to subject yourself to a series of background checks, anonymity tossed out the window the moment you were added to an identifiable government database ripe for the picking. With that startling realization, everything you and the girls spent weeks trying your best to account for suddenly unravelled into a jumbled disaster of good intentions, second guessing your decisions made like a paltry amateur playing chess against a grandmaster. 

Did you really think you could build a new identity in such a short amount of time, hiding in plain sight in a world under constant surveillance without the aid of black market assistance? Sooner or later you’d find yourself in a situation where you’d be forced to interact with society in a way that would put you on the radar and then what would you do? Hell, you couldn't avoid using a bank account or making online purchases forever, not in an age where technology was woven into the very fabric of our lives and required for just about everything. 

You hadn't even made friends with the people you shared the modest sized dwellings with - so at odds with your naturally extroverted personality - for fear of showing up on someone’s social media page and making it even easier to be located. It drove you to isolationism, standing on the sidelines as you watched helplessly from behind an invisible wall as you slowly transformed into an anxiety ridden shell of the carefree spirit you'd been once upon a time. 

As the days dragged onward, you grew more and more skittish, crossing off days on the calendar as if they were X's on a prison cell.

There had been no more messages, an ominous sign in and of itself. You knew Simon, knew what he could become - what he became after he walked in the door still dressed to kill from weeks spent bathing in gore, the remnants of decay wrapping around the edges and bleeding through the stark shell of his mask. He never turned that creature on you, but you could see it sometimes when he thought he'd tucked it away on a carefully controlled leash. Waiting for the next satisfying hunt.

That's what you were now. Prey. A fun little game for him to sink his teeth into, blissfully unaware of the impending danger until bloodied fangs shredded flesh and feasted away at your squishy entrails.

You’d wrongly assumed you were the type of clever rabbit to be tracked through thick mud and dense underbrush, something squirrelly and quick-witted who could easily outsmart the overestimating wolf’s salivating maw… 

When in reality, you’d only ever been the kind of quarry he could just simply waltz out back and drag from her comfy caged-in bunny burrow of false security.

You didn't fight him when he showed up a month later as promised, bag already packed and a letter sitting on the kitchen island for your roommates explaining the sudden departure, taking up nervous vigilance on the front porch steps leading to the house like an obedient dog waiting for its master. You didn’t try to make a last ditch effort to escape as the familiar SUV turned the corner of your street to where he knew you’d been hiding all along.

Simon didn’t say anything as he pulled up to the curb and stepped out of the imposing black vehicle, the very picture of casual arrogance as he walked around the car and strolled up the pavement as if his name was written on the deed. Immediately shooting to your feet and slinging your duffle over your shoulder, you met him halfway down the drive so as not to upset him further, the unrelenting weight of his gravity drawing you back into his marrow and shackling you to his heart.

You shouldn't have felt instant relief to be once again shadowed in his towering presence; gone misty eyed when for the first time in weeks you'd craned your neck up to gaze upon those pooling brown irises leering down at you with a stone eyed look of condescension. The scarred hand on your cheek felt mocking, the soft cooing at your pitiful whimpers and quivering lower lip sending you back into the welcoming headspace that - despite the warning bells going off inside your mind - had missed the serenity that came with his unbridled toxic love.

One could only guess at the harsh punishments he'd enact for this, the further restrictions he'd place on your freedom, the biting sting of his belt tanning your backside with mottled discoloration.

But he was here now. Things would be alright again. He'd retake the mantle of caring for your person and make things easy for your simple addled brain.

Just a dumb little bunny who realized a little too late that she’d never actually left the wolf's den in the first place.

The warm tantalizing scent of savory Italian cuisine wafted out through the doorway that led to the kitchen beyond, mouthwatering and succulent as it floated to where you sat curled up on the couch, absentmindedly itching at the still inflamed skin at the nape of your neck. Simon would have to put more lotion on the site later after dinner, not wanting to reopen the recently healed over scab. 

“Tracker botherin’ you?” he asked as he rounded the corner from the kitchen into the living room with two plates in hand, perking up at his presence and smiling as he placed one in front of you on the coffee table. The Stanley Cup Playoffs were tonight and he was allowing you to watch it with him after a string of good behavior. Even went out and bought you your favorite team’s jersey for the occasion.

You eagerly dug into the homemade pasta dish, moaning at the taste of cheesy alfredo on your tongue and speaking through a mouthful of buttery garlic bread hidden behind your palm. “A little. Can I keep the collar off, just for tonight?”

He hummed in consideration as he took up his spot on the couch next to you, tugging you to his side possessively and brushing your hair out of the way to examine the irritated flesh. He’d neglected to put your collar back on after your shower earlier, a little treat for the game tonight. “Keep bein’ good f’me and we’ll see.”

You beamed up at him, giving him a kiss on the cheek once you’d swallowed your food. It’s not that you didn’t enjoy wearing the item in question - you quite liked the one he picked out for you after bringing you back home a few weeks prior, the way it sparkled in the light and the meaning of ‘his’ ingrained in every stitch. It would just be easier to get to sleep without the soft lining on the inside rubbing up against and chaffing the still healing skin.

But Simon knew best. If the collar came back on then you would wear it happily without a squeak of complaint. 

After all, everything was perfect now that you were back where you belonged.

[mongrel-mage]

A Spoiler-free review of Edge of Sleep

Fucking incredible. Like...9/10 and the only reason I say so is because there were only 6 20-ish minute episodes and I wanted the show to be longer and give us more backstory on the characters and such. It'll be a bit longer of a post, but rest assured that there are no spoilers under the link.

Main differences from the podcast, but still minor: the character of The Trespasser does not feature in the show, nor do Dave's story about the Moobles and the ensuing hallucinations he describes. However, I was satisfied with how they used the information from The Trespasser's subplot in the actual TV show, and there was a little reference to him at the beginning of Episode 5 that made me smile, so I'm really not that fussed about those things being missing.

I'm going to take a minute to rave about Eve Harlow, who plays Linda. What a goddamn POWERHOUSE of an actress, honestly. Perfect casting. She nailed a character who is tough as iron, focused, determined, and intelligent without making Linda come across as unnecessarily cold or unlikeable--I'll go so far to say that Linda was my favorite character (by a slim margin, but still there). Eve Harlow has an incredibly expressive face and eyes that convey complex emotions without relying on the same few expressions or overacting what she's feeling. I really want to see her get some sort of awards or accolades for her performance because she carried damn near all of her scenes.

Let's talk about Mark. I already knew that he could act well because I'd watched his other projects, but most/if not all of them have at least some level of comedy, humor, or character who lightens the mental load at least a little bit. We all know that he's a giggly bitch and likes to have fun, and there's nothing wrong with that. That said, I'm comfortable saying that Edge of Sleep is easily his most ambitiously dramatic project--there was a lot of raw stress, grief, anger, and pain that Dave Torres went through, and I was impressed at how well Mark portrayed it. It's obvious how much he tries and how hard he cares; it's so clear that this wasn't some celebrity vanity project. You can really feel the love and the energy and the care that he put into this, and I was, like I said, impressed at his range as a drama/horror actor. There were some moments and expressions he had in the show (namely in the first episode, when the people at the party are giving Dave a hard time about his sleep disorder and past episodes) that hit me unexpectedly hard. Amazing performance, Mark. I'm proud of you.

I also want to take another moment to rave about the makeup and hair department. Standing ovation. The gradual increase of the characters' exhaustion and general levels of dishevelment (the thing that stuck with me the most was Linda's makeup and hair, SO good) looked very real and read well on camera. Anyone who knows me irl knows what a freak I am for good practical effects/makeup, and I want to make sure that those artists are acknowledged and appreciated. I'm also going to throw in some kudos for whoever was behind the Elephant Monster--that thing was FUCKED UP (/pos). I love a Creature and it was sufficiently more disturbing than I had expected it to be, since The Elephant isn't given much of a description in the podcast. I'm not sure if it was practical effects or something computer generated, but whatever it was it was amazing. Hats off to the Creature Crew!

Lastly: I WANT SEASON TWO. GIVE IT TO ME. I WANT TO RIP IT APART WITH MY TEETH. I HAVE BEEN GOOD AND COHERENT FOR THIS LONG NOW GIVE ME MORE.

Also. I promised no spoilers and there shall be none. But that last shot of the last episode? fucking HAUNTING. Here's hoping that us catapulting Edge of Sleep to the TOP FIVE, BEFORE THE OFFICIAL LAUNCH, will seriously throw some weight to whoever can decide to give us a second season.

[1arkspur-aconitum]

DISRUPTIVE (s.r.)

IN WHICH: Juniper Bishop sneaks into the back of one of Spencer’s lectures and pretends to be a student, nearly getting both of them in serious trouble.

PAIRING: Spencer Reid/Fem!BAU!OC

CATEGORY: fluff, fade-to-black smut

CONTENT: established relationship, relentless teasing, hints at smut towards the end, similarly genius character, first person so no use of y/n, 13x16 vibes

WORD COUNT: 10k…

PUBLISHED: 27/09/24

‘—YOU CAN STAY IN BED, you know. I won’t be long.’

The bed sheets are cool across my bare skin, but Spencer’s body is warm. Dazed by sleep, I opt for warmth. Going purely by the sound of his voice, I latch my arms around his shoulders and try to haul him back into the pillowy softness of our bed. Strands of his hair tickle my arms but my attempt spectacularly fails. Whilst my boyfriend does topple a little bit, he also succeeds in sticking a hand out to support himself.

‘June—seriously, darling, I have to go now.’ Spencer chuckles, an exhalation of breath against the shell of my ear. I moan sleepily. Pressing myself to him as best I can, I force my eyes to blink open.

Spencer is kneeling over me and I’m surprised to see that he is not naked—in fact, Spencer Reid has already put his suit trousers on, his favourite white shirt, and his lenses. His face splits into a wide grin when he sees my brow furrow, taking in the unexpected appearance. It’s our day off. Normally we spend our day off nude and lounging around the house. In fact, I’m insulted that he isn’t.

‘What are you doing?’ I grumble, pushing a few stray strands of his hair out of his face as he gazes down at me. The sheets separating us bother me. ‘Why aren’t you naked?’

This earns me a laugh. ‘I told you last night, I have to go to the Academy, I have a lecture.’

Oh, yeah. That’s right. I have a vague Morpheus-marred memory of Spencer mentioning something about being asked to lecture whilst I dozed on the sofa to some documentary about bugs, but I’m pretty sure I chose to not listen. Alas, my tactic of hiding from reality has never been very effective. Especially when it comes to Spencer Reid, the man who remembers literally everything.

I pout, idly scratching my nails across his skull. Spencer’s eyes flutter shut briefly, head leaning into the palms of my hands. Perhaps if I do this enough he will fall back asleep and our day of naked relaxation can continue on as planned. Spencer hums deeply, the sound reverberating through the peaceful quiet of our bedroom. The blinds are still drawn, but the dusty sun slips its fingers around the edge of it, casting sharp lines of light across the duvet.

‘Juniper.’ Spencer says, with a slight moan as he pulls his head back. My hands drop from his hair. He chuckles down at me, big brown eyes impossibly soft. ‘Seriously. The lecture starts in an hour and I have to prepare.’

‘Do you have to go?’ I say, with as much whine as I can muster. He does have to go, it’s not like the lecture will teach itself, but a girl can dream. In an ideal world, Spencer would have already gotten a call from the head of his department to say that he can spend the day with his girlfriend, but he wouldn’t have already gotten nearly fully dressed.

‘Yes, darling,’ Spencer leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. His lips are soft, warm, but the kiss is way too short. ‘I do. I won’t be long, okay? If you roll over now, you’ll probably still be asleep by the time I get back.’

‘You know I don’t like sleeping without you.’ I complain, still pouting, but resigning myself to my terrible fate. Spencer sighs but he’s still smiling. He always does this–pretends to get annoyed with my morning antics, but really, he loves it. Why else would he have woken me up in the first place?

‘I know.’ He kisses my forehead again. ‘I’ll be back before you know it. I love you.’

Spencer goes to move away, off of the bed, but a groan pulls him back. I proffer him my chin, and he swiftly presses a kiss against my lips. It, like the forehead kiss, is way too short. My boyfriend clambers off of the bed and heads towards the wardrobe. Sleepily rolling onto my side, I watch him don his favourite sweater vest and brown blazer through half-open eyes. It doesn’t take him long at all. The only sounds are the soft exhalation of my breathing and the rustle of his clothes.

When he’s dressed and ready, he briefly returns to the side of the bed–his hand is warm across my hair, lips gracing across my cheekbone–before the bedroom door clicks shut. The sounds of him pouring himself a coffee are far off, as if through water. With a sigh, I roll over and bury my face into the pillow that still smells like him.

The front door closes (and locks) barely five minutes later. I am suddenly left in the suffocating quiet of the dark bedroom, wrapped in cold sheets that are incomparable to my lover’s arms, and I feel bereft. This was not how I had planned to spend this morning.

I swear, I do my best to try and fall back asleep. I toss and turn to get myself comfortable. Take deep, steady, box-breaths. Tense my muscles and relax them one by one. Fuck, I even count a varying array of barnyard animals–sheep, cows, donkeys–but none of them help. Unfortunately, it seems as if I am well and truly awake. Awake and bored as hell.

When I look at the clock, only fifteen minutes have passed since Spencer left.

‘Fucking stupid lectures.’ I plaster a frown onto my face as I clamber out of bed, letting my bare feet sink into the soft carpet. The room is freezing so I grab one of Spencer’s discarded Cal-Tech shirts. The cotton slips over my bare skin. ‘Stupid. Why today?’

I pad into the living room to make myself a coffee. Whilst I’m awake, I may as well caffeinate myself. Spencer has left out my favourite mug already for me–the bright yellow Kiss the Librarian mug I’ve had for years–and the coffee pot has been topped up. As always. Pouring myself a steaming cup, I start to meander around our living space.

Evidence of our Chinese takeaway litter the coffee table. The cardboard boxes are partially open, chopsticks protruding from mine, Spencer’s neatly closed. All of the spring rolls were demolished last night, but the tub with my veggie chow mein has mysteriously vanished–probably into the fridge. The sofa is a mess of blankets, Spencer’s plaid shirt tossed casually over the arm. A stack of books teeters precariously on the side table. Spencer insists on having a grace period between stack and shelf, though I think it’s so he can look at his purchases before filing them away.

I really had tried to stay awake last night but David Attenborough always lulls me into some strange stupor. Somehow Spencer managed to keep himself alert throughout the entire documentary, occasionally nudging me when something interesting came up. His near-insatiable desire to learn has always been voracious, even when it’s about the mating habits of dung-beetles. It’s the reason why I love him so much. He has such passion it’s hard not to be passionate with him.

As I finish the dregs of my coffee, my eye finds its way to the clock. An idea enters my mind.

Safe to say, I wouldn’t be bored any more…

The FBI Academy is barely a ten minute drive on Maple, her engine rumbling securely underneath me. Considering the Academy (and most of Quantico) is deep within Lunga Park, I only have to zip through the main traffic in the centre of town before the wide, open road through the forest opens up for me. Maple rips through the air, my body hunched over her fuel tank. There is nothing more freeing than opening up that throttle. God, I need to bike more.

I arrive at the Academy car park with about five minutes to spare, hurriedly shrugging out of my leather riding suit. The cool morning air nips at my exposed skin as I struggle with the stubborn zipper, drawing curious glances from a few passing students. Their eyes linger on my battle with the brown material, but I don’t have time for explanations or small talk. Not when time is ticking.

Yanking my bag out of Maple’s panniers, I swiftly shove the suit and helmet back in its place, double checking that everything is secure. Taking a deep, steady breath, I begin to jog gently after the students. My FBI badge allows me access to the Academy and before long, I am navigating familiar hallways. Muscle memory truly is a spectacular thing–it’s been years since I’ve been in this part of the Academy, and yet I know exactly where to go.

My heart races with a mixture of anticipation and nervous energy the closer I get to the lecture hall. Each measured step brings a soft tap of my pleated skirt against my bare thighs, a rhythmic counterbalance to the quickness of my breathing. Spencer’s favourite green sweater, hastily tucked into the hem of my skirt, provides a comforting familiarity. It smells like his cologne. I’ve yanked the collar of my shirt out over the crewneck of the jumper, adding a touch of polish to my hastily (yet calculatedly) crafted outfit. Paired with my favourite brown boots and a messy ponytail, I’m pretty confident I will blend seamlessly with the rest of the students. A mischievous smile finds its way to my lips as I imagine Spencer’s reaction.

