#I could borrow a book from a library about it...

[rhettrosunsets]

Constellations - Robert Reynolds X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Bob Reynolds X Fem!Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff.

Summary: On the nights when things are too much you used to turn to the constellations. But when you disappear out of bed one night, Bob's quick to come remind you that even the strongest of people are allowed to rely on others too.

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: Illusions to Bob and Readers awful childhoods, inaccurate constellation lore, mention of ready having a bad day. No description of reader, no use of Y/N.

Notes: The constellations in this may be extremely inaccurate because I have forgotten everything I have ever learned about them and google only helps so much.

The rooftop is absolutely freezing. 

That’s the first thing you notice when you open the door to enter the towers rooftop, but you don’t move to go back inside. You've already come this far you figure, as your brain swirls with overwhelming thoughts that you came out here to try to escape for just a few moments.

You left your comfortable bedroom where Bob had been asleep, you two curled up to one another, but for some reason your brain just couldn't seem to shut up for the night.

A thin blanket that Bob gifted you a few months ago because you had liked the design is wrapped around your shoulders, more a mental shield rather than something giving you warmth in your current state. Your fingers move to grip the edges with a heavy force, as your gaze locks on the stars above as you move to lay down against the cold concrete of the rooftop, sitting down with a rough grunt.

You try to spot the constellations you remember from your childhood once you lay down and look up to the sky, the stars making you feel small.

You had once borrowed a library book talking about all the different constellations in Elementary School. And for the week you had that book, every night you’d sneak out of your room and lay in the yard as you tried to name each constellation and match what you could with your book. You attempted to burn them into your tiny memory so that when you eventually had to give the book back, you could still find a way to remember the story of each constellation. 

Your chest aches in a quiet way at that memory, as more and more memories from your childhood flood back to you. You’ve just felt off today, not in a way where everything’s too much, but rather that weird point in between. You just felt dulled, like you weren't enough to those around you. Like you didn't deserve to feel happy, because you hadn't earned it yet.

You don’t hear the door to the rooftop open, but you feel him when he steps out onto the rooftop. His presence one you'll always recognize.

Bob's voice is soft and gentle when he finally speaks. “Was wondering where you slipped off too, Darling.” You don’t look at him as your gaze stays tracing the stars above, your brain beginning to twinge as you try to remember any constellation and seemingly fail.

“Sorry, Love. Didn't mean to wake you up.” you mutter out in a hoarse whisper.

“Nope, we aren't doing that tonight.” he replies softly as he eases down beside you “Don’t want you to be sorry, Baby.” He says as he finally flops down next to you, his frame solid and warm. His presence comforting, bringing a gentle warmth to you that you didn’t know you needed in that moment.

Bob didn’t speak, knowing you’d talk to him when you were ready. So for about fifteen minutes, neither of you spoke as you both just stared up at the night sky laying side by side. 

You finally brush your hand against Bob’s, his wrapping around yours as he gives it a firm squeeze before bringing it up to his lips and gently kissing your knuckles.

“I used to do this all the time when I was a kid.” you say, your voice barely breaking a whisper. Bob turns his head slightly to watch you, his gaze kind and patient as he doesn't interrupt, doesn't comment, he just listens.

You continue, your voice shaky “I’d sneak out at night and just lay in the yard. No one ever noticed, or maybe they just never cared, now that I think about it.” You say swallowing hard as your throat hitches, as you stare back up at the sky, blinking your eyes quickly.

“I think the stars were the only thing that ever made me feel small in a way that didn’t hurt? They were the only constant I had when everything else was always a question mark in my life. My family, my house, my friends, my location. Even when all of those changed, I still had the stars and the constellations. But now I can’t really remember many of them. I've tried looking up and recalling the one’s from my childhood, but, I-I just can’t” you say, your voice cracking and deflated.

Bob gently wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him while he keeps a steady hold of your hand, giving it gentle squeezes every few seconds to let you know he's there. “I know what that’s like. You end up feeling like you had to earn the peace and quiet, like you didn't quite deserve it otherwise.”

The cold night stings your eyes as you squeeze Bob’s hand tighter, signaling that you hear him and understand him. Bob lifts his other hand, slowly pointing upward towards the sky “That one’s Orion, I used to trace it with my finger when I was a kid. Used to peer out of the attic window when things got bad and would try to focus on the stars instead of what was happening downstairs.” Your breath catches, as he name’s the constellation for you, your eyes immediately welling with tears at the sweet gesture.

He goes on, his voice a low gentle hum that he only ever uses for you “And there’s Gemini, the twins. I always liked that one when I was younger. It was always like a reminder that we weren’t alone, that there’s always someone even if we don’t see it. I forgot about it when I got older, but when I was really young I always used to look for that one." A faint smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as he keeps describing the stars above you, as a few stray tears finally fall down your cold cheeks. Bob glances at you and sees your soft smile and the tears streaming down your cheeks.

He quickly takes his hand that was pointing at the constellations moments ago and wipes the tears away from your eyes with a touch so gentle, it makes a few more stray tears fall in the process.

“You don’t have to be alone when things get heavy, and you don’t have to carry all that by yourself anymore. You have me, and you have a whole team in there who adore you. Sure’ they may not exactly know how to show it sometimes, but everyone in this tower cherishes you in some way, Baby. You're just as much apart of this team as the rest of us.”

You sniffle softly as you look back up at the stars, suddenly feeling a lot less alone than when you first came out here. “Please, come back inside with me, Baby?” he asks. “The bed gets cold without you, and I think some sleep would help you out, Darling.”

You let out a deep breath letting your shoulders relax and release the tension you've been holding in all day and nod silently. You look into Bob’s loving eyes, watching him give you a gentle smile before he helps you up. He wraps your thin blanket tighter around your shoulders before tucking you into his side, the warmth from him immediately warming your chilled body as he guides you toward the rooftop door and back to your bedroom.

Once you’re both tucked into bed, your bodies tangled under the thick comforter. Bob wraps his arms around you from behind and pulls you in close to his chest. He’s so warm and comforting, and his heartbeat is slow and steady, something that makes you feel instantly at home, his breath fanning over the top of your head.

You nuzzle into him with a sleepy sigh. “Hey, Bob?” you ask quietly, tracing small patterns on his chest, not quite ready to sleep yet.

“Hmm?” he hums, already half asleep as he peers down at you, blinking his eyes open. You shift to tilt your head back just enough to meet his eyes. “Do you think, maybe you could teach me some constellations sometime? I barely remember any of them and it makes me really sad that I don’t remember much. It was such a big constant in my life and not being able to remember them is a feeling I don't like.”

Bob's lips quirk into a soft smile as he leans in to kiss your forehead, then your cheeks, and then your lips before muttering a soft. “Of course I can. Tomorrow night I’ll take you back up there, but this time we’ll have a ton of blankets and snacks, and we can cuddle while I’ll show you the constellations I remember. Maybe we can even try to find some new ones for both of us, Hmm?” He say's with a gentle hum.

Your heart beats quickly in your chest as you press your face to his chest mumbling a soft “I love you, Bob Reynolds.” as his arms tighten around you, while he mutters back a soft “Love you more, baby" in reply.

And as you look one last time at the stars through your bedroom window, you don’t feel quite so small anymore. Because this time, you’re not under them alone.

[barnabyboppins]

Hopefully lukewarm take (i haven’t checked)

I recently finished reading the Heroes Of Olympus series (having read pjo immediately prior) and I think it’s pretty shitty that the worth of all of our good guy characters are, to a notable degree, measured by their ability to find and engage in romantic relationships and are then greatly defined by those relationships. (Disclaimer; I don’t think I’m in a justified position to discuss lots of the racial criticisms for HoO but I do agree with a lot of em and that aspect does factor into this topic)

7+ important recurring characters is quite a lot of people to balance, even in a five book series and all of the non-pjo characters suffered immensely for it. But one character arc I anticipated over and over again that never ended up happening was any one character finding fulfillment from the non-romantic relationships around them by de-prioritizing the idea of a perfect someone in favour of accepting the support of their friends/comrades/campers/family/etc. (Second disclaimer: I don’t expect a novel saga from 2010 to have characters declaring their orientations (or lack thereof) aloud but the idea of a character learning to define themself by or through something outside of romance isn’t a new one)

I think Percy and Annabeth are very cute and work well as a couple (are they the only white couple?) and I don’t really see any chemistry between Piper and Jason (I feel like they’re on very different paths from each other and Piper stagnates greatly in favour of supporting jasons development) but I think literally every other Good Guy character had the potential to not need romance in their arcs. Frank could have been raised to praetor by consensus and recognized by his peers and grandma, actively validating his growth rather than him achieving great feats and no one noticing or really caring except for Hazel. Hazel could’ve been shown learning about the modern day with Frank and Nico during downtime and reconciling her identity and trauma with the diversity of today while discovering a new freedom in acceptance (from the Seven) of who she is from back then and who she may yet want to be (and also not dated a 16 y/o at 13).

Leo, Reyna and Nico were the main ones I was thinking would forgo the need for a partner at least as a necessity for their growth/healing as all three have severe familial trauma, are distanced from other demigods socially somehow, and all were explicitly ousted from conventional romance in-writing.

Initially with Leo I had hoped he would confront his struggle being the “seventh wheel” by expressing how he was feeling overlooked as a friend (and as the ONLY shipwright) in favour of everyone’s romantic interests, which would lead into further emotional vulnerability in the party but, that never happened save for a few stoically non-communicative gestures of support to Frank and otherwise weird hang-ups on Hazel before he fucked off to Calypso, letting his friends think him dead for weeks. Leo lacked connection and felt inferior and less important than the rest of the Seven and the narrative validated that by only fulfilling him through an a Rapunzel-like hot babe trapped on an island who is physically dependent on his emotional dependence on her. That’s not a recipe for healthy relationship! I related to Leo initially as an aromantic person with 9 siblings, half of whom are already coupled so it was very disappointing when I realized by the third book that RR just didn’t take what was to me the most obvious arc for a character who is vitally important to a team but least noticed. Also the Hazel-Frank-Leo pseudo-love shape didn’t need to happen, at least in the way it did, and I think the Leo-Hazel-Sammy weird love thing was stupid.

I think Nico and Will are a very cute couple and I’m looking forward to reading their book when I come around to it but I felt unsatisfied that the thing that got Nico to stay at camp after 5 books was a guy who had little significant presence until the last book and not like, any of the other deeply important connections he made during his journeys? Nico’s been talking about never returning to either camp for a while and none of the Seven or Reyna (I think) thought to check in with him? I get that Will is supposed to be like the first person to insistently want Nico around but if Will really is the first then that’s kinda fucked up given the whole like, eight books worth of people he’s met. It’s a bit fucked up that after years of Nico’s presence, seemingly the first connection to anchor him down is an unspoken suggestion of a romance

Reyna’s character journey confuses me because I don’t if I missed or forgot it but I don’t remember her having a conclusion to her internal struggles. Aphrodite telling her she’s doomed to singledom gets brought up again and again and it’s mostly just to make you feel bad for her. She doesn’t tell anyone else. She doesn’t seek fulfillment in the platonic or familial connections she has. They visit her house, trauma dump about her abuse AND fakeout her sisters + the hunters + the amazons deaths just to have Reyna be even more hurt. Reyna and Nico come to understand each other while they’re travelling but by the conclusion of the series she’s just gone back to her isolating and stressful role as the praetor, but now with more work to do! Aphrodite’s words are never explained and their veracity is never tested and all it serves is to give Reyna more misery porn.

I guess what I’m saying is I think the story would have been better if The Seven & Co had a little more connection with each other and not just with their respective partners and if we could have seen some internal growth come from that.

[elegantartisanperson]

testosterone and estrogen are so interesting to me, like I get it they instruct your body to do different things but how do they do that? Like you just take one of them and it's suddenly all like okie change of plans the fat is now going somewhere else etc.

