#this is from my alternate take on the sequels

[rainintheevening]

for five sentence fic ask: star wars, blaster

Han saw the helmet fall away, brought his blaster up as his feet found their purchase on the catwalk, thumb reassuring him the setting was not on 'stun'.

"You killed my son!" and it was a raw, broken shout, a cry with more pain than anger, as his finger flexed over the hairpin trigger.

Tall black shadow rose, swirled round with smoke and plasma streams, turned pale face and dark eyes toward him, and he froze, heart faltering into silence with a last broken little thump, ruthless smuggler seeking vengeance melting away leaving only the worn out once-but-still father in its place.

"No," said the voice of the past, of his dreams, "I was your son."

The blaster wavered, dipped, fell away.

[carnivalls]

Killing myself a thousand times over. Do I want the setting of Good Intentions to be past based (fantasy greece meets the industrial revolution) or futuristic (fantasy greece meets itself after a stupidly ambiguous amount of years)

[presentmacandcheese]

bring you some peace

jason todd x gn reader

summary: you discover your boyfriend jason is the Red Hood, to his surprise and concern you're not upset in the slightest

or 5k on loving and appreciating your hardworking vigilante boyfriend

a/n: back at it again! This isn't exactly a sequel to softer than, but it's not not a sequel either. I picture it being the same reader, but this piece can absolutely still be read standalone! That said, go forth and please enjoy my second ever DC fic

also on my ao3!

A sigh pushed its way from his diaphragm as the mattress caught Jason’s fall. He ran a hand over his face and into his hair, taking another deep breath, thoughts of your relationship began to fill his mind.  

Things with you had been going well lately, too well, the anxiety in his brain was certain.

You were suspiciously patient and understanding, especially when he bailed last minute on plans. Sure, you’d meet him with a pout, but it’d disappear as quickly as it’d come and be replaced with a smile that must have been a trick of the light as it seemed... empathetic? Where was the upset? Shouldn’t you be fighting about him “not prioritizing you” enough? It’s what happened the last time he had a romantic partner. 

His partner had felt Jason wasn’t willing to put them over his work, which... He made what time he could for them, but there were lives at stake. He couldn’t be with them every second of every day like they attempted to demand, and they weren’t willing to compromise when the truth of his work remained hidden. 

His chest ached at the thought of losing you, knowing it would hurt significantly more than his last relationship. They were nice, mostly. But you. You meant more to him. You meant... everything. Something felt different lately, off in enough way that he felt it making home in his bones. 

Maybe he needed to come clean, maybe that was the honesty this relationship required. His heart raced as the thought settled, stomach churning. Would you still want him once you knew? Was he risking his safety, his family’s safety, your safety in vain? 

Jason mulled it over, knowing the other shoe may drop with this decision, but pleading with the universe that just this once it wouldn’t have to. Maybe he’d be allowed to have and keep something good. 

You knew your boyfriend was the Red Hood.  

Jason, bless his heart, had certainly been trying to keep it away from you. But the more time you spent around him, the more little details you were able to put together. 

At first, the nights he was unable to spend time together made sense. He told you he worked graveyard shift most nights and his behavior and absences backed that up. 

Until he started canceling at confusing moments with vague excuses. The timing of his walk outs beginning to raise a flag in your mind. 

“Work thing, gotta go.” When his phone buzzed as your heads had just hit the pillows. 

“My brother needs me.” Two minutes into the TV show you watched together weekly. 

“I have a thing to do.” When you were about to be that thing. 

Jason went out of his way to make it up to you, finding alternate times to see and spend time with you, leaving you far more curious than upset. 

The curiosity increased when you noticed the influx of injuries he’d have after a night of cancelled plans. The dots didn’t begin to consciously connect until Jason had walked out on your movie night early, a murmured “work errand, sorry.” Leaving his lips as he parted. 

You were more concerned than anything, he’d been wanting to watch Pride & Prejudice with you for weeks after you’d read the book together; a re-read for him and a first for you, only to leave half an hour in? 

Your thoughts roamed as you snuggled into the hoodie, he’d purchased solely for you to steal, burrowing into the blankets on your couch and settling in for the new plan of a night to yourself. You wondered what errand could be so important to need urgent tending to. Maybe you’d ask Jason later, maybe you’d finally get your curiosities quenched. 

You’d just gotten comfortable, pulling out a project you’d been working on for fun and throwing the news on in the background when a story caught your attention. 

“Red Hood takes mustard gun to the face. Fresh off an Arkham Asylum breakout this evening, Condiment King stood off against Crime Alley’s very own Red Hood. It seems to have been Condiment King’s lucky day as he managed a hit on the rehabilitated crime lord, launching mustard directly at the so called “eyes” of his helmet. That’s bound to leave one hot dog of a bruise if you ask me.” 

You rolled your eyes as you processed the pun, it felt in poor taste given how much worse the situation could have been, especially if Red Hood had been without his helmet. The idea made you frown. You’d found yourself with a soft spot towards the vigilantes of Gotham for years, but along the way Red Hood had become your favorite. 

You admired what he stood for, the protection he offered women and children, the way he was willing to offer it no matter the cost. The other vigilantes seemed more black and white, you respected that Red Hood appeared to often understand the world was gray.  

You zoned back into the TV, focusing again on the reporter’s words. 

“Witnesses reported Nightwing ketching up to the scene shortly after, promptly taking down Condiment King and assuring he won’t be able to a salt anyone again anytime soon.” 

You groaned, turning channels so you wouldn’t have to listen anymore to the attempts at making crime more lighthearted. 

The night passed rather calmly for you, but the same could not be said of the streets. Checking social media and news sites revealed the Arkham breakout was much larger than merely Condiment King. 

And as you realized multiple heavy hitters were loose, you sent out a quiet prayer to whoever was listening that your city and its protectors would remain safe. 

Jason needed to see you.  

Adrenaline left his body wired, hands trembling and breaths labored. The night had been harsh to them all. Rogues left and right hellbent on freedom and destruction. Every Bat had taken far more hits than preferred throughout the night, but they prevailed without serious injury. Somehow luck was on their side with a swift recapture. 

That didn’t mean he wasn’t frazzled.  

Going from a peaceful night in; snuggling his sweetheart, to getting two black eyes from fuckin’ Condiment King of all people was bound to leave a man off-kilter. Especially when the ante of it all was only upped from there. A night’s full of adrenaline catching up to him as the morning latened. 

Exhaustion ran bone deep, his knocks on your door muddled as if his blood had turned to molasses. The rush that got him through being patched up and taking a shower drained from his body and left Jason half asleep on your doorstep.  

He leaned against the frame, eyes blinking slowly as he heard the lock click before the door opened. 

“Baby?” There it was, confused voice still dripping gentle honey as your eyes met his. 

He was fading fast, Jason knew he’d be unconscious in minutes, but that was okay. He had proof that you were safe, and that was all he needed. 

You took Jason’s arm, guiding him inside and towards your bed. You’d seen him tired plenty of times, but never quite like this. This was exhaustion. His movements slow like you were trudging through quicksand, every step heavy as though the second you stopped moving, he’d begin to sink. 

It was worrisome. Clearly, his job was burning him out or something worse. You’d noticed the redness under his eyes, the way they were swelling in what would surely become two black eyes. What happened to him last night? 

Oh god. 

As you moved the blankets on your bed to open a space for him, your mind was stuck on an awful thought. What if he’d been caught in the Arkham attacks? 

Pushing Jason into place on your mattress was more than easy, once the opening was created a soft wind could’ve blown him down. He collapsed into the plushness, face immediately buried in your pillow and body going lax. It would’ve made you chuckle if you weren’t so worried. 

You removed his shoes before covering him with the blankets, tucking the sides in to secure him. Sitting beside him on the bed’s edge, you lifted a hand to run through his hair, delicately untangling any small knots and lightly scratching his scalp. 

A shaky breath left your lips, watery eyes locked on where Jason’s chest rose and fell. You could see he’d had a night, but he’d survived that night. He was here. he was safe. You just needed to get your anxiety to catch up with reality. 

You watched him sleep for half an hour before your body regulated, your heartrate lowering and allowing your mind to clear now that the fear was dissipating.  

Your fingers finally left his hair, trailing down to lightly caress over the side of his face that’d emerged from the pillow. Hovering over the swelling under his eye your brain whispered what happened, Jay?  

Did someone hit you? Why? How?  

A nugget of information from the previous night floated to the foreground. There was someone you knew had gotten hit in the eyes last night. 

Red Hood. 

Your hand slowly retreated, lowering to a stilted rest on his shoulder. It. It was absurd, wasn’t it? 

Except.  

You grabbed your phone from the nightstand nearest you, opening the internet and searching ‘Red Hood.’ Your hand left Jason’s body as you frantically searched at length, looking for evidence. The builds were damn near the same, Red Hood seemed only the slightest bulkier, your guess was an armor-padded suit. Articles highlighting injuries he’d received in the recent past aligned with nights he’d rushed away from you. 

And the most damning. A picture someone had managed to get of him without his helmet. 

He still wore a mask, but even in a far and grainy picture you’d recognize the love of your life’s face anywhere. 

Jason Todd was the Red Hood. 

You locked your phone, not wanting to stare at the image anymore and turned your gaze to Jason. You expected fear to roll in, knowledge fresh of some of the brutality he’d committed, but the longer you looked at Jason the more your shock calmed. 

He was a hero. A statement you figured he’d argue, but that’s how you’d felt about Red Hood for ages. Sure, his methods were unorthodox especially when he first debuted in Gotham, but he’d been trying to better the city every step of his way. He stood up for the underdogs, for Park Row and everyone in it that were constantly overlooked.  

You knew firsthand how much it needed that. Park Row, Crime Alley had been your home for a spell of time. The first ten years of your life had been spent struggling there. At your youngest and most vulnerable, you learned that life wasn’t always fair. Life wouldn’t always give people what they deserved, not when the cards were stacked against them. 

Park Row needed help, it needed a protector. It needed someone who would stand up and fight for and in it, that never seemed up Batman’s alley. 

But Red Hood? Red Hood was doing what needed to be done. Jason was doing what needed to be done. 

Heavens, he must be so tired, so unappreciated. Even if his methods seem to have calmed since the start, reports on him still labeled him as more violent than the rest of the Bats, treated him as more of a threat and a borderline villain at times. Like he was a ticking time-bomb. 

A frown twisted your mouth, disappointment setting in that others couldn’t see how wonderful your vigilante was. The shift to determination was easy, you’d just have to show him how appreciated he was. 

Jason woke up in darkness, disorienting him until his eyes adjusted to the surroundings. The weight of the comforter on him as familiar as the plushness of the pillow, your scent wrapped around him more fully than the blankets. 

He turned his head to the walls, pictures and posters of the things you love adorning them. A soft smile graced his lips, he was in your room, he was okay, he was safe. His eyes trailed along to the window, wanting to peek out and gauge the time of day. He was met with confusion as he saw a blanket pinned to the wall over it, blocking out most all the light. 

Jason lingered on the detail only a moment more before he sat up. He was in your room, where were you? He stretched as he stood, making his way out of the dark room and further into your apartment. The soft tones of you singing led him easily to you in the kitchen. 

“Good evening, sleepyhead.” You greeted over your shoulder, hands in the sink as you washed dishes, your tone was playful, but there was a glint in your eye he couldn’t quite place. 

“It’s evening?” His eyes flitted to the clock on the microwave, just after 6 pm. “Wasn’t sure with the makeshift blackout curtain.” He raised a brow. 

You looked away, but Jason came closer, spotting the blush on your cheeks. 

“I just wanted to make sure you were able to rest properly; my curtains didn’t make it dark enough.”  

The words came out sweet and simple. An easy care in them that had Jason’s cheeks reddening too. Your thoughtfulness never failed to make him flustered, knocking him giddy and disbelieving of what he’d done to deserve you.    

“Dinner will be done soon, too.” Jason recognized an out when he saw one, you were giving him the room not to reply directly to being taken care of, he appreciated it. 

He stepped closer, arms wrapping around your waist and leaning his head onto your shoulder.  

“Thank you.” It was weighted with everything he could be grateful for. When you let him in this morning and put him to bed, when you chose to care for him instead of making him feel like shit for leaving you, you cooking for him now and continuing to be kind. 

“Anything for you.” As you settled back into him, leaning your weight on him, Jason had no idea how deep that promise would run. 

It’d been a month since you’d discovered Jason’s secret. A month of showing him extra kindness, understanding, and appreciation. You were content to wait to talk about his vigilantism with him until he was comfortable sharing with you. You were letting your actions speak louder than your words anyhow.  

Making sure to give him praise on his character whenever he was around. 

“You have such a beautiful heart, Jay.” Said with a sincerity that threatened tears in the right moment. 

“Your mind is incredible, you’re so intelligent.” Said with an awe that spoke of true wonder. 

“You’re such a good man, Jason.” A promise, a vow of the truth the statement held for you. 

Making sure to care for him through blankets draped over him in his vulnerable states, enveloping him in the softness the outside world never would.  

Making sure to keep him well fed, showing your love through recipes passed down and long since mastered by your family. 

The final action that spoke of your empathy though was one utilized when Jason wasn’t around. You were helping cover for him. Disappearances made around your friends were easy for you to excuse. When he gave you an apologetic kiss and uttered to the group an “it’s work, I’m sorry,” you’d follow up with “he has a highly demanding job, I’m so impressed by how much of himself he gives.” Your confidence and understanding kept people’s opinions of him high, your appreciation seeping into the roots of their minds the more you spoke tenderly of him; to help people see him as you saw him. 

All in all, it’d been a great month of loving your boyfriend. 

Jason was going to burst. Anxiety filling him to the seams as he came to terms with what he’d need to do. He had to confront your relationship problems. Trying to figure out when all this good would be ripped away was eating at him like termites in the wooden home of his brain. 

All the praise, the home cooked meals, the soft blankets and somehow even softer greetings. The gentleness of your touch, like you thought he deserved to be held as something delicate. It was all too good to be true.  

Something had to be wrong. This was the calm before some sort of storm. Overcompensation for how badly you wished to break up, maybe. Jason couldn’t fathom another explanation for why you’d be treating him like this. Like something precious. 

The cruelty of whatever joke this was had self-doubt eating him alive. Itching beneath his skin and clawing its way out of him. 

“What’s wrong with us?” Jason blurted one night, watching you make a pot pie crust from scratch, you’d been prepping dinner for at least an hour and a half while he simmered and stewed with anxiety. His eyes were locked on your hands, covered in flour and dough as you pressed the crust into your desired shape. 

“I mean we’re a little strange as people, but I wouldn’t say anything otherwise.” Your lighthearted tone, still focused on the diligent work at your hands, did nothing to ease his worries. 

“No. What’s wrong?”  

The plea in his voice had you turning to look at him. His eyes were swimming with desperation; a broken shine to them that made you frown in concern. 

“Jay? What’s this about? I don’t think anything’s wrong, but I don’t believe you’d ask unless you thought there was.” Your hands were rinsed and wiped on a dish towel as you stepped closer to him and there it was again, that empathetic lilt to your being that made him feel so undeserving. 

The anxiety in his skin bubbled, a cauldron overflowing and exceeding containment, spilling over until no more was left inside. Every ounce of fear and worry splashed around him, rolling out in waves. 

“I don’t deserve this.” Rushed words, a harsh admission in light of your softness. 

“What do you mean?” Jason took a step back as you took one closer, he couldn’t let you touch him right now. Not when you’d slip in his mess and get swept away by the current, never to be seen again. You paused before moving back half a step, Jason found himself simultaneously weighed down by guilt and able to breathe easier. 

“I don’t... This is all too nice. You are too nice. All this care and consideration, it’s wasted on me. Why are you being so fucking good to me?” His hand flew into his hair, tugging at the strands as he tried to let the pain ground him enough to suck in a deep breath. 

“Jay, baby. You deserve all the good the world has to offer.” 

“I DON’T! How can that possibly be true? The things I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt. You don’t know. That’s how you can be so fucking kind to me, because you don’t know what I’m hiding.” 

You nodded, seemingly undeterred by the panic Jason knew he was getting lost in. 

“Okay. So, tell me? I bet you I can still find kindness to give no matter what secrets may unfold.” 

That gave him pause. If anyone could look past what he’d done, it probably would be you. Hell, his family had forgiven and accepted him, and you hadn’t been through an eighth of the shit he put them through.  

“I’m. I’ve hurt people. I’ve done some ugly things, some I’m not proud of and worse, some that I am. Are you sure you want to know?” He needed to hear you choose this, choose him, his truth. 

“Tell me. Please.” It sounded more reassuring than afraid. 

“I’m the Red Hood.” As the words left Jason’s lips, he looked down to the floor. He couldn’t face the look in your eyes yet, the horror that he might find in them. The disappointment as you realized your boyfriend was a murderer. 

“Thank you for telling me.” That... didn’t sound horrified? It was almost... daresay, proud? 

Jason hesitantly lifted his gaze to your form, watching you turn back around, fingers dancing as they always did when you considered the next step in your cooking, a soothing hum befalling your lips. 

“That’s it?” That couldn’t possibly be the only reaction you had. He was expecting tears and anger and distrust. Even the worst case, being kicked out and never spoken to again, losing you entirely in the wake of this revelation. 

You faced him again and Jason stilled as he saw the peaceful look on your face, posture relaxed and no less welcoming than it’d been before. With the light hitting just right, there was an air of relief as well. It was as though nothing had changed. As though this information... wasn’t... new... 

Oh. 

“You knew.” Not a question, a fact. 

He watched as a guilty smile graced your lips, your legs shuffling where you stood and a breath of nervous laughter left your mouth. 

“Maybe a little.” The admission felt both damning and relieving. 

“I- What? How?” 

“Maybe we sit down for this one? I get the feeling your emotions are awfully overwhelming right now.” You started to walk to the living room, making grabby hands behind you to get him to follow. Jason’s lips upturned at the cute habit, steps aligning with yours as he geared up for this conversation. 

You placed yourself on one end of the couch, giving Jason the option of space if he still needed. He sat further than when he joined you for comfort, but within arm’s reach which was progress from the kitchen. You took a deep breath and began to explain. 

“Okay, so it was about a month ago, when you got injured by the mustard gun. You came over the morning after, exhausted and worried about me, which just had me worrying about you, so I got to more thinking than usual, and it started to connect.” 

“The way you frequently disappear at night and leave our plans, the injuries you end up with and the lack of explanation you tend to have for them. I thought for a minute that you were being abused at work. I suppose I wasn’t exactly wrong.” The laugh that left your lips came with a disbelieving head shake. 

“I started looking deeper into the vigilantes of Gotham, well, just Red Hood. He was the only one I needed to look at that morning. Once I had pictures, it was all too easy to recognize the man I love. I could recognize you anywhere. I could recognize you by touch alone, by smell; I would know you blind, by the way your breaths came, and your feet struck the earth. I would know you in death, at the end of the world.” 

You watched Jason’s eyes light up, some of his anxiety melting away at the familiar quote from a book you knew he favored despite the tears it’d brought you both.  

“You don’t have a problem with that though? My identity? The crimes I commit, the lives I’ve taken, the families I’ve destroyed.” His voice trailed off at the end, quieter as shame clouded his gaze. Beneath it there was a desperation that screamed of a little boy’s fear. A young one’s need to be accepted with open arms and loved unconditionally. 

“Jason, my love. You’re a hero. You have done more to save this city than I’m sure anyone gives you credit for. I don’t have a single problem with what you do nor what you’ve done to look out for our city, our home. You’ve been cleaning up in the ways you felt were needed. How could I fault you for that?” Your eyes locked with his, hands coming up to cup his face and reaffirm how genuine your words were. 

“I love you. I love what you stand for. I appreciate you. I appreciate everything you do, everything you are, and everything you will ever be.” You promised.   

For a moment, Jason sat frozen, looking at you as though his whole world view was changing before his eyes. Given his earlier insecurities, it very well may have been. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew?” A whispered curiosity uttered after moments of silence. 

“I was waiting until you were ready. It wasn’t my secret to force out of you. I figured you’d share eventually, and until then I just wanted to care for you. I wanted someone to show you some damn appreciation, and I was more than content with that being me. That’s why I’ve been doing more for you, because you deserve it with all the hard work you do to clean this city up and keep her safe.” Your thumb stroked over his cheekbone, your touch matching the ease of your words. 

Your head tilted slightly; lips downturned as you continued to speak. “I’m sorry my behavior left you so uneasy, it was never my intent for my compassion to scare you.”  

In the seconds of quiet after, your heart rate picked up, this was going to be it huh? The moment when yet another partner confessed you were “too much.” That your affections were overbearing, your intensity frightening and something they weren’t willing to match. That it’d be better if this ended. 

You’d accept Jason’s will if it were the case. You’d let your heart be sliced open, bleeding out from every cut so long as it would make him happy.  

You moved to pull your hands from his face, feeling as though your permission was already being revoked. He caught them with his own, holding them sweetly. 

“It wasn’t that it scared me. You could never scare me. It was that... It felt far too good to be true. I have a hard time believing that good things can happen to me without being ripped away.” Jason’s admission made your heart ache, longing for him to receive only the best from the world and to know that he deserved it. 

“Jay...” He released hold of you to briefly put one hand up, asking you silently to wait a moment before speaking. When you kept quiet, he returned to his full hold on you. The light grip reassuring and soothing while you anticipated his next words. 

“Sweetheart, you are the best thing that has happened to me in this and any lifetime. I am terrified of losing you, that’s what I’m scared of. I don’t want you to be ripped away like so many things I’ve tried to love before, and I don’t want you to leave. I fear that I would not survive a world where I no longer had you in my life. That’s where my panic came from, that’s why I was afraid to reveal my identity. I didn’t want to lose you.” Vulnerable eyes turned down to look at your combined hands. The feeling of his thumbs soothing over your skin providing as much assurance as his words. 

You waited a handful of extra breaths to see if he had more to say, but it seemed no further words were making themselves known. 

“You are the love of all my lives, Jason Todd. I’ll be here for as long as you let me.”  

“That could be a long time, ya know?” 

“I’m counting on it.” 

Snuggled against Jason’s chest on the couch, dinner long since forgotten, a thought came to mind. 

“So, you’re the Red Hood.”  

“We’ve covered that, yes.” 

You gave him a light nudge with your shoulder. “Hush.”  

A brief chuckle before his lips pressed atop your head. 

“So, you’re Red Hood. I know you work closely with the rest of the Bats, and you wouldn’t work closely with people you didn’t trust, not on this. You only trust a handful of people beyond me, and I know I’m not a vigilante. Since you’re all Gotham based, they must be around here too. The only people in the state that you trust are your family. Ergo, the rest of the Bats are the other Waynes, no?”  

“And they call Batman the “world’s greatest detective.” 

“Holy crap, that means they call Bruce that. Brucie Wayne the greatest detective. Oh my god.” You sat up, turning to face him with excitement. 

“Hang on, I didn’t confirm your theory.” 

“You didn’t deny it either!” Your finger pointed in his face, Jason leaning in to nip at it and making you both laugh. 

“Don’t distract me! I’m totally right!”  

“No comment.” 

You leaned over to reach for your phone on the coffee table, Jason gripping your free arm to keep you from toppling over in your excitement. You smiled appreciatively at him before doing an image search on Gotham’s vigilantes. Looking closely at the pictures with what you knew only solidified your belief that much further. 

“Would you... want to meet them?” 

Your gaze snapped from the phone to look at Jason’s face, a nervous smile graced his lips, and his eye contact wavered as he waited for you to process. 

“You want me to meet the Bats?” A light test of the waters, dipping your toe in. 

“I want you to meet my family.” A hand taking yours, pulling you further in with a promise of security. 

“Same thing.” A grin born of playfulness and safety.  

“I’d love nothing more, Jay.” Left your lips whispered, excitement so encapsulating that it need be forced into something serene lest it overtake your entire being. Jason nodded, like he understood how deeply you were feeling before pulling you into a kiss. The unspoken words the kiss provided promised that he did, in fact, understand.  

And the deeper the kiss found itself, the more it felt like an oath he always would. 

[captain-huggy-bear]

Quinn Hughes

Thoughts

Quinn and Anxiety

Stomach Squisher

Quinn the giver

Quinn and an Alternative partner

When you're on your period

Quinn and Period sex 18+ MDNI - {Jack mentioned} + [1]

When you're in hospital

Flowers

After a long day

Reassuring

Drabbles/Prompts

Valentine's Day

How he reacts to some guy being a creep towards you

Breaking point

Marking you up - 18+ MDNI NSFW

Forgotten Goodbye Kiss

Casual dominance

He cuts his hair

Body hair

“This is the end of your all-nighters, you hear me, baby?”

"What I'm trying to say is... I like you."

“Hey… hey… why are you crying?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me”

"I'd like my good morning kiss now, thank you very much"

"Can I?"

“Every morning I fall in love with you all over again."

“Let’s keep it professional, alright”

“Hey...it’s just me now. You don’t have to pretend anymore...you can talk to me."

One-shots

Late Bloomer - Quinn x Fem!Reader - Quinn finds out he's your first boyfriend in your mid-20s, you're expecting him to freak out.

The Sleeves - Quinn x Short Fem!Reader - Jersey sleeves are just a little too long for you.

Fishbowl Blues - Quinn x Fem!Reader - You're more stressed and worried over Quinn's busted lip than he is.

Practically Ancient - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You end up down a rabbit hole of instagram comments and profiles and can't help but compare yourself to all the women who would gladly date your boyfriend. You can't help but wonder why he's even with you.

'You're Blushing.' - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You're friends with Jack and Luke first, they decide to tease you good naturedly about your reaction to their older brother, Quinn.

To Fight a Ten Year Old - Quinn X Fem!Reader - In which Quinn is prepared to time travel to whoop some ten year old butt because you tell him a story from your childhood and he takes it personally.

Scratchy - Quinn X Fem!Reader - 18+ MDNI - Quinn will do most things to make you laugh, his favourite thing about growing out his beard is the fact that it's a weapon of mass destruction when breaking that laugh out of you. It also makes you a little weak at the knees and hot behind the collar too which is a bonus.

A Love that Gives, Gives, Gives - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Sometimes you think you have the perfect fitting bra and it turns out that it's actually a traitor in disguise. Sometimes your boyfriend is personally offended that an article of clothing would hurt you so much because he's a sap.

