#would there just be two of you in one timeline?

[lananiscorner]

Can't speak for anybody else, but depending on where you went to school and who your teachers were, I'm afraid paying attention and giving a damn is only half the battle.

Personally (went to school in the 90s and 00s before AI was a thing), I had so. very. many. teachers. who just utterly FAILED at making us understand WHY and HOW the things they were teaching us were going to be important later. It was really more of a "this is on the curriculum, and it's my subject which is always awesome, how can you not see this is awesome and enjoy it just for its own sake?" vibes. And yeah, unless the student you are teaching is into the thing you are teaching, you are not going to get them to pay attention like that.

My most abysmal subject in school was history, primarily because most of my history teachers thought learning about history was inherently FUN and "why can't you guys see this is FUN? How are you not seeing the FUN in this? What's wrong with y'all? How do you not ENJOY learning all those dates and watching timeline grow long?" Meanwhile, me and most of the class were sitting there like "I will never be able to memorize all these dates and everyone involved has been dead for hundreds of years, society has marched on, why should I care?" All I can say is BLESS the two or three GOOD history teachers I had who actually made the jump to go "okay, so forget the dates for a moment, focus on the how and why and let's see how this is still relevant TODAY". If it hadn't been for those two/three teachers, I would have remembered fuck all and I would be entirely unprepared for the historical fuckery that is happening RIGHT NOW.

The same applied to German and English class (I am German, had English as a second language since grade 3). Our English classes were almost entirely about learning the rules of the language and basic geography/history of major English-speaking countries. Our German classes were almost entirely learning the rules of our own language and our Cultural Heritage™ and also, here are the most famous writers (almost all of whom were white, middle-aged upper class men who died hundreds of years ago and whose lived experience was so far removed from that of a teenager in the 90s/00s, it might as well have happened in a different dimension) and we gotta analyze why THEY were brilliant why THEIR WRITING was brilliant.

Like, I WISH we had actually taken apart some newspaper articles/podcasts and analyzed them for how to identify the proper information and spot misinformation/propaganda. I WISH our teachers had succeeded in demonstrating to us why we should care about media analysis, other than wanking about guys who wrote something decent 300 years ago, but most of them really didn't.

Then there is the cascading failure of teachers in later years assuming that you already learned to do something years ago, so clearly they don't need to teach you. They don't even need to ask if you know. Of course not.

I still remember vividly the one history teacher we had who gave us an assignment to make presentations on some very specific local Jewish businesses and institutions that were sacked during the 1930s. Most of us had utterly abysmal grades on that one, not because we didn't care about the subject, but because it was highly local history, so good luck finding anything about it in the local library or on the internet, both of which tended to take a "top to bottom" approach of there being lots of information on global or national events, but very little on local events.

Our teacher gave all of us mediocre grades (deserved, because our presentations were mediocre at best) and then went on to complain how disappointed she was that none of us seemed to have done any research in the city archives, to which almost every single one of us responded with: "wait, there are publicly accessible city archives that we can access for this kind of information? Even as underaged students?"

She had the GALL to be surprised by our reaction, and to complain about how we should know about this already... and then she didn't even bother to teach us how we would go about accessing this kind of information! She saw a leak, and instead of teaching us how to plug it, she just complained about the leak and moved on.

You know, this would have been a nice chance for a field trip? Take the class down to city hall? Let the archiving clerks explain to us how information is stored and sorted and what we can access and what not? I don't know what this woman was expecting from us, honestly, because if "archive research" had been on any of our history curricula before, our teachers clearly hadn't bothered with it, and we were students living in former soviet territories--our parents grew up in a communist dictatorship where asking the wrong questions landed you in prison getting interrogated and tortured. Just how nosy/curious exactly did this HISTORY teacher who clearly should have known about the HISTORICAL background of our area think we were going to be, and how did she not even THINK to ask us "so this next task is about highly local stuff--do all of y'all know what the city archives are and how to access them?"

Like, I'm not saying that none of this failure to do research and accurately interpret and formulate texts is down to student laziness, especially in the face of AI. All I'm saying is, the cards are already pretty stacked against a lot of kids to begin with.

I cannot stress the importance of paying attention in language classes in high school. Maybe the reason why your English teacher taught you about unreliable narrators is because a lot of the media around you is written by unreliable narrators posing as reliable. Maybe they gave you assignments on interpreting texts so you could draw your own conclusions about news articles. Some of you clearly thought English classes were useless in high school and now are unable to engage critically with media.

[svt-luna]

𝜗℘ NOBODY KNOWS

❛ 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴, 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘩 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴. 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴, 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘩 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴. 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯. 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦, 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳. ❜

timeline: 2020

synopsis: After a year of stolen glances and secret meetings, one reckless moment in the practice room turns Jeonghan and Luna’s hidden relationship into the group’s loudest revelation.

warnings: this is a short but sweet one!!, cursing, fluff, short fic, sneaking around, established relationship, some slightly suggestive moments, pda, they are whipped for each other, somewhat chaotic and comedic, LOTS of screaming (mainly from BSS)

this is long overdue and i am sorry it took a while, i completely forgot this existed after being buried in my drafts 🫠 anyways, hope you guys enjoy and happy reading!!

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ writings masterlist

Sneaking around was fun.

Jeonghan never thought it would be this fun, but sneaking around with Luna?

It was exhilarating.

There was something about stolen moments, the quiet thrill of being together without anyone knowing. It wasn’t that they wanted to keep secrets from their friends, but the world they had built for themselves, just the two of them, was intoxicating.

Every glance, every brush of the hand when no one was looking, held more weight, more intimacy. They shared something that no one else could see, and the act of hiding it made everything so much sweeter.

It was a game, really— one they never planned to play but found themselves drawn into. The way they would lock eyes across a crowded room, knowing exactly what the other was thinking. Or how Jeonghan would casually sit beside her during rehearsals, his fingers lightly grazing her leg under the table, completely unnoticed by everyone else.

The secret made the connection between them even more intense, amplifying the quiet, unspoken moments they shared.

Ever since that one night…

It all started one passionate night— a night that neither of them would ever forget. They had been close for so long, their bond deepening naturally with time. But that night changed everything.

The tension that had been simmering for months finally broke, and they found themselves in tangled each other’s arms, both of them giving in to what they had been feeling for so long. It was like a dam had burst, and from that moment on, there was no going back.

After that night, they were inseparable.

There was a new intensity to the way they existed around each other, a magnetic pull that neither of them could resist.

If they were in the same room, they gravitated toward each other, always finding some way to be close— whether it was sitting next to each other during team dinners, or slipping away for a quick moment together during breaks.

The honeymoon phase was real, and they were living it.

Every moment they could steal for themselves was golden. Jeonghan would find ways to be alone with her, whether it was a late-night talk after a long day of practice or sneaking out to the rooftop to enjoy the quiet, starry night together. They would talk for hours about everything and nothing, just enjoying each other’s company.

Sometimes, it didn’t even matter what they said; it was just about being together.

Jeonghan often found himself watching her, completely mesmerized by the smallest things she did. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was deep in thought, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed.

And Luna, too, couldn’t help but get lost in the softness of his gaze, the way he would quietly take her hand under the table or brush a stray hair from her face when he thought no one was looking. They were locked in their own world, so attuned to each other that the rest of the world faded into the background.

Their whole relationship was a secret by accident.

They hadn’t planned on keeping it a secret. It wasn’t like they had some grand scheme to hide their relationship from the rest of the group. But life had a way of getting in the way.

There were practices, recordings, filming schedules, performances— everything piling up one after the other. Their lives were so hectic that there never seemed to be a perfect moment to tell the other members— not that they realized anything was going on… Luna and Jeonghan were just being the exact same according to them.

At first, couple thought they would sit everyone down, have a proper conversation, maybe even laugh about it afterward. But the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, and the perfect moment never came.

The idea of revealing their relationship over a rushed text message felt wrong. This was something significant, something that deserved more than just a casual mention in passing.

It wasn’t about not trusting the other members; they knew that their friends would be nothing but supportive. It was about finding the right time— when they could explain things fully, face to face. When they could show just how serious they were about each other.

But the right time never came.

The longer they waited, the busier they became.

And so they didn’t tell.

They just… let it be.

Every time Jeonghan or Luna would think about bringing it up, something would happen. A sudden practice session, an emergency meeting. And with each passing day, it just became easier to keep it to themselves.

It wasn’t that they were trying to deceive anyone. It was just that life was moving too fast, and their relationship— this precious thing they had created— felt too sacred to rush an announcement.

However, there was something thrilling about it.

Over time, sneaking around became a part of their routine. The thrill of catching glances, of brushing hands in secret, of exchanging knowing smiles when no one else was looking— it was like living in their own secret movie.

They would send quick, playful texts when the others weren’t paying attention, or find ways to meet in secluded spots during their schedules. They had their little hideouts— places in the company building or backstage at events where no one would think to look for them. There, they could steal a kiss or two, holding each other tightly in moments where the rest of the world couldn’t reach them.

Jeonghan loved the moments when they’d sneak away after hours, meeting in quiet corners where they wouldn’t be found. Like that time they slipped out after a late recording session and sat on the rooftop, huddled together under the stars, away from the noise of the world.

They had laughed quietly as they whispered about how none of the members had any idea. Or that one time backstage during a performance, when he had pulled her into an empty dressing room, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before they both had to rush back on stage.

Then there were the fleeting touches— Jeonghan brushing his fingers along the back of her hand when no one was watching, Luna squeezing his knee under the table during a team meeting.

These were their secret ways of communicating when words weren’t enough. The thrill of not being caught, of knowing that this was something just between the two of them, made every touch feel electric.

There were a lot of impulsive moments where both Jeonghan and Luna threw their caution out the window.

A lot— a concerning amount.

Like that time at the recording studio…

The studio was buzzing, but it wasn't loud enough to drown out Jeonghan's thoughts.

They were supposed to be focusing on the new track, practicing harmonies with the rest of the group. But every time Luna moved beside him, her elbow brushing against his arm, his focus slipped. It was maddening, the way she was so close yet felt so far.

Jeonghan cast a sidelong glance at her, watching the way she absentmindedly tapped her fingers on the music sheet. He could see the hint of a smile on her lips, and it drove him crazy knowing she had no idea what she was doing to him.

He leaned in, his lips just grazing the shell of her ear, voice barely audible as he murmured, "Come with me."

Luna's fingers froze mid-tap, but she didn't look at him, her eyes still on the paper. "Now?" she whispered back, pretending to stay focused on the task at hand.

She knew exactly what he wanted, but the room was filled with people— members, staff, producers.

It was reckless.

Jeonghan smirked, leaning just a little closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Right now."

A soft blush crept across Luna's cheeks, but she kept her voice steady. "We're supposed to be practicing." Her eyes darted toward him briefly before looking away, her resolve weakening with each passing second.

Jeonghan, though, knew her well enough by now. He saw the way her lips quirked at the corners, the slight shift in her body language that told him she was already considering it.

"We won't be long," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "Just a little break."

She finally turned her head, her eyes locking with his, amusement dancing in the depths of her gaze. "You're impossible."

"And you love it," he teased, his hand already gently tugging her wrist beneath the table where no one could see. The others were too engrossed in their own parts to notice. He gave her a knowing look, his thumb tracing small circles on her skin. "Come on. Ten minutes."

“That’s a long fucking time for a ‘little break’.” Luna tried reasoning with him but she knew it was no use.

“What are they gonna do? Fire us?” Jeonghan sassed back before smirking.

Luna hesitated for a fraction of a second, casting a quick glance around the room. No one was paying attention. Her heart raced as she weighed the risk, but deep down, she knew there was no saying no to Jeonghan when he got that glint in his eye.

“Nana-ya,” Jeonghan whispered as he tugged on her arm again, more insistent this time, and she exhaled softly, surrendering.

"Fine," she muttered, but the small smile playing on her lips betrayed her excitement.

Without a word, Jeonghan stood up, casually stretching his arms as though he was just taking a break from the session.

Luna followed suit, quietly slipping behind him. They walked out of the room, their steps in perfect sync as they made their way down the narrow hallway. The further they went, the faster her pulse raced, anticipation curling in her chest.

Jeonghan glanced over his shoulder, grinning as he led her to a small, unused room at the end of the corridor.

The door clicked shut behind them, and Luna felt the immediate change in the atmosphere— the quiet, intimate space wrapping around them like a blanket.

She barely had time to react before Jeonghan was in front of her, his hands sliding up her arms to her shoulders, pulling her in. His smile was playful, teasing, but his eyes were intense. "I've been wanting to do this all day," he murmured, his voice low as he dipped his head closer to hers.

Luna's heart skipped a beat, but she shook her head, half-heartedly trying to keep some semblance of control. "We're going to get caught."

He hummed, brushing a stray hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering against her cheek. "Maybe." His lips hovered just inches from hers, his breath fanning across her skin, making her stomach flutter. "But isn't that part of the fun?"

Luna opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything, Jeonghan closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a soft, lingering kiss. It was slow at first, a gentle press of lips that quickly deepened as he coaxed her to respond. Her hands instinctively found their way to the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric as she melted into him, the tension in her body slipping away with every passing second.

When they finally broke apart, Jeonghan rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. "You always give in," he whispered, his tone light but filled with affection.

Luna huffed a soft laugh, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. "You make it impossible to resist."

He grinned, kissing the tip of her nose. "Good."

She playfully pushed his chest, though there was no force behind it. "We really shouldn't be doing this here."

Jeonghan leaned back, his hand sliding down her arm to lace their fingers together. "You say that every time, but here we are."

She gave him a mock glare, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her as they quirked upward. "One of these days, we're actually going to get caught."

He shrugged, unbothered, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Then I guess we'll deal with it when it happens." He tugged her a little closer, leaning down to kiss her again, this time slower, savoring the moment. When he pulled away, his eyes were soft, the teasing edge replaced with something more sincere. "I just want to be with you. Doesn't matter where."

Her heart swelled at his words, and she smiled, resting her head against his chest for a brief moment. "Yoon Jeonghan, you're impossible, you know that?"

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "And you love me for it."

Luna sighed, pulling away just enough to look up at him, her eyes twinkling. "Yeah. I do."

They stayed there for a moment longer, the world outside that tiny room fading into the background. There was nothing but the two of them, their shared breath, their intertwined fingers. And in that quiet space, everything else ceased to matter.

That time during one of their team dinners��

The restaurant was alive with the sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and the chaotic chatter of thirteen boys— fourteen, counting Luna, who sat across from Jeonghan at the long table. The night was loud, but neither of them noticed. Their attention was pulled away from the noise of their friends, entirely focused on each other.

Luna sat back in her chair, her chin resting in the palm of her hand, pretending to listen to the conversation next to her.

But beneath the table, her foot brushed against Jeonghan’s leg. It was a light touch at first, so subtle it could be mistaken for an accident. But the moment she felt him shift slightly in response, she pressed her foot against him again, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

Jeonghan looked up, meeting her gaze across the table, his eyes narrowing just slightly in amusement. The lively atmosphere around them melted into the background, fading into a blur of laughter and voices. His foot moved under the table, lightly nudging hers back, playing along with the silent game she’d initiated. His lips twitched as he watched her reaction.

Meanwhile, the rest of the members were oblivious, deep in their own world of boisterous conversation and drinks. Mingyu was loudest, his laughter booming across the table as he slapped Woozi’s back, nearly spilling the contents of his drink.

“Hyung, you should’ve seen it! I swear, he tripped over his own feet!” Mingyu exclaimed between laughs, his large frame shaking with each burst of laughter.

Woozi shot him a deadpan look, pushing his drink aside. “You’re exaggerating. I didn’t trip. You’re clumsy one.”

“I’m not clumsy!” Mingyu protested, but his voice was lost to the noise of the table as the others chimed in with their own comments.

“I think you are,” Hoshi teased from the other end, raising his glass, clearly drunk out of his wits. “To Mingyu, our tall and graceful giant!”

The group erupted into laughter, but Jeonghan barely heard it. His focus was entirely on Luna. Her foot grazed against his again, the touch sending a jolt of anticipation through him. She was watching him closely now, her eyes gleaming with a mix of teasing and mischief. Jeonghan, never one to back down from a challenge, pushed his foot back against hers, this time more firmly.

The corners of her mouth lifted, just enough for him to notice, and she pressed her foot against his again, slipping it between his calves, testing how far she could push before someone caught on.

He leaned back in his chair, arms casually resting on the back of the seat next to him, as if he was completely unaffected. But the truth was, his heart was pounding in his chest, excitement swirling in his stomach.

The game they were playing, right under everyone’s noses, was intoxicating.

Luna tilted her head, pretending to listen to something Seungkwan was saying next to her, but her focus remained on Jeonghan. Her foot slid up along his leg, slowly, deliberately. Jeonghan bit the inside of his cheek, fighting the urge to smile too widely, knowing the members would notice.

Seungkwan, oblivious to the under-the-table antics, was going on about his latest variety show appearance, hands gesturing animatedly. “And then they asked me to do the aegyo thing— again. Can you believe it? I mean, I’m more than just cute, you know!”

Vernon raised a brow, taking a sip of his drink. “Sure, man. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Seungkwan gasped dramatically, slapping Vernon’s arm. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“Let’s be honest,” Joshua chimed in with a grin, “you do the aegyo thing too well. They’re never going to stop asking.”

The group burst into laughter again, but Jeonghan remained silent, his gaze locked on Luna’s. She was clearly enjoying herself, watching him squirm under her subtle touches. Her eyes flickered to his leg, and she pushed her foot higher, grazing the inside of his knee.

Jeonghan shifted slightly, trying to maintain his composure, but it was getting harder with each passing second. The heat between them, the secret they shared, was making it difficult to focus on anything else. He could feel her foot teasing him, slow and deliberate, as if daring him to break first.

He wasn’t going to let her win that easily.

In one swift motion, Jeonghan pushed his foot forward, trapping hers between his legs. Luna’s eyes widened in surprise, and her lips parted in a small gasp. She glanced up at him, her eyes flashing with both challenge and amusement.

Jeonghan smirked. Got you, his eyes seemed to say.

But before either of them could make another move, Jeonghan suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of the trance Luna had put him in.

“Hyung, you alright?” It was Dokyeom, his brow furrowed as he leaned in, clearly noticing Jeonghan’s unusual silence. “You’ve been staring off into space for the last five minutes.”

Jeonghan blinked, quickly forcing a nonchalant smile. “Oh, yeah. Just… thinking.” He gave a lazy stretch, trying to shake off the tension that had built up during his and Luna’s silent exchange.

Dokyeom raised an eyebrow, unconvinced as he teased. “Thinking? You? Since when?”

Jeonghan laughed, deflecting with ease. “Since always, Dokyeomie. I have a lot of deep thoughts— plus I was listening to you guys.”

Dokyeom rolled his eyes but seemed satisfied with the response. “Yeah, sure. I’ll try to believe that.”

Jeonghan gave him a light shove.

Dokyeom laughed, oblivious to the real reason behind Jeonghan’s distraction, before turning back to the rest of the conversation. But Jeonghan’s attention had already shifted back to Luna. She was watching him, her foot still trapped between his legs, her lips quirking into a knowing smile.

As the conversation around them picked up again, Luna pressed her foot against him one more time, her silent message clear: This isn’t over.

Jeonghan bit back a laugh, but in his attempt to regain control, his knee accidentally bumped into the edge of the table with a loud thud. The plates and glasses rattled, and several heads turned in his direction.

“Hyung!” Minghao exclaimed, his eyes wide with amusement. “Are you okay?”

Jeonghan waved it off, rubbing his knee with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I uh— just got a little too comfortable.”

But across the table, Luna chuckled quietly, her eyes dancing with amusement as she watched him squirm under the scrutiny of their friends. Jeonghan shot her a playful glare, mouthing the words, You’ll pay for that later.

She only smiled wider, her foot giving him one last teasing nudge before retreating, her expression one of pure satisfaction.

It was risky, but that was part of the fun.

Every shared touch, every secret kiss carried a weight of excitement that was almost addicting.

They never meant to hide it.

It was never supposed to be a secret for this long. But as days turned into months, they realized they liked it— this bubble they had created for themselves, away from the chaos of their public lives.

Their relationship was something they could protect, something that was purely theirs, away from the spotlight. It wasn’t about hiding from their friends, but about keeping something precious between the two of them for a little longer.

They knew they would tell the members eventually, but for now, this was theirs.

And they weren’t quite ready to let that go.

Until they accidentally did…

Which was strange— they had been careful. Hyper-aware of their surroundings.

But it was bound to happen.

A reckless moment, a stolen kiss, a door left unlocked. That was all it took.

And it happened in the practice room.

The room was empty, dimly lit by the white glow of the ceiling lights, the faint hum of music still playing from the speakers. Hours of practice had drained them both, and now, with the studio vacant, it felt like their own little sanctuary.

Jeonghan sat against the mirrored wall, legs stretched out, his arm draped lazily over Luna’s shoulder as she sat beside him, mirroring his posture. The air between them was thick with exhaustion, but also with something softer— something indulgent.

They had been talking, murmuring quiet teases about who had fumbled more during practice, until the teasing had dwindled into comfortable silence. Then, it had happened naturally, like second nature. Luna had turned her head toward him, and Jeonghan had already been looking at her. His fingers traced along her jaw, brushing back the stray strands of hair sticking to her slightly damp skin.

And then he kissed her.

Slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that spoke of familiarity and comfort, but also of something greedy, something that thrived in the secrecy of these hidden moments.

Luna responded just as eagerly, her fingers curling around the collar of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. Jeonghan sighed into her lips, tilting his head, deepening the kiss, drowning in the feeling of just them.

They were completely lost in it.

So lost that they didn’t hear the door swing open.

Didn’t hear the footsteps.

Didn’t hear the chorus of gasps and the sharp inhale of about twelve different people collectively losing their minds.

“OH MY GOD— WHAT THE HELL?!”

Luna and Jeonghan froze.

For a split second, they stayed completely still, lips barely apart, breath mingling, before reality crashed down on them like a landslide. Luna jerked back like she had been burned, heart hammering against her ribs as her wide, horrified eyes darted toward the entrance.

A sea of stunned expressions met her.

Seungkwan had a hand over his mouth, eyes stretched so wide it looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets. Vernon blinked once. Then twice. Then again, as if he was still processing what exactly he had just walked into. Dino, on the other hand, had taken a step back, his hands clutching his head as if he was physically trying to comprehend what he just saw.

“NO FUCKING WAY—”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

“Oh, I knew it! I KNEW IT!”

“Wait, wait, hold on —what— how— WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?!”

Luna felt her entire body turn hot, her face burning in complete mortification as she let out a choked squeak and immediately buried her head in Jeonghan’s lap. Heaving in embarrassment, she curled into herself, as if the earth could swallow her whole if she just made herself small enough.

But Jeonghan?

Jeonghan, that insufferable man, merely leaned back against the wall with a lazy, unfazed grin.

“Well,” he drawled, “that could’ve gone better.”

“What do you mean ‘that could’ve gone better’— ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!” Seungkwan exploded, still gripping his chest like he was about to have a heart attack. “We just walked in on you two making out and THAT’S YOUR REACTION?!”

Dokyeon let out a loud cackle, slapping his knee. “This is unreal! You guys were hiding this from us?! No, no, hold on, we need answers—”

“Answers?! We need a damn timeline!” Joshua exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I— this entire time?! This entire time? I mean… I had a feeling…”

Minghao folded his arms, letting out a small huff through his nose. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“I KNEW IT!” Hoshi screamed, pointing an accusatory finger at them. “I had a feeling! You two were always acting weird! The glances! The whispers! The suspicious disappearing acts! I CALLED IT!”

“You literally never said anything,” Jun pointed out.

Hoshi spun on his heel. “IT WAS A GUT FEELING.”

Woozi, who had remained silent this entire time, simply exhaled through his nose and pinched the bridge of it, muttering under his breath, “You guys are unbelievable.”

Meanwhile, Vernon blinked again, finally processing everything. “So… are we not gonna practice anymore?”

“VERNON, PLEASE—”

Through it all, Luna refused to lift her head, her ears burning, her entire body screaming in secondhand embarrassment. “Oh my god,” she mumbled against Jeonghan’s thigh, “I’m never showing my face again.”

Jeonghan chuckled, bringing a hand up to lazily ruffle her hair. “You’re fine, baby.”

“BABY?!”

A fresh round of chaos erupted.

Seungcheol, who had been standing in the center of it all in complete silence, finally let out a long, deep sigh. “Alright, everyone, calm down—”

“CALM DOWN?! HYUNG, WE JUST WALKED IN ON JEONGHAN HYUNG AND JIYEONIE—”

“I know.” S.Coups raised his voice just enough to cut through the noise. He ran a hand down his face before dropping it to his hip. “Honestly? I had my suspicions.”

A sharp gasp came out of Hoshi’s mouth. “YOU TOO?!”

“Well, yeah,” he deadpanned as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I have eyes.”

Amidst all the screaming, the different reactions, the teasing, and the sheer chaos of the moment, there was one person standing at the back, watching it all unfold with a quiet, unreadable expression.

Mingyu.

His lips were curled in a small, wistful smile, but there was something else there, something deep in his eyes— a flicker of something sad, something resigned, something understanding.

But he didn’t say a word.

He only let out a soft breath, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and looked at the two.

Then, he smiled.

Genuinely.

And that was enough for now.

Luna was still curled up in Jeonghan’s lap, her face burning hot enough to rival the sun, as the chaos continued to erupt around them.

Her mortification knew no bounds.

The teasing, the yelling, the absolute lack of any sense of order— it was everything she feared would happen if they ever got caught. And yet, there was no judgment, no tension, just an overwhelming surge of disbelief, excitement, and too many voices screaming at once.

Jeonghan, on the other hand, was still as cool as ever, his fingers lazily running through Luna’s hair like this was just another Tuesday. He wore a smug grin, as if he wasn’t the least bit sorry they had been found out. If anything, he was enjoying this.

“You knew this would happen,” Luna mumbled against his thigh, voice muffled.

Jeonghan chuckled, leaning down to whisper, “l didn’t, Nana-ya. But it was worth it, don’t you think?”

She groaned and smacked his knee.

Meanwhile, the members had barely taken a breath before the flood of questions began.

“Alright, hyung,” Dokyeom huffed, crossing his arms. “You better start talking! How long has this been going on? When did you two start?”

“Yeah, what the hell, man?” Seungkwan gasped, still dramatically clutching his chest like he was recovering from a near-death experience. “A YEAR? A WHOLE YEAR?! WE SEE EACH OTHER EVERYDAY! HOW DID I NOT KNOW?”

“You see ALL of us everyday,” Joshua pointed out.

“THAT’S BESIDE THE POINT.”

“I just wanna know…” Dino lips curled into a mischievous smirk, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Who confessed first?”

That made Luna’s entire body tense.

Finally, she lifted her head— reluctantly— peeking up at them with a shy, thoroughly flustered expression. The moment she did, every single one of them zeroed in on her like predators finding their prey.

She gulped.

“Oh. Oh, she looks guilty as hell.” Hoshi grinned, rubbing his hands together. “Jiyeonie, you confessed first, didn’t you?”

Luna sputtered, her ears burning. “I—I—”

“She did,” Jeonghan answered smoothly, flashing that infuriatingly handsome smile.

Luna’s head snapped toward him, betrayal written all over her face. “Yoon Jeonghan, I swear to God—”

“Wait, wait—” Seungcheol, who had been oddly quiet until now, suddenly blinked in realization. He turned to Mingyu. “Bro. Remember? The 2017 thing.”

Fuck was all Luna could think of at the moment.

Mingyu’s eyes flickered slightly, but his reaction was calm as he nodded. “Yeah. I remember.”

“What 2017 thing?” Dino asked, tilting his head.

Joshua exhaled, shaking his head with a knowing smile. “Ah… I see now.”

“Okay, WHAT ARE YOU ALL TALKING ABOUT?” Seungkwan shrieked.

Dokyeom gasped. “JIYEONIE CONFESSED IN 2017, DIDN’T SHE?”

“I am going to kill someone.” Luna looked absolutely murderous.

Jeonghan, still wearing that stupid smirk, poked her cheek. “What’s wrong, baby? Embarrassed?”

The way her entire body flared at the pet name, especially with twelve pairs of eyes watching, was something the others would never let her live down.

“Hold on, I need a second—” Dokyeom leaned against Seungkwan for support, wheezing.

“Hyung, you’re cruel.” Minghao snorted, shaking his head. “You’re really throwing her into the lion’s den.”

“I just think she looks cute when she’s embarrassed,” Jeonghan said, eyes twinkling.

Luna smacked his arm. Hard.

Seungcheol finally decided to step in, rubbing his temple as he sighed despite the smirk on his face. “Alright, alright, let’s calm down—”

“OH NO, WE’RE JUST GETTING STARTED,” Seungkwan interrupted, rubbing his hands together like an actual villain. “Alright, guys, be honest. Who knew? Who had a feeling?”

“Me,” Minghao deadpanned. “I had a feeling.”

“It was obvious,” Joshua added with a smirk.

Jun raised his hand lazily. “I had a gut feeling.”

Hoshi gawked. “SO EVERYONE BUT ME?!”

“Hyung, you said you knew earlier,” Dino pointed out. “I didn’t know though.”

“THAT WAS FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT.”

“Honestly,” Woozi finally spoke, looking far too amused for someone who had just been subjected to this madness, “it was kind of inevitable.”

“Oh?” Jeonghan raised a brow.

Woozi shrugged. “I mean, we all saw it coming. Even during trainee days, you two were glued to each other. It was like… written in the stars or some sappy shit.”

Luna groaned. “Not you too.”

Woozi smirked. “I just call it like I see it.”

At this point some of the members mainly BSS we’re giggling, squealing, and pointing at Jeonghan and Luna while the rest were smiling, enjoying the show.

And at this point, Luna was just accepting her fate.