[oh2e]

It’s frustrating wanting to chat about how the book you just read (from 2023) is practically identical to another book you read by the same author (from 2006) but when you’re three times the age of the intended audience people just tell you that’s what you get for reading books aimed at 8 year olds and refuse to critically engage.

[katierosefun]

i've?? somehow??? read/listened to??? 12 books this month? how tf--

[sp00ky-scary]

I can't remember the exact wording but I saw some fucking booktok tiktok or reel or whatever that was basically saying "I'd rather kms then have to borrow a book from the library" and it's just like why ???? What is wrong with borrowing from a library ? Like please explain to me how buying hundreds of books you'll only read once or twice is better then borrowing from a library and how borrowing from a library is so awful, like I'm actually curious

[queenangella]

.

[umilily]

starting tomorrow i have a one week course that will either be the best thing to ever happen to me during my academic career or the absolute worst and i don't know how to feel about that.

[megaeratheefury]

this is me screaming into the void so take my thoughts with a grain of salt but likeeeee at some point we have to remember that "queer" belies a radical and liberatory political ideology. it's not just an identity label for whoever "experiences sexuality differently" or whatever

so to me (TO ME) people who don't have liberatory politics around human rights aren't actually. queer. they're just lesbian/gay/bisexual/trans/etc. 🤷🏽‍♀️

[seat-safety-switch]

When we were kids, we didn't have access to cool power tools. Every summer, when the soapbox derby race was coming, we'd break into my neighbour's garage while he was at work. Then, we'd use his drill press, lathe, table saw, all the fun tools. Over the course of a week, a race car was produced, which is more than the workshop ever made during the rest of the year.

Sure, we could have asked him if we could have borrowed his tools, but no doubt he would want to be there to supervise. And then he'd want to help. We'd never get done while we were busy indulging the suburb-tinged fantasies of someone who didn't take wood shop and chose instead to idly worship at the altar of Television Presents: The Fantasy of Bob Vila in adulthood.

One year, Old Man Garrett got a security system. Probably this was because Ted (fucking Ted) didn't clean up the sawdust that one time like we asked him to. The old man must have seen the footprint, and realized that he did not wear size-seven Nikes. Child thieves, casing his precious table saw! Now, our humble breaking-and-entering had become significantly more difficult than "reach a coat hanger under the door and pull the emergency release."

With the help of some of the high-school kids who were taking electronics class, we managed to defeat the security system. We did so using an ancient Japanese technique known as "distract Old Man Garrett while he's setting it, and then cut the wires to the panel." I think it loses something in translation, but you get the gist of it. That year's car was especially sweet.

In adulthood, I got drunk and bragged to some work buddies about our little scam. They responded in abject horror, because I was still occupying the weird hump in the middle of a normal distribution of "acceptable crimes." It was terrifying to them to see one of their own, one of the suburbanites, speak openly about largely-harmless property crimes. What if we had been hurt, they shrieked. Around the water cooler, I would become a pariah, unless I could make amends.

I did hunt down Old Man Garrett after that, still feeling the sting of rejection. He was still on the property, and he still had a beautiful collection of immaculate cabinet-making tools in the garage. I rang his doorbell and, when he answered, I told him the whole story. He laughed.

"I knew it was you dumb shits from the beginning," he bragged. "Fucking Ted -"

"Fucking Ted," I echoed, unconsciously.

"Fucking Ted left his library book on building race cars behind on the workbench that first year. You didn't let him drive, did you?"

I shook my head. "We ran the car into him if the hockey-stick brakes ever failed."

We had a good laugh about the whole thing that evening, and I returned to work with my soul cleansed. It's just a pity Ted didn't know how bad he actually was at crime, before he tried to knock over that liquor store and all.

[suiana]

fellas, have you ever wondered if a man could ever be as adorable and cute as a baby kitten? well now you can experience and love on in real life! suiana presents to you innocent! yandere and smitten reader ❤️

your very own innocent boy who doesn't even know what NNN or OF means. his instagram feed is full of baking and and clothing ideas, he goes out to help stray animals, and he goes on daily walks to the park to reconnect with nature. he has no idea what a skibidi toilet is, brain completely nourished with the books he borrows from the library. yeah, this guy smells like bread and cookies too btw, he does lots of baking. and cooking. have i mentioned he's completely skilled in the kitchen? yeah, he is.

by some stroke of luck, you meet him one day and... look, he's just the cutest thing ever! i mean, he's fashionable, smells good, and was even defending a stray dog from being bullied by some kids. so you ask him out on a date, but the second you ask him the question you swear you could just die on the spot... because tell me why his entire face is red and he's genuinely so happy??? all smiley faced and blushing like a tomato???

oh it's his first time getting asked out and he's flustered??? he's never been approached by anyone before??? he thinks you're really attractive and he would like to go out on a date too??? oh my god guys, he's even asking if you're comfortable with him rambling like this and not trying to get too close without your consent😭

anyway the two of you go out on a date and you think you just might marry him on the spot with how much of a gentleman he's being??? INSISTING on paying for your meal, respecting your distance and being genuinely curious about you on a deeper level. no mention of hooking up, being casual fwb or anything like that. he's... actually looking for a serious relationship unlike your previous partners? holy shit? so you asked him his thoughts on cheating and some other stuff...

"so what are your thoughts on cheating?"

"cheating?"

"yeah, like when you get with someone else when you're dating."

"isn't that illegal?"

HELLO??? he thinks cheating is ILLEGAL??? you had to spend the rest of your date trying not to cry or hug him because he ended up finding out some devastating news.

"yes... cheating is illegal unfortunately."

"I don't know why. it should be illegal, that is a very bad thing to do 😦 do people actually cheat? really? no way."

UGRHGRGR you two end up dating and he's the sweetest guy you've been with. cute date nights, reassurance that you're perfect and enough, handmade gifts and deep talks into the night that deepen your bond together... the only problem is just that maybe he's a little too sweet.

he's constantly buying you gifts, telling you how much he appreciates you and just... being the perfect boyfriend? the perfect clingy boyfriend.

at first you found it cute. but...

why is he so in love with you? why is he so nice? you don't know what to do with a man as sweet as him and can only give into his seemingly harmful actions. you used to think that he had an ulterior motive but... you don't know whether you're being deceived or not. why would you? he's not being manipulative. how could he ever be manipulative? he's just a sweet and nice green flag!

asking you to always be with him? that's just a romantic thing everyone else says. chasing away any people who shows the slightest bit of interest, even if it's not confirmed to be romantic? what kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn't do that? asking for your location if you ever try to go out without him? silly lover, why would you worry him like that?

no no, he's not being possessive. okay, maybe he is. it's just a tiny bit though! surely you're fine with that. after all, he's still treating you like the royalty that you are. he should be allowed some grace for his unwillingness to share.

you're not sure whether or not he's truly innocent or not. was he even innocent to begin with? maybe, maybe not. perhaps it was all just an act...

but you shouldn't think that. why would you think badly of your boyfriend who's only ever been sweet to you? even during fights, he doesn't raise his voice and actively listens to you, trying to resolve the issue. he could never want to hurt you.

after all, he's your innocent boyfriend that you're smitten with, right?

[entitled-fangirl]

Sweet nephew.

Gwayne Hightower x wife!reader; One-sided love from Aemond

Summary: Gwayne's wife is the epitome of everything Aemond was never given as a child- a sweet voice, a caring hand, and a comforting presence. He grows a love for her, and Gwayne's pissed.

A/n: This is unlike anything I've ever written and I have mixed emotions but oh well. It's the forced smile in the Gwayne gif for me

Masterlist

............................................

"Hello, sweet nephew."

Aemond's attention immediately shifted to his aunt. 

Y/n stepped into the library, moving to Aemond's side. Her hand reached out and ran through his hair, "What are you reading?"

"Mere histories, dear aunt."

"You've always been well studied, my prince."

He leaned back to look at her. "Did mother send you?"

She let out a playful scoff, "Am I just a mere raven to you?"

"No," he quickly defended. 

"No," she smiled. "Your mother did not send me. I came to borrow a book."

He stood, "Allow me to help you."

"No need, Aemond. I can find it," she offered.

"Please, Lady Hightower. Let me do this."

She nodded, "That would be nice."

As he stood and walked around one of the many shelves. "Tell me about Old Town."

"It is without change. Your brother has been wonderful."

"And Gwayne?"

She smiled, "Gwayne has always been wonderful."

He didn't miss the light in her eyes, "And how long do you plan to stay?"

She shrugged lightly, "As long as my husband needs me here."

"The war could last years. Old Town will suffer without you two."

"He may send me home before then. My father-by-law, excuse me, your grandsire, should be there by now for Daeron."

Aemond reached up, grabbing one of the books for his aunt, handing it to her, "Hopefully so."

She took it, opening the cover to the first page, "This will do. Thank you, nephew."

"Of course."

She closed the book and held it in the crook of her arm, "I shall see you at supper then?"

Aemond hummed, "Yes."

She smiled and pushed herself to her tip-toes, kissing his forehead.

The prince watched her walk away, a curious look coming across his face.

…

"Ser Gwayne," a steady voice uttered over the courtyard.

Gwayne turned, seeing the Prince confidently moving towards him. "My prince. How many I be of assistance?"

Aemond walked up to his uncle, "I dare ask for a bit of your wisdom."

Gwayne's brow quirked up in surprise, "I see."

He watched as Aemond's eye moved to the other side of the courtyard, admiring Gwayne's wife.

There she sat on her knees, playing with her and Gwayne's young son.

A protective feeling came over the man and he was eager to get the attention away from her, "What was it you needed exactly, my prince?"

Aemond's eye slowly snapped back to Gwayne. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

The two men looked back to the woman.

Y/n let out a laugh as her son jumped into her arms, knocking her over. 

"You're happily married, dear uncle."

"I am."

Aemond shifted his weight to his other leg, "How?"

Gwayne's brows lifted as he considers the man's question, "My wife is a copy of the Mother. I have been truly blessed to have her at my side."

He noticed how his nephew's confusion never lifted, so he continued to speak. "I married for love, my prince. Not all men have that honor."

"No, they don't," Aemond said. "However, it was no disgrace for you to marry her."

"Never," he agreed. "She's from a noble house."

"She loves you greatly."

Gwayne nodded, "Indeed." He finally had enough, "You wish to marry for love, Prince Aemond? Is that it?"

Aemond hummed, "Something of that sort."

"Gwayne?" Her voice interrupted.

The two men turned to her as she approached them. 

Gwayne smiled and reached out to take his son in his arms, "What timing, dear wife. The prince was asking how I've gotten you all to myself." He leaned down at kissed her cheek before turning his attention to his son. "You've been good for your mother, yes?"

Their son giggled and shook his head.

Gwayne feigned shock. "No? Well, we cannot have that. Your mother is a saint." 

She held her arms out, "It's time for his studies."

Gwayne held his son close. "I'll take him myself. Perhaps you can keep the Prince company until I return, hmm?"

Her eyes flickered between the two men. "Oh. Of course. If… If that is alright with our nephew."

Both Hightowers stared at him.

Aemond tilted his head side to side before a smirk came across his face. "I believe that shall be just fine."

Gwayne reached his free hand out to his wife's chin, forcing her to look up at him. "I'll return in a matter of minutes, dear wife."

With that, he let go of her and began to walk his son into the Keep.

They watched him disappear and an awkward silence permeated the air.

"I imagine," she finally said, "that this war has been unkind to you thus far."

Aemond was a bit thrown off by her kind thought but he couldn't help the scoff under his breath, "They seem to blame me for its beginning."

Her brows came together, "Yes, I heard of what happened. I can't imagine the guilt you felt…" she paused. "Still feel, I assume."

Aemond's expression grew to confusion. "You don't seem angry."

She shrugged and looked up at him sweetly. "I know you, Aemond. You wouldn't do that. You didn't mean to."

That look in her eyes broke something in him. The tough swordsman felt an oncoming of tears pricking at his eye.

