#Getting to know the cadets part one

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Dating in a Dream - Vil Schoenheit

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?

CHARACTERS: Vil Schoenheit x Reader 👑🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda); Kiss

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7, Vil’s dream and Vil's Red Carpet Cadets (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 6.460 words (I may or may not have been overly... inspired)

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

I hope you enjoy 👑

Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / Rook / (Vil) / Kalim / Jamil / Floyd / Jade / Azul / ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho says when you land in the new dream, along with Grim, Silver, Sebek, Epel and Rook. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

After Silver checks if Rook is feeling okay after the trip from one dream to another, and he said that not only was he great but he was also able to enjoy the view, you all realize you're not in Night Raven College, or even anywhere on Sage's Island. Where were you?

Rook recognizes the entrance arch that says ‘Queen's Film Studios’. Acording to him, you were in Maquillaville, in the Shaftlands. And if you know anyone with ties to this place... That person just emerged from inside the studio to be met with a huge group of screaming fans at the entrance.

You see Vil in new clothes, a hat and sunglasses signing autographs and taking pictures with fans. You also see the dreamer's silver bird around his head. But shortly afterward he excused himself and returned to the studios.

“He really is... THE FAIREST ONE OF ALL!” the fans scream.

“I KNOW!” Rook joins them. “Even the most sparkling gems lose their luster compared to his beauty.”

After that, while everyone is talking about that dream and how it doesn't seem much different from Vil's real life, Grim decides to enter the studio premises and follow him to find out more. You all follow Grim because it’s better to stay together and also not to stray too far from the dreamer.

You lost track of Grim and the studio premises were so big that you couldn't find him or Vil anywhere.

“Hey, you. Why didn't you bring a parasol?” You hear Vil's familiar voice and tone complaining.

It was coming from inside one of the studios so you follow it. You find Grim, also spying on what was going on inside. When Sebek starts to speak, Grim jumps up to cover his mouth with his paw and tell him not to talk so loud. You all peek inside the studio.

“I'm fairly certain I told you to always bring a parasol whenever I spend more than five minutes outdoors, did I not?” Vil was telling someone you couldn't tell who it was.

“Ah, I'm sorry. I forgot it in the car.” The other person responds clearly regretfully.

“Unbelievable. What kind of assistant are you? And there's more...”

Vil keeps complaining to his assistant about finding trash on the floor of his dressing room and fingerprints on the mirror. Despite the assistant's apologies Vil calls him a "Useless boy!" before telling him to go get cleaning equipment to get that floor and mirror sparkling. The assistant complies with the order and runs out of the studio, where ends up bumping into Rook. And this is when you discover that the assistant was none other than Neige LeBlanche.

“Excuse me.” Vil comes to see what's going on. “Why are you making a racket in... Huh?! Who are you people?!”

You come closer to tell him that you are just students.

“(Y/N)?!” Vil recognizes you, but he's more shocked to see you there than to come face to face with a bunch of supposed strangers. “Students? What are you doing with students? And what are they doing inside the studio? I hadn't heard there were any tours scheduled.”

“Take a closer look, Vil!” Grim says. “See anyone else familiar?”

“Oh, ick! what's this filthy stray cat doing here?”

“Mrah?! Stray cat?! You recognize my hench-human but you don't recognize me?!”

“Hench-human? Are you referring to (Y/N)? Who do you think you are to address them that way? Actually, who do you think you are to address them at all? (Y/N), come here.”

You walk over to him, mainly because maybe if you follow what he says you can find out more about what's going on in his dream. When you get close enough he takes your hand to gently pull you to his side, but slightly behind him.

“Stop being insulting and talking nonsense...” He keeps talking to Grim. “Hey! Keep your dirty paws off me. You'll get fur on my clothes. Shoo! Shoo!”

“Vil!” You say, shocked at the way he is treating Grim. “What are you saying? Why are you treating him like this?”

Vil turns to you and whispers just to you: “You can't simply walk around hanging out with just anyone. Firstly because you don't know these people, and secondly because your standards should be much higher. You can't be so naive and let your guard down so easily. What were you thinking?” He turns back to the group. “I suppose there ARE troublesome fans out there who can't distinguish fantasy from reality. For that matter, how long have you been eavesdropping on me?”

“Since you started yelling at your assistant for not bringing you a parasol.” Silver simply admits.

“So the entire time, is what you're telling me? Ugh, unbelievable. Aha, I think I get it now - you're all paparazzi disguised as students. You're probably looking to besmirch my beautiful reputation. And you even have the audacity to deceive and take advantage of (Y/N)'s kindness. Well, you'll be doing no such thing.”

Vil glared at Neige.

“You! This is yet another result of you failing to have your act together as my assistant. What will you do if my carefully cultivated reputation gets dragged through the mud?! Or worse, what if something happens to (Y/N)?!”

“I... I'm terribly sorry, sir!”

“Vil! They are my friends!” You say quickly. “Grim has always been with me. How come you only remember me?”

“Grim? Are you talking about that stray... whait... Grim...? And you...?”

The bond between the two of you is so strong that even Vil's imagination is having trouble explaining how you and Grim wouldn't know each other. And his head starts to hurt.

“You don’t think that Paparazzi would use mind control on someone if one of them was a mage, do you, Vil?” Neige says, but in a somewhat strange way. “And surely the stone in the kitten's bow is just a harmless pendant... or is it?”

Vil’s head stops hurting and he pauses for a second, in complete shock.

“Eject these mosquitos from the premises at once, and contact security immediately!”

“Yes, sir! Right away, sir!”

“As for you people” He turns to the group. “You'll see what happens if you dare to post online about what you eavesdropped on today. I'll use every means at my disposal to force-feed you all poison apples. And...” Vil's tone became darker, “If you used any kind of spell on (Y/N), I will create a new poison just for you. So deadly that waking from a slumber won't even be an option.”

Neige leads the rest of the group to the exit gate, while Vil puts an arm around you to lead you into the studio. You hear Grim whimper your name.

Vil takes you to his dressing room, a place as luxurious as you could imagine he would dream of. You ask what's going on but he seems to ignore you and cups your face with his hands. His face very close to yours and his gaze searching your eyes.

“Your eyes look normal.” Vil says still analyzing your face. “Did you eat anything they gave you? Open your mouth.”

You look away and gently push Vil away with your arms, saying that he is overreacting and that they didn't do anything to you. Vil sighs.

“Stay here. I'll call a mage doctor. I won't be long.”

With the greatest of casualness, he kisses your forehead and leaves the dressing room, leaving you alone inside. You hear the door latch. Your reflex is to try to open the door and that's how you confirm that he locked you inside. At that moment you start receiving messages on your phone. They’re from Idia.

«Hey, don't try to wake Vil up alone. It's dangerous while the party is separated. Especially since you can’t use magic to protect yourself from the darkness. Try to know what your role is in Vil's dream and act on it. If the darkness doesn't see you as a threat to the stability of the dream, in principle, it will not attack you.»

You tell him what happened and that Vil went to call a mage doctor.

«I see. I'll access the doctor's code and have them say that you're fine, but that your memories of Vil have been affected. That way you can ask him questions to better understand your relationship with him without him suspecting that something is wrong. Btw, be careful with Neige.»

After a minute, Idia sends you a message saying that Vil and the doctor should be on their way. After that you hear footsteps approaching the door and it being unlocked.

After examining you, the doctor said what Idia programmed them to say. When Vil hears the doctor say that your memories with him have been affected, he seems worried for a split second, but then quickly returns to his stoic demeanor. The doctor adds that it is not a serious loss and that he will only need to answer the questions you have for him to start improving and recovering your memory completely. This time, Vil doesn't hide his relief. And to take more blame off you, the doctor said that your memory loss was due to inhaling some potion in a gaseous state, and that you probably haven't even interacted with those people before that.

After the doctor leaves the dressing room and closes the door behind them, Vil takes you to the couch and sits on it with you. He cups your face again to make you look at him.

“What do you remember about me?” he asks with some sadness in both his voice and his beautiful face. “You seem to know who I am at least.”

He takes his hands off your face and you tell him what you remember: that you know who and what he is. Vil Schoenheit, a super famous actor and model.

“Well... yes... that's pretty much what anyone could know about me. This is better than nothing, but is there anything you know about me that you think no one else might knows?”

Since Vil doesn't remember Rook, your chances increase significantly. But what could you say? You already know that in his dream he was never an NRC student. Much less the Housewarden of Pomefiore. Your options weren't many, but what about...

“Your father is Erik Venue. But you don't want people to know because you don't want them to think that all your success is just nepotism. You want to achieve things through hard work and by truly deserving them.”

Vil starts by smiling, until he llaughs heartwarmingly, something rare, and maybe for that reason absolutely beautiful. He holds your face still with one hand on one cheek while he kisses the other affectionately.

“It seems that not much was lost.” He says with a genuine smile. “I think I should be the one letting you ask the questions now, shouldn't I?”

Finally! The first thing you ask is what is the relationship between the two of you? After all, how come you were the only one he remembered? Were you two friends?

“Friends? Well, I believe that too.” He gives you a sad smile. “We... are a couple. I am your boyfriend.” He laughs at your surprised reaction. “I know, it's hard to believe that out of everyone I chose you to be my beloved. Many would question that...” He pauses and then becomes serious again. “And that's why our relationship is secret. Your arrival in this world is still recent. You still need time to adjust. I didn't want you to have to deal with fame and media pressure at the same time.”

“So... I really came from another world. That is still the same... as I remember, I mean...” You say, but if he has never been to NRC... “But how did we meet?”

Vil’s gaze becomes even sadder.

“I had been cast as a student at an prestigious arcane academy for a new series. One of the props for the school was a replica of the Fairest Queen's mirror. But there was some mix-up and instead of a fake replica being delivered to the studio, a real one was delivered instead. And in the middle of filming you simply appeared out of that mirror that everyone thought was fake.” He chuckles. “I still remember the commotion.”

So your arrival in Twisted-Wonderland was an unforeseen event during the filming of a new series he was on. You were going to ask what happened next, but someone knocked on the dressing room door. Vil says they can come in and after the door opens you see Neige.

“What do you want?” Vil automatically became ruder when he saw who it was. “If you’re not here to notify me of an emergency then don't waste my time.”

“The... That group of students has already been expelled from the studio premises. And... um... the director is calling for you... to film the next scene...”

Vil sighs and places his fingers on the bridge of his nose for a moment. After thinking for a second he looks at Neige dissatisfied. “I won't leave them in your incompetent care again.” He gets up from the sofa and extends his hand to you. “Come with me.”

You give him your hand and he helps you up gentlemanly, then he offers you his arm so you can intertwine yours with his and the two of you leave the dressing room together. Neige immediately moves out of your way, practically in fear. And you felt bad about it.

“You really can't just not care about him, can you?” Vil says, almost disappointed. He sighs. “I never knew if that was a quality or a defect. Leave him be. He failed his duties. His carelessness put you in danger and made you lose important memories. Know that he is very lucky that I didn't do something worse to him than simply being... stricter than normal.” He was speaking softly despite how angry Neige actually made him, or at least that Neige.

When you arrived at the scene he told you to sit in his chair and if you needed anything you could just ask the staff. You stood there watching the recordings and whatever you asked for, someone from the staff would bring it to you, even if it was the most absurd thing. After all, it was a dream. But you didn't abuse it too much. You couldn't risk waking Vil up yet.

While filming was taking place, you received updates from the others and all the discrepancies and differences between the real world and that dream world. Vil had gotten a lot of lead roles since he was little, instead os the antagonist roles. And Neige wasn’t an actor in this dream world, so he was no competition for Vil. In response you tell them what you discovered about your relationship with Vil. They didn't respond for a long time, so you asked if something had happened. Epel was the one exchanging messages with you.

«Sorry. We were too shocked. I mean surprised. Rook already knew. By the way, he isfwerd»

«Oh, I can't wait to see the two of you together! I know you make an absolutely beautiful couple. I'm going to return the phone to Epel now. Sorry for the interruption.»

«I hope this isn't too uncomfortable for you. Rook is smiling weirdly. Wait! Do you like Vil too? It wouldn't be a big surprise. You would have good taste at least. Wait, what am I saying?! Back to the plan to wake him up!...”

Later that day was the Diamond Movie Awards, where Rook assumed that Vil would win the award for Best Actor. In the real world, Neige was the youngest actor to win this award at age 14. Vil wanted to be him, so he must dream about it. They would infiltrate the awards staff and use the loudspeakers. You would just need to stay safe until then.

“Hi (Y/N).” Someone greets you sweetly. You look up from your phone and find Neige smiling at you, which is then replaced by an expression of guilt. “I'm sorry for what happened. I shouldn't have left you alone. I heard you lost memories of Vil because of this. I'm so sorry... *sniff*”

He was being so sweet that you even felt sorry for him. Especially remembering how Vil treated him. You say everything is fine and that you forgive him. He smiles at you, weakly, and asks if there is anything he can do for you.

“You may call our driver.” Vil says to Neige as he approaches the two of you. “Filming is over. We'll be heading to the Queen's Palace for the Diamond Movie Awards ceremony.”

“Y-yes, sir. Right away.” Neige steps back to make the call.

Vil extends his hand to you for you to take and stand up. He looks you up and down.

“Oh, right, you're still wearing that uniform. Let us change it, shall we?” With a snap of his fingers Vil uses magic to change your uniform into beautiful clothes. A dress if you prefer. This also gives you the makeup you like the most to use and a hairstyle that suits you perfectly. “Much better.” he comments. “Much more suited to your beauty.”

“The driver is now heading to the usual location.” Neige informs you. “We can go now if you want. Oh! (Y/N), those clothes look beautiful on you.”

“Of course they do.” Vil retorts. “I would never allow them to dress in less than the best for them.”

The three of you go to a place away from the main entrance where Vil's fans were all, where a beautiful and luxurious, but relatively discreet car awaits you. The driver is standing outside and opens the door for you and Vil to get in and sit in the back seats. Neige goes to the passenger seat.

“You're looking around like it's the first time you've sat in this car.” Vil chuckles. “You must have forgotten about these trips as well. But I can't say it's a bad thing. That enchanted look of yours always suits you beautifully. Do you still remember what the Diamond Movie Awards are?”

Rook had told you via message what they were. The biggest awards in cinema and how much Vil wanted to win the award for Best Actor. You tell Vil this and he looks pleased.

“I hope you're not nervous. After all, I am the one who is nominated. But remember, our relationship is secret, okay? You will accompany me along with LeBlanche as one of my assistants. And don't worry, after today, you and recovering your lost memories will be my top priority.” he comes close and kisses your forehead. “When we arrive we will have to separate on the red carpet. Follow LeBlanche and we'll meet at the entrance later, understood? And don't talk to strangers!”

If you look at him annoyed because it seems like he's treating you like a child, he'll laugh.

“Call me overprotective if you wish, but I won't allow anyone with bad intentions to even come close to you again.” he says seriously and determined. “At least not until your memory returns and we find a way to protect you against other possible magical threats.”

He looks out the window and realizes that you are arriving. He looks back at you with a tender look.

“You know, even though I don't believe in acts of good luck, you insisted that we have one between us. Do you remember?” He gets a little sad when he sees you reply that you don't. “It's a little cliché too. I learned to appreciate them with you. A good luck kiss. It may not have any power to bring good luck, because I don't need it, but I can not deny that it makes me happy and improves my mood even more, which is reflected in the photos. I understand if you don't feel comfortable doing it, I don't know how amenesia might be affecting you at the moment. But know that nothing would make me happier than receiving a kiss from you today. Even on days when I don't win an award, your kiss always reminds me that I have already received the greatest award of all. Oh, no, not you, I meant...” he looks slightly embarrassed about what he's going to say next. “At least what I believe it to be... True love... But don't worry, I don't need a kiss to know this. However, it's always a nice thing to receive.” he smiles confidently.

You feel the car slowing down. You were arriving. As he reminds you to follow Neige, you decide to give him what he wanted. You interrupt him with a kiss on the lips and feel him smile. When you part you see his amethyst eyes looking at yours smugly.

“I see you haven't forgotten your cheekiness. No one else has the audacity to even interrupt me. Such a lack of manners. We'll have to deal with that later.” However, he was smiling the whole time. He comes closer as if he's going to kiss you again, but instead he speaks with his lips almost touching yours. “You also forgot a rule I have with you. You're only allowed to smudge my makeup after all my work is done. And I still have an award to win.”

He finally pulls his face away from yours to grab a mirror and check his lips. He smiled when he saw that his lipstick was still flawless.

“I don't know if this lipstick has more quality than I thought or if is just you that are very skilled. Let us go with bouth.”

The car stops in front of the entrance to the red carpet.

“Thank you.” he tells you tenderly. “I'll meet you inside, my love.”

Both the driver and Neige got out of the car. The driver to open Vil's door and Neige to open yours. While Vil went out to be photographed and filmed on the red carpet, you went out with Neige on another path to the interior of the Queen's Palace.

As soon as you and Neige arrived inside, you were led directly to your seats. Neige told you to leave the seat between you two empty for Vil. He would want to sit next to you. What he did as soon as he arrived.