She was the only girl in SEVENTEEN. That meant all of them were going to have a field day with this. And there was no escaping it.

“Alright, alright, I think we’ve embarrassed her enough,” Seungcheol finally said, though the amusement was clear in his voice. “We should probably get back to practice.”

“Fine,” Hoshi groaned, disappointed.

“I love you, Cheollie.” Luna gave him a smile as he winked back at her in return.

“BUT THIS ISN’T OVER,” Seungkwan declared. “YOU TWO WILL BE INTERROGATED LATER.”

“Can’t wait,” Jeonghan said dryly.

As the members finally— finally— began gathering themselves to resume practice, Luna let out a heavy breath, rubbing her temples. Jeonghan turned to look at her, his gaze softening just slightly.

“You okay, Nana-ya?” he murmured.

She sighed, then glanced up at him. Despite everything— the absolute hell she had just been put through— she found herself smiling.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I’m okay, Han.”

Jeonghan smiled back.

And just like that, they knew…

Everything was going to be just fine.

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[fvsm4x]

synopsis. Pregnancy, usually a positive outcome of love between two partners that love each other deeply. But Pregnancy resulting from someone using you for their own pleasure is far from a positive outcome

+ warning/content. bully Gojo Satoru x female reader - reader is pregnant - mentions of abortion - mature themes/MDNI - usual warnings - suguru and reader are siblings - reader lowkey depressed - ANGST - chapter 3 from the series regret

wc. 7k

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(Six Months Later – Present Timeline, Winter)

The cold hit you the moment you stepped out of the convenience store, the biting wind cutting through your coat like it wasn’t even there. You exhaled, watching your breath curl into the air before disappearing into the night. Winter had settled in, coating the streets in frost, making everything feel sharper—like the world itself was trying to wake you up from the numbness that had taken root inside you.

It was late, past midnight, but the city was still alive. The neon glow of street signs flickered against the wet pavement, and a group of drunk salarymen stumbled out of a nearby izakaya, their laughter echoing down the empty streets. You ignored them, keeping your head down as you walked past, one hand tightening around the plastic bag of food you’d just bought.

You hadn’t meant to stay out this late. You hadn’t meant to go out at all.

The apartment was suffocating some nights. The quietness that had once felt like an escape now felt like a void, pressing in from all sides, swallowing you whole. You would sit on the couch, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the heater, the occasional creak of the walls. No messages lit up your phone. No knocks ever came at the door. You were untethered, drifting through days that bled into each other, feeling more like a ghost in your own life than a person.

It was easier to disappear into routine. Wake up. Force yourself to eat. Scroll through new job listings. Go work. Stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, searching for something—some sign that you were different, that you were changing. But your face remained the same, your body shifting a bit. Even at six months, no one could tell.

Maybe that was why it didn’t feel real.

Or maybe it was because you still couldn’t bring yourself to think about the future.

The thought of it sent a dull panic through you, one you had learned to push down, to ignore, to bury under layers of distractions. You moved through each day as if you were still waiting for something—for someone to tell you what to do, for something to force your hand. But there was nothing. Just the cold, the empty apartment, and the quiet knowledge that you were running out of time.

You let out a slow breath and turned down the quieter street that led to the apartment. The cold made your fingers stiff, but you welcomed the sting—it was better than feeling nothing at all.

The walk back to the apartment was short, but the cold made every step feel longer. The night air clung to your skin, biting at your exposed fingers despite the way you stuffed them deep into your coat pockets. The plastic bag in your hand rustled with every movement, a small reminder of the meager groceries you had managed to pick up. It wasn’t much—just a few essentials, things that wouldn’t take long to prepare.

You barely noticed the people passing by, their faces blurred, their voices fading into the background like static. Laughter echoed from a nearby bar, followed by the distant sound of a car engine revving. The world kept moving, oblivious to the storm inside you.

As you approached the entrance to the apartment complex, you hesitated.

The building loomed above you, dark windows reflecting the streetlights like empty eyes staring down. You swallowed hard, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. It wasn’t fear that kept you rooted in place. It was exhaustion—the kind that seeped into your bones, making every action feel like wading through thick, invisible water.

You knew what was waiting for you inside.

Nothing.

An empty apartment. A quiet room. A cold bed. With a heavy breath, you forced yourself forward, gripping the handle and pushing the door open.

The warmth inside barely made a difference. The apartment was just as you had left it—dim, sparsely furnished, and suffocatingly quiet. The heater hummed in the background, its soft drone the only sound breaking the silence. You locked the door behind you, placing the plastic bag on the counter before shrugging off your coat.

Everything felt mechanical. You moved without thinking, going through the motions simply because you had to. The fridge opened with a quiet creak as you placed the milk inside, rearranging a few items out of habit. You set the instant ramen on the counter, along with the sandwiches you had bought, then leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly.

It wasn’t much, but it would last. At least for a few days. You glanced toward the mirror hanging by the entrance, catching your reflection in the dim light.

Same face.

Same tired eyes.

Same person.

You tugged at the hem of your oversized sweater, fingers absentmindedly smoothing over the fabric. Your stomach wasn‘t flat anymore, but still easy to hide. The loose clothing made sure of that. No one could tell just by looking at you. Not yet, anyway.

Maybe that was why it still didn’t feel real.

Even though you knew what was happening, even though you could feel the exhaustion weighing heavier each day, it still felt like something distant—something that belonged to someone else.

You turned away from the mirror. No use thinking about it.

Instead, you moved to the couch, sinking into the cushions with a quiet sigh. The silence pressed against you, thick and unrelenting. You had gotten used to it by now, but that didn’t mean it ever felt comfortable.

The loneliness had settled in like an unwelcome guest, making itself at home in every corner of the apartment.

You pulled your legs up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around your knees as you curled into yourself. The apartment felt impossibly quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears, making your own thoughts sound too loud. The dim glow of the streetlights outside cast long shadows across the room, stretching over the floor and onto the walls, making everything feel distorted—unfamiliar, even after all this time.

Your gaze drifted to the coffee table in front of you, where a few crumpled receipts lay scattered next to an unopened bottle of water. That was it. Nothing else. No sign of life, no clutter, nothing that made this space feel lived in.

You should do something.

Eat. Sleep. Move. Go work.

Anything to make time pass faster, to break the endless cycle of nothingness that had settled over you. But instead, you just sat there, staring, trapped in your own mind as the seconds bled into minutes, stretching endlessly before you.

Then—

A knock at the door.

The sudden sound shattered the silence, making you jolt. Your breath caught in your throat, your muscles tensing on instinct. The apartment was too quiet for something like that—it made the knock seem impossibly loud, like it didn’t belong here.

You didn’t move at first.

Maybe you imagined it.

No one ever knocked. No one ever came here.

Except—

Another knock.

Firm. Unhurried. Patient.

Your pulse quickened, a dull pounding in your ears. Your eyes flickered toward the door, your body rigid. It was stupid, but for a moment, you considered ignoring it, as if pretending no one was there would make them leave.

But they wouldn’t. You knew that.

There was only one person who ever came here.

Suguru.

You swallowed, forcing your body to move. The couch groaned as you uncurled yourself, placing your feet on the cold floor. The air felt heavier now, pressing against your chest with every hesitant step you took toward the door.

The floorboards creaked under your weight, each sound amplified in the quiet. You hesitated when you reached the door, standing there for a second too long, your fingers hovering just above the handle.

A deep breath.

Then another.

And finally, you turned the knob, pulling the door open just enough to peer outside.

And there he was.

Suguru.

Standing in the dim light of the hallway, his dark coat draped over his shoulders, one hand in his pocket while the other one held into the plastic bag, and an unreadable expression in his sharp eyes.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, steady.

And just like that, the weight in your chest shifted—if only slightly.

Your throat felt tight. “Hey.”

His gaze flickered downward, barely noticeable, but you caught it immediately. It was quick—so quick that if you weren’t paying attention, you might have missed it. But you knew exactly what he was looking for, what he was checking. Even through the oversized hoodie you wore, his eyes lingered just long enough to confirm what he already knew.

Neither of you ever talked about it, but the knowledge sat heavy between you. He had always known. From the moment you got kicked out of your parents house, he had known. And yet, despite everything, he never asked. Never pried. Never pushed you to say more than you wanted to. Maybe that was why you let him keep coming back. Because he was the only one who didn’t look at you with judgment, who didn’t ask you to explain yourself when you didn’t have the words.

“Can I come in?” His voice was calm, steady. But he was already stepping forward before you had a chance to respond, his presence pressing into the small space of the doorway.

You didn’t stop him. You simply shifted to the side, allowing him to pass. The air in the apartment changed the second he stepped inside, the silence no longer as heavy as it had been just moments ago. The loneliness didn’t disappear, but it dulled just a little, just enough to remind you what it was like to have someone around.

He moved through the space like he belonged there, like it was second nature. His hand placed down the plastic bag, and worked the buttons of his coat as he made his way toward the couch, shrugging it off effortlessly and draping it over the back of the cushions. He didn’t ask where to put it. He didn’t need to. He had lived here once. Before it became yours, before your brother stopped using it altogether. Before it turned into something else entirely—a place for you to exist in but never truly call home.

Suguru took in the room with a quiet, assessing glance, as if searching for any signs of change. There weren’t many. The apartment still carried that same impersonal emptiness, the same untouched air of a place barely lived in. You hadn’t done much to change that, except maybe placing a few toys onto the shelf for your child.

His gaze eventually returned to you, unreadable as always. He was waiting—for what, you weren’t sure. Maybe for you to say something. Maybe for some indication that you were okay. But the truth was, you weren’t sure what to say. What was there to say? Nothing had changed. You were still here, still trying to figure out what came next, still completely alone. Except, at least for now, you weren’t.

Suguru turned to look at you again, arms loosely crossed, his expression unreadable. “Have you been eating?”

The question hit like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through the fragile quiet that had settled between you. You tensed, fingers curling into the oversized sleeves of your sweater, the fabric bunched tightly in your grip. You hesitated for half a second before muttering, “Yeah.”

But he saw right through you. He always did. His gaze didn’t waver, didn’t soften, and when he finally spoke, it was flat, unyielding. “You’re lying.”

A sigh slipped past your lips as you rubbed your temples, already feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down. “I’m fine, Suguru.” You tried to make it sound firm, convincing, but even to your own ears, it came out weak.

He didn’t respond right away, but his silence was louder than words. Without another glance at you, he walked past, heading straight for the kitchen. You listened as he pulled open the fridge door, the faint suction sound of the seal breaking, followed by the dull clatter of a few nearly-empty bottles shifting inside.

Then the door slammed shut.

“You call this eating?” His voice carried a sharp edge, one that made irritation spike through you, replacing the dull ache of exhaustion.

You turned, arms crossing over your chest, the defensive posture coming almost instinctively. “I don’t need a lecture.”

But he wasn’t fazed. If anything, he looked even more unimpressed. “Then start taking care of yourself so I don’t have to give you one.” His tone was firm, leaving little room for argument, like he had already decided he wasn’t going to drop this.

You hated that. Hated how he spoke to you like he had the right to be concerned, like you were his responsibility. He had been like this ever since he found out—hovering, checking in, making sure you weren’t completely falling apart.

But you were. Even if you didn’t want to admit it.

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably as you glanced away, shifting on your feet. You sighed, rubbing your arms as you tried to ignore the heaviness pressing down on your chest. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Suguru tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Do what?”

“Act like you’re responsible for me.”

For a moment, something flickered in his expression—too quick to decipher, too subtle to grasp. And then, with quiet certainty, he said, “I’m not acting.”

The words caught you off guard, making your breath hitch for just a second. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You had nothing to say to that.

Suguru sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, his frustration bleeding into the silence. “Look, I’m not here to fight with you. I just—” He stopped mid-sentence, shaking his head slightly as if dismissing whatever thought had momentarily surfaced. “Never mind.”

But you knew what he wasn’t saying.

He was worried.

And the worst part? You weren’t sure if you deserved it.

You swallowed, looking away. When you spoke again, your voice was quieter, almost hesitant. “I’m fine, Suguru.”

His jaw tensed slightly. “You keep saying that.”

You had no response. Because you both knew it wasn’t true.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before shaking his head. “God, you’re so damn stubborn.”

You scoffed, arms tightening around yourself. “Look who’s talking.”

For a second, something almost like amusement flickered across his face, but it was gone just as quickly. He studied you for a moment, then glanced back toward the fridge before walking over and grabbing the unopened bottle of water from the table. He tossed it lightly in your direction.

“Drink,” he said simply.

You caught it, fingers tightening around the plastic. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” His tone left no room for argument.

Rolling your eyes, you twisted the cap off and took a sip, if only to get him off your back. The water was cold, and the feeling of it sliding down your throat reminded you just how little you had actually eaten or drunk today.

Suguru sighed again, but this time, it wasn’t sharp or frustrated. Just… tired.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Your grip tightened around the bottle.

“I know,” you lied.

He didn’t call you out on it this time.

And yet, despite the tension, despite the silence that stretched between you like an unspoken confession, you were still grateful.

Because for the first time in a long time—at least for tonight—you weren’t completely alone.

Suguru leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, his sharp eyes watching you like he was debating his next words carefully. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the fridge, the distant noise of traffic outside.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Have you thought about baby stuff yet?”

You stiffened, your fingers still curled around the water bottle. “What?”

“You know.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “Crib. Clothes. Stroller. All that.”

The words sent a shiver through you, an immediate reminder of the reality you kept trying to push to the back of your mind. You hadn’t thought about it. Not really. You bought a few plushies but that’s all. Every time you wanted to buy something more, your brain shut down. It was too much. Or too expensive.

Your silence was answer enough.

Suguru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he studied you. His expression wasn’t annoyed, but there was a weight to it—like he had already expected this answer but had still hoped for something different.

“You can’t just ignore it forever,” he said, voice firm but not unkind.

“I’m not ignoring it,” you muttered, gripping the water bottle tighter.

Suguru scoffed. “Really? Then where’s the crib?”

You exhaled sharply, looking away. “I’ll get to it.”

“When?”

The question hung in the air, and you hated how you didn’t have an answer. The truth was, you didn’t even know where to start. Every time you tried to imagine yourself shopping for baby things, walking through aisles of tiny clothes and bottles and strollers, a crushing sense of dread filled your chest.

Suguru must have seen something in your face because his stance softened slightly. “Look, I get it. It’s overwhelming. But the longer you wait, the harder it’s gonna be.”

You swallowed, staring at the floor. “I don’t even know what I need.”

“Then I’ll help,” he said simply.

That made you lift your head. “What?”

“I’ll help,” he repeated, pushing off the counter. “We’ll go baby shopping. Pick out the basics. It doesn’t have to be today, but soon. And we’ll figure out the crib situation too.”

You stared at him, unsure what to say. Suguru wasn’t the type to throw around empty offers, but you hadn’t expected this.

“…Why?” The word slipped out before you could stop it.

He frowned. “What do you mean, why?”

“You don’t have to do this,” you said quietly. “This isn’t your responsibility.”

Suguru’s gaze darkened slightly, like the words annoyed him, but instead of snapping, he just exhaled through his nose. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna sit back and watch you drown either.”

Something about the way he said it made your throat tighten. You had no idea what you had done to deserve his kindness, but for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel completely alone in this.

“…Okay,” you murmured after a long pause. “We’ll go.”

Suguru nodded like that was all he needed to hear. “Good. I’ll send you some lists later so you can look through them first. We don’t have to get everything at once.”

You nodded absently, processing his words, but your mind was already spiraling. Baby shopping. Buying a crib. Preparing for a future that still felt impossible.

For the first time, it felt like things were really moving forward.

-

The sound of sneakers scuffing against the tiled floors filled the hallway as students moved between classes, their voices blending into an indistinct hum. Suguru barely paid attention to the noise, his mind elsewhere.

He leaned against his locker, arms crossed, his expression neutral but his thoughts anything but. Ever since he found out about her situation, he had been feeling… off. He wasn’t sure how to describe it—frustration, worry, a sense of obligation he couldn’t shake. She had always been independent, always kept her struggles to herself, and yet now she was in a situation where she shouldn’t have to be alone.

But she was.

And he was the only one who seemed to care.

Suguru wasn’t naive. He knew people in this school—their school—loved to talk, to whisper, to spread rumors. He had already overheard fragments of conversations.

“She just disappeared.”

“Did something happen?”

“She probably dropped out.”

“Good riddance.”

The last one had made his jaw clench.

Suguru exhaled sharply, pushing himself off the locker. He had been thinking about her a lot lately—the baby, the things she would need, the reality of what was coming. It wasn’t like she had anyone else to help her figure it out.

“You look deep in thought.”

A familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see Shoko standing nearby. She leaned against the lockers, watching him with mild amusement.

he scoffed. “I always look deep in thought.”

Shoko smirked. “Yeah, but this time you look like you’re thinking a little too hard. What’s up?”

He hesitated. He hadn’t told anyone—not about her, not about the baby, nothing. It wasn’t his secret to share. But that didn’t mean the weight of it wasn’t getting to him.

“Nothing,” he finally said, shrugging.

Shoko raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Instead, sighed before speaking again. “You going to that party this weekend?”

Suguru shook his head. “No.”

She gave him a curious look. “You? Skipping a party? That’s new.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze flickered down the hallway, landing on the familiar figure of his best friend. Gojo was in the middle of a group, grinning like he always did, throwing an arm around some girl’s shoulders as if the world was his to play with. He was laughing—loud, carefree, like nothing had changed.

And that was the problem.

Ever since she stopped coming to school, things had felt… off. At first, it had been subtle, something he only noticed in passing. A name missing from attendance. A glance toward an empty desk. But as the days turned into months, as she faded from the halls entirely, he realized something else—something that didn’t sit right with him.

Satoru.

Suguru had known Satoru for years. He knew his habits, his tells, the little things most people overlooked. And before, when she missed school for too long, Satoru would eventually bring her up. Not in any way that stood out—not with obvious concern or anything—but he’d mention her. A passing comment. A joke about her slacking off. A lazy, “Hey, your sister’s skipping again?” Something.

But now?

Nothing.

Suguru had waited, giving it time, expecting Satoru to ask about her at some point. He never did not even after 6 months.

And when Suguru tried to bring her up himself—casually, just a joke perhaps. Satoru would brush right past it, like he hadn’t heard him at all.

The first time, Suguru let it go. Maybe he was just distracted.

The second time, he took note of it.

The third time, he started paying closer attention.

Each time he mentioned her name, there was a barely noticeable shift in satoru‘s expression. A flicker of something—something Suguru couldn’t quite place—before his usual grin slid back into place. Like a mask snapping into position.

And that silence? It felt deliberate.

Suguru’s jaw tensed as he watched Satoru now, the way he threw his head back laughing, the way he carried himself so easily, like nothing in the world could bother him.

But something was bothering him.

He could feel it, that nagging feeling at the back of his mind, telling him that something wasn’t right. She never talked about him anymore. She never even said his name. And for someone as infuriating as Satoru, that alone was unusual.

He didn’t know what it meant yet. He didn’t know if it even did mean something.

But the uneasy feeling wouldn’t go away.

A familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“What, did Satoru piss you off again?”

Shoko. She had sidled up next to him, her hands stuffed into her pockets, her sharp eyes scanning his face like she could see what he was thinking.

He clicked his tongue, rolling his shoulders back. “When does he not?”

She snorted. “Fair point.”

He didn’t say anything else, just adjusted his bag over his shoulder and started walking.

Shoko fell into step beside him, throwing him a sideways glance. “Try not to overthink yourself into an early grave, will you?”

He didn’t answer.

Because right now, overthinking was the only thing keeping him from shaking the feeling that something was wrong.

-

The door clicked shut behind Suguru, and the silence rushed back in like a wave, swallowing the apartment whole.

You stayed still for a moment, staring at the empty space where he had just stood. The lingering warmth of his presence clashed with the cold reality settling deep in your bones.

Baby shopping.

The words echoed in your head, strange and foreign. Like they belonged to someone else’s life, not yours.

You pressed a hand to your stomach, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your sweater. Suguru meant well. He always did. And part of you hated that—hated that he was trying so hard to take responsibility for something that wasn’t his burden to carry.

But what else could he do? He didn’t know the whole story.

He didn’t know who the father was.

He didn’t know what Gojo had done.

Your stomach twisted at the thought, nausea curling up the back of your throat. You pressed your palm harder against the fabric, as if that could somehow ground you, as if that could stop the flood of memories threatening to drown you.

Gojo.

You hadn’t spoken to him since that day. You hadn’t seen him in months. And yet, somehow, he still haunted you—lingering in the corners of your mind like a stain you couldn’t scrub out.

Suguru was wrong.

This wasn’t something you could just prepare for.

No amount of shopping or planning or well-meaning support could change the fact that this wasn’t supposed to happen. That this wasn’t fair.

Your throat felt tight, like something was lodged there, something heavy and impossible to swallow.

You turned away from the door, walking back toward the couch on unsteady legs. The apartment felt too quiet again, too empty.

A part of you wanted to reach for your phone, to text Suguru, to tell him you’d changed your mind. That you couldn’t do this. That you didn’t want to go out and pretend like this was just a normal pregnancy, like it was something you had wanted, like this was just another step in your life.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you curled up on the couch, pulling a blanket over your shoulders, staring blankly at the opened bottle of water on the table.

The next day arrived sooner than you would have liked.

You barely slept.

The night had been a mess of tossing and turning, your mind refusing to shut off. Every time you closed your eyes, your thoughts spiraled back to the same inescapable truth—you were having a baby. And today, Suguru wanted to take you shopping, as if that would somehow make it all feel normal.

But nothing about this felt normal.

You stood in front of the mirror that morning, fingers gripping the hem of your oversized hoodie, tugging it down as far as it would go. The fabric bunched slightly under your hands before settling back into place, concealing everything underneath. You exhaled, slow and steady, tilting your head to the side as your gaze flickered downward, scanning your reflection with sharp, scrutinizing eyes.

Then—

A knock at the door.

The sudden noise cut through the stillness of your apartment, making you flinch. You turned your head slightly, staring toward the closed door, heartbeat quickening.

Suguru was here.

Already?

You blinked, caught off guard. Had time really gone by that quickly? It felt like just minutes ago that you were standing in this same spot, thinking about how he had been here the night before. And now he was back again, ready to take you baby shopping, as if this was some ordinary outing instead of the suffocating reality you were being forced to accept.

Your eyes drifted toward the clock hanging on the wall.

11:34 AM.

You frowned slightly. It was late enough that the city outside would already be bustling, the streets filled with people going about their day, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake the strange feeling that time was slipping through your fingers, moving too fast for you to keep up.

But it didn’t matter.

Suguru was here.

And whether you were ready or not, today was happening.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to move. Standing here, lost in your thoughts, wasn’t going to change anything. The knock came again, a little firmer this time, and you knew Suguru was probably getting impatient.

With one last glance at your reflection—one last reassurance that nothing showed—you turned on your heel and made your way to the door (not before putting on your jacket). Your fingers hesitated on the knob for just a second before you pulled it open.

Suguru stood there, dressed in a dark grey hoodie, black jacket and jeans, looking as casual as ever. His sharp eyes scanned over you quickly, assessing, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just lifted a brow.

“You ready?”

You swallowed, gripping the edge of the door. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Suguru hummed, stepping back to let you lock the apartment behind you. As the two of you made your way down the hallway, the silence felt heavy—not awkward, just filled with something unspoken.

It wasn’t until you reached his car that he finally spoke again.

“You eat yet?”

You sighed. “Suguru.”

“What?” He opened the passenger side door for you before walking around to his own. “I’m just asking.”

You slid into the seat, clicking your seatbelt into place. “I ate.” It wasn’t a complete lie—if a couple of crackers counted.

Suguru didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push, just started the car and pulled out onto the road.

The drive was quiet, the city passing by in a blur of buildings and people. You kept your gaze fixed on the window, watching the movement outside, trying to push away the nerves crawling up your spine.

Baby shopping.

You still couldn’t wrap your head around it.

Suguru had mentioned it so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it wasn’t a reminder of everything you’d been trying not to think about. But now, sitting in the car, heading toward a store filled with things meant for a baby—your baby—it was impossible to ignore.

After a while, Suguru broke the silence.

“So, what do we actually need to get today?”

You let out a slow breath, fingers tightening in your lap. “I don’t know.”

Suguru glanced at you. “Well, we’re getting a crib for sure.”

You swallowed. “Right.”

“And clothes. And bottles. And whatever else babies need.”

Your stomach churned. The list was already too much.

Suguru must have noticed your expression, because he sighed. “Look, I know this is overwhelming.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “That’s an understatement.”

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “We’ll just take it one step at a time, alright?”

You didn’t answer. Because one step at a time still meant walking toward something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

When you arrived at the store, you hesitated at the entrance.

The automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, revealing rows and rows of baby supplies—cribs, strollers, clothes so tiny they looked unreal. The soft pastel colors and cheerful designs felt like they belonged to someone else’s life, not yours.

Suguru nudged your shoulder. “Come on.”

You took a step forward, following him inside, your movements stiff. The moment you entered, the atmosphere swallowed you whole—parents browsing, employees chatting, soft music playing overhead. Everything felt too real.

Suguru walked ahead, making a beeline toward the cribs. You trailed behind, feeling out of place among all the expecting mothers who looked excited to be here.

You weren’t excited.

You didn’t even know what you were supposed to be looking for.

Suguru, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine. He ran a hand over one of the cribs, inspecting it like he actually knew what he was doing.

“This one looks sturdy,” he said, knocking against the frame.

You stared at him. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

Suguru smirked. “I do my research.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Of course you do.”

After a moment, he gave you a look. “What about you? Any preferences?”

You looked at the cribs, at the neatly arranged nursery sets, at the price tags that made your stomach twist.

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

Suguru nodded like he expected that answer. “Alright. We’ll find one together.”

And just like that, he started going through the options, testing them out, asking you what you thought. He never rushed you, never made you feel like you had to choose something.

Little by little, the tension in your shoulders eased.

Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t completely alone in this after all.

You ran your fingers over the smooth edge of a crib, your mind still foggy from everything around you. The store was filled with cheerful pastels, tiny clothes folded neatly on display, and stuffed animals lined up like they were waiting for someone to take them home. Everything about this place felt too bright, too warm—too hopeful for someone like you.

Suguru was still focused on the crib selection, pressing down on the mattress of one, testing the sturdiness of another. He seemed oddly comfortable here, like he had been preparing for this moment far longer than you had.

“You’re supposed to check if the bars are too far apart,” he muttered, running his fingers between them. “So the baby doesn’t get their head stuck.”

You blinked at him. “Since when did you know so much about baby stuff?”

Suguru didn’t even look at you when he replied. “Google.”

That actually made you let out a small laugh. “You’ve been Googling baby things?”

He shrugged, setting the car seat back on the shelf. “If we’re gonna do this, we might as well do it right.”

We.

The word sat heavy in your chest. You knew he meant it in a practical way, in the way a responsible older brother would. But something about it made you feel like you were holding onto a lifeline, like maybe you weren’t entirely alone in this.

Still, the reality of everything crept back in as you wandered toward the clothing section. You hadn’t really thought about it before—not the clothes, not the blankets, not the fact that soon, there would be a tiny person who needed all of these things.

Your fingers brushed against a small yellow onesie, the fabric impossibly soft beneath your touch. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump forming in your throat. Could you really do this? Could you bring a child into your life when you could barely take care of yourself?

“You okay?”

Suguru’s voice snapped you back to the present, and you quickly dropped your hand to your side. “Yeah.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he grabbed a pack of baby socks and tossed them into the cart. “They’ll need these, right?”

You nodded, grateful that he was keeping things moving.

For the next hour, the two of you wandered through the store, picking out essentials—bottles, blankets, diapers, things you wouldn’t have even thought about if Suguru weren’t there. He moved methodically, as if he had a checklist in his head, while you mostly followed along, letting him lead.

You were staring blankly at a shelf of baby wipes when his voice cut through the air—careful, deliberate.

“So… what about the father?”

Your whole body stiffened.

The air in the store felt different, heavier, as if the walls had suddenly closed in. The noise around you faded, distant chatter blending into the hum of the overhead lights.

Suguru wasn’t looking at you. He was pretending to examine a pack of pacifiers, but his voice was too casual, too measured. Like he had been waiting to ask this. Which you guess he did. You two never talked about the father.

You swallowed, gripping the cart handle a little tighter. “What about him?”

Suguru sighed, turning to fully face you. His expression wasn’t accusing, but there was something in his eyes—something searching. “You never talk about him.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“That’s bullshit.” His voice was steady, but not unkind. “He knows, right?”

Your nails pressed into your palm. “Suguru—”

“Does he?”

You inhaled slowly, trying to keep your voice even. “It doesn’t matter.”

Suguru just stood there, waiting. He wasn’t the type to let things go easily, and you could feel the weight of his stare, pressing down on you, looking for the cracks in your walls.

For a second, you considered telling him. Just blurting everything out, letting the truth spill into the empty space between you.

But you didn’t.

Because saying it out loud would make it real. So instead, you did what you always did. You deflected. Keeping it all to yourself.

“It���s not important,” you said, reaching for a pack of bibs and dropping them into the cart. “Can we just finish shopping?”

Suguru didn’t move. His fingers twitched at his side, like he was debating whether or not to push.

For a moment, you thought he actually would. But then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Fine. But you do know that we‘ll have to have this conversation sooner or later—”

„Yes“

The conversation ended there, but you both knew this wasn’t over. Because Suguru wasn’t stupid. And sooner or later, he was going to start asking the real questions.

But first— baby shopping.

© fvsm4x : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

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[juniperskye]

Come bother me, baby.

Based on the following post: Inspo  you are the bane of young Aaron's existence - back when he was just an agent under Gideon and Rossi. A pain in his ass…so when you transfer to avoid your feelings for him, he begs you to come back. Okay listen, I know that Hotch didn’t really work under Rossi in the beginning, as Rossi had already left…but we’re all gonna pretend for the sake of this fic. Also – Haley just never existed in this, and that’s ok.