Hopefully he won’t spot me right away and ruin my fun.

I slow down when I reach the right corridor, keeping an eye on the brass numbers hammered into the doors. Stopping outside the correct one, I can hear my pulse thumping through my ears. I take a deep breath. I take a moment to compose myself before peeking through the small glass window in the door. The room is already filled with students arranged on tiered seating. Their attention is focused downwards, to a raised platform at the front of the room. There, commanding the space, is Spencer.

His back is to the door as he scribbles notes on the whiteboard. As usual, his handwriting is near illegible, a messy mixture of capitals and lower cases. For a genius, you’d think he would care more about the grammatical errors, but I suppose even perfect people have to have flaws. From the flow of his words and the attentive posture of 95% of the students, it’s clear that the lecture is already in full swing.

Balls. I am later than I’d hoped.

Steeling myself, I grasp the door handle, easing it open with painstaking care. As quietly as physically possible, I slip through the narrow opening, my movements slow and deliberate. The click of the door closing is thankfully masked by Spencer’s voice. It fills the room with an authority I have learnt to love and a passion I have always adored. He’s deep in a discussion about the differences between a stressor and a trigger, his words punctuated by the occasional squeak of his whiteboard pen.

Within seconds of being inside the room, I have identified the perfect inconspicuous spot. There, in the furthest corner of the back row, a seat is mostly marred by shadows. With a stealth only possible after years of field experience, I make my way to the seat, settling as quietly as possible. Spencer has yet to turn around. Mission successful.

Crossing my legs, I let my bag settle at my feet, leaning forwards to observe my brilliant boyfriend in his element. A warmth blooms in my chest as I listen to him talk so passionately about the topic, a mixture of pride, adoration, and just a hint of mischievous anticipation for the moment he finally clocks me.

I reach into my bag just as he turns around. My heart stutters against my ribcage.

I freeze, hoping the shadows will be enough to hide me. Spencer, however, barely breaks stride in his lecture. He scans the room once, methodically sweeping over his enraptured audience. I hold my breath as his gaze passes near my hiding spot, but to my relief, he doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Spencer continues pacing, circling around the edge of his desk as he continues his impassioned speech. His hands move as animatedly as ever, punctuating key points with a flourish, with gestures that draw everyone’s attention.

That familiar small smile–the one I have affectionately dubbed the ‘I’m being a nerd’ smile–plays out on the corners of his lips, a testament to how much he enjoys teaching. It’s wonderful to see him smile. Ever since he left the prison, it’s been harder to coax it out of him.

As the fear of being spotted abates, I allow myself to relax. As quietly as possible, I rummage around in my bag, searching for a specific thing. With a triumphant–yet silent–‘aha’, I retrieve my favourite treat. A cherry flavoured lollipop about the size of a tin of Vaseline. I nearly always have one in my bag for emergencies.

Unwrapping it carefully to avoid any telltale crinkling sounds, I pop the lollipop into my mouth. The burst of artificial cherry flavour makes me salivate. A wave of childish glee washes over me as I continue to suck on the lollipop, watching Spencer pace back and forth. I wonder if he can hear the faint pop as I roll the treat around my mouth. The sticky sweetness is a stark contrast to the sterile lecture hall air. It’s a small, miniscule act of rebellion. A secret pleasure I am indulging in right under his nose. The longer Spencer remains oblivious to me, the more the thrill increases. I am playing a game with him and for now, I am winning.

Spencer is currently gesticulating about the psychological impacts of prolonged stress on an Unsub’s decision-making process, which is actually very interesting. He’s so engrossed in it that it’s hard not to pay attention to him. There is something about Spencer actually lecturing that is really hot. It might be the authority and power he holds over the room, or the endearing way he tries to keep everyone engaged, or it might simply be that the collar of his shirt is undone and I can see the smooth planes of his throat. Either way, I can’t drag my eyes off of him.

It is only when he poses a question to the whole class that I remember this lecture is not for my benefit alone.

Spencer’s question about undue stress and sleep patterns hangs in the air and I find myself already formulating an answer. My fingers itch to be raised, but I catch myself. I’m not supposed to be a participant; I’m meant to be invisible. Suppressing a chuckle, I sink further into my uncomfortable lecture seat, savouring the sweet irony of my predicament–and the sweetness of my lollipop.

A few hands shoot up amongst the congregation before me, one of them even vibrating with excitement, but Spencer’s gaze sweeps over them. There’s a familiar hint of amusement in his eye, the one that I always see before he tackles me to the bed. The look that tells me he knows he’s in control of the situation. He’s scouring the faces carefully, starting at the front row and skipping over those who already have their hands up.

When Dr. Spencer Reid finally spots me, his entire demeanour shifts. His usually water-fluid movements come to an abrupt halt, as if someone has just paused a lecture video or stalled a car. Those warm, intelligent brown eyes of his lock onto mine, widening slightly as recognition ploughs into him. His eyebrows lift in a momentary micro-expression of surprise, a tell-tale sign that I have genuinely caught him off guard.

Mission complete.

His beautiful mouth parts and I catch a glimpse of teeth, the hint of a surprised intake of breath. The corners of his lips twitch, fighting between maintaining his professional composure and breaking into a smile. I cannot help but grin back, lollipop nestled in my cheek. My heart continues to beat a dangerous rhythm against my ribcage as I wait to see what he does, how he recovers. The air between us crackles with unspoken words, a silent exchange that speaks volumes in the midst of a crowded lecture hall.

For a brief moment, time seems to stand still. The rest of the room fades away, leaving just me and my boyfriend, caught in this unexpected moment of connection. I can almost hear the gears turning in that beautiful mind of his, no doubt already formulating theories as to why I am there. He correctly assumes that because I didn’t interrupt the lecture, it is not for official business.

Then, it’s over.

Spencer looks away. Turns to someone with their hand up and continues on with his lecture. As if I wasn’t even there. If it wasn’t for the frequent amused glances he sends up my way, I would think he was upset that I crashed his lecture.

The lecture continues, heading towards it’s close, and I find myself increasingly engrossed. Not just in Spencer’s words, but in the subtle dance of our secret interactions. Every time he looks at me, my skin heats, as if I’m seventeen and in love again. I cannot help but wonder what will happen when he finishes the lecture, and how he plans to address it. If he scolds me, or tells me he wants me to come to all of his lectures. Admittedly, both sound appealing.

It’s clear this game of cat and mouse is affecting him too–the way he subtly shifts his weight towards me, lingering more on my side of the lecture theatre than the other, the slight tremor in his voice as he continues to ask questions to the students. It’s as if he’s trying to reconcile the professor with the loving boyfriend, and the conflict is absolutely adorable.

As the lecture reaches a natural stopping point, I find myself leaning forward. The lollipop is significantly smaller on the pit of my tongue, but no less flavourful. There’s something about the way Spencer presents his desire to share knowledge that is incredibly alluring. I can’t help but feel a certain smugness that I am the one who gets to see him like this every single day, get to see him at his most vulnerable. His most authentic.

‘You’re probably gonna want to write this down,’ Spencer announces, gesturing towards someone in the mid rows. When he continues to talk, he slips his hands into his pockets in a movement that really shouldn’t be sexy, but totally is. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you guys this, but I’m definitely putting this on the final.’

‘I’m…I’m only auditing this class.’ A young female voice snaps me out of daydreaming about Spencer’s hands, and I shift in my seat to get a better look. Admittedly, I can only see the back of her head, but her long brown hair is pretty. She tucks it behind her ear as she ducks her head to Spencer. I can practically hear the broad smile on her face.

Spencer frowns slightly. ‘Is anyone else auditing this class?’

To my absolute glee, approximately fifteen more hands shoot up in response to Spencer’s question. As I scan the room, I notice a striking pattern–all of these raised hands belong to young women. The realisation hits me like a wave of mirth, and I have to clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. Most of these ‘auditing’ students don’t even have the pretence of a notebook in front of them for notes. One particularly enraptured girl has her chin propped on her hand, her eyes fixed on Spencer with a vacant, faraway look that speaks volumes.

You don’t have to be a profiler to realise that these young women are not here for the intricacies of criminal psychology, nor the nuances of prolonged stress. No, their motivations are far more…aesthetic in nature. They–like me, I suppose–are here to bask in the presence of Dr. Spencer Reid, to drink in his every word and movement like fine wine. It is a testament to Spencer’s obliviousness to his own appeal that he doesn’t seem to grasp the situation.

He has his adorably confused expression as he surveys the room, a clear indicator that he has no idea the effect a handsome lecturer can have on students.

I force myself to continue sucking on my lollipop to stop the laughter. This is absurd. My brilliant, gorgeous, genius of a boyfriend is completely oblivious to the small fan club he has inadvertently created. These girls are fawning over him. Pride shoots through me, quickly chased by unwarranted jealousy. Yes, I will be the first person to say that Spencer is one of the most attractive people I have ever laid eyes on, but these girls only see that. They have no idea the depths of his intellect, his kindness, the small quirks that make him Spencer. They’re captivated by the surface, whilst I have the luck and privilege of knowing (and loving) him as a whole.

‘Okay.’ Spencer says, obviously disarmed, and quickly checks his watch. ‘Unfortunately, that is all the time we have for today. Thank you, guys.’

The class erupts into a chorus of disappointed groans, a few of the girls even going so far as to plead with Spencer for more time. It’s almost comical how they hang onto his every word, as if he were some kind of famous rock star rather than FBI profiler. The smile I have had on my face since the auditing question only grows–I can’t blame them, I mean, I was no better when I first met him. Spencer has that effect on people.

Students begin to file out of the lecture hall. I slowly clamber to my feet, slinging my bag over my shoulder, and twisting my lollipop. It clacks against my teeth. I watch, amused, as the girls who raised their hand start to form a vague queue to his desk. Spencer has been surrounded. When it becomes evident that they’re not going to disperse any time soon, I make my way down the tiered seating to join them.

I become a silent observer in the sea of admirers, the girls as jittery and nervous as I am. When I reach the edge of the group, I tuck myself in amongst them, remembering how it felt to be at college and drunk on the idea of impossible love. With my head ducked down, I angle an ear to listen.

‘Dr. Reid, your lecture was amazing,’ one of the girls gushes, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. She’s on the raised platform with a couple of cronies, dressed in some very short shorts and a jacket. ‘I don’t think I have ever been so captivated by a topic before.’

Spencer chuckles, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. ‘Thank you. I’m glad you found it interesting.’

‘Interesting?’ Another girl chimes in, her eyes fixed on Spencer with an intensity that borders on predatory. ‘It was more than interesting–in fact, some might call it inspiring.’

I bite back a laugh, the lollipop nearly falling from my mouth. These girls are laying it on thick and my poor Spencer seems utterly bewildered by the attention. He spares a brief glance back up to where I was sitting and I’m slightly pleased to see a glimmer of disappointment in his eye.

‘Do you think that’s a new suit?’ Someone whispers near me, and I turn to look.

‘I don’t think we’ve seen the blazer before.’ It’s a pair of girls, huddled together a bit further away from the dias. One has hair of white blonde, falling in sheets around her face. She’s all wide angles and broad lines, and is absolutely gorgeous. She’s clutching the arm of a smaller girl with frizzy brown hair and purple glasses, more diminutive but no less attractive. ‘Ugh, it suits him though, doesn’t it?’

‘I think anything suits him.’ Purple Glasses gushes back, angling her head at my boyfriend. I can’t deny the thrill of hearing these girls fawn over my boyfriend. It’s a validation of my own feelings, a reminder of just how lucky I am that Spencer Reid was in my bed barely three hours earlier. ‘I mean, look at him.’

‘I know,’ I say, matching their tone and sidling up a little closer. I make sure to keep my eyes wide and mimic their adoring expressions. They glance at me. Look me up and down. I feel as if I am lining up for the firing squad. Thankfully it doesn’t take them long before they relax again. I have been deemed just another student. ‘Isn’t he dreamy?’

‘He’s by far the sexiest of all the lecturers.’ Blondie opens her body language to me, accepts me into their circle. I can feel Spencer’s eyes boring into my head, but from the sounds of it, he is still being inundated with questions from the girls. ‘No wonder so many people are auditing.’

Purple Glasses nods enthusiastically.

‘I just love his hands.’ I purr, twisting my lollipop in my mouth. The other two send me ‘omg tell me about it’ expressions, so I do. ‘The veins, the fingers. It’s almost so distracting I can’t focus.’

‘I know. He doesn’t wear a wedding ring, so we don’t think he’s married.’ Purple Glasses ducks her head towards me and I glance over at Spencer. He sends a glare in my direction, but I simply brush it aside. Hard luck.

‘I think you’re right,’ I murmur, the three of us conspirators. We share a knowing look, revelling in our shared secret. Part of me feels guilty, but most of me is having way too much fun to stop. ‘I’m gonna keep auditing this class if he keeps looking so damn good.’

‘I’m totally with you on that one.’ Purple Glasses gushes.

Spencer has managed to deflect some of the girls, a few of them giggling as they head towards the exit, but he has been surrounded by some more. It’s as if they wait in packs to ask him questions, and from the few snippets that I catch, hardly any of them are even related to the topic at hand. He feels me looking and sends a glare in our direction. In the few seconds that our eyes lock, I quirk a mischievous eyebrow.

‘Oh my God, I think he’s looking at you.’ Blondie hisses, grabbing onto my arm and hiding behind me. I do my best not to laugh, pressing my lips together into a firm line around the stick of my sweet.

‘Do you think he heard us?’ Purple Glasses whispers with wide, fearful eyes. I manage to not roll my eyes–Spencer is hyper tuned into me right now, there’s no way he can’t make an educated guess as to what we’re talking about.

‘I don’t know,’ I say, trying to keep the amusement from my voice and failing. I risk a glance at Spencer and am rewarded with a pointed glare. Apparently he’s not a massive fan of me pretending to be a student. ‘He probably thinks we’re being weird.’

‘We are being weird.’ Blondie replies, but there is no malice in her voice. In fact, she gives my arm a reassuring squeeze and a smile.

‘I don’t care.’ Purple Glasses shrugs. ‘He’s hot.’

‘So hot.’

It is at this exact moment that Spencer, evidently reaching the limits of his patience, decides that he has had enough. With a deliberate and resounding clearing of his throat that startles me and causes the flock of girls to scatter a little, he strategically manoeuvres himself. By putting the desk between himself and the persistent gaggle of admirers, Spencer creates a physical barrier that subtly but effectively identifies his need for space. His body language shifts, and when he speaks next, he addresses the group as a whole.

‘I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to answer any more questions at this time,’ he announces, tone firm but not unkind. His words are met with a chorus of disappointed groans from those still eagerly awaiting their turn. Spencer’s gaze sweeps across the group, making eye contact with each student in turn, though I notice he pointedly avoids mine. ‘I’m going to have to ask you all to leave. I have work to do.’

The girls grumble amongst themselves, their disappointment as malleable as putty in the air. Amidst their reluctant shuffling, I dramatically clap a hand to my chest, a silent question for Spencer and Spencer alone. His ocher eyes meet mine. His expression is inscrutable but somehow speaks volumes. You don’t have to be a genius to work out what I am trying to say: do you want me to leave too?

His response, when it comes, is succinct and leaves very little to communication.

‘Not. You.’ He enunciates each word with the utmost care. When the girls look to see who he is talking to, there is no doubt. Spencer’s eyes do not stray from mine, effectively singling me out from the departing crowd.

‘Oh my God.’ Blondie whispers in my ear. Her voice is a trembling combination of excitement and disbelief as the rest of the girls start to file out. I do not miss the dirty glares a few of them send my way. Blondie’s fingers dig into my skin, her wide eyes flickering between me and Spencer. ‘Oh my God. I am so jealous.’

‘Good luck.’ Purple Glasses says as she walks past me, her face a visage of awe and envy. ‘He’s never asked someone to stay behind like that before.’

‘Count me the lucky one.’ I breathe, barely sparing them a glance—I only look back once to find Blondie giving me one last lingering look before she follows Purple Glasses. Another small pang of guilt spears through me for deceiving these girls, but the thrill of this little game has far outweighed any remorse I might have.

The door closes and it is finally just me and Spencer.

‘You are supposed to be in bed.’ Spencer breaks the silence, stepping around his desk and approaching the edge of the dais. I have to tilt my head back to look at him, but there’s no hiding the shit-eating grin I flash his way. I flutter my lashes like a schoolgirl and he fights back a smile. My boyfriend doesn’t seem that upset at me, which I will take as a win.