Squish Time - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Sometimes there is only one way to regulate your nervous system and that is squish time.

Guard Dog - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You are feeling particularly protective of Quinn after the game against the Washington Capitals and run into Dubois.

The Collection - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You keep every single puck that Quinn has ever given you, he finds your collection that you've been shyly hiding away. It might just be the thing that makes him realise you're the girl he's going to marry.

The Missing Puck - Quinn X Fem!Reader - It's the Hughes Bowl...and you're missing your usual warmup puck from Quinn. You think he's forgotten, he most definitely has not, but he didn't think this through. Fuck. Sequel to The Collection

A Little Misunderstanding - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Your parents assume that Quinn, the man you mention over the phone all the time, is in fact your boyfriend. He's very much not, but Quinn thinks its funny to pretend he is...until it gets a little too real and maybe some truths are told and feelings are aired.

Perfect Fit - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You fit perfectly into Quinn's family, knowing how much they love you just makes Quinn realise that you're it for him.

Teacher!Reader Series -

You teach teenagers History in Vancouver, while dating a pro-hockey player, Quinn Hughes. Recurring teenage OCs like David for the lols.

The Teacher's Always Right - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Your students badger you about your relationship status and you let slip you're dating a hockey player who plays for the Vancouver Canucks. They don't believe you, you're petty enough to arrange a school trip to Rogers Arena just to prove your point.

National Teacher Day - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Quinn has a big surprise for National Teacher Day that puts your relationship out in the public space

In Your Element - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Quinn finally gets an opportunity to each lunch with you at your school, but he arrives a little early and sees a different side to you, when you're absolutely in your element

The Little Things Mean A Lot - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Sometimes it's the small things that make you fall in love all over again, like your favourite Singapore chowmein from your favourite Chinese takeaway after a long day of teaching and parent's evening

In Sickness and in Health - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You've convinced yourself that you're not actually that ill, mostly because setting cover for your lessons is more trouble than its worth. Quinn is having none of it.

Priorities - Quinn X Fem!Reader -When Quinn gets a text from you 2 hours before his game, he shows where his priorities lie when he drops it all for you. A kind of sequel to In Sickness and in Health but you don't need to read that to read this.

In the Firing Line - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You break up a fight at your school getting hurt in the process. There's only one person you want to call in that situation.

The Jello Incident - Quinn X Fem!Reader - You come home from work and tell Quinn all about the jello incident at school and then fall asleep on him.

Morning Sickness - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Quinn is getting increasingly worried about you as you're sick every morning and every evening, you're adamant that you're fine. Turns out you're right in a way.

Drabble: You're reaction of him being out on IR

Baby Shower Surprises - Quinn X Fem!Reader - Quinn organises a baby shower for you with your high schoolers. It might just be the sweetest a bunch of teenagers have ever been.

[honeyhotteoks]

₊ ⊹ ⟡ together; alternate version (정윤호 ♡ j.yh)

yunho's been away for tour, only this time, when he comes home you have very different news to share.

style: bullet drabble (alternative sequel to losing time) pairing: non idol!yunho x fem!reader word count: 2.5k tags/warnings: fluff, light angst, all things pregnancy and babies, light smut with breeding kink/preg kink (yunho is v happy she's pregnant essentially lmao) notes: this was fully inspired by an anon in my inbox who asked what would have happened in my short fic together if the news reader had to share was a pregnancy and how would yunho react to that. i don't take fic requests, but i love babyfic and this just turned into a little bullet and drabble fic i thought i would share with everyone.

[masterlist]

at the end of losing time, yunho leaves for tour and it’s a long one. a full two, two and a half months abroad in europe while you’re left at home in a different time zone missing him terribly. 

you find out the truth while he’s away, only a few weeks into tour when you start getting sick. it’s not something you can just spring on him while he’s on tour, it would distract him, it would stress him out, and frankly you just don’t know what to do. what decision to make. 

you know how you feel about yunho, and you knows how he feels about you….  but this type of news always changes everything. 

so you keep it to yourself, and you do your best to make it through. 

only when yunho does return.... you’re showing. it's not a lot, just the beginning stages of a curve at three months, but it's starting to be apparent if you’re wearing fitted clothing and it's not something you would be able to keep from him if he touched you. 

so when he comes home, finally, and texts you, asking if he can send a car to bring you to the studio, you want to say yes so badly but you can’t. 

this isn't a conversation you can have in front of anyone else so you say no. and you’re honestly terrified, so you lie, just a little white lie. you tell him you can't come and that you’re not feeling well, you’ll see him another day soon.

anxiety is fully eating you up and you’re spiraling, and you don’t know it but your texts fully freaked yunho out. he's convinced that you’re going to break up with him and waited until after tour to do it, and he's sick about it.

after dance practice, he sneaks out and comes to your place.

all of a sudden hes there, he’s knocking on your door. 

you thought you had more time, you still don’t know how to tell him, what to say- but he’s there 

and -

You're a mess. Your hair is tangled from running your fingers through it again and again, and you're pretty sure this sweatshirt has a coffee stain on it, but he's here and no matter what you have to face this.

He knocks again, a soft rap on the door, "y/n, please let me in,"

"Just a second," You call back, knotting your hair back into a bun and kicking on your slippers. Your stomach rolls with nervousness, but at least, you think, it's not morning sickness.

When you finally pull open the door your hands are trembling, and Yunho's pained expression doesn't help.

"Hey," You manage.

"Hi," His eyes dart over you, a crease of concern between his brows, "can I come in?"

You move to let him in immediately, stepping back into the apartment, "Sorry, of course,"

When you shut the door tight and flip the lock, silence fills the space, but somewhere within you, you find the strength to turn around and look up at him.

He shifts from foot to foot, clearly off balance at the strange discomfort between you, and finally he sighs, "Whatever it is," he says, "I know we can work it out."

A strike of panic lances up your spine at the thought he might already know what words are sitting like lead on your tongue, but all you can manage is a soft, "What?"

"You're avoiding me," His hands flex and release, "we haven't seen each other in months, and now I'm here, and you haven't even smiled. I don't think you're sick, I think something's wrong."

"Yunho," Your voice cracks, and you can feel tears threatening your eyes already. You wanted to hold it together, but this is already too hard.

He swallows tightly and keeps talking, his own voice laced with nerves, "I know two months was a long time, and I know I haven't been the best boyfriend, I should have called more, made more time for us, but, y/n," he takes a tentative step towards you, "I love you, and I really don't want to give up on us, please, don't,"

Things slot into place at his words and you shake your head, "Who said anything about giving up on us?"

The words hang for a moment, and then he softly exhales, "You're not breaking up with me?"

"No!" Your voice squeaks as you rush to dispel that idea, "No, oh my god, not at all,"

He grins, covering his face with his broad hands and sighing, "Jesus Christ," he sighs, "I was going out of my mind,"

"No," You shake your head again, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you like that."

He drops his hands and you can see the tension leave his tight shoulders, "Thank god," he smiles and steps towards you.

Panic bubbles back up inside you and you raise your hand to stop him, stepping back until your hips bump into the back of the couch, "Wait,"

His expression crumbles, "What's going on?"

You just have to say it.

"Um," Your stomach flips, "I do have some news."

"News," He repeats numbly.

"Yeah," You start to cross your arms over your chest but the realization that it would pull the fabric of the sweatshirt closer to you rockets through your brain and you drop your arms helplessly by your side. You have no idea how to tell him this.

"You can tell me anything," He says softly, reading your panic in a moment, "and you know, there's nothing we can't handle together."

"Yunho," Tears start to gather, making your eyes glassy, "I don't know how to tell you this,"

"I'm here,"

The panicked, terrified, anxious part of your brain scoffs, for now. You look away from him immediately, eyes glued to the floor. If this is how you lose him, then you guess it just wasn’t meant to be.

You take a steadying breath and jump, "I have something to tell you," you knot your fingers together, "and I didn't know how to tell you while you were away. I was afraid of distracting you or trying to figure this out while you weren't, you know, here,"

"Okay," He murmurs, taking a slow step in your direction, "I'm here,"

"A week after you left," You press your eyes closed tight, tears tracking down your cheeks, "I missed my period,"

He's silent. Your stomach churns again, but you keep going, "For a little bit I just thought it was stress, or something funny, I'm not always on schedule, but, then I started getting sick," With your eyes closed and with him so quiet, you can almost pretend you're practicing this speech, one of the many times you talked it through in the shower, lying in bed, pacing laps around your apartment. "I'm so sorry," Your voice cracks, "I'm pregnant," You can't bring yourself to open your eyes. "I know I should have told you," Tears rush forward a little faster now and you take a hitched breath, "and I know you don't want this, but you deserve to know, and I... I don't, Yunho, I don't know what to do, I don't know what I'm s-supposed to do, and," Yunho steps forwards all at once, his hands cupping your cheeks and drawing your face upwards, "Hey, hey," he soothes, voice tender, "look at me," Your eyes finally open, meeting his gaze. You expect to find him terrified, any twenty-something guy with a delicate career would be, but all you find in his eyes is soft comfort. There's no trace of the idol in him, just your lover, your best friend. "It's okay," He wipes away your tears gently, "sweetheart, breathe," "Why aren't you angry?" Tears rush faster, your breath tight. He smiles, "I'm upset you didn't think you could tell me," he dips forwards and presses a kiss to your forehead, "but y/n, I love you, this isn't... baby, this could never be bad news." "W-what?" "The timing's terrible," He admits, "and I also have no idea what we're supposed to do, but I don't care. I love you, we'll figure this out." Of all the reactions you expected from him, this hadn't even crossed your mind. When he leans back from you a little to study your tear stained face again, he smiles, and it feels like everything about your life is about to change. Slowly, you pull his hands away from your face and take a steadying breath, "Yunho," you manage, "you're an idol, and besides, we're twenty-six, we're not even married, we're not, what the hell are we going to do with a baby," He slides his hands over yours and brings them together, lifting them so he can press his lips to the back of your knuckles, "We'll do what people do, we'll make it work." You shake your head, feeling fully unmoored, but he keeps going. "I knew you were it for me on the second date," He says and the world slows to a stop, "the only thing in the world I'm terrified of is losing you, but this? y/n, I'm in love with you. Did you think I haven't imagined what our lives would be like?" "I," You can't find the right words, but you try, "I love you," His smile widens, and he moves quickly, tugging you forwards and wrapping his arms around you properly. He's much taller, and he has to lean over you, but he wraps one arm smoothly around your lower back and your hands settle on his shoulders. He pulls you up in one smooth motion, his free hand slipping under your thighs as you wrap them around his waist to hold you tight against him. He kisses your lips, tender relief in every press of his mouth on yours and he nuzzles your nose with his, "I missed you," he breathes. "I missed you too," You confess, your body finally relaxing and melting into him, weeks and weeks of tension bleeding out of your body, "so much," He hugs you close, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you bury your face into his neck, and then he freezes, "Oh my god," his hand slides over your back, landing on your waist, "you really are pregnant," You know he can feel it, the change in your body when you're pressed flush against him like this, and you nod into his neck. "H-how," His hand pushes under your sweatshirt, searching your skin, "baby, how far?" "Fourteen weeks," He sucks in a breath, dropping you gingerly back to your feet, "I can't believe you didn't tell me," For a split second you think you're finally getting the anger you anticipated, but the giddy expression on his face says otherwise.

"I've missed so much," He snakes a hand under your hoodie, and lays his palm over your slightly distended belly, "I'm... god, I can't believe this," "You're not upset?" You check softly. "No," He shakes his head, and then he tugs gently at your sweatshirt, "No, but, can you take this off, can I see?" You're nervous again, but his easy energy wraps around you like a safety blanket and you nod, swallowing back any fears and pulling off the sweatshirt, leaving you in nothing but your sweat pants, and a tight tank top. His eyes zero in on the bump immediately, and the sliver of skin between your sweats and the hemline of your top. Your hands rest over your belly, a nervous, protective instinct, "I know," He blinks hard, tearing his eyes away from your changing body and up to your face. "What?" You ask, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "You're really pregnant," He says, his voice a little rough, and then he reaches again until his hand slides over the smooth plane of your stomach, tracing the curve, "that's my baby," "Yeah," You breathe softly. 

Tears track down his face and he laughs, reaching for you again, up into his arms and nestled against him. 

From there?

He’s kissing you and he just can’t stop. 

You’re a mess from stress and tears, and hardly feel sexy, but he doesn’t care. He’s missed you, he loves you so much and this news is unexpected and terrifying but he’s so happy he doesn’t care

So holding you in his arms still, he takes you to bed

And you’re apologetic about the mess, your bed stand is covered with water bottles and anti-nausea medication and it hits him all at once how you’ve just been holding it together by a thread 

And he pulls you into the bed - “You’ve been sick, this hasn’t been easy, has it? I could have been there for you, I wish I had been there,” 

But you assure him that you’re mostly on the other side of it, you’re only sick like once in a while now not every second of every day 

And he’s like….. we are talking about that later, but right now how are you feeling? 

And you’re good…. but god, you missed him and now you’re just so relieved

So he begs you to let him take care of you now, he’s home, he can carry that weight if you’ll let him

And teary tender kissing in bed leaves his hands wandering, noticing how much is different, losing his mind over your bump and the new fullness of your breasts

And he’s hard and you’re touch starved 

And then he’s just losing it a little - kissing your body, telling you how much he loves every inch of you, how insane it makes him that he did this to you, how you made something together

And all the tenderness to dirty talk sends your brain into overdrive. 

It’s all just desperate needy, thank god we didn’t break up i can’t believe i got you pregnant sex

Worshipping oral, lots of body kissing and feral groaning from Yunho

His absolute insanity at being inside you like this - and you’re tighter, wetter, and needier than ever, and he’s just feral for it

“You’ll be the prettiest mommy, won’t you?” 

Just heaps of breeding and preg dirty talk

“God, I hope you want a lot of kids,” 

“You look so good like this, I’ll have to knock you up again,” 

“So pretty with my baby inside you,” 

And when you’re done, you fall asleep instantly. you’ve been sleeping so much more all of a sudden, and you suppose your body needs it, but it feels like you’re finally resting for the first time in weeks

When you wake, your apartment is clean, he got take out (but he’s googling best soups for morning sickness and texting Wooyoung cooking questions), and he’s making a list of everything you’ll need. He’s already making a plan of what you’re going to do. 

So even though the tour was terrifying, he’s home, he’s got you. You’re together on this, always.

[awrkive]

PLEASE LET CNBL COUPLE HAVE THEIR SEXTAPE 🤤 i think oc would be down to that idea but i get why jungkook is taking things slow too but my man is a simp fr he would put it in a loop because he’s obsessed with his girlfriend

i got u anon. ive got an ask about it sometime ago abt what miss cnbl!oc feels about digital s*x or film s*x. thought of an idea. this is 2 years after wncl, which is sorta kinda like the sequel of cnbl lols. anyways this is kinda self indulgent and honestly just an excuse to write smut 😭

summary: jungkook can't bear being away from you, and so you give him a solution

w/c: 2k lol

warning/s: consensual filming, unprotected s*x, cre*mpies

Jungkook can get pretty intense during reunions. In fact, intense is an understatement. He absolutely goes fervent, and you can’t blame him when you missed him just as bad too. 

“Ngh– fuck, I miss you so much, baby. I miss you every fucking day,” he groans into your ear, pumping his cock in and out of you at that pace that’s just so right. Not too fast. Not too slow. Just enough to make you keen; to make you grip the sheets behind you so tight. Just enough to not make it hurt when you've already come two times from his mouth and tongue, and another two times from his dick. Consequently, he's already two creampies inside your pussy and it's not even been a full hour.

And just when you thought that he’d be satisfied by the last time, he’s now determined on coaxing a fifth release from you. 

Frankly, you don’t know if you can do it. Sure, there was one time last year when he made you cum seven times in a row – and Jungkook still talks about it like a kid high on sugar, mentions it every now and then, keeps on wanting to do it again sometime – but it’s too bad you can’t keep up with him all of the time. Jungkook’s stamina is high and yours isn’t all that exemplary.

But you do try your best to match it because you love it just as well. You love the feeling of his cum shooting inside your hole, him pushing it back into you in that non-overbearing possessive manner, and how he always tells you you’re such a good girl for taking more and more, just letting him give and give. 

It’s why you encourage him to get you to cum again – because god, you really also missed him so fucking bad. 

He just got back from LA, just arrived at your place five hours ago, and you expected him to sleep the whole night in – not when you know he worked so hard back there. His team just bagged a win, and they’re moving onto semis the next few weeks. 

But Jungkook informed you that he had to leave again in six days – had to train across oceans again with the team. Said that he just begged his coach to get him a one-week vacay when others only got four. 

It’s not unfair when he’s the star player of the team he’s been winning for in the entirety of the last year. Jungkook’s an NBA player who has gained much bigger success and popularity ever since he got drafted, despite being so young and fresh to the scene. 

And sure, he basks in it sometimes – likes the praise, likes the way winning makes him feel. He loves playing for the team. Loves the work that he does. 

But one thing he absolutely fucking loathes about it is that he has to fly off across states for a game, and that means leaving the comfort of your shared apartment – leaving you, not being with you. 

And so you understand greatly why he’s intense during reunions. Because as much as you’re happy with your current lawyering – in your second year now – you also miss those days back in college when you could just have each other every single day. 

“Yes, fuck– oh there, baby, that feels so good…” you moan when he hits a particular spot. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he encloses his hot mouth around your nipple again, alternating on suckling and nipping around it, his other hand fondling your other boob. But again, Jungkook seems to be so on edge right now that you let out an “Ow!” at one harsh bite. 

“Sorry,” Jungkook soothes it with a kiss to the tip, hips still moving against yours, cock going at a steady pace in and out of your pussy. “I just missed you so much, pretty girl. Those calls weren’t enough.” He whispers against your chest, this time lapping at your breasts more gently. 

You reach out for the messy locks that sit atop his head, smiling gently down at him even though he can’t see you. 

“Babe?” 

“Hm?”

“Do you want to take a video?” You ask, still caressing his hair. 

You don’t expect the way his hips stutter after your question. The quickness in which he peels his head away from your tits to look at you with a surprised face after that is almost laughable but that would be mean of you.

“What?” 

“A video. Of us. I dunno… maybe it will do us both good if we have something of us while we’re away from each other.” you shrug nonchalantly. 

You both aren’t strangers to sending nudes to each other or sexting in general. Jungkook sends you videos and pictures of his dick a lot of times – unprovoked and even on a random Tuesday at 2 fucking pm. And you send him your tits and risky pictures of you in crotchless panties when you feel like it. (Like when you’re taking a bath and you're feeling a bit raunchy with the soap suds all over your breasts… Jungkook gets so drunk off the pictures that he fucks you so good once he gets ahold of you in person.)

It used to be just tits but you’ve upgraded to pussy pics… hey, it’s just that you’ve grown more comfortable overtime.

Being with Jungkook for three years now, you can say that you’ve tried a lot of things with sex. But somehow… you’ve never really tried making a sex tape. 

Sure, Jungkook’s brought it up before. Asked you if you were interested in the idea – but you answerwd with an affirmative no. Photos were okay, but videos were off-limits, and Jungkook was completely fine with that. It is your body, and he understands thoroughly the anxiety that you have behind the idea of sexual digital footprint – you’re a woman after all, there’s ultimately danger as a consequence to the very idea. 

It’s not even Jungkook you don’t trust. God, you trust him so much – but it’s this paranoia about imaginary people who are out to get you. 

And so that has always held you back. 

But right now, as you feel Jungkook’s frustration about the long distance thing as much as his love while he drives you up the headboard with his loving, passionate thrusts, you can’t help but think that maybe you can give this a try. 

Filming a sextape, you meant. 

“Are you sure?” Jungkook blinks up at you, eyes wide as it opens and blinks continuously. 

You chuckle. “Yes. Why do you look so surprised?”

Jungkook smiles shyly, and it’s adorable because he’s literally balls deep in you right now. 

“I thought it was no-go.” 

“Please,” you roll your eyes playfully– but you’re soon cut off by a particular thrust. Jungkook knows this too, as he begins peppering kisses all over your jaw, humming to let you know he’s still listening. You stammer a little, but you manage to let out a continuation of your sentence, “I let you put your dick in my ass and spit in my mouth. Nothing is no-go between us at this point.” 

Your joke may not have been the funniest – as it just further riles Jungkook up by the way he suddenly picks up his speec. 

“Oh, fuck, you little minx – you really had to say that, huh?” He emerges from your neck and grabs your jaw – albeit softly. “Get me real fucking hard talking about those.” 

“You can do them to me on camera now.” you say, challenging. And you laugh when you feel him literally freeze. But it’s not as funny anymore when his cock throbs inside of you, and suddenly, you feel the urge to cum again. To release one more time.

He recovers quickly from the shock, though. “Yeah?” 

You gasp when he plunges his cock back into you, only leaving the first half of his length before he enters again. He repeats that motion until your neck is craned back and your eyes are seeing stars. 

“Keep going like that— yes, yes!” You say, starting to get hysterical because you can feel that coil in the pit of your stomach now. 

Just a few more pumps and it will come out anytime soon. 

“You’re so fucking hot and pretty, look at you.” Jungkook sighs, taking a hold of your hips this time so he can hit deeper. And he does hit deeper, alright – that it doesn’t really take too long before you spasm around his length again, your fifth orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks. 

You lie there on the mattress completely lax while Jungkook goes on with a few more erratic trusts until you feel that hot liquid cum shooting straight to your hole. 

The both of you mewl in unison at the sensation, with Jungkook kissing your mouth to bask in the moment.

When he breaks away, he caresses your cheek and plants a sweet peck to the tip of your nose.

“We’re filming the sextape tomorrow but can I take a video of your pussy full of my cum right now?” He asks seriously, and his polite tone – as if he’s requesting something at the White House – makes you laugh again. You're so giggly now that he's back. Go figure.

(How you love him so much.)

“Okay.” you say, and you watch as his eyes widen, cock twitching inside your pussy that he still hasn’t pulled out from you yet.

“Fuck, you’re the fucking best.” He says as he picks up his phone from the nightstand. 

Turning it sideways, he grips the device with his left hand, turning the camera to your body. 

“Just make sure it doesn’t pick up my face, okay?” You say, but nonetheless enjoy the sight of his hooded eyes roaming around your naked body like he’s high on it. 

“I know. I’ll do that.” Jungkook murmurs, but you know he’s distracted, especially when you finally get to see the sudden shift in position where he’s kneeling on his calf now in between your spread legs. “Open wider for me, baby, let the camera see how full you are with my cock and cum.” 

You hiss at that, and you let Jungkook guide your thigh with his free hand as he helps you spread the two of them wider.

“Hold them for me, princess, just a min.” Jungkook says, folding your knees until they’re all up in your chest. With his help, you relax in that position, waiting for what he does next. “Good. Good girl. Always so behaved…” he trails off, and slowly, he slides out his cock from your heat. 

Jungkook thinks your face is the most beautiful he’s ever seen and your pussy stuffed, leaking with his cum is a close second. 

“Fuck.” He whispers, making sure the camera captures just how white your pussy is now with his thick cum – a product of five straight orgasms he’d coaxed out from you. He wants to highlight the way your pussy throbs, but sadly with the bad lighting and him using a phone camera, he can’t. 

Still, he relishes in the high of seeing you bare like this. With the tip of his cock just right beside your pussy, he slides the crown back to gather all the cum that dripped out, pushing it back into you. 

There's an overspill that coats his dick as well, and it’s making him feel things. Like his cock getting hard again even though he just came the second time. 

“Oh, Jungkook…” You sigh out, feeling overstimulated now. But as you look at his face, completely distracted, you enjoy the view instead. “You like that, baby?” You ask meekly, thinking that maybe he’d like that when he watches this again. 

“So fucking much, you have no fucking idea.” Jungkook huffs. “You’re so full already but there’s still so much leaking out.” 

“That’s all of you, Jungkook,” You say sweetly. 

“Hm. I know… shit… I just wanna do this everyday.” 

“Film is?” You snort. 

“Fucking you… being with you. I was going crazy in my hotel room at LA. Just wanna be with you all the time.” He laments. Jungkook presses on the phone and suddenly, he puts it back on the nightstand. 

“Awe. Poor baby.” You respond, tapping his forearm, putting your legs down while Jungkook soothes your thighs with gentle rubbing. 

You thought he’s done for the night, but suddenly, he says, “Angel, I may have lied. Can we film the sextape tonight, please?” 

You laugh. Again. And Jungkook just falls down your body, snuggles close to your chest as you instantly play with his hair. 

“Alright.” You say, craning your neck down to press a kiss on the crown of his head. 

[easy-there-leftovers]

As Cool As I Think I Am

Summary: The 5 times Spencer tries to be cool, and the 1 time he doesn't care. 

Alternatively; Spencer never thought he was cool, but he found himself wanting to be just for you. 

[a/n] Recommended to be read after, "A Question Unasked", and is a roundabout sequel to "Mixed Messages."

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! (mentored by Hotch!) reader| cw: slight spoilers for s1e04, s1e06, s1e08, s1e10, and s1e18 | description of canon-typical violence, timeframe switches because I can, and Spencer being an oblivious, lovesick idiot (can't believe this version of him survived all of this lol) | word count: 7.2k

Amazing. You had called him, “amazing” during the Arizona case and that was all that had been occupying his mind as of late. He had been called brilliant before. Been described as bright, gifted, hell, he was called a genius even. Yet that was the first time anyone had said anything positive about him.

Removed from his intellectual capabilities.

It made him think that there was more that he could offer than just his never-ending stream of knowledge and incessant rambling.

You had seen that in him.

Seen that he was 'amazing.'

But he certainly wasn’t feeling that way now.

“On SWAT we broke shots down into three steps." Spencer nodded as he listened.

"One: Front sight. Focus on the front sight, not on the target. Two: Controlled trigger press. Three: Follow through. After the shot, you come right back to the target. Now, what did you do wrong?”

He sighs with his eyes closed. “I didn't follow through.” 

“Right. You came off the target to see where you hit.”

Hotch had been observing him for the past few minutes to prepare him for his assessment tomorrow, and yet it still felt like he was making no discernable progress. 

He had memorized every trick, every form, every physics interplay that could better the ballistics of his shot and yet he still couldn't do it.

"Hotch, my firearms qualification is tomorrow morning. I barely passed my last one." He had said, putting the gun down.