She was understanding a part of him that no one else had dared try to.

"Oh, Aemond," she cooed at the sight of his watery eye. She reached up and caressed his cheek. "Every great warrior must have emotion. That's all that differentiates them from animals. And you, Aemond Targaryen," she spoke with assurance, "Are no animal. Let your tears fall, for I hold no judgment of you."

When they indeed began to fall, she noticed the deep blush in his cheeks due to the embarrassment of crying in the courtyard. She looked around and tugged his hand, pulling him to a corner more hidden away from prying eyes.

Once there, he pulled her against him and weeped into her shoulder. It was a strange sight to see the tall stern prince weep against his small aunt.

But regardless, she held him steadfast, softly cooing and running her hands through his hair as you would a child.

He clawed at the fabric of her dress, and soon his weeping finally coming to a stop.

He sniffled at the two dared not move.

She was worried of what he would do next. Would he push her away and reclaim his harsh exterior or would he let it fade into the background?

His head lifted just barely and a tension rose. Their faces were now inches apart.

She was just now aware of the implications of their position and a worried expression crossed her face. 

She took a step back just as Aemond leaned further in to try to kiss her, resulting in the gap staying between them.

They both paused with surprised expressions. "Aemond, I'm not-"

"-Why?"

She hummed, a pattern that Aemond has picked up from her. "You're my nephew. I love you, yes, but not in that way."

His jaw set harshly. "Is that not what love is?"

"No. No, no, no. It's not always, Aemond. You're a wonderful nephew, but that is what you'll stay. I am beyond content with my husband."

His voice rose, "Then why do all of this? Why make me vulnerable? Does it make you feel powerful?" He scoffed.

Gwayne returned just then, with worse timing than ever. In all honestly, he had been standing in the courtyard for a while, witnessing with a cautious eye. He could read the silver-haired dragon rider better than most. 

But only when Aemond made a move on his wife, did Gwayne interfere, running across the yard with a fierce anger as red as his hair.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, "Dear nephew, you've kept her safe for me, I see." The smile on his face was very forced, but he was good at hiding it.

Aemond's eye looked between the two. "I did."

"Wonderful. Let us go, woman."

Gwayne practically drug her from the courtyard. 

Once through the doors, he hissed. "What happened out there?"

She was still dumbfounded by the entire situation. "I… I'm not sure. I didn't mean to, I promise you."

He rubbed his hands up and down her biceps as a sigh fell from his lips. "I know," he spoke softly. "I shouldn't be angry with you. I just… I can't stand seeing the way he was looking at you."

"The way he looked at me…?"

"It's the way I look at you. I don't want another man to ever look at you that way. I'm a jealous creature, my love."

"I am truly sorry, Gwayne. I'll fix this."

He shook his head, "You have no faults in this. Perhaps a talk with his uncle would help."

She shook her head and gripped his tunic. "No, no. That might anger him more."

Gwayne sighed again. "We'll handle it together. Yes?"

She nodded. "Yes. That's generous." She kissed his cheek. "Thank you, my love."

…

He tried to stay true to that promise until he saw his sister. 

"You must control your own son!" He sneered through his teeth as he slammed the door behind him. "I'm tired of the rest of us being trotted upon like shit in a barn!"

"Gwayne, please," Alicent sighed. He hated how calm she was, but that was always her demeanor. She held a hand to her forehead. "Whatever Aegon has done, I can fix. Just let-"

"Not that one." He wanted to tear his hair out in frustration but he knew his wife would scold him for doing so. She loved his hair so much.

A bit of relief flooded over Alicent. "Oh." That then turned to more panic, realizing that while Aegon's problems were often, foolish, and naive, Aemond's were few, calculated, and always had dire effects. 

"Your son has a love for my wife," Gwayne explained. "And I won't stand for it."

"What are you talking about?" Alicent asked in confusion.

"Aemond has taken advantage of my wife's kindness. He practically forced himself upon her in the courtyard after manipulating her into comforting him." He ran a hand through his hair. "It disgusts me."

"Gwayne, I'm sure this is a misunderstanding," she said with a forced smile. "Perhaps Y/n… led him on a bit."

His eyes almost came out of his head. For being a relatively calm man, he was growing angrier by the moment. "Do not say that again. My wife is a saint. You'll do well to remember that. If another move is made to her, you'll have no help in battle from this Hightower."

His words were final, a full threat she knew he'd hold to. Gwayne had a flair for dramatics, but threats and promises, no matter how outlandish, he stayed true to. 

"What would you have me do?" Alicent asked him. Having a queen ask for council from a knight was a rare sight.

"Just…" He cursed under his breath and placed his hands on his hips. "Maybe ask yourself why he'd do such a thing."

"What are you implying, Gwayne?"

"My wife would not raise our son to do such a thing to a woman. Makes me wonder what you've done all these years."

Gwayne was a fierce protector, often doing so for his sister. But this was his last straw, and everyone was on the metaphorical chopping block in his mind.

…

During Gwayne's talk with his dear sister, Y/n had crept up to Aemond's chambers in hopes of apologizing. 

She knocked thrice and heard nothing. 

Pushing the door firmly, she saw Aemond curled up on his bed, still in his riding gear and his hair messy against the furs.

"Nephew?"

He shot up, his eye wide in realization, though puffy from tears that no one was supposed to see. Immediately embarrassment flooded his entire soul. "Come to gloat?" His hoarse voice echoed through the room.

"Hardly. I feel awful."

"I thought you'd be like her. Better, even," he whispered, though she was sure it was meant to be kept to himself, "but you're not like her at all."

 "Who, sweet nephew?"

His eye widened once again, his entire body seemingly caving in on itself like a defense. He was running out of ways to shut her out. He said nothing.

"My mother was the most caring woman I knew," she began to explain in the silence. "She only wanted the best for her children, and she always had such a steady hand. It was so comforting." She picked at her nails, a habit she caught from one of the Hightowers. "I told myself I wanted to be just like her. Forgive me if my efforts to be comforting came across in a misleading fashion."

"Is that not what a wife does for her husband, though?" His vulnerable voice asked.

"Well, yes. But it's different," she explained. "I treat my husband and my son very differently."

"How?"

"Uh," she was unprepared to answer this question. "I'm responsible for teaching my son the right ways to live. To have him grow to be a great Hightower. But Gwayne is a man grown. I can't teach him things that he already knows. Nor should I have to."

"But you don't tell your son what to do," he pointed out.

"No," she said as if ridiculous. "He should get to explore the world and find things for himself. I only help him when he needs it."

"Mother has never done that."

Y/n's face paled. Suddenly everything was clicking into place.

"Aemond, your mother is surrounded by Targaryens with great dragons as a queen with no power. It's a scary thought for her. She doesn't know how to help you."

"But she does not try!" He exclaimed in frustration. 

She let out a breath. "Perhaps so. But she does love you. In her own strange way." She brushes over his cheek. "You are a strong man yet, Aemond. And you'll have a wife soon enough."

"Just not you," he manages through a teary eye.

"No," she gives a small smile. "Not me."

He takes her hand from his cheek, giving a kiss to her knuckles. He took his time, truly savoring the soft skin of his dearest aunt. "May you and my uncle live full lives, by the will of the Seven."

…

She moved from the room, shutting the door behind her. She stepped down the corridor, almost running into her husband.

Gwayne grabbed her waist. "I've decided to speak to the prince."

Her hands rested on his chest. "There's no need. It has been handled."

"Handled?" He questioned. "How so?"

She shrugged lightly. "He... apologized."

Gwayne's brow furrowed. "Did he? That's… kind."

"Like a true gentleman," she added. No one really needed to know of his tears. "Where's our boy?" 

"Should be done with his studies soon. We still have time though."

"Time for what?"

He tipped her head up to look at him. "I fear I don't admire my wife as much as I should."

"You know you do."

"No," he bent down and kissed her. "If I worshipped you every day, it still would not be enough. You're sought after by many in the Realm, it seems." He brushed her hair behind her ear. "But me, most of all."

"And you have me."

"Aye. That I do."

……………………………………………

[ak319]

Yan Regent Consort x fem reader

Headcanon

(Warnings: This story contains matriarchal themes, fem dom such as mpreg, fem dominated world, role reversal, and BXG pairing! Yes, it's a boy x girl, so don't interact if you are not comfortable!!)

Xu Junlai was a boy who held different roles in the eyes of others, son to some, friend to some, an object of admiration or envy to others. He was born into a family of five sons and two daughters. His mother, Xu Huang, served as a minister in the court, while his father, Xu... well, he wasn’t married into the Xu family, he was merely a concubine of Junlai’s mother. Because of this, Junlai never received familial love, not from his step-siblings and not even from his mother, who was always either too busy or uninterested in family matters. Her absence from his life gave his brothers free rein to treat him as they pleased.

His oldest sibling was his sister, Xu Tai, whom everyone feared. She didn’t particularly dote on him, but she maintained order in the household whenever she returned from her training and service in the army. Xu Tai had high ambitions for the country, aspiring one day to become a commander or much better a General. His other sister, Xu Ai, was studying to be a scholar; she was a year older than Junlai, who himself was the second youngest in the family.

Junlai had long learned that if he didn’t stand up for himself and speak for himself, he would live a life of misery and eventually die alone, perhaps with no one to mourn his passing. So, he did speak for himself when necessary. A hard life had forced him into this role. It wasn’t as if anyone liked him before, or that he had earned any respect, so what was there to lose?

He had passions that he quietly pursued, calligraphy, reading books, sneakily borrowing them from Tai’s library at the estate and, most importantly, dancing. Yet he was made fun of, and ridiculed for his interests.

“Your father was a prostitute, and you doing this seems to scream that you are on the same path. You disgrace,” his stepfather, Xu Fen, sneered. But his words never truly hurt Junlai.

“But your sons are learning such skills too. Are they on the same path?”

“THEY ARE NOT! They are doing that so that when the time arises, they will be presented to the court for the new Empress and her harem. That is where their skills will shine; being a Xu, that is inevitable. You, however…”

“Mother may not have married my father, but she openly acknowledged that I have been granted the name Xu.”

“So? What are you--oh--so you want to enter the court? That might be the funniest thing I’ve heard this week. Part of the reason your presence here is sometimes bearable. Have you seen yourself? There is nothing graceful about you, such venomous features, that blank face, eyes like a devil’s. You are someone any woman would avoid, not bed.” Fen’s cackles echoed in the distance as Junlai stood in the garden, his usual blank expression firmly in place.

The court? But he didn’t desire any of that. That was a life of hell. As if my life is better now... Harem or no harem, at least he could demonstrate his skills and take a jab at his useless brothers. Perhaps that was the most thrilling part of it all. There was absolutely no chance that an Empress or even the Emperor Dowager would allow the son of a prostitute to enter the harem.

So, Junlai practised night after night, in the empty hall that felt both sacred and suffocating. The flickering candles cast shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls, whispering secrets of long-forgotten elegance. The sound of anklets chimed like distant bells, while the rustle of silken fabric filled the air, wrapping around him like a lover’s embrace. In the dim light, his body became a fluid extension of art, each movement imbued with a haunting beauty that could draw anyone into his graceful orbit. And perhaps, just perhaps, the voice that emerged from his lips was powerful enough to ensnare even the coldest of hearts.

But one fateful night, when he miraculously received permission from his mother to join the ceremony, everything changed. Three of his brothers discovered him lost in his usual routine, an ethereal vision in the half-light. As always, he expected their laughter, their scorn, but no... that night, the hall, once a sanctuary, transformed into a chamber of horrors.

Instead of melodies, the air was filled with his screams as they pinned him down, the laughter of his brothers echoing like a dark symphony. They poured scalding water over his feet, the pain searing through him, brutal and unrelenting--just a week before the ceremony.