‘But, Dr. Reid, how could I miss your lecture? I need it for my college credit, you know.’ I tease, unable to stop myself. ‘It truly was inspiring, as some might say.’

I take his offered hand and Spencer helps me up onto the platform. He looks amused as he ghosts a kiss to the back of my knuckles.

‘You already have a degree—several, in fact.’ He reminds me, clearly attempting to sound exasperated and failing spectacularly.

‘So? Perhaps I felt like auditing.’ I pull away from him and sidle over to his desk. Leaning back against the oak, I make no attempt to hide how much I am relishing every moment. ‘Seems like a lot of people—I’m sorry, girls—had the same idea.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Spencer sighs, running a hand through his hair and taking a step after me. His eyes trail down my outfit, to where the little pleated skirt has hitched itself around my arse. Spencer swallows.

‘I was bored.’ I shrug, crossing my legs at the ankles. Spencer’s eye dips lower. My grin widens. The lollipop is nearly finished so I crunch it between my teeth loudly. His eyes narrow playfully, now focused on where the stick twists between my pursed lips.

‘Bored?’ He repeats, raising an eyebrow and taking another step towards me. Spencer’s broad frame starts to dominate my view. ‘So you decided to crash my lecture, dressed like that, and pretend to be a student?’

‘Hey, at least I can still pass for early twenties.’

‘June.’

‘What can I say?’ I laugh, reaching out a free hand to thumb the lapel of his jacket. Tilting my head to the side, I allow myself free reign to check him out. He’s all fine lines and a firm frown, sharp angles that compliment each other so well. I could look at Spencer Reid all day and not get bored. The students are right—he is delicious. ‘I wanted to see you in action.’

‘You didn’t have to pretend for that.’ Spencer closes the distance between us, one of his hands brushing naughtily up my bare thigh.

‘In my defence, I didn’t come here with the intention of being a student.’ I grip his wrist and yank it away from where his fingers are now idly playing with the hem of my skirt. Spencer quirks an eyebrow. It’s rare for me to stop such an intimate touch. ‘It just kind of…happened.’

‘Mmhmm.’ He doesn’t believe me in the slightest.

‘Oh, come on, Spence.’ I straighten the collar of his shirt, still looking up at him from under my lashes. My fingers brush the column of his throat. ‘How could I resist? They were all fawning over you, I wanted to do that too.’

‘They weren’t fawning—’

‘Oh, Dr. Reid, please keep talking, I don’t think I’ve ever been so captivated,’ I pitch my voice up, making it soft and breathy, and he narrows his eyes again. ‘Oh, please, Dr. Reid, give me extra credit, I’d love to help you with your research.’

‘Juniper.’

‘Don’t ‘Juniper’ me.’ I grin, standing up so our chests are pressed together. Spencer peers down at me, wetting his lips with his tongue. He leans in. Before our lips meet, I dance away, putting the desk between us. Spencer scoffs in annoyance. ‘You can’t seriously tell me you don’t realise how fucking sexy you are when you’re being a nerd?’

‘I’m not a nerd.’

‘Yes you are, Spencer, we’ve covered this topic before.’

‘I’m teaching, it’s different.’

‘No, it’s not—you’re still a nerd, you’re just being paid for it.’ I lean against the desk, hands splayed wide. ‘Besides, I never said it was a bad thing. I love it when you’re a nerd—didn’t you hear what I said?’

‘They could have been interested in criminal psychology, you know.’ Spencer mirrors my movement, leaning on the opposite side of the desk. I can feel his warmth from here.

‘Only if criminal psychology is being taught by you.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Spencer insists, shaking his head. It makes his curls bounce.

‘Oh, come on, you remember what it was like to have a crush on a lecturer—fuck, I mean, I practically dominated Dr. Traver’s office hours when I was doing my PhD.’

‘I was fourteen in college.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ I put on my best innocent smile. ‘Well, then, what about your first crush? The rush of feelings, the ‘oh my god she looked at me!’ thing? The ‘oh, did she just touch me and if she did, did she mean it?’ thing?’

Spencer opens his mouth to reply, but pauses. His eyes glimmer with amusement. He straightens up, pushing his hands into his pocket, and angles his head. I feel as if I am a piece of artwork on a wall and Spencer is trying to decide if he likes me or not. My confidence wanes just a smidge. I push my shoulders back and try to bring the armour back over me, folding my arms across my chest.

‘I remember.’ Is all he offers, inclining his head. ‘I was like that with you.’

I’m touched. I bite my lip to stop my smile getting too wide. ‘You’re sweet. But you see what I mean, right?’

‘Alright, yes, fine.’ Spencer relents, rolling his eyes. He reaches out a hand and I move around the desk, a magnet pulled towards another. ‘Maybe they don’t have as much of an interest in the subject matter as I would hope.’

‘I mean, I can’t blame them.’ I let him take my hand, let him pull me closer to him. Spencer chuckles softly, hooking an arm around my waist and tucking me perfectly into the space between him and the desk. I slide my hands up underneath his blazer. ‘You really are the hottest lecturer I’ve seen.’

‘If this was a research study, you’d have an undeniable bias.’ Spencer pushes some of my hair away from my face, cold fingers trailing down the back of my neck. I shiver. He smirks.

‘So…’ I murmur into the small space between us. ‘Are you going to invite me to all of your lectures now? Or will I have to do this again?’

‘Don’t push your luck.’ Spencer retorts, voice firmer than it was before. ‘This could have gotten me into serious trouble.’

‘What?’ I recoil, frowning up at him. The idea that my (seemingly) harmless fun might cause Spencer a reprimand jars through me. There’s no way that this could cause him to not lecture any more, is there? It’s not like I’m not allowed to go see him teach, I’m part of the FBI for crying out loud.

‘Pretending to be a student? What if someone found out?’ Spencer laughs, using his hold on the nape of my neck to pull me back towards him.

‘You’re just being mean now.’

‘I suppose I’ll just have to keep a closer eye on you.’ Spencer teases me, using his thumb on the hinge of my jaw to angle my face up to him. My traitorous cheeks heat. He is so close he could kiss me at any second. ‘I will admit, seeing you in this little skirt was…quite distracting.’

‘Then it did its job.’ I breathe, wrapping my arms around his neck. My fingers curl in the long hairs I find there. I let a wicked grin spread across my face. ‘Who knew Dr Reid had such a thing for his students.’

‘Juniper.’ Spencer scolds, barking out a stunned laugh as he does so. ‘You can’t say things like that.’

‘I’m a profiler, Spencer, and some might argue a genius when I’m not standing next to you.’ I raise an eyebrow. Spencer purses his lips. He goes to protest but I keep talking. ‘I know how to read your brain. It’s not hard to see you’re hot for school girls.’

‘You are incorrigible.’ His grip on the back of my neck tightens, voice dropping to a husky, deep timbre that ripples through me.

‘And you are not denying it.’

‘Shush.’ Spencer scolds me, dropping a hand from the back of my neck and letting it rest on my hip. Fingers brush the pleats of my skirt. That also wasn’t a denying statement, and a thrill of pleasure at having worked that out pools in the pit of my stomach. He regards me carefully for a few seconds. ‘As nice as it is to see you here, I am kind of sad you’re not still in bed.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Mmhmm.’ Spencer brushes a kiss to my cheek so that his next words are murmured into my ear. ‘I was thinking of different ways I could wake you up.’

‘And what might those be?’

‘I suppose you’ll never know now.’

‘Spencer.’

‘I’m not the one who decided to crash my lecture and ruin the surprise.’ His nose brushes against mine, lips parted and so dangerously close. Spencer is clearly loving this. He’s got that annoyingly smug smirk on his face and it riles me up. The notion that Spencer had been daydreaming about potential wake-up calls only makes that feeling in the pit of my stomach grow.

‘Well, why don’t you show me anyway?’ I try. Hopefully the temptation will outweigh his desire to punish me for my antics.

‘Nuh-uh.’ Spencer shakes his head, even when my fingernails scrape his skull. ‘You’ve ruined it.’

‘I’ll even wear this skirt.’ I wheedle, rocking up onto my tiptoes so that his fingertips brush the warm backs of my thighs. His eyes flash. Darken. ‘Pretty please?’

‘God,’ he groans, so close that the breath I exhale is the one he breathes in. ‘You’ll be the death of me.’

‘Good.’ I purr, tugging on his curls. I’ve had enough waiting. Hopefully Spencer finally gets the hint.

And he does.

Spencer’s lips crash into mine with a hunger I wasn’t expecting. It speaks to longing, to pent up desire, almost as furious as the first time he ever kissed me. His hands grip the loose hem of my skirt as he pulls me closer to him, as if we are two clay bodies that he wants to become one. I can feel the heat of his skin, and that pool of tension in my stomach only serves to make me want more. He leans over me, forcing me to fold backwards—to stop us toppling over I have to latch on tightly.

Spencer groans against my mouth as he pushes me back into the desk. He’s so demanding, taking up every available thought I have until it is just me and him. I arch into him, desperate for more friction. The desk behind me creaks ominously, his hands sliding dangerously down my bare thighs. His body is a solid wall of heat. Spencer’s fingers dig into my flesh, and I wonder if he’s actually considering fucking me in a lecture hall, and if I’d let him.

Someone clears their throat.

The moment shatters.

Spencer jumps away from me as if burned, lips swollen and raw. I quickly brush my skirt down, flamed with embarrassment, trying to regain some semblance of composure. Our faces are flushed, our breathing heavy, as he turns to the door—there, standing with the look of a deer trapped in headlights, is Blondie.

Fuck.

Her jaw is slack, eyes essentially bugging out of her head as she takes in what must look very suspect. She looks between us, taking in the dishevelled state of our clothing, the heavy pants of our breath. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots and I physically witness her face march through a series of emotions—shock, disbelief, then crushing disappointment.

‘Oh,’ she breathes, her voice barely a whisper, but the quiet of the auditorium amplifies it. ‘I…I’m so sorry, I left—I didn’t—I’m sorry—’

Spencer, ever the gentleman, tries to salvage the situation. It would work better if his voice wasn’t so breathless. ‘It’s not—she’s not—’

‘It’s okay,’ I take a step forward, ignoring the way Spencer glares at me. I tug on the hem of my skirt, suddenly regretting wearing something so short. ‘It’s not what it looks like, I’m not actually a student here—’

‘Sure.’ Blondie says with as much sarcasm as she can muster. She lifts her backpack onto her shoulder, unable to look either of us in the eye. Her cheeks are a vibrant shade of crimson. The poor girl must be mortified, and I feel somewhat guilty as to putting her in this position. ‘I’m just gonna go. Sorry again.’

With one final lingering look of distrust, Blondie turns around and flees. In her haste, she leaves the door ajar, and we can hear the steady sprint of her footfalls all the way down the corridor.

I can’t help it. I burst into laughter. The tension has dissolved into uncontrollable giggles, and my laughter only increases when I see the mortification on Spencer’s face. He’s staring at the door like he’s seen a ghost, skin pallid and a motley shade of green. I double over, laughter filling the entire space.

‘It’s not funny.’ Spencer says, voice a harsh hiss. He storms towards me and grabs his bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder. ‘This could seriously get me into trouble—why the hell did you pretend to be a student?’

‘I didn’t know you were gonna practically fuck me on your desk!’ I retort, annoyed that he’s blaming me for this situation. It’s not my fault.

‘I wasn’t going to—Jesus, June.’ Spencer spins in an agitated circle, brain whirring away as he tries to process what just happened. He evidently decides what to do as he grabs my wrist and drags me towards the door. ‘Come on, we need to see the head, right now.’

‘The head?’ I gape, stumbling after him as he unceremoniously hauls me up the stairs to the still-open door. ‘What—why?’

‘Because I am not getting fired over this.’ He replies, a few steps ahead of me as he yanks the door open and starts to march down the hallway. I can barely keep up. Spencer doesn’t seem to care if I stack it as he pulls me through the Academy’s corridors, past several bewildered students and curious faculty members.

I have no idea where we’re going, but I’m 99% sure I’m about to witness Spencer get a bollocking from his boss. He hasn’t said a word since we left the lecture theatre, and that irritation tugs at my chest. If he actually thinks this is because of me, then he’s got another thing coming—and I have no idea why we have to go to the head of his department just to fess up that we were about to have a quickie on his desk and someone walked in on us.

‘Hold up,’ I say, gasping for breath. I manage to dig my heels in and Spencer stops, turning around to face me. Stress tightens his cheeks, sets his mouth in a firm line. ‘I don’t understand. How is this my fault?’

‘It’s not your fault, June.’ Spencer says, trying to keep his voice down. We have reached a door with a brass plaque declaring it the office of ‘Head of Behavioural Science’. ‘But I have to explain the situation before that girl tells someone and this all gets blown out of proportion—if people so much as think I’m having relations with a student, my entire credibility goes down the drain.’

‘You make it sound like we were actively having sex on your desk.’ I grumble, folding my arms across my chest. I only realise how petulant this action is when Spencer’s lip twitches.

‘We weren’t far off, now, were we?’ Spencer retorts, but the bite has gone out of his voice. He looks down at me and his expression softens, the tight grip on my wrist loosening. ‘Look, I’m not angry at you—well, maybe a little bit—but I need to sort this out, okay?’

‘Alright.’ I say, following it up with a deep sigh. ‘But if you get fired, I want the record to state that it was your fault.’

Spencer rolls his eyes but there is no heat behind it. He knocks twice on the door, giving my hip a gentle squeeze before folding his hands in front of him. The picture of a demure professor, ready to supplicate at the foot of his superior. I do my best to copy his position, but I’m well aware that my lips still taste like Spencer and cherry lollipops. Just don’t make the situation worse, that’s all you have to do.

The door opens to reveal a tall, somewhat imposing man with a neatly trimmed brown beard and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. Like most members of the FBI, he is dressed in a well cut black suit. The hem is a bit frayed at the sleeves, though, so probably an old faithful. He looks surprised to see us both outside.

‘Dr. Reid? Dr. Bishop?’ He greets us, stepping aside to usher us into his office. His voice is a deep baritone that commands respect—useful if you’re going to be the head of a department. He closes the door behind us with a click. ‘What can I do for you?’

I hover awkwardly as he makes his way around his desk and sits down, gesturing for us to take the two plush armchairs facing the desk. His walls are relatively bare, aside from a few paintings—Ophelia by John Millais dominates one side, mirrored with Samson and Delilah by Paul Rubens. Baroque and Renaissance, squaring off to each other. He has a miniature Venus statue on his desk, but not much else other than a file organiser and a small sign that reads ‘Dr. Jonathan Moores’ in a crisp gold font. The lamp behind him is switched on despite the sun streaming through the blinds.

‘Sir, I need to explain something.’ Spencer blurts out, ushering me into a seat. His words tumble over themselves in a rush. I have to bite back a laugh as I watch my boyfriend, the picture of composure out in the hall, devolve into a stuttering mess in front of his superior. If I wasn’t so nervous, I might have found it endearing.

‘Go on.’ Dr. Moores says, voice wary as he inspects the both of us.

Spencer proceeds to recount everything that happened—from the moment I walked into the lecture, mind, to the ‘misunderstanding’ with the students as he so kindly phrased it, to the very unfortunate situation with Blondie. Spencer chooses his words very carefully when he reaches that point, avoiding things like ‘making out’ to go with ‘a little peck’, obviously downplaying the situation. I choose not to say anything, instead watching Dr. Moores expression shift from serious concern to poorly concealed mild amusement. By the time Spencer has finished his sordid tale, I have a hand clamped over my mouth to muffle my laughter.

When Spencer finishes, Dr. Moores leans forward and steeples his fingers. He lets the silence stretch, practically torturing poor Spencer. My boyfriend is shuffling awkwardly in his seat, unable to sit still—in fact, he even cracks his neck as he waits, right leg jiggling incessantly.

‘Well.’ Dr. Moores finally speaks, clearing his throat and schooling his features into a look of bland disinterest. ‘I must say, Dr. Reid, I didn’t expect to be dealing with a case of mistaken identity and a potential HR violation on a Thursday morning.’

‘I know, sir, I’m sorry.’ Spencer hangs his head.

‘However, I appreciate your honesty, and thank you for coming to explain what happened.’ Dr. Moores relaxes his features and that, in turn, relaxes Spencer. Spencer rolls out his shoulders, shooting me a bashful look, and nods his head. ‘I must admit, this will make an interesting case study for my next lecture on personal dichotomies…’

Spencer’s eyes widen in horror. ‘Oh, no, sir, please don’t do that.’