He feels his unit chief gently push him aside to demonstrate and he gets in position.

"Front sight," He aims his gun.

"Trigger press," He presses down on the trigger, resulting in a gunshot to the target.

"Follow through." He finally says. Keeping his eyes forward with his finger still depressing the trigger until he holsters his gun again.

"You do those three things, you'll hit your target every time." Spencer shakes his head.

He tries to replicate the steps again, but only fails miserably.

He has been doing that. He is doing that. And yet he still keeps missing.

If this wasn't part of his job, maybe he wouldn't have cared all too much about his gun proficiency. Or lack of.

And yet it was.

And it was imperative that he learned it to keep his place on the team, but he had been losing hope.

"They're going to take away my gun."

Sensing his frustration, Hotch empathizes with him.

"Profilers aren't required to carry." He groans at that.

"Yeah, but she does and she's great at it."

God, you must've thought he was pathetic.

Aaron laughs internally at that. He knows exactly who the younger one is talking about.

He had seen the way that Spencer had been watching his 'protege,' and it didn't take being a profiler to know that he was absolutely smitten. If he hadn't known any better, he would've thought that Reid's frustrations stemmed from wanting to seem more experienced in front of you.

And Hotch saw no problem with that, at least for now. On the contrary, the two of you working together seemed to have bolstered his focus on the case. Making the team more efficient with their investigations.

He also thinks that it helped because you seemed to return Reid's sentiment, which is why he had brought you along to help him.

So when Spencer turns and sees you walk in, he blanches.

As much as he really liked your presence (you were friends, right?), he really didn't want to embarrass himself in front of you.

He does that more than enough on his own.

But it seemed like your mentor didn't care.

Hotch says your name with a greeting before excusing himself which tells Spencer that he had planned this from the start. He sighs at that. Chest feeling heavy at the pressure.

He sees you give him a polite smile, which he's come to recognize to be your way of easing him, and he returns it.

"I've heard about your progress." Spencer rolls his eyes at that.

"More like regress. I'm sorry that you have to be here." You snort at his joke but shake your head to assure him.

"I'm right where I want to be. "

His heart fills, even though he knows that not what you meant.

"Why don't you go ahead and show me how you fire that gun?"

He nods and waits for you to put on your ear muffs and goggles before he returns to his position. Calming himself down as he remembers Hotch's words.

Front sight, trigger press, follow through.

He fires three bullets and sees them all hit the whites of the target, which makes him sigh for the umpteenth time.

He puts the gun down and lowers his ear muffs to look at you. Seemingly deep in thought, chin resting on your hand, with eyes travelling slowly up and down his form. Observing.

Scrutinizing.

Assessing.

He can't help but feel naked under your gaze.

He always knew you were smart. The cases you've helped solve were more than proof of just that, but he knew that even you couldn't solve the mystery that was his aim.

He couldn't expect that of you. He relies on you so often already.

He briefly wonders how there's such a different between you and him. You joined the same year, joined the same unit, and worked with the same people on the same cases. How was it that you seemed calmer, cooler, and more prepared for anything more than he ever was?

Spencer firmly believes that intelligence cannot be quantified. And if anyone ever doubted him, he would just point at you and say that you had him beat everywhere despite what any number might have to say otherwise.

Case and point. you had been talking to him about something very important and thoughtful and he had been zoning out the entire time.

"I um,–– what?"

You shake your head and gesture to his gun once more. "Show me your form again."

He takes his gun hesitantly, but readies himself the same way he did earlier. The only exception being that his finger isn't on the trigger.

He hears that telltale, almost bored, 'hm' of yours before you speak again.

"Tuck your chest in."

He's read countless firearm manuals and instructions and he's never heard of that before.

"I'm sorry?"

"Tuck your chest in." You say it again, but it's still not making sense to him.

Unable to voice or even act upon his confusion, he watches as you wait with an impassive face before asking,

"Can I touch you?" He lets out a shaky, but immediate 'yes' and you move to stand beside him.

Given your calm and nonchalant demeanor, he anticipates a more impersonal touch. For lack of a better word. He expects a shove. Maybe a push, to correct him into the right place.

So when your hand comes to softly rest on his stomach, fingers splaying across the expanse of his undefined abdominal muscles, he feels his breath hitch. Upper body slightly crumpling in on himself as he does.

He's surprised he hasn't dropped his gun.

"Dr. Reid,"

He's also surprised that his heart hasn't stopped. With how you said his name, and how close you are– he can already feel your soft breath gracing his ear–

"You're an autodidact, aren't you?"

A self-taught person, he thinks.

"I–– I am." Curse his shaky voice.

"You know, there are some things that can't be learned by just reading textbooks and looking at diagrams."

He feels you tap his stomach and he suddenly feels hot.

"Feel this?" He feels you engulfing his senses, that's for sure. But he nods slowly.

"Remember it. Your center of gravity is different from the subjects in those graphics. So the form you need to take is likewise different."

And just like that, all too quick for his liking, you move away. Hand leaving him just like whatever depraved thought might've been running around his head.

He hesitantly looks back at you, and you gesture to his gun again. Noticing how your free hand is resting on the gun in your holster.

A Glock 19, he remembers.

"Go ahead and shoot like that now."

He does, in the same way that he's compelled to follow your voice like always–

Front sight, trigger press, follow through.

And fires three shots.

To his surprise, he manages to shoot the target's chest. Not quite centered, he admits, but its a vast improvement from his previous attempts.

"I– I did it." He feels the disbelief on his face when he looks at you again. He's expecting you to look just as shocked as he does. After all, you saw just how egregious his aim was. So it surprises him when he turns and is greeted instead with the small smile on your face.

Not the same polite smile that you usually give when you're at work, no. It was a soft, genuine smile, or so he thinks.

"I never doubted your capabilities, Dr. Reid."

He beams under your praise. Blooming like a flower under the warm radiance of the Sun. Once again subject to that brain-freezing sensation from a few weeks ago.

If he just remembers everything you told him today, which wasn't a lot, he theoretically should pass his firearm qualifications with no problem.

And maybe, just maybe, he'll get to see you smile at him again.

After all, he had always wanted for you to look at him. Actually look at him.

Maybe if he passes his test this time, you will.

----

The following day, he doesn’t pass his test.

And he is much more embarrassed now than he ever was before. 

He returns to the bullpen with his head down. Already expecting everyone to know of his failure.

He really didn't want to see if you were one of the ones that had been looking at him.

What he doesn't see is that you were.

But you weren't disappointed at all. You wanted nothing more than to reassure him. To tell him that you could always help him again, and that you didn't mind the extra work if it weren't for the stares that you had been getting back.

Seemingly turning your what-would've-been act of friendship and care into an expectation and responsibility.

"Make a wish!"

"Come on, man. Blow, baby, blow!"

"I thought you were full of hot air, Reid."

"They're trick candles, Spence, okay? They–– They're going to come back on every time."

While Spencer is glad that he’s spending his birthday with actual people, there's one in particular that he's missing.

He also feels sort of embarrassed that he's having a full-on birthday at his workplace. Though he is very thankful that his friends care about him enough to do this.

"Hope you like chocolate." JJ says with a laugh and he is only now recognizing the cake. Previously too caught up in blowing out the undying flames to even notice the festive dessert that supported them.

"Where's the cake from?" The blonde only gives him a look that he can't quite understand, but he is immediately distracted when he feels a draft from where Hotch passes by him.

He looks in the direction he came from and lo and behold, he found the very person he was missing.

He gets up, wanting to at least get a greeting from you, but he's interrupted by Gideon asking him something before he can even try.

"You having fun?"

He knows that he's asking him, but he can also see how his eyes aren't quite addressing him back. Instead, looking up a few inches above him.

He gives a tight lip smile when he realizes just what he's looking at.

God, he felt pathetic.

“Yes, definitely. I am definitely– having fun.” 

"Make a wish?" He asks another question and that’s when Spencer sees what he's doing now.

Ever since he first exhibited signs of interest in you, he knew that his mentor would be the first to clock them. He couldn't even hide it if he tried. If there was anyone on the team that he knew would figure it out this quick, it would've been him.

He expected it.

What he didn't expect was for Gideon to show disapproval for it.

For you.

Back during the Arizona case, he remembers how Gideon had interrupted you when you were explaining something. And that's when he realized you were going to have a hard time.

You were going to have a hard time because of his own rapidly growing interest.

Because he froze when you said one nice thing about him, then proceeded to wow him with your observational skills.

He didn't want Gideon to think that you were being a distraction to him, so he instead chose to show just how well the two of you had worked together. Even going as far as to double down and reiterate your statements to convince him of that.

And it seemed to have worked, but now he wasn't so sure.

"Can I take this hat off?"

He wanted nothing more than to do just that before you notice him, but his mentor just shook his head.

"I wouldn't."

He doesn't know it's because Gideon knew you found it cute.

By the time that he notices the elder doesn't really care about the conversation anymore, probably too distracted by the TV behind him, his gaze finally focuses on you.

The very person that he had intended to talk to.

The one he intended to talk the entire time before he got sidetracked.

You still hadn't turned to look at him though, or make an attempt to greet him. Not even a laugh to mock him for the huge, 'Happy Birthday' hat that sat on his head to make him look like a dunce!

Instead, you were staring at something. Or rather, someone.

He turns his head to look just where you were and there he sees his unit chief, your mentor, on the receiving end of your intense gaze.

Just like always.

He shakes his head and decides to just go talk to you, but he is once again interrupted. This time by Hotch with a solemn expression on his face.

“Sorry guys. Party’s over.”

You immediately spring into action at his words, completely missing his hand that was just about to come up to wave at you. He tightens his lips into a thin smile.

Spencer's starting to doubt Morgan and Elle's words.

–––––––––––––

The sentiment is rectified when he finally receives the one thing he had been looking forward to on his birthday, and it wasn't the gift.

Not even the greeting.

It was being able to be in your presence. Being able to spend time with you. The you that wasn't so stressed or strict about work, or the case, or your boss.

It was just him and you. You and him. And the scarf that seemed to warm him just as much as his heart warmed at the sight of your smiling face.

God, what he would do to have this with you forever.

Spencer is well aware that likes you.

Hell, even the rest of team knows it by now, but he's starting to fear that his unconscious mind is more aware of that than his conscious one.

Case and point, he had been having dreams.

Nightmares, actually.

Nightmares that he can't help but think will happen if he takes his eyes off of you for even a second.

Morgan had asked him earlier when he was making coffee if something was causing him to lose sleep. If you had been causing him to lose sleep, he had asked with a teasing smirk.

And while normally he would've flushed and stumbled at his implication that a night of you had been keeping him up, he admits to what's been plaguing his mind.

Naturally, he doesn't tell him the full nature of his night terrors. But his friend doesn't need him to. Not with the way that his eyes try to find yours every chance he gets, focus going in and out of the conversation like an adjusting lens.

Spencer fears that one day, no matter how strong or smart or clever you are, it's his negligence that'll place you on the receiving end of a killer's weapon.

And that there's nothing that he can do to stop them from landing the finishing blow.

He knows that it's not rational, but he also knows that dreams are rarely, if not never, rational. Studies show that around seventy to eighty-percent of dreams contain bizarre or irrational elements. This included unusual settings, impossible scenarios, and illogical developments to be featured in the unconscious brain.

Doesn't mean that he's alright with seeing it so often, though.

What's worse is that he knows that it can very much happen during the BAU cases. And that he can't even prepare himself for that scenario.

He's practically deadweight on the field with his still erratic aim and bambi legs, he's surprised you aren't sick of him yet.

He laughs a bit at the thought. Clutching a portion of his scarf—the only thing that has been keeping the nightmares at bay— as he promises himself that he won't leave your side.

Especially not in the confounding forest of McAllister, Virginia.

Which is why he's stuck in his current position.

“Dr. Reid, I need you to check back downhill and see if the deputies have returned.” He looks at you incredulously.

“What? No! I can’t leave you here– ” 

He doesn't know what exactly you found in the abandoned house, but he knew that it wasn't wise to leave you with no one but a high schooler.

You might think he's not all that different from the kid, but he's at least trained to be an FBI agent.

“We need the rest of the sheriffs and the crime scene team here.”

You looked dead into his eyes, yet he still didn't relent. No matter how reasonable your request was.

In any other situation, he might've thought you were cool. That you were handling the situation like a natural, and that you were very responsible for taking charge when he was there with his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.

But he didn't want to leave you. Not when you looked like you've just seen a ghost.

He grasped your shoulders, firmly but gently, and practically begged for you to come with him.

Stating that what you were feeling was a completely normal physiological response. That your body was sending neropinephrine to your brain to help regulate the stress and compensate for whatever was happening inside of you and that it would be safer to stay together––

But when he sees you ice him out– concealing all remaining traces of shock or fear or worry– he freezes.

His eyes raked across your features, biding his time. Committing every micro-reaction, every hair out of place, every faux-calm movement of your eyes before he had to let you go with a nod. Leaving hurriedly to find anyone that can help and constantly looking back at you to assure his consciousness that you were fine, and that you would be fine.

When he saw that the other sheriff wasn't there yet, much less anyone for that matter, he immediately went back. Running uphill fast to get to you.

To make sure that you were alright, that you were alive, and that no one was coming to hurt you.

Which is how he found himself here.

Gun held to his head by the very high schooler that, he thought, wouldn't have been of help if another dangerous person had shown up.

When you raised your hands and dropped your gun in surrender, he was scared of what would happen to you both if he didn't act quick.

But he was even more scared of what could happen to you if he doesn't talk his way out.

Fast.

So that's what he did.

––––––––––

He didn't get to check on you, he realizes.

He knew you were able to knock the kid out, he was there when he helped you distract him, but he must’ve been wheezing because he was the first one to get ushered out and checked on.

He wants to tell them to check on you. That you had landed pretty badly when the unsub was able to push you back, but he can hardly even hear his own thoughts.

The siren of the police car, the medic talking to him, the rest of the team discussing the case's outcome, and his own heart in his ears were simply too much for him.

By the time that things had settled down, he notices that you still aren't there with him. He worries and whips his head around wildly before his eyes find yours already looking at him.

Doing so with an expression of regret or grief etched onto your face.

He sighs in relief, and gives you the best smile he can give to assure you that he's okay despite having been worried sick.

He needed you to know that he was fine. That it wasn’t your fault. That he was glad you're okay too.

That he was so impressed with what you had done despite the circumstances, and that you had handled the situation way better than he knew anyone on the team ever could.

So when you seem to turn away from him, he briefly wonders if something was actually wrong.

He tries to look back on what might've happened. Wonders if there's something he didn't see when he came back, or when he was away––

And that's when he realizes something.

Could he have put you in more danger when he came back to check on you? That he had accidentally sabotaged your takedown?

He sighs. He must've looked so pathetic in front of you getting grabbed like that–– but he's not sorry.

He had been doing that for your safety and for his own peace of mind–– he wasn't going to apologize for caring about you.

He'll make it up to you somehow.

The next time you go on another case together, which you two inevitably will, he'll make it up to you.

That, he promises.

He actually doesn't get to work with you again. So he decides that he can make it up to you by narrowing down the unsub's identity.

In fact, he hasn't seen you at all since the team first arrived at the crime scene.

You had been working with Hotch and Morgan on more field operations, leaving him with Elle and Penelope doing background checks on possible suspects. And while he wasn't with you, he'd like to think that he's still enjoying the company.

Well, that's what he would like to think.

He has no problems working with Elle. She was a nice colleague that seemed to occasionally humor his rants and got the job done quickly. And Penelope was someone that the both of you really got along with. Occasionally having this back and forth unique to the three of you.

But they weren't you.

Still. What he thought about you can wait later. He still has to think about his escape route if the two break out into a fight.

Right now, the three of them had staked out one Michael Russo who they anticipated would call his hitman, the suspected Unsub. They were hoping to get a name from what they could pick up from his end of the call, and they did.

Problem was,

"Russo's got eleven associates named Vincent." Spencer raised his brows at that.

Vincent is a name of Latin origins. He shouldn't be surprised that the mob had a handful of people with that name, but it was kind of too on the nose at this point.

"Oh, make that ten. Vincent Cellito died last summer. But here's something––Vincent Sartori."

He really wants to find this guy, so he chooses to keep looking through the list. Ignoring the growing tension between the two girls.

"Currently doing six at Dannemora for racketeering."

Spencer then speaks up again, "How about this Perotta? There's not much on him."

Garcia makes quick work to pull up what seemed to be deleted records and that's where they find something interesting.

"Alcohol addiction at 14, violent outbursts, assaults,–– Once threw a Molotov cocktail at someone sitting in their car." She can't believe what she's reading.

"Several notations for aggression," He adds, but this is where he sees something truly wrong.

"He once scheduled a visit to an infirmary to gain access to a–– boy who looked at him for too long?"

He really didn't want to meet this guy.

"No fear, no remorse, quick temper. And he was smart enough to stay off the radar as an adult," Elle interprets. "Paranoid personality. Could be our guy."

And he really didn't want you to meet him either.

All the evidence is stacking up against him though, so you just might have to. He just wished that nothing bad would happen when you did.

––––––––––

While right now they weren't sure if he was the unsub, he was definitely someone who fit their profile. He saw some LEO's bring in a guy who had essentially been cuffed at every limb, accompanied by Hotch and Gideon, but he had yet to see the others.

He sees Morgan, who is walking alongside Elle (she went to see what all the commotion was about) but with who he sees next, he feels his stomach drop. Heart rate spiking in contrast to an all time high that he's practically sure he has tachycardia.

"What happened to you!?"

He got up from his seat to run over but you just shake your head.

You had come back with your clothes and hair in disarray, a bleeding nose, and a a busted lip. A complete disparity to the normally clean-cut and professional look that you had strived to maintain.

Even when you had been tackled to the ground a few cases back, the damage wasn't nearly as bad as this.

It's Derek that answers his question for him though.

"Perotta hit your girl up in the head, Reid." He chooses to ignore the joke. Too worried as he tries to check on your head but you just softly squeeze his hands to reassure him before you push them away.

Still not looking at him as you finally speak.

"It wasn't that bad. He hesitated. It could've been worse."

He doesn't like your answer.

If you had just been hit in the head and yet your nose is bleeding, that was a clear sign of a concussion. And the cut on your lip had to be from a fall. On asphalt or onto another material, it didn't matter to him since both are just as bad.

As he expresses that, you just tell him to drop it and then move away from him.

Before he can say more however, Hotch comes back into the room with his usually stern expression. A bit of worry lacing his tone, Spencer notes, as he orders you.

"Go home."

He's staring you down, but it seemed you had a lot more to say to that.

"Sir Hotchner, I would be of much more use in here. It is imperative that all available resources are focused on the retrieval of James Baker." He sighs because you're right, but that doesn't seem enough to satisfy you.

The boy-genius hates it when you use reason to get your way.

"Fine. Help Reid and the others with the evidence. We can narrow down his area of operation from there. They should be arriving soon."

You shake your head adamantly. "Sir, I can handle the interrogation--"

"No you can't!"

Spencer surprises himself with his outburst, but you don't even turn to look at him.

It's Hotch that gives him a very pointed stare though before continuing,

"Reid is right, agent. We'll handle the interrogation, so please busy yourself here." He says it with a finality that is indicative of his departure but you stop him one last time. Hand going up to rest on your mentor's collar.

He sees you gesture to your own, and Spencer hears an intention in your voice that he can't quite understand.

"Let's not give him a weapon, sir. He's pretty strong."

He sees his boss nod, and he takes off his tie. Putting the cloth into your awaiting hand, and you grip it out of instinct.

Reid zones out as he sees this interaction in disbelief. Did you normally touch the others like this?

You had completely brushed off his concern, not even looking at him. And yet when it was your unit chief that told you to do so, you had simply followed?

He thought he was starting to become an exception to you, but had he been reading the signs wrong? It could very much be a possibility as he was never good at doing so.

Even later when he had been sifting through the bags from the suspect's van, you still didn't respond to him. Even going as far as to ignoring Penelope's offer to watch the tapes they had found in Perotta's van. Shaking your head, 'no' with a faraway look in your eyes.

Just what had exactly happened while he wasn't by your side?

At this point, Spencer’s convinced that you would never like him.

If not for you having eyes on literally anyone else but him, then definitely because he had disappointed you. Desecrated the honor that came with being an FBI agent.

Just because he had been distracted.

A whirlwind of emotions had been flurrying inside him since the very beginning of this case, but he swears that he had never meant for this.

He doesn't even remember how it happened. Which baffled him, given his memory. But he thinks it's because he couldn't have cared less about the past few hours.

He had been stuck babysitting Lila only because you had told him so. Entrusted him with her because you thought that he was the best person to guard her, to comfort her.

He didn’t know it was because you had a feeling he’d be safer by her side.

And some part of him was flattered that you had said all this about him. Especially when all Lila would hear from him were endless praises of your name, of your work, and your caring nature.

But another part of him felt ignored. Pushed aside.

He doesn't know when it had happened, but Hotch had stopped pairing you together some cases ago. Saying something about you needing physical training, though he sincerely doubted that.

He thought that things were going well between you two. He had just been trying to find the perfect window where you would see him in a good enough light.

A good enough light that would make you say 'yes' to going on a date with him.

He didn't even care that the pretty blonde was interested in him. He only agreed because you stressed her safety more than any other target thus far. But the attention that she was giving him?

That was all that he wanted from you.

All he'd been wanting for months.

And when he had kissed her, all he could think about was you. How it would've felt if it was you in his arms, how you would react if it had been you that he was touching.

But then immediately after, how you would react to him kissing another girl.

God, he was pathetic.

He knew that you had been having a hard time lately. And he also knew that it had a lot to do with your work, how he did his, and his safety. That was all you ever stressed about when you were with him.

If he was safe.

You'd think he'd learn that by now, but he hasn't. Which is why even when he knew all this, his heart still ached as he sees you cry into Morgan's arms. Sobbing like no tomorrow. All because of something he did.

All because he took all your hard work, that had been focused on keeping him alive, and essentially throwing it right back at your face.

His negligence did that.

And he supposes that now, he can't do anything to get into your good graces anymore. Not when Derek Morgan seemed to better at doing his job as a federal agent, and his job as your friend.

When he finally gets changed into dry clothes and enters Lila's house, he doesn't miss the way that you turn from him. He also doesn't miss the glare the other agent was giving him. Nor the careful hand that had been rubbing up and down your arm.

Something that he wished he could've been doing instead.

––––––––––

God, he wanted to be anywhere but here, considering this is where it all went downhill.

"Did you give Lila Archer a collage?" Gideon had started the interrogation, so even if he did want to leave, he couldn't.

"What?"

"There's a photographic collage above Lila Archer's sofa. She says you gave it to her."

But the faster that they could get this done, the faster he could apologize to you.

"So? I didn't make the damn thing." Parker had laughed out, clearly not comprehending the severity of the situation.

"So you just happened to give her a work of art containing most of her life in it?" Spencer pushed but was surprised to see his ex-classmate seemingly have no recollection of the situation at all.

Something was wrong.

If it wasn't him, then who––?

"I––no, no. Look, I lied. I just wanted her to like me. I met her here, and she was a fan of art. Someone gave me the piece to give to her, but I told her it was from me."

It can't be––

"I said I found it, and I thought she'd love it."

"And who gave it to you?" Morgan had finally asked.

"Her name's Maggie Lowe. She uh––She works on Lila's show."

When Spencer hears this, he immediately goes to call you on his phone. Maggie Lowe had gone to Juilliard with Lila and was the production assistant that he swore he saw go in and out of her trailer.

If he wasn't so distracted, he would've fucking noticed that.

But his phone doesn't even ring for a few moments before the call is declined.

What the fuck was happening?

Before he could ask anyone else, he heard Derek speak up.

“Sweet girl, listen to me. We have a name, and it’s ‘Maggie Lowe.’ We’re on our wa—" Spencer tries to talk to you through Morgan's phone, but is knocked off balance when the man turns around in shock.

"Christ man—we're on our way back over there, okay? Stay put and we’ll let Hotch and JJ know.” 

"Let me talk to her!" He practically begs, but before anyone could even understand what he was saying, the call is ended from your side.

"Reid, what the hell were you trying to do?"

He's shocked at his own actions too, but that's not what's on his mind right now.

"She dropped my call but she answered yours? And since when did you start calling her that?"

He knew it wasn't fair, especially after what he had done, but just when did you and him happen?

"Since you started being a dumbass. Get over yourself, kid."

Everyone then started making their way to the two SUV's parked outside, but Spencer took the one that Morgan was driving.

He wasn't done with this conversation.

He tries to call you again, but this time, it looks like the line is busy. What was going on, where were you? He tries Lila's phone, even though he's sure she won't pick up and nothing either.

He has half a mind to ask Morgan to call you, in case you were just being petty and ignoring him, but he feels his phone vibrate. He suddenly hears his phone ring, and he hurriedly answers without checking the caller ID.

Hoping that it would be you on the other hand as he called out your name.

"Nope, sorry hon, it's me." It was Garcia's voice, but it sounded like she was shaking. Sensing the urgency in her voice, he instinctively puts his phone on speaker.

"Reid, I need you to listen to me very carefully— I've already alerted officials in the area, but your unsub? Is in Lila Archer's house."

You can't keep doing this, he thinks. You can't keep scaring him like this, because he's starting to feel so sick.

He looks to his friend in the driver's seat and sees him nod when they make eye contact. Speeding up as they thank Penelope before she ended the call.

At this point, he could care less with how pathetic he might've looked. No longer caring about how uncool you thought he was, or whatever might've been going on between you and Morgan, or if you still had a crush on your boss— none of that.

They had left you behind with Lila and no one else.

Spencer had always feared that one day, no matter how strong or smart or clever you are, it's his negligence that'll place you on the receiving end of a killer's weapon. And that there's nothing that he can do to stop them from landing the finishing blow.

If the reason you were alone and held captive by some psychotic shooter was because he had pissed you off enough to even dismiss his help?

He might never forgive himself for it.

When they arrive, he immediately gets out of the car. Ready to run in and ambush Maggie by himself if he has to when Lila runs into his arms. Holding a gun in her hand as if it were a bomb.

A Glock 19 that he's seen you use since his first official cases on the team.

He notices Morgan, Elle, and Gideon were already out, but Hotch and JJ have still yet to arrive.

He knows that he should wait until further instructions. That there wasn't a protocol for this specific situation. Or maybe there was, but his IQ of 187 had always been slashed down to 60 whenever you were involved.