The awards ceremony takes place as normal until the time comes to present the award for best actor. Which is, unsurprisingly, announced to Vil. At the podium, where you and Neige were also because you had accompanied Vil, the voice over the speakers begins to describe Vil's acting career, but not the one he was dreaming of having. Rook was describing his real career including the fact that he was only cast for antagonist roles.

“What is the emcee saying? They're getting my career history all wrong! This mean-spirited joke on a happy occasion has gone on long enough. Someone cut that speaker off right now!”

Rook mentions Night Raven College and the movie club and this makes Vil start to remember.

“My filming schedule is tight as it is. How would I have time to go to some boarding school on an island way out in - Hrk! ... My head...! How do I know where it's located, and what kind of school it is...?”

“Because that's where we really met, Vil.” you tell him. “That school, the mirror, none of that was a movie, it was real. And you weren't cast in the role of a student, you were one of the students! And not just any student, you were a housewarden, the...”

“Housewarden of Pomefiore” Rook says in unison with you. “The dorm based upon the Faires Queen's spirit of tenacity! Our own fair queen, our Roi du Poison!”

Rook and Epel reveal themselves, dressed in their Pomefiore uniforms, which makes Vil start to remember them. And his headaches come back.

“Vil, are you all right?!” Neige rush to him. “Hurry, someone call an ambulance! Security, what are you doing?! Eject these intruders immediately!”

All the people in the audience started to turn into black, goopy figures, and Vil was being swept away by a sea of darkness, separating him from you, Rook and Epel. And then, another dark figure suddenly formed.... a copy of you.

“Vil, are you okay, my dear?” That darkness version of you said to him in a soft, loving tone. “Everything is fine. Just focus on me. Focus on us...”

“Here it is...” Neige said to him. “The Best Actor trophy you've always wanted. Look, it's all gold and sparkly... isn't it pretty?”

“Yes... It is... This is what I've always wanted. Proof that I'm the best in the world...”

Meanwhile, the dark figures had reached you and as the others faced them, the shadows prevented Vil from seeing you. No matter how much you or the others shouted, Vil didn't hear you either.

“Heheheh. That's it. Just stay here, and you can be the best in the world forever and ever, all without having to put in any work.” Neige continued. “You won't have to do any rigorous training or follow any tedious skincare routines to maintain your beauty.”

“And I will always be by your side.” Your darkness lookalike added. “To give you all the love you deserve, unconditionally. To be your safe place. The final crucial piece of your perfect happily ever after. Just like in those fairy tales.”

“You... (Y/N)... I never needed to compete for your love... You just... make me so happy... and rested... My... happily ever after...”

“And I will continue to make you feel loved... Just worthy of being loved... Without worrying about being perfect... Now and forever, my fairest one of all... So... Go on, Vil. Just close your eyes... and stay here with me.”

Seeing that Vil is going to let himself sink into the darkness, Rook uses his signature spell, I See You, so he can find Vil later. And Vil disappears, along with the dark versions of you and Neige.

After getting rid of the darkness figures that were attacking you, you all jump into the black goop after Vil.

You ended up on the interior of the Night Raven College coliseum, where you find Neige lying unconscious on the floor, while his friends cry wondering what happened. This was a reenactment of what happened on the day of the SDC, but what would have happened, or what Vil wanted to have happened, if Neige had drunk the poison apple juice he gave him. Epel uses his signature spell, Sleep Kiss, to stabilize Neige before you all run onto the stage.

The title of SDC winners was being awarded to Night Raven College and all the students who participated with Vil were celebrating, Ace, Deuce, Jamil, Kalim, even Epel and Rook. But there was something disturbing about them, their faces were flat and their skin was that black goop.

You and the others run up to him and shout Vil's name to get his attention. Seeing two Rooks and two Epels helped make Vil start to realize that something wasn't right. They remind Vil that they didn't win the SDC, they came second, they lost to Neige and Royal Sword Academy.

The shadowy figures tried to convince Vil to believe in the reality of the dream, that Neige felt unwell and so he and his friends had to withdraw from the competition. But Rook continued, reminding him of what really happened that day, how the plan to poison Neige had failed and how Vil had not been able to forgive himself for even trying to do so.

But perhaps it was this pain that made him realize what true beauty is, and what led him to the events on the Island of Woe. Where he displayed utter beauty beyond any other! And when he proclaimed, “At this exact moment, I am the fairest one of all!”

This is what makes Vil finally remember, break the dream around him and wake up. He thanks you all and hugs Rook and Epel. He looks at you, but just when it seems like he's going to say something to you or even ask you to join the hug, the ground starts to shake and the sky cracking open. You all prepare to evacuate yourselves to the dreamway, but darkness catches Vil. And unfortunately, in order for you to save yourselves, you have to leave Vil behind. Regardless of your attempts to save him.

In the dreamway:

If you, like Rook and Epel, want to go back to the dream to save Vil:

Then you will be one more person for the rest of the group to contain and prevent from going back to that dream until it is safe. “Oh, Trickster, how I understand your aching heart.” Rook says, surprisingly calming down a little. “But now your desire to run into danger to save your loved one puts me in a difficult situation.” “What? What do you mean?” Epel questions. “And why did you suddenly stopped fighting to come back?” “Because now, dear pommette, we both have a dilemma on our hands.” Epel looks confused and Rook continues. “On one hand, we must save our Queen. But on the other... We must protect our Queen's Beloved!” “Well, there are two of us.” Epel says with a smug smile. “One tries to get back there and the other stops (Y/N) from getting back there.” “That seems to define a hypocritical action.” Ortho points it out. Epel recognizes this and becomes frustrated. You'll have to wait until the dream stabilizes again, but the three of you are restless and try to return to the dream every 10 seconds.

If you are calm like the rest of the group despite your worry:

“How can you be so calm!?” Epel questions you, outraged. “It's Vil who's trapped there! I thought you liked him too!” “Epel!” Rook censors him, patiently. “It is not because one is calm that they aren't suffering. None of us deal with desperate situations in the same way. And that must not invalidate others feelings.” “Urg! ... I... I’m sorry, (Y/N)...” Epel says regretfully. You explain to them why you are calm. You know that was the only solution. Just like the Shroud brothers explained, either you left Vil behind and tried to save everyone, or you stayed behind and ran the risk of something happening to one of you and never waking up again. “Besides...” You continue. “Vil is already awake. Don't tell me you think your Fair Queen isn't capable of facing whatever comes her way now?” “A... A....” Rook's eyes start to water. “ABSOLUE BEAUTÉ!” Even Epel gets startled by that shout. “The way you soothe your worries by having faith and trust in him!” He actually starts to cry emotionally. “There are no words to describe the beauty of your love! I should treat you like royalty as well!” Epel agrees with Rook, but starts to feel a little embarrassed by the situation and tries to tell him to calm down.

As soon as you all return to Vil's dream and see him safe and sound in front of the Queen's Palace, Rook and Epel immediately run to hug him.

If you, like Rook and Epel, were so worried about him that you wanted to go back to the dream to save him, you also run to him to hug him.

Rook and Epel move away a little so that the hug is mostly between the two of you and they are hugging you both. The others comment on how difficult it was to keep the three of you away from the dream to save him. Rook tells him how he was torn between returning to the dream or keeping you safe. “I hope you know what I would have told you to do.” Vil says. “To protect (Y/N) at all costs.” Rook answers with certainty. “Even if you have to lose me to do so.” Vil adds, in such a serious way that even Rook is a little surprised. “And you!” he tells you, as if he is upset. “You don't have magical powers, you would be in more danger than me. Never put yourself in that kind of situation, understand!” After a second, he sighs and smiles. “Thank you... to all of you.”

If you were calm in the dreamway:

The others comment on how difficult it was to keep Rook and Epel away from the dream to save him. He laughs at it. “Oh, Vil, I must admit” Rook tells him. “The faith and trust that (Y/N) has in you are simply magnifiques! They remained calm the whole time because they believed you were strong enough to face anything. *sniff* B-beauté...” “Are you going to start crying again?” Epel laughs, as does Vil. Vil saw you standing there looking at them, clearly wanting to join in the hug, but respectfully staying back. After finishing the hug with Rook and Epel, Vil approaches you. “Are you really going to say you weren't worried at all?” He asks with a smirk. Of course you were worried, but you knew it was something he would have to face alone. The best thing you could do was keep yourself and the others safe while he ‘sorted out this problem’. “But I knew you would be strong enough.” You add. “I mean, if even Idia could defeat the darkness...” Vil laughs with you. “A lot of smugness for someone who would be swallowed up by the darkness if it weren't for people who can actually use magic. Whehe-” Idia suddenly notices Vil looking at the tablet he was speaking through in a scary and threatening way. “HICK!” You tell Vil that it's okay, after all, you started it. He smiles at you in response.

“Wait...” Vil says to you, thinking. “I’m just now realizing something. The part of the dream where you were with me after supposedly losing your memory. This was after you all showed up, and you were with the group. So... does that mean...” he widens his eyes. “Was it YOU? The real you? All that time?”

You confirm. If you thought the clothes he gave you didn't already give you away, you look at them and see that you were wearing your school uniform. Your clothes must have gone back to normal when Vil woke up.

“In that case...” Vil regains his composure. “Would you allow me to speak to you alone for a moment?”

“If it's about you and (Y/N) dating in the dream, you don't have to worry, we already have that information.” Ortho says, casually.

Vil's eyebrows rise in surprise for a split of a second, but then he quickly returns to his composure.

“Even so, I would still like to discuss this matter with (Y/N), alone.” He simply put a little more emphasis on the last word, but it was enough to make everyone take a step back. He looks at you. “Since this is a dream, why don't we talk inside the Queen's Palace? If you wish.”

You agree and the two of you walk away from the group to enter the beautiful building. After Vil made sure you were in a place where the others could neither hear nor see you, he stops you and stands in front of you.

“(Y/N)...” he tells you very seriously. "At any moment, did I do or say anything that made you uncomfortable?"

He asks this clearly worried and regretful, but instead of you saying yes or no, you had that expression of someone wondering how to explain the truth. Knowing you, he realized what that hesitation really meant.

“You can tell me whatever you need.” he says with a beautiful, gentle smile, which is relatively rare in him when it’s a true one. “I behaved very... relaxed with you... I owe the same to you now.”

You tell him. You say you didn't feel exactly uncomfortable, on the contrary. In your own way, you tell him what you really felt all that time, and end up confessing that your feelings are mutual.

“But, I mean...” You tell him. “You must be used to people having a crush on you...”

“I am, indeed. But there is a great difference between those fans and you.” Even if you consider yourself a fan of mine like the others, unlike them, you know me for who I truly am. Ugly sides and all. You didn't meet me as the actor and model Vil Schoenheit. You meet me as that bossy and probably superficial Housewarden of Pomefiore.” he smiles smugly, especially seeing your guilty reaction.

“You knew me at my lowest...” he continues. “And stayed. Not only that, but you also went into the depths of S.T.Y.X. with Rook and Epel. Even knowing it wasn't just for me, it was good to see that you were as happy to see me as they were... And...” He is silent for a second, remembering the moment he wanted to talk to you about and you saw a new loving look in his eyes. “... after what I did... after what I became by saving Idia... I remember looking at you and seeing... a look you had never given me before, when I was... when I looked beautiful. That really changed the way you saw me, didn't it? Well, it also changed the way I saw you. My outer beauty doesn't really have as much of an effect on you as my inner beauty, does it?”

Vil gets closer to you and caresses your face.

“What a coincidence, I feel the same way about you.” his hand slides to your chin to tilt your head up and he smirks. “If your outside matched your inside...” He brings his face closer to yours and speaks a little more quietly and seductively. “You would be more stunning than any model I have ever seen... I think I will take this as a personal challenge. I want everyone to be able to see why I fell in love with you.”

His lips were practically touching yours, but he wasn't kissing you. He was teasing you... Tempting you... You decide to do what he wanted and you kiss him. You can feel his lips forming a smile as he reciprocates the intensity of your kiss.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[fatalism-and-villainy]

Something I love about DS9’s framing of Jake Sisko is how he’s consistently positioned as someone worthy of protection, whose survival and flourishing and emotional well-being are of tantamount importance, and whose innocence and vulnerability are precious.

It’s present from all directions in The Visitor. Everybody protectively closes ranks around Jake upon Ben’s disappearance, with those little moments of Dax and Kira and Bashir giving him physical affection and reassurance and Quark going out of his way to be nice to him. Jake’s older self’s protective impulses towards his younger self, as well as his desire to save his father, are the basis for the timeline reset. And then after the spacetime continuum gets wrenched back in line purely to save Jake from the emotional trauma of losing his father, the episode ends with Ben, who’s borne witness to everything and is the only one who remembers it all, continuing that work of shielding Jake from that knowledge.

And then Nor the Battle to the Strong carries on the thread of protectiveness towards Jake, in that case as part of the episode’s deconstruction of military heroism. As he’s marinating in shame over bailing on the mission to retrieve the generator, Bashir apologizes to him and says he was wrong to put Jake in harm’s way in the first place. And then at the end, he wakes up after sealing the cave entranceway and both Bashir and his father are tenderly looking after him, with similar imagery to The Visitor in terms of him being symbolically cradled by the other cast members’ concern for him. He never needs to toughen up or grow out of that need to be rescued - in fact, his fear and panic and feelings of being out of his depth prove to be immensely valuable, as his last conversation with his father emphasizes, because he’s able to bear witness to the experience of the soldiers through his writing.

That comes through in a really interesting way in Valiant as well, with Jake’s emphatic concern for his own survival in the midst of all the culty militaristic weirdness of the Valiant crew:

Nog: You don’t understand, because you’ve never put on one of these uniforms. You don’t know anything about sacrifice, or honor, or duty, or any other things that make up a soldier’s life. I’m part of something larger than myself. All you care about is you.

Jake: That’s right. All I care about is Jake Sisko and whether or not he’s going to be killed by a bunch of delusional fanatics looking for martyrdom.

And I love that exchange not only because it’s a rare articulation of how I would actually feel in a situation like that in a franchise full of characters who are all prepared to sacrifice themselves in the line of duty, but also because in the context of the episode, Jake’s position is actually the heroic one! It’s his sense of self-preservation, and the fact that he hasn’t romanticized the notion of heroic sacrifice, that enables him to see through the dogmatic ideology of the Valiant cadets and recognize how dangerously out of their depth they are. And it’s just a nice articulation of his own worth.

(And of course the Defiant rescues them at the end, because Jake’s grown up now, but he hasn’t outgrown needing his father to save him. And that’s never a shameful thing, but a really beautiful thing, and necessary to the fabric of the show.)

[jedi-starbird]

Alpha-17 and Obi-Wan being friends (derogatory) on 17's part and friends (threatening) on Obi-Wan's part is such an underrated dynamic

They could be so funny and terrifying, like Obi-Wan went through a soul shredding experience with Alpha-17 as his only company. They're friends because what else are you gonna be after you witness each other at absolute rock bottom from torture.

It's like 'dog put in cage of cheetah who's threatening to go crazy', except the dog is a grizzly bear and also threatening to go crazy.

Emotional support trooper except the trooper in question has never done any sort of supporting in his life and is actively an emotional distress trooper to a great number of the CC batch.

I want them texting everyday, I want Obi-Wan mailing handmade BFF bracelets to Alpha and Alpha sending pics back of him flipping off the camera but still wearing them, I want Alpha using Obi-Wan to keep track of and occasionally terrorize his cadets, I want 17 ending problems in the GAR (like Krell) before they begin because Obi-Wan has him shipped out on a personal transport at the first opportunity, decked out with slug-throwers Obi-Wan got him for his decant-day.

Natborn officers think this is all just an odd indulgence of General Kenobi, the Vode, however, correctly identify it as a goddamn threat and their danger assessment of Obi-Wan ticks up significantly.

When Alpha arrives on Kamino, Shaak Ti presses a shiny new comm into his hand. It has the Jedi Order symbol painted onto it alongside a smiley face sticker, and it pings immediately with a new message: Hello! I hope you're settling in well!

Alpha stares at the message, stares at the singular contact named 'OWK' and then stares Shaak Ti in the eye as he pitches the comm straight into the ocean. Shaak Ti's serene smile only grows larger as she calmly reaches into her robes and pulls out an identical comm, only this one has a frowny face sticker, and presses it into his hand. It lights up: I'm afraid we've bonded, Alpha :). Alpha shuts it off and pockets it with resignation.

Cody arrives on Alpha-17's personal recommendation.

A-17: He's the most difficult little bastard I have. You're perfect for each other. OWK: Thank you, he's very handsome :3 A-17: No. Stop.

The first thing he asks once he gets comfortable is who his general is texting so much that has him swinging his legs and twirling his hair. Cody assumes it's Anakin, given they seem joint at the hip anyway, but little does he know Obi-Wan's ability to consistently have the Weirdest Relationships Ever.

"Oh, it's Alpha-17, I understand you're familiar with each other?" Hmm. OK. Cody.exe is experiencing a processing error, please hold. He exits the room instead of answering. The next day he peeks over the General's shoulder when he's texting and sees walls of rambling messages from Obi-Wan. Alpha-17 replies every hour with a single text: Lose this number. Obi-Wan giggles. "He's so funny." he says.