‘Don’t worry, doctors.’ He chuckles, and all pretence of anger has dissipated from him. His laughter spurs me on. A giggle escapes from behind my hand and I fold my legs. Phew. We’re not in trouble. ‘I won’t actually do that, though I do trust this situation has taught you that you really shouldn’t be kissing on company time. I trust you’ll both be more careful in the future.’

‘Yes, sir, of course.’ I manage to say relatively straight faced, but I have to say the words to the desk rather than to the head of the department.

‘And Juniper, if you do decide to return to the Academy, perhaps I might be able to convince you to do a lecture or two yourself.’ Dr. Moores rises to his feet and we copy him. It’s clear that this conversation has finished. He leads us towards the door, looking at me for an answer.

‘I’d love to, sir.’ I grin over my shoulder at Spencer, who mouths ‘don’t even think about it’ as the head opens the door to his office. Spencer’s disapproving look vanishes as soon as the head turns around to look at us. I offer Dr. Moores my hand as I leave, ducking my head. ‘I’ll be in contact—and sorry, again, sir.’

‘It’s quite alright.’ He shakes my hand and gives Spencer’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze as my boyfriend trails after me. ‘You’d be surprised how often that happens. Enjoy the rest of your day off.’

And with that, he closes the door behind us and the situation as a whole.

‘Well, it was definitely unexpected.’ I say. We’re back home now and finally able to discuss the situation—Spencer had sent me home on Maple first and followed behind in his car. He’s currently sitting on the sofa with a cup of coffee and some chat show on the TV that he must have forgotten to change. ‘I didn’t expect it to go that way.’

‘You think?’ Spencer moves his blazer to let me sit down next to him, tucking my feet up underneath my skirt and cradling a steaming mug between my palms. There’s a glint in his eye that shows me he’s not mad. His arm falls across my lap in a casual display of intimacy.

‘I’m surprised he didn’t give us both detention.’ I tease him, bumping his shoulder gently with my own.

‘I think he was more amused than anything,’ Spencer hums, taking a sip of his coffee before smiling at me. ‘Though I have to admit, I was nervous.’

‘I know you were.’ I find my eye trailing down his collar. ‘I found the whole thing absolutely hilarious. But hey, at least you haven’t been fired.’

‘That is definitely a plus, though maybe next time, don’t pretend to be a student, darling.’

‘Well, maybe you should learn to control yourself around said students.’

‘Stop it.’

‘They already adore you, what are they gonna do when Blondie tells them you were practically balls deep in me on the fuckin’ lecture theatre desk.’ I chuckle to myself, taking another sip of my coffee. Spencer chokes beside me.

‘Oh my God June, your mouth is filthy.’ When I look at him, he’s gone bright red. Even after everything he has been through, everything we have faced together, he’s still embarrassed by a couple of naughty words strung together in a sentence. It’s so endearing that my chest hurts.

‘Seriously, Spencer? We’ve known each other for, what, ten years—’

‘Ten years, seven months, nine days.’

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever, and you’ve only just realised that?’

‘No, June, I’ve always known you to have a dirty mouth, but I think it’s weird when it’s relating to my students of all things. And I don’t think ‘adore’ is the right word.’

‘Alright.’ I lean back in my seat, lick my lips. With a careful, calculated gesture, I stretch my legs over his lap. His eyes drop to the stretch of skin just below the hem of the skirt, fingers brushing down to touch it. ‘What would you like me to say instead? That they’re desperate to shag you? That they love you?’

‘Stop. It.’ He grips my thigh tightly, giving me his patented exasperated look. I return it.

‘Why? It’s true.’ I shrug, leaning further back into the cushions and eyeing him over the rim of my mug. Spencer’s fingers trace idle, teasing patterns on my thigh, sending shivers down my spine. ‘I reckon half of them would become Unsubs to have you look at them the way you look at me.’

‘You are being ridiculous.’ Spencer insists, shaking his head, but the very tips of his ears have turned pink. A telltale sign. He clearly loves the attention, he just doesn’t want to admit it. He leans over and puts his coffee mug down with a thud. When he returns, he is significantly closer, his head nearly on my collar.

‘Am I?’ I raise my eyebrow, sliding my arm across his shoulders and letting my fingers fiddle with the seam of his shirt. ‘You can’t say that you didn’t enjoy it, at least just a little bit.’

Spencer sighs, letting his head rock back onto my arm. His lips are slightly pursed as he thinks over my words. The hand on my thigh continues to make idle patterns, though it is getting higher and higher towards the hem. He’s not inconspicuous in the slightest, though I don’t think he’s intending to be. Spencer licks his lips before he speaks.

‘Perhaps a little,’ he admits sheepishly, brown eyes locking onto mine. I grin in triumph. ‘It’s nice to be appreciated, I guess.’

‘See, I knew it.’ I press a kiss to his cheek, unable to keep the humour out of my tone. I don’t want him to think I’m making fun of him, so quickly continue. ‘You’re only human, Spencer, you’re still a man. Admittedly a man with Adonis-like cheekbones and a face Paris would choose, and a certified genius, but a man nonetheless.’

‘I am hardly a god amongst men, June.’ Spencer chuckles, but his cheeks turn pink. He plucks my mug from my hand and puts it on the table next to his. When he returns, he wastes little time in pulling me into his lap, large hand descending back to my upper thigh. The more he strokes my skin, the harder it is to focus. ‘And you’re the one who keeps calling me a nerd.’

‘Being a nerd and being appreciated are not mutually exclusive.’ I remind him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and speaking against his skin. ‘Besides, you’re my nerd, and I appreciate you more than anyone. Don’t you forget that.’

Spencer’s arm around my hips tightens, the other hand relaxing its ministrations. He just holds me for a moment, head falling onto my collar as he exhales shakily. We sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments. The only sound is the low chatter of the TV and Spencer’s unsteady breaths. I close my eyes, fully content to bask in the warmth of Spencer’s presence, the weight of his arms a comforting anchor in the sea of chaos that is the world.

‘I appreciate you too, June.’ He murmurs, voice a soft caress against my chest. ‘More than you know.’

‘I know, Spence, I know.’ I press a kiss to the crown of his head. My hand cards through his hair, the softness so familiar to my fingertips. It’s nice to sit here with him and share a moment of peace, especially after such a hectic morning. It goes to show how much stronger we are together than we are apart. I decide to be a bit cheeky. ‘So…about those wake up calls…’

‘Oh, I thought I told you’d never know about those?’ Spencer smirks cheekily at me, pulling his head away from my chest and raising an eyebrow.

‘Yes, but I also know that you find it hard to resist me.’ I retort, leaning in so we’re barely a centimetre away from one another. Spencer’s eyes drop to my lips, hand tightening around my thigh. It’s my turn to smirk. ‘I also know that I mentioned something about the skirt…’

‘You’re incorrigible.’ He groans, and leans in. I pull away with a cheeky grin.

‘You’ve said that already today.’

‘I thought it was worth repeating.’ Spencer retorts, pulling me back down towards him. ‘I suppose I could be convinced to show you what I was thinking of doing to you this morning…’

‘Please.’ Is all I need to say before Spencer is upon me.

He kisses me with a fiery intensity I have rarely experienced from him before. His pent up passion is palpable as he curves me backwards, pressing his lips against mine with fervour. It’s a little sloppy, an untamed urgency, and his tongue seeks entrance earlier than usual, pushing against mine with a newfound dominance. Evidently I had been getting under his skin.

The large, warm hand on my thigh slips up under the skirt to grip the meatiest part of it, a handful of skin that I have no doubt will be bruised tomorrow. The idea of bruises only serves to turn me on more, though, the idea that I will find evidence of our mischievous behaviour invigorating. I do my best to keep up, clinging onto him, matching his enthusiasm as best I can. I am way too pleased with myself that I have managed to get this to go my way.

Spencer’s lips leave mine and aim for the underside of my jaw, trailing a line of fire. He peppers open mouthed kisses to my throat, my chin, wherever he can lay his lips on. It’s as if he is determined to taste every single inch of exposed skin. The hand under my skirt ventures further, slips under the hem of my underwear and I have to bite back a soft moan of excitement. Spencer is everywhere, all at once, leaving me breathless and wanting.

‘Bedroom?’ I suggest, voice barely above a whisper. The living room is suddenly way too confined for what I have in mind.

‘Bedroom.’ He confirms, voice a husky mix of pleasure and barely restrained desire.

‘As you wish, doctor.’ I tease, a playful lilt in my tone as I extricate myself from his lap. I sashay towards the bedroom door in languid, deliberately provocative movements. Spencer, however, is quick to follow. Before I can open the door fully, a hand—the very same one that was exploring underneath my skirt mere moments ago—slams into the door. Spencer has effectively barred my entry. I blink up at him, confused. ‘Babe, that’s the door to the bedroom. I can’t go in the bedroom if you’re holding the door closed.’

‘Strip.’ He instructs, voice low and commanding. He leans against the door, eyes raking up and down my figure with unmistakable hunger. It’s a hunger I’ve seen many times before.

I chuckle, bemused, but do not deny him his pleasure. I start with his jumper, peeling it off impossibly slowly before tossing it somewhere over my shoulder. Spencer’s gaze is intense, searching me rapidly for any hint of exposed flesh. I turn and bend at the waist to remove my knee-high socks, fully aware of the view I am presenting. The deep groan that rumbles from the back of his throat tells me he’s appreciating the glimpse of my very skimpy underwear. Next to join the others is my shirt and bra, leaving me nearly bare. The chill of the air conditioning makes my nipples pebble, a testament to my ever-growing arousal.

I reach for the waistband of my skirt but something stops me.

‘Don’t—’ Spencer’s slightly strangled voice stalls my movements, and I raise an eyebrow at him. Spencer clears his throat once and scratches the back of his neck in a gesture that betrays a hint of the sheepishness I saw earlier. He schools his features and swings the door open, holding it wide for me. ‘Leave the skirt.’

‘I fucking knew you had a thing for it!’ A triumphant grin spreads across my face and my laughter—rich in smugness and amusement— rings through the apartment. I saunter into the bedroom. Spencer follows swiftly behind, slamming the door shut with such force that the vase on the windowsill shudders.

Looks like I might be in for it today.

Safe to say that this skirt has just become my very own secret weapon. Who would have thought that a little bit of pleated fabric and a smile could be so disruptive?

THANK YOU FOR READING! MORE SPENCER REID FICS ON THE WAY.

[springtrappd]

the fnaf movie cast & crew on movie!vanessa:

2022 PRE-PRODUCTION CASTING CALL FROM 'NEW CHARACTER DETAILS FOR BLUMHOUSE'S 'FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S' FILM' (via Geek Vibes Nation):

Female supporting lead, VANESSA, 20s "Vanessa is a police officer who shows up during one of Mike’s work shifts. While leading with a bright and sunny disposition, Vanessa has a keen understanding of the dark history and inner workings of the restaurant. Not wanting to reveal too much of what she may know, she works to help Mike survive the night."

TAMMI & SCOTT IN 'UNIVERSAL PICTURES PUBLICITY: FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S PRODUCTION INFORMATION APPROVED':

Tammi, in turn, was wowed by [Elizabeth Lail]. “Vanessa in many ways was the most complicated character to inhabit,” Tammi says. “She’s a cop with a hidden agenda. Elizabeth did an incredible job finding the authenticity within Vanessa, not turning her into a caricature, but really giving her dimension and empathy. She had to be strong, but also exhibit softness and vulnerability. It’s not an easy thing to do, and Elizabeth nailed it.” Game creator and film producer Scott Cawthon saw Lail’s performance as a promise fulfilled. “Elizabeth Lail was so genuine in her portrayal of someone who was strong on the outside but had a lot of pain and confusion inside,” Cawthon says. “She was amazing. Very often during her takes I would text Emma and remind her that I take full credit for selecting her to play Vanessa.”

TAMMI ON MIKE & VANESSA'S RELATIONSHIP, IN 'FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S DIRECTOR ON LACK OF GORE & SEQUEL PLANS' (for Variety):

We meet both Mike and Vanessa at really lonely points in their lives. They’ve both had to bury really significant childhood trauma deep down within themselves in order to get through their day-to-day lives. In Mike’s case that’s taking care of his younger sister, and in Vanessa’s case it’s putting on this front as a cop while still trying to be protective of someone very close to her. There’s something that those two characters see in each other, both said and unsaid, that is a recognition of trauma and a unique experience they both underwent in different ways. There’s been a shared path that they’re able to connect on in a way that is very unlike them being able to connect with anyone else. That yearning for companionship and a shared understanding of each other’s past is the main thing that draws them together.

MAKEUP DEPARTMENT HEAD ASHLEY LEVY (on Instagram):

INSPO: FNAF style, *yet* again. Up next is Vanessa. Drawing from the quiet simplicity of Simone in “The French Dispatch”, the brooding strength of Julia in “The Watcher”, and the pure fortitude of Dani in “Midsommar”, Vanessa reflects a quiet purity with an undertone of mystery.

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

Robe

The number of times that you recalled a certain half demon placing his robe over you in protections were too numerous to count. It was only when you were in dire danger or need that the precious red fabric ever left his being. It was his armor, as you’ve come to recognize from every battle you’d witnessed, proving its worth time and time again as he fought countless foes. There were a few times when its protection could only do so much for him but he always treated it with care even when it had been rendered to tatters until it could return to its former completed shape.

Your gaze rose upwards to the darkened night sky. Another new moon had come, earning the little traveling group a much needed break for camp, along with a change over a certain person who now grumbled lowly under their breath as a town appeared in the distance. The change InuYasha befell never ceases to amaze you as he huffed when the little fox demon lightly poked fun. Long pristine platinum white hair was now a black that could rival tonight’s darkness, touchable ears that would swivel or perk had disappeared, and the sharpness of his nails that was rivaled by his eyes were now softer yet still profound that told of inhuman heritage.

“What are you looking at?”

A snap of your head back towards the road shifted your gaze forward. “Wonder if there’s an place that we can stay at.”

“Tsk. Nothing wrong with camping.”

The monk intervened before you could respond, stating that for everyone’s sake it would be best to take shelter, then departed once spotting several prosperous homes. None too surprising that Sango followed him closely with Shippo and Kilala up her shoulders. That meant it was just the two of you walking along the dirt trodden path.

As if pulled by a magnet your gaze drifted back towards the seemingly normal man beside you.

“If you’ve got something to say, than say it already.” His snap was halfhearted, earning a raise of your eyebrow. When you didn’t answer he quickened his pace until blocking your path which caused you to stop. It was rare to see this expression upon his face as the nearby lantern illuminated his features for you. It was concerned, worried maybe, but most of all it was sincere. “What is it? You’ve been awfully quiet since dusk.” This was another aspect that you favored about this time of the month. Honesty was a strong suit of his, ego and bravado being used as shields when someone managed to get beneath his skin, but it was during this change that he was more open with you in particular when in regards to certain topics. Patience wasn’t his forte yet he waited for longer than you expected for an answer of some sort until he cast a brief glance over your shoulder before encouraging you to stand closer to the source of light. “You know I’d do my best to protect you, right? Don’t be scared.”

Warmth entered your cheeks at the tone he used. “Oh, I know you will, that’s not why—” Your words were forgotten as one of his hands appeared from the robe’s sleeves to press its palm against your forehead. “What are you doing?”

“Checking to see if you’re falling ill.” The hum that sounded from his throat reverberated slightly in your ears from its pitch, his expression becoming one of concentration. “You don’t have a fever so that’s good.”

“Really, I’m fine.”

At that moment a breeze blew past, tickling the bare skin of your legs and arms until the hairs stood upright with its cooler temperature, earning a shiver across your body. Your head hung as he sighed. All day you’ve been suppressing similar shivers down your spine with each breath of wind that whispered of fall’s coming frost. Guess you should’ve listened to mom’s advice about packing weather appropriate clothing. The school’s summertime uniform wasn’t going to cut it for much longer. Why couldn’t you have packed a jacket or some leggings instead of all those textbooks that threatened to break your back?

Silence filled the air between the two of you until the sound of shifting fabric caused your gaze to rise in curiosity only for it to become ensnared by a pair of warm sienna brown eyes that subtly shone with amber shards. His fingers were careful as they slipped the heavy backpack off your shoulders, easily swinging it up onto his own, then shifted so that you were nearly sandwiched between his body and the lantern. Not only was he blocking the wind but also attempting to combine his body heat with that of the lantern to help keep you warm until the others returned. And still his gaze remained locked on your own even when the subtlest of pink hues appeared within the tips of his ears. “It’s not much but better?”

A small smile lifted your lips as the chill in your skin slowly dissipated. “Much, thanks.”