Aaron Hotchner x BAU! Fem Reader

Fluff

Word count: 4164

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, female reader, she/her pronouns, age gap (Hotch is 28 and reader is 25), some explicit language, canon typical violence, mentions of case details, reader has experienced the loss of her parents, mention of holidays, mention of food/eating. Mention of reader being a mom, inaccurate timelines, let me know if I missed anything!!!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

July 1993

The year was 1993, Jason Gideon and David Rossi were just granted permission to hire two agents to expand the team. They agreed that they would each pick an agent, that way there’d be no room to argue. They interviewed a total of 17 potential candidates, 13 of those were interviewed by Rossi and the other 4 by Gideon.

Aaron Hotchner had been the 7th file in Rossi’s stack, it was an impressive resume, one that was filled with cases he’d worked as a prosecutor, and then a number of cases he’d worked as a profiler in the Seattle Field office. He now was here in Quantico, Virginia, hoping to gain a spot on the BAU. To Rossi, Aaron had stood out amongst the others, he’d sat through all 13 interviews, and nobody could match the passion for this position like Aaron had. It had been an easy choice.

You had been the 2nd file in Gedeon’s stack, and honestly he’d been let down by his first candidate…so when you walked in, more than qualified for this position, he excused the other two candidates.  He didn’t feel the need to interview them, his gut told him you were the right choice. Your file had been padded with your numerous degrees varying from bachelor's degrees in psychology and criminology, to a master’s degree in forensic psychology, ending with a PhD in psychology. For the last year you’d been working in the Phoenix field office as a profiler. And while you didn’t have a ton of field experience, Gideon had been thoroughly impressed with your tenacity and overall enthusiasm for the profession.  

--

September 1993

Things had started off okay…mostly. Aaron definitely treated you like you were a child, though you were only three years younger than him. While you’d spent a lot of time expanding your knowledge of this field, Aaron had worked as a prosecutor immediately after his completion of law school. You weren’t sure why he thought he was so much better than you…you were a doctor after all.

It had started in the most dismissive way possible. You’d accidentally spilled your coffee at the round table, it had spread fast, covering his copy of the latest case file. You apologized immediately, offered him your copy while you went to print another. He shook his head at you, muttering something along the lines of you being young and unprofessional.

You had thought about going to Gideon to complain but ultimately decided against it. It would only make him see you as more of a child. So, you’d worked your ass off to prove yourself, you needed to show him that you were an asset to the BAU and not a liability.

--

May 1994

“I think this unsub is female.” You stated confidently.

“Are you insane?” Aaron scoffed.

“Before you completely dismiss me Hotch, hear me out.”

“Don’t call me that.” He hissed.

You had to physically wipe the smirk from your face before explaining your theory to the team. You’d pointed out how meticulous everything had been, how much care had gone into the murders and the disposals.

“If we really break everything down, it’s all done with so much care. The bodies haven’t just been dumped, they’ve been cleaned, redressed, and neatly placed in beautiful locations. The field of flowers, the hillside, by the art installation at the park.” You’d gestured to the photos pinned on the corkboard.

Looking around you could see the impressed look Gideon was wearing, it was bordering smug as he turned his gaze over to Rossi with a nod. Rossi couldn’t do anything other than shrug – you’d made a good point, who was he to question your expertise. But then there was Aaron…he was looking around in disbelief, nobody was even going to question it?

Aaron was pissed that you had been right. Three days after that briefing, you taken Helena Murphy into custody. She had lost her siblings in a car accident when she was in her teens, and a recent fender bender had been her trigger. She’d been taking the lives of young people who had resembled her siblings and laid them to rest somewhere beautiful…unlike the highway guardrail that had ultimately taken her family from her all those years ago.

Gideon and Rossi both gave you kudos for narrowing down the profile the way you had. The police officers at the Milwaukee PD had congratulated you and subsequently thanked you for your hard work. Aaron wouldn’t even look at you.

Needless to say, the flight home was tense.

--

August 1994

“Ugh it is soooo hot!” You whined, fanning yourself with a loose manila folder.

“Would you stop that?” Aaron asked.

“Stop what?” You feigned innocence.

“Bothering me! Your fanning is blowing all my papers around, just cut it out.” He huffed.

“Sure, thing Hotch.” You offered a sickly-sweet smile.

“Don’t call me that!” He shook his head and continued his report.

You stood from your desk and removed your blazer, showing off the fitted tank top you’d been wearing underneath. You made your way up to the kitchenette to retrieve some ice water and the ice pack from your lunchbox. At this point, you’d do anything to cool off.

You sat back down at your desk, sipping the water and crunching on the ice, while shifting the icepack from your chest to your neck. Aaron was so distracted by your constant moving that he had to speak up again. But as his gaze landed on you, he was rendered speechless…only for a moment, but it was enough time for him to notice the way the condensation from the icepack had dripped down your chest and when you slid it back to your neck, he could see the effect the could had on your breasts. His throat went dry.

“Stop messing around, it’s distracting.” He ordered.

“You’re no fun Hotch.”

“Would you just stop bothering me? You’re doing it on purpose now.” He sighed.

“Oh, fine.” You conceded.

--

November 1994

You made your way into the FBI building, hanging on one arm is your go bag, packed and ready to go. On the other arm is your purse, struggling to stay up on your shoulder as you held onto a basket filled with baked goods.

“Happy Holidays Jim!” You greeted, handing him a loaf of pumpkin bread.

“Thanks doll, you too! Did you get called in?” Jim, the head of security, asked.

“No, not yet anyway. I just figured I’d stop by.” You shrugged.

“You weren’t celebrating?” He questioned.

“Oh, um no, not this year.”

“Well doll, thanks for the pumpkin bread. Happy thanksgiving.” Jim smiled.

You made your way around, passing out different backed goods to people you saw every day, Maureen the receptionist, Mike from IT, and Sandra who was the director’s assistant. You’d even gone as far as bringing something for the BAU team members in the event that you did get called in.

Speaking of…

Gideon rushed into the bullpen of the sixth floor, in his haste he nearly missed the slight step down into the main section of the floor where your and Aaron’s desks sat. He was ferociously pressing the buttons on his pager – surely sending a page to the team informing them of the newest case.

Your suspicions were confirmed when yours beeped from your desk, drawing yours and Gideon’s attention.

“Jesus, I didn’t realize you were here. What are you doing here already?” Gideon asked.

“No reason to celebrate…I thought I could make myself useful here.” You shrugged and offered Gideon a container of gingersnaps.

“Thanks kid. Can you go get the files from Anderson?” Gideon requested.

“Of course, sir.”

Aaron arrived next; shock evident on his face when he saw you coming back from retrieving the files. He was about to make a snarky comment about you being here so early when Rossi came in behind him and clapped him on the shoulder.

--

The four of you were on the plane heading to Oklahoma, you were seated next to Gideon, going over the file, passing theories back and forth. Aaron was sat next to Rossi, stewing in a feeling the bordered annoyance.

“I can feel the steam blowing out of your ears.” Rossi teased.

“Sorry I just don’t get it…she got there so fast. She just – she just bothers me.” Aaron huffed.

“She was already there kid, she was at the BAU before Gideon even got there, he told me.” Rossi explained.

“What do you mean she was already there? Why would she have been at the office already?”

“I assume to keep herself busy. She lost her parents when she was in college, so she doesn’t really have anyone to celebrate the holidays with. She brought everyone at the office treats.” Rossi smiled, popping another bite of his banana nut muffin into his mouth.

“I didn’t know. That’s uh-that’s…” Aaron didn’t quite know what to say.

“Check your bag Hotch.” Rossi smiled and went back to his file.

Placed neatly in the outer pocket of Aaron’s bag was a cellophane bag containing snickerdoodles, his favorite. A red ribbon tied the bag closed and attached to it was a small note…

Sorry for bothering you all the time. Hopefully these can make up for a little bit of it.

Aaron took a bit of one of the cookies., rolling his eyes because, of course, they were perfect. He couldn’t help but feel bothered by your inability to be bad at something.

--

February 1995

You hated valentine’s day, it had always been a sore spot, all your friends swooning over the overpriced chocolate and roses that their boyfriends would get them. Not you though, you hadn’t received a valentine since freshman year of high school when Mathew Smith taped a rose to your locker. Matt had been nice and all, but he was looking for something…unserious.

You got yourself dressed and dragged yourself to the BAU. Everyone was so chipper as you entered the building, greeting you…but you met the majority of them with a scowl. Stepping off the elevator and going over to your desk, surprise overcoming you as you’re met with peonies and a pack of razzles. You moved them around, trying to find the note, coming across a yellow sticky note.

I thought these could be repayment for the pens you got me for Christmas.    -Hotch

You smiled at the signature, he’d hated when you called him Hotch, you’d been the first to do so and he was annoyed at how unprofessional it had initially seemed, he’d tell you not to call him that and claim you bothered him on purpose, but as Rossi and Gideon joined in with the nickname, he slowly grew to like you…it!

Aaron sat at his desk, plopping into his chair with a sigh. Your gaze lifted to meet his, a timid smile gracing your features.

“Hotch”

“Don’t bother me today.”

“Thank you.” You smiled.

“Don’t mention it.”

--

May 1995

May and June had become your least favorite months of the year. After losing your parents, you thought Christmas would be hard, and it was…but you’d found friends in school who would celebrate with you.

It was Mother’s Day and Father’s Day that killed you. People didn’t invite their orphaned friend over to celebrate those holidays with their family because…well because that’s weird.

These two months brought with them the painful reminder that your parents were gone.

Truthfully, you’d been glad to get the page letting you know that a case came in, it would have been a welcomed distraction…if it hadn’t been in your hometown.

Aaron could see how tense you were. He was trying to profile you, figure out what had you so worked up. He knew this time of year had to be difficult for you, seeing as Rossi told him you lost your mom. But he could tell there was something deeper, rooted within you.

It took some time, but after sitting back and observing, he figured it out. A few different officers knew you by name and were on a first-name basis with you. You’d been extremely familiar with the layout of the city, not needing directions to the location you’d gone to earlier. This must be your hometown.

--

“Alright guys, nice job today. So, we are flying out first thing tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Rossi said.

You were slow to pack up, gathering your things, chatting with a few of the officers before heading out of the precinct. You didn’t really know what to do, you didn’t want to go back to the hotel, but you also didn’t want to go around town. You had too many memories here, it was too hard to go around and picture all the times you had with your parents around here.

“Hey, you want to go for a drive with me?” Aaron asked

You couldn’t even mask the shock as it etched its way across your features.

“Sure.”

At first you had no idea where Aaron was heading, the drive feeling unfamiliar…but then all at once you’d figured it out. He was driving to Blue Grove Cemetery.

“What the hell are you doing? Why are we here?” You questioned, anxiety lacing your words.

“Look, I can’t imagine how hard it must be to go through May and June, now that they’re gone. I thought it might be nice for you to see them before we head back tomorrow.” Aaron explained.

So many feelings were running through you. Initially anger, why would he blindside you like this. But then that morphed into panic, you didn’t want Hotch to see this side of you, the weak and vulnerable side. But lastly was this weird warmth…it was slow moving like molasses, sticking to every part of your body.

--

Aaron parked and let you control the pace. He waited to move until you reached for the handle on the door, slowly exiting the SUV. You stood there, still, unmoving, unsure if you could do this. Aaron grabbed a bag out of the back seat before walking around to meet you where you stood.

“I’m sorry, I – I don’t…”

“Hey,” Aaron placed his hand on your shoulder gently. “Take your time.”

You nodded at him gratefully.

Eventually you began to move, leading Aaron through the cemetery. You’d passed headstone after headstone until you came to a stop at their gravesite, resting just below a beautiful tree, offering just enough shade to allow you respite from the heat.  

Aaron laid out a small blanket, letting you sit first, hesitating for a beat.

“You can sit…please.” You asked, more than told.

Aaron sat next to you silently. He pulled the bag in front of the two of you, removing its contents, a sandwich cut in half, a bag of kettle chips (your favorite) and lastly two diet cokes. As you watched him, you smiled, you may bother him once in a while…okay all the time…but he cared. Whether he’d admit it or not.

The two of you sat there, eating, enjoying the cool breeze that the afternoon offered. After some time had passed, you found yourself telling Aaron about your parents. How your mom loved to bake, and she would tell you that food brought people together. You told him how your dad did everything himself, he never called in a specialist for everything.

Aaron chimed in with how you’d clearly taken after them and it made you an incredible profiler…and there it was again, that warm feeling.

You’d recognized it… it was the same feeling that bloomed within you on valentine’s day, and before that, on Christmas. You’d bought hotch these really fancy fountain pens he’d mentioned in passing and he got you a coat, a nice warm one, since you didn’t seem to own one.

This warm, sticky, sweet feeling was rearing its ugly head…and you were pretty sure it was called love.

--

July 1995

That warm feeling had burrowed its way deep into your core and you were freaking out. You’d been doing everything you could to act normal around Hotch, you were worried you’d been failing miserably.

“I think your agent has a crush on my agent…” Rossi said to Gideon, peaking out the window of his office.

“That’s interesting, because I am pretty sure your agent has feelings for my agent.” Gideon challenged.

“Do you think they’ll figure it out?”

“Not any time soon.”

--

You flicked a paper football over your screen onto Hotch’s desk. He glanced up at you, only his gaze didn’t hold its usual annoyance, instead there was something that mirrored amusement written there.

“Are you trying to bother me some more?” Aaron asked.

“Um, yes. That’s my job; to bother you…didn’t you get the memo?” You teased.

“I must have missed that one.” He let out a breathy chuckle.

You went back to your report, working diligently. All of two minutes passed before the paper football knocked against your hand as it landed on your desk. You laughed and shook your head gently, there was that stupid feeling again.

--

October 1995

Your knuckles rapped gently against Gideon’s office door. You were shaking, your stomach twisted at the thought of what you were about to do. It had taken you a little while to figure out the best option…knowing that it wouldn’t be professional to continue working with Hotch with these feelings you had for him.

You’d looked at all the openings here at Quantico, trying to figure out which position would best suit you. Ultimately, counterterrorism was looking for someone with a background in psychology, so it just made sense. Which brings you to now, you were about to go into Gideon’s office and request the transfer.

“Come in.”

“Hey Gideon, I uh…I need to talk to you about something.” You stumbled a bit.

“Go ahead.” He gestured to the chair opposite him.

You sat, taking a steadying breath. “I’m requesting a transfer. To counterterrorism.”

“No.”

“Gideon, you-”

“No.” He began. “I am not going to sign a transfer request for you, especially not to counterterrorism, you have exceptional skills, and we need them here.”

“Gideon, I have to transfer. I feel – I have…” You trailed off as your eyes found Aaron beyond the window in the bullpen. “I can’t work with him, not when I feel like this.”

Gideon took a deep breath, looking at you and taking in the longing gaze you wore. He didn’t fully understand what thoughts were running through your head, but if this is what you felt you needed to do, he wasn’t going to stop you. You were a very strong and capable agent…he trusted your judgement.

“How much longer do we have you here at the BAU?” He asked waving for you to hand him the paper.

“Two weeks.” You sighed. “I’m sorry Gideon.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re smart and you need to do what is best for you.”

--

November 1995

“Alright guys we have a case, round table in five.” Rossi called out into the bullpen.

You gathered your things, knowing you wouldn’t be travelling with them for this case. You figured you’d sit through the round table, offer a few theories and then let them go on their way.  Aaron watched you slowly grabbing a legal pad and your signature pink pen, he chuckled grabbing his own paper and one of the fountain pens from the set you bought him.

“Before we begin I just want to say that I am so proud of how you have grown and flourished with this team, and while it is a huge loss for the BAU, counterterrorism is lucky to have you.” Gideon stated, looking at you.

“What? You-you’re transferring?” Aaron asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“When…when are you leaving?” He asked.

“Today is my last day.” Your gaze shifted to your lap.

“We can talk about this later, let’s go over the facts of the case.” Gideon demanded.

Through the entire briefing Aaron’s eyes were burning into you. He couldn’t focus on the fact of this case because he was completely hung up on the fact that yours wouldn’t be the face across from him anymore…you weren’t going to be there to flick paper footballs at him, or to hum songs all day, to crunch annoyingly on baby carrots. Who was going to bother him if you were gone?

After you finished going over the case, you couldn’t help the sting behind your eyes, slowly realizing that this was it, your time at the BAU was done. But you held your head up high and steeled yourself. You offered Gideon a handshake, Rossi pulled you into a tight hug, and Aaron…well he brushed by you with a curt nod.

--

Aaron was miserable throughout the entirety of the two weeks they were away on this case. He was moping, and it wasn’t going unnoticed. Rossi and Gideon shared a knowing look, thankful that he was finally figuring it out.

They hadn’t quite expected it to take him so long to do something about it.

--

December 1995

The bullpen was so quiet without you. Aaron felt uneasy; he was the only one in the center of the floor now that you were gone. His file going long forgotten as he sat back and thought about things for a bit…

When he first saw you, you’d entered the elevator at the same time for your interviews, you’d offered a quiet thank to him for holding the elevator for you and he couldn’t deny then how cute you were. But then you’d both been hired on as profilers and he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to think that anymore, so he shoved the feeling down.

Then you spilled your coffee all over the table, effectively ruining his file, but you’d cursed, burning your hand as you quickly tried to clean it up. He wanted nothing more than to hold you and tell you it would be okay, so he fled.

It was so many things after that, your intelligence and the passion you had for profiling. Your baking, always noting people’s favorites and bringing them sweets, just to see them smile. The way you listened, remembering something he’d brought up in passing and gone out of your way to order his favorite pens.

Oh shit. He was in love with you. He’d fallen in love with you and had been too stupid to realize it.

--

Aaron moved with a purpose, rushing through the FBI building, making his way up the two flights of stairs it took to get to counterterrorism. He burst through the door, drawing attention to himself, his eyes frantically scanning the room in search of you.

He moved forward, noticing you across the room. He reached you in a few long strides, stopping just before you.

“Hotch…what are you doing here?” You looked around, blushing profusely.

“Sweetheart, you need to come back to the BAU.”

“I can’t…Aaron I-”

“I know that I have given you no reason to believe this, but I love you sweetheart. I need you to come back to the BAU, come back and bother me, baby.”

“No.” You shook your head in disbelief.

“Well yes.”

“Aaron, no.”

“Yes! Come bother me, baby. Bother me for the rest of my life.” Aaron begged. His hands reaching forward to cup your face.

“Okay” You gasped.

Aaron pulled you into a kiss, the agents surrounding you erupting in cheers for the both of you.

--

Bonus scene – May 2016

“Happy Mother’s Day sweetheart.”

“Happy Mother's Day mom!”

“Thank you guys!” You smiled, feeling nothing but joy looking to those who surrounded you.

Before you was your incredible husband and your three children, two sons and a daughter. They had gotten up early to make breakfast for you before they headed off to school. There had been a bouquet of peonies, cards, and a pack of razzles.

“Jack, are you okay to get Zoey to school today? We got called in pretty early.” You asked.

“Yeah mom! I have practice though, so Jason and Zoey might have to hang out a while.”

“Don’t worry about that bud, Will offered to pick them up when he picks up Michael.” Aaron patted Jack on the shoulder.

“Alright kids, we will see you later, be safe and please text me when you get to school!” You called, heading out the door with Aaron hot on your tail.

--

Aaron and you made your way into the BAU hand-in-hand. You glanced around at this team you built together, and you couldn’t be happier. Aaron made his way toward his office, noticing you’d stopped and before he could say anything, Dave clapped him on the back.

“Leave her be. She’s admiring this family you’ve built together.”

You looked over to where Aaron and Dave stood, offering a bright smile. You then made your way down to the floor, greeting Emily, JJ, Derek, Spencer and Penelope.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[ectospacecadet]

Just wanted to add to this.

So Danny’s just gone through all of the events of AGIT, right? He went through struggling to work through his powers slowly becoming diminished and was getting a bit of imposter syndrome/depressed(?) over it.

He finds the source of a Ghost’s power and uses that knowledge to give himself a whole new purpose and is probably the most at peace with himself he’s been in the past couple of years, to the point where he has a new firework ectoblast power thing.

So he’s gone through all of the lows and highs in this novel, yeah? Then once Clockwork is saved from the fusion between him and Phantom (Dark Danny) he says this.

It feels more like a ‘have a gold star’ comment than an actual thank you, that and Clockwork sees all the different paths of the time stream.

So after all of that he pulls Team Phantom out of the timestream to see the damage caused by the events.

Now, first of all, let’s just look at what Clockwork says here, not all of the other timelines were compressed, but the ones that were the most corrupted were compressed into two stable timelines, so that was just a casual multiversal/AU genocide he pulled. That also technically means Danny’s original timeline parents are now gone/erased and are going to be replaced by whatever the new timestream manages to make for him.

Let’s look at the generous options Clockwork offers to Danny shall we? :3

Door 1: Everything goes back to normal and you have no powers. So all of this personal growth you’ve gone on and the life’s purpose you’ve given yourself will be made void.

Door 2: Everything goes back to normal, but you’ll have your powers and secret identity back. Also you wont receive any acclaim to the events of [REDACTED].

So option A: I fix it all and you don’t get to be the hero you currently know you want to be, who knows what’ll become of ghosts and humans?Option B: I fix it all but you go back to secrecy and have your powers, also you can fulfil your ‘self-given’ role.

Idk guys, which would you choose after going through EVERYTHING? The shiny turd or the pile of gold? XD

Clockwork SO wants whatever outcome to happen happen.

Danny: I’m gonna declare my new life’s purpose!

Clockwork: 😏

Dude you SO wanted all of this to happen.

Even this piece by @pichikui show’s Clockwork towering over the 3 here, Clockwork’s pulling some strings my guys. There’s no way he would lose that easily to Phantom, he had every way to stop him from fusing with his ghost form.

[myerssimp21]

Iceberg's Jewel pt. 1

This is just another idea rattling around in my head! While this is still yandere Batfam, the premise is slightly different—here, they haven’t quite met you yet. The focus starts with Oswald Cobblepot and the Iceberg Lounge, but trust me, the Batfamily won’t be far behind. Timeline-wise, this would technically come first, even though in my other yandere Batfam fics, Tim and Jason have already had their moments with you. So yes, there will be a plot hole later where they’ve somehow already hooked up with you—just roll with it. Consider it canon-ish, but mostly just me playing around with ideas. tl;dr: This is a prequel of sorts to my other yandere Batfam fics, but I’m mostly here to have fun with the concept. Hope you enjoy! 💙 word count: 3201

Oswald Cobblepot prided himself on running a tight ship. The Iceberg Lounge was a beacon of opulence in Gotham, catering to a clientele that wanted their danger with a side of champagne. When he put out that little “Help Wanted” sign as a joke—an amusing way to signal to the people he was looking for that he was ready to onboard—he hadn’t expected someone like you to waltz in.

You were nervous but bright-eyed, clutching a copy of your résumé (how quaint) in one hand, wearing a Gotham University sweater that screamed student loans and part-time hustle. The smile you gave him when he walked into the lounge floor was disarming—too genuine for this city. You asked to speak to someone about the janitorial position, and Os had to bite back a laugh.

“A janitor? Here? Sweetheart, you might be too good for this place,” he muttered under his breath, too quietly for you to hear, before waving a hand dismissively at one of his goons. “Send her to my office.”

His office wasn’t where interviews were usually held—far too personal, far too… revealing. But for some reason, he wanted to gauge you himself. Maybe it was your naivete; maybe it was the way your gaze lingered on the crystal chandeliers and plush carpets like you’d never seen luxury this close before. You were looking at him as a normal boss, not a criminal mastermind, and he realized he might like that.

By the time you’d been seated in the chair across from his polished mahogany desk for only 15 minutes, he was already hooked. He asked simple questions at first—your availability, your experience—but quickly veered into territory that let him know more about you. Your classes at Gotham U were interesting, but you worked too much to fully appreciate them. You loved your psychology major but struggled with scheduling, hoping that the pay here was more than the measly pay you scrounged from your other two jobs. He listened with great interest as you spoke of your genuine excitement to be working in a "classy place like this."

He didn’t have the heart to tell you this place wasn’t really classy—just good at pretending.

Cobblepot tilted his head, the curiosity in his expression sharpening as he tapped a finger against the arm of his chair. “You’re not from here, are you?” he asked, a sly grin forming. “So, what do you think of our little city?”

“Oh, uh…” You laughed nervously, shifting in your seat. “It’s… something, that’s for sure. Gotham’s kinda like… I don’t know, a scrappy mutt? It bites, like, a lot, but you can’t help but wanna pet it anyway. It’s scrappy and loveable.”

Oswald chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “Lovable?” he repeated, shaking his head. “You’re a strange one. Most people run for the hills when it comes to Gotham.”

“Yeah, well…” You shrugged, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “I’m already here, so I might as well figure it out, y’know? Plus, it’s not all bad. I mean, the people are tough, and the city’s got… personality. A weird, messed-up personality, but still.”

He found himself appreciating your honesty. It was a rare thing in his world—people who weren’t either trying to butter him up or wring him dry. And that smile… Hm. Something about it didn’t belong here.

Then, the door to his office slammed open. A goon stumbled in without so much as a knock, huffing like a dog chasing its own tail as he fumbled a thick stack of papers in his hands.

Oswald snapped to attention so fast it was animalistic. One second, he was relaxed, bemused by you—the next, his face contorted with fury, his lips curling back in a snarl that made the dim office feel suddenly suffocating.

“What?” Cobblepot snarled, his tone cutting like ice. The very air in the room seemed to turn electric, humming with the promise of violence.

The goon froze mid-step, eyes darting between you and his boss. He looked like he’d just walked into an execution chamber by mistake.

Oswald’s teeth clenched so tight a vein throbbed visibly in his temple. “You knock before coming into my office,” he seethed, voice dropping to something far more dangerous than the initial explosion. Cold. Calculating. A blade slipping between ribs. “You wait. You don’t—”

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw you.

Frozen.

Wide-eyed.

And just like that, the change was immediate.

His snarl vanished. The storm passed in an instant, like flicking off a switch. The barely-contained rabid rage that had been twisting his face smoothed into something almost… embarrassed. Guiltily casual.

Cobblepot glanced back at you, then at the goon, then back at you. For a brief, telling second, he looked—not regretful, but calculating. Then he sighed through his nose, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off an unpleasant thought.

"Handle it later," he ordered, voice abruptly warm. Silk-soft. As if he hadn’t just been inches from taking a man’s head off. His hand flicked lazily toward the door, a dismissive gesture. “Can’t you see I’m with someone?”

The goon scuttled out of the room like a kicked dog, the papers in his hands rustling violently as he clutched them to his chest.

The moment the door shut, Oswald let out a measured breath, as if centering himself. Then, in a whiplash-inducing shift, he turned back to you with an awkward, almost sheepish smile.

"Sorry about that,” he said, voice dripping with artificial sweetness, as if his outburst had never happened. He waved a hand, dismissing it entirely, his gaze keenly watching your expression for any lasting tension. “Some of my employees just don’t have any manners.”

You offered a polite, thin smile, still shaken, but brushed it off with a shrug. You had already figured this place wasn’t exactly warm and welcoming, but the speed at which his fury had vanished was... unsettling.

Oswald noticed.

He noticed everything.

And for the first time in a long, long while… he wasn’t sure if he liked the way your smile still had a hint of nerves clinging to it.

The Batcave was unusually quiet, save for the faint tapping of Tim’s keyboard and the low hum of the monitors. Bruce sat at the console, watching the live feed from Oswald Cobblepot’s office. You were seated across from the Penguin, a mixture of nerves and polite excitement etched on your face. The Iceberg Lounge’s chandelier lights reflected in your wide eyes as you gestured animatedly, your Gotham University sweater and résumé betraying your earnestness in a city that thrived on deception.

“Can’t decide if she’s brave or just clueless,” Tim remarked, leaning back slightly as he toggled between camera feeds. “She walked into Cobblepot’s lair with a résumé. A résumé, Bruce.”

“She’s a student trying to make ends meet. That’s not bravery—it’s necessity.”

Damian’s voice crackled through the comms. “She really responded to a ‘help wanted’ ad? Tt. Typical. Of course that bloated bird would choose a naive one. She’ll probably end up scrubbing vomit out of his VIP lounge carpets.”

Tim tutted thoughtfully at Damian’s comment. “I mean…..he’s probably aiming higher than janitorial work for her. Did you hear the way he sweetened his voice?”

Damian scoffed but didn't reply. 

A new voice broke in over the comms—Dick, speaking from his position on patrol. “You think she knows what she’s getting into? Working there isn’t exactly safe.”

“She doesn’t,” Bruce answered simply, “But that doesn’t make her unique. Plenty of people stumble into Gotham’s underworld without realizing it. We can’t save everyone.”

Tim muttered, “Still doesn’t mean we should ignore it. If Penguin’s targeting her for something, we’ll want to know why.”

Damian chimed in again, his tone slightly mocking. “We already know why, Drake. He likes his toys naïve, optimistic, and disposable. She won’t last a week before she gets a reality check—or worse.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked toward the feed as Cobblepot stood, offering you a hand and gesturing toward the door. “They’re moving,” Bruce said. “Tim, keep the office feed rolling, and find another camera angle.” 

“We won’t have audio and depending on where he’s taking her, I’m not sure we’ll have visuals either.”

There was a moment of silence, the kind that spoke volumes in the Batcave.

Dick broke it. “She’s smart enough to know what Cobblepot is, right? I mean, who walks into the Iceberg Lounge thinking it’s just a nightclub?”

“People who don’t know Gotham,” Tim replied, scrolling through files, soaking in what he can on you. “..She’s a psych major at Gotham U, full-time. She’s been juggling two jobs already, so she’s probably just desperate for the paycheck.”

Damian’s tone turned sharper. “Desperation or not, she’s still a fool. You don’t wear a sweater with your university’s name on it when you waltz into the lion’s den.”