When Obi-Wan meets the rest of the CC batch, Cody makes sure to stand perfectly angled so that he can record the reactions when his general cuts off their introductions with "Oh, no need, Alpha-17's told me all about you." It's always immediate FEAR.JPG followed by a slow spiral of What The Fuck.

What do you mean by that General. What does that mean Cody. What do you mean they text. No. Cody. What the fuck is happening, Cody. Alpha-17 doesn't have friends he has enemies and enemies he tolerates enough not to shoot on sight.

OWK: Wolffe reached for his vambrace? when I mentioned you A-17: That's where he keeps his spare knife. OWK: Hm that does explain the way he eyed me up, ambitious. A-17: Clearly not enough, he should have followed through. I taught them better.

[404creep]

Y'all were eating up my Simon x civilian cleaner drabble, so I decided to add some more on it!

Previous Part Next Part Series Masterlist

In the last one I said that you just accept him following you around like a creep because he gives you scary dog privileges, but that wasn't an immediate thing.

Early on when you first caught his attention there were many young cadets that had the unfortunate timing of trying to flirt with you when he'd show up for his daily fix.

Safe to say those poor cadets would end up running laps until they were sick.

One had the nerve to try and get your number while Simon was watching and he became the volunteer (victim) for Simon's next hand to hand combat training dimenstration.

The whole thing just literally ended up as more work for you because you had to mop up the blood

He felt so bad :(

Never wants to make more work for you

One time, a comms tech wasn't looking where he was going and ended up bumping into you in the hall while you were sweeping and spilled his coffee all over the floor and a little on you

Literally started screaming about YOU needing to watch where YOU were going and about how you're just a cleaner and you're easily replaceable and all that.

You're biting your tongue because you need this job, but damn if the coffee soaking your shirt didn't hurt.

Simon, however, is PISSED.

How dare that little shit stain talk down to HIS bird????? And he didn't even have the decency to ask if you were okay????

Marched right over and pulled that little dickhead away from you. Made him clean up his mess and then Simon contacted his direct supervisor about the little shit making a hostile work environment and harassing civilians.

Dude got put on probation

You warm up to Ghost after that.

He may be a weird little stalker, but at least he had your back

Safe to say after that event EVERYONE on base knew to stay away from Simon's little cleaning lady unless they wanted to face his wrath.

Johnny is tickled pink by it when he finds out

Soap will hover around you now too, asking you stupid questions about your life and telling you dumb jokes while side eyeing Ghost looking like the cat that ate the canary.

Johnny is nice enough but you long for the days when you could do your work in silence.

Ghost also misses the time when you worked in silence because he's never wanted to punch Johnny in the face more than when he interrupts your guys' quality time

Now onto the kid

The first time Simon sees you go pick up the toddler from the base daycare he almost cries

Convinced you're married or have a man at home looking after you and his little fantasy shatters. He'd never seen a ring on your finger so he assumed you were single but maybe you took it off when you were at work???

He basically goes into mourning

He's in a horrible mood for a while after that and it drives the 141 a bit crazy.

He refuses to go watch you after that, because he doesn't wanna step on any toes but he misses you :(

You notice the absence and honesty kind of miss your shadow :(

Johnny finally can't take it and casually asks one day if you got a mister at home

You say no and explain that you take care of your sisters kid.

Johnny basically skips to Simon to give him the good news.

After that your shadow is back and he's even moved a bit closer to you.

You're happy to see him back honestly

Meanwhile Simon is thinking of all the ways he can sweep you off your feet. His poor bird has so much going on in her personal life, he needs to take care of her.

Starts leaving little treats in your locker

You know who they're from

[tprings-hair]

this is a list (as complete as I can make it) of what we know about kirk's backstory in tos and the tos movies, with episode sources:

- he has a brother named samuel george kirk who he calls sam. sam has a wife named aurelan, three kids (one of whom is named peter), and a terrible mustache. (what are little girls made of? and operation: annihilate!)

- he was on tarsus iv and survived the massacre. we don't know his age or what he was doing there. we only know that he saw kodos, heard his voice, wrote down what he said about the massacre, and could tentatively identify him years later. (the conscience of the king)

- when security officer mallory dies, kirk says that mallory's father helped him get into starfleet academy. (the apple)

- he was a nerd in the academy. gary mitchell called him a stack of books with legs, and he admits to bones that he was a very serious cadet. he was picked on by a fellow cadet named finnegan, who he dearly wanted to beat up but never did. (where no man has ever gone before and shore leave)

- on a similarly nerdy note, he had a big history crush on abraham lincoln and could recite the constitution from memory. maybe this is a learned skill in american schools in this future, or maybe he's just a history nerd. (the savage curtain)

- he had john gill as a history professor, who he encounters in the series as the crazy old guy who made space nazis. (patterns of force)

- kirk did not meet but looked up to captain garth of izar, a starfleet captain and explorer who was eventually decided to commit genocide and was sent to an asylum. we don't know whether this happened before, during, or after kirk's study of him or how he might have taken the news. (whom gods destroy)

- he has a deep fear of being alone and unable to act or control his situation. (many episodes, but most obviously in and the children shall lead us.)

- at some point (we have no idea how old he was or if it was before or after the academy) he nearly died from vegan choriomeningitis, a made-up disease deadly enough to be used as population control when extracted from his blood. (the mark of gideon)

- he had some kind of relationship with areel shaw, a lawyer who later ends up questioning kirk in a court martial. (court martial)

- he had some kind of relationship with ruth. when he sees her again in season 1, or a representation of her, he says it's been fifteen years. (shore leave)

- when he took the kobayashi maru, he reprogrammed the test so it would be possible to pass and passed on his third try. (the wrath of khan)

- once he became a midshipman (a cadet training to be a commissioned officer, apparently never mention as a rank outside of this series), he became close with his instructor benjamin finney. at some point, finney named his daughter jame (pronounced jamie) after him. jame is a teenager when we see her in season 1. (court martial)

- he served aboard the uss republic, where finney made a mistake that could have been disastrous and kirk logged it, ruining finney's chances for promotion. (court martial)

- he served aboard the uss farragut under captain garrovick as part of a phaser gun crew, meaning he fired the ship's phasers from engineering, not on the bridge like chekov. he hesitated before firing on a creature which killed garrovick, and blamed himself for it years later. (obsession)

- at some point, he worked with janice lester and they had a relationship. she resented kirk for being a man and having his career goals easier to achieve (we are not given strong evidence whether this is true or false), and kirk says they would have killed each other if he'd stayed. (turnabout intruder)

- at some point, he and endocrinologist dr. janet wallace got into a relationship, though it ended because they were both dedicated to their careers. (the deadly years)

- at some point, he and dr. carol marcus had a relationship and conceived david. kirk knew david existed, but carol prioritised her career as a scientist and decided to raise david away from kirk's world. it's implied that david met kirk and knew that he and carol had a relationship at one point, and he calls kirk "that overgrown boy scout (she) used to hang around with". he didn't know that kirk was his father until the movie, though. (the wrath of khan)

- shortly before serving on the enterprise, kirk taught a class at the academy, which gary mitchell was in. we don't know what he taught, only that he had a reputation for making students think critically. mitchell admits to setting kirk up with a blonde lab technician, to which kirk looks aghast and says, "I nearly married her." we don't know whether this was janet wallace, carol marcus, ruth, areel shaw, janice lester, or some other unknown woman. (where no man has gone before)

- at some point, he and gary mitchell encountered "rodent things" on dimorus which threw poisoned darts at them. mitchell took one for kirk and nearly died. (where no man has gone before)

that's it! that's all we get. everything else -- including him being born in iowa -- was from other sources added later. I just realised there wasn't one good source that was specific to the original series (star trek wikis that don't differentiate between tos, other series afterwards, and aos drive me insane), and it might be relevant to someone else too.

[saintsanddevils]

Never Alone

Aaric Graycastle x Fem!Reader

Summary: After parapet, Aaric discovers his best friend followed him to Basgiath. (set during Iron Flame, no Onyx Storm spoilers)

Warnings: angst, swearing, Aaric POV

Author’s Note: onyx storm made me write fanfic & there isn’t enough Aaric fic out there

Posted on AO3

Part Two

Masterlist

————

-Conscription Day-

Oh, shit.

Aaric’s eyes widen as he watches the last person he’d ever expect to see at Basgiath storm across the courtyard.

No. Please, Zihnal, let it be anyone but her.

A prayer to the god of luck feels like a waste as he senses his imminent doom the closer she gets. Waves of rage seep off her like a tidal wave, forcing cadets to dive quickly out of her way.

Aaric tries to blink the image away, hoping this isn’t real. Maybe the exhaustion of climbing those never-ending stairs and crossing the parapet did something to his mind. This has to be a hallucination.

“You fucking idiot!” She’s suddenly before him, shoving him hard against the stone column. He barely registers the impact as he stares down at her, feeling her erratic breathing against his chest. He’s so focused on how she’s standing in front of him that he misses her hand sailing towards his face before it’s too late. The immediate, harsh slap swings his head to the side.

“I’m going to kill you,” she seethes.

Yep. This is real. And that is definitely who he thinks it is.

Working his jaw as the sting reverberates across his skin, he turns back to face her.

Y/N. She’s here. She’s actually here. By the looks of it, she made it across the parapet. Which means…

Aaric would’ve laughed if he didn’t feel the sudden weight of dread crushing him as he stares at her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

If he thought he knew what Y/N was like when she was angry, it’s nothing compared to the fury rising in her eyes.

“Are you kidding me?! What am I doing here?” She shakes her head, gripping his leathers as she crowds closer. “You’re an arrogant asshole if you thought you could disappear so easily. If you think, for one damn second, that I would let you do this alone, Cam-“

Aaric quickly slides his hand over her mouth to stop her. Noticing the crowd around them, he rushes to pull her away from prying eyes. With one hand around her mouth and the other arm around her waist, he pulls her behind the column. She begins to yell at him from beneath his hand before bucking and kicking as he makes his way down the corridor. Aaric curses as he holds her tighter against his chest. This is starting to look way worse than he hoped it would as he drags her away from the courtyard.

When he finds a secluded alcove away from everyone, teeth sink into the skin of his palm.

“Fuck!” He pulls his hand away with a hiss, stepping back as she twists out of his reach. “You bit me!”

“You were practically kidnapping me!”

Aaric rolls his eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

She raises an offending brow. “I’m dramatic? Says the prince who just up and left in the middle of the night to fulfill some childish fantasy that he can go get himself a dragon and some fancy magic to save the kingdom. Really?”

He stiffens. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She laughs, cold and bitter. “Don’t I? I’m pretty sure I know you better than anyone. Hell, maybe even better than yourself.” She shakes her head, crossing her arms. “Your father is going try and find you. He’ll send everyone, tear this place apart-“

“No. He won’t.” His jaw flexes as he glances around, ensuring no one can hear them. “He might try, but it won’t matter. He can’t do anything. Especially after threshing.”

Her face blanches at the words. “Threshing… Oh gods, Cam.” She falls back against the wall, her earlier anger slowly dissipating. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

A wave of voices rises from around the corner, making Aaric step closer to her. Once they drift further away, he relaxes. Blowing out the breath he held, he stares into the eyes of the one person on this damn continent that he can trust. The one person he would never ask to join him. The one person he chose to lie to, to manipulate and betray in order to do what was necessary.

“I have to do this.”

The confession weighs heavily in his sternum. Solidifying his rattled nerves. The guilt he’s collected over the years still eats away at him, but now, without a shadow of a doubt, he knows this is what he’s meant to do. The second he stepped onto the stone parapet, he knew he had to be here. Cowering in the palace wouldn’t do anything. Being here, training, fighting, working to help their kingdom- it’s all he can do.

Her eyes soften from his words as if she can hear his thoughts. Understanding his worries and doubts, as she always has. The two of them grew up alongside one another. Her father is a trusted advisor to the throne, allowing him the privilege to have his family join him at the palace. Aaric has known her for as long as he can remember. And just like when they were kids running around the palace gardens, he’d do anything for her. Except for stay as far away from Basgiath as possible.

Of course she knew he’d come here. She wasn’t lying when she said she knew him better than anyone. It’s something he now wished wasn’t true. Her being here was proof of it. By the looks of her fighting leathers that outlined the dips and curves of her figure, she planned on this.

His chest warms at the thought, but he tries to push down the overwhelming need to touch her. He’s suddenly all-too-aware of how close they’re standing. How much his fingers itch to reach out and hold her. To hide her from all of this and keep her safe.

The thought of her following him down this path scares him more than his father finding him.

“Go home,” he quickly steps away. The longer he stands near her, the more she’ll convince him he’s making a mistake. He can’t let that happen.

The softening of her features is gone. The sympathy she was feeling is now replaced with that earlier anger. She clenches her jaw as she stands straight, glaring up at him.

“I’m staying. I crossed the parapet. I deserve to be here just as much as you do.”

Aaric shakes his head. “You can’t-“

“I can and I am.” She steps into his personal space again, and for a moment, he wonders if she’ll slap him again. A strange, small part of him wants her to. He shuts that thought down immediately.

“If you want to go be some sort savior of Navarre for your ridiculous hero complex, fine. You’re a grown man. You can do whatever you want. Especially as the prince,” she narrows her eyes. “But I’ll be damn sure if you’re gonna try to play the hero, I’m gonna make sure you don’t kill yourself doing it. Someone has to.”

He flinches. She must’ve caught the reaction since her face softens, as well as her tone.

“I’d never let you go through this alone, Cam. You know that.”

Flashes of whispered promises under a rose trellis as they pricked the skin of their palms come to the forefront of his mind. Their blood welled in their tiny hands as they made vows to one another. To always have each other’s back. To always be there for each other, no matter the cost.

The scar on his palm burns as he watches her storm past him, determination setting her shoulders straight. Gods, he wish he didn’t know her as well as he did.

The crowd of new cadets cheer in the distance, the hum of their voices growing louder as Conscription Day comes to a close. The shadows on the wall move in the afternoon light as he watches the one person he cares about more than anything walk away from him.

That guilt stings in his gut now, adding another person to the list of people he has to protect. If she’s here, he can’t make this all about his kingdom. He can’t even make this about himself. He has to ensure she stays alive. They both have to get through this.

There’s no turning back now.

Part Two

[nicksolemnlyswears]

FORGED UNDER FIRE

THE UNPLEASANTRIES OF A SURPRISE

blurb: the sorrengail siblings reunite...what starts as a joyous surprise turns into an unpleasant moment as the realization of what brennan did sinks in

pairing: brennan sorrengail x rider! reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: nothing crazy, some violence and cursing, iron flame spoilers

a/n: hello, hello! sorry it took me a couple weeks to update, i've been studying for an exam and i was also catching up with some of my other writing. i had a long fic to update and a marcus acacius oneshot to write for a challenge but that is done!

i'm back and i hope you enjoy this part of forged under fire. it's not that long but it captures the essence of what needs to be said. you can now find a more detailed masterlist of this series on my main masterlist under fourth wing!

enjoy and let me know what you think at the end!

At the mention of a riot, Brennan sprung into action, calling out orders to the cadets under his care and the guards under his command. He knew the time would come when the Navarrians would find them, but he didn't expect it to be so soon.

Brennan curses when Violet speeds past him, running towards the courtyard and calling her dragon. He wishes to follow, but he has a protocol and orders to give. If it were up to him, he'd be following her and calling Marbh to meet him in the courtyard ready to battle.

"It is not a riot. More are coming to join us, forty of them. Teine leads them," Marbh tells him through his link.

"Mira?" Brennan whispers, the corner of his lips turning into a smile. The arrival of his sister is a welcomed surprise.

With a string of new orders and the reassurance they won't go into battle any time soon, he follows after Violet. He's excited to see Mira, his younger sister who he shared a childhood with. At one point, she was his best friend.

The two bickered more than acceptable, but it was part of their dynamic. At the end of the day, Mira and Brennan were each other's biggest supporters.

Brennan smiles when he steps outside, spotting his sisters together. He hurries down the steps, eager to join them and have a proper family reunion.

Teine has put a considerable amount between him and Tairn, considering the bigger dragon had his jaw around his neck not long ago.

Mira falters at the sight of Brennan. Her face pales as her brother, who was supposed to be dead, gets closer. The image of him is clearer and clearer. The sleep deprivation must be getting to her because it simply can't be him.

"Hey, Mira," he says as he approaches, preparing to give Mira the biggest hug.

His voice just about confirms his status as alive and breathing. Her older brother is alive. Her partner in crime.

Deep inside, she's elated that he's alive, that she didn't lose him, but there are layers of anger and resentment to sort through. He's alive, but at what cost?

Memories of her grieving and burning his belongings flash through her mind. Her mother's distance, her father's death, her sister-in-law's suffering, and her nephew growing up without a father figure. They all dealt with his death while he was hiding.

Without much thought, she allows that anger to flow straight through her as she lifts her fist and swings. A satisfying crunch and blood pouring from Brennan's nose lets her know she hit true. It's not the first time she's broken his nose, and it certainly won't be the last.