It didn’t take long for Shippo to return with word that Miroku had found a place to stay for the night. After a modest dinner and sleeping arrangements had been made, you slipped off towards a quieter part of the residence where a little studying could be done. The head of the house had been kind enough to provide a few candles to offer better light for you but they did little to stem off the night’s chill as your nearly numb fingers fumbled to turn a page. Just as you were about to call it a night because it was becoming too difficult to focus from the cold, something happened that you never would have guessed or saw coming.

From behind you appeared two folds of familiar fabric that loosely enclosed you within a cocoon, a pair of legs folding neatly beneath you in place of the floor that were far more cushioned, and a firm toned surface meeting your back that had begun to protest against the slouched position you’d been in for the last hour. “Getting some studying done?” He asked softly, as if hoping not to startle you too much. A barely audible hiss slipped from between his lips as he drew you closer with a squeeze. “Damn, (Y/n), you’re freezing. How can you possibly get anything done when you’re this cold?”

Your answer was lost to the stuttering of syllables as your teeth chattered slightly, earning a chuckle from the dark haired man.

“Next time you’re this cold, just say something, ‘kay?” It was only when you nodded in agreement did his posture become more relaxed, hold loosening just enough that you could pick up the textbook again.

Now you had a completely different reason to be distracted.

Had he always been this warm or was that the robe? Either way it was so blissful that your mind slowly became a muddled mess the longer you remained within his hold. The sharp scents of Wind Scars or Backlash Waves that mostly dominated his being had given way to reveal faint traces of salty sweat reminding you of the beach, dry chalky remnants that were similar to mountains, and spicy cinnamon that tickled your nose in an alluring way.

“So what are you studyin’ this time? Is it that weird trig-no-metry thing?”

A chuckle came from your throat, shifting so that he could see the illustration of a bamboo forest. “It’s the story of a prince who wants to marry the bamboo princess but she has all these tasks for him to do before she agrees.” The tip of your finger rose when his expression became weary. “It’s similar to the Kaguya legend but this one describes the Robe of the Fire Rat to be silvery and beautiful.”

His eyebrows shot upwards as his chin fell to rest upon your shoulder, causing your cheeks to brush. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm. According to this, it was mistaken for common silk at first when an iron box had been dug up beneath a fallen temple. Only the prince of Japan at the time who had sent word to his dear friend in China asking for assistance understand what it truly once when he received it. So beautiful it was the he couldn’t wait to gift it to the princess but didn’t feel as though it would do her justice.” Your hand turned the page to reveal an illustration, eyes finding the sentence where you left off and continued to read aloud. “‘Across a bed of coals did the prince lay the robe, for it had been heard that the robe would become more beautiful to behold once kissed by flame’s lingering breath’. It said in a passage that it was as if silver had been spun finely to create the robe that could protect its wearer from any heat related harm.” From the corner of your eye you could see InuYasha’s gaze shift from the open book to his trusty coat, coaxing his eyes to return to the page courtesy of your nudge. “However, the prince made a mistake. He placed it on the coals twice more and it evaporated into silver smoke.”

The snort that sounded nearly made you smile. “Idiot. Should’ve just left it alone.”

“Well, he was trying to make sure it was in its peak condition before giving it to the bamboo princess. Nothing wrong with trying to ensure a gift is in its best condition.” You chided, noting how he rolled his eyes. “Yours was a gift from your father, right? Would you have been happy if he’d given it to you full of holes?” No sooner had the words come out of your mouth did you wish to take them back as his gaze darkened. Guilt filled your veins as his lip curled. “InuYasha, I’m sorry—”

“It was actually a gift to my mother who then passed it down to me when she died.” His tone was much softer than the expression made of stone he wore. “My old man knew he wouldn’t be enough to protect her so he’d asked the Fire Rat to make something for her. A lot of good it did her though.”

From within your heart came a twinge of sadness for him as he took a deep inhale through his nose. The book was closed with a snap, somehow not earning a reaction from him, then it was placed off to the side as you pivoted so that the two of you were facing each other. Only when the palms of your hands cupped his face did the dark haired InuYasha surface from the thoughts plaguing his mind. His gaze found your own, finding warmth and honesty, before you snuggled into his being while wrapping your arms around his torso. “I’m glad your father had it made to protect her, you could almost say it was made from his love for Lady Izayoi, and it became full of her love for you after your birth.” From this angle you couldn’t see his face there was no mistaking the rhythm of his heart quickening when you gave him a squeeze. “You could even say that its their love combined that continues to protect you even during this time when you feel weakest.��

The stiffness within his toned muscular frame ebbed at your words. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that he’d been constantly on guard all day knowing what was to come once the sun had set. Sure there was Sango, Miroku, and even Kilala to help if a battle or opponent were to present themselves. Ever so slowly, his arms enclosed around you in a returning embrace until the entirety of your form was nearly pressed against his own. Tresses of his long hair intermixed with your own as his warm breath wafted the sensitive skin of your neck.

Not another word was spoken between the two of you as one by one the candles flickered than hissed before extinguishing until darkness settled over the two of you like a heavy curtain. Neither it nor the whispering chill on the breeze could force you two apart as warmth slowly grew between your forms. The robe was large enough to comfortably fit around your combined forms, although that might have been because you were practically cradled against his form with your face protectively tucked beneath his chin, the gentle rises and falls of your chests in harmony as sleep slowly claimed you both.

It was almost too soon that you woke to find the first few rays of sunshine filtering over the horizon. Unlike the first time you’d witnessed his transformation, you watched with awe as black gave way to silvery platinum and the sharpness returned to his features as he stirred. The lids of his eyes opened just in time for the sienna brown to be overtaken by brilliant gold and pupils to become oval shaped rather than circular, those shards of amber remaining but now becoming harder to see from the irises’ ring. And yet he didn’t move or say anything that suggested you should move away. So within his hold you remained, offering a smile of greeting when his pointed dog-like ears perked in your direction.

“Morning, InuYasha.”

His gaze flitted off to the distance, a huff sounding in his nose. “Yeah…morning.”

“Did you sleep good?”

“Tsk. Would you sleep well if something heavier than a pickling pot sat in your lap?”

A twitch settled within your brow. Standing, you gathered all of the books you’d meant to study last night and shoved the materials back into your bag as the chorus of your names came from within the residence. “Sounds like the others are up so we should get going.”

“Not like we got anything here to keep us. Better to move on.”

The muscles within your jaw clenched as he nonchalantly rose then disappeared around the main house’s corner in the direction of where your companions would likely be as you hurried to follow. It was then that you noticed not only was your bag suddenly missing but the Robe of the Fire Rat was secured around your frame in a similar fashion that it had been at the Sage Tokijin’s temple. When had he done that?

“Hurry up, (Y/n), we ain’t got all day!”

Though it was so fast the others had missed, or if they had seen they didn’t comment, the pink tinge that entered his cheeks when you’d appeared alongside them.

“Why are you wearing InuYasha’s robe?” Shippo asked curiously while hoping up to balance atop of your head. “Did something happen last night that made you not come to bed?”

A teasing smile raised your lips while catching the half-demon’s gaze before taking the lead from him from beyond the gate that was entrance to the residence. “Looks better on me, wouldn’t you agree, Miroku?”

Instantly, InuYasha’s expression became one of anger as the perverted monk made to comment. “Don’t you even start!”

[elitadream]

have you seen the new transformers movie yet? i’ve been seeing a lot of videos of it and have been thinking of you cause of your user

Yes I have! 😎 Went to see it in theaters last week!

I gotta say, first of all, that the absence of a human cast was both refreshing and needed- though I give Travis Knight's Bumblebee an amiable tap on the back for handling its relationship dynamics so much better than the Bay films ever did. xP

I've always loved the concept of lifelong brothers turned sworn enemies, and the movie's premise had a lot of potential to offer in that regard. Watching it, it was hard for me not to be reminded of The Prince of Egypt (which in my eyes still holds the gold trophy for that trope btw, it is such an absolute masterpiece 🏆💗) and I really enjoyed how gradual and organic the shift in their friendship was. Both of their point of views was shown and expressed in a genuine way throughout the story, and by the end, the colossal and inevitable divide between them felt entirely believable. That aspect of the film was very well done and it surprisingly delivered in the angst department, which I wasn't expecting considering how bright and family-friendly the trailers looked. All in all, I think it did justice to Optimus and Megatron's epic rivalry! 👏

On the downside, the portrayal of Bumblebee and Elita-One was where the movie fell flat imo. The antagonist having a bland and more shallow personality was fitting because it suited who he is at his core, but the "young comic relief" and "tough as nails woman" character types were made abundantly clear in every scene Bee and Elita appeared and it frankly got a bit old for me after a while. Granted, Elita showed a bit more nuance towards the end, but it came about late and her development didn't feel very satisfactory.

The first impression I was ever given of her was in The Search for Alpha Trion, where she appeared for a total of less than five minutes; and yet, to this day, it still is my favorite version of the character. She was strategic, rational and highly intelligent, but also collected and calm. She had a gentleness and wisdom about her that beautifully echoed Optimus' own innate sense of nobility and compassion, which was also what made their chemistry so special and great. They felt like equals, and tenderly valued each other as such. Making her distrustful -and even disdainful- towards Orion in the first half of the film was an alteration that I didn't like and I would have much preferred if she was more tempered and kind like her G1 counterpart.

...But, oh well. That's just my personal nitpick I guess. 😅 It was still a good flick. 7/10!

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Some Things About Mary

You know, it occurred to me that my ideas about Mary Phoenix have evolved a bit since I first introduced her, especially since I decided to make the reincarnation storyline canon for Sunshine in Hell. Why don't I point out a couple differences that I referenced in some subsequent posts that talk about her?

Content Warnings: There will be talk of death, murder, chronic illness, fatphobia, toxic family relationships, drug usage, sex work, and other such heavy topics. There's also some good old spicy OTP fluff and smut to offset the darker stuff, and maybe a little writing if the mood takes me.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

As alluded to in this short fic - Grand Pas de Deux - Mary is the one who got Joseph the part of Jack in the SunnyTime Crew Show. Much like when Alice comes across Jack purely by chance when she finds the tape, Mary stumbled across Joseph while he was hitchhiking on the side of the road - as shown in this unnamed fic.

Instead of working with the art department of the show like the initial ramble about her, Mary is on the writing staff, though she did make drawings of characters for the show when developing the idea.

Sunshine in Hell's continuity differs from the game's demo in a number of ways. One of the biggest divergences is that Mary is the person who came up with the original concept of the SunnyTime Crew Show. In fact, the character of Sunny Day Jack was inspired by Joseph. Whenever she hears the nickname "Sunshine" she thinks of him, for obvious reasons, and he always managed to brighten up her day, so "Sunny Day Jack" felt like an appropriate name for the character.

Sure, Mary could've used a star motif to reference her nickname for Joseph - Starlight - but that felt too personal, in a way, too much like she was just writing about Joseph. Sunny Day Jack is a character based off of how warm and cared for her friendship with Joseph made her feel. The character isn't actually him.

Until, you know, she managed to pull some strings and get him the part in the upcoming TV show.

It sort of all fell into place when Mary came across Joseph again. He had nowhere to go, next to no money to his name. He was willing to do any sort of work he could get. Of course Mary wanted to help him out, so she encouraged him to try out for the part. It just so happened that they were working on the casting call, so the timing was perfect.

Despite Joseph's uncertainty that he could get the role and worries that he'll do right by the child audience, he nailed the audition. Sure he was nervous, but he was desperate to succeed. It wasn't just that he needed the job to survive, but he needed it to stay close to Mary. He couldn't let anything separate them again after he finally found his sunshine.

Joseph was a bundle of nerves before the audition, but Mary managed to bolster his confidence.

...

"Hey," Mary whispered, causing Joseph to flinch and the script to crinkle in his fist. She offered him a sympathetic smile as she placed her hand on his arm. "You're going to be great. I know it."

With that, Mary got onto her tiptoes to give Joseph a quick peck on the lips before throwing him a wink. "Knock 'em dead, Starlight."

For a moment, Joseph could only stare in wonder at Mary. It still felt like a dream that she really was there in front of him after all this time. He reached out for her, ready to pull her in for another kiss to reaffirm just how real and warm she was when he heard his name being called for his turn.

Well... his current name. It was going to take him some time to get used to being called James Haberdae.

But that was fine. Joseph, James, Jack... it didn't matter what name he used. All Joseph needed from his old life was standing right in front of him, beaming like a sunny day. Mary's smile lit up the whole world and gave him hope that things were finally going to change for the better.

"I won't let you down, Sunshine," Joseph said as he gave Mary his sunniest smile. Reluctantly, he let her go, but only for now. It was show time, and the world was waiting to see him as Sunny Day Jack.

...

Needless to say, Joseph nailed the audition. ;3

Mary wasn't the only writer on the show of course. It's common for there to be a lot of writers for a TV show, even if there's one writer who came up with the initial concept for the story and characters. I strongly suspect that this lovely lady to the left in this artwork Sauce shared with us is the show's original creator in the game. In Sunshine in Hell's telling, Mary befriended her as a surrogate aunt or mother figure after she and her family moved away when she was a teenager. This lovely lady who shall remain nameless helped Mary in a lot of ways that her own parents didn't, including helping her develop the concept and character ideas Mary had into a TV show pitch. The show wouldn't have happened without her help, so she's one of the head writers.

That's all say about that particular character in this post, or the blond in the picture with her on the right. After all, the current demo that has a scene about these two is in closed beta right now for kickstarter backers and members of the patreon. No spoilers here, folks!

Well, no game spoilers. I'm spoiling the heck out of Sunshine in Hell on this blog.

Another difference between the game and Sunshine in Hell is the factor of chronic illness in the narrative. Mary and Alice both suffer from the same unnamed chronic condition. While in the present it's for the most part manageable, aside from the occasional flare up, in the 1980's, it was entirely an unknown ailment. There was no name, and thus no real treatment.

Doctors aren't necessarily the best at dealing with unknowns. They can also be pretty judgmental, taking one look at a patient and writing them off. It's even easier to write someone off when they're chubby and blame all their woes on their weight. Just lose some pounds, and the pain will go away, they're keen to say, so they don't see why they should waste their time.

Needless to say, Mary hasn't had the best luck with doctors. Between being told she wouldn't live to adulthood when she was a child, painful tests and experimental medications, and doctors basically blaming her for being sick and in pain, she's for the most part had to deal with things on her own. That means gritting her teeth and forcing herself through the day, taking painkillers when it gets too much for her to handle.

It's hard enough doing work for an average job, but a studio like LambsWork works their employees to the bone. Hours upon hours of overtime, often without any extra pay to show for it. The actors aren't the only ones being worked to the bone. Scripts need to be written, details for sets, costumes, guests need to be brought in and catered to, and all sorts of things that force Mary to have many late nights.

It's too much for Mary, but she can't give it up. This might be her one and only chance to make it, to really share one of her stories to the world. She had dreamed of writing and publishing a novel, but this is so, so much more. If she lets this opportunity slip through her fingers, she'll never have another one like it ever again. She has to make this show work. She has to put everything into it, even if it costs her health.

But that's something Mary is used to at this point. She's learned to deal with the pain, to push through when she's suffering. Her parents always claimed she was exaggerating the pain, overplaying her illness, even faking being sick at all to get out of work, so she had to learn how to push through the pain.

That's another reason why Mary can't fail. She can't let her parents be right about her being a lazy failure.

Mary is low contact with her family, citing the show as reason for it. Her mom and dad are narcissists, so they're satisfied with her success, as it reflects well on them as parents. They're happy as long as they get something out of it, like money, reputation, connections, etc.

Really, it's the period in time when Mary has gotten the most "love" and approval from those two. It's another reason why she can't let the show fail.

Mary is aware her parents aren't very good people. She has been for a while now, but... she still loves them. It's so hard to let go of a relationship when there are some happy moments there, times when she can let herself believe the lie that this is simply how families are. This is what love is... or at least love of a family.

It's the connections Mary makes outside of her family that shake up that perception. First there was Joseph's friendship that blossomed into romantic love. Then there was her mentor figure I mentioned earlier who became more of a mother to her than her real mother. Now she has other friends she's made while working on the set of the SunnyTime Crew Show. The actors and others working on the show are all so nice and sincere, not just Joseph. They become like a big family... one that feels more like a family than Mary's ever was.

Though Mary still can't quite cut off her parents. It's not that easy.