Tim smirked. “Guess she didn’t take Gotham’s prerequisite: Street Smarts 101.”

The screen now displayed the empty office, Cobblepot’s desk abandoned. You were out of their sight, and for the moment, out of their reach. But the Batfamily wasn’t about to let you disappear into the darkness of Gotham without a trace. Tim was scrambling to find a feed that would give them info as to where Cobblepot’s taking you, but at the very least, they have relevant info on you.

Dick’s voice again. “Did you hear her in that interview? ‘Lovable but scrappy.’” He smiled faintly at the words. “She actually likes Gotham. We should keep it that way.”

Tim again, confirming some details. “Transferred to Gotham U from out of state. No criminal record, no red flags.”

Damian’s voice cut in, sharp and dry. “Other than walking into the Iceberg Lounge with a résumé. That’s a red flag for stupidity.”

Dick countered, his tone softer now. “She doesn’t know any better. Give her a break.”

Jason laughed, his voice snarky over the comms line from his own patrol. “Oh, sure, Grayson. Let’s all gather around and shield her from the big bad city. What’s next, care packages?”

Dick sighed audibly, “Don’t you have a crime boss to scare right now?”

Jason chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Already done. You should’ve seen the look on his face. Priceless.” Another faint noise came through, likely the reloading of a gun.

Bruce’s voice cut through before Dick could respond. “Enough. Focus, Jason.”

“Whatever you say, B,” Jason replied breezily, though the teasing lilt was still in his voice. “I’ll keep an eye out, too, just in case our scrappy little friend stirs up any trouble at the Iceberg.”

Damian snorted. “I’ll enjoy seeing Cobblepot’s face when she quits.”

Bruce didn’t respond right away. His eyes lingered on your face, captured mid-smile on the monitor. Quietly, he murmured, “She’ll need another job. A safe one. I’m sure Wayne Enterprises will have something available for her.”

“Keep me updated,” Batman ordered as he stood, his cape swishing as he headed toward the Batmobile. “If she gets in over her head, we’re pulling her out. No debates.”

Damian’s voice came back, quieter this time, reluctant. “She’s already in over her head.”

Little did they know, Oswald Cobblepot’s schemes for you were the furthest thing from exploitative labor. In his mind, the idea of you actually toiling away with a mop and bucket was quickly becoming unthinkable—borderline offensive, even.

The moment he saw the way your eyes sparkled with hope and determination, and saw the way you'd listed your good grades on your resume in a hopeful attempt at impressing him and proving your aptitudes, he’d decided he’d let you sleep on the job if you wanted to. Hell, he’d set up a whole suite in the back of the Lounge if it kept you close and content. You could waste time dusting the empty liquor shelves or filing nonexistent paperwork all day if it made you feel productive. What mattered to him wasn’t what you did—it was that you were here, where he could keep an eye on you.

But of course, Cobblepot wouldn't admit that to himself. Not yet, at least. No, this was just “good business,” he rationalized. You were a valuable asset—your charm and friendliness were enough to lighten up even the Iceberg’s darkest corners. You had a way of making the whole place feel... welcoming and warm, like you were untouched by Gotham’s grime and crime. Plus you wanted to be productive. He scoffed under his breath, amused. Of course one of the first fresh faces ready to work at the Lounge was also someone who he didn’t dream of involving in his actual operations. Just his luck.

So, if you decided you needed an afternoon nap in the dusty janitorial closet? He’d send a goon to bring you a pillow. If you scoured the cleaning supply catalog for hours without actually ordering anything? He’d find it endearing. As long as you were happy and oblivious to the underworld swirling just beneath the Lounge’s polished surface, you could do whatever you wanted.

Unbeknownst to them all, while they debated your safety, Oswald was sitting back in his office, already plotting ways to make your life easier. Sure, he’d keep up the charade of being your boss for now—keep you busy with harmless tasks so you didn’t get suspicious. But he wasn’t about to let you work too hard. Not his sweet, naive new hire.

You didn’t belong in Gotham’s shadows. And as far as Oswald Cobblepot was concerned, he’d make sure you never had to find out just how dark they could get. Or at least, he’d try. 

By the time Oswald walked you to the janitorial closet—a tiny, forgotten room in the back of the lounge—he was already plotting how to keep you close. The closet was practically empty, a detail that normally wouldn’t bother him, but the way your face fell at the sight made him want to slap whoever was supposed to manage the damn place.

"Um… is this where I’m supposed to… work?" you asked softly, your voice unsure as you peeked into the empty closet. Your eyes darted around, taking in the barren shelves and dusty floor, as though you’d missed some hidden stash of supplies. "It just… doesn’t look ready yet?"

"Ah… this won’t do," he said quickly, covering his irritation with a smooth smile. "Looks like someone’s dropped the ball here. Don’t you worry about this, darlin’. I’ll get one of my guys on it—someone reliable. You’ll have everything you need to get started." 

His tone was honeyed, and though he aimed for casual reassurance, his sharp eyes flickered to the shelves like he wanted to set the whole closet ablaze for offending you. For fuck’s sake.

“No, no, this won’t do at all,” Oswald said again, shaking his head and clucking his tongue like he was personally offended by the state of the janitorial closet. “You deserve better than this mess, darlin’. I’ll have it sorted by tomorrow, you have my word.”

You blinked at him, “If you want me on the job today, I can make something work,” you offered tentatively, gesturing toward the dusty shelves. “I’ve been in worse spots before.” You gave him a sheepish smile, trying to seem accommodating.

Cobblepot scoffed softly, waving a dismissive hand. “No, no, absolutely not. I won’t have my new employee starting off in such... subpar conditions. It’s a poor reflection on me, and I can’t have that, now can I?” He straightened his tie with an air of exaggerated importance before leaning on his cane. “Here’s what we’ll do instead. You take the night to get familiar with the Lounge—on the house, of course. Have some drinks, relax, mingle a bit. Consider it my way of welcoming you to the team.”

You blinked again, even more confused. “Oh, um, that’s really generous, but shouldn’t I, like… fill out some paperwork first? Or sign something?”

Oswald chuckled, a warm, low sound that almost made you feel silly for asking. “Paperwork? We’ll handle all that boring nonsense tomorrow. No need to rush into the dull parts of the job, eh?” He gestured toward the door, ushering you back into the main lounge. “For tonight, enjoy yourself. Swing by the bar, meet some of the staff, maybe say hello to the security team. It’s important to me that you feel comfortable at the Iceberg.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if this was some sort of test, but his expression was disarmingly sincere. “Well… if you’re sure…”

“Positive,” he interrupted, clapping a hand on your shoulder with surprising gentleness. “Now, off you go. The night’s young, and the Lounge is at your disposal.”

As you stepped out of the closet and back into the opulent main floor, you glanced over your shoulder to see him watching you with a smile that seemed too genuine for someone of his reputation. You didn’t know him, but you’d heard some things. 

Unbeknownst to you, Cobblepot wasn’t just offering you free alcohol or a night to relax—he was staking his claim. He wanted you to feel at home, to see the Lounge as a safe haven, a place you’d always want to return to. Sure, there’d be paperwork eventually, but for now, the only thing that mattered was keeping you here, comfortable and unaware of the darker dealings hidden beneath the glamour.

Tim leaned back in his chair, toggling between the camera feeds inside the Iceberg Lounge. He was alone in the Batcave now, the others out on patrol in the city. “Well, there she is,” he muttered, zeroing in on his view of you at the bar. You were perched on a sleek barstool, your Gotham University sweater a stark contrast to the high-end fashion of the Lounge’s usual clientele. “She’s… drinking. A lot.”

Jason, freshly back from patrol—or what little of it he actually bothered to finish—sauntered into the Batcave, pulling off his helmet and setting it down with a thud. “That’s her?” he asked, nodding toward the screen.

“Yeah,” Tim replied without looking away. “You decided to show up?” His eyes flickered to the time down at the bottom of his monitor. "Thirty minutes early? B's not gonna be thrilled."

Jason ignored the jab, stepping closer to get a better look. “Huh,” he muttered, crossing his arms as his sharp eyes drank you in. You were laughing at something the bartender said, your cheeks flushed. You gestured animatedly with your glass while saying something they couldn't hear. “She doesn’t look like much.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, glancing up at Jason. “That’s what you cut patrol short for? To see her in person?”

Jason shrugged, his gaze fixed on you. “I was curious. Heard you and Damian going back and forth about her. Figured I’d check it out for myself.” His lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Didn’t expect her to be… this.”

Tim tilted his head. “This what?”

Jason gestured vaguely at the screen. “This… normal. Sweater, messy hair, drinking like she’s celebrating her midterms being over. Doesn’t scream ‘Iceberg Lounge material,’ y’know?”

Tim chuckled, toggling to another camera feed for a better angle. “That’s kind of the point. She thought she was interviewing for a janitorial position, Jason. Janitorial.”

Jason blinked, then snorted. “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was,” Tim said, leaning back in his chair. “She walked in there with a résumé—an actual paper résumé—and asked about cleaning floors or whatever. Cobblepot probably laughed his ass off before offering her a drink.”

“He’s footing the bill by the way,” Tim added, toggling to a feed that showed the Penguin subtly watching you from across the room as he conversed with some guests. “She hasn’t reached for her wallet once. He’s just… letting her.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed as he studied the Penguin’s expression. There was no malice there yet, no obvious scheme in motion. Instead, Cobblepot looked almost… satisfied, like he was pleased with what he was seeing. “The hell’s his angle?” Jason muttered, his top lip curling in disgust at the possibilities.

“No idea,” Tim replied. “But if I had to guess? He’s trying to butter her up. Make her think the Lounge is a safe place, keep her happy and oblivious while he decides what to do with her.”

Jason scoffed, leaning back against the console.”She won’t last a week.”

Tim smirked. “You’re awfully invested for someone who just met her. Maybe you should prep a care package.”

“I didn’t meet her,” Jason shot back, though his eyes flicked back to the screen almost involuntarily. “I’m just saying, someone needs to give her a reality check before she gets eaten alive.”

“Maybe,” Tim said, watching as you swayed slightly to the music, chatting with another patron who’d joined you at the bar. “But she doesn’t look like she’s in danger. Yet.”

Jason grunted, pushing off the console and grabbing his helmet. “Yeah, well, I’m keeping an eye on this one. If Penguin tries anything, I’m ending it.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so now you’re helping? Didn’t you just skip the last half of your patrol?”

Jason smirked as he turned toward the exit. “Hey, monitoring Gotham’s underworld is part of the job, isn’t it? I’m just doing my part.”

Tim shook his head with a laugh as Jason disappeared up the stairs. “Sure you are.”

Back on the screen, you were oblivious to the scrutiny, to the way the curiosities of Gotham's vigilantes were beginning to blossom into something more.

[fuctacles]

If you saw the snippets where i fucked up the timeline no u didnt.

<< 16 | 0 | 18 >>

"What's his name?" Steve asks, playing with the bunny's paw. The only time he let go of him since last night was to use the bathroom.

"Frankenbunny," Eddie answers, and smiles when Steve snorts after hearing it. "My grandma made him from fabric scraps grandpa would bring from work. I've made the vest, though." He stretches and blinks his eyes open properly, in time to see Steve's impressed expression.

"Really?"

"Well, Wayne helped," he added. "It's actually made from the same jacket I turned into my vest." 

"Oh, that's so cool!" Steve turns the bunny around to take a better look at the details. The tiny vest even has frayed edges and Dio stitched on the back. "You guys match."

Eddie snorts. 

"Yeah, we're both full of stitches," he points out dryly. 

Steve hums, pressing the toy closer to his face. It's something he's done before sleep, too, but last night Eddie wrote it off as a drunken mirage.

"And both pretty handsome fellas," he says, face half-hidden behind the bunny. He opens one eye, looking from under his eyelashes shyly, trying to gauge Eddie's reaction. 

Which, Eddie would love to know and understand as well.

"Oh, I don't know," he shrugs, reaching out to poke at Frankenbunny's face. "He doesn't have the signature Munson dimples." When in doubt, joke, as the Denial Decalogue says. 

Steve hums. 

"Yeah, I guess he can't hold a candle to the real thing. Not as talkative, for one."

Eddie can't help but stare, still leaning over his friend as he processes what he's heard. 

"You like my constant yapping?" he asks in surprise. Even his uncle seems tired of it, at times. Only his players appreciate his word flow, but that's with benefit to them.

"Of course." Steve focuses his attention back on the toy. "When you talk, I don't have to, I can just listen. And that's good because I tend to say some stupid shit," he says, almost absentmindedly. "This way, I'm not the dumb one in the room for once."

The casual innocence of his voice makes the meaning of his words miss Eddie completely until the air waves hit his other ear. 

"Oh, you little..."

As Steve's cheeky smirk grows, he pounces. 

Frankenbunny falls away, the hands holding him now focused on guarding all the ticklish spots. 

"Eddie!" Steve laughs, trying to grasp his wrists and squirm away. "We need to be quiet." 

"Should have though of it before being a brat!" Eddie grins at him, doubling his efforts and moving to pin him in place. 

Steve makes a distressed sound and writhes under him, bending hard enough it dislodges Eddie off of him but also, off the bed. He falls down with a surprised squeak.

"Sorry!" Steve barely suppresses his laugh when he looks down at him. "You alright?"

"No," Eddie groans, splayed on the floor. "I got back-stabbed."

"The dramatics are intact, you'll be fine," he rolls his eyes and steps over him. Eddie makes an even more wounded sound, but Steve ignores him, choosing to look for something comfy to wear instead. He throws a tshirt that doesn't smell of barbecue at Eddie's face, mistakenly assuming that's it—they are going to leave his bedroom and start on breakfast for the others. 

Wrong.

As soon as he has a pick of clothes in his hand, and is trying to get to the bathroom, Eddie grabs his ankle. He makes an undignified yelp and lands on the other boy. Which, serves him well. 

They roll on his carpet in an impromptu wrestling match, grinning at each other and muffling their laughs, trying to get the upper hand. 

Until Steve snaps his teeth at Eddie.

They freeze, two pairs of wide eyes staring at the other in silence. 

Steve moves first, backing away and almost falling over Eddie's knees. 

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that," he explains quickly, scrambling to get off his friend. Eddie doesn't stop him, just stares openly at the mesmerizing specimen in front of him.

"That was so fucking hot."

"I don't know why I did—what?" Steve sits back on his haunches, eyes even wider as he stares at Eddie. At his wild hair splayed around his head, at his flushed face. The sliver of skin visible where his shirt has ridden up while they were roughhousing. 

"What?" he parrots, licking his lips nervously. 

"What did you just say?" Steve presses, voice turning desperate, pressing. But Eddie seals his mouth into a tight line. Lead by a hunch, he looks for his answer down the line of his body.

"Hey!" Eddie protests, sitting up and pulling his shirt down. But it was too late, the tent in his pants has been seen. "What the fuck, man?!" he hisses, his face red and eyes wide in panic. 

"Sorry, I—" Steve bites his lip. "But I snapped at you? That's weird, right?"

"Well, I'm apparently into weird, so..." Eddie trails off, looking away. Pointedly avoiding Steve's searching eyes. 

"You're into it?" he prods, but all Eddie can give him is a shrug. It's too fresh of a feeling to properly explain. Hell, he hasn't full came to terms with it himself yet. 

"Is it like a... a sex thing?" Steve tries again. 

"Maybe? Probably? I don't know!" Eddie snaps defensively, folding in on himself to hide his thankfully wilting erection. 

Steve's silence is terrifying, and when he looks up, he finds his eyes still studying him.

"Quit staring, man," he mumbles, squeezing his thighs together. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." Steve shakes his head. "It's fine, it happens. But just... don't move for a second."

"It happens," Eddie is muttering mockingly, when the rest of his friend's words register in his brain. "What?" But Steve is already too close, and he can't escape. Not that he wants to. "Steve," he says quietly, between a warning and a plea, when warm breath hits his neck.

Steve is sniffing him. At the crook of his neck, where undoubtedly his embarrassment has gathered in a pool of sweat.

He's terrified in a way that has nothing to do with fear. Worried what Steve might smell on him, when his surprisingly cold nose brushes his skin. 

Or maybe it's him running hot with whatever has just transpired. 

Eddie flinches at the touch and Steve moves away, his eyes big and warm with something he can't read. 

"You're fine," he says, and it sounds more like a relief of his own than reassurance for Eddie. "I'm into weird too."

Eddie looks at him quizzically, until he realizes it's not Steve's face holding his answers. He trails his gaze down, and immediately aims it back upward, over-correcting towards the heavens, where maybe he'll get some guidance.

"Shit," he croaks out from his closed up throat. Steve is way too close to him too, from his impromptu sniffing session. Eddie coughs to clear his airways. "Why did you smell me? Is it that bad?" he jokes, but has a feeling Steve won't take the out. Not with the curious way he's looking at him. 

"You smell like want," he answers with painful honesty. "Embarrassment."

Eddie blushes at that one. Well, yeah. Popping a boner in front of your, uh, something, will do that to a man.

"But also joy, affection," Steve continues. "And no fear."

"Why would I fear you? We were just playing around. It's not like you're gonna bite me," he focuses on the safest option. He's not unpacking his feelings for Steve first thing in the morning. Maybe after a coffee. 

It's Steve's turn to go beet red. 

"Sometimes I want to."

"What?" 

He shuffles back sheepishly. 

"Sometimes I see you and I really, really wanna bite you."

Eddie stares at him.

"In like, a werewolf way?" he asks dumbly, earning himself a flat look.

"I think we've established this is not how werewolves are made. I meant in, like, a playful way," he explains. "Like, I'm so excited and happy I can't hold it in anymore, way."

He wants to ask if it's a pack thing, but bites his tongue, not sure if anyone has even taught Steve pack rituals. The guy is going through pure instincts alone, and should be supported in it, so really, there's only one thing he can say.

"Well, why won't you?"

They stare at each other in stunned silence, until a clatter comes from downstairs.

"Steeeeve! The express is doing it again!"

Eddie deflates with a groan, falling back onto the carpet. What the fuck did he just say? He won't survive this crush. Steve will be no help, as he's now hovering over his body.

"We'll get back to this," he says quietly, in a promise or a warning, before clambering upright and out of the room, yelling at Robin.

"Do not press the fucking button!"

Tags: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot @dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1 @stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible @bumblebeecuttlefishes @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @n33dlew0rk @manliest-of-muppets @ravenfrog @dreamercec @tartarusknight  @eyehartart @ellietheasexylibrarian @im-sam-fucking-winchester

[sillygoofyqueer]

So, originally Crowyuan occured when Bingge was already Demon Emperor, then came the idea of him becoming known as the Corvid King while Binghe was still a little disciple. What if he transmigrates and becomes known as the Corvid King before Binghe is even born? What if he finds this poor abused slave boy and decides This Is Mine Now before realising Oops! He's taken the scum villain under his wing, metaphorically and possibly physically too. Too bad, that's his son/little brother now. Oh but what if he transmigrates a little earlier and it goes the same except it's with both Shen Jiu AND Yue Qi? Or with all the other slave children too because he feels bad just saving two, even if those two are the only ones relevant to the original plot?

Wow....the Original™ Crowyuan timeline........back in the good old days where I didn't have so many different AUs to think about.....(/silly I love them all) ANYWAY. Corvid King crowyuan would definitely stumble across the street kids - he gains B-points n shit through answering prayers and gaining followers, so of course he's going to listen to the prayers of some poor little street children with nowhere else to go. It's not like he doesn't have the means to look after them, whether that be giving them to couples who badly want a child but can't have one for whatever reason, or placing them into orphanages that he funds himself (note: they don't know that he's funding it, they just believe there's a generous rich person donating whenever they need the money). However, when he's dealing with this new band of street kids, there is one child who just....does not want to let go of him. He scorns Crowyuan's existence when the deity first finds them in the alleys, offering gentle words of reassurance despite the late hour and leading the children along (yes, "Come Little Children" style, what kind of animal do you take me for?). Unlike the other naïve idiots, Shen Jiu and Yue Qi have seen this played out before. A stranger comes in the night, promising food and a home and love, and those who follow are found not long after. Dead. Crowyuan watches on in...a mixture of respect and worry as one of the children tries to explain the danger of following strangers in the night to the others, and another stands back and watches it happen, scorn clear upon his face. These children should not know the harsh dangers of life, not so young, but it is good that at least two of them are smart enough to not trust strangers, even if that isn't necessary in this instance. So, he offers proof of who he is. He sits down and tells them who he is, and he makes them pray, so he can listen to what they want. The snappy, unimpressed child doesn't, he just glares and scoffs when his friend drops his head down, but then shifts as if to protect him if necessary. When he respond's to this friend's prayer aloud - "Xiao-Jiu would be happy and safe in a bed, I think" - everyone seems to startle. (Of course, he has to repeat this exercise many times until this snappish child, this 'Xiao-Jiu', finally relents). He finally is able to lead these children to a nearby orphanage, ran by people who could do so much good with just the right amount of gold, and he drops them off there along with a pouch filled with gold. However, when he turns to leave, Xiao-Jiu clings to him. He stares up at him with a sort of fury in his eyes, demanding to know who he thinks he is, ditching them after dumping them off with these random people. A street child who speaks to a god, whose fear of being left by his saviour outweighs his fear of the power this creature wields, and does not hesitate to cling to this deity's robes with his dirty hands.

[voiarc-draws]

No because let me explain my thought process here. Being born from the number that naturally drains powers from all other numbers would drain YOU of YOUR power, no?? and the line “I do have power, just not enough” with the pan to Two on the screen does imply that One is less powerful than Two. Maybe even less powerful than all other numbers? That’s a stretch though, from just one (ambiguous!) line. This could also imply that One is simply power hungry; BUT my interpretation is cooler :]

in reality I do think that this episode probably means that the subscriber specials are non-canon, because I can’t quite see where this would fit on the timeline + the contradictions it has but WHATEVER my theory is COOL.

alternate theory: they are the same person, one is just 2763 undercover. (MUCH more unlikely, but cooler)

I saw “Thank you for 2,763,000 subscribers!”, blacked out, and then this was on my page. Anyway One is 2763’s daughter. They told me themselves.

I hc One has less powers than all the other algebraliens ok? ok

[r4fe-cam3ron]

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY NINTH; side a — cheater - the vamps | e. munson x r

w; does not follow ‘stranger things’ timeline, cheating (not eddie or reader), a fight breaks out (shocker!!!!), best friends to lovers trope, angst, fluff an; i love the vamps ❤️❤️❤️❤️

mixtape here!

Eddie grunts as his foot stumbles over the rug that had been flipped over, grumbling under his breath as he looks back at the offending object. 

You'd run off and leave him once again, looking for James in the crowd of people. 

He used to be only okay with going to parties (because he was making bank), but now it’s exhausting and makes him nauseous when he goes to one. Yet, he could never say no to you…. for whatever reason. 

No. He knows the reason. You would never figure it out though. Especially now that you’re with someone like James. He makes a face when his name mentally passes through his mind, shivering as if he’d been told something disgusting and it leaves some sort of bad taste in his mouth. 

Jogging up the steps, he’s in search of a bathroom. His eyes scope the area, heading towards a door. Opening it up, he stumbles to a stop as his lips part. 

Oooh boy. 

“Eddie?” 

He’s aware again that he’d just walked into something that almost causes him to black out and do something he regrets. James is standing there with cheap, pink lipstick smeared above his upper lip. 

The girl looks away quickly, having the decency to look a tiny bit ashamed. 

“Hey, man,” James chuckles slightly. He’s nervous and Eddie can tell by the way his hands shake when they lift from the girls waist. “That was…I didn’t…I tried pushing her off.” 

Eddie scoffs. “Yet, you looked like you were having the time of your life. Goodbye, James.” He gives him a mock salute, slamming the door behind himself, muffling the pleads that leave James’ mouth. 

He’s quick to jog down the stairs once again, now on the hunt for you. He had to get you out of here before telling you. 

“Eddie!” He stops in his steps, following the sound of your voice. He hears his name once again, this time from James. He’s quick on his feet, grabbing your hand when he finally reaches you. 

“We need to leave. Now.” 

You looked a bit startled from his sudden frazzled state, stumbling but following behind him as he pulled you in between the crowd and towards the front door. You look back when you hear James’ voice call out for Eddie once again. 

“Hey, Eds. Wait for—” 

“I’m not waiting for him unless you want him to get—” Your hand slips from his once he’s outside in the cool air. He quickly turns and glances at you quickly before looking at James. 

“Honey, I was calling out for you guys. Are you leaving?” 

“James—” 

“Eddie told me we needed to leave,” You nod. “I was trying to tell him to wait on you.” 

“Tell her why I wouldn’t want to wait on you, James.” Eddie clenches his jaw. You glance between the two, suddenly confused now by the tension. It makes you slightly uncomfortable, shifting on your feet. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” James shakes his head, a small smirk pulling at his lips. 

Collecting himself, Eddie shakes his head and steps closer, his hand grabbing your wrist. “Come on. Let’s get you home.” 

“Eddie—”

“She’s not going anywhere with you, you freak,” James spits at him, pulling you back. Your brows pinch together, staring up at him as you stumble from his reaction. “You’re so pathetic thinking that she would actually want anything to do with you,” He lets out a condescending laugh. 

“I see the way you act around her. You’re not slick with—” 

Eddie wasn't sure what had happened after that. He was standing one moment, holding his composure well. 

Or…he thought he was. 

His ears are ringing now and his knuckles are throbbing. A small breath leaves his mouth when he’s dragged off of James. “Okay! Alright!” He yanks himself from whoever had a grip on his arm. He stares down at James who had tears slipping down his cheeks, slipping in with the blood. 

His chest heaves as he walks over, trying to talk calming breaths. “Don’t ever talk to me that way again,” He points to him. “Next time you think about cheating on someone, think about what happened, yeah?” 

James’ shaky hand cradles his nose in his hand as his eyes stare up at Eddie who looms over his body. His green eyes drift over to you, gulping slightly when he sees the look on your face. 

“What do you mean?” You finally speak up. 

Eddie rubs his lips together before turning towards you. “I walked in on him kissing some other girl,” His hands rest on his hips.

Man, I really need to learn how to not black out. 

Your eyes drop toward James, brows furrowing together. “I was going to tell you in the van but he just had to get in the way,” James slowly stands to the ground, shirt wrinkled a bit with spots of blood. “Which do you want to go with?” 

Eddie shouldn’t have given you the option to choose who you wanted to leave with. You tend to always give people second chances. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when you step towards him, your arm brushing over his. He nods wordlessly, pulling you away. 

James calls after you, following quickly. Eddie shakes his head and turns, holding his hand up, watching as he stumbles to a stop. “You just don’t get the hint, do you? Your actions have consequences. So next time, you wanna choose something that has your nose broken again as a consequence, think and ask yourself if you enjoyed that feeling.” 

James’ glances back at you and you quickly look away, crossing your arms over your chest. Eddie gives him one last warning look before turning towards you, placing a hand on your back as he leads you towards his van. 

The door squeaks when it opens and you quickly climb in. He shuts the door and rounds the front, quickly getting inside himself and starting it up. 

It’s quiet on the way back to your apartment. Eddie’s also slightly embarrassed, yet, not too much because he’d do that over and over if he truly needed to for you. Once he parks, he waits for you to leave his van without saying a word. 

“Do you wanna come in?” You glance over at him. He looks over at you, nodding slightly. 

“Uh, sure.” He kills the engine before getting out and rushing towards your side. You smile to yourself when he opens your door, slipping out of the van. He shuts it and follows behind you towards the stairs. 

“Sorry. The elevator is down.” 

“Again?” He chuckles a bit. 

“Again.” You nod. He smiles a bit, shaking his head slightly. You dig your keys out of your purse, unlocking the door. Eddie steps in after you, shutting and locking the door behind himself. 

“Sit. I’ll clean up your knuckles.” You motion towards the couch before walking towards your bathroom. He listens and makes his way over, sitting down as he glances down at his hand. He winces a bit.

First-aid in hand, you make your way back and sit next to him on the couch, pulling his hand towards you. It’s silent as you clean away the blood that had dried. 

“Eds?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What James said,” He quickly looks at you before looking away, gulping. “About you being pathetic.” 

“Oh,” He lets out a slight scoff, shrugging a bit. Your grip tightens on his hand. “Hey, it’s fine. I don’t care what he—”

“Especially about the part where I didn’t want anything to do with you,” You cut him off. He looks at you, noticing that you were already looking at him. “I just…I didn’t want something to happen between us and I lost you altogether.” 

“Hey…” He turns towards you as he shakes his head, a small frown on his face. “You could never lose me, okay?” 

You stare at him quietly for a moment, reaching out and cupping his cheeks softly. “Eddie?” 

“Yeah?” He whispers. 

You smile and lean close, nudging your nose against his, looking into his brown eyes. “I love you.” 

He’s quick to grin, leaning close as he presses his lips against yours. It’s not really a kiss, yet you don’t care. You laugh softly when he pulls away, his hand coming to grip the side of your neck softly. 

“Say that again.” 

You press another kiss against his cheek before nodding. “I love you.” You whisper. 

He presses his nose into your cheek softly when his lips press another kiss to your lips — now addicted. “I love you too.” Staring at him lovingly, you nod. 

“I know you do.” 

𓍯 ִֶָ tags; @ali-r3n — @marchsfreakshow — @sstar-ggirl — @love-quinn

𓍯 ִֶָ thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, & feedback are welcome & greatly appreciated!

[thyras]

→ of great gatherings (bonus chapter)

PAIRING → mairon | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 14.8k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → 18+ only MDNI - unprotected p in v, oral (female receiving), fingering, semi-public sex, tub sex, bruh this is just sex everywhere tbh

SUMMARY → your husband wishes to show you off in the grandest way possible.