Violet guides them inside in a flurry, shooting orders left and right. Brennan clutches his nose with a handkerchief as blood pours down his face while Mira glares at him and everyone who tries to touch her.

Once they are alone, an argument ensues between the three siblings. Different questions arise about Brennan faking his death, the rebellion Violet is seemingly leading and their status as family. Violet may have forgiven Brennan, but his betrayal is too fresh for Mira.

It is chaotic and messy, but it describes the Sorrengails perfectly.

Xaden joins them in the office, watching amusedly at how they argue. Perhaps it's for the best he doesn't have siblings. The resemblance between them can be seen perfectly in how their mannerisms overlap and mimic each other.

The room turns quiet at Violet's order. The siblings all stare at each other. Mira ignores the fact that Violet has more guts than she used to. They've changed so much over the years, yet they are the same.

"How is she?" Brennan breaks the silence to ask about his wife. The last time Violet was here, he didn't get the chance. They were in and out in a hurry.

Not a day goes by when he doesn't think about you. Leaving you is his biggest regret. Your relationship was a pillar that kept him strong for so long. You often discredited yourself by thinking you needed him more than he needed you. You were wrong. Brennan needed you just as much.

The moment his signet manifested he stopped being Brennan. All they saw were his healing abilities and how they could use him in their battles. He loves his signet, but it felt dehumanizing when all they saw was a tool.

Except you always saw him as Brennan. You never asked to be healed by him. You’d rather bandage your injuries and deal with the pain. He never let you. If there’s anyone he’ll heal without protest, it’ll be his family.

"Who?" Mira asks, crossing her arms and raising a judgemental eyebrow at him. She knows exactly who he's asking about.

Brennan rolls his eyes, "My wife. How is she?" He asks directly at Violet this time. Reasoning with Mira will be impossible when she's in a mood.

Violet's expression softens, but before she can answer, Mira interjects, "Your wife? You don't have a wife, do you, Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh? Brennan Sorrengail had a wife, but he's dead."

Mira sneers at Brennan her anger eating at her fervently. She doesn't understand how Violet forgave him so easily. Doesn't she realize the gravity of what their brother has done?

"Mira, come on! Enough of this." Brennan pleads, driving his hand through his hair. A sign he's stressed out by the situation.

There were so many times he wanted to reach out to his family. To tell them he was alive and well and that he missed them. It was not realistic when telling them would've endangered them further.

Navarre doesn't want its citizens to know about the venin and what's going on outside the borders. Telling them could've led them to be charged with treason. That is, if Lilith Sorrengail admitted to the information she kept secret.

"You really want to know? Fine, she's dead, Brennan!" Mira exclaims, giving her back to him.

"What?" Brennan pales and falls back on his seat, burying his head in his palms. It can't be. You can't be dead. His heart pounds in his chest at Mira's words, the world spinning around him. The one thing he always counted on was you outliving him by staying safe within Navarre's wards.

"Dead to you! You lost the right to know when you faked your death," Mira says, spinning back around to stare accusingly at him. Maybe that will give him some idea of how they felt when he faked his death.

Violet and Xaden stare at the pair with wide eyes. That was cruel even for Mira.

"Fucks sake, if you think leaving her, leaving any of you, was easy, then you're wrong. I know you're upset, but I had to do this. I couldn't ignore the threats outside of Navarre. Threats our parents were hiding," Brennan shouts back, his chair tumbling to the ground as he stands.

His face matches Mira's as they glare at each other and share the same flushed complexion. It reminds Violet of the good old days when they'd argue about the smallest things.

"You didn't stop to think about me or Violet? You were my brother Brennan, my best friend!" Mira yells, pointing at him accusingly, "And then you try to hug me like everything is okay? This is all levels of fucked up."

Brennan sighs in defeat. "I really am sorry."

Mira looks down and says, "You didn't just leave us. You made us believe you were dead and that we'd never see you again. We mourned you: Dad, Mom, Violet, your wife, and the worst part of it all is--"

She almost told Brennan about his son but couldn't tell him. Mira can't bring herself to tell him about the best thing that happened to their family since he 'died.' It's not her call, and it's not like he deserves to know, either. He gave up that right when he chose to fake his death.

Brennan waits for her to finish her sentence, expecting a string of words to pour more salt into the wound.

"You don't really realize everything you've given up," Mira says ominously, standing across from her brother, no longer pointing fingers or looking to argue. Mira is tired. It's been a long day.

"Will you hate me forever?" Brennan asks her.

Mira smiles sadly, "I don't hate you, Brennan. I love you, but this hurt more than you can imagine."

Brennan opens his mouth to apologize once more, but a knock on the door interrupts him.

"Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh, a word?" One of the Aretian soldiers asks. Brennan nods, telling him to wait outside.

"I hope you know I really am sorry. I hope we can work through this because I missed my best friend." With that, he steps outside the room, Xaden following him.

Brennan is sorry, but he doesn't regret it. It was a sacrifice he had to make. He's hopeful Mira will come around and understand his intentions were good.

"You didn't tell him," Violet speaks softly, glancing at the closed door.

"Neither did you," Mira rolls her eyes, leaning back against a desk, "Not like it matters, he'll find out very soon."

"What do you mean?" Violet asks instantly.

"Because she's coming here," Mira says, playing with a paperweight, "Mom convinced her it's for the best, but she had to go get Benny before coming."

Lilith Sorrengail gave the riders a choice. They could stay in Navarre or join the rebellion. You chose to stay with her, not because you believed in Navarre but because you owed Lilith a lot. She deserved to have someone in her corner. So, it came as a surprise when she insisted on you joining Mira.

"How do you think he'll take it?"

"I'm not worried about Brennan. I'm worried she'll lose her shit and make Calliss eat Brennan," Mira responds with a smile at the imagery she's made up in her head.

"He'd deserve it," Violet laughs, knowing Calliss won't eat Brennan. "On the bright side, I'm excited to see the little bugger."

Little Bennett and Violet share a close relationship. Violet looked after him constantly, and Benny became attached to his aunt. She missed him most when she left for Basgiath.

"You can't be his favorite forever," Mira chimes, determined to take the title from her sister.

Violet laughs, and Mira joins her. It's crazy to think their family will be together soon. That is, if you don't murder Brennan first.

oop were getting closer to readers reunion with brennan! ain't that exciting! for the next one i think i'm bringing it back to when brennan and reader were in basgiath. i want to talk a bit about her signet so yes!

let me know in the comments or in my asks if there's a specific bit between them you'd like to see! i don't know if this is dragging for you guys, i personally love it but if you'd like me to just write them meeting up then let me know too.

tag list (if you'd like to added to future parts let me know!) : @berry-marys @cherubinn7 @ladynyx91 @kylaisra @detectivehailey @liahaslosthermind @thebreadisthetruevillian @bbkissme99 @honethatty12 @sunny1616 @akshstudios @yadirrez @xoxomoonlightbabe @jaynawayna @littlepippilongstocking @itsmytimetoodream @honethatty12 @poseidont @lveegsoi @cheappremingerfromdelululand @tattee-18 @bxm-2121 @hannahjsworld @holb32 @hannah-schooler

[bodhiscurls]

put a little love on me. ( bodhi durran )

after a surprise attack on bodhi, being jumped by four cadets you're the first person he runs to. or alternatively, fire signet reader using her hands as a diffuser after she washes his curls.

pairing: bodhi durran x fem! reader

themes: fluff mainly, mentions of blood.

a soft thud lands at your door.

it's not strong enough to be a knock which alarms you. nobody you know has any reason to be at your door and the one person who does can just walk right through the wards. you knot your brows in confusion and turn the handle, a body immediately collapsing into yours.

"bodhi?" your heart stops as you catch his tired frame before he does more damage and hits the stone floor. his breath is hot on your skin as he lets out a groan, hand clutching his side. "bodhi?" you whisper again, "come on babe we gotta get you up," and you make a plan to move him to the bed.

he's heavy and so warm, the sweat trickling from his brows and down to the sides of your neck. by the time you've sat him upright, you're heaving for air.

"you're okay right?" he makes out through a wince. he lets go of the side of his ribs he's been clutching since he landed at the door and reaches for your hands, looking to your gaze. you stand above him and the muscles in neck ache to reach up but he does it to meet your worried eyes.

"i'm fine," you stress, "what the fuck happened to you?" and he lets out a sigh of relief, shoving his head into your stomach to relieve the pressure. your fingers find his hair and you tug at the strands, blood still wet flattening his usual bounce of curls and you pull back.

at the withdraw of your touch he opens his eyes again, "some asshole cadets jumped me on my way back," and he fights to stand up. your hands immediately go to his shoulders and plant him back down onto your soft sheets with a quiet but forceful shush. the warning in your eyes is scary enough to make him comply immediately and he relaxes at the sight of you being safe.

it takes you a second to let realisation hit and when it does your heart splits open in to. he didn't head straight for the healers, he came straight here for you. he assessed and asked how you were even as he was collapsing in your embrace.

"i thought they would've tried coming for you too," he lets out softly, fingers itching to cradle your face gently and you lean into his touch.

"where are they now?" you ask in the quiet of your bedroom.

"dead," he hangs his head low but there's no ounce of regret in his being. he did what he had to do to survive and you more than anyone knew that living at this hellhole was a constant matter of survival. "don't know who they are though," he says after a moment.

"i guess we'll find out tomorrow when they meet the death scroll," you run your fingers up and down his arm and he shivers at the touch. "come on big boy, let's get you cleaned up."

bodhi's regained some little strength to lift himself off the bed but you still are slung under his arms, shifting his weight as you both paddle in the direction of your bathroom. he takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub and slowly you peel each layer of clothing off him until he's laid bare.

"fuck," you swear softly.

usually it's said in adoration, in disbelief and absolute love for the man infront of you. only tonight, the feelings are still there but its overshadowed with worry and fear.

"maybe we should get you to a healer," your fearful eyes meets his and he shakes his head softly. you guess he doesn't want to make a fuss, he doesn't want it to be known that he'd been attacked in case it'd fuel further questions about his abilities and strength. as a marked one, you would always be targeted and bodhi durran had accepted his fate as being at risk. he'd still punish those who crossed him with death but it was just part of life.

the blue and purple hues are splattered across his body. there must have been a good few of them to damage this wide and this quickly to him. your eyes land on a gash to his side- the ribs he was clutching earlier and you wet a small towel with some water and hold it to his side as a compress. you're razor focused on his skin, maintaining immediate injuries and calming the fury inside of you at tonight's events.

he places a hand over your own, enveloping you in warmth. "really," he promises, "you should've seen the other guys," he weakly jokes and immediately silences himself when he doesn't find you laughing with him. a scold at the tip of your tongue ready to burn him.

you grab hold of his hand to take over as a compress and make your way around him to start filling up the tap. the sounds of water rushing takes over the angry silence between the two of you, and he wonders what he could possibly say to lighten the load off your shoulders. your hands sink into pool of water forming- a small sizzle before the water heats to a perfect temperature.

"get in,"' you look at him.

"yes ma'am," he holds out his hand for you take and lead him in, and multiple groans leave his mouth as soon as his flesh meets the warmth of the basin.

"fuck me," his muscles relax.

"maybe tomorrow after dinner if you're still alive by then,"' you return and hand him a washcloth. he makes work of it quickly, scrubbing down his body and softening the remenants of blood. his body tenses with pain after a few moments and you take the cloth from him, carrying on into the spots he's missed till hes all clean. he's leaned back into the tub and you refill clean hot water into it.

"yn," he mutters softly.

"yes my love," you're round the back of the tub and bodhi hates that he's hardly gotten to see you face to face tonight but he's thankful more than anything that you're here by his side. you work your way with some shampoo into his roots and he knocks his head back, relishing in your touch.

"please keep doing that," he lets another moan slip from his lips and you massage his head gently. when the rush of water runs through turning clear from the reddish brown splotches, you are satisfied and start with conditioner. you massage and scrunch his hair, tugging at his roots and the spots you know he loves and he enjoys every moment of this. next comes a blend of cream into his hair and you're gentle when you detangle, curling each strand around your fingertips till they drop down onto his forehead. the inky silkiness shining in the dark of your bathroom.

"almost done," you breathe and he nods lightly, finding himself drifting to sleep. your hands heat up with another sizzle and you gently cup each of his curls, taking the time to make sure his hair is dried at a temperature that doesn't burn his scalp.

soft snores envelope the air and a small smile breaks into your lips. you could've lost him tonight. instead of going straight to a healer and safety, he ran to you out of concern for your wellbeing. even as death knocked on his door, you were his first priority and your heart swells.

a tear slips from your eye from the love embodied infront of you and you fight back a sniffle, distracting yourself in hopes the sleeping soldier will stay resting.

your hands heat up with another sizzle and they find the back of his neck and into the muscles at back tracing all the skin thats burned into your memory and he shifts slightly.

"bodhi darling," your voice trickles, heavy with emotion.

"hmm," he stirrs.

"we need to get up my love," and you have the towel ready for him to step into. he complains and groans, wanting to say in the warm slumber for a moment longer but you rest your hand on his.

"come on baby, just a couple more steps and you can sleep as long as you can," you coach. he complies silently, and wraps himself into the towel. you guide him back to the bedroom and sit him back on the bed.

"i'll be back in a moment, just gotta grab some clothes," you press a kiss to his warm forehead. he whines and tugs you back into his grasp and holds you steady as you stand between his legs.

"stay," he mumbles against your skin.

"i will," you promise, "we just have to get you changed." he nuzzles into you and you sigh, weaving your fingers back through his freshly washed hair. it's intimate and seeing him so relaxed, so off guard is special to you knowing you're the only one who's allowed to see this version of him.

the version that carries no burdens only a boyish charm.

"i'll be right back baby," you promise and he nods sleepily. you race to the dresser to find some clothes he's left here last and return within milliseconds. you help him dress and tuck him into the covers, climbing in next to him.

"you're so toasty," he presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. and you thank the universe for your gift of a signet.

"i'm glad you're okay," your words tug a smile onto his face and he draws you closer till theres no air left between the two of you. "i don't know what i'd do without you," your breath catches in your throat.

he looks up lazily but theres earnest swimming in those brown eyes. "you don't have to," he swears, "because nothing on this earth can keep me from you."

note: don't ask me how there's a war but you have shampoo conditioner curl cream gel and some oil. there just is!

[partoffantasy]

Tension and Takedowns (Part 1) - Garrick Tavis

⸻ image credits to scribe.jesinia ⸻

summary: when her friends suggest she find someone to release her tension, reader finds herself watching Garrick spar, and her friends waste no time teasing her about it. But when she’s forced to face Garrick in the ring, the heat between them intensifies.

pairing: garrick tavis x fem!reader warnings: tension, sparring word count: 1.9k

Part 2: Click here

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The air in the training gym was thick with the scent of sweat and the sound of bodies colliding. The grunts of effort and the sharp cracks of fists meeting flesh filled the space, the sound barely dampened by the padded floors. Cadets sparred all around, all of them desperately preparing for the upcoming challenges. After all, it was common knowledge that few would live to see graduation. Why hold back when tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed?

Y/N wasn’t holding back, but she was distracted. Liam’s fist shot out, and she barely dodged in time, feeling the breeze of it against her cheek. “Seriously?” he huffed, stepping back to reset. “You’re usually quicker than that.” “Yeah, well, I have a lot on my mind,” Y/N muttered, wiping sweat from her brow before falling back into a fighting stance.

Nearby, Violet was locked in a match with Rhiannon, their movements fast and fluid. Rhi had Violet pinned for a moment before Vi twisted, using her smaller frame to slip out of the hold and retaliate with a swift jab to Rhi’s ribs. The two grinned at each other, neither gaining the upper hand for long. Sawyer, Ridoc, and the rest of their group stood at the edge of the mat, taking a break from their own sparring sessions. It didn’t take long for the teasing to start.

“I swear, the two of you are wound tighter than a crossbow,” Ridoc said, nodding at Y/N and Violet. “You know, there’s a simple solution to all that tension.” Sawyer laughed. “Yeah, it’s called getting laid.” Y/N rolled her eyes, shifting to block Liam’s next strike. “Oh, really? Is that all it takes?” Violet snorted but didn’t look away from her match. “They’re just mad we have standards.”

“You’re acting like you have options.” Ridoc ducked as Y/N threw a training dagger in his direction, barely missing his shoulder. “Woah, woah! I’m just saying, it’s a war college! You’re supposed to—” “Supposed to what?” Y/N cut in, leveling him with a glare. “Hook up with some guy who probably won’t be alive next week? Great plan, Ridoc.”

Liam chuckled, shaking his head. “You could at least have some fun before you die.” Violet sighed, finally pinning Rhiannon to the mat. “Right, because random, meaningless sex is going to solve all our problems.” “Maybe not all of them,” Rhi admitted, breathless, “but it’d definitely help with some.” Before Y/N could retort, movement on the far side of the gym caught her attention. She wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Xaden and Garrick had stepped onto the training mat, their shirts already discarded, muscles flexing under the glow of the lights. The conversation died instantly. Violet, still sitting on Rhi, tilted her head. “Well. That’s distracting.” Y/N swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of the heat pooling low in her stomach. Rhi, looking equally entranced, muttered, “Think they’d let us join?”