When he hears a gun fire from inside the house, he's the first one that starts running.

He's thankful that he wasn't alone when he did though.

By the time that Maggie had been apprehended, you were already well on your way to the nearest hospital. According to the clock from inside your room, and the news report that had been playing, a full twelve hours at the very least had passed since then.

You tried to remember what had happened. Tried to remember how you screamed for help once you had subdued her. How she shot you when you tackled her.

Probably with the intention to kill you, then herself had you not talked her out of it.

You groan as you feel the blooming pain in your side. Probably from the GSW that you're going to have to note in your action report.

And then you remembered how you realized what you felt for Spencer and the rest of the team.

You shake your head despondently.

When you look back on every situation where you had essentially put yourself on the line for his sake, you notice that you had really been doing that out of your own volition.

That you had been doing it because you didn't want him getting hurt.

You just didn't like that the the team was turning it into some sort of responsibility.

And sure. Maybe the others were complicit in pairing you up, or guilty for giving you odd looks, but they probably wouldn't have done that if it wasn't something you were already going to do.

God, you felt so pathetic.

You don't think you can handle looking at Spencer now. Not after your existential crisis, and certainly not after what you said before he left.

But luck has a way, so it seems, to constantly elude you.

You note this as you see the very man that you had been thinking of slowly opening the door and perking up when he sees your eyes on him.

Well, as perked up as he could be. Given the circumstances.

"How uh—, How are you? A-Are you...okay?"

You take in how he looks when he asks. Dark rings encircling his eyes, (he had been up all night waiting for you), usually neat hair in a mess (he had been running his hands through them nonstop), and shirt all crumpled from being hunched over for so long (a different one, because he just couldn't stand the vague scent on chlorine in his old one.)

Your heart sinks at the sight and you beckon him closer with your strong hand. Echoing his question.

"Are you okay, Dr. Reid?"

He lets out a shaky breath when he finally hears your soft voice again, slowly approaching you as he does. He was so worried that the last words he would hear from you would be your disappointment, but he persists.

"Can you please answer the question? I don't like it when you pretend like you're okay when you're obviously not."

His hand finds its way to trace little patterns on the back of yours. Occasionally looking up at to see if he was hurting you, before continuing when he sees that he isn't. Feeling too shy to do anything more.

You roll your eyes at the gesture. Flipping his hand to rest on the hospital bed and slipping yours on top of his. Giving it a soft squeeze.

"I could be better." You then squeeze his hand again. "Is this what you were trying to do?"

He thinks for a while, as if not really understanding your question, before nodding vigorously.

You smile at the sight but then feel your regret from a few hours ago come rushing back.

"I'm really sorry. For...everything." You don't think he knows what you're apologizing for, but you do it anyway.

If not now, when?

Spencer laughs a little at that but shakes his head. "Morgan told me about what you said. Back at Lila's. Well, more like he told everyone while we were waiting for you to wake up."

You nod. Suddenly feeling guilty for trying to make contact so you try to let go, but he only entangles your fingers once more. Intertwining them as much as he can since this is the closest that he can afford to have you right now.

He feels his lips tightening into a thin smile before he says what's been haunting him for the past few hours.

"I'm sorry that you had to deal with me for so long. I never meant to burden you like that or make your job harder."

"No, Spencer please," you start, rubbing the only part of his hand that you could reach with your thumb.

"You were never a burden. I was just—caught up in a bunch of things."

He doesn't miss how your usual eloquence evades you. Which gives him a bit of an idea as to how unscripted and vulnerable you were being with him right now.

And as much as he should hate this for you, he'd love it if you would learn to be a bit more vulnerable in front of him. Even if it was a departure from your usually starched blazers, pressed blouses, and clean-cut exterior.

He still thought you were cool just like this.

"Have I ever told you that I thought you were really cool?" You weakly snort at that.

"If by 'cool,' you mean constantly worrying about how everything could go wrong, then yeah. I'm super cool."

He shakes his head at that, but it looked like you weren't done.

"I think you looked cooler, though. Especially when you were next to the pool trying to dry your gun. You looked like a wet rat."

He groans at the mention but you continue to tease him.

"Hey, you were a handsome wet rat. Still a rat, but... you know. From Vegas. Arguably not as bad as the ones from New York. Now though, you're a handsome dry rat."

Now that, he just wines at. You weren't being fair.

How could you make him go through all this and then say that?

Did you know what kind of effect you have on him?

The two of you continue to sling back jokes at the other, a common thing you used to do before things went south. And just enjoying each other's presence.

Holding his hand as you absentmindedly started massaging it. He didn't even notice how his hand had been shaking since the moment you first held onto it.

He was so so glad you were alive. That you were still here, with him. And there's no place he would rather be than where you were.

"So. How about you start telling me what you've been up to while I've been knocked out, hm? What have you learned, genius?"

He's learned a quite a lot, while you were away.

He learned that he should probably encourage you to have more breaks. Learned that you should both talk to each other, and everyone, a bit more. And he learned that you two weren't so different after all.

He's also learned how much he really liked your smile, your laugh, your soft touch, and the way that his name fell from your lips.

He doesn't tell you any of this, however.

Opting to instead tell you about the numerous facts he's picked up during the case, and how much he hated Hollywood.

[a/n] And with that, this marks the end of this specific timeline! I've honestly loved writing with this reader's specific personality in mind, and I'm looking forward to how she'll mellow out when she learns to be more honest.

I have a few ideas for one shots regarding this specific dynamic, but if you enjoyed it as much as I did, please tell me what you thought about this short series! And if you have any idea on what you'd like to see next from these dumbasses, send an ask my way!

Thank you so much for liking them thus far.

Like my work? Consider tipping me!!

[chrystal-ink]

Shadow x fem Reader

Your past, my present, our future

(Part 2) (epilogue)

Note: this takes place during the events of Shadow generations. I might do a sequel if people want it idk I will make a gender neutral version as well please tell me what a preferred alternative to mama or dada you would like because there are many options and I'm honestly not sure which one to use Warnings: fan child also cute Dadow moment

Description: Y/N gets sucked into the timeless void meeting up with Shadow you realize that he is from before the two of you meet. Not wanting to mess up the timeline you begin to make your exit but the arrival of another hedgehog throws a wrench in your plans.

you landed with a thud your senses thrown all out of whack from the sudden and dramatic turn of events. all you knew was one moment you were on your way to a picnic date with your beloved boyfriend and the next thing you know you're here in this creepy white void no sign of life to be found.

"Umm Hello?" you called out hoping someone might hear. "Am I dead or something?"

out of the corner of your eye you spotted a familiar flash, a black and red blur you had grown quite accustomed to, Shadow.

you called out a quick "Hey" hoping the ebony hedgehog would hear you evidently he did not as he sped off in another direction. leaving you behind.

"great well at least I saw where he went."

"And now I'm talking to myself, double great."

you began walking in the direction you had seen him go unable to tell if you were even going anywhere for the longest time. eventually things began appearing white almost castle like structures emerged from the ground as if they had been there all along. rivers and lakes began to flow black sludge polluting them.

You spotted him again expertly skating across the terrain your eyes met his as he moved giving him a wave you smiled.

He changed his direction again moving farther away from you.

“What the-Hey!” You were beginning to get mad. You knew he was dedicated to his missions but this was ridiculous.

He always made sure you were okay whenever you got roped into things like this. What was going on? You were determined to find answers.

You spent the next forty-five minutes (was time even a thing here) following him as best as you could while he ran to and frow across the void. you began to notice a pattern of his travels certain landmarks he would visit frequently before swiftly leaving to most likely accomplish some sort of mission.

there was one area he began to frequent the most, you figured you could wait there so you could hopefully get a chance to speak with him. knowing he would most likely run from you again you decided to hide behind a wall, you knew sneaking up on him was a bad idea but how else were you going to get his attention?

eventually he had come back stopping at his now usual place taking a deep breath you began to quickly approach him.

"Hey, Shadow I know your kind of new the whole relationship thing, and I know that we don't really live our lives by the book but ditching your partner inside a timeless white void I thought was kind of an unspoken no no."

Shadow turned to you his crimson eyes burrowed into yours a glint of confusion behind them.

"Do I know you?"

You were taken aback hurt by your true love's comment. there was no way he couldn't remember you, right?

"Sh-Shadow it's me." you said holding back tears "Y/N, your partner we've been together for over a year now. How could you not-what do you mean?"

your breath began to grow heavy as the panic set in. Did he get amnesia or something, did something hurt him what was happening?

"excuse me are you a friend of Shadow's? I don't think I've seen you before." a soft voice called out. it was gentle almost angel-like.

turning to the voice you saw someone you never would have suspected. you'd only seen her a few times when Shadow was kind enough to show you pictures, but she was unmistakably her.

"Hello, I'm Maria What's your name?" She held out her hand smiling at you.

You gently (and nervously) took her hand greeting her as you shook it.

"Y/N" you smiled, Shadow wasn't kidding when he told you she had a natural way of calming people, it was almost supernatural.

"Nice to meet you Y/N. This is my grandfather"

"Dr. Gerald Robotnick. Nice to meet you Y/N"

you turned to see him, the doctor you could really see the family resemblance he shared with Eggman.

You looked back at Shadow and then to the two humans, the puzzle pieces clicking into place.

"This is a time travel situation isn't it?" you asked to no particular person.

"It appears so my dear" Gerald responded.

suddenly you recalled a memory of Shadow recalling some of his most memorable adventures over coffee. a wave of relief washed over you.

"The birthday party that's right! you told me about this."

"I did?" Shadow asked.

"Yes, after we met of course." You paused for a moment. "wait, we haven't met yet, oh dear that's not good. umm I should probably go, before I mess up any timelines. Silver's gonna chew me out for this I already know. Sorry to cut it short."

"It's probably for the best" Gerald commented.

"Right well, see you around I guess."

You turned to leave cursing at yourself for the whole interaction you just had, luckily you knew that once Sonic defeated the time eater you'd be returned home like nothing happened, then you'd have Silver to deal with, hopefully he'd go easy on you.

before you could leave though you heard the pitter patter of little feet and a small child calling out.

"Mama, Papa!"

you turned to see a little Hedgehog girl running toward you. She couldn't have been older than four. her markings were incredibly recognizable but her coloring matched yours far better.

Finally reaching the group she attached herself to your leg hugging and nuzzling into it. you'd be lying if you thought it wasn't cute but the most important thing you were thinking was where this child came from and where their parent's?

"umm Hello, small child" you looked to the others pleading for help, which no one offered. "could you maybe let go of my leg for a second I need to talk to you."

The little girl giggled before letting go. breathing a sigh of relief you knelt down to her level.

"Hi sweetie, what's your name?" you asked as gently as you could

she giggled again before answering "Nova"

"Hi, Nova, do you know where your parent's are"

Nova smiled and pointed at you and Shadow "You're right here!"

Your brain refused the information, she must be confused surly what she was implying couldn't be right.

"I'm Sorry Sweetie what was that again?"

"You're right here Mama!" she turned to Shadow "Papa, Mama is acting funny." She giggled as she made her way over to Shadow jumping into his arms (thank goodness he caught her) and snuggled into him.

You were frozen in shock, unable to comprehend what was happening to you. not only did you meet Maria and Gerald two people who had been long dead before you even met Shadow, but you just found out that at some point you and Shadow were going to have a child, not just a hypothetical one either, you were having a daughter and you named her Nova. Which was weird because you were sure Shadow would have wanted to name her Maria.

"Hi there Nova" you heard Maria greet her voice full of excitement. "My name is Maria."

Nova gasped "HEY! THAT'S JUST LIKE MY-"

Just then Silver swooped in his face full of panic covering Nova's mouth to keep her from saying anymore. gently taking her out of Shadow's equally shocked arms.

"Hey guys. uuuh nice to see you. How's the void?"

"Did you know about this?" Shadow asked

"Yes." Silver responded his voice full of guilt.

"Get her to a safe place then make sure Y/N is secure we'll talk about this later."

you were surprised at his protection of you, after all you were still technically a stranger to him mother to his child or not. it did warm a spot in your heart though.

"Right away, see you later Y/N." Silver sped off taking your daughter with him.

you sat there still on your knees trying to comprehend what just transpired.

"Are you alright Y/N?" Maria asked.

waking up from your state you replied "yah, umm I'm just need to take a minute to absorb what just happened. I'm just going to be behind that wall over there."

you made your way behind the wall stealing a moment of isolation.

"I suppose a congratulations are in order son, I didn't even know you could procreate" Gerald broke the silence.

"she was pretty" Maria complemented

"Yes she seemed nice"

"OH MY GOSH!" your scream barley audible to where the three were standing.

Note: psst here’s a picture of Nova if you want to see her

[3hks]

Various Ways to End Your Story (But SPECIFIC)

How you end a story can make or break it, so it's REALLY important to end it in a way you find fitting! If you're looking for some ideas on this topic, you've come to the right place! Not only will I list the different types, but I'll detail them, break them down, and hopefully, include some that you've never thought/heard of before!

CIRCLE ENDING

Yes, I know, this is a pretty basic one; most people have heard of this ending before. However, that doesn't mean it's not a good way to end your novel!

As its name suggests, this is when the story circles back to the beginning, or at least references it, for an ending. It sounds basic, but there are a few different types of this!

I. Repeating the First Sentence

This is where your last sentence is a repeat (with none or few changes) of your very first sentence, which makes it super effective if you have a powerful first sentence!

II. Repeating the First Sentence (But Different)

As you can tell, this is nearly the same as the idea I mentioned above. The first and last sentence are the same, but the meanings of them differ because the readers have read through the whole story. When they re-read what was written, they'll see it through a different perspective.

For example: "He thinks it'd be amazing if he could fly like a bird."

At first, you might think that the character just finds it cool how birds can fly, and he wants that. But after reading, the readers might realize that there's a metaphorical meaning to "bird" or "fly", and they may realize that the character actually longs for freedom, peace, etc.

The point is, that ONE sentence takes on a different meaning despite remaining the same.

III. Returning to the Same Timeline

Unlike the first two, this one does not repeat the first sentence of your story. Instead, it references the beginning as a whole, often returning to the same timeline the narrator began at.

You can see this in works where the narrator is actually reciting the past (so they're speaking from the present), and around the end, they return to the present for final words.

ABRUPT ENDING

This is literally in the name--these next few conclusions are ones that are more abrupt. You'll see what I mean!

I. Cliffhanger

We've ALL heard of this, I'm sure. This is where the story ends at a point with high tension and suspense. While cliffhangers don't always have to be a quick ending, they technically leave the story unfinished, which I why I included this here.

All in all, this is good for maintaining interest and encouraging your readers to continue reading any sequels you might have!

II. Quick Ending

You might be thinking, 'what's the difference between the "quick ending" and the "abrupt ending"? The answer to that question is that the quick ending is the more general subcategory of the latter.

Basically, this is the ending where all--or at least most--loose ends are tied and there is a concrete resolution that satisfies your readers. However, there often is little insight to what your characters' futures may hold, since everything is ended often in a sentence or two.

Still, this is one of my all-time favorite ways to end a story because it can be very empowering if done right!

ALTERNATE PERSPECTIVE ENDINGS

I definitely feel like these are less common because they can get kind of off-track and they're hard to really fit in, but that just makes it more interesting!

I. Different Character's Perspective

I've honestly seen one author do this, and while I can't say it was my favorite conclusion, it was certainly fascinating to me.

This is where the story ends through the eyes of a side character, not the protagonist. Your stories actual resolution could have happened earlier, but the ending is from a different character's POV of a past, present, or future presented in a meaningful way.

II. Time Skip (Epilogue)

Out of these two subcategories, the 'time skip' ending is more popular for sure! If you have a more complex story (by that I mean one with a bigger cast, a lot of plot events, etc.), a time skip ending could be a good choice for you!

Usually, these time skips aren't just a couple of days or weeks, but often years or even decades. This is great if your protagonist has a super ambitious goal, and you want your readers to see what happens years after they reach it!

III. Reflection

This ending typically happens after a long time skip, where the narrator reflects upon their last actions/events that happened. Truthfully, I see this a lot more in stories that have sad or bittersweet endings, which we'll get into next!

IV. Flashback

If you're looking for a different one that ties back to the main character's past, this might be it! Instead of your story ending during the present or the future, in this case, your story ends in a meaningful flashback of a character. This is great if you want to emphasize how much the character changed and grew from their beginning!

EMOTIONAL ENDINGS

Let's talk about emotional endings, real quick!

I. Happy Endings

We all know about happy endings. Typically, the protagonist (and often their close friends/family) achieve their goal(s) and is satisfied with the results of their journey.

This is the most common story ending, emotion-wise, because it provides the readers with a good sense of closure and appeals to them!

II. Bittersweet Endings

This is where the resolution feels both happy and sad. Perhaps the protagonist achieved their goal(s) but lost things they valued along the way, or vice versa.

III. Tragic Endings

This ending can be both happy and sad, but there's definitely a lot more sadness than happiness. It can be like the one above (where they reach their goal but lose stuff/people they care about), or it can be a situation where the main character lost essentially everything.

"NON-CONCRETE" ENDING

I. Open-ended Ending

This is where the ending is up to interpretation! There might be suggestions of what happened, but it's ultimately unconfirmed, allowing the readers to draw their own conclusions.

Personally, I've never attempted this type of resolution (because I have a bad feeling it won't end well if I did), but it's pretty common!

II. New Beginning

This is where the story ends when the main character is starting a new life. Maybe they've moved to a new city, underwent changes as a person, and is escaping from their old life to start fresh.

This is one conclusion I see sometimes in dystopian novels!

III. False Victory

If you've ever watched a movie or read a book about a person whose goal is to make a HUGE impact on the world, you might've experienced this ending.

A "false victory" ending is where it seems like the protagonist has won, but the readers know that the victory itself is empty and/or temporary, with no permanent change.

Although, yes, this is technically a pretty concrete ending, it can leave readers--for lack of a better word--rather unsatisfied. However, that doesn't mean it's a bad choice!

EVOCATIVE ENDINGS

For this next section, I'll be talking about a few endings that I think heavily resonate with the readers--final words that your readers will remember.

I. Wordless Ending

Throughout the last few paragraphs of a resolution, there often is dialogue involved somewhere, and that's not a bad thing! I will never deny that dialogue is powerful, but so is the opposite.

This ending revolves around having no dialogue (and thoughts!). Instead, it focuses on imagery, the characters' actions, the setting, and literary devices to create a more immersive, beautiful ending!

II. Anonymous Hero

This one, in all honesty, this ending type applies to a more specific type of stories.

So basically, this is the situation in which your protagonist achieves their goal, normally a pretty impactful and important one at that, but no one actually knows it's them who accomplished this, resulting in their life returning to--more or less-normal than--their old one.

III. Proverbs, Quotes, Questions

We all know that we can begin a story with any of these options mentioned above (and more), but that doesn't mean we can't end them the same way! Granted, I do prefer the former, but there's undeniable charm in ending your work this way!

By making your last sentence(s) a quote, proverb, question, or even a poem (I like the idea of ending it in a couplet), it reemphasizes the theme of the story while providing resonant, beautiful final words.

CONCLUSION

If you made it all the way here (or skipped here), thank you for reaching the end! Remember that you can shape endings however you want! You don't have to pick only one of these and stick with it--combine them! Actually, I think several of these resolutions overlap each other.

If you have sent me a question/request, I PROMSE I haven't forgot! I'm getting to it (albeit very slowly), so I thank you for your patience; your support means everything to me!

Comment any other endings you can think of! I'd love to see what you guys come up with!

Happy writing~

3hks <3

[mydearestbeloved]

#?.5 [Chapter Concept]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

Placeholder Title: "The You I Love"

Content Warnings: Yandere, might be OOC, and severely UNEDITED

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT to my "Trial Player"-AU

*This is a rough summary of multiple drafts, definitely future subject to change whenever Trial Player AU will get to this point. Since this is still just a draft, this is not as detailed as the finished product would've been, especially in relevance to the main story. This is supposed to be Trial Player AU's Side-stories/Sequel Materials, some things to come after the main story. Thus, many major information are also omitted in this draft to avoid spoilers.

Thank you, @julietunknown, for sending your ask that motivated me to share this. 💕

Take this with a grain of salt, or like a free sample of a future dish—as a friend of mine put it. 😉

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

——oOo——

Draft 1.2_PART I: You and ‘Him’

The first thing you noticed was the way he looked at you when he woke up.

Your husband—or at least, the man who share the same looks—gazed at you with a strange, distant sort of curiosity. Your husband wasn’t one for subtlety when it came to his affection; this detached look didn’t fit.

It was in the way his gaze lingered on details he should have already memorized—the lines of your face, the small band on your finger, the photographs on the wall of the children and you together. It wasn’t his usual silent reverence. This time, it was as if he was seeing them all for the first time.

But you kept quiet, watching him. Hours passed. He tried to keep his responses vague, carefully navigating every word like he didn’t quite know his own story here.

Finally, that evening, after putting the children to bed, you cornered him. "You’re not… my Jinwoo, are you?"

He froze. His expression gave him away—confusion, then surprise, and then a flicker of guardedness. Slowly, he shook his head. “You’re… perceptive.” He paused, lowering his gaze, almost apologetically.

“What gave it away?”

“Oh,” you replied, almost chuckling, “I have my ways.” You leaned against the doorframe, watching his guarded movements, noting how he braced himself for battle despite standing in a place that should have felt like home. “Let’s just say… I know my husband.”

The guarded look in his eyes faltered for just a moment before returning, his expression unreadable.

“I… am Sung Jinwoo. But maybe… not your Sung Jinwoo.”

It was a confirmation you had braced yourself for, and yet it still brought a pang to your chest. You knew this was not your Jinwoo, and, if you had to guess, this was likely the Sung Jinwoo. The original one, from the story you’d read back in your world, the Jinwoo who knew nothing of you or this life.

“I’m guessing,” you said after a pause, “that you’re looking for a way back.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together as he seemed to weigh his options. Finally, he nodded, his shoulders relaxing just enough to suggest a sliver of trust.

Despite his efforts to remain aloof, you could sense a hint of unease beneath his calm exterior. In this moment, he reminded you of the man he was in the original story—the man burdened by impossible decisions, the lone soldier on a battlefield against insurmountable odds. It stirred something in you, something you had buried away for the Jinwoo you had fallen in love with, but that now resurfaced for this alternate version.

You exhaled, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach. “Alright,” you said after a beat. “Here’s the deal. You can stay until we figure this out. Of course, we’re sleeping separately.”

“But… please, don’t tell the kids.”

His brow arched, clearly surprised by your offer. “You’re letting a stranger stay?”

“Stranger?” You let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, you’re not a stranger. Not really.”

“If there’s anything I’ve learned in my life, it’s that normal doesn’t apply when it comes to us you.”

You gave him a small smile. “You’ll adjust. Until we fix this, you’re welcome here.”

His silence lingered longer than you expected. You caught the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he watched you, but you didn’t offer any further explanation.

——oOo——

It took days for the tension to ease, though Jinwoo—the original Jinwoo, as you’d begun to think of him—kept his distance. He explored the house cautiously, explored the world that mirrored his own but held their differences.

One difference was the children.

Your firstborn—a boy with his father’s hair and eye color—was an exact replica of his own son, thus clearly showing Hae-in’s features as well. The resemblance was uncanny, and Jinwoo almost thought that you were not this Suho’s biological mother, that was until he met the Cha Hae-in of this world.

He felt guilty, but you laughed it off, and Jinwoo found himself silently wondering if it was, in some strange cosmic way, certain things were just meant to be.

Hae-in visited more than once; she seemed closer to you than she was to him. Not that she didn’t treat him well, in fact, she treated him with an unfamiliar mix of rivalry and the closest of friends. And she was more… energetic than he remembered.

“You didn’t give (Name) a hard time while I was away, right?” She unceremoniously jabbed him on the side, grinning.

“Guess who’s back? ~”

“Auntie!”

“How’s my favorite nephew? Oh, don’t think I forgot my favorite niece as well!”

“Auntie, we’re your only niece and nephew!”

Then there was your second child—a daughter who looked exactly like him.

The first time she approached him; it was with the kind of confidence only a child could muster. She tugged at his sleeve, her small hand clutching the fabric tightly. “You’re not Papa, are you?”

Jinwoo froze, his mind racing as he tried to formulate a response.

But the girl simply smiled, her expression full of innocence. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice soft and sleepy. “Mama said Papa is special. You’re just... different special.”

Before he could respond, she climbed onto the couch beside him, curling up against his side like a cat, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Will you tell me a story?” she asked, her voice soft and hopeful.

Jinwoo hesitated. He didn’t know what kind of stories your Jinwoo told her, but the earnest look in her eyes made it impossible to refuse. And before he realized it, he was recounting tales from his own life, stories of battles fought and won, of courage and sacrifice.

She listened intently, her head resting against his arm, her small hand gripping his sleeve as if anchoring herself to him.

“Goodnight, not-Papa,” she murmured as sleep claimed her, her breath even and calm.

Jinwoo stared at her for a long moment.

——oOo——

One evening, as you prepared dinner, you caught him lingering near the kitchen door, watching you in silence. His eyes softened for just a moment before he realized you’d noticed, his expression quickly reverting to one of guarded indifference.

“Care to join us?” you offered, gesturing to the table where your children sat, eagerly waiting for their meal.

Jinwoo looked away, trying to muster a polite refusal, “I—thank you, but I shouldn’t.”

You looked at him, a gentle smile on your lips. “You know… you don’t have to be a stranger.”

And that’s how Jinwoo found himself reluctantly seated at your dinner table, your children talking to him as though he’d always been there. He knew, deep down, that he was a mere placeholder, a temporary stand-in for your real husband, but somehow, the warmth of this little family, the glances you gave him that were so full of kindness and understanding, chipped away at his defenses.

The meal was simple but hearty, the kind of food that spoke of a life filled with love and effort.

——oOo——

One afternoon, as the day waned into soft evening light, you proposed something he didn’t expect.

“Jinwoo,” you said, stretching out your hand with a slight smirk, “Fight me.”

He looked at you with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “Fight you?”

“You heard me.” Flexing your hands as you stretched.

He was silent for a moment, before an amused smirk broke his usually serious expression. He couldn’t resist the spark of curiosity, taking off his jacket and rolling his shoulders. “You think you can keep up?”