AUTHORS NOTE → please don't kill me i'm running out of gif's guys, none of jack's sauron really works okay, i'm sorry. like i fucking love that moron but shit the chapters i've written of him do not align with that version of him 🤣 so as requested, cause y'all be some filthy horny animals I have two fully filled smut chapters to post for y'all, thought this was just 15k words nope apparently it was close to 30k so yeah i've split them up and i'll post them separately. so lots of eärlindë in this and we get why he calls her mori as well hehe though little tidbit, this story line was abandoned cause i was not going to have reader meet celebrimbor but his father. yeah i realized the timeline did not match up for melkor's first chaining so it was scrapped. but still hope y'all like it if the timeline is a little janky, i wrote all this like the day after i kinda knew what i wanted to write.

masterlist // series playlist // mood board

His eyes swept over you as you entered the room. You were adorned in one of your delicate gossamer gowns, every curve and contour of your form illuminated for him to admire. Your hair cascaded in loose waves, catching the golden hues of the evening sun, which framed you in a soft, ethereal halo. To Mairon, you were nothing less than a goddess—one worthy of an altar in the sky.

Your marital bliss was still so fresh, though years had passed since you first wed. Yet, he could never see that glow fading. Even now, Mairon often felt unworthy of the love and devotion you so freely gave. The sins of his past had long since faded into memory, and he had begun to move through this burgeoning city with greater ease. Feeling more than fallen Maia.

He had even ventured beyond its borders, learning from other elven craftsmen despite being a smith of Aulë—even if none knew of his true origins.

And still, in the quiet depths of night, when sleep occasionally found him, his dreams were shadowed with the lingering fear that this fragile happiness might shatter, that his secret would one day be laid bare.

A warmth touched your face as you stood beside him, neatly laying his freshly folded clothes on the wooden stool there. His hand emerged from the warm bathwater, catching your wrist before you could slip away. Water dampened the sleeve of your gown as his grip held you in place.

“Moriel,” he purred, his soft green gaze locking onto yours, searching for something only you could give. “Join me.”

You giggled, a playful smile curving your lips as you shook your head.

“I’ve already started getting ready,” you teased, flicking your eyes toward the neatly folded clothes. “And so should you.”

You moved to pull away, but in one swift motion, Mairon tugged you forward, pulling you into the bath with him.

A surprised yelp escaped your lips as you splashed into the warm water, laughter bubbling up in its wake. Your gown, now drenched, clung to your body like a second skin, leaving nothing to his imagination.

A playful smile danced on your lips as you pushed yourself back, away from Mairon's reach.

"Now look what you've done," you chuckled, trying to wring the water out of your soaked gown.

Mairon simply shrugged, his eyes locked onto your body, unbridled desire shining in their depths.

"I don't see a problem," he replied huskily, inching closer to you in the bath. "You know how much I adore seeing you wet."

Your cheeks flushed at his words, feeling heat pool low in your belly at the thought of him seeing you like this.

"Is that so?" you teased, playing coy even as his hand reached for yours and pulled you into his lap.

It was moments like these that reminded Mairon why he had chosen this life with you over all others. The way you responded to his touch with such raw abandon drove him wild with desire. 

But for now, he contented himself with kissing every inch of skin he could reach—the slope of your neck, the dip between your collarbones, and down to the valley between your breasts. You could feel his arousal pressing against your heated core, and you shifted your hips, grinding against him with a devilish grin. Mairon let out a low growl, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you even closer to him.

"Divine," Mairon growled against your skin. "Keep that up and we'll never make it to the gathering." 

You rolled your hips again teasingly. "Maybe that's my plan," you purred. "I'd rather feast on you right here."

With a groan, Mairon captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth with unrestrained hunger. You returned the kiss with equal fervor, the wet fabric of your nightgown brushing against his bare chest as you pressed yourself against him. 

His hands roamed your body, gliding over the translucent material clinging to your curves. Fingers deftly untied the laces at the front until the fabric loosened. With a tug, he peeled the wet gown off, exposing your body to his greedy gaze. 

"Beautiful," he murmured reverently, gleaming eyes drinking in every inch of your glistening skin. "My Mori, my goddess." 

His hands caressed your breasts, thumbs flicking over the sensitive peaks until you arched into his touch with a gasp. Mairon's lips trailed kisses down your throat as his fingers dipped between your thighs, finding your slick folds. You mewled and ground against his hand, chasing the delicious friction.

"Mairon, please," you breathed, head lolling back as two fingers plunged inside your heat. "I need you."

"Patience, my love," he purred, pumping his fingers slowly, savoring your silken walls clenching around him. "I want to worship you properly first."

You whined as his fingers withdrew, but it quickly turned into a moan as Mairon's hot mouth enveloped your breast once more, tongue swirling around the stiff peak. His teeth grazed your sensitive flesh, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

"Yes!" you cried out, threading your fingers through his damp coppery hair to hold him against you. 

Mairon lavished attention on your breasts, suckling and nipping until you were writhing in his lap, desperate for more. His arousal throbbed between your bodies, the velvet head brushing your stomach. You reached down to stroke him, relishing the deep groan that rumbled in his chest.

Panting, Mairon released your nipple with a soft pop, eyes dark with lust as they met yours. "I want to taste you, sweet one," he rasped.

 With a wicked grin, you rose up on your knees, granting Mairon access to your dripping core. His hands gripped your hips as he guided you to hover over his face. You had to brace yourself against the edge of the tub as Mairon's sinful mouth made contact with your sensitive flesh. 

"Oh Mairon," you gasped as his tongue parted your folds, lapping up your essence. He groaned appreciatively, the vibrations making you shudder. 

Mairon begun eating you out, tongue swirling around your pearl before delving deep inside you. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head as he brought you closer and closer to the edge with every skilled flick and thrust. He slipped two fingers inside your clenching cunt, pumping in time with his licks.

"Don't stop, my love," you panted, rocking your hips against Mairon's face as the coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter. "I'm so close..."

Mairon redoubled his efforts, fingers curling inside you to stroke that sensitive spot while he suckled on your swollen pearl. The intense pleasure crashed over you in waves and with a sob of ecstasy, you shattered. Your inner walls clamped down on his fingers as you rode out your high, Mairon's tongue lapping up every drop of your release. 

Gently, he guided you back down into the warm bathwater, cradling you against his chest. You could feel his hardness pressing insistently against your stomach and you squirmed in his lap, eager to return the favor. But Mairon's arms tightened around your waist, stilling your movements.

"Not yet, my love," he murmured in your ear. "I'm almost finished.”

Mairon's hand glided down your stomach to tease your sensitive folds once more. You shivered and arched into his touch, still swollen from your recent climax. His nimble fingers circled your pearl, coaxing soft mewls from your lips as he reignited your arousal.

"Mairon," you whimpered. "I want to please you too." 

"You already please me more than you know, sweet one," he purred, nipping at your pointed ear. "Watching you come undone is the most exquisite sight."

To emphasize his point, Mairon thrust two fingers deep inside your core, making you cry out and clench around the sudden intrusion. He pumped them slowly, thumb rubbing firm circles on your pearl. The warm water lapped at your sensitized skin as Mairon worked you back up to a fever pitch. His other hand kneaded your breast, rolling and pinching the stiff peak until you were panting and writhing against him.

"That's it, my goddess," Mairon growled, increasing the pace of his thrusting fingers. "Let me feel you fall apart for me again."

Your walls fluttered around his digits as the pressure built, every drag against that spot inside you bringing you closer to oblivion. Mairon's teeth grazed the junction of your neck and shoulder before biting down, marking you as his. The erotic mix of pain and pleasure sent you careening over the edge with a strangled moan. 

Mairon worked you through the aftershocks, fingers gentling as you came down from your high. You sagged bonelessly against his chest, utterly sated. But Mairon's own need still pulsed hard and insistent between your bodies. With a languid smile, you shifted in his arms to straddle his lap, positioning yourself above his straining arousal.

"I believe it's my turn to worship you now, husband," you purred.

Mairon's sea-foam green eyes locked onto yours, burning with unbridled desire as you reached between your bodies to grasp his thick length. He let out a low hiss as you ran your palm along his shaft, your thumb swirling around the weeping tip. You positioned him at your entrance, teasing him with slow, shallow rocks of your hips that barely took him inside.

"Mori," Mairon growled, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Stop tormenting me, you devilish woman.”

With a coquettish grin, you sank down slowly onto Mairon's throbbing arousal, enveloping him in your tight, wet heat. Twin moans of pleasure filled the steamy air as you seated yourself fully in his lap, relishing the delicious stretch and fullness. You paused for a moment, savoring the feeling of being one with your beloved husband.

Mairon's hands roamed your back, fingers tracing patterns on your damp skin as he gazed up at you with adoration and desire. "My beautiful wife," he breathed reverently. "I am forever yours."

"As I am yours, my love," you whispered back, capturing his lips in a deep, sensual kiss. 

Slowly, you began to rock your hips on Mairon's thick shaft. The warm water lapped at your joined bodies, heightening every sensation. Mairon groaned into the kiss, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he relished in your movements.

You set a languid pace, wanting to savor every blissful slide of his hardness inside your velvet walls. Mairon's hands glided up your sides to cup your breasts, kneading the soft mounds and teasing your nipples with flicks of his thumbs. You arched into his touch with a breathy moan, the dual stimulation sending sparks of pleasure racing through your veins.

"Mori," Mairon panted against your lips. "You feel incredible. So perfect around me."

"Mairon," you whimpered, circling your hips to grind against him. "You fill me so well, my love."

Mairon's hands slid down to grip your rear, guiding your movements as you undulated in his lap. The slick slide of your bodies, the erotic sounds of water lapping against heated skin, drove you both wild with lust. You increased your pace, moving to rise and fall on his thick shaft with wanton abandon. 

Mairon's head fell back against the edge of the tub, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as you rode him harder, faster. The coil of pleasure wound tighter in your core with every thrust, every drag of his cock inside you. You clenched around him, eliciting a strangled moan from Mairon's lips.

"Yes, just like that," he panted, hips snapping up to meet your downward thrusts. "Don't stop, I'm so close..."

You could feel your own release rapidly approaching, the relentless friction sending you spiraling towards that blissful edge. One hand gripped the edge of the tub for leverage while the other tangled in Mairon's damp hair, tugging him in for a sloppy, desperate kiss. Your tongues tangled and teeth clashed as you devoured each other, pouring all your love and passion into the heated embrace.

"Mairon, I'm close," you whimpered against his lips, walls fluttering around his length. "Come with me, my love."

"Together," Mairon groaned, one hand snaking between your bodies to rub firm circles on your swollen pearl. The added stimulation was all it took to send you flying over the edge with a keening cry of ecstasy. Your inner walls clamped down on Mairon's throbbing length, milking him for all he was worth as your orgasm crashed over you in intense waves of pleasure.

Mairon followed you a heartbeat later, spilling himself deep inside you with a hoarse call of your name. His hips jerked erratically as he emptied himself in long, hot spurts, your velvet heat coaxing every last drop from his pulsing shaft. 

You collapsed against Mairon's chest, both of you trembling and panting harshly as you came down from your mutual highs. Mairon's arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close as he pressed soft kisses to your damp hair and temples. You nuzzled into his neck, savoring his warmth and the comforting scent of ash and soot that always clung to his skin.

For long moments, you simply held each other, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking and the tranquility of the warm bathwater lapping at your sated bodies. Mairon's hands roamed your back in soothing caresses, fingers tracing idle patterns on your damp skin. You sighed contentedly, utterly at peace in your husband's strong arms.

Eventually, Mairon shifted, gently lifting you off his softening length. You whimpered at the loss, feeling empty without him filling you so completely. He chuckled softly at your pout, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. 

"As much as I would love to stay here with you all night, my goddess," Mairon murmured, "we do have a gathering to get to,” Reminding you of your earlier comment to him. 

You let out a languid sigh, nodding reluctantly. "I suppose you're right, my love. Though I can think of no finer feast than the one we just shared."

Mairon grinned at that, green eyes sparkling with mirth and adoration. "I couldn't agree more, sweet one. But alas, duty calls." 

With that, he stood, rivulets of water cascading down his toned body as he stepped out of the tub. You admired the play of muscles under his skin, the way his damp hair clung to his neck and shoulders. He was a vision of masculine beauty, and he was all yours.

Mairon turned, extending a hand to help you up. You grasped it, allowing him to pull you to your feet and out of the cooling bathwater. He enfolded you in a plush towel, rubbing your skin dry with gentle, attentive strokes. You practically purred at his ministrations, relishing his care. Once he was satisfied that every inch of you was dry, Mairon wrapped the towel snugly around your body before grabbing another for himself.

You padded over to the vanity, picking up your silver-handled hairbrush. Before you could begin detangling your damp tresses, Mairon's hand covered yours. "Allow me, my love," he murmured, taking the brush and guiding you to sit on the cushioned stool.

With infinite tenderness, Mairon ran the brush through your hair, carefully working out the knots and tangles. You closed your eyes, sighing contentedly at the soothing sensation. It never failed to amaze you how hands so powerful, so skilled at crafting wonders and forging metal, could be so incredibly gentle. Mairon treated you like the most precious treasure, every touch a whispered declaration of his love and devotion.

As he brushed your hair to a glossy sheen, his fingers would occasionally ghost along the elegant point of your ear or the nape of your neck, sending delicious shivers down your spine. With practiced ease, he separated sections of your hair, deftly twisting and braiding the strands into an intricate style fit for a queen. When he was finished, he reached for the silvery hairpiece on your vanity—the same one you had worn on your wedding night—and carefully placed it among his handiwork. The white jewels and silvery metal gleamed in the flickering candlelight, a reflection of the stars.

"Beautiful," Mairon murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he admired his masterpiece in the mirror. "A vision of perfection, as always."

You smiled at his reflection, eyes glowing with love and adoration. "Only because I have you by my side, my love," you replied, turning to loop your arms around his neck. "You make me feel cherished and radiant every single day."

Mairon's eyes softened, a tender smile gracing his lips as he pulled you flush against him. "You are my everything, Moriel," he whispered ardently. "My heart, my fëa. I will spend eternity showing you just how deeply I adore you."

Your heart swelled at his heartfelt declaration, a lump forming in your throat. Even after all this time, Mairon still had the power to make you feel like a blushing maiden with his poetic words and passionate devotion. Rising onto your toes, you captured his lips in a slow, sweet kiss, pouring all your love into the gentle caress.

"As I adore you, Mairon," you breathed.

Mairon returned the kiss with equal tenderness, his arms tightening around your waist. These quiet, intimate moments with you were his greatest treasure, filling him with a deep sense of peace and contentment he had never known before you entered his life.

Reluctantly, you broke the kiss, gazing up at Mairon with a warm smile. "As much as I would love to stay in your arms all night, my darling, we really should finish getting ready." You said, repeating his earlier words.

Mairon let out a dramatic sigh, a playful pout forming on his sensual lips. "If we must," he conceded. "Though I plan to hold you in my arms and shower you with kisses the moment we return from the gathering."

You giggled, pressing a quick peck to his pouting mouth. "I shall hold you to that promise, husband."

With that, you gently disentangled yourself from his embrace and watched as he walked back into the washroom, where his neatly folded robes awaited him. You smiled softly, content with everything that had transpired before moving to retrieve the gown hanging on the door of your wardrobe.

It was a soft, velvety blue gown adorned with sparkling diamonds, stitched into the fabric in delicate, star-like patterns. The craftsmanship was so exquisite, it seemed almost as if Vairë herself had woven it from the very threads of the night sky. It felt too grand, too regal for a woman like you to wear—meant instead for a queen.

Yet Mairon had brought it back from his visit to Gondolin, wrapped in an opulent box, his eyes alight with anticipation as he presented it to you. The moment you unfolded the gown, your heart had stuttered in your chest. It was breathtaking, and though you had deemed it unnecessary—believing you had no occasion grand enough to wear such a masterpiece—Mairon had been insistent. He had urged you to try it on, and to your amazement, it fit as though it had been tailored for you alone.

And then, when you turned to face him, you saw the look in his eyes—pure, unguarded adoration.

"You truly are a goddess, my love," he had whispered.

His words had made you flush with warmth, for you had never felt as such. But beneath his gaze, beneath his touch, you felt as though you were Varda herself.

"Do you need help?" Mairon’s voice pulled you back to the present.

You turned to find him watching you, a soft smile gracing his lips. He had already donned his elegant crimson robes, the intricate embroidery catching the candlelight like embers in a fire. He looked every inch the regal lord, his copper hair cascading over his shoulders in molten waves. Your breath caught at the sight of him—still, after all these years, you could scarcely believe this magnificent being had chosen you as his wife for all eternity.

"Yes, please," you admitted, holding up the sumptuous gown. "I don't think I can manage these tiny pearl buttons on my own."

Mairon crossed the room, his eyes gleaming with warmth and affection. "It would be my pleasure, my love," he murmured, taking the gown from your hands and holding it open for you to step into.

You let the towel slip to the floor and slipped your arms through the delicate sleeves of the gown. The luxurious fabric whispered against your skin as Mairon eased it over your shoulders, helping you shimmy it up your body. His fingertips traced feather-light paths along your sides and back as he worked, igniting small sparks of pleasure in their wake. You shivered at the sensation, though you could not tell whether it was from the cool touch of the fabric or the searing warmth of his hands.

With deft fingers, Mairon began fastening the three tiny pearl buttons that ran up the small of your back. Each brush of his knuckles against your spine sent tingles racing through you. He worked slowly, almost reverently, savoring the intimate moment before a single finger trailed up your back, tracing the exposed skin where the gown remained open.

"You take my breath away, Mori," Mairon murmured, his warm breath fanning across your neck as he secured the final button at the nape of your neck, fastening the delicate shoulders of your gown in place. His fingertips lingered for a moment before tracing down the elegant curve of your back. "This gown suits you perfectly, as if it were woven for you alone."

You turned in his arms, gazing up at him with shining eyes. "Only because you chose it for me, my darling," you replied softly, reaching up to caress his chiseled cheek. "Your impeccable taste and eye for beauty never cease to amaze me."

Mairon leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as he savored your gentle caress. "It is easy to choose beautiful things when I have perfection incarnate as my muse and inspiration," he purred, turning his head to press a tender kiss to your palm.

A delicate blush stained your cheeks at his heartfelt praise. Even after all this time, Mairon's poetic declarations of love and adoration still made your heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings. You doubted you would ever grow accustomed to being so cherished and revered.

Mairon's hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing across your flushed cheek. "My blushing bride," he teased gently, soft green eyes twinkling with mirth and affection. "Even after all this time, I can still make you blush with my words alone."

You playfully swatted his chest, an adoring smile tugging at your lips. “That silvery tongue of yours is going to get you trouble," you chided. "Keep your honeyed words for the gathering. We’re going to be late if we tarry much longer."

Mairon heaved an exaggerated sigh, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. "As my lady commands," he acquiesced, though the wicked glint in his eye told you he was not quite finished with his amorous attentions.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, "But once we return, I fully intend to worship every inch of you until you are trembling and breathless with pleasure. Until the only word your lips remember is my name."

A shiver raced down your spine at his husky promise, heat pooling low in your belly. Your fingers tightened slightly where they rested on his chest, and for a fleeting moment, the thought of skipping the gathering altogether crossed your mind. But Mairon had grown to enjoy these grand affairs, or it was seeing you all made up and in your finery that drove him towards it. But in your heart you knew he would rather spend the night tangled in your embrace.

"I look forward to it, my love," you breathed, letting your lips brush fleetingly against his.

With a final heated look, Mairon stepped back and offered you his arm. "Shall we?"

You placed your hand in the crook of his elbow, a radiant smile blooming across your lips. "Lead the way, my dear husband."

Arm in arm, the two of you departed your home, stepping out into the moonlit streets of Laureandor.

Once at the gathering, you moved to envelop Eärlindë as she approached, her expression bright with delight. She returned your warm embrace, her laughter like the chime of silver bells.

"Tintilmë, you look absolutely stunning!" she exclaimed, holding you at arm’s length to admire your resplendent gown. "That color suits you beautifully."

You beamed at her praise, giving a little twirl to show off the shimmering fabric. "Thank you, my dear friend. It was a gift from Mairon."

Eärlindë’s eyes sparkled with mirth as she cast a glance toward your husband, who was engaged in conversation with a group of Noldorin lords. "He certainly has exquisite taste—in both fashion and wives," she teased, nudging you playfully.

You laughed, linking your arm with hers as the two of you began to weave your way through the gathering. The space had been transformed into something truly magical—golden lanterns hung from the trees, casting a warm, celestial glow over the revelers. The air was thick with the scent of exotic dishes and the sweet aroma of delicate confections. Soft music drifted through the night, mingling with the gentle hum of conversation and bursts of joyous laughter.

"It’s like something out of a dream," you sighed, your eyes drinking in the twinkling lights and elegantly dressed guests.

Eärlindë nodded, a smile gracing her lips. "The Noldor lords certainly elicit a grand response when their delegation arrives. Mother always goes overboard, seemingly feeling the need to prove herself or something." she commented as you looked around at all the elves present.

Many were from court, a court you never attended but knew. Whereas the taller ones you knew were high elves. Their opulent gowns, finery, and jewels all of Valinor. A place nether you or Eärlindë had seen.

Nor did you ever want to.

As you moved through the crowd, stopping occasionally to exchange greetings with familiar faces, you found yourself marveling at the unexpected path your life had taken.

From awakening in the woods of Cuiviénen, drinking from the sweet waters, migrating west with kin, traveling among the other Moriquendi and relishing in the beauty of Arda herself.

Never in your wildest imaginings did you expect to one day stand amongst the nobility of elves that were far younger than you, let alone knew of Beleriand’s true beauty.

Eventually, you and Eärlindë made your way to one of the long tables laden with delicacies, both savory and sweet. Crystal goblets filled with rich, fragrant wine gleamed invitingly under the lantern light. You each took a glass, moving to stand at the edge of the gathering where the view of the glowing garden stretched before you like an enchanted realm.

As you sipped your wine, movement from the corner of your eye caught your attention. A small cluster of elven ladies had gathered nearby, whispering and casting furtive glances in your direction. A few of them even had the audacity to point at your gown, their expressions laced with thinly veiled envy.

You felt a flicker of unease. Was the gown too ostentatious? Perhaps you should have chosen something simpler. But then you recalled the way Mairon had looked at you, as if you had woven the very stars into existence. His words echoed in your mind—"You truly are a goddess, my love."

Squaring your shoulders, you met the envious stares of the high elven ladies with a serene smile, refusing to let their pettiness diminish your joy.

Eärlindë, who had noticed the change in your posture, followed your gaze. When she spotted the gaggle of gossiping women, her brows furrowed in irritation. "Pay them no mind, Tintilmë," she murmured, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. "They are merely bitter that your radiance outshines them all. Let them choke on their own jealousy."

You couldn’t help but chuckle at Eärlindë’s blunt words, grateful for her unwavering support. "You’re right, of course," you replied, taking another sip of your wine.

Your eyes wandered across the garden, searching for Mairon. It did not take long to find him. His crimson robes a striking contrast against the more subdued hues of the gathering. The coppery sheen of his hair caught the lantern light like molten fire, making him stand out effortlessly.

He was deep in conversation with a tall elven lord, whose finely embroidered outer robe bore a smith’s insignia—a fellow craftsman, no doubt. You could only imagine the topic at hand, likely some intricate discussion of metalwork or a trade of forging secrets.

As if sensing your gaze, Mairon glanced up, his sea-green eyes meeting yours instantly. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips, his expression filled with open adoration. With the barest tilt of his head, he beckoned you forward.

You turned to Eärlindë with an apologetic smile. "If you’ll excuse me, my dear, I believe my husband requires my attention."

Eärlindë followed your gaze, her smile turning knowing as she saw Mairon’s besotted expression. "Of course, mellon. Go to him. I’ll be just fine on my own."

With a grateful nod, you made your way through the gathering, your skirts swishing around your ankles as you moved with effortless grace. The envious stares of the high elven ladies burned into your back, but you paid them no heed. There was only one pair of eyes you cared for, and they were already fixed on you with unwavering devotion.

As you approached Mairon, the elven lord beside him turned his gaze upon you. He was taller which was typical of High Elves, with dark hair bound neatly at the nape of his neck, his strong features marked with a regal air. When he inclined his head in greeting, it was not the casual acknowledgment one would offer an acquaintance—it was a bow of deference, as if he expected you to be of higher station than you truly were.

And then recognition struck.

Curufin.

Your breath hitched slightly as you lowered into a respectful curtsy. You had heard of him before—one of Fëanor’s sons, a master smith in his own right. More importantly, he was a name you knew through Eärlindë’s brother, who had fought beside him in the early years of the war.

Rising gracefully, you met his gaze with composed politeness. "My Lord Curufin," you greeted, your voice steady despite the unexpectedness of his presence.

His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable before he inclined his head once more. "My lady," he greeted, his tone measured yet not unkind.

Mairon’s hand found the small of your back, his touch grounding you as always. “This is my wife, Tintilmë,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying the warmth of pride—but also a subtle edge of possession.

Curufin turned fully to you, taking your outstretched hand with practiced elegance. He brought it to his lips, pressing a chaste yet deliberate kiss to the delicate skin atop your knuckles. His lips lingered just a heartbeat too long for your husband's comfort. The shift was almost imperceptible, but you felt it—the tightening of Mairon’s grip against the small of your back, his fingers bunching the fine fabric of your gown ever so slightly.

"A pleasure, my lady," Curufin said as he released your hand and straightened to his full height. His gaze gleamed with something unreadable, a hint of amusement dancing in their depths. "It is not every day one has the privilege of meeting a maiden truly blessed by Varda herself."

Your face warmed at the unexpected compliment, but before you could formulate a response, you felt the slow rise and fall of Mairon's chest behind you. A glance upward confirmed your suspicion—his jaw was set, his expression composed, but the steel beneath his impassive exterior was unmistakable.

Possessiveness radiated from him like the smoldering heat of a forge, restrained but simmering beneath the surface. You knew that look well. While others might have mistaken his silence for indifference, you could see the warning in the slight clench of his jaw and the unyielding grip on your gown.

Curufin, it seemed, had noticed as well. A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, as though he relished in pushing just enough to test the edges of Mairon’s restraint.

You cleared your throat delicately, hoping to diffuse the tension that crackled between the two smiths like a forge at full heat. "You are too kind, my lord," you replied graciously, offering Curufin a measured smile. "But I assure you, I am no more blessed than any other elf here tonight."

Curufin’s eyes glittered with intrigue, the corner of his mouth curving in something that was not quite a smirk. "Modesty becomes you, my lady. But surely you must know that your radiance outshines all others present." His gaze flickered briefly to Mairon before returning to you, keen and calculating. "A true jewel of Beleriand."

Before you could formulate a response, Mairon’s arm slipped fully around your waist, pulling you flush against his side in a blatant display of possession. His fingers pressed firmly into the fabric of your gown, a silent declaration of claim. "My wife's beauty is indeed unparalleled," he agreed, his voice a low, velvety purr that sent a shiver down your spine. "As is her grace and kindness. I am truly the most fortunate of elves to call her mine."

A warm flush crept up your neck at Mairon’s ardent words, his unwavering devotion sending a rush of heat through you. No matter how many times he declared his love, his admiration, it never failed to set your heart aflutter. Leaning into his embrace, you placed your hand over his where it rested on your hip, entwining your fingers in a silent reassurance that you belonged to no one but him.

Curufin inclined his head in acknowledgment, though the gleam in his eyes remained, assessing and appraising. "Indeed, you are a fortunate elf, Mairon," he mused, his tone almost too casual. "To have found such a rare treasure and claimed her as your own." A flicker of something unreadable passed through his gaze, his lips curving just slightly. "One can only hope you fully... appreciate her value."

The barely veiled insinuation made your stomach tighten, and you felt Mairon’s fingers flex against your hip, betraying the slow burn of anger beneath his controlled exterior. "I can assure you, Lord Curufin," he replied evenly, each syllable measured and precise, "that I cherish my wife above all else in this world. Her worth to me is beyond measure."

The unspoken warning in his tone was unmistakable—sharp as a honed dagger, a threat woven into civility. For a long moment, neither smith spoke, their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills. The air between them thrummed with the kind of tension that spoke of grudges unspoken and rivalries long since settled in steel and fire.

You glanced between them anxiously, your heart pounding. Though a small, primal part of you found the intensity of their regard thrilling, you knew better than to let this continue unchecked. The last thing you wished was for your presence to sow discord at what should have been a joyous gathering.

It was Curufin who broke the standoff, though the smirk that ghosted across his lips suggested he had achieved precisely what he intended. He inclined his head in a gesture that was both deferential and mocking. "Of that, I have no doubt," he drawled smoothly, his voice as rich and polished as the finest tempered steel. "Your devotion to your fair wife is admirable, Mairon. A lesser elf might find himself... distracted by such beauty." His eyes glinted, his meaning unmistakable.

Mairon’s grip tightened ever so slightly, his body rigid against yours. "Then it is fortunate that I am no lesser elf," he countered coolly, his words edged with steel.

Curufin’s smirk widened, a knowing gleam in his gaze as though Mairon had walked straight into his carefully laid verbal snare. But rather than press the point further, he merely dipped his head, feigning politeness. He had done what he came to do—test the edges of Mairon's restraint, and perhaps remind him that there were others who took notice of what he held most dear.

Satisfied, he straightened, offering a bow more formal than truly necessary. "I will take my leave," he said smoothly, his voice carrying just a whisper of amusement. "It was a pleasure speaking with you again, my lord." He turned to you then, his eyes settling on yours with an inscrutable look. "And an honor to meet you, my lady. For it is rare to meet a true child of Ilúvatar.”

With that, he gave a deeper, more measured bow and moved past you both, disappearing into the throng of guests.

Only when he was out of sight did you feel the full force of the tension leave Mairon’s frame. His fingers still rested against your hip, but they no longer pressed possessively—rather, they traced slow, absentminded circles against the fabric of your gown. You turned to him, catching the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes, something simmering just beneath the surface.