Liam and Ridoc exchanged glances before smirking. “You know, Garrick doesn’t have a girl,” Liam pointed out. “Maybe you should try your luck, Y/N.” Y/N barely heard him. Her eyes were locked on Garrick, her mouth suddenly dry. His body was carved muscle, broad shoulders tapering down to a firm waist, his tanned skin glistening under the training room lights. The sharp angles of his jawline were softened slightly by a hint of stubble, and when he moved, the powerful ripple of his back made her stomach tighten. He wasn’t just attractive—he was devastatingly, unfairly gorgeous.

Her pulse quickened as her mind wandered, imagining the feel of those rough, calloused hands gripping her waist, the press of his body against hers. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to look away, but it was useless. Ridoc let out a low whistle. "Damn, Y/N, if you stare any harder, you might set him on fire." "Or melt into a puddle right where you stand," Sawyer added with a smirk. "Honestly, at this point, I don’t even know why you’re fighting it."

Rhi, still sprawled on the mat beneath Violet, raised a brow. "Yeah, Y/N, you’re always talking about high standards, but Garrick? That’s about as high as they come." Liam snickered. "You should probably stop pretending you’re not interested before we all start taking bets on how long it’ll take you to crack." Y/N scowled, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. "You’re all insufferable." "We’re just speaking the truth," Ridoc shot back, grinning. "Now go shoot your shot before someone else does." Maybe she should.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

A few days had passed since the gym incident, but Y/N still hadn’t quite shaken the way Garrick looked when he fought—or how her friends wouldn’t shut up about it. Unfortunately for her, things were about to get a lot worse. Xaden stood before their squad, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “You all fight like reckless children,” he said flatly, scanning the group. “It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long.”

“We’re first-years,” Ridoc muttered under his breath. Xaden’s sharp glare cut his protest short. “No excuse. You’re in Flame Section, and you’re flying with us, which means you need to be better. Garrick is going to make sure of that, since he is the best fighter in the quadrant.” At his name, Garrick stepped forward, arms loose at his sides, but his presence was impossible to ignore. Y/N kept her expression neutral even as her stomach twisted.

He let his gaze sweep over them before speaking. “I don’t care if you think you can fight. You’re going to be better by the time I’m done with you.” A collective groan rose from the squad, but Y/N barely heard it. She was too busy cursing whatever gods had decided to play with her fate.

Training started immediately. Garrick moved through them, correcting form, adjusting stances, and calling out weaknesses with brutal honesty. He was a firm but fair instructor, and his reputation as the best fighter was evident in the way he carried himself. Y/N had done her best to avoid being singled out—until the moment she felt his eyes on her. “You’re up,” Garrick said, his voice smooth but commanding.

Y/N swallowed hard and stepped onto the mat. “Against who?” A slow smirk spread across his lips. “Me.” She barely had time to register those words before he moved. Y/N dodged the first strike by instinct, stepping back quickly, but Garrick was relentless. He pushed forward, his movements fluid and controlled, forcing her to defend rather than attack. Every shift of his body was measured, precise, like he already knew how she would respond before she did.

“Come on, Y/N,” he murmured, circling her. “You’re faster than this.” Heat curled in her stomach at the way he said her name—low, teasing, confident. She grit her teeth and refocused, lashing out with a calculated strike. He blocked it effortlessly, catching her wrist in a firm grip and twisting just enough to throw her off balance. She stumbled, and before she could recover, he used her own momentum to spin her. The next thing she knew, her back was against his chest, his arms locked around her in an unbreakable hold.

Her breath caught. The air between them felt thick. He wasn’t holding her tightly—just enough that she could feel the solid muscle against her back, the heat radiating from his skin. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she knew he could feel it. “Getting distracted?” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. Y/N clenched her jaw, trying to shove down the shiver that ran through her. “Not in the slightest.”

His chuckle was dark and knowing. “Liar.” She twisted sharply, trying to break free, but he anticipated it, spinning her again until she was pinned beneath him on the mat. His weight was braced above her, close enough that she could see every detail of his face—the way his hazel eyes burned with challenge, the smirk that played at the corner of his lips.

Neither of them moved. The world around them faded, the sounds of sparring and training dulling into the background. It was just them, breathing in the same heated space, locked in a fight that had nothing to do with physical strength anymore. Garrick’s gaze flickered to her lips before meeting her eyes again. “You going to surrender?” Y/N’s heart pounded. She knew he was talking about the fight. Knew he was waiting for her to say she gave up.

But there was something else in his eyes, something that made her wonder if he wasn’t asking about something much bigger. Her fingers curled against the mat. “Not a chance,” she whispered. Garrick’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with something almost wicked. He left her on the ground. Instead of stepping away, he shifted his stance again, rolling his shoulders like he was getting comfortable.

“Good,” he drawled. “Because I’m not done with you yet.” Before she could react, he lunged. Y/N barely dodged, twisting away from his reach, her pulse hammering as she forced herself to move, to focus. He was fast—too fast—but she refused to make it easy for him. She countered with a sharp kick, but he caught her ankle effortlessly, twisting just enough to send her staggering back.

She caught herself, breathing hard. “Cocky bastard.” He grinned. “You’re just now figuring that out?” Y/N growled and went on the attack again, throwing a series of strikes that he blocked with frustrating ease. He was toying with her, letting her get close before slipping just out of reach, every movement done to frustrate her.

“Come on, Y/N,” he taunted, dodging another punch. “You’re holding back.” “I’m trying not to break your nose.” “How considerate,” he mused, sidestepping her next strike and catching her wrist. “But I can take it.” She yanked free, heart pounding, but before she could fully regain her stance, he moved again. A well-placed sweep sent her sprawling, and in a blink, he was on her again, pinning her wrists to the mat, his weight caging her in. After a moment of silence and heavy breathing, Garrick pushed off of Y/N and held her hand towards her.

Y/N took a breath, forcing herself to ignore the lingering heat between them as she took it. His grip was strong, steady, and as he pulled her to her feet, he leaned in just slightly, his voice barely above a murmur. “Good.” She barely had time to process that before he shifted into a fighting stance again. Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “We’re going again?” His smirk was all challenge. “Unless you’re ready to admit I’ve won.”

Like hell. She launched at him without warning, but Garrick was ready. He dodged her strike smoothly, grabbing her wrist and twisting just enough to send her off balance again. This time, she caught herself before he could take her down completely. They circled each other, breaths quick, movements sharper now, the tension between them only growing with each strike and counter. Every time she tried to gain the upper hand, he turned it back on her, forcing her to push harder, fight smarter.

The fight dragged on, sweat dampening her skin, her muscles burning—but she refused to stop, refused to let him have the satisfaction of winning so easily. Then, in one fluid motion, he caught her again, spinning her so her back was against his chest just like before. His lips brushed close to her ear. “Still pretending you’re not interested?”

Y/N froze. Her stomach flipped violently as realization slammed into her. He knew. He had known all along—about the gym, about the things she and her friends had said. Heat crawled up her neck, but before she could recover, he was already stepping away, leaving her standing there, breathless and exposed.

Part 2: Click here

[yeosin-n]

unhinged swap on my mind lately hehe o)-( !!!

I wrote out a bit of headcanons for cadet a while back that I’ll just,,,

Likes to play baseball

Likes tacos (not the crunchy kind) with lots of lime

Swapped but .. is still judge…??

He acts like hes not strong and fails at becoming part of royal guard to keep up a facade

Sometimes his mask slips but it’s ok bc no one will believe you <3

Very tolerant most times bc he has his own way to vent…?

Sans doesn't work on machine maybe?

Hands too full so pap does all the nerd stuff instead

Sans goes around helping ppl with chores or whatever, talking to them

Helps keep their hopes up

Hes cheerful outside but once hes home, he deflates

He has to keep other people happy but theres no one to help make him happy ):

Pretends he cant cook

A lot of things about him is a facade

Maybe he likes that ppl try so hard to pretend to like his cooking? He thinks its funny

Makes him a little happier, sees it as a little harmless payment for making everybody else happy all the time

Observant

Doesn't know too much about timelines and resets but pap would talk to him about it ?

Snowdin fight would be with sans if pacifist/neutral (fake fight, for the facade) and with pap if geno (pap asking you to stop)

You still go on date with pap

Doesn't actually want to meet or catch a human

Lets them get away on purpose and is kind of pushing them onto pap.

Sans is tired.

Sometimes he disappears to nap

Needs to recharge after being so extroverted all the time

Sans would often scold pap for not going outside enough

Like he would also want to stay inside all day but that’s not good for your health

Drags pap along so he gets some air from time to time

Sans’ room is tidy enough

Bed and exercise equipment

No need to have a facade at home

Uses pap as an excuse to not have ppl over

[musouie]

── .✦ 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐘

précis. levi washes your burdens away

contents: fluff, angst, non-sexual nudity, suggestive, reader and levi in a situationship, canon!au, comfort, afab!reader, 1.5kwc

When you return from a gruelling mission, bloodied and bruised, your knuckles bearing the scars of war, Levi does two things:

The first comes as if on instinct, a mere reflex, spewed from his lips without a thought and tumbling before he can stop it. “You smell like shit, soldier.” The comment is uttered evenly, void of any real bite, and closely followed by a sigh. A ragged, bone-weary, half-hearted thing that deflates his frame in a way being in the Underground never could.

And for some reason, it all makes you feel warm.

Perhaps it’s the way he says it, or perhaps it’s the way he chooses not to say anything else. Regardless, you take it and cradle it between your fingers, peel back the multitude of layers and recognise it for what it is: affection (dressed in barbed wire, one with spikes that have begun to wear.) 

The second, however, is something different altogether. This one feels like something that came from inside Levi, something that he had kept bottled up and sheltered, something that only you got a glimpse of. (It was often he gave you these glimpses of himself. None coherent or related to the last. You think you are finally beginning to put him together, to piece the enigmaticness of him —

— but then he turns and walks away.)

He glances at you over his shoulder, motioning with his chin for you to follow him, lips pulling into a line as yours tremble. 

(The puzzle pieces scatter, make a mess of themselves.) 

And with a part of you burning with curiosity and defeat, the other aflame with desperation, you find yourself following. You always do, ever the curious. “It’s in your blood,” he whispered to you one night, voice a muted wisp as you lay against his bare chest, damp and warm and clutching him close.

(He didn’t talk a lot — never talked a lot — when you were in his arms. It’s how you learnt to listen. Sometimes his admissions would come spilling, like those times where he’d drink just enough to get drunk. Or when he’d come back from a particularly hard mission, weary to his bones, his walls finally crumbling as he’d lie upon you —

— he would tell you everything. From his darkest desires, his brightest memories, his dreams, to his nightmares. All filled with you and you and you and you.)

When you make it to his quarters, sectioned off from the rest of the cadets’, you bite your lip and enter hesitantly, hands clenched into trembling fists by your sides, itching to reach out, itching to —

The door falls shut with a click that reverberates through you, bordering on deafening. You nearly miss what comes after. 

Nearly. 

“Strip.”

There is no teasing in his tone, no hint of endearment that, by now, you know only comes to the surface for you, and only if no one else is around to witness it. His back remains to you, and you are, momentarily, left blinking, stunned at the abruptness of the command.

You do not speak; neither does he.

Time presses you, moving relentlessly, budging when you don’t. It doesn’t stop at his request, nor does it hitch to indulge you. And his patience runs thin.

“Strip,” he repeats, turning to shoot you a withering glare. But his eyes are all wrong. Soft around the edges. 

A second of holding his gaze is all it takes for you to lower your own, bottom lip seeking comfort between your teeth. You swallow before peeling back a layer: gear. 

Then another, harder to remove than the first: your jacket; followed by your blouse (shredded around the edges, bearing holes in places it never used to, snarling rips running along the seams.)

They slip from your shoulders and pool behind you, the wood below creaking as you take a step forward, tugging your trousers by their cuffs, slipping a finger beneath the waistband before pushing them lower down your legs; boots discarded carelessly to the side.

He hisses at the mess.

When your eyes snap to his at the sound, he looks down between your legs pointedly, thin brow arching until you swallow around the lump in your throat. 

(Nothing has to be said; the silence is enough —

— it’s always enough.)

Bending at the knee and dragging air sharply through flared nostrils, you slip your underwear lower down your legs, working quickly with trembling fingers that could likely use a steadying hand (except you are alone, and his remain glued to the wooden railing behind him. Steady. Stable. As reliable as the rhythm with which he rises and falls on the swing of his blade.)

It trails down, following the movements of your hips, spreading open once they curve in the slightest, only to come together and tangle about your ankles.

“Everything,” he mutters, and you stare at the floorboards, toes curling within your socks, fidgeting nervously beneath his steady gaze.

Heat rises on the back of your neck, splotchy, uneven. Lingering until your body curls in an awkward shape — in an attempt to conceal your bits — and you pluck your socks off, followed by your cotton panties.

And —

— you’re bare before him. 

(You always are.)

“Come now,” he says gently.

(His eyes, however, burn.)

One small step becomes two, which transition into three, and suddenly, you are halfway there. Five strides until —

“To the tub,” he instructs, barely a whisper; barely anything at all, “before the water gets cold.”

You oblige until you slip into the porcelain of it, its temperature almost perfect as you melt into the water. Floating — drifting — lost to the tides. If the sight is enough to please him, however, Levi does not show it. His demeanour remains much the same: eerily calm, collected. Cautiously removed.

It persists as he strides, unhurried, towards you, grasping a washcloth from the tub’s rim and lathering it with soap. A fragrance so delicate wafts through the air — peony, lavender and a hint of vanilla — a fragrance so him, surrounding and enclosing on you until it threatens to seize your very lungs.

(The smell of death may cling to the backs of your teeth, or perhaps beneath your fingernails, buried too deep to dig out. But his tenderness washes it all away.

Now, you’ve made the water dirty. Filled it with grime.)

“Your arm, soldier.”

You robotically surrender it, offering the limb over the lip of the tub, palm facing up in supplication. In reverence.

His thin lips turn down as he inspects it, turns it over and clicks his tongue upon finding a bruise. Clicks again when he discovers a scratch.

The nudge comes as he soaps the inside of your wrist with soothing circular motions; spreading until it trickles up the valley of your forearm, leaving blossoms of white froth in its path. From the valley it divides into two, branching into streams that run parallel as they part ways around your bicep, clinging to the dips and curves of you.

“How do you feel?” He asks without meeting your gaze, focused, wholly, on massaging the inside of your elbow.

“Tired.”

It’s all you can give.

It’s as honest as it is ambiguous, laden with all the heaviness bearing down on your shoulders, dragging you down to the deepest depths of the waters, swallowing you.

But Levi nods, accepts it.

He brings the washcloth to your neck, following the swooping lines of your collarbones, the undersides of your jaw, its grooves. Your shoulders bear the marks of his touch, soon followed by the plains of your chest.

You’re so focused on watching his movements as he trails the cloth over you — from collarbone to shoulder, shoulder to the valley between your breasts — that you nearly miss what comes next.

“I...I’m glad you’re alright, soldier,” he mutters, a slip so sudden and small.

Like the flush tingeing his cheeks and the way it runs up his neck, or the furrow of his brow and the line between, ever prominent.

“I —” your voice, weak in its own right, nearly dies. Strangled in a web of muted hope. You shake yourself loose of its hold, “thank you, captain.”

The expression he flashes you is one of pain, or perhaps disappointment.

He doesn’t acknowledge your gratitude, only nods and drops his gaze to the nape of your neck, tracing the lines there with his gaze. A touch so soft and wistful it could never leave an imprint, doesn’t even burn.

And yet it does. Your chest feels ablaze, your flesh singed.

And it sears more as he brings the cloth to your face, cleaning your chin carefully, swiping away the flakes of blood from the jut of your cheekbones, beneath the curvature of your nose, the expanse of your eyelids.

This, too, is something intimate, has your heart stuttering and your breath stalling, has your face flaring with the heat only shame can bear, but no less welcoming than the rest of his careful ministrations.

From your forehead to the space behind your ear, an exuberance of bliss settles between your ribs. Latching on with pointed fingers that threaten to rip. It could hardly be called anything less.

You shudder out a long exhale as you relax back against the rim, the pads of his fingers trailing beneath your brows, brushing over your lids, again, and again, and again. Until your skin glides with ease, wet and soapy and clean.

The touch lingers. It lingers.

Until he goes still, and the cloth goes with him.

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐢𝐞 © 2024 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. it is prohibited to reproduce, distribute, or transmit my works in any form or by any means! ﾉ masterlist

[pathologicalreid]

for the fear of falling apart | part three

when it seems like a return to normalcy is impossible, you decide that something has to give, but will it bend or will it break?