It's that found family and not wanting to let any of them down that pushes Mary so hard. She winds up pushing herself too hard. She takes over the counter painkillers on the daily, knowing that it's not good for her in the long term. Least of the issues with taking them all the time is their diminishing effectiveness. They take away less pain over time as she pushes her body harder and harder to its breaking point...

Mary and Joseph do wind up living together and taking care of one another. He's aware that she's pushing herself too hard, downplaying her own symptoms and pain. He sees how often empty medicine bottles appear in the trash can and hears the whimpers she can't contain when she's struggling to sleep at night.

Joseph wants to protect Mary, but there's little he can do to take away her pain. He helps her as best he can with taking care of the house and the cooking, but he's overworked as well. There's promotional gigs, autograph signings, interviews, filming episodes, rehearsals... Their days are so busy that often times they're left exhausted by the time they get home late at night, too tired to do more than just lie in bed in each other's arms.

That isn't to say that they don't steal a moment or two in their busy lives to make love. Mary might be on the aroace spectrum, but the pleasure Joseph makes her feel allows her to forget the pain she's in all the time, at least for a little while. Joseph, with his high libido, is only too happy to show her love in the most intimate of ways.

Well... after he gets over a bit of guilt. Though Mary did greet Joseph with a kiss when they reunited, and they resumed their relationship right where they left off, it didn't erase the years that they were apart... or the things Joseph had to do to survive life on the streets.

As I mentioned in Jack's section of the big Love and Sex Headcanons post, Joseph had to do some pretty unsavory things in order to survive. Though he puts up a good confident front, even to himself, this man has many insecurities underneath his bad boy looking exterior. There's some guilt that he went looking for love in someone else when he was separated from Mary, and those relationships always ended badly. He also sold his body, exchanging sexual favors for as little as a roof over his head and a meal for a night.

Not to mention the other awful things he did in his past, such as the reason why he ran away from Haberdae High...

Joseph is unclean, at least in his opinion. He's been told he's worthless, not good enough, and other insults... and he embraced that out of spite. He hurt people badly, caused harm he can't undo, sold himself for cheap, allowed people to use him and then throw him away...

In a way, Joseph doesn't feel worthy of Mary... but damned if he's going to let her go ever again.

Things change for Joseph once Mary finds him. His life takes a turn he never expected, brings him hope and light when he struggled to find either. For all his fears that he won't do right by the kids after all he's done, he finds his groove right away, connecting with the children in ways that he never thought he could. He worries about hurting Mary again, losing her again, not being worthy of her after all he's done... he worries about letting her down and the friends he made, the children who admire him.

Mary shows Joseph love and unwavering faith in him that he never felt even for himself. She helps him see that there's more to him than he ever realizes, and he so badly wants to be the man that she believes he is.

Joseph didn't want to push his sexual urges on Mary at the start of their relationship, determined to take things slow and do it right. He had extra pressure from learning that she was still a virgin... and guilt because he was not.

They were each other's first kiss, but Joseph slept around with many, many other people while Mary did not.

Despite this internalized self-loathing, Joseph did his best to be better for Mary, and for himself. He wanted to be the man that she saw him as, the special wish come true that she always said he was for her life. He'd grant her every wish and make her the happiest anyone could ever be. He'd protect her from the world, from illness, and even from his own darker urges.

Joseph did his best to hold himself back, which led to plenty of awkward boners to hide before they finally progressed to the point of making love. More than once he felt as if he was going to go crazy with how badly he wanted her, while also feeling guilty about lusting for Mary like some animal in heat. He was extra careful and delicate about their first time, worshipping every inch of her body and making sure to repay all the love she gave him.

One good thing about all his experience was that Joseph knew how to pleasure his partner very well. Mary was surprised that her first time wasn't painful like she expected it to be (aside from chronic pain, but he made her forget about that for a while too). He practically turned her into a quivering pile of goo by the time he was through with her. He couldn't stop after just one round, not after how many times he had gotten blue balls waiting until they were both ready for this.

Joseph might not have the empathy powers that share all his horny feelings during this time period, but he can still encourage Mary's libido to increase the old fashioned way. Though he takes the lead most of the time, he's very happy when she initiates. He gets quite the guilty thrill when his sunshine gets a bit jealous and possessive of him.

What Joseph has with Mary is such a different feeling from the dismissive relationships he had before that only saw his body. He's not a piece of meat to her. He's not property paid for. She makes him feel irreplaceable, like someone worth waiting for, someone to miss and long for. She cares deeply for what he wants and is so tender and loving...

Joseph desperately wants to be someone worthy of all the love Mary shows him.

He is even more desperate not to lose his sunshine again.

The rumor that Mary died when they were in high school might have been false, but that memory of loss still haunts Joseph. It comes to mind every time she has a flare up. He's left helpless but to just offer comfort and do what little he can while she whimpers and cries, praying that the pain passes soon...

The doctors are useless. Joseph gets so frustrated by their condescension and bumbling. He wants to save up money to take care of the both of them, give them a better life, and actually find someone who can actually do something about this damn illness. They're just sticking their thumbs up their asses and shrugging their shoulders while giving gormless looks as they suggest another test, another specialist...

And the bills just keep racking up.

It doesn't help that so much of their time is taken up working. Joseph worries about how hard Mary is pushing herself, how her attacks are coming more and more frequently. He sees her pushing herself too hard even while she tries to smile through the pain. She tries to be optimistic, saying there's nothing they can do about it, so they've just got to push through. He can see that she's given up on finding answers or a cure. He can't give up. He won't.

Mary hates that she worries Joseph so much about her health, especially since it seems so hopeless. She tries not to acknowledge her own worries and fears. There are times when she nearly breaks down from the pressure of keeping the show together and her fears that her body might be dying and the doctors are clueless. Is this symptom a sign of something dangerous or more of the same? Are they missing something all this time? Can they really afford to throw away more money just to get more apathetic shrugs instead of answers?

Stress leads to vices. Joseph drinks more coffee and alcohol to make it through. He keeps trying to kick the cigarette addiction, as it costs a lot of money they need for other things, but every time he does, the withdrawal symptoms get bad, and he has to take a puff to feel normal again. He tries at least to not smoke around Mary since he knows cigarettes are poison to the body, and she's already in delicate enough health as it is. She's his biggest motivation to quit, while the stress of his job the biggest reason why he can never quite manage it.

It's not just Joseph who falls victim to vices to make it through. Mary hates the taste of coffee but chokes it down like medicine in the morning to make it through the day. She avoids alcohol to not mess with whatever medicine she's currently on to keep the symptoms down, and sometimes she has to drop the coffee too if it interferes with the medicine.

Coffee isn't Mary's biggest vice. She tries different medications, sometimes prescribed, but most often just over the counter painkillers. Taking them too much lessens their effectiveness, and with the job pushing her harder and harder, her health is only degrading, forcing her to take more than what is safe.

Eventually, the over the counter meds aren't enough. A "friend" at the studio, one of the higher ups above Mary who runs her ragged notices her struggling and offers some "help."

Mary was no stranger to trying new types of medicines. The doctors all failed her, often times giving her things that resulted in side-effects that made things worse for her. The pain was getting worse, and she was desperate to feel better... to keep the show going and to be a success.

Mary never thought she would ever take illicit substances. Drugs are bad for you and lead to a dark road, she knew it from all the warnings teachers and even television gave her while growing up, but... she was already starting to break. She was barely holding things together for Joseph, for her friends, the show, the people counting on her, her parents...

They're just some pills, she's assured. A pharmacist friend of the "friend" is certain they're effective. Just try it and see.

They help. These pills from a sketchy source work better than anything Mary has ever tried before. She feels good for once, better than ever. The pain disappears for a while, and she's energized, happy. Why the hell did the doctors never prescribe these to her?

Unfortunately, as what happens when taking pills regularly, it stops being quite as effective. The dosage needs to be increased after a while to get the same high. The side-effects start to cause further issues, particularly as the dosage increases. The body gets strained, and the withdrawal symptoms of going without are agonizing.

Joseph does find out about the pills eventually... and he's far from happy about it, or what they've done to Mary.

Yes, Mary gets addicted to drugs. Show business unfortunately has a habit of doing that to people. The "friend" took the drugs recreationally and shared the "fun" with Mary.

The sad thing is Mary likely turned down things like this before when they were offered as a "party favor" at some gathering. Doing drugs to chase a high never tempted her. It was suffering and desperation that pushed her to make one of the biggest mistakes of her life.

Between drug usage, stress, pushing her body to the breaking point, chronic illness, and other such factors... Mary's health degraded. It was only a matter of time until her body couldn't take it anymore.

Joseph's murder was the breaking point for everything. When he died, a part of Mary died with him, along with all her hopes and dreams. For all the struggles, they did hope for a future together where they could live happily together... maybe raise a family. Even when they were forced apart years ago, she always kept that little hope in her heart that maybe someday she'd find him again.

This time... there was no finding him again. Joseph was dead. He was gone. Forever. Her starlight, her other half, her wish come true...

As if to rub salt in the wound, the studio ended the show. Not only that, they buried everything about it. They erased it... as if it never happened. As if none of the effort and pain and sacrifices ever existed at all. All of her work, Joseph's work, her friends' work... all reduced to ash. LambsWork recalled merch, tapes, etc. and destroyed them, erased the very name of the show, its characters, and those who worked on it from everywhere money and connections could reach. There was no internet to allow for independent archiving.

LambsWork produced new shows, created new distractions. The world moved on to the next big thing. The coworkers Mary and Joseph had grown to love were silenced by NDAs and threats, and were forced to move on.

Mary hoped to create a story that would live on after she died. When she got that death sentence from a doctor as a child, it was her one goal in life, to leave something of herself behind. Now it was gone... as was the person who loved her more than anyone else in the world.

Her wishes, her dreams, her love... it was all dead.

What did Mary have left to live for?

Without hope, Mary lost the will to live. She stopped fighting. The damage that had been done to her body was too much, and the wound to her heart simply refused to heal.

The friends she made when creating the show came to see her. They offered what little support they could in her final days, but they couldn't help her. No one could.

Her parents never visited her even once. They distanced themselves from her the same way LambsWork did. What good was she to them now? Their child helped them get connections in the entertainment industry, but she could do nothing for them now. She could have done more for them to actually be useful to them for once in her life. They wouldn't even bother with her "theatrics" after that "hooligan" died. Good riddance, they say.

It's a tragic ending where good people suffered terrible fates while awful people lived on, pocketing their ill gotten gains as they moved on without so much as a backward glance.

Of course I'm not satisfied with this sort of ending, so I'm decreeing that karma does get all these assholes eventually. I'm not quite sure how just yet, but I like the idea that the Phoenix parents eventually learned the meaning of regret, even if they never learn what it means to actually love anyone else but themselves.

Trust me, I'm gonna make sure they get some form of payback, as well as Joseph's neglectful and abusive parents.

As for LambsWork and the people there... their karma will also come as I develop more details of the story and flesh out more characters. It's developing, though slowly, as I admittedly keep getting distracted by fluff with my OTP.

Naturally, karma comes back around for Joseph and Mary in the form of Jack and Alice. It won't necessarily be an easy road for them, but the two of them will make it work in their next lives. The game might have multiple different endings, with some probably ending in a lot of gore and guts, but Sunshine in Hell's ending will be a happy one where Jack and Alice get to have the bright and shining future that was stolen from them.

Yes, that future does include babies ever after. Jack worried he would be bad around kids, but he eventually becomes the best daddy a child could ever ask for, and the best partner Alice could ever ask for.

Alice might wonder if someone as good as Jack could actually be real, but he's going to remind her that he's always been her wish come true. This time, nothing is going to stop them from achieving their dreams and being happy, together.

Although, if you would rather see a kinder world where Mary and Joseph don't have to wait until their next lives to have their happy ending, here's an AU where they manage to reach their golden years together.

I think I'll wrap things up on that warm and fuzzy note. I hope you enjoyed reading a bit more about Mary and Joseph and their entanglement with LambsWork Productions.

[robyese3]

K. I'm writing this into the void but I have nobody to talk bridgerton to. I blow the dust off my Tumblr to rant. Season 3. Here we go

PT. 1

Trash. All four episodes could have honestly been condensed to one, maaaaybe two to compensate for all the side plots. It did nothing to redeem Penelope.

It did however make me love Cressida, and further convinced me Eloise is queer. That said - Claudia Jessie so far has had chemistry with every single person (Benedict, Penelope, Cressida, Theo). Maybe it's just her. Philip was cardboard though so... We'll see if she can rescue that.

Why would the wig department do my boy Colin like that? Dirtyyy.

Francesca is GORGEOUS. She does look older than Daphne and Eloise, but I don't even care. Stunning. And John is a button.

Where did Luke and Nicola's chemistry go?!

KANTHONY. Only redeeming factor, and not enough of them.

What happened to Debling? Why wouldn't they just have HIM marry Cressida???? Like...?? It would have been perfect.

I love the Mondrich's story line - why is everyone hating? I do agree that it would have been a great way to reintroduce the Duke into the story though. Kinda mentor them through it. I get Rege-Jean wanted out but like... Recast it?

PT 2

Ahhh there is their chemistry. Found it.

I am HERE for mama Featherignton's redemption arc. Only works because she seems genuinely remorseful.

Incredibly disappointed with the Cressida storyline. Just wrecked a really dynamic story. Ruined Eloise's character growth (which she desperately needs) and just undid the awesome set up from pt 1. Felt so wasteful, unnecessary, and sad.

Most of the sex scenes were hot as hell but there was one (I don't remember which) was kinda awkward getting off the ground. They were like... Talking too much? Haha

Daphne not being there for Colin NOR Francesca's wedding? Yeah right. Get your casting contracts figured out bridgerton! This family can't be this close and just be missing major events. Would never happen. Lock them actors in from day 1.

I felt like Colin's arc from finding out to supporting her was really vulnerable, realistic, and well done. He was hurt and angry, but never stopped loving her. Just needed to process and he defended her tooth and nail despite knowing she didn't want to quit it. Good job kiddo.

Ok does Benedict do ANYTHING else but fvck? So grateful they finally admitted he's queer. And I wish they would have gotten to that part of his development in pt 1 so we could see him navigating it more.

When Colin said he had to talk to Benedict about getting the money, and implying that Benedict has some responsibility in the family with Anthony's absence - that was the biggest character development for him outside of his sexuality.

Philippa has NOT gotten enough screentime during this series. How are we just seeing how delightful she is now?!

Part 2 did such a better job at redeeming Penelope. I drank the Kool aid, back on team Penelope. Wrecked Eloise though. Sorry girl. Be better.

Michaela Sterling. Was kinda digging the "soft" love, and autistic thing that was circling the Internet so I was a little disappointed to see that all it was is that she's actually not attracted to him (knew the second they kissed haha). BUT the actress is stunning and I'm intrigued on how they'll develop Francesca's yearning for children with the queer storyline.

I would have loved for another King George cameo. Or just an update on his health, idk. Anything.

All in all, this show could do with adding another episode or two to it's roster and figuring out their pacing earlier on ESPECIALLY if you're going to be splitting the season. And even more so, if you're going to be juggling 82 different storylines.

If we're slowly shifting back to traditional tv practices (weekly releases episodes, commercials, etc), let the next thing be a full episode count. Done with this single digit amount episode. Order at least 10-12 episodes!

[sabraeal]

Friends With Amenities

[Read on AO3]

“I-I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Shirayuki’s fingers curl against the counter; the only thing keeping her upright as her blood abandons everything below the knee and rushes to her head. “I think there’s been a mistake.”

The concierge points one long nail toward her screen, angled firmly away from the customer side of the counter, eyebrows bumping up against her hairline. “Well, ma’am, it says here that you’re booked for the deluxe king suite, complete with master bath, full kitchenette, and picturesque views of the old quarter.”

“No, I— I’m sure I said two queens.” She’d only made the booking two weeks ago, fingers trembling as she read the number off the department’s travel card, double- and triple-checking that the reservation had been for two adults in two separate beds. “Very sure! I even have the email—”

“Oh yeah, of course.” Nails clatter as the woman waves her hand, unconcerned. Sweat prickles along her spine, and oh, what Shirayuki wouldn’t give to tap into some of the reserve of calm. “But it looks like you were selected for a free upgrade! That means that not only are you welcome to partake in our continental breakfast, but that you also have access to our—”

“But one king is still less than the two beds I asked for.” It’s not as if there’s a problem sharing with Obi— over the past year, she’s probably spent more nights in his bed with him that she’s spent in her own alone the last three— but that’s all…incidental. Something that happens when she agrees to just one more episode, or lets him work on one last slide as she starts in on her bedtime reading. But agreeing to this—

That would be on purpose. A plan to share space. Two bodies beneath the covers touching.