═════ ◈ ═════

The day of the ceremony arrived, and you, the new Empress, had only been on the throne for a year after successfully defeating your sisters for the throne. However you were overwhelmed by the throng of men entering your court, you sat in silence, your mind already planning the next day's work while subtly noting the movements and behaviours of your court members.

The musical festivities began, likely your father's favorite part, as it allowed him to exert his influence over the affairs of the men. You had little energy to deal with such trivialities, and the classification of men in this way unsettled you. Your mother was deeply involved in it all, and you loathed the thought of it.

"Those are the sons of the Xu family, good-looking, aren't they?" your father remarked, his voice dripping with expectation. Your head snapped to his direction, and for a fleeting moment, you glanced at the display before you.

“Um, yes,” you replied, your tone devoid of enthusiasm.

Your father internally rolled his eyes at your lacklustre response. You might have bedded a few men and have a son with one of the concubines, but it was clear you weren’t taking any of them seriously. 'This idiot daughter of mine, clearly not worried about not having an heir still. By now your mother would have had three-'

"They came for you, so at least enjoy it a bit. If you prefer any changes, the music, the dance-"

"It's fine, Father. It's fine."

You granted your approval to Xu Huang in the end, an honest minister in your eyes, someone even your mother trusted. Her daughter, Tai, was a formidable warrior, perhaps the first to impress you with her skills.

As dinner commenced, no one anticipated the doors to swing open once more. A lone figure stepped into the hall, drawing everyone's attention, including yours. He was slender, his long hair tousled—surprisingly beautiful even in such disarray. Those eyes of his, empty yet hauntingly deep, bore into yours with an intensity that both intrigued and unsettled you.

His walk was seductive yet exuded an aura of defeat and determination. Silence enveloped the hall, a palpable tension as he stood in the centre, commanding attention. That’s when you noticed his feet, bare and crimson. You were certain that if you looked closer, you would see the dark stains of blood marring his skin.

It felt as though the entire court was holding its breath, waiting for you to question him. Just then, you caught the whisper of Xu Huang, “Son…” from her seat a few feet away.

Her son?

"Are you... Xu’s son?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued.

He nodded.

“Um--your Majesty, he was sick, so he couldn't perform earlier, although his name was registered on the list by me…” Xu Huang explained, her voice steady yet tinged with concern. You responded with a curt nod, your mind racing.

“If you are sick, then you shouldn’t be here,” you asserted, a protective instinct rising within you. You were certain the sickness plagued his feet. There was no way you would allow him to dance under such conditions.

“I want to dance,” he replied, his voice challenging and unwavering.

The spark in his tone caught you off guard. What an odd boy...

“Very well. Then do. I would like to see you dance,” you commanded, a blend of intrigue fluttering in your chest

“Your Majes-” Xu Huang began, but your glare silenced her immediately.

“Begin.”

As the sounds of the pipa and hulusi filled the hall, an almost electric hush fell over the audience. Everyone shifted their attention from their meals to the boy dancing, his presence so captivating that even your father, Wang Hua, sat bewildered. A simmering anger brewed within him as he grappled with his own intrigue. Are you seriously interested in him?

Though Hua possessed some knowledge about the boy, witnessing the fluidity and artistry of his dance made those thoughts melt away. Junlai moved as if in a trance, each motion a hauntingly beautiful expression that stirred something deep within you. The performance was mesmerizing, drawing you into a world that felt both ethereal and painfully real.

The only glimmer of envy and fury came from Junlai’s own brother and step-father, their faces twisted in disdain as they seethed at the spectacle before them. Even the blood that dripped from Junlai’s feet onto the glass-like floor seemed to only heighten their ire. They couldn’t maintain your gaze for even a moment, while Junlai seemed to command the room effortlessly, as if reigning over it with merely a flick of his wrist.

As the final echoes of Junlai’s performance faded, your ears, now deprived of the boy’s beautiful voice, were met once again with a profound silence that enveloped the hall.

Junlai stood with his gaze cast down, a picture of humility, while you rose from the podium, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. A ripple of anticipation swept through the crowd, their eyes wide with curiosity about what would unfold next. To your surprise, the boy barely flinched as you stood before him, towering over his slight frame.

“Name?” you inquired, your voice steady.

“Junlai,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And who did this to you...?” You leaned closer, searching his eyes for the truth.

His neutral gaze met yours, and you sensed a flicker of vulnerability beneath his composed exterior.

“People... whom I would rather not talk about on such a glorious day... a day for you, my Majesty.” He lowered himself in a respectful bow, his head tilting downward, yet his posture remained defiantly graceful.

“Is that so...?” you mused, glancing at Naun, your attendant, who stood discreetly behind a pillar to your left. She nodded subtly, understanding the unspoken command in your gaze.

This boy not only is now part of your harem but...your choice for the night.

You were resolute, you would not entertain the other sons of the Xu family. What need had you for them? Junlai’s dance eclipsed all of theirs combined, a testament to his raw talent and spirit. You were not greedy, you simply sought the best. And he was not only the best but also intriguingly peculiar, a captivating boy you were eager to indulge in and explore further.

As you crawled on top of him, Junlai had been cleaned and prepared for your gaze, yet a small part of you missed his disheveled appearance, the wild, untamed beauty that spoke of his struggles. You soothed yourself with the reminder that he would soon return to that captivating state.

“When I asked you about the culprits, you didn’t name them. You don’t want me to punish them?” you murmured, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, relishing the softness of his skin as he leaned into your rough hand.

“But you already have... by choosing me,” he replied, a hint of defiance in his voice. You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound deep and rich. “You are... something, you know. I have never encountered a boy like you... but I always wanted to.”

“I never wanted this... to be in the bed of an empress, in her harem, but here I am…” His words hung in the air, laced with a surprising confidence. Something about you made him bold enough to voice such thoughts. You didn’t seem as cold and cruel as the whispers suggested, those comparisons to your mother fading in the warmth of his gaze.

Your deep chuckle reverberated against his neck, sending shivers coursing through his body. “Oh, how lucky I am then. More fortunate than any empress, for having caught you.” You pulled away slightly to meet his eyes, searching for the flicker of fear, but finding only intrigue. “Being in a harem means being mine, and I take care of what I own.”

“Do you fear me, Junlai?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “You should...."

His heart raced at the challenge in your tone. “I don’t fear you, your Majesty. I only fear what I might become under your rule,” he replied, daring to meet your intense gaze.

“Ah, but isn’t that the thrill of it all?” You leaned in closer, your lips brushing tantalizingly against his ear as you spoke. A gasp left his plump lips as you nibbled on it.

Junlai’s breath quickened as your gaze pierced into him, as if you were seeing not just the boy he was but the depths of his soul. The air thickened with an intoxicating blend of fear and desire. He could feel the heat radiating from your body, enveloping him in a cocoon of both safety and peril.

Your fingers danced down his arm, tracing delicate patterns that ignited his skin, setting his nerves alight. Junlai's breath hitched as he felt the heat of your body press against him, a heady mix of power and vulnerability.

“Do you see how beautifully broken you are?” you continued, your voice low and mesmerizing.

Junlai felt the walls around his heart tremble, caught in the magnetic pull of your words. “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the challenge now tinged with uncertainty.

“Everything.” Your lips curled into a wicked smile, a promise of the chaos to come. “I want your loyalty, your obedience, and most importantly, your heart. I will not only keep you in my harem, I will make you my most cherished treasure.”

As you leaned closer again, your lips tantalizingly brushing against his, he could feel the weight of your intentions, his robe being done deftly by your rough fingers. “Now, are you ready to dance for me?” you asked, your eyes glinting with mischief and hunger."

Junlai nodded, a flicker of excitement igniting within him. At that moment, he was no longer just a boy marked by pain, he was a dancer, ready to twirl and leap into the unknown, to be claimed by you.

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai sat in the veranda, gazing out at the distant mountains with a forlorn expression, his slender fingers tapping absently on the polished wooden rail. Though the quarters designated for the favored concubine were lavish, adorned with silks and priceless porcelain, the space felt hollow without you. If only he could give you a daughter, the coveted title of consort would be his. The thought flitted through his mind like an unreachable dream. And yet, as the days stretched into months, it was your absence that gnawed at him, leaving him restless and aching.

God, when would you return from the campaign? Two months had passed, each day heavier than the last. He endured the whispers, and the scorn from the other concubines who mocked him for his damaged feet, but he bore it all without flinching. He knew you valued him for his skill, his grace, the things that went beyond mere perfection. You had appointed the empire's finest healers to tend to him, a silent reassurance that he still held a place in your heart.

Even the Emperor Dowager, shrewd and discerning, seemed to favour him, perhaps because he respected his daughter's choices or was mesmerized by his art. Either way, his endorsement granted him a measure of safety within the harem’s hostile world. And yet, safety was far from his mind. He spent sleepless nights worrying about you, imagining the dangers you might face, each possible harm a dagger in his chest. His own safety meant nothing if you were not there, by his side, safe and triumphant. He danced in the empty hall , every night, all night even. His gaze at the marble wall at the end, imagining you sitting in your throne watching his performance. Every word, every step a testimony for your longing. If anyone else saw him at night , they would be scared for their life.

A boy dancing as if he was possessed.

What had he become? Another lovesick boy, a fool just like his father, infatuated, aching, lost to his devotion. He had once vowed never to become so vulnerable, and yet here he was, the intensity of his love binding him more than duty or obligation ever could. He used to revel in this power, at first motivated by pride, even defiance, to show his brothers that he had won something they could never touch. But now, with every beat of his heart, every drop of his blood, he was wholly, helplessly, irrevocably yours.

Although not long ago, one significant shift rippled through the palace, Xu Tai, the skilled warrior whose loyalty you trusted, was now appointed as General. Junlai took comfort in this news. His sister's allegiance was unwavering, and her impressive abilities spoke for themselves. You chose her for her skill and integrity, qualities Junlai respected, and even admired from afar. He knew that with Tai at the helm, your interests, and your life, were in capable hands.

He hadn’t anticipated finding peace in such a development, yet knowing Tai held this position gave him a strange sense of relief. However when he just received a letter from Tai herself, that sense of relief seemed to diminish.

You had been poisoned by an arrow at the battlefield. Thankfully the physician present did their best to take it out but it was unknown if you would come back alive. The news was also sent to the Emperor and eventually spread over the harem and then the country.

The news struck the palace like a tempest. Word spread first as whispers in dimly lit corridors, then as gasps behind silken fans, until eventually, the rumours became cries of despair from every corner of the empire. The Empress has been poisoned, they said, her life teetering on the edge. The harem held its breath, the concubines offering quiet prayers. Yet amidst them all, Junlai felt as though his entire world had shattered.

Days passed in agonizing limbo, and Junlai clung to any scrap of information he could gather. The air in his chambers grew thick with dread, the whispers of the other concubines like needles against his skin. Would she return? Could she survive this? He tried to still his racing heart, to banish the wretched possibilities that plagued him day and night, but his mind clung stubbornly to images of your pale face, the way you looked as he’d last seen you, strong, assured, untouchable.

But now, you were mortal. Wounded. Vulnerable.

He’d never felt so powerless. Each night he would sit in the garden, his injured feet barely feeling the cold stone beneath them as he gazed at the stars, praying fervently for your safety. Let her come back to me, he whispered into the darkness. Take my health, my strength, take anything you want, but let her live.

The news of the looming threat reached the palace in the dead of night, casting a shadow over an already grief-stricken palace. The Chief Minister summoned her closest advisors including Xu Huang, the walls of the council chamber echoing with grave voices as they strategized. The Wei Dynasty had betrayed them, their forces striking not only on the battlefield but now threatening the heart of the empire, taking advantage of your absence. This insidious plot was spearheaded by the rebel leader Guo Wang, a lecherous woman of ruthless ambition and bloodthirsty intent. Her name alone sent ripples of fear through the court, her reputation for savagery preceding her.