You exhaled softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Mairon," you murmured, coaxing him to meet your gaze.

His eyes softened, the glacial edge thawing ever so slightly. "He seeks to provoke," he muttered, his voice a thread of controlled ire. "And I do not take kindly to games where you are the prize."

You smiled gently, reaching up to trace your fingers along his jaw, easing away the tightness there. "I am no one's prize," you whispered. "I am yours. Always."

The heat in his gaze darkened, possessive in a way that sent a thrill through your veins. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your fingers. "Yes," he murmured, his voice a promise. "Mine."

The intensity of Mairon's gaze, the fervent promise in that single word, sent a shiver of desire down your spine. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to melt into his embrace, propriety be damned. But you were still very much in public, surrounded by curious eyes and wagging tongues. The last thing you needed was to provide more fodder for the envious whispers of the elite.

Even if it would give Eärlindë something to gossip about.

Reluctantly, you stepped back, placing a more respectable distance between your bodies while still keeping your hand entwined with Mairon’s. "Later, my love," you murmured, a coy smile playing at the corners of your lips. "When we are alone, I will show you just how thoroughly I am yours."

Mairon's eyes darkened with barely restrained hunger, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he visibly struggled to rein in his desire. "I will hold you to that promise, sweet one," he purred, his voice a dark caress that sent heat pooling low in your belly. "And I intend to worship every inch of you until there is no doubt in your mind or body to whom you belong."

A delicious shiver raced down your spine at his fervent declaration. Oh, how you ached to drag him away from the festivities and lose yourself in his embrace. But duty and propriety demanded your presence a while longer. With a soft sigh, you gave his hand a final squeeze before reluctantly releasing it.

"I look forward to it, husband," you murmured, your voice husky with promise. “Though perhaps we should mingle separately for a while longer," you suggested, hoping a bit of distance might help.

Mairon exhaled slowly, as though grounding himself, before offering a slight nod. A flicker of reluctance passed through his soft green eyes at the loss of your touch, but he understood. Much as you both longed to remain by each other’s side, it would be wise to circulate separately, lest your mutual distraction become too apparent to the ever-watchful nobles.

"Save a dance for me later," you whispered, your tone sweet with anticipation. "I will be counting the moments until I am back in your arms."

Mairon’s gaze softened, his sculpted lips curving into a tender smile. "For you, my heart, I would wait an eternity." He lifted your hand to his mouth, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles that sent tingles racing up your arm. "But I will be counting the moments all the same."

With one final heated look that promised delights yet to come, Mairon released your hand and stepped back, allowing you to glide into the glittering throng of revelers. Though your body instantly mourned the loss of his closeness, you knew the anticipation would only make your reunion all the sweeter.

You moved through the crowd with practiced ease, your luminous gown drawing admiring glances and murmured compliments as you passed. Outwardly, you were the picture of serene grace, exchanging polite smiles and nods with nobles and dignitaries alike. But beneath that carefully composed facade, your mind still reeled from the tense exchange between Mairon and Lord Curufin.

The Noldor smith had always been a master of barbed words, and tonight had been no exception. His thinly veiled insinuations—about you, about Mairon, about the nature of your marriage—had clearly struck a nerve. Your husband, usually so impervious to provocation, had barely concealed the simmering fury beneath his polished veneer. You could still recall the way his fingers had tightened around yours, how his voice had taken on that dangerous, silken edge that only appeared when he was at the precipice of temper.

A part of you should have been unsettled. And yet, a dark thrill curled in your belly, knowing that you had the power to stir such intensity in him. That your love—your mere presence—could fracture the iron control of a man who prided himself on his unshakable composure. A shiver of anticipation danced down your spine as you imagined how he would stake that claim in private, how he would worship you with all the fervor of a disciple before an altar, possessive and unrelenting.

Lost in your musings, you nearly failed to notice Eärlindë appear at your elbow, her expression alight with mischief. In her hands, she carried two new crystal goblets, their contents catching the glow of the lanterns in warm amber hues. She extended one to you with a knowing smile, her keen eyes flickering over your dreamy, distracted expression.

"I know that look," she teased gently.

You accepted the proffered goblet with a grateful smile, taking a sip of the chilled, honey-sweet wine. "Am I truly so transparent?" you asked ruefully, feeling a telltale warmth creeping into your cheeks.

Eärlindë laughed, a melodic sound that turned a few curious heads. "Only to one who knows you as well as I do," she assured you, her smile laced with sisterly affection. "Let me guess—your devastatingly handsome husband has just promised to ravish you senseless the moment he gets you alone."

The wine nearly caught in your throat as a fierce blush bloomed across your cheeks. You gave her an exasperated look, but the amusement in her eyes only deepened.

"Not in so many words," you admitted, lowering your voice to ensure it wouldn’t carry to prying ears. "But Lord Curufin seems to have gotten under his skin with a few ill-advised remarks regarding my… allure." You shook your head, torn between flattery and exasperation at the memory of the Noldor lord’s casual provocations. "I fear my poor husband may be driven to distraction with the need to stake his claim.”

Eärlindë’s brows arched, intrigue sparking in her gaze. "My, my, the infamous Curufin taking notice of our sweet Tintilmë? You do aim high, my friend." She chuckled, taking a dainty sip of her own wine as her eyes scanned the room, no doubt searching for the elf lord in question.

"Believe me, his attentions are entirely unwarranted," you said hastily, as if that alone would deter her interest. But this was Eärlindë—once she caught the scent of gossip, she would not easily be dissuaded.

She hummed, clearly unconvinced, and her lips curled into a sly grin. "Oh, I don’t doubt that. But that won’t stop me from enjoying the scandal of it all." Her voice dropped conspiratorially. "Tell me, did Mairon look ready to strike him down where he stood? Or was he simply seething in that quiet, terrifying way of his?"

You gave her a pointed look, but despite your best efforts, a small, traitorous smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"Perhaps a bit of both," you confessed.

Eärlindë grinned triumphantly. "Delicious. Do you think Mairon would let me watch when he exacts his vengeance? No doubt it will be something terribly dramatic."

You sighed, though you couldn’t quite suppress the amusement bubbling beneath your breath. "You are incorrigible."

"And you love me for it," Eärlindë said breezily, though a knowing gleam sparked in her eyes. She tilted her head, studying you with mild amusement before arching a delicate brow. "So, the renowned smith of Himlad has decided to test our Mairon's mettle, has he? I can't say I'm entirely surprised."

You frowned, swirling the wine in your goblet. "What do you mean?"

Your friend leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dropping just enough to ensure your conversation remained private. "Curufin is known for his sharp tongue and his taste for mind games. He enjoys pushing boundaries, needling just enough to see how far he can prod before someone snaps. Especially those he considers potential rivals."

"Rivals?" you echoed, puzzled. "Surely he doesn't see Mairon as a threat. Their crafts are distinct, and Mairon has never shown an interest in playing politics."

Eärlindë chuckled softly, her lips curving in that way that made you feel slightly naïve despite your own wisdom. "Oh, my sweet, oblivious Tintilmë. For all your years, you can still be so blind sometimes." She took a sip of her wine before continuing. "This isn’t about craftsmanship or politics—it’s about pride." Her gaze flickered across the room, seeking Curufin among the revelers. "Curufin is used to being the most sought-after presence in any gathering. He commands attention simply by being who he is. But tonight, all eyes are on you and Mairon. You outshine everyone, and he can't stand being eclipsed, even for a moment."

You blinked, absorbing her words. "So, he’s trying to unsettle Mairon out of… jealousy? Petty rivalry?"

Eärlindë inclined her head slightly, though her expression turned more contemplative. "Jealousy, perhaps, but not just that. He’s also testing Mairon, taking the measure of his mind and spirit, trying to see what lies beneath that flawless composure."

A flicker of unease curled in your gut. "To what end? What could he possibly hope to gain by provoking my husband?"

"Knowledge, leverage, or simply the satisfaction of cracking a particularly well-guarded puzzle," she mused, swirling the wine in her goblet. "Curufin’s motives are rarely straightforward. But one thing is certain—he wouldn’t bother engaging Mairon at all if he didn’t see him as an equal. In a twisted way, this may be Curufin’s version of a compliment."

You let out a soft huff, shaking your head. "I can think of far more pleasant ways to pay a compliment," you muttered before taking a fortifying sip of wine. "Ways that don’t involve trying to drive a wedge between newlyweds."

Eärlindë smirked, reaching out to squeeze your arm reassuringly. "Pay him no mind, mellon. Mairon adores you far too much to let Curufin’s petty machinations sway him." Her eyes glimmered with playful mischief as she added, "If anything, I suspect this little display has only inflamed your husband’s desire to worship you properly once you’re alone."

Heat crept up your neck at her words, your body already thrumming with anticipation for Mairon’s ardent attentions. You let out a soft laugh, shaking off the wicked images forming in your mind. "You are incorrigible," you said, though your grateful squeeze of her hand betrayed your fondness.

"Honestly, what would you do without my wisdom and encouragement?"

"Get into even more trouble, no doubt," you teased back, matching her grin. "Someone has to keep me grounded amidst all this opulence and intrigue."

"Exactly," she said with a wink. "Now, let’s at least pretend we’re enjoying the party before someone starts whispering that your dear husband has already whisked you away."

You chuckled, but even as you kept up the appearance of polite engagement, your gaze inevitably strayed across the glittering throng. Your eyes found Mairon with an unerring pull, as if drawn by some invisible thread. He stood among a cluster of lords, speaking with his usual elegance, yet there was a tautness to his posture, a barely concealed impatience beneath his mask of control.

And then, as if sensing your gaze, he turned.

His sea-green eyes locked onto yours, and even across the crowded courtyard, you could see the fire smoldering in their depths. A silent promise. A vow unspoken yet utterly clear. Your breath hitched, anticipation coiling within you.

Mairon inclined his head almost imperceptibly, an acknowledgment of the charged energy crackling between you. The corners of his sensual lips curled into the barest hint of a smirk—a warning, a tease, a promise of what was to come.

Then, with a smooth farewell to his companions, he excused himself. His long strides ate up the distance between you, his presence commanding even in so casual a movement. Within moments, he was standing before you and Eärlindë, his gaze flickering briefly to your friend before settling back on you, dark with intent.

"May I steal my wife for a dance?" he inquired smoothly, offering you his hand.

Eärlindë, sipping from her glass, gave you a sidelong glance and wiggled her brows in barely concealed amusement.

A fresh wave of heat flooded your cheeks as you placed your hand in his, your fingers curling instinctively around his own. He helped you step gracefully down from where you had been standing, his touch sending sparks racing up your arm.

You handed your goblet to Eärlindë, who accepted it with an exaggerated air of suffering. "Have fun," she said with a teasing lilt. "And do try not to scandalize anyone—at least not too much."

Mairon’s smirk deepened as he led you onto the dance floor, the music swelling around you in soft, lilting strains. His arm slid around your waist as he pulled you close, his touch both possessive and reverent. You exhaled, tilting your head to meet his gaze, and in that moment, nothing else in the grand, glittering courtyard existed but the two of you.

As he led you through the steps of the dance, his emerald eyes bored into yours, dark with unspoken promise. "You are a vision, my love," he murmured, his voice a low caress that sent shivers racing down your spine. "A goddess made flesh. I can scarcely keep my hands off you."

You melted into his embrace, your body molding perfectly to his as you moved together in the age-old rhythm. "Then don't," you breathed.

Your words sent a jolt of desire straight to Mairon's core. His grip on your waist tightened as he spun you gracefully across the dance floor, the two of you moving as one. Every brush of his body against yours stoked the flames of your mutual longing, until you felt you might combust from the sheer intensity of his gaze.

"Careful what you wish for, sweet one," Mairon growled, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Keep testing my restraint, and I may just ravish you right here, propriety be damned."

You shivered, your blood heating at his promise. Rising slowly, you met his burning gaze through your lashes. "And what's stopping you, husband?" you asked, your voice husky. "I seem to recall you promising to worship me until I remember naught but your name.”

Mairon's eyes flashed, his grip on your waist tightening to an almost bruising pressure. "Mori," he growled, his voice rough with barely restrained desire. "You tempt me beyond reason."

In a move almost too swift to follow, he spun you off the dance floor and into a darkened side garden, hidden from prying eyes. His powerful body caged you against a cool stone pillar, his lips claiming yours in a searing kiss that stole the breath from your lungs.

You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his silken hair as you returned his kiss with equal fervor. Mairon's hands roved over your body, mapping every curve and hollow as if he would commit them to memory. When his nimble fingers found the buttons of your gown, you tore your mouth from his with a gasp.

"Mairon," you panted. "What if..." 

Despite your halfhearted protest, your body arched into his touch, craving more. Mairon's lips curved into a wicked smirk against your throat as he continued his sensual assault. 

"No one will find us, sweet one," he purred, his fingers deftly undoing the top button of your gown to expose your heaving chest as the velvet shoulders slipped downward. "I'll be quick. I just need a taste..."

You shuddered as his hot mouth descended to your chest, tongue swirling around a taut nipple. A breathy moan escaped your lips and your fingers tightened in his hair, holding him to you. Mairon growled his approval, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh.

He released your peaked bud with a soft pop before trailing open-mouthed kisses across the swell of your breasts. "I need you, Mori," Mairon growled against your heated skin. "I need to claim you, mark you, make you scream my name until there's no doubt who you belong to."

"Yes," you gasped, arching wantonly into his touch. "I'm yours, Mairon, only yours. Take me, please..."

With a groan of satisfaction, Mairon sealed his lips over yours in a deep, plundering kiss. His fingers bunched in the skirts of your gown, hitching the flowing fabric up your thighs. You whimpered into his mouth as his hand found your heated center, cupping you possessively. The heat of his hand against the growing wetness there, sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

"So wet for me already,” He chuckled darkly. With deft fingers, he sank two digits deep into your aching core. A keening moan tore from your throat as he began to pump them slowly, his thumb circling your sensitive pearl. Mairon swallowed your cries with his lips, mindful of the need for discretion even in his passion-fueled haze.

"That's it, sweet one," he rasped against your mouth. "Let me feel you, all of you. I want to drown in your essence, be consumed by your fire.”

Incoherent pleas and praises fell from your lips as Mairon worked you higher, his clever fingers unraveling you with ruthless precision. The wet sounds of his digits thrusting into your slick cunt filled the air, mingling with your breathy moans and the distant strains of music from the gathering. The delicious scandal of it all—your husband fingering you to ecstasy in a darkened garden while a hundred nobles drank and danced mere yards away—only heightened your pleasure, edging you closer to that elusive peak.

"Mairon, please," you whimpered, writhing against him as the coil in your core wound tighter and tighter. "I need... I need..."

"I know, sweet one," Mairon growled, nipping at your kiss-swollen lips as a third finger joined the first two, stretching you exquisitely.

You gasped at the addition, your inner walls clenching greedily around Mairon's plundering digits. The building pressure in your core was almost unbearable now, your entire being focused on the exquisite sensations radiating from where Mairon played your body like a finely tuned instrument.

"That's it, my love," he purred against your ear. "Sing for me. Let me hear those sweet sounds of your pleasure."

His fingers curled inside you, stroking that sweet spot that made stars burst behind your tightly closed eyelids. Your thighs trembled, barely able to support you as Mairon drove you closer and closer to the edge of bliss.

"Mairon!" you keened, your nails digging into his shoulders as you teetered on the precipice. "I'm going to...I can't..."

"Yes, you can," Mairon growled, his fingers pumping harder, faster, his thumb grinding mercilessly against your throbbing pearl. "Come for me, Mori. Let go, sweet one. Shatter for me."

His dark, sensual command sent you over the edge. With a choked cry, you flew apart, your release crashing over you in shuddering waves of ecstasy. Your inner walls clenched almost painfully around Mairon's fingers as they gentled you through the aftershocks, drawing out your pleasure until you were limp and quivering in his arms.

Mairon's soft green eyes burned into yours as he slowly, deliberately sucked your essence from his fingers, savoring your taste like the finest wine. The sight of his sensual mouth wrapped around those same digits that had just brought you to such dizzying heights sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through your still trembling body. 

"Exquisite," he purred, releasing his fingers with a final lick. "I could feast on your sweet taste for eternity and never be sated."

You whimpered softly, reaching for him with needy hands. "Mairon, please," you breathed, hardly recognizing your own voice, wrecked as it was with desire. "I need you inside me. I ache to be filled by you, claimed by you."

A low growl rumbled in Mairon's chest, his eyes flashing with possessive heat. "And I ache to fill you, to claim every inch of your luscious body as mine," he rasped, his voice rough with desire. "But I fear if I take you here and now, I will not be able to control myself. I want to worship you properly, my goddess. I want to lay you out on our bed and spend hours driving you mad with pleasure until you forget your own name."

You shivered at his dark promise, your body already thrumming with renewed anticipation. "Then take me home, husband," you purred, sliding your hands down his chest to brush teasingly over the straining evidence of his arousal. "Take me to our bed and make me yours in every way. I need your touch like I need air to breathe."

Mairon captured your wandering hands, bringing them to his lips to press fervent kisses to your fingers. "As my lady commands,"

With a final searing kiss that stole your breath, Mairon set your skirts to rights, helped you button your dress back up, and took your hand, leading you swiftly out of the darkened side garden. The music and chatter of the feast reached your ears once more as you emerged onto the main path, a reminder of the outside world that had briefly ceased to exist while you were wrapped in Mairon's passionate embrace.

You both made your way to the edge of the gathering, trying to slip away as unobtrusively as possible. But before you could make your escape, a familiar voice called out your name.

"Tintilmë! Leaving so soon?"

You turned to see Eärlindë approaching, her eyes twinkling with mirth as she took in your flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. Beside you, Mairon stiffened imperceptibly, though he maintained his polite smile as your friend drew near.

"I'm afraid so, Eärlindë," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the thrum of desire still coursing through your veins. "Mairon and I have some...matters to attend to at home."

Eärlindë's smile turned knowing, her gaze flicking between you and your husband with barely concealed amusement. "I'm sure you do," she teased, her melodic voice laced with innuendo. "Far be it from me to keep you from your...marital duties."

You felt heat creep up your neck at her playful insinuation, even as a thrill raced down your spine at the thought of what those "duties" entailed. Beside you, Mairon shifted subtly, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. You knew he was impatient to whisk you away and make good on his heated promises, but he maintained his composure for your friend's sake.

"Indeed," he replied smoothly, his rich voice betraying none of the hunger simmering beneath the surface. "My wife and I have much to...discuss in private. I'm sure you understand."

Eärlindë's eyes danced with barely suppressed laughter, but she nodded graciously. "Of course, my lord. I would not dream of keeping you from such important matters." She turned to you, pulling you in for a quick embrace. "You must tell me all about your 'discussions' later, mellon," she whispered in your ear, her voice trembling with mirth.

You swatted her arm playfully as you pulled away, fighting back a grin. "You are incorrigible, Eärlindë." 

Your friend merely winked, her smile full of mischief. "And you love me for it. Now go, enjoy your 'marital duties' with that delicious husband of yours." She made a shooing motion with her hands. "I expect a full report tomorrow!"

Shaking your head with a laugh, you allowed Mairon to lead you away, his strides purposeful as he guided you towards the path leading to home. The moment you were out of sight of the revelers, he pulled you flush against him, his arm snaking possessively around your waist.

"Divine," he growled against your ear, nipping at the sensitive lobe. "Teasing me with Eärlindë, knowing full well how desperate I am to have you." His hand slid lower, palming your ass through the thin velvet of your gown. "You enjoy testing my restraint, don't you, little temptress?"

You shivered, arching into his touch with a breathy sigh. "Can you blame me? Seeing you struggle to maintain your composure, knowing that I'm the reason for it...it's intoxicating."

Mairon's answering growl vibrated against your throat as he peppered your sensitive skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses. "Wicked woman. You'll pay for your teasing." He nipped at your racing pulse. "Once I get you home, I'm going to strip you bare and worship every inch of your body until you're mindless with pleasure."

You swallowed thickly, fighting against the desire to simply let Mairon take you right there on the moonlit path. "Then hurry, husband," you breathed. "Before I combust from wanting you."

Mairon's eyes glittered with dark promise as he scooped you into his arms, your surprised yelp quickly turning into delighted laughter as he carried you swiftly down the path towards home. Your heart raced with giddy anticipation, every nerve ending alight with desire for your passionate mate.

In what seemed like mere moments, you had crossed the threshold into your candlelit chambers. Mairon set you on your feet only long enough to secure the door before he was on you again, his mouth claiming yours in a searing kiss that left you weak in the knees.

"I thought I would go mad with jealousy tonight," he growled between kisses as he walked you backwards towards the bed, his nimble fingers already working on the buttons of your gown. "Seeing the way Curufin looked at you, the way his eyes devoured you like a wolf eyeing a lamb..." 

His teeth grazed your throat, making you gasp. "I wanted to throw you over my shoulder and carry you away from all those lustful stares, to remind everyone that you are mine and mine alone."

"Yours," you agreed breathlessly, shrugging out of your gown and letting the velvet fabric pool at your feet. "Only ever yours, Mairon."

A possessive growl rumbled through his chest as he drank in the sight of you standing before him in nothing but the silvery chain and wedding band he had placed upon you all those years ago. "My perfect goddess," he rasped, green eyes burning with reverent hunger. "Let me worship you as you deserve.”

With reverent hands, Mairon lifted you onto the bed, laying you out on the silken sheets like a priceless offering. His eyes raked over your naked form, drinking in every dip and curve illuminated by the flickering candlelight. You had never felt more desired, more cherished than you did under the heat of his adoring gaze.

"Magnificent," he breathed, long fingers trailing feather-light paths along your quivering skin. "An exquisite masterpiece shaped by Eru himself."

You keened softly, arching into his worshipful touch. "Mairon, please..."

He smiled, slow and sensual, as he divested himself of his own finery with deliberate grace. Each movement was a revelation, baring his sculpted physique to your hungry eyes inch by torturous inch until he stood before you in all his magnificent glory.

Mairon joined you on the bed, his powerful body covering yours as he claimed your lips in a deep, worshipful kiss. You melted beneath him, your fingers threading through his silken hair to hold him close. His tongue delved into the honeyed recesses of your mouth, mapping every curve and hollow.

"My Mori," he breathed against your lips. “My sweet wife,”

You moaned softly, your body already alight with need. "Show me," you pleaded, rolling your hips against his straining length. "Show me how much you adore me, husband."

Mairon's eyes flashed, a predatory smile curving his lips. He began a slow, sensual descent down your body, lips, teeth, and tongue painting fiery paths across your skin. He lingered at your breasts, lavishing attention on the soft mounds until you were arching off the bed with breathy cries, your fingers tangled almost painfully in his hair. His clever mouth suckled and nipped at the tender peaks, sending jolts of electric pleasure straight to your core.

"Mairon, yes.." you whimpered as he bit down on a sensitive nipple, the exquisite sting only heightening your arousal. 

He soothed the love bite with his tongue before continuing his worshipful journey down your quivering body. His hands mapped every inch of your heated flesh, tracing reverent patterns on your stomach, your thighs, the sensitive crease of your hips. He settled between your thighs like a supplicant before an altar, emerald eyes burning with reverent hunger as he took in your glistening folds.

"Moriel," he growled, hot breath fanning across your aching core. "I could feast on you for all eternity."

You shuddered, hips rolling pleadingly. "Then feast, my love. I am yours to devour.”

Mairon needed no further encouragement. With a groan of satisfaction, he buried his face between your thighs, his sinful mouth descending on your weeping center like a man starved. The first swipe of his tongue through your slick folds tore a keening cry from your lips, your back bowing off the bed at the exquisite sensation.

"Yes!" you gasped, one hand fisting in his silken hair while the other clawed at the sheets. "Just like that, my love..."

He growled his approval against your heated flesh, the vibrations only adding to the all-consuming pleasure building in your core. His lips closed around your throbbing pearl, suckling hard as two fingers plunged deep into your dripping core. The dual sensations sent you hurtling towards the edge with breathtaking speed.

Mairon's fingers pumped steadily as his tongue swirled and flicked against your sensitive bud, wringing gasps and moans from your lips with every masterful caress. He was relentless in his sensual onslaught, determined to shatter you again and again until you were boneless beneath him.

"Mairon, I-I'm close," you panted, feeling the tell-tale flutter of your inner walls. "Don't stop, please..."

He redoubled his efforts, fingers curling inside you to stroke the spot that made your toes curl and your vision blur. His lips and tongue worked in tandem, lashing your aching pearl until the coil in your belly snapped and you flew apart with a ragged scream of his name. 

Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you as Mairon gentled you through the aftershocks, his fingers and tongue slowing their relentless rhythm to soft, soothing caresses. You quivered and gasped beneath him, boneless and sated in the aftermath of your shattering release. 

Slowly, almost reverently, Mairon kissed his way back up your body, pausing to lave tender attention on the marks of passion he had left in his wake. When he finally reached your lips, he claimed them in a deep, sensual kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned softly into his mouth, the intimate flavor igniting a fresh spark of desire in your veins.

"My goddess," Mairon breathed against your lips. "My perfect wife. I will never tire of worshipping you."

You smiled up at him, your heart full to bursting with love and desire for this magnificent being who had claimed you as his own. Reaching up, you traced the chiseled lines of his face with worshipful fingers, marveling at the raw beauty of him. 

"As I will never tire of being worshipped by you, husband," you murmured.

Mairon's eyes softened, a tender smile gracing his sculpted lips as he turned his head to press a fervent kiss to your palm. "Eternity will never be long enough to show you the depths of my love," he vowed, voice low and intense with emotion. "But I intend to spend every moment trying."

Mairon's lips claimed yours in a searing kiss, the intensity of his love and desire pouring into the passionate embrace. You surrendered to his ardent ministrations, your arms winding around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. The hard planes of his body aligned perfectly with your soft curves, two puzzle pieces fitting together in sublime harmony.

When the need for air finally forced you apart, Mairon rested his forehead against yours, his eyes boring into your own with breathtaking intensity. "My beautiful wife," he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. "I ache to be one with you, to join our bodies and souls as only husband and wife can."

You shivered at his words, your core clenching with desperate need. "Then take me, my love," you breathed, rolling your hips invitingly against his straining arousal. "Claim me,”

Mairon's eyes flashed with primal hunger at your wanton invitation. "With pleasure, my love," he growled, aligning himself at your entrance. 

With a powerful thrust of his hips, he sheathed himself fully inside your welcoming heat. Twin moans of ecstasy filled the air as you were finally joined as one, your bodies fitting together like lock and key. The delicious stretch and fullness drew a ragged gasp from your lips, your inner walls fluttering around his thick length.

"Mairon, yes..." you breathed, wrapping your legs around his trim waist to pull him impossibly deeper. "You feel incredible, my love."

He groaned, dropping his head to the crook of your neck as he savored the blissful sensation of your silken walls gripping him like a velvet glove. "No sweeter heaven than being buried inside you.”

Mairon began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, sensual rhythm that sent sparks of pleasure racing through your veins. Each deliberate thrust brushed against that spot deep within you, stoking the embers of your desire into a raging inferno. Your nails raked down the sculpted planes of his back, urging him on with breathy moans and pleas for more.

"Yes, Mairon," you gasped as he drove into you with increasing fervor, the wet slide of your joined bodies filling the room. "Harder, my love. I need to feel every inch of you."

With a guttural groan, Mairon complied, hips snapping against yours in a relentless rhythm, each powerful thrust driving you higher and higher towards that elusive peak. His lips and teeth mapped fiery paths across your throat and chest, worshipping every inch of your heated flesh. When his sinful mouth closed around a taut nipple, you cried out sharply, your back arching into his powerful thrusts.

"Mairon!" you keened, your fingers tangling almost painfully in his hair as he suckled and nipped at the sensitive bud. "Don't stop, my love, please..."

He growled his approval against your breast, the vibrations sending delicious shivers racing down your spine. His hand slid between your sweat-slicked bodies, nimble fingers finding your aching pearl. He circled the throbbing nub in tight, deliberate strokes, wringing desperate moans and pleas from your lips as he drove you towards the precipice with ruthless precision. The coil in your core wound tighter and tighter, your inner walls clenching greedily around his pistoning length. You could feel your release building like a tidal wave, cresting higher and higher with each masterful thrust and stroke.

"I'm so close!" you sobbed, your body beginning to tremble with the force of your impending climax. "Please, my love, I need..."

"I know, sweet one," Mairon rasped, his own voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. He wanted to feel you shatter around him first, to watch you come undone in ecstasy before emptying himself deep inside your fluttering sheath. "Let go for me, Mori. Come all over my cock."

His filthy words and the relentless stimulation were the end. With a keening cry, you shattered in his arms, your climax crashing over you in shuddering waves of pure ecstasy. Your inner walls clamped down on his throbbing length, milking him with pulsing intensity as you rode out the dizzying pleasure.

Mairon groaned long and low, the exquisite feel of you fluttering around him sending him careening over the edge. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, spilling his hot seed deep inside your still quivering cunt. Your name fell from his lips like a reverent prayer as he lost himself to the bliss of his own release, his hips moving in shallow, erratic thrusts as he emptied every last drop into your welcoming womb.

Utterly sated, you clung to Mairon as the aftershocks of your mutual pleasure rippled through your joined bodies. He collapsed against you, his weight a warm, comforting presence as you both struggled to catch your breath. For long moments, you simply held each other, basking in the afterglow and the profound sense of connection it always brought.

Mairon was the first to stir, lifting his head from the crook of your neck to gaze down at you with adoring eyes. He brushed a few sweat-dampened locks from your brow, his touch infinitely tender. "My beautiful wife," he murmured, voice husky with emotion. “I could never tire of this.”

You smiled up at him, your heart full to bursting with love and contentment. "Nor could I, my darling husband," you whispered, tracing the chiseled lines of his face with worshipful fingers. "You are my everything, Mairon.”