“Can’t you just put me back in my old room?” The bitten ends of her nails carve painful crescents into her palms. “If you upgraded me to a king suite, that means there was a double queen you left empty, doesn’t it?”

The concierge grimaces, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but this conference has got us booked to the gills. If there was a double queen available, it’s been booked out now.”

“But…” Her eyes sting, and ugh— this is a silly thing to to care about. Pedantics, really, when they probably would have ended up curled up on the same bed anyway. But that doesn’t stop the pressure building in her nose, or the hot, helpless tears hanging at the end of her tear ducts. “Why?”

“Ah, I’m not sure of the…er… selection process when it comes to these upgrades, ma’am.” The concierge pointedly looks down at her screen, uselessly wiggling the mouse. “Maybe it was random, or maybe they looked at your reservation and saw something about it that made them think you might have…hm…wanted one bed at a better price point…”

“What would…?” Her teeth snap shut around the question. The double queen was cheaper than a single king; even a couple might look at the price points and decide the extra bed wasn’t a deal breaker. Two people with the same address—

But they didn’t have Obi’s address, or hers. Just the department’s card, and two names, one male, one female.

My point is, you’re in a hotel filled with people who won’t find it intimidating that you can mark a turtle migratory pattern on a map just by looking at its skull. Yuzuri’s shrug is seared onto the back of her eyelids, so casual, like like the logic of work hookups is obvious. What happens at conference stays at conference.

“I’d like to”— speak with your manager perches right at the tip of her tongue, threatening to tip over, to cause a scene, but a deep breath scuttles it before she can founder— “ask if there’s any other rooms available?”

The concierge casts her the sort of side eye Yuzuri could only dream of, but she keys in the request anyway. “The honeymoon suite? That comes with—”

Shirayuki slumps. “I’ll take the deluxe king.”

*

It’s not hard to find Obi— he’s hovering at the edge of the bar, as promised, the entire impossible length of his legs unfurled between seat and floor. There’s the barest hint of tanned skin where his shirt has begun to roll up, and—

And it’s just her luck that Yuzuri’s already there, curled around her drink like her smile’s curls around the straw, watching her watching him.

“There she is!” she calls out, one hand swinging out in invitation. “Suzu’s already searching for swag on the expo floor. I was gonna wait for you, but it looked like things were getting heated down at your end of the counter, so I thought I’d leave you to it.”

There’s an edge of her tongue that could lash out, could cut with a real wry thanks— but it blunts when she considers just what sort of help Yuzuri would have been with one bed on the line.

A dimple furrows itself between Obi’s brow as he sets down his glass, the plastic gator at the bottom bobbling between layers. “Everything all good, Doc? I can go over and cause a problem if you need some—”

There might be no way to guess this cocktail’s composition— some kind of juice, probably, maybe with champagne for bubbles, or vodka for a kick— but whatever it is, it’s certain better than trying to explain all this sober. Shirayuki reaches out with both hands, completely ignoring the suggestion of straw or stirrer, and takes a full gulp.

It’s almost disappointing how little it burns going down. It does taste good though.

Obi lifts a brow. “That bad, huh?”

She takes a breath, running a hand over the back of her mouth before she tells him, “We’ve only got one bed.”

*

“Aw, come on, Doc.” Obi shifts his bag over his shoulder, biceps flexing to redistribute the weight, and haah, it would be nice to get a little warning if he was going to make himself so dangerous to look at. “How bad could it be?”

Her suitcase rolls too close, nipping her heels halfway to the door, but even that can’t keep her from rolling a glare his way. “You know better than to say something like that.”

“I know, I know, but I’m just saying— bed as big as that, we’re practically in different zip codes.” He shrugs, and oh, he might be playing casual, might be pretending that all this hits him like water off a duck’s back, but Shirayuki doesn’t miss the stiffness of those angles, the way tension hampers every twitch. “I could go full starfish and you’d still have to ship international to get to my fingers.”

She snorts. “I think you underestimate just how much limb you have.”

“I think you mean rippling muscle.” He flexes one in demonstration, close enough that she catches the nutmeg and bergamot of his deodorant. “Unending plains of gains. The heartland of hulk. The absolute breadbasket of—”

“I didn’t realize we were talking about Mitsuhide,” she hums, too innocent, swiping her card in front of the door’s scanner.

“Hey—”

The door swings open, and all his planned protests elide into a heartfelt whistle. “Wow, when they say upgrade, they mean upgrade.”

“I guess so…” The double queen had been just a room with beds, two chairs and a table thrown into a corner to give somewhere else to sit— plenty of room for two people who were used to navigating the same space— but this…this is practically an apartment. The stumpy entryway leads right into the living room, small kitchen to the right and bathroom to the left.

Obi saunters past her, dropping his bag on the sectional— a full couch plus chaise— and hooks his hands on his hips. “Damn. This TV is bigger than ours!”

She clucks her tongue on habit, flushing when his grin. “We’re not here to watch TV.”

“Right, we’re here to get some billionaire to sign off on saving turtles,” he says agreeably, even as he flicks it on, scrolling through the guide. “But while we’re not doing that, I bet this thing gets all the channels. I wonder if HBO still plays porn after midnight…”

“We’re here for a conference,” she reminds him, taking the two steps up to a set of folding doors. “And hopefully finding Eisetsu Rugilia among the attendees.”

“Right, but they don’t have lectures and two am, so—”

“Obi.”

He holds up his hands. “You’re right, Doc. Two am is when all these billionaire babies have their parties. I won’t have time for” — he squints at the text stretching across the screen— “Damon’s Seed when I’m already living my own Eyes Wide Shut.”

She stares at him, blank. “You know I don’t get that reference.”

“I know.” One shoulder lifts; the most aggravating of his shrugs. “It’s funnier that way.”

With anyone else she would let it drop— woodland fairy creature she may be, but she didn’t begrudge her childhood a moment of sunshine— but with Obi she huffs, fitting her fists around the door’s knobs, informing him, “One day I’m going to watch all these movies, and then you’ll have to find some other source of entertainment.”

“Believe it when I see it, Doc. Believe it while I see it.”

“You will. After I finish my thesis, I’ll have plenty of time to”— the doors whip open, a more dramatic entry than she planned, and—

And her whole brain narrows onto a single, “Oh.”

“Wow.” Obi’s breath catches far too close to her ear. “Now that’s some bed. I think we might lose you in the pillows.”

Her jaw works, managing a single, “Um.”

“Oh hey!” Obi peers around the jamb. “Look, there’s more room! That’s pretty…”

He slinks past her, all sinew and swagger, and—

And nearly stumbles, all his words peter down to a “Woah.”

*

“A jacuzzi?” Yuzuri groans, head sinking into her hands. “You guys got a jacuzzi?”

“A jacuzzi tub,” Shirayuki corrects numbly, the stem of her Shirley Temple twisting between her fingers. “Not a…a hot tub or anything.”

“Big enough to be one though.” Obi’s hand brushes over his shoulder, contemplative, before settling back on his drink. “Probably could fit the whole lab in there if we didn’t mind getting cozy.”

Izuru tilts her head. “Oh, like…naked?”

As brazen as Obi can be, even he chokes. “The lab tub party would definitely have a bathing suit dress code.”

“Oh.” She sighs, disinterested. “Disappointing.”

“Where’s my free upgrade?” Yuzuri leans back, head tipping over her chair in despair. “I want a jacuzzi.”

“Maybe one of your hookups will have one, if you’re lucky,” Kazaha drawls, flipping through his copy of the conference directory. It’s not quite phone book sized, but it is intimidating, filled cover-to-cover with people not much older than her but far more accomplished. Only a few hours ago, she might have questioned her place here, whether she would ever contribute enough to the field to even get an abstract in the door, but—

But right now she’s still stuck on the full bathroom, visible from the bed. Except, of course, the toilet. That, thankfully, is tucked away in a smaller closet. But still, shower and tub and bed with nothing but a change in flooring to separate them.

Yuzuri can never know. “I don’t want to take a bath in some guy’s tub! Like god, how would that even be relaxing?”

“The sex could be interesting,” Izuru offers. “Just like a hot tub.”

“No, we’ve been over this!” Yuzuri waves a hand, as if that might be enough to shoo the idea away from the table. “You need preparation for water sex. Lube, for one. A plan, for another. Insurance, since at best you’re going to crack your head open, and at worst, you’ll end up at a gynecologist.”

Suzu blink. “Worst?”

“There are things that can happen to a vag that I’d rather be in a coma for.” She gives Shirayuki a pointed— and completely unnecessary— glance. “Trust me.”

Obi simply raises a brow, sipping from his straw. “You didn’t bring lube?”

“That’s not the point.” Yuzuri rolls her eyes, flicking a ribbon of blonde over her shoulder. “If I’m taking a bath, it’s going to be with bubbles and salts and no less than four jets, all alone.”

“But he could wash your hair.” Suzu’s forehead furrows, oddly concerned. “That’s nice isn’t it? I liked it when then did it at the salon…”

“It is nice, Suzu, but it’s also intimate, and if I’m just looking to— ugh.” Her hands fly up in the air. “Never mind. No jacuzzi sex, end of story. Now what are you going to do about the one bed situation?”

“Y-yuzuri!” Shirayuki sputters, hoping her cheeks are only half as red as they feel. “That’s— that’s not important.”

“I think it’s important,” she hums, smirk wrapping around her straw. “Entertaining, at least.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Obi huffs, settling back in his chair. “There’s enough bed for the population of Luxembourg. Me and Doc could both be on that thing and not be within shouting distance.”

Yuzuri swivels in her seat, glaring at Shirayuki across the table. “It’s so unfair you guys got that room and you’re not even going to f—”

Suzu clears his throat. “Not to state the obvious but…doesn’t this room have a couch or something?”

*

“The program says G7,” Shirayuki murmurs, lingering over the letters printed at the head of each aisle. “Which I think should be down over here, if— Obi, are you all right?”

He might have dogged her heels through the doors of the exhibition hall, but Obi’s lagged behind as she navigates through the field of half-empty tables, only a handful of posters properly displayed. He grunts, adjusting the half dozen canisters on his back. “Well, it is kind of a burn to have Suzu have to remind me couches exist. I mean, I would know, wouldn’t I? Done plenty with only two feet of cushion—”

“I meant with the posters,” she sighs, doubling back to lift a few from his shoulders. “I can’t believe they sent us to set up all of them.”

“I can.” Obi smirks, leaning the rest against the table. “It’s our punishment for getting the best room. And for not— how did Yuzuri put it?— using it to its fullest.”

“W-well, you’d think they’d have a little more professional pride in displaying their work.” The caps on the canisters put up a fight— Shidan had said they might after they came off the plane, something about pressurization and vacuums and other physics concepts she only had a casual acquaintance with through undergrad— but Shirayuki’s happy for the excuse to be doing something when she adds, “You can if you want to, you know.”

One of Obi’s posters pops open with all the subtlety of gunshot. “Uh, want to run that by me again, Doc?”

“I just mean if you wanted to brings someone back and…er…take advantage of all the…amenities…?” She strives to be casual, to be cool, like it’s none of her business what he might get up to unattended. Like she hadn’t bitten her nails clear down to quick under the covers when he was out with Haki’s friend, slinking home well after midnight. “Just let me know.”

“Me?” he coughs. “Really? And just what would you do?”

She shrugs her shoulders, striving for the kind of calm Obi exudes on an everyday basis. “I’m sure Yuzuri wouldn’t mind some company.”

One of his eyebrows creeps to a skeptical altitude. “If she isn’t taking advantage of her own amenities.”

“O-oh, well!” She shakes her head, trying to look anywhere but at him. “She won’t take anyone back to her room, so, uh, that might be even better, if you think about it. Someone using it, at least.”

Air hisses out through his teeth with no hint of his usual humor. “Listen, Doc, really, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not really…” He shakes his head, one hand scrubbing at the bristle in back. “I mean, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I’m not in the market for…”

He hesitates, eyes narrowing. “Ryuu?”

Shirayuki blinks, tracing his gaze under the table, to where Ryuu is curled up, travel pillow under his head. He shrinks further into his pillbug position, managing a bleak, “Hi.”

“Hey there, big guy.” Obi crouches, folding his arms over his knees casually, like people hang out under tables all the time. “Me and Doc were just out here putting up the posters. What’s up with you.”

“Not much.” He shifts, blue eyes searching both their faces before he admits, “They lost my reservation.”

Shirayuki squats down beside him, brow drawn. “Excuse me?”

“They don’t have a record of my transaction in their database,” he murmurs, rubbing his cheek against the soft microfiber of his pillow. “Even the manager tried. But it looks like even th payment didn’t go through. They think it might be because I’m not— well, an adult is supposed to make the reservation, and I was the only one in the room, and with no legal guardian…”

His nose wrinkles, mouth pursing mulishly before he blurts out, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Stay with us.”

It takes a moment for Shirayuki to realize it’s not her voice saying the words, but Obi’s. He glances at her, and anyone else might be looking for permission, but there’s only confidence there, so certain that she was only a slip of the tongue behind him, that they were single in purpose, and—

And it’s stupid it took her until graduation to realize that this is what she’s been wanting.

“Really?” Ryuu perks, head lifting off the pillow.

“Of course.” Shirayuki knows better than to reach out, to try to comfort him through something as offensive as touch, so she just smiles instead, hoping her sincerity shines through. “We’d be happy to have you.”

He glances between the both of them. “You’re— you’re sure it’s okay?”

“Why not?” Obi says, casting her some rueful side eye. “Now that we know we have a couch, we’re made of room.”

Ah, that’s right. The couch. The couch Obi was going to sleep on…

“Guess it’s a good thing that bed could fit a small country,” Obi mutters, getting to his feet— and then freezing. “Can I help you?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Shirayuki scramble to her feet, but if the voice isn’t familiar, the man who speak with it is even less so. “You’re part of Shidan Weise’s lab, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” She brushes off her skirt, trying to look somewhat presentable. Like a colleague, instead of someone who spends conferences crouching under tables. “We were just setting up for the poster session. Is there something…?”

“Ah, no, no. I’m not here about the posters.” The man smiles, but it never reaches his eyes. “My name is Shuu Grately. I’m here to tender an invitation.”

Obi’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Invitation?”

“On behalf of Eisetsu Rugilia.” One corner of his mouth hooks, humorless. “He would like you to come to his dinner tonight.”

[lantanasmuttyfanfics]

You are prob damn right tired of the eq and gk or dexven requests but i just got this one thing to say…

Jealousy smut for dexven👉👈

Im on a fan fic roll, look at me posting 3 fics in a week and a half

Anyway I hope you enjoyed and wait for a special announcement coming soon!!

Have a good dayyy!!

—————————

Dexter was done.

He was done living in his brothers shadow. He was done being the black sheep of the family. He was done being known as ‘Darings brother’. And he was done letting what he wants be handed to his brother.

He of course still loved Daring and he knew that they were only pitted against each other by the realm because they were 2 future Prince Charmings, but a part of him still resented being second at nearly everything.

Including but not limited to the dating department.

Daring always had girls swooning at his feet left and right, but Dexter well let’s say that the only time a girl approached him was to ask about his brother.

So now that his long time crush who was seemed to be fawning over Daring, he was done.

Dexter thought that Raven might actually like him, might see him more than just ‘Daring brother’ but he was disappointed yet again.

But as he watched the two talk and Ravens lovely smile bloom on her face he felt a pung of deep rooted jealousy engulf him.

It was so intense that Cupid, who had slid in the seat next to him had quickly excused herself and went running.

He didn’t care tho. The only thing on his mind was that his picture perfect brother was getting what he wanted again.

Gritting his teeth, Dexter stood from the table quickly striding over to the pair before he could think it over.

Raven noticed him first and gave him her sweet smile that always had him fumbling, but now it just seemed cruel. How could she smile at him like that when she was clearly interested in Daring?

“Oh! Hey little bro. Come to join the fun?” Dexter ignored his brother as he continued to stare at Raven with a heated look.

She met his gaze with an unwavering determination, her smile forming into a grin. “Umm Dexter?” Only now did he turn to Daring flashing him an annoyed smile.

His brother stepped back as if he was taken aback. “What’s wrong Dex?” Ravens voice rang in his ear and he had to dig his nails in his palms to not react to the nickname.

It wasn’t anything special. Many people called him ‘Dex’ but from her lips it sounded a thousand times sweeter.

“Nothing.” The lie felt bitter on his lips but it still flowed out seamlessly. Raven gave him an unconvinced look while crossing her arms.