“Oh,” you laughed, “I think you’ll be in for a surprise.”

Jinwoo expected to have to hold back, but instead, he found himself pushed to his limits. The last time—yeah, it was with Antares, but that was a live or die battle. This, however, was… exhilarating in a different way.

Your strength and speed almost a match for his own, but your endurance was the most superb. You were remarkably resilient, you were pushing him, truly challenging him. Each clash of your fists, each dodge, every calculated strike—it was like he’d found his equal, a rival who understood him on a level no one else did. In the end, his dagger was a hair’s breadth away from grazing your throat while the glowing tip of your scepter was aimed to the back of his neck should you will it to shot in a moment’s breath.

“Well,” you both were breathing hard. “Do you feel better?”

What?

As the days rolled on, he moved a bit more comfortably, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. But there was still a storm in his mind, and he spent his days pouring over books and papers, searching for a way to return home.

He was… restless

Don’t tell me she—

“Good,” Your grinned bright. “You needed that.”

——oOo——

“How… do you know me so well?”

That night, as you helped accelerate his healing factor (which too him by surprised too) on the faint bruises from your fight, he finally asked you what had been on his mind since his arrival.

“Who are you, really?”

There was a hesitation, the flicker of an emotion in your eyes. But then you nodded, as if deciding it was time to tell him the truth.

“I suppose you deserve to know,” you began, your voice quiet but steady. “I wasn’t originally from this world. I was just an ordinary person who read about you, who watched your story unfold like a tale in a book. You… your world, it was fiction to me. But one day, I found myself here, thrown into your life as the ‘Trial Player.’”

His eyes widened slightly, an edge of disbelief in his gaze, but he said nothing, listening intently.

You explained the special circumstances of your existence, from the start to the end—everything.

{Many information here have been cut off to avoid spoiling the main story. My apologies, dear Readers, you’ll just have to wait and see.}

You gave a rueful smile. “Funny how life turns out, isn’t it?”

“I came to know him, to trust him, and to… fall in love with him.” You finished; your gaze softened with memories of the man you loved.

“I choose him.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you as he processed the enormity of what you’d just revealed. He didn’t know what to make of it, of you—this woman who seemed to know every part of him yet belonged to another life.

The only her there is, huh?

“You asked me why I treat you like this? Even though you’re not him?”

“It’s simple really, almost silly.”

“I have always loved you… as the hero I first met on the pages. That’s a fact that won’t change, for any version of you.”

A forbidden thought crossed his mind as he watched you in the firelight later that evening, tucking the children into bed with a gentle smile and warmth that seeped through the home.

“But my heart belongs to the one I came to know here.”

What would it have been like to have you by his side instead?

He pushed those thoughts aside, he had his own life, his own family to return to.

——oOo——

Draft 1.2_PART II: What Was Supposed to Be

When Jinwoo opened his eyes, he immediately sensed something was off. The air felt different—thinner, quieter, lacking the subtle warmth that had always reminded him of you. And then he looked over, expecting to see the familiar curve of your form beside him, only to freeze as his gaze landed on another woman lying there, her face serene in sleep.

Cha Hae-In.

Jinwoo sat up abruptly, his heart pounding as he tried to process the sight. This can’t be right. He closed his eyes and opened them again, half-expecting to wake up beside you, his wife, his partner… but there she was, Cha Hae-In, lying next to him, the soft morning light casting a gentle glow over her familiar face.

In a controlled but shaky breath, he forced himself to get up, slipping out of bed to avoid waking her. Every step felt surreal as he moved through the house, his mind whirling with questions. A few framed photos on the wall caught his attention, and he stopped in front of them, his blood running cold as he scanned the pictures. There was him, standing beside Cha Hae-In, and… a small child, his hair dark, his eyes bright with a familiarity that twisted the dagger deeper.

His son, Suho.

But where was Aera?

Where were you?

——oOo——

Days passed in an agonizing blur. Jinwoo tried to act like the original version of himself, the one who had married Cha Hae-In, but it was like walking through a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. Every time he saw her, every time Suho’s voice called him “Dad,” it felt like an echo from a story he’d once known. His heart pounded with a raw, aching desperation as he searched for you—your face, your touch, any sign that you’d ever existed here. But no matter where he looked, there was only emptiness, the quiet certainty you were nowhere to be found.

The realization tore at him, dragging him back to a memory he’d thought he’d buried. He remembered the day he had finally uncovered the truth about your origins, learned the truth of your existence as the ‘Trial player’—the day he learned that you were an anomaly—

{The following information have been redacted to avoid spoilers.}

—The knowledge that if you chose to, you could leave him, vanish from his life, and he would be helpless to stop it. He remembered the days that followed, how he had nearly unraveled, feeling as powerless as he had in his weakest days, before the power, before the trials. He had to live with the knowledge that at any moment, you could decide to walk away, to return to wherever you had come from. But you had stayed, chosen him, anchored yourself in his world. And he had never taken it for granted since.

But this—this was worse. In this world, you didn’t exist. You had never been his to begin with.

Every day, that fear twisted deeper into his soul, pulling him into a dark, spiraling despair. Searching for answers that didn’t exist, he would return to Cha Hae-In’s side each night, his body going through the motions, but his heart felt like it was being strangled.

One night, as he lay in bed, the panic finally overtook him.

I have to get back to her. The thought repeated in his mind like a mantra. “Where… where is she?” he whispered, choking on the words, a sob escaping his lips as he buried his face in his hands. He could barely breathe, the space around him closing in as his heart thudded in his chest, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. He was shaking, his fists clenching as the reality sank in further. Where is my wife?

[ERROR: Your wife < Cha Hae-in > is right beside you.]

(Name). He repeated. (Name). (Name).(Name)(Name—

[ERROR: No matches found for < (Name) >. Do you want to look for something else?]

No. No. He clutched his head, the world blurring around him as he felt himself unraveling. The life he’d known, the home you’d built together, your children, your touch—all of it felt like it was slipping away, becoming some half-forgotten dream.

——oOo——

Jinwoo awoke with a sharp gasp, drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as he clutched the sheets. For a moment, he was still caught between the nightmare and reality, his mind reeling, his heart still gripped in panic. But then he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder, the warmth of a touch that soothed him like nothing else could.

“Jinwoo…?” Your voice was soft, concerned, as you looked down at him, a frown creasing your brow. “Are you okay? You’re burning up.”

For a moment, he couldn’t speak, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he took you in, alive and real, right here. He could barely register anything beyond the sheer relief of having you beside him, the way your hand gently cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin.

“I… I thought you were…” His voice broke, and you hushed him gently, pulling him into your arms as he clung to you like a lifeline, burying his face in your shoulder as his body shook with silent sobs.

“I’m here,” you whispered, your voice a balm against the ache in his heart. “I’m right here, Jinwoo.”

Above him, a faint message flashed in the corner of his vision:

{Error resolved; welcome back ‘Trial Player’s Sung Jinwoo, we apologize for the delay.}

But Jinwoo barely registered it, couldn’t care, because the only thing that mattered was the feeling of you, solid and warm in his arms.

——oOo——

Jinwoo had always been possessive of you, but this nightmare—this terrifying glimpse into a world where you didn’t exist—had perhaps, pushed him to the edge even further.

Over the next few days, Jinwoo’s attentiveness to you took on an edge, his glances lingering a little too long, his touch a little too possessive, as if he couldn’t bear to let you out of his sight. You’d catch him watching you with an intensity that made you shiver, his eyes dark, haunted, yet filled with a fierce protectiveness that bordered on obsession.

As for you, you kept silent about the other Jinwoo—the original Sung Jinwoo who had stayed in your home, the man you had come to befriend in the short while he had been here. Your Jinwoo didn’t need to know now. You weren’t sure how he’d react, and truthfully, it felt like a wound you had no desire to reopen. You wanted to hold on to the peace you’d found with him, to continue loving your Jinwoo, even if his grip on you felt a little tighter than before.

Once, you had looked at him through the detached lens of an observer. Back then, you had loved him, but it was the way a reader loves a character, a hero that existed in a world apart from yours. He was someone who deserved happiness, someone who, in your mind, belonged with Cha Hae-In. She was the light he’d found after a life of shadows, a gentle presence to soothe his broken heart.

For a long time, you’d believed he’d be happier with her, the one he was destined to be with. You’d accepted the idea that if he ever chose her, if he ever drifted away from you, you would step aside willingly, content with the knowledge that he was happy. You had even been prepared to disappear if it meant he would have the ending he deserved.

But that was then. Over time, the lines between fiction and reality had blurred, and you’d come to love him as a person, not just as the character who’d once graced the pages of a story. You had chosen him, and he had chosen you—your futures intertwined in ways you’d never imagined possible. Now, there was no turning back, no “right” ending for him that didn’t include you by his side.

And you knew, in your heart, that if he ever fell—if the world ever turned against him—you would fall with him.

——oOo——

One evening, as you were preparing dinner, Jinwoo entered the kitchen, his gaze tracking you with that same instantly. You smiled, stirring the pot as he came up behind you, slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you close.

“Jinwoo,” you murmured, laughing softly as he rested his head against your shoulder, his hair ticking your neck.

“Don’t… don’t ever leave me,” he whispered again, and there was a rawness in his voice that made your chest tighten.

You turned in his arms, looking up at him, your eyes meeting his as you reached up to brush your fingers along his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere,” you reassured him, your voice soft and steady. “You’re stuck with me, remember?”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though his eyes still held that desperate edge. “I mean it,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t—won’t—lose you.”

You leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “You won’t,” you promised.

Somewhere, the original Sung Jinwoo had found his light in Cha Hae-In, a gentle love to soothe his heart. But you… you were something different, a reflection of the man beside you, as fierce and unstable as the shadows that bound him. You weren’t a light that would pull him back from the darkness.

No, you were the one who would fall with him, hand in hand, if that was what it took. And as Jinwoo held you, his love for you all-consuming as yours was to him, you knew that you would never walk away from him—not now, not ever.

——oOo——

Draft ???_PART III: You and ‘Me’

“Just once… one more. A single chance, to meet you again.” –OG(?)!Jinwoo

——oOo——

Draft ???_PART IV: A Farewell Without Goodbye

“Do you really think… I can find that same peace, that same happiness, without… you?”

“You already have it. You had it long before I ever appeared. Don’t throw it all away. Please.”

“You… you want this…do you really want me to—”

“Yes.” It’s what you need.

Live a life untouched by my existence, free of this… obsession. I don’t want you to end up like my Jinwoo, someone who would break if I ever left.

Let this be the end of it.

“…Then do it. Take the memories (of you) away. Before I change my mind.” –OG!Jinwoo

Thank you… for everything.

“Welcome back,” Jinwoo’s voice greeted you, his eyes lighting up as he crossed the room to pull you into his arms. The weight of his embrace, the steadiness of his presence—it was everything you needed, everything you had fought to preserve.

“Did everything go okay?” he peppered your face with sweet little kisses, making you giggle.

You offered a gentle smile, nodding as you leaned into him, letting he soothe all of you. “Yeah,” you murmured, your voice steady.

As long as you’re here, with me.

End Note:

It's bittersweet, I know. 🥹

When I said I'm not going to throw Cha Hae-in under the bus, I mean it, I'm really going to try not throwing her under the bus. I hope I'll do that well enough at least, considering what role I planned for her in Trial Player AU. 🫣

This is already a 3k+ worth of words. Damn.

Apparently, it's my definition of a summary, or rather, how bad I am at making one 'cause I put too much importance on details. It's both a blessing and a curse. 🥲

This is a 'summary' of drafts already planned long ago, like, the very same moment I decided on Trial Player AU's canon ending and the fact that Trial Player would be written as an AU. So, yeah, that's why this 'summary of drafts' is already like (and perhaps feel developed as) the usual main story's chapters when it is in fact isn't (yet).

This summarized version is obviously shorter than the original drafts (and far shorter than the finished product I planned for in the future), with these many things omitted:

Deeper emotional aspects;

Many instances of relevance from what we know now of the main story and its other spoilers, for example: The shadows and butterflies part in the scenario, small mentions like the light and shadow marks and how they worked in actuality, and so many others;

Many major spoilers, like the truth behind 'Trial Player';

PART III and PART IV (End of scenario) are actually fully-fledged (FULL scenes) in my original drafts. Here, they are just direct cut-offs from the original (like, they are actual dialogues from the scenes planned)—cut-offs that I think able enough already to summarize the main plot of those scenes respectively.

I think that's all I can say for now.

Oh yeah, "Aera" is the placeholder name for TP!Suho's younger sister as of now. 💕

Happy reading! ❤️

[esamastation]

I have become completely preoccupied with the idea of Obi-Wan Kenobi as a Cultivator. Here's my thinking process trying to come up with a Story Idea to go with it.

The problem with trying to turn Obi-Wan into a cultivator is that cultivation is by its very nature a somewhat self centered practice aimed inwards and Obi-Wan is a self sacrificial hero type and I don't know if it's natural for him to turn his efforts inwards and into Self betterment in a way that's demanded in order to achieve Cultivation.

Possible reasons as to why Obi-Wan Kenobi might use Cultivation:

1. He developed it by accident in his Tatooine Exile while trying to become a Force Ghost.

Problems with this:

1.1 Obi-Wan is attuned to the Unifying Force, so, visions, connections, future, far reaching plans and plots. Cultivation, I imagine, is more Living Force adjacent. Which means…

1.2 If Obi-Wan can accidentally manage to develop cultivation while trying Qui-Gon's methods, then Qui-Gon would've developed it intentionally. Which could lead to interesting alternative path, as in...

2. Someone teaches Obi-Wan cultivation.

2.1 Qui-Gon developed it, and teaches it to Obi-Wan. Interesting, very AU, could be the reason why, as per Jedi Apprentice, Qui-gon didn't want to teach Obi-Wan - if he had to take a padawan, one leaning more towards Living Force would've been better. Could make interesting, but very AU, story.

2.2 Agricorps as whole do Cultivation or near-as, and becoming an AgriCorps member pushes Obi-Wan to go for it? Hmm

2.3 Shen Qingqiu teaches Cultivation to Obi-Wan.

Why?

2.3.1 I think Obi-Wan deserves a loving kind Shizun.

How?

2.3.2 Shen Qingqiu somehow ended up in SW verse accidentally and figures that if Luo Binghe is going to make an appearance, he's going to be reborn as Anakin Skywalker, so sqq might as well position himself in place where he's ready to snatch his future husband away.

2.3.3 I could do a AU sequel of Cultivating Force where in his Tatooine exile Obi-Wan takes what he learned from sqq and just goes for it-

2.3.4 Or alternatively, after Cultivating Force sqq decides he wants to teach Obi-Wan for real because Obi-Wan would be an awesome student, and so lbh and sqq kidnap possibly agri-corps version of Obi-Wan for sqq to teach? Or just approach him. One or the other. Hmm.

3. It becomes Necessary for Obi-Wan to learn Cultivation for reasons. Possible reasons:

3.1 He needs it to save someone (Anakin)

3.2 He needs it to change future (stop Palpatine)

3.3 He needs to become stronger (stop Palpatine and save Anakin)

4. He's for some reason being forced/blackmailed to learn it?

Trickier. Few are the people who would force someone to grow stronger, outside... iffy, human cauldron reasons, which we shall ignore.

4.1 Dooku maybe? He discovered a power greater than the Dark Side of the Force, but darksiders can't use it, you need to be of the light (or neutral) side of the Force, or else you'll end up dead via Qi-deviation. So he kidnaps Obi-Wan to force him to test it out for him?

4.2 … yeah can't really think of anyone else who might do it. Except maybe

4.3 Vader??? For reasons of time travel? Or maybe in order to save Padme, if this is before Padme's death? Damn that would be a wild story.

...

In conclusion, there is an interesting idea here, but it always veers away from the One Simple Thing I want to write, which is: Cultivator Obi-Wan Kenobi.

So, ways for Obi-Wan Kenobi to be a Cultivator:

1 He's from an alternate reality where instead of Jedi, the Temple is a sect of Cultivators.

2 A Cultivator (like Shen Qingqiu) Transmigrated into Obi-Wan and brought their abilities with them

3 Stewjoni are Cultivators and Obi-Wan was never taken to the Jedi Temple.

4 Secret fourth thing I can't think of right now. Idk

---

So, in summary, this idea is Difficult, I have used up all my Brain Power in making a Numbered List instead of writing, Tumblr sucks when trying to copy paste said Numbered List... and I still don't have a coherent Story Idea.

[daistea]

Thank you for the food the fic was so nice! Your latest Mithrun fic made me think of the scenario more. Imagine Kabru, someone aware of elven culture, heard of us doing this the first time we did it from a friend who overheard it. He tries to find us to worn and educate just to find out it was too late and defeatedly explain to the other elves that tallman don't have that culture just to clear us. Aftermath of it is so hilarious. Also an alternative scenario for this setting I can think of is a random elf accepting our offer, or just someone who doesn't know about Mithrun feelings towards us, like Flamela and just exploit us and Mithrun later learning about it.

I love this prompt so much, thank u

2500 words!

tw mild nsfw implications

Mithrun x Tall-man reader

sequel to this

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Kabru scoffed at the notion that secrets and rumors were like feathers on the wind, uncatchable. He was great at catching feathers. He used them to stuff his pillow which he slept so soundly on at night. Rumors were wild dogs, but he had a leash and collar. He’d tamed beasts with bigger teeth. 

(That was, of course, a metaphor, as Kabru could not literally handle things with big teeth, as exemplified from his time in the dungeon.)

A particular sort of secret reached his ears in the empty hallway of the castle. It was the kind of secret that raised hairs and inspired mortification, which were the best kind. Usually. 

“Yeah, they asked to touch my ears,” Pattadol’s muffled voice was strained, tinged with embarrassment that Kabru could detect even through the door. 

“Mine too,” Flamela drawled. A pause followed her words, then she continued, “Pervert.”

The two elves then moved onto a different subject consisting of Pattadol’s worries for diplomacy and Flamela’s dismissals of such worries. Kabru listened for a moment more before silently moving away. He stalked down the hallway with dark clouds rolling in within his mind. 

You had asked Pattadol and Flamela if you could touch their ears. 

Kabru put his hand to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. He leaned against the wall, beneath a portrait of some old ruler from thousands of years ago. There was still so much dust in the castle, but the thickness in his chest wasn’t from allergies. You were his friend, and so innocent, so curious. You couldn’t have known the implications of touching an elf’s ear. 

He had to speak to you immediately. 

--

“Yeah, I figured that out.” 

Kabru forced a smile and tilted his head. He was aware of how wide his eyes were, how he probably wasn’t doing a good job at hiding his shock and horror. He couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment as he watched you casually take a sip of your tea. 

“You figured it out?” He asked. Kabru wasn’t sure whether to be mortified or proud. 

“Oh yeah,” you slowly nodded as a triumphant smile rolled across your lips. When you opened your eyes to return his gaze, there was a spark within them that did not bode well. “I figured a lot of things out, actually.”

He took a moment to study your expression. The half-lidded quality of your eyes, the slight pink upon your cheek, the tilt of your chin; realization hit him like one of Marcille’s explosion spells. 

“You got laid.”

You nodded proudly, “I got laid.”

“...Mithrun?”

“Yeah,” there was triumph in your voice.

Kabru tried his best to control his irritation. You were so casual about it, he could’ve throttled you. How unromantic, asking the man who was entirely too smitten with you: ‘can I touch one of the most sensitive parts of your body?’ And the audacity, the horror, of that actually working. 

It was personally offensive to Kabru. He’d spent years building up his talent for wordplay and charm. Then, here you are, harassing poor elves. And what are the consequences of your curiosity and ignorance? Hot sex and a beautiful elf boyfriend. 

Unfair. 

There were other consequences, though. The thought of Flamela referring to you as a pervert was enough to cool the boiling in his blood. 

“Okay, I’m going to help you,” he sent you a smile.

“I don’t think we need help,” you grimaced, “we both know what to do. But thanks.”

“I– I don’t mean with Mithrun. I mean in general. I’ll help you recover your reputation with the elves of Melini.”

You tilted your head, “My reputation? What do you mean?”

“Well, I heard Flamela call you a pervert earlier.”

“Oh,” taken aback, you sat up straight in your chair, hands tightening around your mug, “Honestly, I forgot I even asked Flamela.”

The feeling in Kabru’s chest could only be described as the slow decay of his soul. “Well, she remembers quite well.”

Another grimace, “Oops. It’s no big deal, though, I’m sure they all understand that I just didn’t know the implications of it.”

Your optimism was so cute. 

“I’ll take care of it,” he took your hand and smiled, “don’t you worry.”

--

Kabru was used to elves. He’d grown up in the Northern Central Continent where elves were the dominant percentage of the population. Even in Utaya, elven culture strongly influenced daily life, architecture, and manners. His own adoptive mother was an elf. 

Still, his experience did not negate the particular brand of nervousness that came from having nearly ten elves staring at him. 

There was the first squad of the Canaries, Flamela– who was only visiting for the week– Fionil, and Marcille. All of them were absurdly pretty, confused, and pinning him to the wall with their unsettling stares. Flamela and Mithrun, at least, had the decency to look irritated at the interruption to their day. 

Kabru forced his lead tongue to work, “Alright. You’re all probably wondering why I’ve called this meeting. First of all, let’s start with this: Raise your hand if you’ve been personally victimized by [name]’s curiosity concerning your ears.”

Everybody besides Fionil and Marcille raised their hands. 

“Okay,” Kabru sent the two half elves a reassuring smile, “you two are free to go. Thanks for coming.”

“Are my ears not good enough?” Marcille muttered as she and Fionil left the empty noodle shop. 

Mithrun had very generously given Kabru permission to hold the meeting in his noodle shop before the dinner rush. It was of humble size, but clean and quiet with the smooth scent of broth clinging to the walls and chairs. Kabru had a feeling that Mithrun only lent him the space out of curiosity after he’d mentioned that the meeting had to do with you, his partner. 

Silent anticipation settled over the small group. Most of them were taut, seconds away from leaving if he said the wrong thing.

Kabru cleared his throat, “Alright. So, I just want to settle something. [Name] is not a pervert.”

There were those eyes again. They were like six lances ripping through his skin and affixing him to the wall. 

“What?” Otta asked. 

“They’re not a pervert,” he repeated as he raised his hands, “they’re just really curious and didn’t know any better. So, please, don’t judge them too harshly.”

Another beat of silence followed the plea. His gaze shifted to Mithrun, who was watching him carefully with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs stretched out in front of him. As their eyes met, Mithrun simply held the gaze, his face as blank as fresh parchment. 

Kabru set aside the building urge to dissect Mithrun’s brain and instead focused on the rest of the group. “They really didn’t know any better,” he continued despite the rising murmurs among the group, “please forgive them. Tall-man culture is a lot different from yours.”

That seemed to please the elves. Collective negativity was always far more satisfying, he knew.

“Savages,” Cithis huffed.

“Idiots,” Flamela agreed.

Otta had the decency to argue, “They’re just innocent and ignorant. And it’s not like elven society openly discusses those kinds of things.���

True. Elven culture was confusing. Wearing revealing clothes and showing a lot of skin was normal for them, nothing to give a second glance to, though the subject of sex and arousal was deemed inappropriate. One was expected to maintain their dignity, wear a mask depicting perfection, and bring honor to their family. The nobility were commonly quite repressed, though commoners had a tendency to loosen their tongues among friends. Still, sexual education was not taught well, or often, despite their dwindling population. It seemed a bit counterproductive to Kabru, but he understood their reasoning and how centuries of superiority complexes brought them to that point. 

“Did nobody actually tell them what it meant?” Pattadol asked. 

Lycion sent her a raised brow, “Did you?”

“Well, no, but…”

“I did,” Mithrun interrupted. Every eye went to him, though he kept his gaze straight ahead and his arms crossed. He let a moment of silence pass before he continued, “They won’t be asking to touch anybody’s ears again.”

Flamela made a face, “So, did they touch your ears?”

“Yeah.”

He said it so casually, unbothered by the surprise and amusement of the other Canaries. Fleki leaned forward to clap a hand on his shoulder, which earned a little frown from him. 

“Did you get laid, Captain?” Fleki asked, her grin toothy and stinking of mischief. 

“Yeah.”

“I don’t need to know that!” Pattadol screeched, “You don’t have to answer every question honestly, you know! You’re allowed to keep secrets!”

“I know,” Mithrun shrugged.

He just didn’t want to keep that particular secret, Kabru knew. Mithrun would much rather that everybody recognize his stake, his claim, his flag buried at the top of the mountain he’d just climbed. It was easier that way. 

Flamela, though, was Flamela. 

She stood up, her fists clenched. “I’ve got things to do. I can’t waste time with you guys anymore.”

The first squad ignored her departure and instead started asking Mithrun a myriad of invasive questions, much to Pattadol’s distress. Yet, Kabru kept his gaze on Flamela. There was a spark in her eyes, one he recognized. It betrayed her intentions. As one of Mithrun’s closest friends and certified nosy-guy, he couldn’t help but subtly follow her out and into the street. 

“Excuse me,” he said once the door shut behind him. A few feet away, Flamela stopped mid-step and whirled around with a glare. 

“What?” She hissed.

“You’re going to do something you’ll regret, aren’t you?” Kabru sent her a look he hoped she’d recognize as concern. It was definitely concern, because anybody that planned to mess with you deserved that. 

“I won’t regret it,” Flamela rolled her eyes, “I just… don’t understand why [name] would want to touch the Captain’s ears and not mine. Mine are longer and softer.”

“Are you really offended over this? Didn’t you tell them no already?”

“I’ve changed my mind!” She snapped. 

“Are you just trying to get back at Mithrun for charging you full price for a bowl of noodles?”

She froze. Her mouth was open, shaped in a scowl. Her shoulders rose like the hackles of a cat. Despite the flicker of satisfaction that Kabru felt at having hit the mark, the hair on his arms stood to attention. He was seconds away from being tackled. 

Fortunately, he side-stepped right as Flamela attacked. 

Now on all fours on the dirt street, Flamela glared at him over her shoulder, “He should’ve given me a discount!”

“He isn’t obliged to.”

“He is!” She stood up and dusted off her uniform, “[Name] should want to feel my ears, they’re better.”

Kabru put his hands on his hips, “You’re just being competitive.”

“Shut up,” she hissed before brushing past him and stomping down the street.