Mairon's eyes softened, a tender smile gracing his sensual lips. "As you are mine, Mori," he breathed, turning his head to press a fervent kiss to your palm. "I am forever changed, forever blessed, to have you as my wife and eternal mate."

He shifted then, gently withdrawing from your warmth and rolling to his side, pulling you with him so that you were nestled against his chest. His arms encircled you, strong and protective, as though he could shield you from all the sorrows of the world. You nestled deeper into Mairon's embrace, relishing the comforting heat of his skin against yours. His fingers trailed idle patterns along your spine, soothing you like a lullaby. A contented sigh escaped your lips, your eyelids growing heavy in the hazy aftermath of your lovemaking.

"Sleep, my love," Mairon murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your hair. "I will guard your dreams and hold you close until morning’s light."

"Mmm, I like the sound of that," you mumbled, already halfway to slumber. The steady, rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek was more potent than any sleeping draught. "Promise you'll still be here when I wake?"

Mairon's arms tightened around you, a silent vow. "Always, sweet one. There is nowhere in all of Arda I would rather be."

With that whispered promise, you let your eyes drift closed, secure and cherished in the circle of Mairon's arms. Sleep claimed you swiftly, your dreams filled with visions of eternal love and endless devotion. No matter what trials or challenges life might bring, you knew with unwavering certainty that Mairon would always be by your side—his love a steadfast anchor against the ever-changing tides of fate.

As you slept, Mairon watched over you, his green eyes soft with adoration and reverence. He marveled at the delicate beauty of your features in repose—the way your lashes fanned out against your cheeks, the gentle curve of your lips that he had kissed countless times. Even in slumber, you took his breath away, a vision of perfection that he still could scarcely believe was his to treasure.

Yet as he held you, his thoughts wandered back to the events of the evening—the simmering tension with Curufin, the way his possessive instincts had surged at the Noldor lord’s veiled provocations. Though Mairon knew beyond any doubt that your heart belonged to him alone, the mere thought of another coveting you, even in fleeting admiration, had stirred something primal within him. A need—not of mere possession, but of affirmation, to ensure that every fiber of your being knew, as surely as he did, that you were his and his alone.

He exhaled softly, brushing a reverent fingertip along your cheek, marveling at the silken softness of your skin. How had he been so blessed to earn the love and devotion of a maiden so radiant, so pure of heart? There were still moments when the shadows of his past whispered doubts in the recesses of his mind, when the weight of who he had once been threatened to taint the light he had found in you.

But then, he would look into your eyes—those luminous pools of unwavering adoration—and all fear would be banished. You had that power over him. You were his guiding star, his beacon of hope, casting light into the darkest corners of his fëa. With you beside him, Mairon felt capable of anything—renewed, redeemed, made whole by the sheer force of your love.

He silently vowed to spend every day proving himself worthy of the precious gift of your heart.

As the first rays of dawn painted the horizon in hues of rose and gold, Mairon pressed a final, reverent kiss to your brow before allowing himself to surrender to a light slumber. Even in sleep, his arms never loosened their protective embrace, as if holding onto you anchored him to the serenity he had found in your love.

Your soft breaths and the gentle rhythm of your heartbeat wove a lullaby more potent than any spell, and for the first time in his long, tumultuous existence, Mairon knew peace—a peace born not of conquest, nor of dominion, but of love. True and unbreakable.

Morning came all too soon, the warm caress of sunlight stirring you gently from your contented dreams. Your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the golden rays that filtered through the gossamer curtains. A sleepy smile curved your lips as you became aware of the strong arms still wrapped around you, holding you close against a firm, warm chest. Mairon's chest. Your husband, your love.

Careful not to wake him, you shifted slightly in his embrace, turning to face him. He looked so peaceful in slumber, the usual intensity of his features softened by the vulnerability of repose. Your heart swelled with adoration as you drank in the breathtaking sight of him—the high, sculpted cheekbones, the sensual curve of his lips, the fiery silk of his hair splayed across the pillow. Even in rest, he was a vision of masculine beauty, a work of art given life.

Unable to resist, you reached out to trace the lines of his face with a feather-light touch. Your fingertips ghosted over his brow, down the aristocratic slope of his nose, across the chiseled planes of his cheeks. You marveled at the smoothness of his skin, the way it warmed beneath your reverent caress. He was perfection incarnate.

Mairon stirred at your tender touch, his sea-foam eyes blinking open to meet your adoring gaze. A slow, sleepy smile curved his lips as he pulled you closer, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice husky from slumber. "What a vision you are to wake up to."

You giggled softly, threading your fingers through his sleep-tousled hair. "I could say the same, my love. Watching you sleep is one of my greatest joys." 

Mairon hummed contentedly, pressing languid kisses along your throat. "Is that so? And here I thought your greatest joy was screaming my name in ecstasy as I worship your exquisite body."

A shiver raced down your spine at his words, desire already stirring in your veins. "Mmm, that is a very close second," you purred, arching into his sensual kisses. "Perhaps you'd care to remind me just how exquisite that worship can be?"

Mairon's eyes darkened with hunger, a wicked smile curving his lips against your skin. "It would be my utmost pleasure, sweet one."

In a flash, he had rolled you beneath him, his powerful body covering yours deliciously. Your breath hitched as you felt his hardening length press against your thigh, evidence of his own stirring desire. Mairon claimed your lips in a deep, sensual kiss, his tongue delving past your parted lips to stroke and caress. You melted into the passionate embrace, your arms winding around his neck to pull him impossibly closer.

Mairon's hands roamed your body as he kissed you deeply, tracing every curve and dip he had long since committed to memory. Each caress ignited sparks of pleasure that raced through your veins, stoking your desire. You arched into his touch, silently begging for more, and he was all too happy to oblige.

His lips blazed a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, pausing to nip and suck at your racing pulse. You gasped and writhed beneath him, your fingers tangling in his silken hair as he continued his sensual assault. When his clever mouth closed around a rosy peak, you cried out sharply, your back bowing off the bed.

"Mairon, yes!" you keened as he suckled and teased the sensitive bud, sending jolts of electric pleasure. His clever tongue swirled around the hardened peak, drawing breathy moans from your parted lips. Mairon lavished attention on your breasts, reveling in every gasp and whimper he coaxed from you. His hands mapped your quivering body with worshipful reverence.

Unable to resist any longer, you tugged impatiently at his hair, urging him back up to claim your lips once more. Mairon obliged with a low chuckle, sealing his mouth over yours in a deep, plundering kiss. As your tongues tangled sensually, you hooked a leg around his hip, using the leverage to grind your aching core against his hardness. You both groaned at the delicious friction, the kiss turning fevered and urgent.

Breaking away with a gasp, Mairon rested his forehead against yours, emerald eyes smoldering with barely restrained hunger. "I need you, Mori," he rasped, his voice rough with desire. "I ache to be one with you,”

"Yes, Mairon," you breathed, your body singing with the same desperate need. "Take me, my love."

With a low growl of satisfaction, Mairon reached between your bodies, aligning himself at your entrance. In one powerful thrust, he sheathed himself fully inside your slick heat, drawing twin moans of ecstasy from you both. Your inner walls fluttered around his thick length, relishing the delicious stretch and fullness that only he could provide.

Mairon stilled for a moment, savoring the blissful sensation of being buried deep inside your welcoming body. His eyes locked onto yours, burning with an intensity that stole your breath. "My perfect goddess," he murmured reverently, his fingers caressing your face with aching tenderness. "I will never tire of being one with you in every way."

"Nor will I, my love," you breathed, canting your hips to take him even deeper. 

Slowly, reverently, he began to move, his hips rolling in a sensual rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You clung to his broad shoulders, meeting each deliberate thrust with a roll of your own hips. The slick slide of your joined bodies, the delicious drag of his thick length against your fluttering walls, drew breathy moans and gasps from your parted lips. Mairon drank in every sweet sound of your pleasure, his gaze never leaving your face as he made love to you with exquisite tenderness.

Your legs wound around Mairon's trim waist as he rocked into you, pulling him impossibly deeper. Each languid thrust brushed against that spot within you, stoking your desire. You could feel the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core, your inner walls beginning to flutter around his hardness.

"Mairon," you gasped, your fingers digging into the flexing muscles of his back.

He groaned against your throat, his rhythm growing more urgent, more purposeful. "I feel you, love," he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "Your perfect body grips me so tightly, as if it never wants to let me go.”

You keened at his words, your head tossing against the pillow as Mairon's thrusts grew faster, harder, driving you closer and closer to that elusive peak. "Never, my love," you panted breathlessly. "I never want to let you go. I'm yours, Mairon, always..."

"Yes, Mori," he growled possessively, angling his hips to grind against that sensitive spot deep inside you with each purposeful thrust. "Mine, forever and always. No one else will ever touch you, worship you, like I do."

His hand slipped between your sweat-slicked bodies, fingers finding your aching pearl. He circled the throbbing nub in tight, deliberate strokes, the added stimulation wrenching sharp cries of ecstasy from your lips. The coil in your core wound impossibly tighter, your body trembling on the precipice of rapture. Mairon's thrusts grew more urgent, more demanding, each flex of his hips driving you higher and higher. His fingers worked your sensitive pearl mercilessly, determined to shatter you completely.

"Mairon…" you sobbed, your nails raking down his sweat-slicked back. "I can't...I'm going to..."

"Yes, Mori," he commanded, his voice a dark, sensual growl. "Come for me, my goddess, I have you."

With a keening cry, you shattered beneath him, your climax crashing over you in shuddering waves of ecstasy. Your inner walls clamped down on his throbbing length, milking him with rhythmic pulses as you rode out the pleasure. Mairon groaned long and low, the exquisite sensation of your fluttering heat too much to resist. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, spilling his essence deep inside you as his own release overtook him.

Mairon's hips moved in shallow, erratic thrusts as he emptied himself completely, your name tumbling from his lips like a reverent prayer. You clung to him, your bodies trembling in the aftermath of your mutual bliss, hearts pounding in perfect synchronicity.

As your shared breathing slowed, Mairon carefully withdrew from your slick heat, a contented sigh escaping his luscious lips. Emerald eyes bored into yours, Mairon's expression one of profound love and adoration.

"Mori," he murmured hoarsely, ducking his head to press kisses along your collarbone. "My divine wife, words will never encompass how much I truly love you."

You threaded your fingers through his damp coppery locks, guiding him back up to meet your gaze. "Then show me, my darling," you whispered against his lips. "Every day, for the rest of our lives, show me the depths of your love. As I will show you mine."

Mairon's eyes softened, a tender smile curving his sensual mouth. "For all of eternity, my heart," he vowed, sealing his promise with a sweet, lingering kiss. 

You melted into his embrace, relishing the comforting weight of his body covering yours. These moments of tranquility, tangled in the sheets with your beloved husband, were more precious to you than all the gems in Arda. Here, in the sanctuary of your marriage bed, the outside world faded away until nothing existed but the two of you, bound by unrequited love and fiery passion.

[seventeenlovesthree]

Madoka Magica Ship Analysis - HomuMado

Based on these two polls [X] [X], I will write an analysis that'll also include how I feel about the ship (similarly to my Digimon shipping game analysis posts).

Disclaimer: I won't claim this to be a conclusive/definitive analysis of all of the ship's aspects. I have watched the original 12-episode-series and movies (including Rebellion), the Magia Record anime and I've read several manga series (the Original, The Different Story, Wraith Arc, Rebellion Story, Oriko Magica, Another Story, Mitakihara Anti-Materials). But I'm aware that I haven't seen/read all of what's out there and am also not thoroughly familiar with the games. Plus, oftentimes, ship dynamics vary depending on which series/timeline you are looking at. I'm fairly certain that thousands of words must have been written about this ship already, better and more elaborate than I probably ever could - so this is going to be my personal take on it.

Whether canon provides input on them or not.

As the main faces, characters (and ship) of the entire franchise, it's absolutely impossible to watch/read/play the series without taking note of Madoka Kaname, Homura Akemi and their dynamic. Their characters, arcs and development are irrevocably connected with one another - no pun intended (yet) - and without them, we wouldn't even have a story to talk about to begin with. But let's start at the beginning, shall we.

On one hand, we have Homura - who initially started off as a shy and timid girl, prone to sickness and ridden by insecurities. Presumably raised as an orphan at a government-funded orphanage, she struggles to find her way, fitting in at school, keeping up, making friends and socializing in general - thus she becomes an easy target for corruption (we shall keep this in mind for later) and is almost being dragged into suicidal tendencies by a Witch... If it wasn't for the pink-haired Magical Girl (and her senpai) who is going to rescue her - and Homura has no idea yet that she'll end up committing her entire life and purpose to her soon after.

Madoka initially starts off as not considering herself to be anything special - but is still determined to do good as a Magical Girl, she appears to be straight-forward yet kind, gentle and welcoming... Especially towards Homura. So - is it really surprising that Homura, timid, insecure, lonely Homura, would end up thoroughly enchanted by Madoka? The first real friend she must have had in ages? The person who smiled at her, reached out and encouraged her in her pure, innocent ways? Absolutely not, it's highly relatable, endearing... And thus, it shall be even less surprising to see Homura not wanting to lose her again. The feeling of being wanted, appreciated - of not being alone anymore.

After watching Madoka sacrificing herself, ending up killed by Walpurgisnacht in the original timeline, Homura makes her wish to become a Magical Girl herself - not just to meet Madoka again, but to be the one to rescue her this time. What appears to be a wish of determined, unexpectedly confident heroism at first will, just like every other wish, turn out to be a multi-layered mess of human complexity. An underlying desire born from affection - that will eventually turn into something deeper, desperation, obsession, whatever you may want to call it.

Homura lives through countless timelines, repeating the same month over and over again to save Madoka, discovering the fate of Magical Girls to become Witches eventually along the way, becoming more and more skilled at weaponry combat... At some point, she was already perfectly ready to become a witch alongside Madoka, as long as they're together, destroying the entire world - but is held back by Madoka's wish to prevent her from falling for Kyubey. And thus, Homura thoroughly hyperfocuses on her personal mission, so she won't lose the last bit of hope, no matter how bleak the situation may be. However, in the process, she is growing more and more distant, not only from Madoka and their fellow magical girls, but also from herself. Hardened by the experiences, she develops a cool facade and a stoic attitude, swallowing and locking away emotional attachment to anything and anyone that is not Madoka in order to reach her goal.

With every timeline resetted, more karmic energy revolves around Madoka - but with Homura's wish revolving around saving her, she also becomes increasingly more timid, reserved and insecure each time(line). While her general stance on Homura is still mainly the same - finding her, her look and name cute/pretty -, their ability to relate to one another dwindles with every reset. Homura's attempts at reaching Madoka, as desperate as they may appear, rather scare and alienate Madoka - who cannot possibly understand what she has been going through, the time she had spent, the absolute commitment...

Until Madoka eventually makes her own wish to honour all of Homura's achievements - until she wishes for witches to never have existed and, enabled by all the karmic energy, she becomes a literal Goddess in the process, the Law of Cycles to keep magical girls from despairing, creating an entirely new universe... One in which she has never existed as a human, but only as a concept. Selflessly wishing for everybody's happiness - whereas Homura wishes she didn't. While Madoka thanks her for all she had done for her sake, giving her her red hair ribbons as memory for safekeeping, Homura cannot fully accept this new reality. She does fight on at first, honouring Madoka's wish within a world that has Wraiths instead of Witches, determined to defy anyone and anything that shall threaten her legacy... But this state isn't meant to last.

The long twintail-braids shy, timid Homura used to wear alongside her glasses, mirroring Madoka's red-ribboned twintails as a symbol of innocence, are merely a memory of who Homura Akemi is going to become. For the sake of her initial wish, for the sake of devotion and love that have turned into an obsession that doesn't allow much deviation. And her will to keep living in Madoka's universe is fragile - as she has to overcome temptation in the shape of shape-shifting Wraiths, showing her her beloved Madoka once more - just for example.

And eventually, despair takes over: Trapped within a Witches barrier inside of Homura's own Soul Gem, a world has formed that technically would have granted her biggest wish - a world in which Madoka exists happily alongside her and her/their friends, fighting together, living a peaceful life... But this world is just a facade as well, meant to lure the Goddess into a trap to regain power over the old Witch System of an alternate reality. And Homura, whose hair can never be turned back into braids again, who has lost her way and purpose, turned into a Witch and is ready to sacrifice herself if it means keeping Madoka safe once more. But even as she is, once again, mercifully saved by Madoka in the end in return in another act of selflessness - Homura's initial wish takes over. To be the one to save Madoka - in Homura's sense, means to stop her from being selfless for once, giving her the chance to live a normal life in another fake reality. It's Homura's, presumably, selfish desire in contrast to Madoka's - as they have truly become opposites in every single way. In order to fulfill her wish and become Madoka's sanctuary - even against her will -, she became a Devil to defy the Goddess' universe, following a corrupted form of love once born from the wish to protect the one most important to her. To maintain the image of Madoka she had formed in her head, regardless of whether that is what Madoka has eventually become and wished for by herself. And thus, she cannot wear Madoka's red ribbon, the sign of her legacy and innocence, anymore. A black dress and red eyes now have to face a white dress and golden eyes. The braids cannot return... At least not for now.

... Too long, didn't read: There is A LOT to work with, you already know all of this and yet, I am pretty sure I haven't been able to capture every aspect of them.

Whether I think why and how they’d work.

As mentioned, depending on timeline, universe, state of progression, their dynamic tends to be WILDLY DIFFERENT. You can take Moemura/Shy!Homura and OG!Madoka, you can take Cool!Homura and Anime!Madoka (and their various states in between), you can take EndofAnime!Homura and Madokami, you can take Rebellion!Homura and Rebellion!Madoka, Homucifer and Madokami and you can take Homucifer and FakeWorld!Madoka... The possibilities are ENDLESS (especially when you also include the more comedic-leaning portrayals in spin-off mangas like Homura Tamura).

The good part about this is - you can basically pick your poison, you can make this dynamic as wholesome or as toxic as you desire your own personal brand of Yuri to be. Which is, in my opinion, one of the aspects that make Madoka Magica and HomuMado in general so unbelievably intriguing.

Let's start with the toxic side of things, because I would argue that this is where Rebellion left us hanging and where Walpurgisnacht Rising might continue (at first): Homura's wish and her mingling created a very idealized version of Madoka in her head that she wishes to protect and maintain. Her initial thankfulness and endearment towards the kind, strong Madoka in the original timeline have basically been replaced by her unshaken desire to SAVE her. She has to be the one who (selfishly?) stops her from being selfless, she has to be the one to shield and protect her from any harm, keeping her locked in a precious glass bowl preferably nobody else can mess with. The problem here is that this version of Homura (which is basically Homucifer, but also several stages of her before that) cannot accept any other reading of reality than her own. Yes, in an ideal world, she could have allowed Madokami to finally take her away to exist with her in lesbian heaven for the rest of eternity - but that was not what Homura had wished for. And also probably not what Homura thought she deserved after everything she had done. In a way, having her turn into Homucifer was also some kind of self-chosen punishment as a "sinner"...

And Madoka, honestly speaking, probably had a very idealized version of Homura in her head as well. I'm not just talking about Rebellion!Madoka (or FakeReality!Madoka for that matter), whose memories had been tampered with, but also Madokami - who claimed to have seen all that Homura had done for her, in all timelines and realities... But apparently, she hadn't noticed her state of mind, her being so close to despairing and snapping because she just couldn't take this universe. That she couldn't let Mami or Kyouko in, no matter how hard they tried. She still felt alienated from them and lonely, thus she always reverted back to her initial goal, as she simply didn't belong into this universe. It kinda leads me to believe that it may be impossible for even Madokami to see Homura as anything other than the braided girl from the very beginning, her "best friend" from the original timeline.

Long story short - these two need to actually TALK for once. Getting to know their REAL CURRENT selves in whatever state or timeline that may be. Seriously, letting Madokami and Homucifer have a verbal conversation about all these misconceptions and misunderstandings about each other, talking about needs and desires and BOUNDARIES in a meta-kinda-way would be incredibly satisfying to watch. (And I am pretty sure, such scenarios exist in both fanfiction and doujins, but I haven't found them yet!)

Personally, I also highly enjoy the dynamic between Moemura and OG!Madoka - even after a few timelines have passed, as it has been depicted in the second season of the Magia Record anime. It gave me the impression that Homura had already gained a little bit of confidence and Madoka was still hands-on enough for them to be on a similar wavelength - which makes their dynamic among the healthiest in the entire franchise and gives them a lot of opportunities to bond and develop. For Homura to form a proper sense of self, encouraged by but not entirely dependent on Madoka. Actually, this version is also incredibly close to the Rebellion dream versions of Homura and Madoka - which, unsurprisingly, also is one of the most peaceful versions of them, having them sit together in a flower field, talking for hours about actual things. However, this Homura is still hyperfocusing on Madoka here - and it may not even have been her 100% authentic self, since her memories had been influenced by Homura's vision of her.

However, you have to allow them to talk and actually get to know each other and their flaws, let them banter and tease... Let Homura see and learn to accept undesirable aspects of Madoka - and let Madoka shout back at her if necessary. Deep down inside, they both adore and admire each other - which is why they were compatible in the original timeline in the first place. Homura admired Madoka for her strength, whereas Madoka admired Homura for her coolness. And they absolutely have the potential to help the other to become their best selves. But they need to see each other for who they really are and thus have to abandon codependent tendencies for it to work; Homura has to accept that Madoka is her own person who doesn't need to be overprotected - and Madoka has to accept that she cannot "save" Homura just by herself, but that she may encourage her to get therapy to deal with her self-image first. Let Homura understand that "love" also means to let go. Let her see that different people define "love" differently as well and that you have to understand how your significant other loves to love them back right.

Whether I’d prefer them as platonic or romantic ship.

When I had watched Madoka Magica for the first time approximately 10 years ago, I was positively - and obviously - in love with this ship and its potential. I adored Rebellion for how tragically it portrayed it - and again, I'm not even sure if I did them justice in comparison to everyone who wrote about them before me. As outlined above, it has various layers to pay attention to and I absolutely cannot wait to see how Walpurgisnacht Rising will add to my initial analysis of them. Because their dynamic WILL change, there is no denying.

Even after all this time, I still (want to) see the romantic potential between them. They may not be my favourite Madoka Magica ship anymore, but I still rate them very highly due to their complexity, my own nostalgia and hopefulness - although I'm aware that I would ship them in very idealized ways myself that are self-indulgently peaceful (and required a lot of therapy). As much as I want to see them get a happy end one way or another - I am currently very invested in exploring Madoka's and Homura's polycule potential dynamics with the other members of the Magica Quintet and am looking forward to writing more ship analysis posts soon!

[clarissaexplainingitall]

lancer character extreme ramble edition below but the tldr is yeah yeah everyone makes the jokes about tgirl horus pilots but what about a horus mech that actually does very much trans your gender. character so fun and complex i had to draw a diagram:

the long version:

we had to rework some things due to a last minute module switch (he was going to be a little older and number and due to needing to be in mech school we had to roll the timeline back to immediately after the incident, but in summary:

CALLSIGN: Firebird

The Royal Karrakin Foundries were conducting some experiments on a Horus-pattern Pegasus class unit, referred to as "The Asset" which had a dual-pilot chassis (very very weird).

One particular graduating class at a low level flight and mechanic school academy was targeted and graduates were offered a high paying job requiring a degree of security clearance very far away.

This is what we call a bold-faced lie

On record everyone is just working somewhere far off and deployed on secret tasks. Firebird is aware that there was a number of unquantifiable "mistakes" (there is a lack of appropriate records) that resulted in the death of multiple rounds of test pilots alongside some of the mechanical staff.

Eventually, two graduating students (Aphra and Mavet) were selected as the next round of candidates due to situational proximity of seemingly random biometric markers (CBC, LDL, ESR, CRP-, and some unknown)

This seemed to work, and Aphra and Mavet began to build a coworkerly relationship, though they also had fairly good chemistry, and Aphra at least began to develop feelings for the man.

Both chose callsigns for each other based on a shared affinity for old music - Aphra was CALLSIGN: Faun, and Mavet was CALLSIGN: Firebird

The rationale for Aphra's callsign was never explained to her.

During a test instance, there was what is referred to internally as "The Incident." It is unclear to both pilot and observers what occurred, but the surviving pilot suspects there was a certain degree of raw, hardcore interfacing with something in the machine.

OOC, Mavet made unfiltered contact with the unshackled Ushabti Omnigun and the mech reacted.

Three things happened as a result:

Aphra's corporeal form was reduced into a smear of meat.

The person who was once Mavet was effectively killed - theoretically. It is possible he was incorporated into the Ushabti Omnigun, or one of 20 other options, but what is known to the surviving pilot alone is that his mind was effectively wiped from his corpse. His body also sustained significant blast damage and some degree of permanent neurological injury.

The Pegasus, henceforth dubbed RITE OF SPRING, exploded, incorporating the bulk of Aphra's body into surviving parts of its chassis, eliminating a secondary seat, and patching Mavet's corpse with material from the mech, preserving the mind that was formerly Aphra's in his body.

Legally, Aphra is dead. Metaphysically, Aphra is still around, but would never admit it because legally, Mavet is still alive. He prefers to go by (now his) callsign as he feels if nothing else, he earned the transfer of that name. Firebird is now attempting to reconstruct the Pegasus chassis in pursuit of closure and an attempt to make contact with whatever remains of Mavet.

The Royal Foundaries are overjoyed and consider the experiment a complete and utter success. Mavet was diagnosed with a mild case of memory loss as a result of neurological injury or potential integration of schrapnel. They suspect nothing at this point in time. However, we now have extremely fucked up blood test results due to maybe having a bit of Pegasus meat in us but that's not shared outside the experimental team.... as far as Firebird knows.

And now for the gay pining section of this lancer character:

And this is how the Horus Pegasus-TM made me gay and transgender

What if you can't hate the body you are now stuck in because you loved it before it ever was yours? (It isn't yours)

What if you like it better this way but liking it better feels like an unfathomable sin because This all comes at the expense of someone you never got the chance to love.

We were late on day one of mech school due to guessing our own shoe and shirt size wrong.

Multitrack drifting my body as a prison-temple. Haunting reminder, unfulfilled everything, object of mourning, constant horrible just in your face forever... but you can't change any of it. It's not yours to change and it'd be disrespecting his memory. Blah blah blah blah blah I'm going to go insane.

Current vibe is "everything happens so much" and "can you guys please leave me out of antagonizing the nobility they already hate me and i want to retain my ribs unbroken."

He's retained his own personal memory, etc, personality, but inherited Mavet's muscle memory and preferences. Which is such a blessing-curse because it's like. Oh you never had the chance to ask what food he likes? Well Now You Know. But not because he told you.

Anyway since we're here this is why the naming went the way it did:

Rite of Spring as the ballet about a person chosen to lead their own sacrifice and consumption by the earth. Points also for the funky choreo and ungodly music and riots resonating with Horus Weirdness. That one line about the lead ballerina dancing, instead of out of love of leaping, as if she hates the very ground she stands on. The mental breakdown barely avoided during the choreography. The multiple people quitting production.

The unfathomable pitching of the bassoon. The superimposing of a dominant 7th on a major triad half a step higher. Alternating 2, 4, 2, 5, 1, 6, but notating in 8 sometimes. How many times do you want to change signatures and tempos? Yes. What do you think about constantly going in and out of 5/16. Let's do 444 time signature changes and oh a delicious bar of 11/4. Fuck it, submelody referred to as the Sentence of Doom.

Firebird callsign is 1 bit phoenix joke (why it was retained) and 1 bit it also being a production involving the ruination of a man's career and several marriages. The endless searching in some versions for the live bird based solely on one tail feather. Faun is for the prelude to the afternoon of, because both involved Nijinsky and were the fucketh around with ballets.

Everybody say thank you to Frank Bidart

[walkingnearfoxes]

The Space Between the Lines (Homelander x Reader) - Chapter 2

2.5k words. Teacher Reader. Homelander in an undefined part of the canon timeline. 18+ due to the devil’s lettuce and “that’s what she said” humor.

There are a dozen teachers who would kill for this job. You’re just not sure that you’re one of them. 

"His son?"

Vought had been very particular about who you could talk to about your job. If you told anyone outside your immediate family about who you were teaching, you could consider your career with Vought - and your career outside of Vought - terminated. Then, if there was even the slightest chance that anyone in your immediate family would talk to the media about it, you were extra terminated. Luckily, you did not have the slightest urge to speak to any living family member about this. They would have questions, worry, and manipulate; it wasn't worth the headache. As far as anyone you were blood-related to knew, you were tutoring vulnerable students Vought had adopted as their own. At first, you didn't think you would have a problem keeping everything a secret - but then you officially met the Homelander.

Addie, your roommate, stares at you from the living room windows. She is cross-legged on a purple bean bag, a bong delicately perched in her hands. She barely said a word over the last hour as you explained the details of your first school day.

You nod from where you're leaning against the kitchen counter. "Ryan Butcher."

"His last name is Butcher?" Addie sputters. "Is that his full name? Homelander Butcher?"

"...I don't think he has a last name."

Addie shakes her head as she lights the bong. "Dude, you're gonna die."

You groan and press your forehead to the kitchen counter. A mug of tea sits delicately between your hands, warming you in this frigid apartment. “Not helping.”

“Is there still time to quit?” She asks, and you hear her blow out a puff. “Or will he pop your head off like a grape if you do?”

You lift your head to answer her. “He wasn’t…that bad.”

Addie’s dry gaze meets yours across the room. Over the years, many have mistaken the two of you for siblings - even twins - based on your physical similarities. It didn’t help that many of your expressions morphed into one another’s over the years. She sighs your name as she places the bong down. “You’re not drinking the Kool-Aid, are you? The guy’s nuts.”