From beside he vaguely heard Daring excuse himself, so now it just him and Raven.

Without a word she grabbed his hand and started to lead him out the ballroom. The contact left tingles and goosebumps rising on his skin and Dexter couldn’t help but hold on tighter.

Once they were alone in some classroom, Raven cast some magic on the door to lock it before turning to him.

“Dex what’s really wrong? And don’t tell me nothing.” He studied her for a few seconds, gritting his teeth as he turned away from her.

“It’s not fair.” His voice was so soft Raven nearly didn’t hear him. She approached cautiously and turned his face towards her.

“What is?” Dexter breathed in for a few seconds, inhaling Ravens addicting scent as he leaned into her palm.

“He always gets what he wants.” Confusion stirred through her “who Dex.” Her voice was soft like a lullaby.

“Daring. He gets whatever he wants, he gets the favoritism, the adoration, the respect and the girl. And what do I get? Nothing. He even managed to get you!”

He didn’t mean for the last part to get out, but once the damn was broken there was no going back.

Raven looked shocked, her eyes wide before contorting into understanding. “That’s not true.” Dexter turned with a laugh.

“Sure.” Raven nodded again while wrapping her arms around his neck. “It’s true he might get all the spotlight but he didn’t get… me.”

Dexter gulped as Raven moved in closer. “He never got this…” before he could question her Raven was leaning in and kissing him.

It only took him a second to melt into the kiss while also pulling her flush against him as if he needed the contact as reassurance that this was real.

The kiss lasted for what felt like forever and nothing. But it also left him hungry, hungry for more, hungry for the taste of her mouth.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was kissing her again with a passion that burned deep in his chest.

Raven let out a surprised moan as Daxter moved them towards a desk. He picked her up before setting her on the desk, never once breaking the kiss.

Raven let her hands travel to his hair, pulling him closer as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Dexter bit at her lip while one hand held her head and the other laid on the desk supporting them.

Raven pulled away first, heaving as she tried to catch her breath while staring at a version of Dexter she’d never seen before.

His eyes were hooded his hair disheveled and crown laying crooked while his clothes were wrinkled and out of place from her wondering hands.

She liked the sight, it was different in a way that had her clenching her thighs as he brushed his lips against her neck.

Dexters mind was also clouded with everything that had to do with her. He wanted to see her soft pale neck marked in his kisses.

It was a sort of want that he knew stemmed from that jealousy he felt.

He sucked wt her neck gently at first, his hand grabbing her thigh as he brought her leg up his side while smirking at the surprised moan she let out.

He continued with his assault of sucking, licking and biting until her neck was covered in dark splotches made by him.

By the end Raven was panting and gripping onto his shirt like her life depended on it. Dexter didn’t seem to mind as he swooped in and pushed her down until her back was lying flat on the desk.

They both stared at each other for what seemed like hours, lost in the trance that they were in.

Surprising both Raven and Dexter, she grabbed Dexters belt pulling him in close as she started to pull it off with slow sensual movements.

Dexter felt dizzy, as if he was going to faint with even the smallest touch that she made. But that didn’t stop him from grabbing the back of her dress and practically ripping the zipper open.

Ravens dress pulled around her waist, her lacy bra now on display. Dexter smirked while he leaned down and kissed along her collarbone.

She held her breath feeling his hands wonder under skirt, his touch leaving a trail of goosebumps behind as he moved lower and lower.

As he was doing that, she took the opportunity to slid his belt of, throwing it across the room before she played with his pants.

Dexter felt the blood of his head travel south until he was pulsing with a desire that seems to ignite for her.

Soon enough all items of clothes were sprawled across the room until there was no barrier of clothing between them.

They were locked in a lustful kiss full of promise, trust and desire. It was a kiss that made Dexter think that everyone else but them existed.

At the feeling of his erection brushing her thigh, Raven held in a moan as she bucked her hips against him, pleading with her eyes.

Dexter internally swore at the look in her eyes and quickly aligned himself before pushing in. They both moaned out in pleasure, they feeling of Ravens wet walls driving him mad.

After a few seconds of waiting and adjusting Dexter started to thrust, slowly at first getting used to the pace and letting Raven feel every part of him.

But as the pleasure set in and his high built up, he roughly thrusted while putting his hands under her hips so they didn’t bruise on the desk.

Raven moaned senseless her hands blindly grabbing onto his hair, making his crown fall with a clang.

Dexter ignored it and moved down, setting his mouth on a trail along her neck and chest. The stimulation was so intense that Raven thought she’d unravel right then.

He wasn’t far behind in thought, the way that Raven was moaning could make him reach his peak.

In the end Raven placed a hand over her mouth, holding her scream in as the euphoria set in and her world went dizzy.

Dexter had to bit down on his tongue as he let out a few more rough thrusts before he too tipped over the edge.

In the silence of the room only their panting could be heard and as they got redressed Raven grabbed Dexter’s crown of the floor before approaching him.

“You will always be my first choice.” She set the crown on his head while placing a kiss on his cheek and without an other word walking out.

—————————

This is def one of the longer fics I’ve written

But anyway new fic coming by Monday and then announcement prob on Wednesday

Hope you enjoyed and have a nice day!!!

[lilkrissmuffett]

Invisible 💅 Touch

18+ / approx. 2400 words

Yoshikage Kira is afraid that he will not be sleeping well tonight. Oh no, not at all. 

His grip tightens around his favorite coffee mug, still half-filled with lukewarm milk he somehow struggles to swallow down. Pacing around the kitchen in nothing but a pair of house slippers and pinstripe pajama bottoms, Kira is all too aware of how disheveled he must look. Seldom does there ever arise a predicament quite like this, one that really gives him pause, upsetting the tranquil flow of his perfect, quiet life…but when it does, it’s all he can do to think about anything else.

But what, pray tell, has this calm and collected man so on edge this fine evening? What sort of disruptive force could cause him to chew several of his normally neat fingernails damn near down to the quick?

“I saw it. I know I did…”, Kira insists to nobody in particular, though perhaps that is not altogether true. He knows he is never completely alone. The slender form of Killer Queen lingers behind its owner, draping lean, pale pink arms around Kira’s shoulders in a gesture of understanding, the rumble of its purrs resonating softly against the man’s bare shoulder.

“Just a glimpse, of course…only there for a moment. But there can be no doubt in my mind, as much as I wish there was.”

Kira’s disjointed mutterings fall silent as he casts a sharp glance upon the kitchen table, acknowledging his lover sitting alongside the cold remains of the dinner they’ve just shared. 

Cold remains; what an eerily apt way to describe the current state of their relationship.

“Oh, don’t you give me that attitude, sweetheart.”, he grumbles, setting his mug on the counter with a little more force than he meant to. Bitter at the prospect of yet another love lost to the cruel onslaught of decomposition, Kira rolls his eyes, hoping she won’t notice that he’s been deliberately avoiding her all night. Even the finest perfumes and luxurious hand creams could only do so much to cover up the sour stench of a long overstayed welcome.

“You are really beginning to get on my nerves with this jealous streak of yours, you know that?”, he accuses snappishly, growing more and more agitated from his end of this very one-sided spat. “It’s unbecoming…the way you’re always so quick to point the finger at everyone but yourself.”

The pad of one thumb comes to rest between his front teeth, itching to tear into the keratinous vice brushing against his tongue. The fact that his paramour has no mouth to speak of, let alone the words to defend herself, can only serve to bolster Kira’s flimsy argument. Indeed, he’s always been the selfish type. And yet, despite the silence, he cocks his head in her direction, as if straining his ear to listen to a voice that simply isn’t there. 

Killer Queen watches on, blinks a few times, wondering when they’re going to get to the fun part. 

“Come again? Use your words, for heaven’s sake,” Kira breaks the long pause, every word brimming with impatience before going quiet again, “Alright, alright…Admittedly, I’ve been known to have a wandering eye. And I have been, uh…let’s say, doing a bit of ‘window shopping’, as well.”, Kira confesses finally, nibbling at the edge of his nail for one brief second before practically yanking it away, leaving it ragged. Uneven. 

Nasty habit, he scolds himself, clenching his fist so hard that it digs into the soft meat of his palm.

I must remember to trim them later.

He allows his thoughts to drift to the source of this evening’s turmoil, the shy new employee who works behind the jewelry counter at the Kame Yu department store. The very same one he’s been stalking for the better part of two weeks. Just imagining those lovely fingers handling expensive diamond rings and other fourteen karat commodities like they were some kind of sacred relic stirs his libido to life with alarming speed, necessitating that he bite down on his lower lip instead.

Hard.

“But oh, if you could only see her…!!”, Kira actually whimpers like a kicked puppy as he tastes fresh copper in his mouth, pretends it’s something different entirely, “Such a creamy, smoooooth complexion, delicate wrists like that of a porcelain doll…and despite the lack of any colored polish, I can tell that she’s gotten a manicure recently! Yes!…a little short for my liking, granted, but undeniably well-cared for. Appropriate for her chosen profession, if I may say. Simply…exquisite.”

Killer Queen tilts its head curiously while its user sermonizes to the dead air around them, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as if to say ‘you tell ‘em boss!’ in its own unique fashion. This attempt to provide some support earns a few affectionate head scratches for the effort, making the cat-like humanoid purr a little bit louder. Kira’s Stand is not only the man’s mental mirror image, the manifestation of his twisted psychosis…but a loyal, steadfast companion as well. A pet, to put it bluntly. He draws strength from its phantasmic presence, soothing the dark instability which threatens to breach the carefully arranged surface of his composure. And in return, Killer Queen can sense Kira’s impending request for assistance, eager to lend a hand in cleaning up its master’s latest mess. 

“Now don’t get me wrong…we certainly had some good times together. But you know what they say— nothing is meant to last forever, my dear…”, Kira croons in a low voice, cordial enough while still lacking warmth, though not entirely devoid of the minute tremble that marks his borderline zealous appetite. Approaching the kitchen table, he picks up his soon to be ex-girlfriend, cradles her close to his heart and caresses the contour of her stiff, lifeless fingers. Rigor mortis has made the poor thing so stubborn, refusing to hold Kira’s hand without some…light coercion, but surely it was worth a few fractured bones in order to soak up that final goodbye. 

“I would kiss you…but the, uh, smell is a bit off-putting, I’m sure you understand. Nothing personal.”

Kira extends one free hand, joints flexing as lithe fingers curl inward to form a loose fist. His eyes are shut, obscured by wavy blonde fringe that hangs in loose tendrils about his face. She was a special one, after all, so he can’t bring himself to watch her go. Not like he says that to all of his girls or anything. 

Still, the relief in this moment is palpable. Now nothing will be able to stand between Kira and his new love, except for…Well, he’ll find a way to cross that bridge once he gets to it, won’t he?

His thumb points toward the ceiling, that familiar signal which hails the grand finale. Behind him, Killer Queen mimics his movements, its almost comically wide-eyed stare bright and attentive. Wriggling its hips as if prepared to pounce upon an unsuspecting mouse. 

“Trust me, darling- nobody laments this decision more so than I. And although I shall cherish our many, many fond memories, I’m afraid it’s time we should…oh, how to put this…”

CLICK.

“...see other people.”

Without ceremony, she is gone in a near-instant, burning out as swiftly as a lit match caught in a rainstorm. As the severed hand of his last victim disintegrates within her killer’s loosening grasp, Kira’s only regret is that he couldn’t remember her name when it mattered the most. 

So much for the memories. 

Residual heat from Killer Queen’s oddly quiet detonation lingers in his palm for no more than a few seconds before fading away…and along with it, the feathery wisps of any guilt he may have felt. Kira opens his eyes with a gentle exhale, taking in the sight of his empty hand before him. The faintest hint of a smile graces his lips as he turns to face the cat-like visage of his other half, now better prepared to contemplate the far more pressing matter at hand. 

How to fill the void she left behind.

💅

He recalls attempting to strike up a conversation with the new jewelry technician on their lunch hour, admiring those beautiful hands as they maneuver a pair of chopsticks, or pour fragrant, steaming hot tea from a thermos. They move so fluidly, with such skill, he can’t help but wonder how they would feel wrapped around his—

“So. How are you liking the job thus far? You seem to be adjusting rather well.”, he inquires casually, trying not to fantasize about running his tongue over the fragile webbing of skin that connects each of her fingers.

“Honestly? I love it! Everyone has been so nice and welcoming since I started last week.”

Kira can't help but smile at that, genuinely pleased to confirm what he already knows. Of course, he would be aware of exactly how happy the new girl is, how much the customers adore her expertise and friendly demeanor. He’s broken a firmly established daily routine on a number of occasions, just to escape from his office and stroll by the jewelry department every chance he can get. 

Yesterday, he even followed her right out the front exit after closing time, observing from an acceptable distance as she stood waiting alone at the bus stop. He watched with rapt attention, white-knuckling the handle of his briefcase as she idly toyed with her hair. The soft glow of the street lamp seemed to illuminate the elegant shape of her hands from on high, and Kira could’ve sworn that the choir of angels he heard singing her praises wasn’t just inside his mind. 

Only after the bus arrived and she had safely boarded, did he turn heel towards the parking garage and calmly walk back to his car. 

Arriving home a whole ten minutes later than normal had never felt so worth it.

“Wonderful to hear that you’re fitting in, though I can hardly say I’m surprised. Your…talents are quite plain to see, at least to anyone with working eyes.”, he remarks with a soft sound that is not quite a laugh, but more like a hum from between pursed lips. Kira’s own ‘working eyes’ dart over the girl’s hands with a subtle flicker, a hint of arrogance narrowing his gaze. Gleaning satisfaction in the knowledge that only he can see where her true potential lies.

Just then, a few errant drops of ginger sauce fall from her next bite of sushi and she quickly moves to cup her palm underneath to catch it, narrowly avoiding an ugly stain on her blouse. Kira just about loses control, practically choking on his sandwich when this absolute seductress actually finds the audacity to lick her fingers clean. Right there in front of him, no less, leaving the delicate tips to glisten with a thin coat of saliva.

Damn it. 

God damn it all. 

How dare she! One by one —those soft lips, that shameless tongue— are killing him slowly. It feels like the world has suddenly ceased to turn, vision tunneling as he fixates on every inch of her kissable, succulent digits, each obscenely wet sound amplified above the static flooding his head as all of his blood rushes below the table’s edge. Thank Christ he was actually sitting down.

“Ah…h-here, let me help you with tha—”, Kira offers automatically, reaching forward without even thinking how his colleague might react. Fully intending to grab her by that maddeningly dainty wrist and finish the job himself, the only thing that stops him from committing such an egregious social faux pas, is a single, fleeting glimpse of a third hand materializing from behind the woman’s shoulder. It brandishes a lightning flash of claws, causing him to jerk back against his seat as abruptly as if his flesh had just been scalded by some invisible flame.

“No worries, Kira-san~ I didn’t spill!”, comes her bubbly response, though Kira doesn’t miss the warning glint behind her glasses. The tightness of that sweet smile. Could she be on to his game? That would be a first. It seems it would be best to change his usual approach. 

Regardless, Kira finds himself stunned into submission, nodding and ‘mhmm’-ing his way through the rest of the break while frantically trying to figure out if what he just witnessed was even real. He has to hand it to this girl, a bit of mystery only makes the chase that much more enticing.

💅

“Come to think of it…if I recall correctly, it sort of reminded me of you, Killer Queen. A similar energy for sure…”, he comments with a dreamy sigh, sipping at the last of the milk in his mug as he leans against the counter, “Perhaps it’s a sign then, hm? I hesitate to go so far as to say it could be fate, but…maybe, just maybe…we might make a perfect match, after all.”

Killer Queen just nods impassively, more interested in sneaking a taste of that delicious dairy treat than its master’s frankly bizarre sex life. Reluctantly, Kira pours the rest into a small saucer on the kitchen table, waving permission for his Stand to indulge its feline nature. 

“Very well, KQ, I suppose you deserve a little reward. There’s a good kitty...”

While absently stroking his Stand’s pointed ‘ears’ and listening to its content purring, he is struck by a renewed sense of ambition, the drive to pursue what he desires most.

Never mind that this particular woman, who just so happens to be attached to what Kira craves —the object of his perverted affections, his newest obsession— is unmistakably also a Stand user. Maybe even a dangerous one if those claws are as sharp as her reflexes. However, as his dearly departed old flame has proven, like so many others that came before her:

No attachment is ever truly permanent.

Consequences be damned, Yoshikage Kira has erased plenty of innocent lives in the past, and for far lesser reasons. There would be no qualms about killing to have her, to love her…if that’s what it took.