The capital was left vulnerable in a way it hadn’t been for years. With Tai, your most loyal and capable General, at your side on the battlefield, and your position as Empress left temporarily vacant, the capital was guarded only by lesser warriors and the remaining commanders, a force barely sufficient for an ambush of this scale.

Junlai’s despair deepened. He had kept his composure in the wake of your injury, holding fast to the hope that you would return to him. But now the looming threat to the capital turned that sorrow into fear and fury. He knew what would come if Guo Wang breached the palace walls, the carnage that woman would wreak upon all in her path. The court, the innocents of the capital, and, he shuddered, the vulnerable harem.

He understood now what his sister had never fully articulated, the key to victory was not in repeating the old ways, but in disrupting the enemy's expectations. And Guo Wang’s forces? They would be expecting the standard defences. They would expect the palace to hide behind walls, women in armour standing guard at every gate. That was their mistake. Junlai knew better. But being a man and more so a mere consort was something that Junlai couldn't change. Nobody would listen to him. Two weeks left before the Guo reaches them even if Tai had sent for backup to the capital, it would have taken them a bit longer to get here.

No, he would not let this slide. The audacity to kill you , trying to take you AWAY FROM HIM!?. He will fucking lay corpses upon corpses of these disgusting pieces of filth. He will BURN EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND!

"I will not rest until I see you fall, Guo Wang..."

═════ ◈ ═════

"Mother, please. Trust me. You have to listen-"

"Your only job is to stay here, in the harem, and bear her children! Leave the military and court decisions to the court and the Empress."

Xu Huang froze, his chest tightening at the cold dismissal. His mother, ever so pragmatic, always intent on keeping him within the narrow boundaries of what was deemed acceptable for someone of his position. But tonight, he couldn’t bear it anymore. The years of suffocating silence, the weight of expectations that had been placed on him, all of it came crashing down in a wave of defiance.

"BUT I AM DOING THIS FOR THE EMPRESS!" His voice rang out, sharp and unforgiving. Xu Huang recoiled as if struck, the shock of his outburst still fresh in the air. But his fury only seemed to fuel him further. "Her Majesty’s court, her harem... I will not let some barbarian come in and tear it all apart. And don’t forget it, Mother!" He took a step forward, his voice thick with venom, his eyes burning with a passion he hadn’t allowed himself to show before. The tears were a mask, barely held together by his pride.

"I WILL protect her, and I WILL protect this dynasty."

He let his words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of their implications. He stood taller now, a dangerous glint in his eye, as he moved closer, letting the venomous truth seep into every syllable. "As for bearing children, oh sure, I will. But I won’t do it for you. I’ll do it for ME. For MY future. I’ll be elevated, not you. You will always remain a slave to the system, while I may one day be a part of the Wang dynasty. And you know what that could mean." His voice dropped to a low, almost mocking tone. "How do you think Tai became the General? If I can place someone on the board, I can just as easily toss them out."

There was a flicker of uncertainty in Xu Huang’s eyes at the mention of Tai, but it was quickly masked. He knew the truth, he had no such influence, but the bluff was enough. It was enough to make his mother tremble. The stoic, unflinching woman who had held him back his entire life now looked unsure, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if seeking something to steady herself.

"What are you proposing?" Her voice, cold as ever, betrayed the slight quiver in her tone. She had heard his words, but was she truly willing to listen?

Junlai smirked, the edge of triumph curling at the corners of his lips. "Now, we are talking."

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai had always been more than just a skilled dancer; his mind was a sharp, calculating instrument that never ceased its relentless pursuit of efficiency and innovation. While the others focused on traditional warfare, the old strategies, sieging, ambushing, and brute force, Junlai saw only limitations. What he needed was an advantage that would catch their enemies off guard, something that no one had considered. The answer, as it often was, lay in nature.

Birds.

The idea came to him one evening while he watched the flock of crows circling above the harem. Their wings cutting through the air with precision, their effortless movement, a pattern of chaos within perfect order. It wasn't just the birds that caught his attention, but the fact that they held the power to burn.

In the markets, there had been whispers of incendiary techniques used by distant lands, fire-starting mechanisms using birds trained to carry torches. The court dismissed this concept as superstition, yet to Junlai, it was a brilliant, unrecognised weapon.

Junlai would need to launch the birds at night when the enemy's defences were at their weakest. The element of surprise would be vital, he knew that as soon as the birds were released, they would need to fly directly to their targets, avoiding the natural predators and the dangers of interception. So he had the women train them, following his instructions.

He took advantage of the dark sky, the birds’ natural night-flying abilities, to send them directly into the heart of Guo Wang’s camp. The wind, as if in cooperation with his plan, would be at their backs, ensuring that the fires would spread faster.

The moment the birds were released, the chaos began.

As the trained crows took flight, their wings slicing through the air like silent messengers of destruction, the fire lit up, first softly, then raging. Guo Wang's forces had no warning, no time to react. They watched in horror as the embers from above ignited their tents, their supplies, and worst of all, their weapons.

The women who had been enlisted as fighters, strong in their defiance but unprepared for such an assault, panicked as the fire spread, consuming their weapons and armour. Their leaders scrambled, but the flames had already done the work. The camp was ablaze, confusion and terror rippling through the ranks. The birds had burned their half camp, crippled their supply chain, and taken away the one thing they held most precious, control.

Thus, it made it easier for the soldiers to attack Guo's forces and easily win. Junlai watched with pride as he saw Guo's head impaled and being paraded around inside the castle's walls. A perfect homecoming gift for you. A gift to prove that he was not just a man in your harem, but someone who would do anything to ensure your reign remained unchallenged. Which made him again fall into a pit of worry for your return.

"Her Majesty has returned!" one of the attendants announced, her voice echoing down the hall.

Junlai stood in the corridor of the harem, his heart pounding in his chest. He had not realized how much he had missed you until the news arrived, that you were finally returning from the battlefield, victorious, but at a terrible cost. The victory meant nothing if it came at the cost of your well-being.

He watched from the shadows with along with other concubines as you entered, your face a bit pale but overall with no less than a sturdy and imperial aura. Your steps echoed in the hall as you greeted your father, your son and for a fleeting moment, met his gaze.

His mind was torn between wanting to rush to you and knowing that you would hate such an open display. So, he waited, watching, every fibre of his being aching to be near you.

And you called him finally, after two painful days.

"I... Your Majesty," Junlai's voice cracked slightly, betraying his calm facade. He couldn't hide the flood of emotions that coursed through him, the concern, the longing, the worry. He took another step closer, his voice low, "You came back... but how long will it take until you're truly well again?"

You always held yourself in such high regard, and the idea of being seen as anything less than the Empress was a bitter pill to swallow.

"I am better," you said, your tone firm, but Junlai could see the exhaustion etched into your features. "The battle was won, and my soldiers did well. That's enough for me."

Junlai stood in front of you now, so close that he could reach out and touch you if he dared. His gaze softened even further, and for a moment, the two of you simply stood there, him staring into your eyes, his heart heavy with the thoughts he didn’t dare speak aloud. Then he was finally graced with your embrace causing him to breakdown.

"Whatever it takes. Just... don’t push yourself too hard. You need rest." He whispered getting his act together.

You gestured for him to sat beside you on the bed. "I heard from Father...about what you did." He gulped, his form of being just...a boy in love under your gaze.

"I... I just... couldn't-- I had to! I did it all in fear of what might... happen..." You raised his chin.

"You didn't do it for love, then?"

"Of course I did! I did it for you only!" He grasped your hand against his cheek, his eyes filling with tears, his voice breaking at every word. "You... have no idea... what... torture it was for me to live after knowing that happened to you... my Queen. It was worse than death itself."

A hint of a smile graced your lips. "I am proud of you. I am... proud of my choice too..." You gazed lovingly at his face and wiped his tears, pulling his frail body to your chest. "Tai told me you... always had an interest in warfare... sneaked in to read her books."

His heart stopped. His sister... knew? All this time... she did? Yet she...

"Um... I--- yes." His whole body shivered when your deep chuckle traveled to every cell in his body.

"I have made a... decision."

His hands fisted your tunic in anticipation. "You will be the Regent consort here when I am away. You will manage the harem, manage the safety of the capital, it's people. Charities and all."

Junlai’s heart skipped a beat. His initial instinct was to deny, to say that it was nothing, that he just did his duty and wanted nothing more than to be a mere slave to your love. But the way you spoke to him with a glint of respect, of something more than just duty, it made him pause.

You saw him. Truly saw him.

He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the trembling in his hands, the heat in his chest. Regent consort. The title echoed in his mind like a promise, like a dream he had never dared to imagine. No man had ever had it...it didn't even exist until now. He would be the first man in history to have that. He will be known by every generation to come..

"But--but I... I don't deserve it," he stammered, the weight of your approval sinking into him. "I am... only a concubine, someone who had no right to such a role. You shouldn't place such responsibility on me."

You leaned closer, your fingers brushing against his cheek in a tender gesture, lifting his gaze with a gentle but firm pressure. "You don’t need to deserve it, Junlai," you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of your conviction. "You have already proven your loyalty, your cunning, and your heart."

You emphasized with a small but significant shift in tone, "You are my mind in the harem. You will ensure that my absence does not shake the foundations of this dynasty. You will stand guard over the people, the capital... everything I’ve worked for."

Junlai’s hands clenched tighter around your tunic as he processed the weight of your words. The enormity of the role, the responsibility, it was almost too much. But the way you spoke, the way you believed in him, gave him a strength he didn’t know he had.

"Are you afraid?" you asked, your voice soft but direct, your eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his knees weak.

He paused, feeling a swirl of emotions churn in his chest. Fear. Desire. Ambition. Hope. They all mixed together until he couldn’t tell where one feeling ended and another began. But he was honest with you, always. "Yes," he said simply. "I am afraid. But if it means standing by your side... I will do whatever it takes."

You smiled at him, a slow, dangerous smile that made his breath catch in his throat. "Good," you said, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a low murmur and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

He had never imagined that the harem would become more than just a gilded cage. He had never imagined that he would be the one trusted to hold the reins when you were away. But now, it felt like everything was changing.

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there was none. Only a quiet confidence that he knew, deep down, was meant for him.

"I won’t let you down," he whispered, his voice steady with determination, even as the weight of his new role settled over him like a mantle. "I will protect everything you’ve built, Empress. And I will make sure that no one dares challenge your rule."

You let out a satisfied sigh, your fingers trailing down the length of his arm as you leaned back, taking in the sight of him, your trusted consort, your mind in the harem.

His eyes softened, and for the first time since the battle, since everything had changed, he felt a flicker of peace settle in his chest. There was no going back now. But for the first time, he didn’t want to. He had you. And that was all that mattered.

Junlai leaned into you then, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath steadying as he let himself savor the moment, the moment where everything shifted, where he was no longer just a boy in your harem but the one who would protect everything you held dear.

Though, he mustn't forget one last thing~~

═════ ◈ ═════

"Ju-nlai?" Xu Fen stammered, his face twisting into an expression of disbelief. The boy, no, the boy, who once knelt before him, who had suffered beneath his cruelty, now stood in front of him as a figure that exuded nothing but cold authority. The sight rattled Fen to his core.

Junlai’s gaze locked onto him, dead and distant, as though he were staring through him. “I came to meet my brothers,” he said, his voice as calm as the still waters of a lake, but carrying the weight of a storm hidden just beneath the surface.

“Oh really? Why is that?” Fen’s words dripped with thinly veiled disdain, though his insides were anything but calm. He took a cautious step backward, uncertain of what Junlai intended. The boy had always been an afterthought, a lesser player in the family’s schemes. But that had changed, and Fen knew it.

Junlai’s eyes flickered over the room, moving like cold knives, and finally settled on the women standing behind him. His gaze was hollow, merciless. “Are you going to bring them out, or...?" His words trailed off, but the implication was clear. He wasn’t asking, he was commanding. His tone had a chilling finality, as though the fate of everyone in that room rested solely in his hands now.