Kabru glanced to the left just in time to see a glimpse of dark eyes staring out through a crack in the blinds. Judging by their black color and uneven manner, it was obviously Mithrun peeking at his conversation with Flamela. He made eye contact with the captain for a second before Mithrun narrowed his gaze dangerously and let go of the blinds. They snapped back into place, but Kabru couldn’t quite return to his natural state like that, not with the black-eyed storm brewing. 

--

Flamela found you on the street. It wasn’t the best place for ear-rubbing, but her mind was on one track and she ardently refused to veer. 

“I’ve reconsidered,” she said. There was no greeting or smile or easing in of the conversation. 

You stopped mid-step and stared at her. “...Reconsidered what?”

“About you touching my ears.”

Did you ask to touch her ears? The memory wasn’t popping up for you. Yet, now that you knew what that actually meant to elves, you felt appropriately horrified by the statement. You were on a crowded street. If any passersby had a clue as to what Flamela said, they showed no indication. The elf population in Melini was small. The implications of ear touching most likely flew over their heads as it once did for you. 

You managed a smile that you hoped was polite, that you hoped didn’t betray your embarrassment. “That’s okay, thanks.”

Flamela narrowed her eyes, “Why not? My ears are softer and longer than Mithrun’s. If you’re going to touch an elf’s ears, I would think you’d want the full experience.”

“I, uh, I got a pretty full experience with Mithrun. But thanks,” you offered another smile. Something about the way Flamela frowned hinted at deeper motives. You just had to ask, “Is this because Mithrun didn’t give you a discount on a bowl of noodles?”

She scoffed, “No!”

It was definitely about that. 

As you prepared an explanation of your loyalties to Mithrun and his decision to not give her a discount, a flicker of mana filled the air, pricking at your skin. You knew that particular brand of magic. Your heart dropped into your stomach as the spot behind Flamela shifted like the surface of disturbed water. Half a second later, Mithrun appeared. 

You felt yourself tense. Flamela was on a rant about discounts. Mithrun’s gaze was calm, too calm, dangerously calm. The only sign of his anger was the feral look in his good eye. In the past, Mithrun wouldn’t have cared about Flamela offering her ears to random tall-men. He would have resisted any urges to teleport her into walls simply because it would get him kicked out of the Canaries. But the demon was gone, his purposes for living were different. You were one of those purposes, one of those desires, and he was so one track minded that he would do anything to hang onto that. 

He raised a hand. Flamela tensed as if sensing the danger. Nearby, Kabru pushed through the crowd, panicked. 

“No!” You lunged at your partner before he could teleport the Vice-Captain to a place where she’d never get noodles again, let alone discounted ones. 

Your body weight crashed onto him. His eye widened and Kabru gasped. Like a felled tree, you and Mithrun both fell to the ground. Flamela said something you didn’t quite comprehend, but it didn’t matter at the moment. 

You laid on Mithrun. He laid on the ground. He put one hand on your back and chose to stare at the blue sky above rather than fight your will. The passersby sent the scene curious glances but wisely stayed away, giving you and Mithrun a wide berth.

A shadow cast over your bodies and you looked up to see Flamela blocking the sun. She only glared, hands on her hips. 

“I want a discount,” she said.

You felt Mithrun grunt beneath you. Another beat of silence passed before he answered, “Fine. Just stay away from [name].”

“Deal.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[whisperingmidnights]

Chasing Starlight: Chapter Twenty-Two

Pairing: Poly!Feysand x reader

Notes: There will be a separate, two-part sequel to this chapter (as well as a bonus scene) I will be posting in the future. For now, I hope you enjoy the chapter it took me entirely too long to end. If you were following along with the original draft, this would be chapter twenty-six. I probably won't add that note to future parts, but it's been a while since we've had an update, and I don't want anyone to get confused.

     A bowl of fluffy white frosting sits on the corner of the kitchen counter with a spatula sticking out of it like a child’s shovel in a mound of sand. Nyx wriggles in my arms, reaching for his aunt as Elain carefully stacks the layers of vanilla cake. I coo at him despite the ache it causes, rocking a little to keep him occupied as the contents of my mug cool in front of me. He grows bigger with each passing month, I can hardly believe he’ll be walking soon. Late autumn rains have given way to snow this week, bringing the first kiss of winter to us a full month before the solstice.

     Time slips through my fingers like so much sand.

     I feel every grain.

     My sweater is normally thick enough to ward away the frosty chill permeating the windows, but not today. Goosebumps wander over my skin at will as heat curls in my joints, a warning that I’ll need to drink the medicated tea in my cup soon to keep the worst of the pain at bay. Unfortunately, Nyx has been grabby enough lately that I don’t want to risk drinking it while I hold him. I don’t know if I have it in me to just put him down and let him scream long enough for me to drink it.

     “I can take him,” Elain offers, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel once the final layer is cushioned atop a thick layer of frosting. Her brown eyes soften as she reaches for the babe in my arms and I ease him into her grasp, eager to not have him hanging onto me for a few minutes. Accepting the mating bond seems to have brought on a clingy stage for him I thought would have ended weeks ago, but all he wants is to be held. With Feyre finally comfortable going back to her studio and Rhys easing back into the duties he’s neglected in favor of taking care of me, I’m the one he seems to want to cling to during the day — likely because I smell so much like them. “You look tired, Dove. Do you want to go lie down?”

     “No,” I murmur, raising my mug to my lips. I am tired, more so than I had been even a few weeks ago. We’ve had no news from the various healers working on trying to fight against my curse while Day’s High Lord looks for a way to break it. The Dawn Court healer sent along this tea, a blend of herbs native to their territory that certainly eases the frequent flares of pain and nausea. “No, I’ll be okay. Just give me a little time to drink this and I should be fine.” Fine enough, anyway.

     “It is alright if you aren’t, you know.” Elain bounces her nephew in her arms, kissing his chubby cheeks before her eyes shift to me, trailing over my face like there’s something she’s searching for. “Fine, that is. You don’t have to be brave about it.”

     “What’s the alternative? Weeping over all of the things I cannot change?” I sigh, sipping my slightly bitter, minty tea. The flavor isn’t my favorite, but I suppose I’m not drinking it for the taste. Elain shakes her head, pulling her hair out of Nyx’s chubby fist as I sink onto one of the stools on the other side of the counter. The babe pats her cheek, babbling up at her with wide eyes, and his aunt nods wisely at him before her brown eyes slide to me once more.

     “You’re so like Nesta sometimes,” she says. I tilt my head, considering her words as she continues her conversation with her nephew and I drink my tea. From what I know of the eldest Archeron sister, she’s very isolated up in that sprawling mountain house, training as a warrior and reading the smutty books Feyre occasionally ferries home. For all they have in common, it’s a wonder Feyre and Nesta don’t get along better. All three sisters seem to be finding a way to a more comfortable, loving middle ground now that their unpleasant beginning is so far behind them.

     “Did Feyre mention when they would be home today?”

     “Sometime before dinner. Mrs. Greaves will likely be in to chase us out soon so she can begin preparations. Beef curry with rice and roasted asparagus, I think?”

     “Delicious.” Everything the housekeeper prepares is delicious. “Elain?”

     “Yes?”

     “May I ask how…how you and Lucien are doing?” I don’t know why I’m nervous to ask. Lucien has only been cordial, if not kind, to me every time our paths have crossed. Maybe it’s my own unwillingness to say more than necessary to him that bleeds into the way we interact. But I do…I do want to know. He’s one of the few people I know whose feelings about our home court are likely as complex as my own. It might be nice to have someone who understands.

     “Of course.” Her smile is welcoming as ever, and she sways with her nephew as his little head rests on her shoulder. Nyx gives me a sweet, gummy smile that morphs into a yawn, and I note the red around his twilight blue eyes. Maybe he won’t fight nap time today after all. “We’re doing well. His own duties keep him away, I do rather wish I could accompany him, but…but with Koschei gaining ground on the continent, I’m more useful here.”

     “Is he truly such a threat? Legends say he’s cursed to remain in that crumbling lakeside castle-”

     “His body may be. His magic, however, is free to roam. Those under his spell may leave to do his bidding. And it’s- well, it’s rumored he has Montesere’s princess now.” My eyebrows shoot up at that tidbit of information and the Seer shrugs, rubbing Nyx’s back as he drifts off to sleep with a sigh. Truly, since the night that strange magic spread through Velaris, I haven’t heard much on the machinations of the world beyond these walls. Not that I could possibly be of service in that particular struggle. “I’m going to put him down for a nap. Enjoy your tea.”

     “Elain?”

     “Yes?”

     “How do you stand having your mate so far away?” Rhys and Feyre can be in the same town, and I still feel a little uncomfortable in my skin until they’re home with me.

     “We haven’t fully accepted the bond. I want a ceremony, and I don’t want it to be something rushed out of fear of what may happen. I don’t feel that longing as intensely as- as other mates seem to. Maybe the Cauldron made me wrong.”

     “Maybe not. Maybe you’re the most well-adjusted of us all.”

     She laughs at that, wrinkling her upturned nose, pink rising in her cheeks. Elain shakes her head, gesturing towards my cup before she heads for the stairs, and I test the temperature before downing the rest of it in a few gulps. It burns a little, but the relief that had slowly begun to trickle through my veins floods them, cooling the painful burn. I pay the price for the rush, though. I’m immediately lightheaded, the world going a little fuzzy at the edges. I probably should have just sipped it.

     Leaning forward, I rest my head on the countertop, grateful for the cold seeping into my skin from the stone. Yes, I definitely should have just sipped it. The soft sound of Elain’s footsteps on the wood floor fades. My eyes are so heavy. Maybe I should just close them.

- - -

     I wake to tendrils of late afternoon sun spilling across the sofa I’m curled up on. My head feels as if it’s full of lead. When I finally manage to keep my eyes open, the world around me is fuzzy. A few warm, knit blankets are draped over me, a thicker fur on top of them to ward away any chill. I glance to my right at Rhys behind his desk with Nyx curled in a tight ball on his chest, his little wings lightly fluttering in unison. The hand that’s not cradling the babe holds a stack of papers, likely some report he’s staring blankly at.

     I must have slept for far too long if we’re on to nap number two.

     “Sorry,” I mumble, pushing myself into a seated position. Rhys blinks, seeming to come back to himself as he sets his paper down. The smile he gives me is tender, but I hate the concern lingering in his eyes. I hate that I’m the cause of so much unnecessary stress for both of my mates. They should be able to leave me at home with Nyx without worrying what they might come home to.

     “You have nothing to apologize for, Dove. You needed the rest. I should be apologizing. I left you to-“

     “Don’t, Rhys. Please. You should be able to leave me, I…” I should be more capable. But I don’t say that. Mother’s sake, it’s his birthday, the last thing I need to do is pick a fight. I don’t know if it’s the weakness of the shield around my mind or something leaking down the bond, but he pushes up from the desk and I shift the blankets around so he can settle on the sofa at my side. His arm around my shoulders is a warm, welcome weight, and I lean into his side to bask in it while I can. His head rests against mine, easing the ache in my heart a little as I whisper, “happy birthday.”

     “Thank you, my dove.”

     “Has it been a good one?”

     “It has. When Feyre comes home, it will be perfect.”

     “How long has he been out?” I trail my finger over Nyx’s arm; his hand tucked beneath his chin as he sleeps. He looks so much like his father. What had Rhysand’s father looked like? Does he favor him or his mother? Did his sister look like Nyx when she was born? Heartache anchors in my chest like the deep roots of a weed. They should be here. He should still have them.

     “Not long,” Rhys sighs, holding me tighter. “What are you thinking about that makes you so sad, Dove?”

     “I was wondering about your parents. And your sister. I was thinking it’s unfair that they’re not here. I wish you still had them.”

     “Was there something specific you wanted to know?”

     I shrug, toying with the edge of the cashmere blanket peeking out from beneath the fur. I’m not sure what to ask, or if I even should. Why dredge up such awful memories on his birthday? Instead, I ask, “What did you do today?”

     “I had a few appointments with local vendors. I’ll visit some of the villages to the west tomorrow. The farmer’s guild likely has a list of wishes or demands before next spring they’ve submitted to their territory lords for me to review and approve.”

    “How thrilling.”

     “Oh, yes. Life as High Lord is terribly exciting. Miles and miles of paperwork and budget approvals and fielding grievances. Have you fallen asleep yet?”

     “Go on for another five minutes and I might do just that.”

     “Mother forbid I bore my mate so thoroughly.” I laugh, rearranging myself to rest my head on his chest with my knees towards the back of the sofa. Nyx’s wing occasionally brushes against my temple as he sleeps on, oblivious to the world and its troubles. My mental shield flutters, straining the little magic I have access to before it crumbles. My eyes are so terribly heavy. Rhys slips in, his presence cool and soothing as water on a hot day. He curls around me there, shaped like a beast I can barely comprehend, teeth and talons tucked away for the moment.

     “You’re always trying to protect me,” I grumble through a yawn. I want to tell him I don’t need it, but we’d both know that to be a lie.

     “I always will.” The finality of that statement settles into my bones. Always, always, always. It’s what I agreed to — what we agreed to — when we accepted the mating bond. Always. I don’t know when I’m going to be able to come to terms with the notion that there are two people in this world who made a binding decision to love me for the rest of my days. To protect me. To care for me. It doesn’t feel real, all these weeks later.

     Rhys’s voice floats between my thoughts, waving them away like gnats as the beast curls tighter around my mind. ‘Rest, Dove. It’s not long until dinner.’

     “You’ll wake me?” My words are slurred with exhaustion, a mumbled jumble of sounds that Rhys chuckles at as he smooths a hand over my hair.

     ‘I’ve never allowed you to go hungry before.’

     I want to argue that it’s not the same as waking me for dinner. I want to sit at the table with my mates and their family. I want to watch Nyx stuff fistfuls of mashed carrot into his little mouth, smearing it on his cheeks and chin. I want to laugh with them and watch Rhys open his gifts — the few that he allows, anyway. I want to be well enough to thoroughly celebrate him after. I want so deeply to be part of making this a special day for him.

     All I can do is sleep. It’s all my body allows.

- - -

     The next time I wake, it’s much darker. Still curled on the sofa, but the body tucked beneath mine is soft and slim. The hands in my hair smell faintly of linseed oil and soft, powdery lotion. Feyre’s breathing is soft and deep, her heart a steady beat beneath my ear, and I glance up to find her sleeping soundly beneath me. She must have changed when she returned home. The thin, black silk dress bunching around her thighs certainly is not what she left in. The lace straps and embroidery that make up the bust leave so little to the imagination, but it’s a beautifully crafted piece.

     One that begs to be removed later.

     The dark lashes against her cheeks look as though they’ve been dusted and tipped in gold. When they flutter open, revealing those lovely blue eyes still clouded with sleep, I lean up to kiss her pale pink lips just to feel them curve into a smile against my own. She tastes of pear wine, heady and sweet, spiced to match the season. Her tongue sweeps languidly against the seam of my lips, and I part them for her as she rolls me onto my back, trapping herself against the back of the couch.

     The tattooed hand sliding beneath my sweater to caress my bare skin is so warm. I want her to touch me everywhere. Her free hand curves around the back of my neck as Feyre takes her time coaxing my mouth to open, allowing her to explore me as though it’s not an adventure she’s made a thousand times before. She knows every move, every flick and touch to make me feel like I’m coming alive beneath her hand.

     It stops too soon. Her cheeks are rosy when she pulls away, and her eyes are sparkling with so much more than joy.

     “Are they eating without us?” I ask, stretching as the hand against my ribs wanders to my hip.

     “They’ve just started dinner. I told Rhysand we’d be a minute; I wanted to greet you properly first.”

     “Bit longer than a minute, Feyre.”

     “Well, now I want to take all night just to prove a point.”

     “What point are you proving?”

     “That the time I spend with my mate is never time wasted.” My mate. Mine. Possession drips from the word and I drink it like sweet Summer wine. I am theirs and they are mine and one day, I will not need to be reminded of it. One day, I will feel comfortable in the knowledge that only death can take them from me, that we are bound until the end of our days because we chose it.

     “It is not,” I agree before those hungry blue eyes burn holes in me. “But it is Rhys’s birthday dinner, so we should probably join them.”

     Feyre nods, acquiescing to my silent request, and together we climb off of the sofa. A cloud of steam forms around her hands as she smooths them over the wrinkles in the dress, straightening the fabric once more. Her hand is still warm when it slides into mine, and together we make our way from the study to the dining room.

     We hear a low, rumbling snarl before we reach the stairs. The very foundation of the house trembles and Feyre tugs me along at a slightly more urgent pace. Amren’s voice carries over the roaring in my ears, but I can’t force myself to focus on what she’s saying long enough to understand it. Everything sounds slightly muffled, like I’m hearing it through glass. Something about Illyrian males…missing…something?

     Feyre drops my hand, slinking into the dining room with her head held high, sleek as any mountain cat. I spot Nyx in Nesta’s lap, a fistful of peas halfway to his mouth. His little head bobs as he looks at his parents with a gummy smile, his few teeth shining white. Feyre’s hands settle on Rhys’s shoulders as she leans in to kiss his temple, but I feel the way she’s assessing everyone in the room. There’s a spot beside Azriel, his shadows shuffle back the empty chair for me as Feyre sinks into the chair at Rhysand’s side.

     “I thought we weren’t discussing court business tonight,” Feyre sighs, breaking the tension with a little smile, her blue eyes darting between Rhys and Amren. Likely weighing the pros and cons of getting in the middle of whatever inspired the argument. Something silent passes between my mate and his second-in-command, and they both return to their wine, appearing to agree to drop the argument for the night.

     Azriel picks up my plate, quietly serving me as I wave to the babe who has just noticed my presence. His face is covered in so much mashed food, it’s hard to tell what’s what, but his eyes and smile are so bright.

     “Apologies, Feyre,” Amren demures, raising her glass to her lips.

     “You’re looking well.” Azriel’s voice is low and soft as he sets my plate before me. He’s somehow figured out the things that don’t upset my stomach these days and has served them in small enough portions that I won’t make myself sick trying to eat it all. I give him a grateful smile, raising a spoon of rice to my lips as I feel Rhys’s eyes settle on me. I grin at him as brightly as I can muster, but it does not chase the tinge of heartache from his eyes.

     “Thank you,” I murmur, turning my attention back to Azriel as Feyre leans in to kiss Rhys more soundly, earning a playful groan from Cassian. “I feel…” Not better. Worse, probably. But the tonics and potions and elixirs and whatever else the healers provide are still helping for now. “Well, I’m here. How have you been? Is everything…going well?” I don’t know what to ask him that isn’t technically court business.

     “Yes and no. I’m fine, but we are…having a few hiccups.”

     “Azriel,” Feyre warns, exasperation thick in her voice as those eyes swing in our direction. The shadowsinger raises his glass, toasting his High Lady with a rare wink before he throws back the rest of whatever’s in his glass.

     “We were just wondering when it will be time for presents,” I lie unhelpfully, earning a snort from the male at my side. Rhys shakes his head, affection curving his lips as he turns back to his meal. The tension disperses the moment Nyx decides to fling his peas across the table, his little cheeks red with delight at the way they scatter. I tuck into my own plate as the little green vegetables disappear from the lace tablecloth. Each bite of rice tastes like ash, the beef tender enough but lacking the flavor of the rich spices I can see coating the top of it. Even the little bit of bread I manage to get down is flavorless, the butter in it merely a greasy coating on my lips and tongue.

     Is this what dying feels like? A slow-creeping misery that takes and takes. I glance around the room, forcing my smile to brighten a little, trying to drum up some modicum of joy within me. It’s Rhys’s birthday and we’re all here together. That’s what matters now. The rest is stardust.

     I don’t eat much more, choosing to listen to the conversation buzzing around me. Mor drags Feyre into a discussion about the new dressmaker on Silk Street and her Monteseran-inspired designs for spring. I can’t imagine Feyre in the yards of frothy lace I’m certain such a place inspires, but it might suit Elain well enough. Gradually, I feel that dark, ancient beast creeping around my mind once more, quiet and comfortable as it curls in around me. Rhys’s hand slides from the table towards Feyre’s lap, and down the bond flows a desire for contact, thick and sweet as honey.

     What an incredible gift, to want to be touched. The abandoned dinner plates clear, the mess along with it, and Nesta passes Nyx to Feyre to be rocked as a small pile of gifts appear before my mates. The rest of us receive steaming mugs, Azriel’s appearing to contain rich, dark chocolate and something that smells faintly of coffee, while mine contains more tea.

     I’d prefer what he’s having.

     Instead, I sip my medicated tea and watch Rhys open his gifts, thanking and chastising the rest of the family in equal measure. The first is a leather case from Feyre, fill with beautiful glass planets and glowing stars that take to the air moments after the lid is off, slowly revolving and shining over our heads. Nyx turns his sleepy, lilac blue eyes skyward, babbling at the glass balls with his chubby cheek presses against Feyre’s chest. A slender, tattooed hand covers his head, smoothing his hair affectionately as his father leans down to kiss his forehead. I try to capture the quiet moment in my mind, wishing to keep it forever, locked away in my heart with everything else I hold dear.

     I already miss them, and they’re just across the table from me. I can’t imagine a lifetime separating us, I won’t. Not tonight, anyway. Tonight I am alive and there are stars and planets spinning overhead.

     Rhys leaves them there as he moves on to his next gift. On and on, he unveils books and trinkets to disperse around the house and a beautiful selection of blades he vanishes before Nyx gets a good look at them. Between swigs of my tea, Azriel nudges his mug towards me, and we share the chocolate concoction until there is only one small box left. A gift I had commissioned with Mor’s help, kept secret even from Feyre — a feat, considering how close the sculptor’s studio is to hers.

     The box itself is plain, wrapped in brown paper and twine that’s gone in a matter of moments. The lid lifts away and a tiny tendril of magic removes a marble statuette from the silk-lined interior. It’s a replica of an unfinished piece I’d seen the last time Feyre and I went to look around: the goddess Nyx clad in a gossamer gown, pouring out a jug of stars to fill the night sky. A maternal smile lights her lovely face as she gazes down at a small, winged babe reaching towards the stars. It’s better than I could have imagined it would be, intricately carved with thin veins of gold in the boy’s wings.

     “How perfect,” Feyre coos, kissing the crown of Nyx’s head as he dozes against her. “Enzo’s attention to detail is remarkable. I didn’t think he was accepting commissioned work at the moment.”

     “He made an exception,” Mor teases, her brown eyes meeting mine over her own mug of hot chocolate. “We can be very convincing.”

     “Mor is convincing,” I object, shaking my head head. “I simply made the request.”

     “It’s wonderful,” Rhys says, vanishing the delicate statue along with the rest of the gifts, tucking them safely away. “Thank you both.” There it is again, that tug at our bond, more urgent than the last. I give my mate my most patient smile, watching Feyre settle against his side as she lowers the strap of her dress to allow Nyx to nurse. She’ll have him fast asleep in ten minutes, no doubt. “How is training with the priestesses going, Nesta?”

     “Fine,” the eldest Archeron states, giving my mate a carefully blank look. Though they’ve made progress towards a place of neutrality, there’s this wall between them Feyre has admitted to being unable to crack. It seems to me what Nesta truly needs is for him to trust her judgment, and Rhys needs to find a way to give her that little bit of control.

     “We should have two more Valkyries before the end of the year,” Cassian supplies helpfully. “Right, Az?”

     Azriel nods. “If they can manage to cut the ribbon, yes. They both need more precision in their swing to manage it, but I expect they’ll be ready by the end of next week. They’re ready.”

     Pride shines in Nesta’s eyes at the report, and Azriel manages a fond smile in her direction. He so rarely shows any hint of emotion, it’s nice to see a glimpse of his gentle nature beneath that cold exterior. It’s a wonder, though, that he and Elain don’t speak beyond a few niceties. I settle back in my seat, listening as Cassian launches into a story about the three of them as boys in the training camp, sneaking out for a late-night swim only to be caught sneaking back in by Rhys’s mother, still damp from the lake.

     At the end of the night, once our guests have left and Feyre has put Nyx to bed, I find myself before the bathroom vanity with Rhys at my back, his chin resting on my shoulder as I stand in the cage of his arms, rubbing lotion into my skin. His eyes are dark, a possessive sort of hunger brewing in their violet depths, and I raise my brows at him as he turns to nuzzle the side of my neck. He paws at the nightgown I’ve only just put on, gripping the deep purple chiffon like he might shred it as his lips wander along the curve of my shoulder.

     “Don’t you dare,” I grumble, tugging at his dark hair to bring his ministrations higher. “Feyre has something planned and I’m not sure what it is, but I do know I’m not allowed to be naked yet.”

     “She hasn’t told you?” Rhys grins slyly, turning me in his arms. I rest my hand on the back of his neck, urging him to kiss me as he presses me against the counter. He grips my hips, drawing them against his own until I feel every inch of his desire twitch against my belly.

     “Considering how worked up you are, I assume she’s told you.” I mutter.

     “We may have discussed it this morning.”

     “When?”

     “Oh, we had a little time set aside to have important conversations.”

     “And sex is an important conversation?” I huff. What else were they discussing in their little scheduled moment? Something tells me it certainly wasn’t court business.

     His lips claim mine on the edge of a chuckle. My hand finds his hair as I slip the other between us, stroking lightly over the hard length of him through his trousers. My heart skips as he moans into my mouth, nearly melting against me while I touch and tease. He’s not nearly as demanding as usual, that innate dominance drained away, leaving something more pliant in its absence.

     More…submissive?

     I grip his hair, pulling my mouth from his, and he doesn’t chase my lips as he normally would. Hooded eyes flick from my lips to my eyes, and I give him a squeeze that has his lashes fluttering. And still, he doesn’t stop me. Is this their game tonight, then? Are we to be in charge?

     The bedroom door clicks shut, and I look over to see Feyre heading towards us, a sly smile on her pink lips as she takes in the sight of us. Those starlight blue eyes linger on the hand lazily stroking his cock. She gives me a generous smile, leaning against the door frame as she turns her attention to our mate.

     “You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, could you, Rhysand?” Even I shiver at the authoritative lilt to her tone. “Of course, I can’t blame you for being so eager. Our dove is so pretty in her nightgown, isn’t she?”