You drum your fingers anxiously against your mug. Until recently, the Homelander had a squeaky-clean reputation. His breakup with Queen Maeve - Addie’s favorite since childhood - had begun your friend’s suspicion that there was a darker side to America’s hero. You kept the benefit of the doubt until Stormfront and the public fallout from that fiasco. As more and more of your distant relatives on Facebook cheered for the Homelander, the more you grew weary of the strongest man on the planet. 

“I’m…trying to remain optimistic here,” You murmur, though you aren’t sure if you believe your words. “Anyone who does this much to educate their son has a good bone in him somewhere.”

“Thinking about his bones, huh?”

You pick up the tissue box on the counter and toss it at her head. She dodges it with ease and laughs, standing up with her bong. “I knew it. You deviant.”

“Open the windows in here. It smells like shit,” You toss back, laughing with her as you head for your room. “Good night.”

You hear her say goodbye before you shut the door to your room. After a quick change into pajamas, you curl in bed with the full intent of reading a book - but instead, you find yourself wasting the better part of an hour reading articles about the Homelander on your phone. 

It’s information whiplash. One website will lead you through a sea of gratitude for the man, detailing heroic saves across the decades. The next is a rabbit hole of conspiracy theories. Did he do something to Flight 37? Was he responsible for the massive turnover in the Seven lately? Did he follow the Stormfront’s abhorrent rhetoric?

By the end of your search, your stomach hurts. You switch to a guided relaxation video - surely this random deep voice on the Internet will calm you down - and flip over on your side to try to sleep. You’re facing the window, and your eyes naturally drift towards the Brooklyn skyline.

Odd.

You lift your head slightly. It looked as if there was a spark of light on the roof across from your building. Your vision was weakening after years of reading screens, but you could have sworn you saw a small pair of red spheres.

Red eyes.

Your stomach lurches again. You flip to face the wall and scoff a laugh at your reaction. As a child, you were always seeing things in the dark. You drove your family crazy with the number of nightmares you concocted out of dark closets and shadowy corners. You tighten the blankets and shake your head. “Can’t go crazy yet…we have a job to do tomorrow.”

The slow, deep voice of the mindfulness video eventually drifts you off to sleep. You have forgotten about the red eyes by the time you wake up.

~-~

Vought Tower is a nightmare of a commute for you. It involves a 20-minute walk, a subway ride, a bus, and yet another 20-minute walk. You and Addie thought about getting a car more than once, but your combined salaries sometimes made it difficult for you even to afford the apartment. Tagging on a vehicle to that wasn’t in the cards - though it might be if you survived this job.

You smile politely at the guards in the front lobby, scanning your badge so no one questions your walk to the elevators. As you begin the slow ascent to the penthouse, alone in the privacy of the mirrored walls, you review the “checklist” Vought provided you. You are wearing a modest outfit. No heels. You aren’t wearing any perfume. The shampoos and conditioners you used were not scented. Your soap had a light vanilla fragrance, and you had only used it briefly before quickly switching to the unscented body wash you purchased a few days prior. 

If you had learned anything from this job already, the Homelander was very particular. 

The nerves don’t find you until the elevator opens and you approach the penthouse door. The hallway was barren, a prolonged detachment from reality. Could you really do this? Teach the son of a man who could rip a building in half? Every part of your body is tense except for the shoulder he had corrected. There, the muscle was relaxed. Soft. It felt good; you couldn’t remember the last time your shoulder felt that good. But was that a blessing in disguise?

You are so lost in thought that you don’t realize you’re standing in front of the door until it opens.

To your shock, it wasn’t the Homelander’s piercing gaze that greeted you. Instead, it was the ocean-blue eyes of a child. You would guess he’s around ten, the same age as the student group you had last taught. He’s dressed in jeans and a flannel, and his hair is a light brown. All in all, he looks like an ordinary kid. It brings you more comfort than you anticipated. 

Brought back to the present moment, you smile. “Ryan, I presume?”

He smiles shyly and nods. “Yeah, that’s me. Are you my new social studies teacher?”

You nod with a widening smile. “That’s me.”

“It’s nice to meet you…uh, what should I call you?” He asks with a little shuffle of his feet.

You give him your preferred name. No need for formalities here; you have enough of those on the rest of your contract.

“So, give me the honest truth,” You say, biting back a coo at how his eyebrows fuddle in intrigue. “Do you like social studies? Or do I have to persuade you to like social studies?”

His face brightens, and you can’t help but note how different he looks from his father. “I love history,” Ryan admits in a soft voice. “My…um. I used to read about it all the time.”

Something made him hesitant to tell the whole story there, but you store that away. You adjust your bag hanging on your tight shoulder. “Well, the hard part’s over, then. Now we just get to be history nerds together.”

To your relief, that gives you a wider smile from the kid. “My dad says we’re gonna work at the kitchen table.”

He waits for you to walk in and then guides you to the dining room, a navy-paneled wall off to the side of the den. All the books you brought yesterday are there, along with a laptop for you and a notebook with about a dozen pencils and pens for Ryan. He certainly doesn’t want for supplies. You place your bag down and then sit at the laptop chair. You notice how your chair is to the right while Ryan sits at the head of the table. You don’t mind, but it’s an interesting setup.

“I just realized how rude I am,” You say, and Ryan looks up at you with too much concern. “I didn’t ask you what I should call you.”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

You give him a playful glance. “Should I call you Ryan? Mr. Ryan? Super Ryan?”

His confusion melts into a sheepish laugh. “Oh. Um, just Ryan is fine. Thank you.”

“Oh, I don’t know! I think Super Ryan has a nice ring to it.”

You have a sharp intake of breath, but no muscles tightening this time. You knew he would be here. Still, the Homelander sauntering into the room is surreal. He’s still in full uniform - does he ever take it off? - and he’s beaming with pride at the sight before him. 

Ryan turns to look at him, and you notice a tweak to his smile. It’s hard to tell if it’s a son being embarrassed by his father or a boy being scared of the Homelander. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, kiddo,” The Homelander ruffles Ryan’s hair, and then he looks at you. His lip twitches, and there’s a long pause before he looks back at Ryan. “Manners, buddy. Did you ask if our guest wants something to drink?”

You sit up straighter. “Oh, I’m totally fine-”

“Grab a tea for her and whatever you want for you,” He taps Ryan’s shoulder twice, smiling down at him. The affection does seem genuine.

Ryan nods and shuffles out of his seat, giving you a shy glance before exiting the room. You watch him leave, and when you turn to look at Homelander, you see that he’s already looking at you. 

“Anything else you need?” He asks. He’s speaking in that same pleasant voice you heard yesterday, as if he’s ready for an interview at any moment. 

You manage a smile. “No, this setup is perfect. Thank you.”

His grin shows teeth. “Oh, my pleasure. One quick note though…” 

He takes Ryan’s seat and folds his hands in front of him. His arms are extended onto the table, mere inches away from where your hands were resting. You briefly stare at his red gloves before slowly looking back at his face. There is a new edge to his smile that nearly makes you wilt.

“While you’re teaching my son, I’d prefer it if you weren’t near any…” He waves a hand in the air as he searches for the right word. “...mind-altering substances.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he’s talking about, but then you remember. Addie’s bong. He can still smell it. You suddenly feel as if your skin is on fire. “Oh my God. Sir, I am so sorry. I didn’t use any. My roommate-”

“I told you to call me Homelander,” He reminds you slowly. “I know you didn’t partake, but you shouldn’t be near them. Can’t risk a contact high, can we?”

You stutter over your words momentarily, giving him time to rest a hand on your shoulder - the same one he fixed. He chuckles and gives you a pat that’s just a little too hard. “But Ryan likes you, so I’m gonna...remain optimistic here. One more chance.”

He stands up and circles behind your chair, leaning down to speak into your ear. “Love the vanilla, by the way…subtle, but just perfect.”

Your hands are clenched into tight fists as he swaggers to the end of the table and takes a seat. You know he’s looking at you, but you’re looking at the table. You only look up when you hear Ryan’s footsteps. He sets a plain black mug with steaming tea in front of you and sits down with water for himself. He looks at his father, and when he looks back at you, there’s a worried crinkle on his brow. “Is everything okay?”

“Just lost in thought,” You reassure him with the same warm smile you gave him earlier. “Did you know the British ruled the colonies for over 150 years, but the Revolution lasted only 7?”

Ryan’s eyes widen in interest. “150 years?”

You nod. “Yup. Shows you how tired the colonists probably were by then, huh?”

The Homelander huffs a quiet laugh, and you glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s sitting back in the chair, his hands settled on his lap. There is nothing in front of him. He’s just…watching.

You have been a teacher for years, you remind yourself. You have dealt with crazy parents before. None of them could fly, but that didn’t matter. You were a teacher, you had a student, and you had a job to do.

“Alright, Ryan,” You sit forward and angle your laptop towards Ryan so Homelander’s gaze is just out of your view. “How much do you know about taxes?”

[user947468]

The Game Within | Chishiya Shuntarou Fanfiction

Originally posted on ao3! @user951250

Chapter 3/20

Prompt ; You get trapped in a TV show, dedicated to stick by the rules of the game you hid in the shadows, watching from a distance, acting clueless. But what happens when you’re also being watched?

Note: this is a very long chapter, and kinda lazily written, very sorry.

You actually miss the shitty pull over now- something you never thought you would say- for every step through damp ground and each time goosebumps covered you in waves of bitterness you pined for some form of heat. And each time you thought you might be desperate enough to turn around and go find it you remembered.. well everything the shirts went through. Snot, gasoline, dusty floors, rushing waters.. poor thing had a hell of a run, as ugly as it was. You also figured your physical state was taking a toll on you mentally after you caught yourself pitying a piece of clothing.

Despite the aching in your joints and numbing chill that surrounded you, you didn't find yourself to loath the walk back after the first few miles. On the contrary of the various physical activities you endured, it was much preferable to walk at a steady pace. A familiar stride, one foot in front of the other- with no time limit or stress escorting you. You were satisfied to find you remembered your way back to the arena, and for the tire marks that smeared across the road, paving your way back to the beach. It also gave you time to think, to process the mental fuck the game gave you- and to think over what you were going to do next. At first your brain fought off any coherent thoughts that came to you, it was too harsh and abrasive to think about how this situation benefited you when multiple people just died in a game you attended- and it only made it worse when the weight in your stomach slowly untethered in the same hour the game ended.

You hated how desensitized you were becoming to death, and how fast it seemed to be happening- you were sick of yourself, in a selfish way, to fall into senseless ways of the game. You were no better than every other blind drunk at the beach, doing as said then drowning their madness with alcohol. You didn't want to think about how this would affect you in the long run.

But this situation gave you something you never had before- something valuable to no one but yourself. It gave you a timeline, you would now know how close you were to the face cards- to the ten of hearts game, how close you were to going back- if you simply observed the passing days to come. If you were calculating right- which after your missing memory's about the club game, you were second guessing yourself- you only had to join one more game if you got a card number higher than 5; or two more if you got anything lower than a 4- before the beach was a resource you could no longer lean back on.

At the thought of the beach you cautiously grazed your thumb across the card in your pant pocket for what seemed like the twentieth time, reassuring that you didn't forget the piece of plastic nor did it maliciously disappear into the night. The farther you traveled the darker the night became, you had a hard time navigating the tire tracks and your own hands were nothing but a blurry silhouette in front of you, which makes sense why you couldn't be bothered to try and decipher exactly what the warm white haze was you were passing, and why your pulse quickened and you quickly shifted backwards when you heard a sharp hiss coming from it. Thankfully you've never heard of a snake with white fur or tall ears before (could you imagine? death by venomous snake after surviving in a world full of unceasing death games?), so your initial panic subsided when you fully took in the feline in front of you.

It truly looked like a mesh of unruly bright hair from afar, even more like a duster of some sort up close, no wonder you hadn't immediately recognized that cat for what it was. It's fur was surprisingly clean, ears pointed and a waving tail- you're not even sure if the cat had any other eye color except the jet black you could see, he? she? was squinting at you with what you could only recognize as irritation. You must have stepped on it's tail. Your hands hung up in surrender, "Uh- sorry?"

Did it even matter if you apologized to the cat?

You felt like a suspect under interrogation while it peered at you, sniffing in your direction furiously as you tried to make yourself seem less intimidating- after all you didn't want the damn thing to bite you. What if it had rabies?

Almost like it understood your thoughts, the cat's gaze turned its questioning one into one of disinterested, almost like it was bored of you already. Alright, bad accusation on your part you suppose. Slowly the fuzzy bundle got up, stretching its hind legs and trotting over to you just close enough for its tail to curl around your calf. Pleased the cat seemed to tolerate your presence- even after you injured its tail- you crouched to course the cat's head timidly, having to place a hand on your thigh to stabilize yourself. It swiftly arched away from your hand.

"Seriously?"

The cat meowed back in response. Warily you looked around; partially because it was still pitch black, and you were alone in the middle of nowhere with no sign of light in a fifty feet radius- partially because you were talking to a cat out loud.

"Fine then," you huffed, feeling rather petty than you knew you should've been- and continued to your string of tire marks. Despite the radical reactions of the cat, whenever you looked behind yourself, the cat stood a few feet away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up the first thing you noticed was the brightness peaking through your curtains, in the few hours that you've been back on the beach the weather change drastically; clear blue sky's and beaming sun rays- not a cloud could be seen over the horizon. You should've been enjoying the weather, letting the rays cover your body- an absent warmth you wished for last night- but you couldn't find yourself too. It was four in the morning when you finally got back to the beach, an extra fifteen minutes when a duo of militants with ridiculously large ego's tried accusing you of trespassing- even after you stared dumbly down at your swimming attire and ranked bracelet they didn't seem to get it. It took you practically waving the game card in their face's for them to let you through.

You laid in bed for 5 minutes- 10 - 15 - 20- by the time it hit 5 AM you were still wide awake. Images from your game hung in your mind like picture frames; the injured man, the charging water's, the tagged bus that you dreaded ever seeing again, the forgotten motorcycle... you needed a way to keep track, to make sure all is not unremembered. A mistake of memory is not something you could afford, especially not now. Luckily in each room, in the second shelf of the dresser, there was a cheap notepad and a hotel branded pen- neither were of great quality but it would have to suffice for just this night. By the time you feel asleep- with papers messily thrown across your floor and ink stained fingers- you filled a quarter of the pages top to bottom, they looked like a abnormal scatter of lose words, sentences and phrases that would not read anything close to rational to anyone but yourself. And when your own memories didn't even make sense to yourself, your sleepless brain drew small doodles that would hopefully mean something to you later that day.

It wasn't until you poorly gathered your papers and stuffed them in a storage bin under your bed did you leave your room, it was earlier afternoon and you could already hear the obnoxious pop song's blaring from outside. For the first time a drink didn't sound unpleasant, rather suitable knowing that it would help relax your tense figure. You also desperately needed to find a better source of ink.. and a shirt. Everywhere you wandered beams of light somehow found there way into your eyes- It was doing wonders for what felt like the beginning of a migraine- but the liquor helped ever so slightly. Apart from roaming around various parts of the beach that gave you a clear outlook for any familiar faces and sipping on your drink, you had nothing to do.

Actually, there were things you could do- things you should do- things that were a lot more beneficial and productive than drinking and sun bathing like a cat trying to regulate its body temperature. You were deprived of both sleep and calories, despite knowing they were crucial to your well being your curiosity to see the duo outweighed your own needs. It was a bad habit of yours, denying yourself the two. It made everything feel more like a bad dream rather than the actual abuse you were subjected to. It was a hard habit to shake- even more so after your games. You thought about the cat- how it stopped under a road lamp lit by the beach's generators, how it refused to follow you as you made you way up the drive way.

For a moment you felt you and the feline had the same purpose; observing, allowing to be seen but never letting anything get too close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You kept yourself awake by the discomfort of massaging you legs, stretching your arms, smoking a cigarette- but it was long overdue you got some sleep, even an hour nap would be favorable. Somewhere in the three hours you were waiting you grew discouraged of seeing the couple at all today, and after yet another antagonizing thought you felt more prone to sleep than sociability. Leaning against the first pillars of the entrance you were finishing a rolled cigarette you snagged off of some party goers in the first hour, the pillar was rigid and poked into your lower back but it gave leeway on your feet at least. Scanning the herd of heads one last time before making you way to your room, it wasn't hard to identify the bleached shoulder length hair- especially when it was besides an up-do of dreads. Anytime you would of taken their appearance as an excuse to survey the two- but now you weren't in your right mind to even be around anyone- and funnily enough they gave the impression of almost wanting to be watched. They were facing you, but not looking directly at you per say- more like something beside you.. or maybe behind you?

You must of been more badly off than you previously thought from the way both their eye's slowly moved over to you- Jesus, you needed to get your head right-

"You're alive!"

Oh.

After figuring that you couldn't just ignore him and walk away- as much as your inside's screamed at you to get out of this situation- you turned around to fully look at Arisu. Wearing an relieved expression downplayed by the uneasy wringing of his fingers- you could understand why he was concerned, you haven't seen Usagi anywhere. Hell, you didn't even see Arisu for that matter. His reaction reminded you of when he first saw you and Takuma at the end of the hill. Not a pleasant memory. You took a few seconds to respond.

"Excuse me?"

Arisu looked embarrassed for a moment, "Sorry! I didn't mean anything by that, you know, its just after the club's game we didn't see you s'all."

You were fully aware of the eye's watching your every move.

"We? Your friend is alive then?"

"Takuma? Well, um, I don't.."

"No, the other one. The girl." You cut him off abruptly. You couldn't have him finish that sentence, you refused to hear it. Their stare's felt like they were inside your brain, searching and prodding- you were almost afraid they could.

"Oh! Yes, yeah- she's actually here too. Have you seen her anywhere?"

His speech slurred faster at the mention of Usagi, fidgeting stopping for a moment while he stared at you optimistically, it made you bite back a small smile. Lightly you swayed towards the entrance, encouraging Arisu to follow you with a tilt of your head, "Well, if her greetings were anything like mine she should be coming down the stairs any minute now."

You needed to hid away.

Without question Arisu followed behind your back like a lost puppy, passive and obedient- it really was no wonder Chishiya used him as bait.

Their reunion was short and sweet; Usagi timidly making her way down the stairs, eyeing the couple swapping spit by the railing- your timely charge of the situation surprising yourself, Arisu calling her name cheerfully from the last step, Chishiya entering the room, Usagi's quickened pace and their (awkwardly long) muted eye contact, Chishiya examining the situation, his eye's running back and forth between the three of you trying to understand what you brought to the affair, locking eye's with Chishiya- him acknowledging your stare back, your skipped heartbeat, his raised eyebrows- you think Usagi let out some form of address to you before you walked away- although your not so sure- but you gave her a weak greeting in return.

This time you knew he was staring, and he knew you were too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cheering rang throughout your room, restlessly but affectingly jolting you awake. After screaming into your pillow, flushed and slightly embarrassed, you feel asleep- face still logged into the cotton, silently hopping you would suffocate while asleep. You didn't know how to respond to the contact, should you have a response at all? Arisu greeting you- especially in such a way- put you on Chishiya radar weather you liked it or not. It was an unspoken fact you realized as soon as he followed you into the room, a promise of sorts as soon as he looked your way. If he didn't notice your stares before he certainly would now- and your not sure if you could conceal yourself.

Leaving your room the chaos of the game invaded your senses entirely. You could see the pushing crowd's, smell the booze, not only hearing but feeling their chants through the floor. Every game day and every sighting of Hatter, you were ever more reminded of how much of a cult the beach was. A cult you were apart of, and even worse willingly. Despite the luxury the beach offered- this was not the 'free' place it claimed to be. Your still slightly surprised people choose to be ignorant to the situation, the facts were laid clear in front of them as soon as they arrived and yet they let themselves fall into Hatter's hands. Watching the mob merge and shift below you made you glad you joined yesterday's game after all- the crowd was ten times the size it was yesterday.

You wanted to go down and eat- or maybe watch for Arisu before his game but you briskly tossed those idea's after seizing the size of the crowd, and decided going back to your room was more fit when you were in sight of a light- dull and small, but present. You had a camera not to far from your door, hidden in the far border of the hallway- you would glance at it from time to time, a tick you picked up after seeing it cords peak out from behind a plant- it was never turned on. But it was now. You could only imagine Chishiya's reaction after finding the security system- unused and forgotten. You could only imagine his current reaction behind the screens.

How much could he see of you now?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the roar of car engines finally ceased- followed by the cheering participants, you predicted it was a good enough time to leave your room without seeing any recognizable face. You predicted Usagi to have hidden away in her room by now- jugging on how uncomfortable she seemed to be around the public earlier, and you knew Chishiya and Kunia never stayed out for any meal, instead venturing off into their own rooms- well as of recently into Chishiya's room- which made sense for their on-going plan.. Although you did hear some thought provoking whispers about them once.

The camera was off when you left your room.

Thankfully the central area was vacated, the herd of people from earlier shuffled out by the bar, still as loud and feral as before- the kitchen walls did good muffling them. As pleased as you were you couldn't help but think bitterly about how the sound proof walls would've made more sense in the solo rooms, why did a kitchen need to be silent anyways?

Your favorite thing about the beach- besides the ruining water, of course- was their ability to locate and find fresh food in the city. Even though it vaguely reminded you of middle school cafeteria food- it was better than cold canned soup for every meal. The only hot food they were serving was some type of chili- which actually took you a while to realize. It was bright red and strangely watery, it even had small chunks of what looked like a meat of some sort? You held the serving spoon up, examining the contents of the dish- they could've told you it was made of ketchup and water and you wouldn't have been surprised.

"Gross, isn't it?"

They sounded as put off as you felt. "Are they sure it's even edible?" You questioned, more to yourself than to the man. "I wouldn't take the chance," He mused, you heard the shifting of the man jacket as he moved.

Slowly turning the spoon sideways, you watched as the fluid dropped back into the pot with a wet splat! Yuck. Fruit and packaged goods would have to do. While giving it a last stir, trying to identified what exactly the meat was- cubed hot dogs? Actual ground beef? You doubted it, - a plastic wrapped sandwich slid in front of you.

"Much more suitable, yes?"

If you hadn't picked up on the pearly white sleeve's of the man jacket, or the dark eye's that peered at you from your peripheral vision- you would've hummed in agreement, took the sandwich and thanked the man before making your way outside- but you tensed up. The disgust on your face dropped entirely, leaving you pale and dry in the mouth- holding your breath when you felt you were breathing to hard and mind ruining on nothing but white noise. You eyed the man beside you cautiously- Chishiya was grabbing a sandwich of his own, paying little mind to you at your new found uneased state- or at least had the courtesy to ignore it.

Leaving Chishiya and the highly likely poisoned sandwich behind you, you speedily make your exit- grabbing two small apple's on your way. Were you terrified? Yes. Were you also starving? Absolutely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Arisu got back it was long after sun down, although their group was one of the first back- the game's were funny like that. Some easy but antagonizingly slow, others vigorous and gory, but twenty times faster than the others. You've heard of lengthy and laborious games before, but those were one of those things you've never heard being too truthful- things you could only pray you never have the misfortune of encountering.

Fearful of facing Chishiya again you stayed in the crowd, choosing a seat that crammed with other's- until the smell of sweat and sour beer's got to much and you had to relocated- although you were able to ignore those quality's for the first hour, until not even getting tipsy could help you for being overstimulated at the slight brush of someone's shirt against your arm. You laid out on a lounge chair - which proved to be much more accommodating than the wood stool- and basked in the cleaner air and open space. It could've been more relaxing if you were constantly replaying your interaction's with Chishiya. Could anyone blame you? From rarely ever seeing the man to staring and speaking in the same 24 hours would cause anyone to ruminate.. right?

You were sprawled out, loose limb's and resting eye's, if you could see yourself in third-person you're sure you would've looked something close to dead. Sure as fuck felt like it.

Arisu and Usagi noticed you first. When you heard the approaching sound of footsteps you thought nothing of it, it was a public space- kinda inevitable to hear wasn't it? You didn't flinch when the seat next to you squeaked with newly added weight, or when the sound of a conversation commenced. At length you eventually did open your eyes when you heard a fast exhale of what sounded like your name, a name you only gave too three- Takuma, who then told Arisu, and Hatter when he asked you to 'present yourself.' At first you were a little shocked to see them, which you mentally slapped yourself on the wrist for being so inattentive to your surroundings, but it did make some sense. You were the only person here they knew- besides Chishiya, but he closed the door to Arisu's death didn't he?- You've been here longer, and you've helped them in game's, unlike some people.

You eyed the two, a little muddled on what they expected from you. "Nice to see you two, still alive."

You thought it was a little funny, a playing on Arisu's own words. Thankfully he seemed to get it, a small smile and a shake of his shoulder's. Even Usagi, who you didn't expect a reaction of out surprised you- giving you a tiny grin of her own.

"Yeah, you too. Although I never thought I'd get to speak to you,” There was a glint in her eye's as she stared at you, not unfriendly but not fully comfortable either. “I thought you didn’t understand Japanese?”

So used to seeing Arisu and Usagi together you guessed you mentally associated them as the same person, what ever he know’s she know’s and vice versa- but it made sense she had yet to be aware you spoke Japanese- no words exchange during your joined club game, and a silent greeting this afternoon. You could understand her wariness considering your silent lie but you felt the need to defend yourself.

“Well, I can… that's just something I say. You never know what type of person you’re in a game with, who they are and what they stand for- it’s kind of like a protection tactic. The less they know about you, the better. It's safer that way."

It was a little uncomfortable, switching the topic to something with a heavier meaning so quickly to protect yourself- and usually you strayed away from being too exposed and vulnerable- especially in the public eye- but the understanding looks they gave you seemed like the right card to play. You hated how their sympathy- the small sliver of humanity they shared with you almost made you feel like you were a normal person and not a hallucination made of carbon.

"I guess that's one benefit of being a foreigner. Could you imagine if me or Usagi tried to pull that card?"

It was somewhat dull of a joke, and terribly obvious he was trying to make light of the situation, but amusing enough that once you and Usagi shared a simultaneous peer at each other you both couldn't help but huffing out a few chuckles. Arisu seemed exceedingly proud of himself at that- he couldn't hid that well, nor could he hide how smitten he was for the girl- the poor man practically lost a few brain cells watching Usagi laugh, as stupid as his joke was. There was a short quiet period after, but it was the farthest thing from awkward. The couple seemed to be more comfortable being around someone that knew the place they themselves were unfamiliar with, it had it's benefits for them definitely- but it wasn't something you should let carrier on, for your own sake. Arisu broke the silence first.

"Hey, if you understood the game, why did you stay in the bus?"

The tone of his voice, innocent and blameless, still makes you want to curl into a ball and disappear into the lawn chair. You refused to look away from an empty tube floating aimlessly in the pool and shrugged, "Unlucky suicide attempt?" was all you could offer. From a certain angle, when the pool lights hit just at the right direction, it looked like the float was a glowing neon pink- and you wished Arisu didn't ask any more question's.

"Hey,"

And somehow this was worse.

"Is this your girlfriend?"

With quick eye's and a dense gut your vision jumped from person to person, place to place- for a familiar face until you were left certain he was no where to be seen. You relaxed every so slightly but your nerves were still on fire- you were over staying your share, you almost forgotten about Kuina and the militants entirely- you missed Arisu and Usagi defensively arguing back. You were getting too comfortable.

"You want to sit down? I was just about to leave." You made sure to stand up before she had a chance to reply. The quickness of motion made your legs lock up stiffly.

You noticed she looked pleasantly surprised- giving a more genuine smile and kind thanks- and than that she looked even better up close. It almost made the dull throb of your legs worth it.

Arisu winced, "Still sore, huh?"

"Very." He had no idea.

After a brisk round of 'goodnight's' you made your escape to your room, doing your best to ignore the abandoned sandwich on the kitchen counter, and the red dot that followed you like a laser down the hall.

[renesassing]

Hi! Do you have any destiny!Revan thoughts you'd like to share?

(I do not know anything about Destiny) (I've looked at the wiki trying to figure out what a risen is, and it sounds like magic or something exists? Would that be the same thing as the Force AU-wise?)

my destiny revan au is something i cooked up with a friend and is maybe kind of wild even by destiny terms. my gdoc timeline for it is far from done and it's already at 3k words. i have at least two playlists for this au alone. it's bonkers. so i don't think it's a great litmus test for destiny lore to people who are just getting familiar with it.

so in destiny there are two para-causal fundamental forces that sort've fill the niche of magic/The Force and that's Light and Darkness. it's not like the force where it's like. two halves of the same coin or even branches of the same tree. they're separate and distinct forces that have a complex interaction with each other. in destiny, risen/lightbearers/guardians (people brought back to life as immortal* warriors with Light powers aka the player characters) mostly wield Light and sometimes Darkness (the latter being a very recent addition lore-wise) and while Light and Darkness themselves are very Force-like fundamental forces that shape the universe itself, the way that guardians interact with them is much more mage-like in a lot of respects with like. oh this guardian is a lightning type and this one is a fire type and such.

Now you don't have to be a Lightbearer to use the Light, nor Darkness (though iirc using darkness is easier for non-risen), but risen are the ones with all the cool attacks.

revan is none of those things. tbf their au was mostly based around the idea of them being very close the Warmind Rasputin and the two are totes besties forever who would kill god and break the universe for each other. rather than it being about 'fitting revan's storyline into destiny as best as possible' because that is. REALLY hard to do with revan in destiny it's mostly about revan and ras being platonic soulmates, aka what if revan had a best friend and the two didn't cannibalize each other. what if revan went to war and no one held them back. what if the one thing revan felt betrayed them (the traveler) ended up kind of making it up to them.

so revan is uh. well. -looks at my notes- the hidden first speaker who survived after the collapse, had a brief internship as a disciple of the witness before they fucked it up and got stuck in the black garden for like. at least half a millennia and unmade into a god before finally breaking out in like. season of the undying (garden of salvation raid.) and yeah like none of those words make sense if you dont know destiny but that's the only way i can summarize it without writing another massive text block. anyway here's the title of my gdoc for this shit i've cooked up:

by the way i have played 0 hours of this game