Fen felt the air constrict around him, the tension thickening with each passing second. He swallowed hard, unable to hide his discomfort. With a reluctant sigh and a sour expression, he turned on his heel and went to summon the others, though it pained him to do so. He knew it was futile to resist. The man who stood in his mansion now was not the boy he had once controlled but something far more dangerous.

Minutes passed, each one dragging as Fen stood nervously, but when the Xu brothers arrived, they entered with a mixture of curiosity and defiance. They were offended, of course, by Junlai’s sudden appearance, but there was a deeper undercurrent of fear in their eyes

"Same as always..." Junlai murmured to himself, but his smile, if it could even be called that, was something else entirely. It was a sharp, knowing grin, filled with something dangerous. His voice rose, becoming almost melodic in its dark amusement. "Which is going to make it more fun!"

For the first time in the Xu household, the black sheep of the family, Junlai, let out a laugh, but it was no ordinary laugh. It was a hollow, manic laugh that seemed to echo off the walls. The sound was unsettling, almost inhuman, a reminder of the twisted journey that had led him to this moment.

Junlai’s eyes never left them as he spoke again, his voice low and chilling. “You see… I’ve come to remind you what happens when you think you can break me. You’ve burned me before… but now, I’m going to return the favour.”

Fen’s heart skipped a beat. He had always thought he could control Junlai, keep him beneath his bootheel. He had been wrong.

“Now, I think it’s time for you to understand what it feels like.”

It took one subtle gesture from Junlai and the guards moved quickly, and efficiently, grabbing the Xu brothers and laying them down on the floor. Their hands were bound, their legs spread wide, and Junlai’s eyes glinted with a dangerous gleam as he stepped closer, his boots making a soft but deliberate thud with each step. The room seemed to grow colder.

"No--p-please...forgive them...NO! I BEG YOU!" Fen's voice mixed with his son's pleas as well which earned him a slap from Junlai. That was all it took to reduce them to sobs and whimpers.

"Shut your fucking mouth, whore. And watch." He dug his hands into Fen's hair and steadied him beside himself. "Look, how cute they look." He giggled.

The guard poured more water onto the brothers' feet, the boiling liquid now bubbling and splashing as it engulfed their limbs. The screams grew louder, desperate. One of the brothers jerked against his restraints, his body writhing in pain, but there was nowhere to go. Fen could hear their flesh sizzling, the sound of raw skin peeling and blistering under the scalding heat. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He had put them through this once before. Now it was his turn to witness the consequences. God, he always loved fire and its power. In fact, he began to see himself in it. Agile, dangerous, unyielding and most importantly, passionate when it came to you.

Fen watched, trembling, as the heat of the water burned into the skin of his sons. Junlai stood tall, his form casting a long shadow over the brothers writhing in pain, and spoke in a voice that resonated with unrelenting authority: “Let this be a reminder, boys." As he turned to leave, his guards following behind him, the sound of his laughter lingered in the air, a dark, triumphant melody that filled the hearts of those who heard it with dread.

Now is the turn of some concubines who have been acting up recently in your absence. Surely, they won't mind a little visit, right?

"Everyone stresses out your father soo much, don't they?" He cooed , caressing his flat abdomen as he settled in the carriage.

Nevertheless, it's all entertainment for him.

[godricgryffinsnore]

The Jumper Chronicles ♡ : A James Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : James Potter x fem!reader

summary : When James lends you his jumper on a rainy day, he doesn’t expect to fall helplessly in love every time you wear it—but the heart wants what it wants, and sometimes, it wants its favorite girl in its favorite jumper.

warnings : Intense pining, Secondhand embarrassment (from James being a lovesick fool), Excessive fluff, Friends-to-lovers tension, Mischievous teasing by close friends (The Marauders doing what they do best), Possible risk of swooning due to James Potter in love. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della’s note : Guess what? I am in a writing spree. Not complaining though!!! 😏🤌🏻

word count : 0.7k

main master list <3

banners : @kodaswrld and @cafekitsune

James Potter was in love.

Not the kind of love you slip into gently, like easing into a hot bath. No, James had fallen like a meteor—crashing, burning, utterly destroyed and reborn in your orbit.

And all it took was his jumper.

To be fair, it was a really nice jumper. Gryffindor red, slightly oversized, frayed a little at the sleeves from Quidditch training and the many detentions he'd served with it scrunched beneath his head. It smelled like mischief and cinnamon and something almost boyishly comforting.

You had borrowed it one October morning after a surprise downpour soaked your robes. James—drenched as well, glasses fogged, hair looking like it had been electrocuted—had peeled off the jumper with a cocky, “Don’t say I never gave you anything, darling,” and draped it over your shoulders.

And you never gave it back.

He didn’t ask for it either.

Because the moment you pulled it tighter around yourself, burying your fingers in the sleeves, his soul left his body and hovered somewhere near the ceiling of the common room, whispering, That’s it. That’s my wife.

You wore it everywhere. In the library, curled up on the window seat; on Hogsmeade weekends, the hem hitting just above your knees; at breakfast, where James could barely eat because you looked so stupidly adorable sipping pumpkin juice in his jumper. It was hell. Beautiful, soft, jumper-scented hell.

── .✦

“You’ve got to tell her,” Remus said over breakfast one Saturday, not looking up from his book. “Before you combust. Or cry. Or both.”

“I’m not crying,” James said firmly.

“You were tearing up over your eggs, mate,” Sirius pointed out. “You whispered ‘she even sleeps in it’ like a man watching his true love marry another.”

James stabbed his toast. “She’s warm. I mean—it’s warm. The jumper. She’s probably just cold.”

“You enchanted the jumper to stay warm all the time,” Peter muttered, sipping his tea.

“Shut up, Wormtail.”

── .✦

The breaking point came on a quiet Tuesday evening. You were in the common room, sitting cross-legged by the fire, hair a little messy, nose in a book, sleeves of the jumper covering your hands entirely.

And then—you sneezed. Just a little one. A tiny, adorable thing.

James dropped his quill and nearly passed out.

“Okay,” he mumbled, standing up. “I can’t live like this.”

You looked up, blinking. “Live like what?”

“Like—this.” He gestured at you. At the jumper. At everything. “You. In that. Looking like—like you’re mine.”

You tilted your head. “But I’m not?”

“I mean—no! I mean—yes? Or—Merlin’s pants.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t want it back.”

You blinked. “The jumper?”

“No. Yes. Yes to the jumper, no to me wanting it back. It’s—yours. It's always been yours. Or maybe it was mine until you wore it and now I can’t stop thinking about how you look like home and I’m—oh no, I'm rambling, aren't I?”

You stood, walking toward him, firelight painting your face gold.

“James?”

“Yes?” His voice cracked. He sounded thirteen again.

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers along his hand. “Do you want to kiss me, or declare ownership over all my future clothing?”

He blinked. “Is both an option?”

You laughed. And it was the kind of laugh that made angels consider quitting their jobs.

And then you kissed him.

It was warm and awkward and perfect. He smiled into it like a complete fool.

── .✦

The next morning, you came down wearing his pajama shirt.

Sirius fell out of his chair.

Remus choked on his tea.

Peter went redder than a tomato.

James strolled in behind you, smug as anything. “Morning, lads.”

Sirius: “Is it? Or is it the End of Days? Did the world tilt slightly on its axis last night? Because that’s not just the jumper. That’s your Quidditch pajamas.”

Remus: “I’d like to die. Can I die?”

Peter: “You’re unbearable now, aren’t you?”

James just grinned, wrapping his arm around your waist and kissing the top of your head. “Get used to it, boys. She’s keeping the jumper—and me.”

── .✦

And from that day on, James Potter never got his jumper back. And he never wanted to.

[piplup335]

1x1x1x1 x (chill) reader!

HELLO, F E L L A S

okay so first of all-

to the anon who requested this I’M SO SORRYYYY I tried to incorporate the calm reader part the most I could but I fear I got carried away too much D: if you want me to redo it just lmk ;-;

also ik 1x4 is genderfluid but idk what pronouns the fella goes by so I used they/them 😭

I tried my best but this might be a bit too ooc since I had to adjust some stuff to suit the story ;-; please leave any feedback in my askbox or in the comments, thanku-

enjoy! :,)

⋯⇋ ૮(•͈⌔•͈)ა ⇌⋯

1x1x1x1. Shedletsky's manifestation of pure negativity.

Hatred was all they ever knew. Hatred was what spurred them on to exterminate all the survivors.

That was until you fell victim to the Spectre's sadistic nature. The Spectre wanted a new plaything, one more person it could torture. It was tired of the survivors adapting to the killers' techniques and finding newer and more efficient methods to evade the chilling grasp of death.

Shedletsky had mastered the art of his blade. 007n7 had not only accepted his son's fall, but he used it to spur himself on. The Spectre watched him tell himself on a daily basis that his son, even after being forsaken, would still want his papa to be alive and happy. Guest 1337, despite the Spectre's efforts to hinder him, still managed to fight off the killers and keep everyone else safe. Even Noob kept giving the killers migraines by vanishing into thin air the moment any of the killers tried tracking them down.

The Spectre had enough. It wanted to see the terror and pure fear in the survivors' eyes, not determination and confidence each time they avoided the slash of a blade or the stab of a claw.

So, it kidnapped you. You, a Robloxian oblivious to the terrors going on in that hellhole of a dimension.

Unfortunately, the Spectre failed to do a background check on you.

-

You grew up in a town that was overridden by hackers. You watched Builder Brothers Pizzeria get burned down on a regular basis. You've seen the image of a certain red child fill the skies before. Sometimes Guest 666 would walk into the library and request to read a book. If he didn't get it, the library would be reduced to nothing but a pile of rubble in fifteen minutes. Most of the libraries in your town ended up banning people from borrowing books so that they'd be able to keep the place up.

When you spawned into the world for the first time, you were frightened. You hated the fact that hackers could just kill you at any given moment. You feared the process of respawning. What if it was painful? What would happen during the process? Would Telamon sigh and shake his head at you in exasperation before sending you back to the spawn? Could you even respawn?

Your questions were answered one fateful day. A trip to Builder Brothers Pizzeria ended with you crawling out the broken glass doors of the establishment, the pizza place burning down behind you yet again. You searched the skies for any sign of hope, anything telling you that everything would be okay.

You were met with c00lkidd's decal painting the sky.

You tried to look back at the establishment, your neck aching as you silently pleaded for someone to help you escape the situation.

No one answered your plea. No one was there to be your saving grace. The last of the pizzeria's walls crumbled behind you, the same red decal flickering to life on the dull brick surface.

You tried to shield your head as a loud bang rang through the area. Something blew up. Flaming debris flew everywhere.

But it was too late. You saw a flash of white as a large piece of metal struck your head. Pain shot through your skull...which soon faded to nothing, as did your consciousness.

When you finally opened your eyes again, you felt...fine. Your final memories repeated over and over again in your head like a vivid nightmare.

But you no longer feared the nightmare. You knew it was over.

And your questions about respawning had finally been answered.

Ever since that day, you no longer feared life or death. You no longer feared the neighbourhood you lived in. A building collapsed? It would be repaired and in working condition by the next day. Your house got burnt down by another hacker? You could just stay over at a friend's house while Roblox sends a team over to fix the damages. Everything would be functional by the next day, and your house would be as good as new. Your stuff got stolen? You had nothing to lose at that point, and everything was easily replaceable.

You were so used to the chaos around you to the point that you treated anything other Robloxians considered "out of the ordinary" as just another regular day.

So when a random rift appeared in your living room one day, you didn't think much of it. You thought it was the work of some new hacker and didn't try to resist as you got sucked into the rift.

You would just respawn back home after dying again, right?

...right?

-

As soon as you landed, you realised you were in Planet Voss. You liked the place. It was a nice little park for you to do whatever you wanted. Sometimes, you'd go there just to see the little birds chirp and fly around in a beautiful midair dance. You'd watch young Robloxians throw bread towards the pond, and gaze on as a swarm of fish fought for the crumb of bread. Sometimes, a daring fish would jump out of the water just to catch the food in midair.