     “Stunning,” he agrees, his cheeks ruddy as a schoolboy’s under her demanding gaze. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

     “Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?” Feyre reaches for me, and I let her draw me from his arms into hers, curious at the turn the night is taking. Her arms wind around my waist, pulling my body flush against hers. I feel it then, the anatomical shift she must have been working on while I prepared for bed, and I whine a little at the hardening line of her cock pulsing against me.

     After the taste I had of it during our consummation, I’m beyond eager for more. But it’s not my birthday, so… I glance up at her and wait for further instruction. The kiss she gives me is light but lingering, drawing butterflies up from the depths of my stomach as her hands drift lower to grip my bottom appreciatively.

     “Why don’t I get you into bed and warm you up properly,” Feyre says sweetly, kissing the tip of my nose. “Rhys, I want you at the foot of the bed, on your knees. Eyes closed.”

     “Is this what you discussed at your little meeting today?” I ask tartly as she guides me to the mattress. Her answering laugh is husky, sensual, something reserved for dark corners of empty rooms. I feel my body’s immediate response as Feyre lays me back, settling me against the pillows while Rhys obediently takes his place on the floor.

     “This?” she laughs, settling herself at my side, her hand stroking the curve of my hip. “Oh, yes. This and other things. Would you like me to show you what we discussed for the night?”

     “Please?” I brush her hair back from her forehead, the golden-brown strands falling like silk between my fingers. Her lips meet mine again, and a scene plays out in my mind that has my toes curling. Oh. Yes, yes this is definitely something we’ll all enjoy. My hand slides over the dark silk to cup her breast, lightly squeezing the sensitive flesh as she grinds against my hip, her arousal trickling down the bond to join Rhys’s, fueling my own as I lie beneath her. Sensing my growing need, her hand slides up to the thin strap on my shoulder, guiding it down my arm as she slips from my mind, lowering her mouth to the soft peak.

     At the foot of the bed, I hear a soft moan, and I know exactly what he must be seeing. Lovely, wicked creature, our Feyre. I’m sure there will be retribution of some sort for this little performance, and I can’t wait to see what it might be.

[deergravity]

Seeing as my internal rewards system has moved on to 'trans fiction' from 'queer horror audio drama podcast' I thought I should do a little roundup of everything I listened to the past few months.

A rough ranking:

Malevolent. Just squeaking into the top spot here based on 1) technical prowess (iykyk) 2) compelling characters and story and 3) they are my blorbos your honor!!! Mind boggling that Harlan Guthrie has so much chemistry with himself.

The Silt Verses. Only topped by Malevolent bc season 1 is not as polished, but it really doesn't matter. Top tier characters, amazing worldbuilding, intricate plotting and it had something to SAY about the casual violence of systems, the nature of hope, the complexity of being human in a world that tries to make us inhuman. Also, it doesn't rely on some thin recording contrivance (a framing device that has its place) and instead truly takes the mantle of audio drama without apology.

The White Vault. On the topic of framing devices, TWV has a very cool take on found footage recordings. A group of [researchers/archeologists] are sent to investigate a remote site in [Svalbard/Patagonia] and the podcast is structured as a documentarian presenting the notes, recordings and diary entries in a reconstructed timeline. My favorite element is that many of the characters don't make their notes in English, so the segments will often open with the VA speaking German, Spanish, Mandarin, Icelandic, Russian, etc etc before fading into the translation. There are miniseries between the seasons available on their patreon and they were so worth the $10 I paid to access them for a month. Reveals are slow, but worthwhile, and the mythology built for the show is highly original and intriguing.

Deviser. A one season contained story from Harlan Guthrie of Malevolent. Scifi, psychological, lots of wet awful body horror. If you're a fan of Harlan wimpering into a mic, you'll love this one.

WOE.BEGONE. Long, ongoing, and so so so far from the original premise it's hilarious, I'm ranking this higher than it maybe deserves for two factors 1) the creator and the VAs are clearly having a blast and 2) it's riding the line of taking itself serious despite a premise that invites irony poisoning without becoming too wrapped up in itself. It's fun, I think, that keeps w.bg strong.

The Magnus Archives. Should this be one up? Probably. But everyone bloody well knows tma by this point, it's good, great even! Beyoncé of horror podcasts.

I Am In Eskew. Only knocked down due to the actually godawful sound quality. Truly unsettling stories though (the one with the building architect haunts me) and a surprisingly realistic conclusion. You can see the bones of The Silt Verses here, from the same creative team.

The Magnus Protocol. Everything above this is there due to originality. As a sequel series, TMAGP will always suffer in that measure. However, I like our new cast and I do love an alternate reality. Curious to see where season 2 takes us. I'd like to kill Mr Bonzo in a fire.

The Inexplicables. Another one season story, this time from Rusty Quill, with really fun, flawed characters and no recording framing device!

Wolf 359. Storywise, great! Characters, excellent! Kicking it way to the bottom bc they just would NOT STOP referencing H***y P****r. Yes, Doug's characterization hangs on excessive reference humor, but that was one well I wish they'd left alone.

Red Valley. Knocked for HP references too (come ON british podcasters, do better) but more importantly for veering WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY too close to real life in season 3 onward. I was here for a horror sci fi story about cryogenics, not to listen to my worst climate disaster fears brought to life via hearing rich old sods try to buy their way out of consequences while the world burns and eco terrorism escalates. Too real. Not bad storytelling, just very much not fulfilling my escapism needs.

It's kinda crazy to me that anytime I mention this genre to normies in my life they say, "oh, like true crime podcasts?" And then I die inside. No dude, like radio drama. Like War of the Worlds.

Anyway, I'm off to get even less relatable by reading a zillion niche trans novels (hello Welcome to Dorley Hall, aka, what if there really was a 'trans cult' force femming dudes to undermine their masculinity? It's amazing how much yarn we can make by subverting the cis gaze.)

[fioiswriting]

Reunion | Sequel

[Part 1]

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral f receiving, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, anxiety, Reader has a child, grief, fluff, pregnancy, not proofread. 

Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

Words count : 9150

Author's note : Hello everyone!! Sorry for the wait, I've been very busy, but here's part two of Reunion (or at least the first part two, let's call it part 2.1 hehe). Thank you again for all you kind comments and the love you've given my fanfic omg!! Spoiler alert: this is the happy alternate ending! But I've got another bittersweet alternative ending planned 😈 If you think the first part was good enough on its own and the sequel may break the vibe, don't force yourself to read!! But if you need a happy ending, here it is <3 The plot still doesn't make any sense, but hey, we're here to have fun so enjoy ❤️

English is still not my first (or second) language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes <3

When you wake up, the first thing you feel is the reassuring embrace of his arms around you. You don't want to move, not even when the sunlight tickles your face through the opening between the wooden shutters, trying to make the moment last endlessly. But the growing anxiety in your stomach chases away the illusion of your fleeting happiness. 

You close your eyes a little tighter. Perhaps if you try again, perhaps if you try harder, the world around you can fade away.

Perhaps you can wake up again, in a different reality.

But it's inevitable. You know that now you're awake, it's only a matter of time before the two of you have to say goodbye forever. Your breathing becomes heavier, and you have to fight the tingling sensation at the corners of your eyes.

Why have the gods decided to be so cruel to you? They grant you one last taste of his skin on your lips before taking it from you, again. 

Haven't you given enough? 

Could they not show you mercy? 

You who had forgotten him, you who had begun to turn a new page, to seek comfort in the arms of the cold, far away from the fire and the ashes, why did you have to touch the poison that would once again stain your soul?

Behind you, Aemond buries his long nose in your hair. His hand absently caresses the skin of your thigh, just where the edge of the linen tunic you put on sometime during the night when you were cold ends. The fabric is pulled up, revealing the outline of your bottom, and you can already feel your uncle hardening between his thighs, but you don't move.

If you move, you'll make everything more real. Tangible.

You'll speed up the process of losing him, of him slipping through your fingers. 

How can you let him go, now that your heart is full again, now that you feel complete in a way you haven't felt for over three years?

How can you let him go, now that your body has retrieve the extension of itself in the arms of the man who was the cause of your torment, your moments of joy, your pain and, paradoxically, your happiness?

"I know you're awake."

You hold your breath and Aemond inhales into your hair. His hand moves down the inside of your thigh, along the hollow that joins it to your groin. He doesn't venture any further. 

His thumb rests there and brushes your skin, trying to arouse the desire in you with gentleness.

Subtly.

 He doesn't want to hurry, he doesn't want to rush you.

Not when he's been harbouring the impossible fantasy of waking up with you in his arms since the day he nearly died.

He presses harder against you, as if he doesn't want to let you go, as if he wants to be one with you again, and you feel him pulsing against your buttocks, under the linen cloth that has been pulled up a little higher. He says nothing, but he is pleading, needy, in his gestures, which is rare for him.

Something has changed, after all, and perhaps something has changed in him too. 

"I am awake, indeed, " you whisper in a voice that is still half asleep. The lump in your throat betrays the feeling of anxiety gradually creeping into your body, and Aemond seems to notice. Under your tunic, his hand moves up along your belly until it nestles against your chest, close to your heart. His thumb draws small circles, once again trying to bring you back to him.

Trying to calm your mind.

"Let us forget for a little longer," he whispers, his clenched jaw resting over your head. "Please." 

And you know he never begs. 

Aemond takes and doesn't ask.

Aemond believes he is owed everything and never gives in return.

Hearing him beg breaks something inside you, because this is the first time he does so.

Usually it was you, it was always you, begging for peace, begging for more, begging him not to leave you.

Part of him is as desperate as you are; part of him also dreads the moment when you will have to part again. Forever. It's comforting to know that his feelings are sincere, just like yours.

" Make me forget, then." You reply, moving your lower loins back against him, giving him tacit permission to explore your body once more. His fingers move down to your breasts, which he covers softly with his hand, his thumb skimming over a nipple to make it hard. You let out a gasp between your parted lips.

His hand slides lower, his palm flat against your lower belly, his fingertips brushing the light patch of hair at the top of your mound. You feel the familiar warmth growing between your thighs, in your core.

He sighs against the back of your skull, his head tilted forward. His lips search the skin at the nape of your neck, behind the long hair that has become tangled during the night, while his fingers intimately explore the secrets of your body that he knows all too well. The remnants of last night's lovemaking still smear the insides of your thighs and folds, but it doesn't matter; his fingers easily find the little bundle of nerves that they tease until you close your eyes, until your hand grips the damp, shabby sheet that covers the ragged mattress in the inn where you've spent the night.

Just the both of you, in the comfort of anonymity. 

"Let me taste you". His voice, still husky, tickles the back of your neck and you feel him shift behind you. When you feel the warmth of his bare chest, against which you're nestled, leave your back, your body automatically tries to move back against him. You still need him. You still need him to chase away the lump of anxiety in the pit of your stomach and the voices that keep reminding you that you're only postponing the fateful moment. Your hand slips under your white tunic and wraps around his wrist to force him to stay there, to hold his fingers against the source of heat spreading from your core. Your hips are demanding, grinding against his hand. "On your back," he insists, and stands up on his forearms.

With reluctance you turn over. You obey, lying on your back, your hair spilled around your head on the flat, uncomfortable pillow on which you slept badly. The white tunic that serves as your nightgown is pulled up, crumpled, just above your crotch, which it barely conceals. 

Aemond has swung over your body, silvery strands loosening from the braid that holds his hair behind his head and sliding down his shoulders, falling in loose loops on either side of his face, tickling your cheeks.

His lilac-tinted blue eye glows with a predatory gaze, a ray of light catching in the sapphire he hasn't removed from his socket. 

He captures your lips with his own, begging for access. Aemond marks your jaw and throat with light kisses, sucking at your collarbone to make the violets of possessiveness with which he likes to adorn your body bloom. His lips travel down your chest, playing with one of the two small nipples raised by the cool air and by desire, and continue their journey past your navel. 

Your heartbeat quickens as he settles between your legs, spreading your thighs to admire the part of you he covets so eagerly. At the same time you bend your legs, your gaze falling on him, on his unravelled hair, on his eye that locks with yours. He is so close to you, so close to your warm centre, and you know that between your folds the sweet nectar that your uncle longs to taste is already flowing.

But his lips trace the inside of your thighs instead, where the skin is soft and tender, and gradually they reach the hollow that connects them to your most intimate part. He takes a malicious pleasure in building up the tension, in savouring every millimetre of you like a fine delicacy, with only the tip of his lips brushing against your skin.

His thumbs spread the tender flesh of your womanhood and then he places a chaste kiss on the very centre of you. His tongue is shy at first, tracing the slit that connects your entrance to your little knob, collecting the evidence of your desire.

As his tongue wraps around your nub, your hands grip the sheets, knuckles white. 

Aemond drinks from your essence like a thirsty man, his nose buried between your folds, rubbing your pearl.

The tip of his tongue catches what drips from your opening, and then the flat of his tongue tastes your slit, working its way up to the little nub gorged with desire. 

He maintains the same rhythm, revelling in the moans that escape from your half-open lips. Soon his middle finger begins to draw circles against your entrance, the first knuckle sliding inside, then the whole finger. Your head is thrown back and immediately your hand buries itself in his silvery hair, gripping his braid in a messy bun behind the top of his head. Forcing his face against the most intimate part of your body, forcing his lips to work on your wet warmth, you seek more contact. 

Aemond adds a second finger. He can feel you tighten around him as he searches for that particular spot, as his tongue continues to play with your bundle of nerves.

As he devours what is his, utterly his.

His fingers, the ones that aren't buried inside you, close around the flesh of your hip in a possessive grip. "Come for me," he whispers against your womanhood, his eyes lifted to you. "I know you can do it."

Your breathing becomes more erratic, faster too. You tighten the grip of your fingers in his hair, your thighs pressing either side of his face, and he collects the sweet taste of your release on his tongue with a hum. 

You feel like you're floating. The waves of warmth still wash over you, less and less intense, your breast rising and falling as you catch your breath. 

Your hand tucks a lock of his hair back behind his ear as Aemond lifts his face towards you, and you rest your hand against his cheek. His parted lips still glisten with your desire smeared across the lower part of his face. He stares at you without moving, his deep, regular breathing the only sound to break the silence that has followed your release. You stay like that for a moment, his gaze burning into yours. At any moment he might pounce on you. At any moment he might close the tiny distance separating your mouths and press his lips against yours like the starving man he is.

It's you who makes the first move. You taste yourself on his lips and your tongue entwines with his in a fiery, demanding kiss.

Straightening up, Aemond creeps between your legs, his hand on the underside of your thighs, holding them apart. He is still completely naked from the night before, he has not bothered to get dressed after your lovemaking, so you can catch a glimpse of his erect manhood, slightly curved. He wraps his hand around to guide it towards your still sensitive wet entrance.

He slides into you easily, in one slow movement. The haste of the night before, the urgency of the reunion, has given way to the tenderness and laziness of the early morning, and Aemond rocks inside you slowly. His hips undulate, punctuated by long, deep thrusts, in an illusion of domesticity. 

But the damp sheets, rough against your skin, the discomfort of the hard mattress beneath your back, remind you that your lovemaking is anything but domestic.

For Aemond is still the enemy, for Aemond is supposed to be dead.

For your family is probably looking for you at this very moment, worried that you have not returned home for the night.

But you push those thoughts away. The weight of your uncle's body on top of yours soothes the knot that forms in the pit of your stomach at the thought of time slipping away, at the thought of having to leave him again, at the thought of this being the last time you will taste his lips, his skin.

Aemond is gentle, and that is rare enough to be worth mentioning. He has never been so gentle, so soft, in the limited time that you have been married.

Between you, there had been the devouring, consuming passion, the power play that in your submission had granted you dominance.

Between you it had been raw and devastating more than gentle and tender.

His fingers run the length of your body to your core, combining his slow, deep thrusts with the movement of his fingers against your clit.

There are only few words exchanged between you, as if you were both afraid to break the grace of the moment.

His panting, noisy breath echoes in the silence, skimming the skin of your throat, then mingling with yours as the shadow of his lips brushes against yours. He rests his forehead against yours, your hand cupping his cheek, sliding behind his neck, and you are transported into a cocoon of intimacy where nothing else exists around you.

There is only his body against yours, warm and reassuring.

There is only him inside you and the slow movement of his hips.

There is only your breathing, blending in the space that separates your mouths.

"Do you know how much I've missed you?" He whispers against your lips as you close your thighs around him. "How much I dreamed of this tight little cunt?" You swallow his words. Your hips meet his as he pushes against you. He is reaching deep inside you. Despite the intimacy of the moment, his body oozes power and darkness, and you can't help but be drawn to that side of him that complements yours so well. 

You can't stop your body from aching for him. 

"You could have been my queen," he says as his movements grow stronger. He won't last long, but neither will you. He's inside you, where you like to feel him, and your walls clench around his member. "And I would have set the whole world on fire for you." He thrusts. "Burned it to the ground" He thrusts again. "All for you." And again.

The old wood of the bed creaks with each of his movements.

You seek out his lips, just to brush them against yours. 

Without sealing the kiss.

"And I would have accepted," you answer with a whimper. "I would have been your queen, qybor." In another life, you think you would.

In another life, in another universe, you would have been his queen.

A grunt escapes his lips and lands in the hollow of your ear. Aemond straightens on his bent elbow, right next to your head, and he plunges into you one last time, with more power, more vigour, just as his new position allows.

You close your eyes. 

A second wave of warmth is about to engulf your body.

And you wait for it, you welcome it.

"Look at me when I come inside you," he growls hoarsely as his seed pours deep inside you, into the most intimate part of your body. "Look at me as I fill you up."

Your eyes lock with his, fiery as ever. A final moan escapes between your lips and you seal them to your uncle's in a feverish, wet kiss. You hold him in your arms for a moment longer, as if to allow yourself the luxury of illusion for a brief instant. 

You delay the fateful moment a little longer, fighting the minutes that inevitably slip through your fingers.

"Stay inside me just a little longer," you whisper, burying your head in the hollow of his neck where you can feel the rapid rhythm of his pulse. His arms close around you, holding you tight against him, and you hear him purr against the hair on the crown of your head. He rocks you gently.

The silence welcomes you both into its embrace and you savour it like a treasure. Your body aches in the sweetest way, your insides throbbing around his softening manhood. 

And around you, nothing exists anymore.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

"I've changed, you know." His hoarse voice vibrates against you, but you refuse to meet his eyes. You keep them closed. 

You're not sure if Aemond has really changed. Aemond is ruthless, cold, brutal, calculating, merciless. Cruel. You're not sure if Aemond can ever change, but he shows unusual tenderness, and maybe, just maybe, you allow yourself to doubt. You indulge in the illusion. 

Perhaps Vhagar's death has broken something in him. 

Perhaps it's true, perhaps he's not the same man anymore.

He's not sorry for what he has done. He never will be. He's too proud, even if you can catch the glimmer of remorse that colours his icy eyes when he is not looking at you.

Does he think of your little brother? Is he haunted by the memory of him, as you have been for so many years?

Does he think of the innocents he killed without flinching, the blood he spilled in the Riverlands that now stains the burned grass? 

Is his sanity slowly being eaten away by the atrocities he has committed with his own hands? 

He has changed. You are not sure if he's changed for the better or for the worse, but he has indeed.

Daemon has changed too. So has Rhaenyra. So has Jace.

You too have changed.

For war changes people, war makes them weary and wary, it shatters something in the body that will never be the same again. It hollows out the roundness of the cheeks, it deepens the dark circles under the eyes, it fades the sparkle of childhood that remains in the eyes.

Aemond seems to be waiting for an answer, but the words remain stuck in your throat. I know, you want to whisper, I know, but suddenly you've forgotten how to speak. His thumb draws the soft line of the underside of your breast.

The future terrifies you more than ever. You had made peace with your past, you had come to a conclusion that, even if it pained you, had given you some respite. 

Seeing your uncle alive had reawakened your demons. 

Spending the night in the embrace of his arms had revived everything you had buried deep, deep down. 

The past had returned, creeping towards you, gnawing at the corners of your heart and at what remained of your sense of stability and certainty. 

Now you are plunged into doubt. 

Just as you were a little over three years ago, when you were informed of his death, when you had to learn to live with the choice that had never really been given to you.

Just as three years ago, when you noticed a familiar lilac-tinged blue in Rhaegar's eyes.

Like when you had to live with the memories that haunted you, that were slowly eating away at what little sanity you had left.

Like when you finally decided to leave for the North.

Aemond seems to sense your anguish, because his fingers get lost in your hair. 

"What are we going to do now?" 

Finally, you dare to utter the inevitable words that have been hanging on the tip of your tongue since you woke up, words you've swallowed so many times this morning. You immediately blame yourself. 

Saying them only makes them more real.

They tear at something in the imaginary cocoon you've built for yourselves. You bury your face against his skin, breathe in his scent, as if you never want to forget him.

For you know how fleeting memories can be.

You remember how his face faded with each passing day.

You don't know if you'll ever be able to experience it a second time.

"We could leave," Aemond replies, as his fingers venture to your jaw, caressing the line of your cheeks with the back of his knuckles. 

He's so pragmatic, as always.

Even in this situation.

Even now.

It makes you want to shake him.

"We could run away," he says again. His gaze, fixed in the distance, falls on you at the same moment. "To Essos. Pentos. No one would know who we are." You close your eyes, and let his hoarse voice lull you into silence. "To start our own family, the three of us."

You know he is not serious. Even though he looks at you with such insistence, with that flame that flickers in the centre of his iris.

You relish his fantasy, this impossible dream. 

But you can't leave your family; Essos is not Winterfell. There, they knew where to find you. They knew you were safe. They knew you were sheltered between the walls of the northern castle, under the heavy furs, under the protection of Cregan Stark.

Essos is the unknown.

You cannot let your mother lose her only daughter, not after everything she has already lost. 

The itch is familiar, tickling at the corners of your eyes. There was a time when you thought you'd lost that sensitivity. When you thought the war had left you cold, incapable of feeling anything. Incapable of crying.

"You know I can't." Your nose rubs against his milky skin, made clammy by sweat. You keep your eyes closed because you feel the weight of his cold gaze on you, his furrowed eyebrows as he stares at you blankly, his lips pursed in a long, thin line. You don't have the courage to meet his accusing gaze, let alone the wounded look on his face as you crush all his illusory dreams into dust. 

When did you become the more pragmatic of the two? 

When did you become the one responsible for bringing Aemond back to reality?

It used to be you, the one who filled your mind with unrealistic dreams, the one who dreamed of stories and fairy tales, back when you could still dream. "They need me, you know that."

A sneer stretches across your uncle's lips as he swallows a chuckle that sounds more like an ironic growl. You feel his whole body tense against yours, a sign that he's holding back his annoyance. 

A sign that he has something to say, that he's upset, but doesn't quite know how to put it into words. 

"Like they needed you back then?" he replies scathingly, bitterness on the tip of his tongue. "When they used you as a bargaining chip to achieve their ends, hm?"  

Your red cheeks burn with shame, as if he'd slapped you. You don't move, merely swallow hard. You know there's something right about what he is saying, but you don't want to admit it. 

You've done your duty.

You've done what is expected of you as a daughter.

It was not a question of them using you. It never was. 

It was your duty, only your duty, what you were always meant to perform, wasn't it?

And yet a small voice in the back of your head had already given you a similar speech, a few years ago, but you had tried to silence it.

You refused to let Aemond admit it. You refuse to allow him to do it. He had no idea, no right to criticise your family when he'd acted like that.

When he has done what he has done.

He has no idea what it is like to be a daughter.

You don't answer, and silence falls between you again.

You wish so desperately that he could go home with you; that he could tell them that he's sorry.

You wish it were easier. 

There is no one left to wait for Aemond but you, but his son, you know that. His family has been decimated, as has yours in some ways, though you still have your parents and your older brother.

For your uncle, there's nothing left but the shadow of his existence, the shadow of who he once was, long ago.

You let your hand trace the side of his throat, your nose buried against it, your lips hovering over his skin. You lean against him, your body on top of his, pressed together as if you were afraid to let him go.

"You could come with me instead," you whisper, but you refuse to meet his gaze. There's something shameful in the words you've just spoken aloud, something naive, and your burning cheeks are proof of your embarrassment.

Almost imperceptibly, he clenches beneath you, holding his breath. This is a bad idea and you feel stupid. Naive to have dared to suggest something like this.

His voice purrs in a hm that vibrates against you. He's about to say something. He searches for words. "You know that -"

"I know." You cut him off sharply - a little more than you would have liked, your eyes raised to silence him.

You know what he thinks.

He thinks that Rhaenyra will never be his queen. He thinks he will never bend the knee to his eldest sister and her authority, which he doesn't recognise.

He thinks that with the death of Aegon, with the death of the children his brother fathered with Helaena, the throne belongs to him.

And you are aware of his ambitions. You know how perfectly the conqueror's crown fits his head. You know how it sets off the sapphire embedded in his eye socket. You remember the look of greed in his eyes every time he stared at the Iron Throne, you remember the look of pride on his face every time he scorned anyone who dared to question his decisions as Prince Regent.

You know how mercilessly he made the soldiers at Harrenhal kneel, forcing them to contemplate their impending deaths. You know the terror he has sown throughout the Riverlands.

Even in the Seven Hells you could have found more mercy than at the hands of Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond may have changed, but you're not sure he's changed enough to put aside the pride that is consuming him from within.

You take a deep breath. "You don't really have a choice, qybor." 

Fearing his reaction, you curl into a fetal position, your back to him, your knees drawn up to you. You close your eyes. You wait for his frustration.

You wait for his sentence.

You know that he is aware that he has no choice. 

He has only two options: swallow his pride or sink back into the abyss, disappear into the dark meanders of oblivion.

Rhaegar needed his father, of course, but you found him a father in Cregan Stark. 

That was a sacrifice you were willing to make.

There was no way you would give up what family you had left.

For Rhaegar needed his grandparents and his uncle even more.

Behind you, you feel your uncle's hand slip under your tunic and around your body, pulling you against him. He presses his bare chest against your back, tucking your head under his chin. His hand caresses your stomach, then his fingers brush the base of your breast.

"You know she will never be my queen. You know the throne belongs to -" But he lets the words drop without finishing the sentence, the knowledge of what he was about to say hanging in the air between you. 

As long as he remains alive, will the embers of war never truly be extinguished? 

You don't know, but you accept the risk. 

You close your eyes, as if you're about to jump into the icy depths with both feet.

"The rest is up to you, Aemond," you whisper, barely audible. "And if you have truly changed, then you will know how to make the right choice."

He says nothing. 