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue

series masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: angst content warnings: fear of drowning, therapy, mommy and daddy issues, sigmund freud, nightmares and ptsd, sleep deprivation, takes place during 15x4 "saturday" (max does not exist in this au), stalkers, yelling, police, domestic disturbance, broken dishes, severe self image issues, crying, implies that jj is sometimes not the greatest friend, marriage and marriage counseling, mentions the death of grace lynch, the chameleon arc, reader and spencer are both broken people sry. things get resolved (or do they?) word count: 5.13k a/n: i'm trying to come to terms with the fact that people will not like how this part goes, but i do think it's important to remember that this is not where it ends. it's probably easy to guess what episode I'm rewriting next. lol. let me know your thoughts and feelings because i am dying to know.

“Are you glad to be back at work?” Your therapist asked you, writing down your personal information on the form on her clipboard before she met your stare.

Chewing impatiently on the inside of your lip, you glanced over to the clock that was hung above the door, dooming you to another forty-five minutes with Dr. Harmon. “Yes, I love desk duty,” you told her, flashing a fake smile in her direction.

The older woman looked at you doubtfully, and you silently begged for her to sign your return to duty forms. “I thought we spoke about using sarcasm as a coping mechanism,” she responded in a way that made you feel chastised.

You raised your eyebrows at her, gray hair neatly combed into a tight bun, you had spent more time with your therapist for the past two months than you had any of your family – the rest of your time was spent retraining your body, usually within the limitations of your doctor’s orders. “And I thought we talked about there being worse coping mechanisms that I could be using,” you countered, leaning back in her chair.

She shrugged helplessly, “Well, I’m not sure about signing your release forms. You could be a liability in the field.”

Eyes widening, you tilted your head to the side, “No, no, no, I’ve grown a new appreciation for the desk workers in the BAU. I even stopped laughing when people refer to Agent Anderson as Grunt Anderson,” you informed her, nodding as if that would help convince her of your honesty.

Checking off a box on your form, she set the clipboard on her side table, just out of your view. Taking a deep breath, Dr. Harmon leaned forward and folded her hands over her knee, “Have you spoken to your sister since the last time I saw you?”

You leaned your head back, staring at the tiles of the ceiling as any hope of returning to the field left your body.

One of your very first dates with Spencer had been at the Academy’s shooting range, you had a lucky spot there, it was where you had aced your qualification as a cadet, and it was pure luck that it had been available when you arrived.

As your paper target was brought forward, you slipped off your headphones and set your weapon down, studying the results as you chewed on your bottom lip nervously.

“Hey,” Spencer said from behind you, casually leaning against the wall behind you.

You jumped slightly as the sound of his voice took you away from your anxiety, “Hey,” you echoed, holstering your weapon as you sent your target back for someone to change it out.

“I thought you were going to come to the BAU after therapy,” he explained, arms crossed in front of his chest in his charcoal suit, camouflaging himself with the steely gray of the shooting range.

Pursing your lips, you made sure you had your phone in your pocket before grabbing your bag, “I wanted to get some practice in before my requalification test.”

He looked surprised for a moment, “Did your therapist sign your return to duty?”

“No,” you muttered, knowing that you wouldn’t be eligible to take your firearms requalification until after you had been cleared by a psychiatrist.

Any surprise quickly left his face, “What did she say, then?”

You rolled your eyes, “She told me that it’s possible that my strained relationship with my parents is negatively affecting my performance in my sessions. Then she threw a Freud biography at my head.”

“Did you talk to her about the nightmares?” He asked, following you as you checked out of the shooting range, waving to a gaggle of cadets as they noticed the BAU agents in their general vicinity.

Faltering as you opened the door, you flung the glass door open and trudged out of it, “I have it under control,” you lied through your teeth, continuing your way to the elevator.

The tapping of Spencer’s shoes signified that he was following you, holding his hand over the sensor while you stepped in and using his knuckle to press the parking garage button, “You were up all night last night,” he retorted, “She could help you develop a coping mechanism that works for you so that you can get some rest, angel.”

You were getting tired of those words, “Well, maybe we’ll reach a breakthrough next week. You never know.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Being so unamenable,” he accused.

Shaking your head as you stepped out of the elevator, you hoisted your bag back over your shoulder, “Is unamenable genius-speak for pain in the ass?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is,” he retorted, swiping the keys out of your hands before unlocking the car and getting in the driver’s seat. You had been cleared to drive weeks ago, but Spencer still insisted on driving you.

You groaned, “My recent brush with death has made it difficult for me to let bygones be bygones.”

Pulling out of the parking spot, he carefully placed both of his hands on the steering wheel, “And here I thought we were actually going to move on with our lives.”

“No one holds a grudge like a youngest child,” you informed him, leaning your head against the window and wishing you had driven separately.

Being at home wasn’t much better than being at Quantico. You quickly changed and settled yourself on the couch while Spencer sat across from you, legs crossed in the wingback chair as he finished filling in a crossword book that you had started that morning.

You watched the clock tick, the diffused orange light of the sunset beamed through the curtains, and you felt yourself settle. Stiff joints and aching muscles unwound on the supple leather of the couch, and as you let your eyes fall shut, you felt the breeze of someone walking by before Spencer stopped in front of you.

Gently, he draped a knit blanket over you, tucking you in before crouching and dropping a gentle kiss to your temple.

Y/N is down, she’s been hit. We need an ambulance now.

I know, I’m sorry, I know it hurts.

It’s okay. I’ve got you.

“Honey, wake up.”

You startled awake on the couch, wadding up the blanket in your fists as your eyes adjusted to the dim environment of the apartment. The sun had set, dipping below the skyline as you stared ahead.

Concerned brown eyes bore into you as you caught your breath, Spencer reached over and flicked on the table lamp next to you, “You’re alright,” he cooed, gently enough to make you want to cry. “It was just a bad dream,” he told you, cupping your cheek and studying your expression.

Nodding absently, you pulled yourself into a sitting position, the familiar knit blanket falling in a puddle around your waist. “I was in the parking garage again,” you preemptively answered his next question. You were usually in the parking garage, sometimes you were on the beach, and once you had been fully underwater.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Spencer asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

You shook your head and ignored the defeated look on Spencer’s face, instead burying your face in your hands and taking a few deep breaths.

He waited for a moment before speaking again, reaching out and adjusting the bunched-up fabric of your t-shirt, “Are you hungry? I made soup.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, crossing your arms in front of your stomach, afraid it would start growling at the mention of food.

As you watched Spencer get up and walk over to the kitchen, you let yourself feel like everything was alright for the slightest moment. You wanted your apartment to be your safe space where there were no serial killers or sisters or hospitals, but there was a classified file on the kitchen table, photos of you and your sister littered the walls, and there was an entire drawer in the home office dedicated to your hospital stay.

Melding into the couch cushions, you ignored the stiffness in your side, the scars that marred your skin were healed over, but the memory would stick with you for a lifetime. It felt like a phantom pain, irritating your skin whenever you thought too much about it, or whenever your therapist asked you about Grace Lynch.

It didn’t bring you a lot of comfort to know that she was dead, murdered by her own father after conning her ex-girlfriend into giving her money. Everett Lynch was the threat now, and you were stuck on the bench.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you rested your cheek on your knee as Spencer ladled soup into a bowl and presented it to you, complete with a few ice cubes to cool it down. He waltzed back into the kitchen to clean up when his phone rang.

You ignored his conversation while you stirred the ice cubes around in your bowl, the soft clinking of them mesmerizing your tired brain. You ate while he spoke on the phone, mentioning something about a case. Pushing any thoughts of serial killers away, you just ate your soup.

Sipping at the broth, you grew curious about what was going on over the phone, but you tried to mind your business, scooping at the last noodles in the bowl before setting it down on the coffee table.

“Who was that?” You asked, eyes following Spencer as he walked back over to the living room, slipping his phone in his pocket as he sat next to you on the couch.

He paused for a moment, and you immediately regretted asking, “Uh, it was JJ.”

You supposed it had to mean something that he elected to tell you the truth instead of lying to you, but you were no longer feeling optimistic, “Ah.”

“Don’t start,” he said immediately.

You turned to him, raising your eyebrows curiously and pushing yourself into the corner of the couch – away from him, “Start what, Spencer?”

Spencer put his hands up, “Picking a fight with me over JJ’s feelings. JJ, Tara, Luke, and Penelope are working on a stalker case, it’s nothing that we need to worry about.”

“I’m not going to pick a fight with you, I already told you that I forgive you,” you told him, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He groaned in frustration, “You can say it all you want, but you haven’t. You haven’t forgiven me.”

As he usually was, Spencer was right, you hadn’t forgiven him for lying to you about what had happened between him and JJ. You wanted to. You wanted to find it in yourself to be the bigger person and just tell him it was fine. All you wanted was to move on, but you were crashing into roadblock after roadblock. “Are you going to work that case?”

“No, it’s a classic stalking case, they’ll make it without me,” he said, turning on the couch to face you.

You swallowed thickly, “You can go if you’d rather be there,” you reassured him, wondering if he’d be happier at work than at home with you. Someone needed to make a decision, someone needed to decide whether or not the two of you were going to keep going or if you were going to call it off. You didn’t want it to be you, you were afraid of which option you might choose.

Spencer frowned, “Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I’m not,” you answered.

“Yes, yes you are,” he challenged, leaning forward to get a better look at you.

Shaking your head, you threw your hands up in surrender, “You don’t have to go. You can stay here. You live here. Who the fuck am I to tell you to leave?”

“And now you’re escalating the situation,” he observed, straightening up and watching you carefully.

You didn’t consider yourself an angry person. The two of you didn’t fight often, but as you considered your options, you wondered if it could help. Maybe you could replicate the feeling of a good cry. Maybe all you need is a good fight. Just talk it out – loudly. “I’m not escalating anything. I’m not starting anything. In case you haven’t noticed, this has been going on for months.”

He had noticed, he could probably give you an exact date and time to point out when everything fell apart. Was it inside the pawn shop? Was it in the courtyard outside of Rossi’s wedding? “I thought we had made some real progress at the hospital,” he challenged.

Getting up from the couch, you took a deep breath and tossed the blanket over the back, “You cannot seriously think that. You’re too smart to believe that, Spencer. The idea that we fixed everything while I was hopped up on Xanax and painkillers. It’s… it’s…” you stumbled over your words for a moment. It’s crazy. You wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t do that to him. Spencer had spent his whole life having that word thrown at his mother, and he spent adulthood fearing he’d have a schizophrenic break. “It’s outlandish,” you finally finished.

Spencer looked up at you from the couch, “Is it outlandish to think that the history we have together would help mend our relationship?”

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t know, Spencer, let’s take a look at your history with my sister,” you snapped.

“Oh, come on,” he protested.

“No,” you commanded, “Sit down and shut up. I’ve spent months waiting for you to get it, but apparently, I need to spell it out for you.”

To your surprise, he listened, watching you in silence as you took a deep breath, picked up your soup bowl, and brought it into the kitchen. Your heartbeat pounded like thunder in your ears.

Standing in front of him, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “I want you to empathize with me.” You calculated every word you said, “We’ve known each other for nine years. We’ve been together for seven, and I- I had the rug pulled out from under me. God, you went on a date with my sister. You took her to a football game as a hater of organized sports. My beautiful, prom queen, soccer star, gem of the family older sister.”

“It wasn’t a date, Penelope went with us,” Spencer added patiently.

You peered down at him, “When you asked her to go with you, did you do it with the intention that you would be taking her on a date?”

His shoulders slackened, “Yeah,” he answered softly.

“And you know that she loves you. If you went to her right now and told her you wanted to be with her, that there’s a chance she’d consider it. She’d at least have to think about it,” you told him, confidence dissipating as your hands started to tremble and you silently begged yourself not to cry.

Spencer watched you suspiciously, “What gave you the impression that I want to be with her instead of you?”

You faltered, just for a moment, “Why wouldn’t you want to be with her?” You asked exasperatedly, letting your arms fall limply at your sides.

Pinching his eyebrows together, your boyfriend looked at you like you had grown a third eye, “She’s married? Her kids are my godchildren?”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you cursed yourself as tears stung your eyes, “Are those seriously the only reasons you can think of?” With all the brain power you knew he had, you couldn’t help but be disappointed.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, “Putting aside the fact that I’d be destroying a marriage, not because it doesn’t matter, but because being with your sister isn’t even something I’d consider. This might not have occurred to you, but I have absolutely no interest in being with someone other than you!”

You huffed, “Please, she’s beautiful and athletic and older and you’ve known her for fifteen years!” You shouted over your shoulder, making your way back to the kitchen. There wasn’t anything you needed from in there, you just needed to keep moving.

“But she’s not you!” He yelled from the couch, finally getting up and following you to the kitchen.

Spinning around on your heel, you threw your arms in the air, “God, I know!” You swung your arms down, accidentally sending the bowl you had set on the counter down to the floor, breaking on impact. “Shit,” you muttered, immediately dropping to a crouch and starting to pick up the ceramic shards.

“Hey, wait, let me get it,” Spencer insisted, grabbing a kitchen towel from the drawer before laying it on the floor. He carefully picked up the larger shards, waving your hands away.

You clenched your hands and glared at him with bleary eyes, “Why? Why am I not allowed to clean up the mess that I made?”

Spencer sighed, “You’re crying. I don’t want you to get hurt because you can’t see well,” he told you, prompting you to sit back on the tile and watch him continue to pick up.

You crisscrossed your legs and watched him, “I’m sorry for yelling,” you whispered, so quietly that you weren’t even sure he had heard you.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Spencer gathered up the kitchen towel and set it on the counter, setting his hands on the counter and taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry for raising my voice,” he echoed your sentiments. He moved to the hall closet to get out the broom, interrupted by a knock on the door.

Confused, you poked your head over the counter and watched as Spencer opened the front door.

“Good evening, officer,” he greeted, casting a sidelong glance over at you.

Fuck.

You scrambled to your feet, careful not to step on any pieces of the bowl that remained on the floor and wiping beneath your eyes as you made your way to the door, peeking around the corner to find two DC Metro officers. “Agent Jareau?” One of the officers said curiously.

“Hi,” you waved timidly, looking between the two of them with your tail between your legs.

He looked surprised at the revelation of who lived here, recognizing you from a case you had consulted on months ago. “We were called here on a report of a domestic disturbance, your neighbor in said she heard ‘a lot of yelling before there was a crash and then everything went quiet’.”

The summation of events did nothing to slow your racing heart, “We had uh… we were having a disagreement, and I knocked over a bowl. It was an accident,” you reassured the officer, reaching out and taking Spencer’s hand as a sign of good faith.

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking at you expectantly.

You nodded in confirmation, “I’m really sorry about any inconvenience, but I promise there’s nothing to worry about.”

The DC Metro officers studied Spencer suspiciously, and you protectively moved in front of him. They were trained to see the worst-case scenario, but there was nothing happening here, “Well then, just uh… try to keep it down, I suppose.”

The two of you waved as they walked away, once the door was closed, you turned to face Spencer, “Are you alright?”

He looked a little pale, “I’m alright,” he nodded, gathering himself before going back to the hall closet. “That was weird,” he added.

Spencer’s interaction with police officers was limited to work with the bureau and his time in prison. He never had to explain an underage drunk person in the car or run when a party got too rowdy, but he wasn’t concerned with the confrontation, he was concerned that, for a moment, before you got there, those officers saw Spencer as a violent person. You stayed put, watching him sweep up the last of the bowl and take care of the sharp pieces with a keen eye.

“I’d never hurt you,” Spencer said softly, unnecessarily explaining to you.

You nodded, “I know. You’re not like that, baby. You’re not a violent person.” In fact, you had only seen Spencer aggressively violent one time in your life, and that was when his mother’s life was on the line. Stepping over to him, you lifted yourself so that you were sitting on the kitchen counter, meeting his eyes.

“She is not you,” he murmured, reaching out and taking both of your hands in his.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, your shoulders slumped ever so slightly, “I am well aware,” you offered.

He took a deep breath, “JJ would never ask me to recite Henry James to her or offer to go to the planetarium with me even after we spent all day on a case or sit through one of my lectures just to hear me talk about something I’m passionate about,” he began. "I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation about something I’m passionate about with your sister. Not one where she didn’t interrupt me or pawn me off on somebody else,” he told you, disconnecting one of your hands to wipe new tears from your cheeks.

“I- I’m not…” you breathed, overwhelmed as he sang your praises.

“I know you compare yourself to her,” he cut you off, “it’s normal for you to compare yourself to your older sister. I just didn’t know how lowly you thought of yourself until all of this was dug up.”

Frowning, you cocked your head to the side, “I do not compare myself to her,” you remarked.

He hummed in response, “It wasn’t up for debate. I’m not interested in your sister. I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship with anyone except for you. I am sorry that I never told you about the football game, but by the time you joined the team, six years had passed, and I didn’t think it was pertinent to tell you that your sister had rejected me. That is entirely on me, and I can’t change it. I can, however, spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.”

Your breathing hitched, and the ghost of a potential proposal once again floated through the air, it made your heart ache. “One of these days you’re going to have to actually ask me to marry you,” you whispered, not sure how much longer you’d be able to sit and wait while he neglected to act upon his words.

“What do you want right now?” Spencer asked, studying your facial expression.

You have spent three months being mad at him, and you had to believe it all came down to tonight. Neither of you could keep going with things the way they were. “I’m not sure,” you answered.