But you knew that something was off.

For starters, Noli hacked a bunch of Robloxians and used them to absolutely wreck the place. The arch collapsed, the walls were reduced to ruins, and even Roblox himself said that the repairs were expected to take at least two weeks since the team specialised in repairing buildings, not restoring parks.

At least the animals were spared...

But that wasn't your main concern.

Your concern was the fact that it hadn't been a week ever since Planet Voss got destroyed, yet the park looked as good as new.

A chittering noise could be heard nearby. You saw something flying towards you. Something that glowed a toxic neon green.

Before you could run, it sliced you in the stomach. Pain blossomed in your lower abdomen, and you could feel something spread. Something that burned. You could feel the blazing sensation flare to your limbs.

Heavy footsteps thudded against the ground. Someone knew you were here...and it did not have benign intentions.

A blur of white sprinted past you. Shedletsky.

“Wait...Shedletsky? Didn't he go missing a few months back?” You thought to yourself.

There was no time for you to question the current situation, however. A loud clang was heard as Shedletsky's sword struck flesh, eliciting a pained groan from the person behind you.

You turned your head to see what happened. Shedletsky's sword was stained with what seemed like an inky black substance.

"RUN!" Shedletsky yelled, before sprinting off into the distance. But you paid his warning no mind as it fully registered in your head who Shedletsky had protected you from.

An unknown substance trickled down your attacker's pitch-black arm. The faint green glow of their torso drew your eyes to the ribcage visible through their body.

You glanced up at your assailant. The viridian green domino crown that sat atop their head was all it took for you to realise how screwed you were.

1x1x1x1, of all people, stood before you.

Your legs took off by themselves, adrenaline coursing through your entire body. Not even the adrenaline could save you from the lethargy, though. For some reason, you felt way more tired than usual. You just wanted to lie down and take a good rest...regain your stamina and keep running...

...perhaps this was the effect of whatever new realm you were in.

A slash to the back pulled you from your thoughts. You were probably going to die. But you knew you'd respawn, so who cared?

Another slash to the back slowed you down. Yep, you were definitely dead.

A clawed hand grabbed the top of your head and forced you to look at your aggressor. 1x1x1x1's glare seemed rather intimidating to you, but you were used to this sort of thing. After all, a life surrounded by hackers can work wonders on one's mental state.

Their daemonshanks seemed to shift slightly in their grasp as if waiting for their master to finish you off.

All you could do was let out a weak chuckle as 1x1x1x1 drew their arm back, ready to stab the daemonshank through your skull.

"Heh...well, that was a nice first encounter. Looks like it's time to say goodbye, 1x1x1x1. It was nice seeing you."

With your final words uttered, the daemonshank pierced through your skull with a sickening crack.

As your limp body fell to the floor with a soft thud, 1x1x1x1 couldn't help but feel unsatisfied.

1x1x1x1 was a being of negativity. The only way they knew to derive enjoyment was by feeding off the survivors' fear. The look of sheer terror in their eyes never failed to make their day. Their futile struggling was the cherry on top for 1x1x1x1. It allowed them to feel the anxiety radiating from their very souls, which they relished.

You gave them none of that. You just accepted your fate and even told them it was nice seeing them.

1x1x1x1 was a manifestation of hatred. Hatred was all they knew.

But they felt different when they saw you. Your calm demeanour seemed contagious. Even the burning hatred in their heart for Shedletsky calmed down for once.

Hatred was all they knew. Hatred was what they had lived with ever since their creation. And with the introduction of a completely foreign feeling, 1x1x1x1 resorted back to hate.

They hated how you made them feel. They hated the way you smiled at them even when your head was in their hands, only moments away from being filled with poison and crushed like everyone else's.

They hated the way you laughed while they were chasing you. It was like you were having fun, and they despised it. They hated the way you never showed fear or panic even when in the face of danger.

Over time, however, as matches went on and on...the more they chased you...they started to admire you.

1x1x1x1 got used to whatever they felt. They accepted it as a part of their new lifestyle...and with that, their eyes were opened to the world before them.

With you around, they saw things from an entirely new perspective. They were no longer blind to the wonders of life. They saw how survivors helped each other out. They saw the smiles on their faces as the survivors made small talk while working on generators.

For the first time since their creation, 1x1x1x1 felt calm. Gone was the burning hatred in their heart, now replaced by a sense of tranquillity and peace.

And they found themself liking that new development.

You, on the other hand, managed to make small talk with 1x1x1x1 over time. They rarely spoke and often communicated in scratchy hums and groans, but that still made you happy. 1x1x1x1, one of Robloxia's most notorious hackers, had finally relaxed for once.

At some point in time, they even decided to spare all the survivors and go on a short walk around the C00l Carnival with you.

1x1x1x1 found themself liking your presence more and more. Eventually, it developed into a warm feeling in their nonexistent heart that they couldn't comprehend.

It felt torturous to them. Every time they saw you, they felt a fuzzy feeling in their chest. They didn't know why, but they wanted to shower you with affection. They wanted to hold you close and protect you from any of the dangers the world had in store...

Eventually, they caved in. 1x1x1x1 spilt out all the emotions they had been feeling for so long. They spilt it all out to your listening ears.

Only then did 1x1x1x1 find out that what they had been feeling was love.

And if you had to be honest with yourself, you loved the hacker too. You saw them grow as an individual. They were no longer simply a manifestation of one's negativity, but they were an actual person in your eyes. You spent so much time with 1x1x1x1, and you also started to develop feelings for them too.

One thing led to another, and you started dating the hacker. The Spectre somehow found that entertaining and ended up allowing you to visit 1x1x1x1's purgatory every now and then.

All that led to this moment.

You snuggled up to 1x1x1x1 on the couch. Their clothes were slightly stained with blood, but you didn't care. All you cared about was the individual before you.

The dim glow of their torso illuminated the inside of the blanket that the two of you shared.

As you fiddled with the zipper on 1x1x1x1's mouth, they reached a hand up and pulled the zipper open.

"1x1, I'm still surprised you can just...unzip your mouth at any given moment. If someone asks you to zip up your mouth you can take it literally."

1x1x1x1 let out a gravelly chuckle. Their voice was unnaturally deep, but you had long since gotten used to it.

"Yep...still, none of the survivors would have the guts to do it, would they?"

"Probably not, unless it's Shedletsky."

"Don't even get me started on that sword-wielding shitface..."

You buried your face into their shoulder. 1x1x1x1's presence was comforting to you. After all, they were the closest reminder you had of home, with your town’s main gig being the fact that hackers always visited the place for one reason or another. 1x1x1x1 gave you a sense of familiarity.

You were starting to feel sleepy. 1x1x1x1's body heat combined with the blanket made you feel comfy. Your lover's arms were wrapped snugly around you, and you shifted your head to rest against their chest.

"Goodnight, 1x1...I love you."

Right before you drifted to sleep, you felt the rugged metal of 1x1x1x1's mouth brush against the top of your head in a light, tender kiss.

"Love you too, sweetheart."

⋯⇋ ૮(•͈⌔•͈)ა ⇌⋯

…okay I’m gonna go cry now because idt I did a good job on this-

as always, I hope you enjoyed!

…

*runs back indoors and cries*

[sweetheartspence]

‧₊˚ whisked away - s.r. ‧₊˚

Spencer is infatuated with his new neighbor, who, he soon realizes, is a terrible baker.

pairing: spencer reid x neighbor!reader genre: fluff content: fem!reader, reader is a bit loud and out there, minor house fire, baking, glasses!spencer, mutual pining, eventual kissing wc: 3.3k a/n: been working on this between finals. reader is definitely a bit more reflective of me in this one but i'm actually pretty good at baking. my roommate was baking today and this was all i could think about requests/asks are open! my masterlist!!

Spencer's a busy guy, really. He doesn't spend too much time at home, at the one bedroom apartment that's covered wall to wall with bookshelves and papers. He likes his apartment well enough, and relishes in the afternoons that he's able to kick back and relax on his couch with a cup of coffee and some science theory book that's dog eared and creased on the corners. It doesn't happen too often, though; he's too busy running from city to city, from case to case, never slowing down.

Which is why he doesn't know what to do with himself, when he gets shot in the leg. He can get around his apartment just fine, but that's about it. Garcia and Morgan had kindly brought him some groceries, and he can cook himself a decent meal. He has plenty of books from the library, and a dozen academic journal articles in the works.

Even so, Spencer is... bored.

He's gotten used to the chase, to the hustle and bustle of the office, and he finds himself unable to focus on writing without the constant stream of profiler observations in the back of his mind.

It's somehow more exhausting than traveling for work. At least then he has something to distract himself, something to-

There's a knock on his door.

Spencer glances over to the front door, a sturdy, paneled piece of wood, with a little peephole. He's not expecting anyone, or else he would have maybe showered, or tried to make himself more presentable.

He picks up his cane, hobbling over to the door, opening it.

You're on the other side, scratching your arm absentmindedly, but you immediately brighten when he opens the door.

"Hi!" You grin, crossing one ankle over the other. "Um, sorry to bother you. I wasn't sure if you were home, you're usually not, but, um, your light was on. So I kind of figured..." You trail off for a second, staring into space.

Spencer takes this moment to study you. You're lovely, really, with bright eyes and a contagious smile, shifting your weight from foot to foot like you can't sit still. You've stopped scratching your arm, but you've switched to twisting a bracelet around your wrist, around, and around, and around. Your voice is soft and melodic, and granted, he hasn't seen very many people in the past few weeks. But he's immediately captivated.

"Oh, um, I live in 204." you tell him, your face scrunching up in a smile.

A neighbor, he muses. That makes a lot more sense. More sense than this beautiful girl just showing up at his apartment for no reason, anyway.

You look at him expectantly, like you're waiting for him to say something. "Oh," Spencer manages, offering a small smile. "Um, I live... here."

"That you do," you laugh, and Spencer's breath catches in his throat. He wants to bottle the sound, to play it as white noise, to turn it into liquid and drown in it. All he can do is stare.

"Oh!" You say, snapping your fingers. "I was wondering if you had a couple of eggs I could borrow." You pause, tilting your head. "Well, not borrow, I suppose. I won't be giving them back. To have. I'm making cookies, and I didn't realize that I'm short two, and now the dough is halfway made and I don't have the time to run to the store, and-"

Spencer wonders how you have the breath in your lungs to talk for this long. He's a little bit impressed, but also entirely bewildered.

"Yeah," he says softly, cutting you off. "I've got some you can have. Um, come in?"

He pushes the door open slightly wider, and you step into his apartment, looking around.

"Goddamn, you have a lot of books," you blurt, followed by a big smile. "Not that that's a bad thing, of course. I think it's cool."

Spencer gives you a hesitant smile. He's fascinated by you, sure, by your easy smiles and constant motion, but Spencer Reid is not one to let his guard down easily.

He pokes around in his fridge until he finds the eggs, and grabs two of them out of the carton. Spencer turns to find you studying the books lining his shelves, your hands clasped behind your back, uncharacteristically quiet for the few minutes that he's known you.

He comes up next to you, his cane clicking quietly on the hardwood floor. "I've got the eggs," he says softly, holding them out.

You smile at him again, but it's softer this time, shyer. "Thank you," you tell him, taking the eggs gently, and it's so earnest that his heart aches. "You've got good taste, by the way." You gesture to the books. "A bit eclectic, but... good."

Spencer doesn't know what to think. "Yeah," he says, intelligently. "I guess I have a lot of different tastes."

"Mm," you hum softly. "That can be a good thing."

You stare at the books for another couple of seconds, and then it's like an invisible finger has reached out and popped the bubble around the two of you. You shake your head, like you're getting rid of a thought, and offer him the same bright smile.