You savour the last few minutes of illusion you have left.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

The fear of making the wrong choice never really leaves you, but your mother chases your fears away, as she so often did when you were a child, tucking one of your dark curls behind your ear. She has her distinctive little smirk on her lips, the one that pulls the corner of her lips up towards her nose.  

The same one Lucerys had, you think sadly. 

You still miss him, even after all this time, and sometimes you wonder what kind of young man he would have become.

"You're a clever girl, my sweet clever girl," she whispers against your forehead as she cradles you in her arms. She's as beautiful as ever, as gentle with you as ever, despite the years, despite the wear and tear of war that has hardened her features and hollowed her cheeks. "And I know you have made the right decision." She lifts your chin with her forefinger to look into your eyes, and you feel like you're turning back into that shy, insecure girl who disappeared somewhere in the violence of the war all those years ago.

 "And if it should turn out that you were wrong... Daemon will be there to intervene. You know he is just waiting for that." You roll your eyes at her attempt at humour, and she plants a kiss on your forehead. 

For a split second, you truly are that carefree little girl again.

But behind your mother's humour lie fragments of reality that make your laughter bitter.

The news of your husband's survival remains a hazy blur in your mind. Sometimes you're not sure if this conversation really occurred or if you're dreaming.

You're not sure if what's around you, if the night you spent in Aemond's arms, is real or an invention of your sick mind.

Sometimes you're not really conscious of the events or how long they lasted, the lump in your stomach grows back, and once again you're destined to carve half-moons marks in the palms of your hands to soothe the tension in your body.

You told your mother first because you knew she'd be more understanding. As a mother, as a woman, she knows the meaning behind certain silences, the weight of words, the unspoken words that float between sentences. 

You know she can understand your pain and your doubts, but also your love and your compassion.

She was shocked when you told her that her younger brother was still alive. She smoothed her dress, paced back and forth, then took the time to sit down, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes riveted to your face, looking for clues that would betray what you were thinking, what you might be hiding. She was afraid that he had hurt you. She was afraid that he would rip you away from her, just as he had once ripped your little brother away from her.

Her fingers had gently taken your hand and her thumb had drawn little circles on the back of your hand to comfort you. She listened to you first as you confessed everything. 

Where you were that night when you didn't come home. 

Who you were with.

And then she took you in her arms. She reassured you. Soothed you. 

You had been so afraid of disappointing her, of disappointing all of them, that the tension paralysing your body had finally loosened and you burst into tears.

Things had proved more complicated with Daemon. When he learned that his nephew was alive, that he wasn't forgotten forever in the deep waters of the lake near Harrenhal, he refused to believe you. He was furious. He said he had seen him fall, that he was the one who had taken his life, tearing the sky apart.

You didn't know where to look, and it was in your mother's eyes that you sought support, comfort, anything in the face of your stepfather's rage. You could feel on you the look of disappointment of your brother, Jace, as he held his shoulders up and his chin high. He wanted to prove that one day he would be a good king. With his jaw clenched, he said nothing, looking at you as if you were suddenly so foreign to him. He probably didn't know what to say, for fear of being clumsy, for fear of unintentionally hurting you, even more than by his lack of support. 

You know it wasn't his fault. 

He simply couldn't understand.

The words stuck in your throat and you found yourself unable to speak, pearls glittering in the corners of your eyes while you waited impatiently for the final blow.

The final death knell that would seal your disgrace in everyone's eyes.

After all you'd endured.

Daemon stood before you, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes hard. He was staring at you as if you'd committed the ultimate treason, and you knew he was controlling himself to keep his anger from exploding. "You're going to bring him to me," he had hissed, his hand closing over your shoulder. 

" You will lure him here and he will be put to the sword." His tone left no room for argument. With the tension growing in your stomach, you sought your mother's compassionate look to calm you. You could see the fury in your stepfather's eyes, and also a mixture of fear and feelings of betrayal. You knew that, deep down, he was afraid for you because he considers you his daughter. Because Baela and Rhaena are like sisters to you. 

It was his reaction you feared most, not your mother's. His fingers dug into your skin, the floor slipping out from under you, the room swaying dangerously, and your mother had come to your rescue, trying to calm things down with her usual diplomacy.

You can't quite remember the words your stepfather said; in anger he muttered something that sounded like are you really thinking of becoming his whore again? and the words hurt like hell, but you tried to swallow the pain.

 Endure, hold your head high. That was what you had learned.

Your mother had suggested you go back to your room or spend some time with Rhaegar, her fingers gently stroking your dark locks, and as soon as you left the throne room you could hear their voices echoing through the door. 

They were arguing.

Over you.

Because of you, again.

You took a deep breath and returned to the gardens, where your two stepsisters were making your son laugh by playing with him. They had fun running around in the damp grass to the applause of Baela's little daughter, who clapped her little hands in delight.

Your fingers were still trembling when you joined them.

In the end a solution was found, for your mother feared losing you a second time. 

She remembered what had happened to Laenor, your father, when he had grown tired of the court.

She remembered what had happened to Helaena, your sweet aunt, when she could no longer bear to suffer.

It was her worst nightmare to see you torn from her again, now that she had the chance to hold you in her arms every day, to protect you again, to see you grow again.

It was her worst nightmare to see her only daughter, her only daughter and the second of her only surviving children, taken from her. 

You and Jace were all she had left of her own blood.

After long negotiations with Daemon, you had managed to bargain for your husband's life in exchange for strict conditions; increased surveillance, no bonding with a new dragon, no carrying of weapons, and the assurance that he would be executed if there was the slightest doubt about him. You proposed that you and he leave the capital, with your son as well. To return to Dragonstone. To start over on a new, blank page in a book that was already too damaged.

For you, it was also a way to ease the tensions between your family and Aemond, and perhaps find a more intimate life with your husband and son.

Rhaenyra had declared that this was the best solution: a guarantee for her to have you by her side again, a guarantee for her that you would be there.

You had been afraid of Aemond's reaction, afraid that his ego would not bear it; that he would refuse, that he would rather sentence himself to his own death than to an existence as a prisoner within his own family, condemned to live as a shadow of the man he had once been in exchange for seeing his son grow up. 

But in the end, wasn't he doomed to live as a shadow of the man he had once been, anyway?

He would never be the rider of Vhagar again.

He would never be the ruthless Prince Regent again.

He would never again be the second in line to the throne, the second son greedily waiting for fate to turn in his favour.

He hadn't been all of that for a good three years, lurking in the cold, gloomy corridors of Harrenhal like a lonely monster.

And if he went back, if he rejected your proposal, he would have condemned himself to eternal solitude at the side of a witch you would rather forget.

He had no choice, for he would never be that Aemond again. 

When you joined your husband at the meeting place, you were relieved to see him swallow his pride and accept. It was difficult, but you convinced him. 

For Rhaegar, for his son.

Aemond had suggested that you run away, far away from everything, and you almost hesitated. Running away would have allowed you to forget, of course. 

But your deepest wounds had begun to heal. You had begun to be able to face the ghosts that haunted King's Landing, the ghosts that haunted Dragonstone.

To stop there was tempting, and yet so frightening at the same time. 

The unknown terrified you. You needed familiarity now, something to fall back on, for you were so tired. 

Now you can't help bringing your thumb to your lips, nibbling the skin at the corner of your fingernail with the tip of your teeth as you walk away from Rhaenyra. A handmaiden brings you Rhaegar, and you struggle to breathe. 

You inhale.

You exhale.

The thick tuft of brown hair makes you smile. The sight of your son is enough to give you the courage to walk with a more confident stride. It's as if you were filled with new strength, for you know that he needs you more than anyone else. And for him, you've promised yourself to stay strong.

As soon as you reach him, you kneel and plant a kiss on his plump cheeks. 

He's growing up so fast that sometimes you wish you could stop time.

"There's someone who'd like to meet you, sweet boy," you explain, and you can recognise your mother's inflection in your own voice. Sweet boy. Rhaegar looks at you with big, round, questioning eyes, and you wonder if he senses your anxiety, because he takes your hand between his tiny fingers.

"Who, muña ?" he babbles, striding down the cobbled path in the middle of the gardens, hopping on his clumsy little legs, and you smile at his carefree attitude. He stops to watch the bees foraging, bends down to pick up a flower and gives it to you. He's always so curious, so full of life. He's a ray of sunshine that brightens your dull days. You finally understand your mother, the agonising fear she has of losing you. You finally understand the horror she experienced when she lost her four other children.

You also finally understand why Helena threw herself from Maegor's Holdfast.

The thought of what Daemon did still revolts you, and you can't imagine anyone hurting your boy like that.

You turn around. Rhaenyra is still there, in the distance, her crown on her head, her hands crossed in front of her on the heavy fabric of her dress, watching over you. She won't move, a comforting, discreet presence.

A stone bench awaits you by the fountain, on which two cushions have been arranged. A dessert buffet has been set up under the gazebo and you immediately spot your favourite cakes, the strawberry one, the blackberry jam one, and you look down at your son. He hasn't noticed them yet, or he would have already run over, dipped his finger in the whipped cream and stolen a blueberry from one of the tarts, his innocent expression on his face. 

He is definitely a lot like you. Mischievous and clever. An angelic air. He is an easy-going child who never throws a tantrum.

Who understands quickly, too. 

"I love you. I love you more than anything, you know that, don't you, young boy?" your tone is soft, and you kneel down in front of him, your hands on his small shoulders to emphasise the seriousness of your discussion. You search for your words, hesitating. How do you tell a three-year-old that his father, his dead father, is back from the dead and about to meet him?

Of course, Rhaegar knows that his birthfather was valiant, that his birthfather rode the greatest dragon in the world, that his birthfather died in battle.

But there is so much he doesn't know, so much he will inevitably learn as he grows up, and it is precisely that future that frightens you. You hug him as if you're afraid of losing him.

"Princess."

The deep voice of your sworn protector echoes behind you, and you straighten your skirt. 

You know he is there. 

You know you will see him the moment you turn around.

Your heartbeat quickens.

Aemond Targaryen stands behind your sworn protector, surrounded by two guards. His hands are bound in front of him. 

It is so strange to see your uncle in this vulnerable position. He who for so long has been on the other side, he who for so long has been the one who bent others to his will. He looks at you harshly, and you almost feel the need to apologise.

But you know it is a matter of caution.

You know that Daemon, you know that Jace and even your mother would never have agreed to bring him in if such precautions hadn't been taken.

You admire his resilience, his determination. You admire his ability to hold his head high, to be confident, despite the fact that he is being treated like a common prisoner, about to be sentenced to death.

You struggle to swallow the lump that has formed in your throat. 

"Who's that, muña?" Aemond's eyes leave you and immediately drop to the small figure that has appeared beside you, reaching for your hand, huddling against your leg, shy and worried. 

Immediately, your husband's icy gaze, his lilac-coloured eyes, soften.

"Thank you, Sir Rowan. You may leave us."

Despite the worry on his face, your sworn protector nods, unties his prisoner's hands and walks back to your mother, accompanied by the other two guards. You watch them leave, and a strange silence fills the space between you and your uncle.

He doesn't look at you; his eyes are riveted to your son, whom he observes with wonder. He looks as if he is admiring the most beautiful and fascinating discovery he has ever seen. You look down to see Rhaegar's reaction, and he seems as intimidated as he is hypnotised by that gaze, by that blue and purple eye so similar to his owns, by this man looking at him as if he were one of the most marvellous things in the world. 

"Gods, he's perfect," Aemond murmurs as he looks up at you, emerging from his trance. He comes closer to embrace you. And for once, there is something other than his usual brutal possessiveness and ferocity when his arms close around you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

Aemond is shy at first. Awkward. 

He's shy and amazed as he follows your son's every move with his good eye. From time to time, his gaze rests on you, as if to make sure he's not dreaming. As if to make sure he is doing right, seeking your approval.

Rhaegar is shy too, at first.

When he sits on your lap, he snuggles up to you, buries his face in your neck, one of your locks curled in his chubby little hand and he rubs it against his nose. From time to time, he turns to give his father a curious look, recognising his own eyes in the unfamiliar face before him. 

Aemond's expression grows gentler, a softness never seen in his features before.

Once he has tamed the stranger, the little boy pecks at the blueberries in the tart in front of him. He shakes his legs, hitting your knees in painful little jabs, and your arm wraps around his body to hold him down.

Rhaegar loves cake, and the sugar may be coaxing him, for he's regaining his appetite for talking.

"He really does have my eyes," Aemond whispers incredulously, and his voice, still foreign to his son's ears, causes the little boy to lift his head.

" It is definitely the only thing he has inherited from you," you reply, teasing him with a small smile at the corner of your lips.

Soon Rhaegar finishes the blueberry tart, the cream smeared over the bottom of his face and the tip of his nose.

"He inherited that from you, that is certain." Aemond grins, pointing with his long chin at the boy's voracious appetite for cakes and pastries.

You have to pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming. That your husband is really standing in front of you, with your son, like a normal family. 

That he was truly trying to tell a joke.

This form of domesticity is so alien to your relationship, and yet so pleasant, that you find yourself thinking that perhaps you have made the right decision, indeed, if every day can be like this. 

"Your muña deserves some cake too, what do you say, little one?"

Rhaegar giggles. Aemond cuts a slice of your favourite cake, the one with the strawberries, and puts it on your plate. 

You blush. After all these years, he hasn't forgotten which one is your favourite.

You can't even really whisper a thank you because this apparent domesticity, this feeling of completeness, this interlude of happiness makes you uneasy. Anxious.

You have the feeling that at any moment you'll be plunged back into the horror of what you went through all those years ago. 

You have the feeling that at any moment the Gods will be cruel and snatch away this happiness that you've barely been able to taste, leaving only the memory of its sweet taste on your lips.

You breathe in and out, as you often do when you feel your palpitations rising in your chest.

"Do you... do you want to take him on your lap?" you ask your uncle with shyness, your hand stroking Rhaegar's thick brown curls. Aemond looks at you as if you have spoken in a foreign language. Lips parted, he is about to say something, but not a sound escapes his lips. His lonely eye travels from you to your son, from your son to you, in silence.

"I don't know if -"

You can hear the doubt in his voice, and it's almost touching to see him lose his confidence in front of his own son, to see him so nervous and unsure of himself.

You let out a little laugh, not in mockery, obviously, just full of tenderness.

You know what he's thinking.

He's afraid of frightening him.

He's afraid of harming him.

"You won't hurt him, Aemond."

He answers nothing. He still doesn't like to look vulnerable, unsure, and you know it has to do with his childhood. With all he has kept bottled up inside him all these years. He will need time.

Your eyes fall back to the little boy sitting in your lap, and you draw his attention to yourself by stroking the curls on his forehead.

"Do you want to go to Aemond for a while? To kepus?" 

you correct yourself immediately, and Rhaegar nods in agreement.

You are amazed at how easily he slips off your legs to run to his father, to pull himself onto his lap, when only a few hours ago he was so intimidated by the presence of this stranger with the eyepatch.

Your uncle automatically puts his arm around his waist to make him feel comfortable, his new role taking root in him. His fingers reach for the cloth on the table, and he wipes Rhaegar's face, who can't help but burst out laughing at his father's clumsy gestures.

For a split second you are lost in contemplating the horizon, the stillness of the sea. You taste the sea breeze on your face.

And then you turn your head towards the cobbled path where the guards and your sworn protector are still stationed. 

Your mother is no longer there, and you notice that you have not at any time felt the need to seek comfort in her presence. 

You smile, for in the end you know you've made the right decision.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

Dragonstone, 6 months later.

When you walk the corridors of the place that saw you grow up, you are no longer haunted by the ghosts and their incessant cries. A kind of peace has settled over you, a return to the pleasant familiarity you've waited so long for.

You still think of Luke, of course. Of Luke and Joff and little Aegon and Viserys, your brothers you will never see grow old. 

But you no longer feel their disapproving glances at every step you take. You are no longer kept awake by their cries, by their tears, by the remorse that twists your stomach. 

You no longer blame yourself. 

Perhaps you've finally learnt to make peace with yourself.

The heavy door of the bedroom you share with Aemond is half open, and you slip your head into the doorway, piqued by curiosity.

Snuggled on your husband's lap, Rhaegar is staring at the pages of a large book, the corners of which you can guess are horned, the cover worn, from being carried everywhere. You can imagine the jam stains that mark the paper with children's fingerprints. You know exactly which page is missing, the one you and Aemond accidentally tore out and hid so the Septa wouldn't notice, so many years ago. 

It is a book about dragons, the very one the two of you used to read hidden under the table when you were so young and innocent, long before the torment of war.

Without a sound, you lean against the doorframe and contemplate for a moment the perfect vision before you.

You don't have the cruelty to disturb them.

 "This one is Vhaegar!" shouts Rhaegar, and you hold your breath, searching Aemond's face for any hint that might betray his reaction. The mention of his former dragon is still a sensitive subject for him, you know it.

"Yes, that's Vhagar." he pauses. "She was brave."

From the corner of his eye, Aemond spots your silhouette in the faint glow of the corridor, and his attention lingers on you for a moment. He's almost embarrassed to be caught in such a vulnerable, intimate moment, but you smile tenderly to encourage him.

"And big!" the little boy adds, energetically raising his arms to the sky to emphasise his words.

"Yes, and big." There's a suspended moment of silence where the words hang in the air, and then your husband gently ruffles his son's hair. It's a tender sight to see them bond like this, and your heart fills with happiness.

Taking a step forward, you step into the light of the room and Rhaegar expresses his joy at seeing you. You smile back at him and approach the chair where Aemond sits, your son on his lap.

Your uncle's hand instantly rests on the curve of your belly, which he still stares at with the same protective instinct, the same fascination, as the day you told him the news. His eyes sparkle.

"Your daughter is restless today."

He looks up at you, not without lingering for a moment on your breasts and their new shape.

"My daughter?" he asks, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"I'm convinced it's a girl. You reply, smiling wryly, and take a seat in the armchair next to the one where Aemond and your son are sitting, facing the fireplace. "And she took after her father, given her temper," you tease him, your hand on the top of your rounded belly to soothe the baby growing there. 

Rhaegar's eyes close slowly. Nestled against the chest of the man who, just a few months ago, was still a stranger, he fights sleep, he fights to stay awake, but tiredness quickly overcomes him. And then he falls asleep, his mouth half open, the movements of his breath making his chest rise and fall rhythmically.

Aemond finally gets up. You follow his movements with your eyes as he approaches you, the child in his arms, and he plants a kiss on the top of his head.

"I'm going to put him to bed. I'll be right back." He straightens and lowers his voice.

"I wouldn't fail in my duty and neglect my wife." The heat rises to your cheeks, turning them red at the implication of what awaits you tonight. You're already wet between your thighs at the thought. 

But you nod in agreement and watch him walk away. 

You are left alone in the silence of the room. The only sound around you is the steady crackling of the fire.

It's strange, you think, to be back on Dragonstone, in the familiarity of the stones you've spent most of your life between, after getting used to the idea of not surviving the war.

To the idea of dying from a broken heart.

To the idea of dying, the umpteenth victim of the vicious spiral of conflict that has torn your family apart.

And yet here you are.

With your own family.

For once you have hope for the future. You hear the cries of your little brother, lost in the storm so long ago, but they are quickly replaced by the laughter of a happy memory. 

And finally, you have the absolute confirmation that you have made the right decision.

*** *** *** *** ***

Thank you so much for reading!! <3

Tag list : @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis (I'm tagging you since you asked for it ❤️)

[destielgaysex]

what would you like to see in a revival? or what do you think is more likely to happen plot-wise?

personally i would want the revival to ignore the s15 finale like it never happened and pick up after 15x18, but better. aka dean doesnt die, they find/save cas, and jack isnt God. billie and amara get a better endings. eileen appearance. aka a short mini-series that finishes the show better (how I WANT IT). but most likely, i think the potential revival will be a continuation of the end of the winchesters.

i only watched the last 3 or 4 episodes of the winchesters. my friend and i were curious wtf was happening when it we found out it wasnt a prequel but a sequel. for those who didnt keep up with it, the winchesters is about a different universe john and mary. they arent OUR dean's john and mary.

the winchesters takes place after dean died but before sam dies and goes to heaven. dean escaped/left heaven to explore the multiverse (his motivations for this could be explored in the revival) and he found this type of monster, the akrida. this is from the spnwiki "The Akrida are a species of monster not from Earth who have tried to invade multiple times in the past. According to Dean Winchester, they are a threat to all of existence. They were created by God as a failsafe to destroy existence in case he failed in his own efforts"

in one of the last scenes of the winchesters, dean meets mary and john (+friends) form this other universe. when they ask how he traveled between universes (from spn wiki) "Dean explains that he was looking for his family and that he comes from a long line of hunters, and he was hoping that somewhere out there was an Earth that had a version where Dean's family had a shot at a happy ending."

i dont give a fuck about the akrida or alternate universe mary and john, but what i DO find interesting is the concept that dean cant rest even in heaven. that he is "looking for his family." well we know from bobby in 15x20, john and mary are in heaven. jsut down the road from dean... so. what OTHER family could dean be talking about. besides sam who is ALIVE on earth... Cas... i mean this is MY interpretation. obviously. bc cas was not even mentioned in the winchesters. bobbby and jack, dean's bobby and jack were in the show. and sam was mentioned (dean explaining to bobby and jack why he had to meddle in the multiverse was to stop the akrida bc he didnt want them to hurt their universe's sam and the life he is building). when i watched the winchester's finale, i was waiting for just ONE cas mention but... none. of course. which like... crazy. like SO funny. bc of course. of course cas' son can be in the show. but cas cant even be mentioned.

i choose to believe (bc i am destiel forever) that dean was looking for a way to get cas out of the empty. that there is some spell, some ingredient he is searching for. and then he ended up finding the akrida and had to stop them from destroying the multiverse..

anyways back to the winchesters' finale. (from spn wiki) "Jack reprimands Dean for his actions, reminding Dean that when Jack restored everything, he wanted mankind to make their own fate which means no interference from on high anywhere with no exceptions. Dean insists that he couldn't let their world get destroyed, especially since Sam is still alive and he deserves a good long life as does the Monster Club. Dean tells a visibly conflicted Jack that he can cast Dean out of Heaven for his actions if he wants to while Bobby votes that Jack gives Dean another chance. Conceding the point, Jack notes that there's always another case for hunters, even in death. Handing Dean something, Jack tells him to finish what he started if Dean's going to meddle in things and that 'after this… it's time to get around to the "there'll be peace when you are done" part of the song.'"

in MY opinion, this jack is corrupted by chuck. in this scene, jack is wearing this all white outfit and is acting not like jack at all. i have no clue if the show meant for him to come across that way, but corrupted by chuck!jack is SO interesting to me. like dean escaped heaven once he realized jack DIDNT bring cas back, so he found some sort of spell to bring cas back/defeat chuck!jack. but he needs ingredients from other universes. dean is on the run from chuck!jack. meanwhile, bobby is scared of jack's power, he thinks dean needs to be careful bc it isnt the jack dean remembers. dean KNOWS that. he knows HIS jack would never leave cas in the empty. thats why dean HAS to find a way to stop chuck!jack and bring cas back.

so my ideal future revival plot based on that concept from the winchesters' finale. dean is back in heaven and on heavier lock down from chuck!jack and his new angels. dean is at least grateful he stopped the akrida and sam is safe on earth, but he still needs to take down chuck!jack and get cas back. so the main plot is dean sneaking around heaven trying to find places to get ingredients in heaven. chuck!jack makes appearances and is still pretending to be jack, but it is established in the pilot that it isnt jack but chuck pretending to be jack. so each episode would be dean finding more ingredients and running into past characters in heaven aka charlie, jo, ash, kevin, and more and telling them about whats happening and they get on board with helping in their own ways.. and for #destiel, every time dean explains the chuck!jack situation and getting cas back.. the drama, the pining, the lovesickness from dean wanting cas back. that cas, the stupid idiot, didnt let dean respond. that the asshole cant tell dean that cas cant have dean, when he has had dean the whole time.. basically lots of dean mentioning lines from the confession but never quite saying i love cas... but yes he does. dean to charlie: and then he says "the one thing i cant have." what a fucking asshole, i hate him so much. charlie voice: so you love him back? dean: i am going to punch him in the face

and near the climax of this plot, dean would have to confront john. and therefore mary too... very interesting juicy stuff to go into there but i feel my post is too long.

BUT WAIT, the cas of it all. cas sideplot of course. he is in the empty and trying to get out bc he heard rumors that jack is being possessed by chuck, and dean is dead. so billie and a lot of other demons and angel characters have their episodes too. mirroring dean and dead friends of his in heaven... bobby is one of the main characters in the heaven plot and billie/crowley are the main characters of the empty plot.

also, i havent really thought too much of sams part in this, but he would have a hell subplot with rowena. and eileen is there. (no blurry wife or kid for sam. thats just deleted from canon).

i just think it would be interesting to have the leads in heaven, earth/hell, and the empty all trying to take down chuck, but they arent working together due to restrictions between the places. heaven is on lockdown after the winchesters finale. the empty is well... the empty. earth and hell are the only ones that are free travel (thanks rowena). also, i feel like it would be soo awesome if Sam (with rowena and eileen) is the one to help free cas and crew from empty. bc 1. dean would feel guilty it wasnt him. (dean would save cas in another way near the finale so we still get the parallel of how they met). 2. rowena and crowley reunite. 3. billie and rowena <3 and so much more that is coming to me just while writing this down.. i think... trying to write a fic of this would be so fun. so i am going to save all my other thoughts of this story.

SO tldr i guess; if you are choosing to have a positive interpretation of the ending of the winchesters. it can be very interesting, and i like to think about future revival plots based on the winchesters' finale bc i think its fun to speculate with the concepts that show introduced. i dont think it would ever happen the way i imagine it would. so this is all for fun. and even if the basics of the plot were in the unconfirmed spn revival, i knowit would NOT be close to what i want... but thats what fanfic is for, and also spn revival truthing is so enriching...

i have never written my thoughts about this down even though i think about it a lot. writing it all down just made more and more ideas come to me about the plot, so maybe i should just start to write my own fic of it ... confirmed destielgaysex fanfic instead of just keeping his ideas in his head forever? confirmed ro writing something down instead of thinking about them? maybe coming soon... who knows. i have so many fic ideas in my head.. like the season 6 au.. the s8 au... the s12 au... literally so many ... maybe one day...