Patiently, Spencer inquired, “Do you want to break up?”

If you told him you hadn’t thought about it, you’d be lying. It broke your heart to think about ending things with him, to think that six years together didn’t mean something to the both of you. Spencer had never given any inclination that he was interested in anyone else, so maybe he should’ve told you about the football game, but you shouldn't have let your insecurities block any attempt at reconciliation. “No,” you responded truthfully.

He had tried, too. The one-sided conversations he had with floral bouquets, taking time off of work to help you while you recovered, and he had even limited his contact with your sister. “Do you want to go to couple’s therapy?”

You had heard through the grapevine that your sister was trying marriage counseling with Will, something about working on their communication skills. With that in mind, you nodded, “We can try it out.”

“Do you know what you want?” He asked, settling a hand on your thigh.

Through the sheer curtains, you looked outside, “I want to go,” you informed him, hopping off of the kitchen counter and to your shared bedroom, pulling on a pair of socks.

Confused, Spencer followed you around the apartment, “Wait. Where are we going?”

“I’m going,” you said simply.

He looked surprised at this, “It’s the middle of the night in the twenty-second largest city in the country, you’re not going out alone.”

You paused for a moment at his concern, watching the defeated look on his face morph into one of relief when you responded, “Then put your shoes on,” you encouraged.

As you waited by the door, mindful to not walk through the apartment with your shoes on, he stopped in your bedroom for a moment before coming back out and slipping his sneakers on. “Where are we going?”

Grabbing your keys off of the hook, you opened the door and held it for Spencer as he followed your lead. “You know at the start of Moby Dick when Ishmael says when he finds himself growing grim about the mouth and wanting to knock people’s hats off, he takes to the sea?”

He nods, taking the keys from your hand and locking the door behind him, glancing briefly at your neighbor’s door before handing your keys back to you, “I’m familiar,” he confirmed.

“Well, I’m feeling rather grim about the mouth,” you told him assuredly, slipping your keys into your pockets and slowly making your way down the hold staircase of your apartment building, listening for Spencer’s footsteps right behind you.

Even with your back turned, you knew his expression would be one of confusion, “So, you want to take to the sea?”

You quickly shook your head, the very last place you wanted to be was near a body of water in the middle of the night, “Not particularly, but maybe the park and some fresh air would do me some good.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he confirmed, stepping around you to hold the front door open so that you could walk outside, the cool night air stinging your face as you did.

Taking a deep breath, you looked at the night sky, the stars hidden through the city’s light pollution.

Upon reaching the park, which was just a small green space down the street from your apartment, Spencer led you to a cement bench, the two of you sitting down and sitting in silence. You welcomed the cold air filling your lungs, watching the fountain from a distance and admiring the way the headlights of a few passing cars reflected off of the water.

He kept a hand on your back, gently moving his hand up and down your spine as the two of you reveled in the startling nighttime peace. “I haven’t been fair to you,” you murmured nervously, looking over at him.

“None of this has been fair to anyone,” he reminded you.

You sighed, “JJ confessed her feelings, not the other way around, and I- I shouldn’t have held that against you for so long.” The admission came to you easily, holding your breath as you waited for him to agree.

Spencer’s silence worried you, but then he finally responded, “I probably would have done the same thing, but I don’t think it’s right for me to speculate how I would or wouldn’t have acted in your shoes.”

“I just… she’s always been perfect. The perfect daughter, the perfect wife, the perfect agent, and I’m… I’m just me,” you said helplessly, staring ahead at the fountain.

He took a deep breath, “You’re perfect to me.”

“Stop,” you chastised halfheartedly.

Chuckling, he placed his hand over yours, “I mean it. Sometimes perfection is about the final concoction and not about getting all of the steps right. You don’t need the perfect journey, and, to me, nothing proves that more than you.”

You hummed, “You’re sweet.”

 “For what it’s worth, I think, given the opportunity, you could be a perfect wife,” he said, nudging your leg with his knee, getting your head to snap to the side.

Jumping up from the bench, you smacked your hand over your mouth at the small black box that he had set on the stone surface. “What are you… what?” You asked breathlessly, looking behind you in the way people usually did when they were surprised, waiting to see if you were being pranked.

“It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring,” he reached down and snapped the box open, showing you the glimmering ring inside. “It can just be a promise because I am promising you right now, this is it for me. You are the only person I can see myself with, and I’m ready to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

Gaping at him, you looked between him and the ring before closing your mouth, “That sounds an awful lot like an engagement ring,” you told him, out of breath.

He nodded, “That’s because I want it to be.”

“Okay,” you answered.

“What?”

You giggled, he evidently hadn’t expected that answer, “Yes, Spencer.”

He stood up, tackling you in an embrace, “Thank goodness.” He said, relaxing into you as you returned his hug.

Over the past few months, you had been almost afraid of him asking you, worried that it would feel like an excuse. A band-aid over a bullet hole. But as you held each other tightly, all you felt was an overwhelming sense of right. This was where you were always meant to be. “Will you put it on me?”

He nodded slowly, sniffling as he pulled away from you, the warmth of his body leaving you as he nimbly took your left hand, slipping the ring on your fourth finger. The metal felt foreign on your skin, but you welcomed it nonetheless. “That has been sitting in my sock drawer for a year,” he admitted, placing both of his hands on your waist and meeting your eyes.

You beamed up at him, at both the revelation that he bought you a ring well before any of the trials and tribulations of the last few months and that he hid the ring in the one place you never touched – the seemingly bottomless abyss of unmated socks that Spencer called his sock drawer. “Thank you,” you breathed.

Spencer leaned his head down, hovering his lips just above your own, “For what, love?”

Blinking small tears out of your eyes, you answered, “For not giving up on us.”

He smiled, “Never,” he whispered before dropping his lips to yours, the intimacy of something as small as a kiss enough to bring butterflies to your stomach. “Do you want to go home? Or are you still feeling grim about the mouth?”

“Let’s go home, Spence,” you told him, pressing one last kiss to his lips before the two of you began the trek home, hand in hand.

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[laursdomain]

Due to all the Bodhi love going around, if it's not too much trouble, maybe the fw bf headcanon for Bodhi could be done

bodhi durran as your boyfriend...

pairing: bodhi durran x fem!reader

genre: fluff + smut

synopsis: sfw & nsfw headcanons for bodhi, our favorite soft tyrrish boy

warnings: 18+, smut, mdni

a/n: the grand finale for none other than my husband <3

ྀིbodhi durran masterlist

₊˚⊹ ᰔ

sfw 𐦍

Nicknames. Bodhi's favorite nickname for you by far is Princess. He is such a softie and is always so tender with you, and his nickname for you represents that. It also demonstrates how important you are to him, you are his number one priority. You are the number one person in his life, and there is nothing that can ever change that. It's worth it when he wakes up in the morning, cuddling you the entire night, lowering his lips to your ear and mumbling, "good morning, Princess."

Acts of Service. Bodhi loves doing little things for you. We know it's implied that he's the one who made the harness for Tairn & Andarna, so what's stopping him from making things for his significant other? Whenever your anniversary or birthday rolls around, expect a hand-made gift laying on your bed, expectantly waiting for you when you wake up. Out of all the gifts he's made you, which is a lot, your favorite is the leather bracelet he made for you, with both of your initials engraved on the inside. The bracelet was a gift given on a random day, simply because, "I wanted to."

Physical Touch. Bodhi loves having physical contact with you. Either it be holding hands, a hug from behind, or holding your thigh while in class--he loves the contact. He doesn't do it to be possessive or to tell people that you are his, but simply because he needs it. He craves your touch--it reassures and calms the storm raging in his head every time. No matter what is going on in his mind or life, as long as you hold him--he'll be perfectly fine.

Kisses. Kissing Bodhi is your favorite part of your day. In the morning, his kisses are soft and loving, his lips caressing your own as he greets you after cuddling you all night long. After he spars, rather than drinking his water, he settles on kissing you passionately, the touch of your lips is enough to refresh him. Days when he simply just needs you, his kisses are passionate and deep, making you want more once both your lips are swollen in the aftermath. Before you fall asleep, he's giving you a soft and sleepy kiss that's barely-there, but it still brings a sleepy smile on your face before you succumb to sleep while wrapped up in his arms.

Jealous. Unlike his cousin, Bodhi doesn't get jealous easily. It still manages to irritate him, but he knows that the man trying to hit on you should be more worried about you than Bodhi. You'll punch the man square in the nose, earning laughs and 'ooohs' from watching cadets, before stomping over to Bodhi and bringing his lips to yours for a bone-crushing kiss. It knocks the absolute air out of Bodhi, but those are his favorite kisses. The ones you initiate. Later in the night, in the solace of your shared room, he'll make it clear how irritated he was earlier.

Tyrrish. The foreign language is a second tongue to the marked ones, especially Bodhi. He'll constantly slip into the language when he's frustrated, muttering to himself, or simply when he's having a confidential conversation with Xaden or Garrick. Slowly, Bodhi starts to slip into the tongue around you, speaking Tyrrish to you when you two are cuddling or simply spending time together. Every time you question what he's saying or to teach you the language himself, he simply grins at you and goes back to what he was doing moments before. Garrick surpresses a knowing grin whenever he hears Bodhi say "I love you," in Tyrrish to you frequently throughout the day.

Priority. Similar to Garrick and Liam--Xaden is a firm believer that Violet is Bodhi's priority when the other three boys are not present. If Violet is in danger, Bodhi must be there. Every time his cousin says this, Bodhi fights the urge to roll his eyes. Yes, he loves Violet like a sister. Yes, he'll protect her in order to keep his cousin alive. But, the moment you are in danger or in harms way, he is abandoning Violet without a second thought to make sure you are okay. He knows how strong and fearless you are, but he can't help but be protective over the love of his life.

Protective. You are over-protective of your boyfriend. Rather than Bodhi being the overbearing protective boyfriend, it seems like the roles are reversed for you two. Anytime someone sends a judging look his way or is paired up with him in challenges, a simple glare from you is enough to ensure that they will not be harming your boyfriend in any way. Bodhi doesn't know this, but there are a handful of times you've glared or scolded at Xaden when he was too harsh with his younger cousin, making Bodhi question why his cousin is apologizing later that night. And when Bodhi's overthinking thoughts get the best of him? When he loses himself in the thought of being Xaden's shadow and his shadow only, you're right there, by his side, as you comfort him. You whisper sweet words into his ear, assuring he is so much more than Xaden's shadow. Eventually, he begins to believe your words, silently asking for you to cuddle him--which you gladly do, allowing him to lay his head on your chest as you lull him to sleep with the way you scratch his scalp.

𖤓 nsfw

Switch. Even though Bodhi is typically the dominant one in bed, he absolutely adores the sight of you above him, riding him until you both reach your highs. It turns him on even more when you swat his hands away when he attempts to help you ride him--wanting to do all of the work yourself. Especially on nights when you were the jealous one, he's gladly submitting to you and obeying you like the good boy he is. He craves the sight of your breasts bouncing above him, hands pressed against his chest as you brace youself, rolling your hips in a way that forces Bodhi's eyes to the back of his head. And when you lean down, kiss-swollen lips brushing his ear as you whisper, "you're such a good boy"? He's a goner.

Oral. This man is the king of oral. He loves simply going down on you, most of those nights he doesn't even allow you to pleasure him, or go inside of you with his cock. He loves worshipping your body with his mouth and hands, teasing you as he makes his descent down your body. The minute he begins sucking on your clit, you're a moaning mess, begging for his fingers or tongue. The sound of his laugh vibrates deliciously against your clit, releasing your clit with a pop before his tongue slides inside your hole, loving the way your moans get even louder. He'll purposefully bump his nose against your sensitive clit, giving it enough stimulation to bring you over the edge, giving you multiple orgasms before he relents, kissing back up your body and to your lips.

Jealousy. Like I said, this man never truly feels jealous, more-so irritated. Later in the night, he'll pin you against the door, sweeping you into his arms as you lock your legs around his waist. He'll litter hot kisses along your jawline, neck, and collarbone, purposefully leaving marks so nobody attempts to flirt with his Princess ever again. You expect him to take you to the bed and fuck you with his cock into oblivion, but he settles on taking you against the wall, the angle hitting your g-spot deliciously in a way no other position has before. Your entire neck is littered in bite marks and hickeys, no patch of skin left unmarked.

Positions. Bodhi typically likes having you against a piece of furniture or in missionary on the bed. Very rarely, he'll take you from behind, enjoying the way your ass slaps against his pelvis, gripping your hair to bring your back flush against his chest as he watches you fall into your high. As long as he can see your pretty little face, especially when you come, he's content.

Kinks. There's two things that Bodhi loves doing in bed with you. One, he loves wrapping his hand around your neck, especially when your neck is littered in fresh marks, slightly restricting your airway as you moan loudly, loving the way some of your air is restricted. You love the power and control play, the way he decides how much air you breathe in the moment. The minute he squeezes your neck, your gummy walls are squeezing around him, sending him into his high. Two, when he takes you from behind, he loves wrapping his hand around your hair, pulling it as he thrusts his cock in and out of your wet cunt. It doesn't hurt you--not until later, when you two have both finished--instead the pleasure of it is welcomed, sending you even closer to your orgasm. When you're a couple thrusts away from your orgasm, he pulls you completely flush against him, watching your face as it contorts when your orgasm rushes over you.

Tyrrish. One time, when you two were in bed together, he slipped into Tyrrish as he mumbled praises and words in your ear as he brought you both to your orgasm. Him speaking in his native language was enough to send you to your orgasm, and you absolutely loved it. You told him afterwards, and now, every time he fucks you with his cock, fingers, or tongue, or if you're the one going down on him--he's slipping into the language, worshipping and praising you with his words. Speaking in Tyrrish is simply enough to tease you, making you want to ravish him right then and there. The way his voice drops the slightest, becoming more husky and deeper makes your panties wet, unconsciously pressing your thighs together at your boyfriend's words.

Pillow Princess. Bodhi loves pleasuring you and only you. There are nights when you simply need him, loving the way he'll gently lay you against the pillows, caressing his lips all over your body. "Let me do all the work, Princess," he'll murmur, kissing your cheek afterwards as he descends down your body. The only thing he'll allow you to do is make pretty sounds with your mouth and play with his hair, two things he absolutely adores that you do whenever he makes you come. And when he comes up, ready to take you with his cock? He's interlocking your hands together, pressing them against the sheets as he slowly thrusts deep inside of you, coming with you once you reach your high.

Aftercare. Even if Bodhi is also spent, he'll never not do aftercare with you. His go-to is padding into the adjoining bathroom, filling the bathtub with warm water and lavender smelling-salts. He'll scoop you up in his arms, carrying you into the bathroom as he sets you inside the warm water before joining behind you. He'll start off by washing your hair, the feeling of his fingers expertly scratching the sweat and dirt out of your hair from sparring and flying earlier that day is comforting for you. He takes deliberate pleasure and care in washing your entire body, making sure to clean around your inner thighs and around your folds. Before you two get out, he'll place his hands on your shoulders, rubbing any knots and stiffness out of your muscles. You'll sigh out, leaning back against his firm chest as he slowly heals your body with his hands.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[freelancelobotomy]

.ೃ࿐ 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗼𝘀 [𝗦.𝗥]

!!! MINORS DNI !!! ✧.*Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader ⋆·˚ ༘ WC: 4k ༊*·˚Summary: Cadets at the top of their class at the FBI Training Academy, Reader and Spencer are both offered a position at the BAU as a Supervisory Special Agent. When only one of them can be picked for the job, things in their complicated relationship get extremely rocky. ✧.*CW: Smut, Flangst, SoftDom!Spencer, breeding!kink, arguing, kissing, grinding, afab reader descriptions, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it), slight overstimulation, praise, slight dumbification (good girl, sweet girl rigmarole), ⋆·˚ ༘ *A/N: oh hi there. First time writing smut wow. Parts 1, 2, and 3, to gravity are linked but this can definitely be read as a stand alone /prologue!

“I like it,” you said, running your fingers through Spencer’s hair. He’d stopped slicking it back—for the first time since you met him four months ago at the Academy. Your time at the program was coming to a close—three days and counting until it was over.

Not for you both. Or at least, that’s what you’d thought.

Spencer had promised you that he’d move back to Las Vegas. He said he’d been thinking about it for a while, since he wanted to live closer to his mother so he could visit more frequently, instead of writing her letters every day. His original plan was to stay in California after graduating from CalTech, but after falling head over heels for you, he’d firmly decided on Vegas.

“I don’t know how I feel about it. It’s a little boyish for my taste.”

“I think you look handsome,” you said, a smile creeping onto your face as you noticed his cheeks pinkening.

You two kissed for the first time about three and a half weeks ago. You’d been up late—two in the morning—arguing over Nietzsche, debating whether suffering and meaninglessness were the same thing. He’d said something that pissed you off. You don’t quite remember what it was because, honestly, you were too focused on his ochre eyes intensely gazing into yours and the exhausted yet enticing rasp in his voice. You leaned in and kissed him.

You’d kissed boys before, but it was nothing like this. And thank God it wasn’t.