"Okay, I gotta get back to the dough. Thank you, though!" And with that, you've breezed out of his apartment, leaving him to wonder if you were ever really there.

It's about twenty minutes later that he realizes he didn't get your name.

---

Spencer is reading up on glucocorticoids for the dozenth time the next day, when the fire alarm goes off. He's snapped out of his academic haze, and he realizes he can smell something burning in the air. He winces, immediately reaching for a pair of headphones to cover his ears. He sticks a post it note into the book, setting it aside, and hurries to investigate.

There's smoke billowing out from under the door of apartment 204, and Spencer feels his heart drop. He bolts down the hallway, pausing outside the door to feel if there's heat seeping through. When the door is decidedly cool, he pounds on it, calling out. "Hey!"

You open the door, oven mitts over your hands and a crazed look in your eye. You have flour smudged across your face, and a similar streak on your shirt. "It's fine!" You assure him quickly. "It's fine. Nothing is on fire, the cookies are just..." You look helplessly towards the oven. "...burning."

"Well, get them out of the oven," Spencer retorts, hurrying into your apartment without being invited inside. He can hear sirens in the distance, the fire department rapidly approaching.

"Well, I would," you huff. "But I maybe accidentally dumped all of the cookies into the oven while I was trying to take the tray out, and now they're in the bottom of the oven, which is very hot, and they're burning."

"I noticed," Spencer mutters, waving his hand in front of his face. His glasses have clouded up from the smoke, and he takes them off and tucks them in the breast pocket of his button-up.

He leans closer to the oven to look, and is rewarded by a lungful of smoke. Spencer coughs, covering his mouth and nose with his elbow. "You haven't even turned the oven off," he tells you, his tone a little harsher than he intended.

"I was going to!" You protest. "But then you knocked on the door, and-"

You break off into a little fit of coughs, and Spencer gives you a little glare, mumbling something about fire safety and the hazards of smoke. He clicks the oven off, and takes you by the elbow, steering you out of the apartment. "We gotta go."

"But the cookies-" you start, and Spencer fixes you with a look.

"Are burnt," he finishes. "Unsalvageable. All you're doing by staying here is putting more smoke into your lungs, which leads to debris buildup in your airway and asphyxiation. Not to mention decreased blood flow, which can cause angina and stroke, plus all the carbon monoxide is sure to make you sick."

The hurt expression on your face has shifted, replaced with surprise. "You- how do you know all of that?"

"I know a lot of things," Spencer mutters, tugging insistently on your elbow. "We're getting out. Now."

There's no room in his tone for argument, and you sigh, letting him lead you out of your apartment, down the stairs and out onto the street. Sirens wail, and a fire engine comes into sight, lights blazing. It takes Spencer longer than it should for him to realize he's still holding onto your elbow, and he lets go as the firefighters come over to talk to the two of you. He lets you take the reigns, leaning back against the wall.

You recount the story loudly and animatedly, waving your arms wildly and making a few explosion sound effects that Spencer thinks were not necessary. They are, however, horribly endearing, and Spencer finds himself sporting the same amused expression as the firefighters.

By the time the whole debacle is over, Spencer has wasted an entire afternoon standing around with you on the edge of the curb next to his apartment building. Usually, he'd be annoyed.

This time, he can't quite find it in him to care.

---

There's a box of cookies delivered to his door that evening, with a little card. It says, "Thanks for the help. Here's some cookies- I didn't make these ones, don't worry."

And it's signed with your name.

Spencer turns your name over and over in his mind, tracing the letters with a fingertip into the fabric of his pants. He's not even quite aware that he's doing it, completely caught up in the book that he's reading. But it nags in his subconscious, ever present.

He hangs the little card on his fridge with a magnet.

---

The third interaction he has with you is in the coffee shop on the corner. You're sitting with your friends, giggling about god knows what, and the light is coming through the window just right to make your eyes shine. Spencer is sure he's never seen a more beautiful sight.

The two of you aren't friends, per se. Spencer wonders for a brief moment if he should say hello, greet you or something, but he doesn't think you're quite at that stage of your relationship. You're just neighbors, after all.

Spencer orders his coffee, making his way to the other end of the counter to wait for it. You're completely engrossed in your conversation with your friends, not even looking up from the discussion.

"No, he looked at me, and he was kind of mad that I was still in the apartment while the cookies were burning, and I swear I swooned," you're saying. Spencer doesn't really mean to eavesdrop, but your voice is quite loud, and- are you talking about him?

"What, and then he dragged you out of the apartment?" Your friend asks, sounding amused.

"Yeah," you sigh dramatically. "I had to deal with the firefighters. I was gonna thank him, but he was gone when I was done." You sound wistful, almost, your tone softer.

"Listen to her," another one of your friends snickers. "She's smitten."

"Am not!" You protest, your tone defensive. Spencer's heart sinks. "He was just... there. And he's pretty, sure, but that doesn't mean-"

"Oh, she thinks he's pretty," your friend crows, laughing. "C'mon, babe, I haven't seen you talk this much about someone in ages, and you've barely talked to the guy."

You huff, sitting back in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest. "I don't have a crush on him."

Your friends both raise their eyebrows, leaning forward. "Yeah? We never said you had a crush on him," they tease. "Even though you definitely do."

"Hey, that's not-" you start, but your friends cut you off.

"Yeah, she definitely likes him," one of them giggles.

"Absolutely," the other one chimes in. "Even if someone doesn't want to admit it to herself."

"What's your Prince Charming look like, anyway?" The first one teases.

You sigh, but there's a smile pulling at your lips. "Tall," you say softly. "Kind of like, a tortured academic vibe. Seems like he knows a lot, but also clueless somehow."

Spencer's brow creases, feeling slightly offended.

"Big brown eyes and curly dark hair," you smile. "Like, a huge dork."

"Look how smiley she is," your friends giggle.

Before you can protest, the barista calls Spencer's name, and he startles to attention. He takes the coffee, thanking them, and turns around.

You're staring at him, mouth agape, cheeks slightly flushed. You give him a tiny wave.

Spencer can feel his own face start to heat up, and he gives you a nod of acknowledgement, a smile that comes out more like a grimace, and a little wave in return, before bolting out of the coffee shop.

There's two thoughts on his mind. First, that you like him. Second of all, what is he going to do about it?

---

Spencer has a plan. It's foolproof, really, and he internally congratulates himself for being so clever.

You're a terrible baker, as he's gathered. And he's... not the best, but certainly better than you, and besides, baking is just science, isn't it? He can hold his own in a kitchen.

He has ingredients for a solid batch of chocolate chip cookies, tucked away into the cupboards of his kitchen. Spencer pulls out a little sheet of paper, scribbling a note down to slip under your door in his chicken scratch handwriting.

Craving cookies. Could use an assistant. 8 pm, if you're interested. - 205.

Spencer is desperately hoping you're interested.

---

There's a knock on his door at 8:02. Spencer's pacing his kitchen, his hair rumpled from running his hands through it, and he quickly makes his way to the door, flinging it open.

"You came," he says, looking you up and down, his gaze flickering to your mouth for a moment.

"You invited me," you shoot back, raising your eyebrows in amusement.

"I did," Spencer agrees, leaning against the doorframe. "You still came, though."

"I did," you repeat, giving a little nod. You look pleased with yourself. "Are you going to let me in, or are we gonna stand in your doorway, or...?"

Spencer realizes he hasn't exactly invited you in, and hurries to rectify that. "Yeah, um, of course," he says, stepping out of the doorway and into his apartment. You follow him, your hands clasped in front of you, following him to the kitchen. You push your sleeves up, past your elbows, freeing your hands.

"Do you have a recipe, or are we winging this?" You grin, and Spencer realizes that it might have been a monumentally bad idea to invite you over to bake.

He blinks owlishly at you from behind his glasses. "Well, of course we're going to use a recipe," he says, affronted. You roll your eyes.

"Well, I usually don't, but okay," you mumble under your breath, setting about pulling bowls and ingredients out like you own the place. Spencer likes the look of you in his kitchen, moving about. It's domestic. Intimate in a way he wasn't expecting.

"Well, what happened last time you tried to bake without a recipe?" He teases, shooting you a slightly lopsided smile at you, before following your lead in rolling up his sleeves. You can't help but shoot a look at his exposed forearms that lasts maybe slightly too long.

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter, continuing to pull open drawers. "Where on earth do you keep your whisks?"

Spencer huffs out a soft laugh at your petulance, coming up behind you and placing a gentle hand on your waist. Your breath catches. He nudges you to the side, pulling open the drawer you were standing in front of, and pulling out the whisk.

"Yeah, yup, okay, thank you," you stutter out, your cheeks flushed from his hand placement. The corner of Spencer's mouth lifts.

The baking goes smoothly for about five minutes, in which you've managed to get eggs, sugar, brown sugar, and butter into a mixing bowl, and Spencer is whisking it together. You set a container of salt down next to the mixing bowl, peering over his shoulder.

"Damn, that looks a lot better than my dough," you mumble, your nose wrinkling. Spencer can't tell if you're impressed or embarrassed, or maybe annoyed at him for being better than you at baking.

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you use a recipe," he retorts, shooting you a look that says I told you so.

You're still grumbling under your breath as you pull out the flour.

Spencer turns to look at you, and is greeted with a finger swiping across his cheek. He blinks, and then realizes you're holding the open bag of flour, a mischievous look on your face. He reaches up to touch his face, and surely enough, his fingertips come away stained with flour.

"You got flour on me," he deadpans.

"I did," you agree, letting out a giggle. "And I'm gonna do it again."

You flick more flour at him, getting it on his nose and his shirt, and he can't help but laugh, making a grab for the back of flour. Spencer grabs it from you, grabbing a handful to toss at you, and you shriek, giggling uncontrollably.

"Not fair," you laugh, trying to grab the bag back, and Spencer holds it high over your head. He's got a couple of inches on you.

"Is too fair," he shoots back, grinning. "You started it."

You jump, trying to grab onto the corner of the bag, but Spencer holds it just out of reach. You suddenly realize how close he is to you, his honey brown eyes sparkling with mirth.

You flush, backing away, your back to the counter. "Yeah, I suppose I did," you admit. "Sorry."

Spencer takes a step closer, boxing you in against the countertop, feeling especially brave. "You don't look very sorry," he murmurs.

You look up at him, your eyes wide. "You're... uh, very close to me," you whisper.

"I am," Spencer agrees. There's flecks of flour in your eyelashes, splayed out onto your cheeks like freckles. "Would you like me to move?"

You shake your head slowly, never taking your eyes off of his.

"I heard you talking in the coffee shop," he says softly. "You were talking about me, to your friends. You think I'm pretty."

You start to make a noise of protest, to explain it away, but he cuts you off with a gentle hand on your waist. His eyes bore into yours.

"Do you still think I'm pretty?" Spencer murmurs, his eyes flicking down to your lips.

That's all the invitation you need, and then your lips are on his, your arms coming up to wind around his neck. Your fingers slide into his hair, curling into the bits around the nape of his neck, and you've never been so happy to have been overheard in your life.

His tongue traces against your lower lip, making a soft, desperate, needy noise in the back of his throat. Spencer suddenly grips your hips, picking you up and setting you gently on the counter with surprising ease.

You make a surprised noise against his mouth, and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, sliding it just under your lip. One of his hands move to the small of your back, settling there, and the other to your thigh, holding you in place.

You lean back just a bit more, knocking into the salt, which spills all over the counter and into the cookie dough. Your lips disconnect from his with a wet pop, and Spencer stares down at the dough, his lips glistening with spit and slightly swollen.

You swear under your breath, shifting on the counter, moving to get off, but Spencer holds you in place.

"I'm sorry I ruined the dough," you whisper.

"S'okay," Spencer murmurs, leaning his forehead against yours. "I didn't really care about the cookies."

You laugh, leaning back in, your lips finding his again.

It's safe to say that there were no cookies baked that evening.