You two had kissed a lot after that—like frisky high school kids who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. But you never had…the talk. The closest you ever got to discussing a relationship or how you really felt about each other was the conversation about him moving to Vegas.

He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Spencer Reid, Y/N Y/L/N, and Francesca Patterson, report to the courtyard, please,” a voice called from the speakers.

You, Spencer, and Frannie walked to the courtyard.

“Do you think we’re in trouble?” Frannie asked. She was your roommate at the Academy—a soft-spoken, non-confrontational girl who was three years your senior, just like most everyone else in the program. Except Spencer.

“I don’t think so,” Spencer said lowly. “This is something else.”

Once you approached the courtyard, all of you gawked at the legend standing in front of you: the esteemed BAU agent Jason Gideon. Spencer practically idolized him.

“Agent Gideon,” you said with a smile.

The Assistant Director of the Academy, Marvin Doute, cleared his throat. “Jason Gideon is here because he specifically requested to speak with each of you for your outstanding test scores and your displays of interest in joining the BAU.”

“You,” Agent Gideon said, looking directly at Spencer. “Spencer Reid. IQ of 187. Three doctorates as well. Tell me about that.”

“Uhm—I…” Spencer’s mouth opened for a moment, words failing him. “I uh… have an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute, and I have a BA in Psychology and Sociology, and PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering.” He grinned down at you, and you mirrored his expression.

“Hi. I’m Y/N Y/L/N. It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” you said, giddily.

Agent Gideon gave you a polite grin and a firm nod.

“I’m Frannie—Francesca,” your friend stuttered.

“All of you are friends?” Agent Gideon asked. He was taller than you expected.

“Yes,” you nodded. Spencer looked down at you.

“The word friend is common. The fact is rare,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

“Plato,” Spencer said. Gideon narrowed his eyes at him. Spencer’s lips pressed together into a flat line. “Phaedrus. One of his middle period works. While there was an earlier belief that it was one of his first dialogues, most scholars now agree it was composed around the same time as The Republic and Symposium.”

“Y/N,” Gideon said, switching his focus to you. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” you said, hesitantly.

“All of you are twenty-two and FBI cadets? That’s no small feat. Very impressive.”

“Actually, I’m twenty-five,” Francesca blurted.

“Well,” Gideon said, staring back at all of you a bit awkwardly, “you’re top of your classes academically. Still worth celebrating, don’t you think?”

“I’d like to take all of you to dinner. Have a conversation with the future of the FBI. A good friend of mine has a restaurant five minutes from here. Rented out the entire place just for us, so don’t miss it. Oste’s. 8 PM tonight. Look nice.”

Gideon walked away and continued talking to Doute as they left the courtyard.

The fan in your dorm blasted cool air onto your face as you slipped your heels on. You wanted to look classy. And mature. You’d styled your hair into a swoopy side part that would make Hollywood starlets envious, and slipped on a black mini dress that hugged you in all the right places.

Jason Gideon was a man, after all. You still needed to look good.

Spencer looked breathtaking—you can’t go wrong with a classic black and white tux. You and Spencer carpooled with Francesca to Oste’s. The dinner didn’t drag on, but it wasn’t brief either. It felt more like a circle jerk of Spencer and Gideon attempting to match wits. Every now and then you’d butt in, but Gideon’s focus on Spencer was persistent. Relentless. It wasn’t that he resented you or Frannie—he just recognized something in Spencer that required all of his attention. Maybe Spencer reminded him of himself.

But at the end of the night, you caught it.

When leaving Oste’s, Spencer had put his hand on the small of your back—and Gideon was watching. Again, moments later, you were chilly when you stepped out into the night air, and Spencer offered you his coat. You took it, but his fingers lingered as you accepted it.

Gideon was watching.

You thought you were reading too much into his strange behavior, until—

“Spencer,” he said.

Spencer’s head turned away from your direction toward Gideon.

“May I speak with you for just a moment?”

Frannie and you looked at each other.

We just lost the job.

Spencer briefly looked back at you, then walked with Gideon a little further down the block as you and Frannie waited for the valet to bring her car around.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom. This night blows,” Frannie said, returning inside the restaurant, muttering something about stupid Spencer and the patriarchy.

You were alone.

Spencer was just down the block. You could faintly hear them speaking in the still evening air.

“Do you love her?” Gideon’s voice asked. You turned away, pretending to be preoccupied with something in your purse, trying to look uninterested.

“Yes,” Spencer answered.

“Well then... it was nice meeting you, Spencer.”

“Are you lost, beautiful?” the valet woman asked as she pulled the car up next to you. You laughed at her theatrics.

“Depends. Who’s asking?” you said.

“Are you a cadet down at the Academy?” the woman asked. She was beautiful—tan, freckled skin, midnight-black hair, and piercing blue eyes. She was built, too.

“Yes, I am. How did you know?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“I used to be one. I can smell it on you,” she said.

“You think all cadets smell like Penhaligon’s? Now I know you have no idea what you’re talking about,” you grinned.

She laughed heartily.

“Your boyfriend down the street buy that for you?” she whispered, smirking.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said, shaking your head.

“If I was hunching someone with great legs like yours, we’d be on our honeymoon already,” she purred. “Gideon comes down here a lot, but he never brings trainees along. Must be an opening down in the wonderful world of the BAU.”

“Must be,” you said, staring down the block.

Gideon firmly shook Spencer’s hand, discreetly passing him something. You narrowed your eyes.

The woman shook her head. “When you’re done chasing smoke and mirrors, let me know when you’re ready for something a little more... tangible.”

She handed you a notepad with her number on it. She must’ve jotted it down while you were looking down the block. Her name: Saesha. She winked at you and then took her place back on the stool at the valet desk.

Gideon pulled off, honking as he drove past.

“Who was that?” Spencer asked.

“No one.”

You had deepened the kiss as the idea of Spencer consumed you. You had already missed him, even though you were perched on his lap. And even though he hadn’t technically gotten the job yet: you had a gut feeling that this would be the last week the two of you would spend together.  His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You moved your lips to his jaw, pressing kisses into his flushed skin, marking him as yours. You knew that no one had ever kissed him like this before, and the thought that you were his first for this brought a sense of peace and possession. You nipped at his skin, paying special attention to his pulse points, inhaling his scent. You knew that pheromones were a pseudoscientific myth, but the aroma of his cologne mixing with the ph of his skin was so intoxicating you could eat him alive.

You whined softly, needing him more than ever. It was just the two of you in his dorm, his roommate absent for a funeral and not due back until graduation. Spencer hissed, grabbing your hips harshly, sending a jolt of desire straight to your core. "Y/n," he groaned, "Wait—stop, stop, stop." You pulled your head back from his neck, your eyes searching his face. You felt his hardness underneath you and quickly jumped up from his lap, realizing you had been unintentionally grinding against him. Heat rushed to your face. "Oh my gosh!" you gasped, "I’m sorry—I didn’t realize that I—"

"No, you’re perfectly fine!" he assured, his cheeks flushed. "It’s just that I uh… didn’t want to finish before we even started—not that we have to get started or do anything at all. We could just—" You cut him off, reclaiming your spot on his lap and silencing him with a kiss. His hands roamed underneath your shirt, lightly scratching your back, sending shivers down your spine. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, his breath shaky. "Can I take this off?" he asked, his hands gripping the bottom of your dress. 

You nodded, your voice catching in your throat. "Mhm." You weren’t wearing a bra underneath, and his hands quickly found your breasts as he pressed a kiss to your jawline. "God, you're so beautiful," he whispered, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples, making you arch your back and moan shamelessly.

You rolled your hips against his thigh, seeking friction. "Spencer, please," you whined. 

"Use your words," he said breathlessly, pulling back to look into your eyes.

"Need you to fuck me," You slurred as your orgasm built. Spencer exhaled shakily, his eyes dark with desire. "Lie on your back, angel," he instructed. 

You complied, eager to be close to him again. Spencer gets undressed and your glands salivate as his dick springs free from his boxers. You’d never seen one before but he was pretty, pearlescent precum dripping from the head. He moved in between your legs, rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds. "So wet…’nd soft," he whispered, his eyes locked on your pussy. He slapped the head of his cock against your clit, making you whine with need.

He pushed into you slowly, his thick tip stretching you. You wince at the sudden intrusion. "I know. I’ll be gentle, pretty," he whispered, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. He took one of your hands into his, his thumb stroking your knuckles as he began to move. The feeling of him stretching you was slightly painful but dizzyingly good. The stingy pinprick-like sensation morphed into the type of overwhelming pleasure that made you shiver against him. You whined, and he buried his head into your shoulder, his hips moving in a steady rhythm. He pulled almost all the way out before thrusting back into you, eliciting a choked sob from you. Spencer’s face pulled away, his eyes snapping to yours. "Are you okay?" he asked softly. 

"More than okay," you whispered as he began to pick up the pace.

"Fuck honey you feel s’good," he slurred, pounding into you, the head of his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes your eyes glaze over. "Give me your legs," he said, and you immediately bent your knees, giving him better access. His hands found the back of your thighs, and he folded you in half, his hips returning to its snapping pace after positioning you into a mating press. "Good girl. Such a responsive listener," he rasped, his voice hoarse with effort. Your hips bucked to meet his, the coil in your stomach tightening as the lewd squelching of your cunt and his crass words sent you spiraling.

 You craned your head to watch him fuck you. Your slick coated your ass and his hips, the strings of the heady liquid connected by them. The sight of a creamy ring of your liquer collecting around the base of his cock made the walls of your pussy flutter around him, your eyes finding his half lidded gaze. His fawn curls falling into his face, his swollen kiss bitten lips formed an ‘o’ shape as he took in restricted gasps—God, he’s so pretty… the feeling of his dick stretching you so good knocked the breath from your lungs.

 "You’re so deep," you hiccuped as the head of his cock hit your G-spot over and over. Your whimpers ceased as your jaw dropped, and tears stung your eyes from the intense pleasure. You arched your back off the mattress, your arms wrapping around Spencer, scratching his back. He winced slightly, a smirk growing on his face as he realized how close you were. "You’re so cockdrunk," he breathed. "Can’t think about anything else, can you?" A bead of his sweat dripped from his chest onto yours, and you whined in response. . “Just me–” Squelch squelch “holding you down as you writhe against me while I fuck you bareback and–” moan “my cock filling you up, huh pretty?”

“S’ too much,” You sobbed as heat pooled in your abdomen. 

His gaze locked onto yours, and he cooed, "You can take it, sweet girl. Tell me what you want."

You felt emboldened, your body alive with need. "Need you to come inside me," you whimpered, your voice barely recognizable. Spencer’s hips stuttered, and he let out a breathy whine. 

"You can’t just say things like that, Y/n," he rasped, his voice strained. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him on, your heels digging into his back. "I... I’m not gonna last much longer," he panted, his baby hairs curling at his hairline from the sweat beading at his temple. "Pleaseee baby," you begged, tears welling up in your eyes. "I wan’ it so bad Spence. Please, baby, give it to me."

He groaned, his head finding the crook of your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "I fuck you once and you already want me to fill you up with my babies?" He teased, his hips bucking against yours, his voice a low hum. 

“I’ve always wanted to have your babies” You breathed.

"Your pussy feels so good," he whined, lifting his head to look at you, his eyes wild with desire. Fap fap fap "Oh God...y/n. I’m gonna give it to you, okay?" He groaned, his arms holding you closer as his resolve began to unravel. "I’m gonna get you pregnant," he mumbled, his words sending a shudder of anticipation through your body. It was all talk of course (you were on birth control and Spencer knew that) but something about it sent you reeling.

Your second orgasm consumed you, leaving you hot and trembling, your body clinging to Spencer like your life depended on it. You could feel every inch of him, every ridge, every vein all of it pulsing inside you, the weight of his body on yours, the sweat of his skin mixing with yours. It was overwhelming, and you loved every second of it. Spencer followed soon after, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth falling open as he buried himself deep inside you. "Take it," he moaned, his dick twitching as it kissed your cervix before spilling his seed into your pussy, flooding your womb. You could feel the heat of his cum, it leaking out of you around his cock, and it sent you into another spiral of pleasure.

"Spencer," you whimpered, your body sensitive and your legs shaking. His lips found yours, desperate and needy, his kiss swallowing your cries of pleasure.

Your chests heaved as you both huffed, your breaths ragged when he pulled away from the kiss. "I love you," he breathed, not realizing he had said it until the words were out. His eyebrows shot up, and the air around you both fell still.

You looked into his eyes, seeing your own feelings reflected back at you. "I...I love you too," you admitted, your voice soft but sure. 

A slow smile spread across his face, and he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice gentle. 

You nodded, your eyes welling up with tears of bittersweet happiness. "Yeah," you whispered. He smiled against your lips, kissing you softly before pulling back to look at you. 

"I meant it, you know," he said, his thumb brushing away a tear that escaped from your eye. "Every word. I love you, Y/n. I want this, with you. I want it all."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, a happiness that you had never known before. You smiled at him, your heart full. "I want it all too," you said, your voice steady and sure. He smiled back at you, his eyes shining with unshed tears. 

"Good," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you. You could feel his heart beating against your chest, steady and strong, and you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

The next morning, when you woke up, Spencer wasn’t asleep next to you. Instead, he was on the phone on the other side of the room.

“Morning. What time is it?” you asked.

“Good morning,” he said, covering the speaker of his phone. “It’s a quarter to one. I’m on the phone with Jason right now.”

Your stomach dropped. Why is he calling him right now? you thought. And since when did Spencer call him Jason?

By the time Spencer finished his phone call, you had already cleaned yourself up, combed your hair, wiped the runny mascara from beneath your eyes, and brushed your teeth. When you walked out of the bathroom and saw his face—he looked so happy. But then his expression devolved into something else: sorrow.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, approaching him from across the room.

“Jason—he… I got it. He offered me a position at the BAU,” he said quietly.

You knew it. You were sad that it wasn’t you, and you hated that. Be happy for Spencer, you told yourself.

“You did?” you gawked, forcing a smile onto your face, laughing giddily. “Spencer, that’s amazing!” You threw your arms around him.

He hugged you back—reluctantly. You looked up at him, searching his face for what you might’ve said wrong. Were you not convincing enough?

“You—” he sighed. “Y/N, don’t do this,” he said quietly, shaking his head and stepping back from you.

You were confused.

“Do… what? I don’t…” you asked, baffled.

“That was your dream job. You don’t have to be happy for me right now. I’m sorry. I wish you’d gotten it instead of me,” he said.

Your heart sank, and your chin began to wobble as tears stung your eyes. No no no no no don’t cry don’t cry. This is great. For Spencer. Celebrate Spencer.

“But I’m so proud of you—” you rasped out.

“But you want me to go back to Vegas with you,” he said, with a look in his eyes you had never seen before. What was it? Resentment? Vitriol?

You blinked back tears, hurt by his sudden shift in tone and the absence of warmth from the arms that had held you only moments ago.

“I mean, yeah. I love you, Spencer. You said that after the sixteen weeks were up, you’d fly back to Vegas with me so we could be togeth—” you sniffled, foolishly.

“Y/N, it’s the BAU,” he argued.

“You love the BAU more than you love me?” you asked, wounded. “Did you share a bed with Jason last night too?”

“So you slept with me to manipulate me into staying?” he asked, bluntly.

His words landed like a slap.

“How could you say that to me?” you whispered, your voice quiet—because if it had been a decibel louder, it would’ve cracked and you would’ve dissolved into tears. “I didn’t manipulate you into anything. Why would you say that?”

“I don’t understand why you can’t be happy for me—” he shouted, his voice firm and resolute.

“I was! I fucking tried! And now—you’re—you’re painting me as some ‘temptress master manipulator,’ and you’re mad at me!” you choked out.

“I’m not mad at you, we’re having a conversation.”

You nodded, the true reason for his personality switch dawning on you.

“You’re picking a fight with me because you want a reason to leave. You’re trying to justify choosing Jason over me,” you chuckled bitterly, pushing your hair out of your face. “What the fuck is your problem? I’ve never seen this side of you before. Just last night you told me that you loved me and now?—”

You stepped closer to him, looking down at your shoes, trying to hide the tears in your eyes.

“You’re my best friend, Spencer. Don’t be like this. Please. Tell me what’s really going on with you.”

“Best friend? You don’t know me, Y/N. Have you ever thought of that?” he said. “Maybe sixteen weeks—”

“Four months—” you corrected him, hurt.

“Sixteen weeks is all that we should’ve had together. Maybe this happened for a reason.”

“You’re breaking up with me? Because I was happy you got a job offer?”

“We’re not breaking up because we were never together. I don’t break up with my best friends.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” You took a step closer to him, your pointer finger pressing against his chest. “You’re so busy trying to get back at everyone who’s ever hurt you that you fuck over the only people who care about you.”

Spencer shook his head, forcing a bitter smile onto his face. “It’s too late to prove yourself as a profiler to Jason. Don’t try to prove yourself to me. If he’d picked you, it’d be a different story. You would’ve been on the earliest flight to Quantico. This morning.”

You wouldn’t have. He knew that you wouldn’t have, but he needed to tell himself that—so he could walk away from you. So he could leave you before you hurt him.

He put his hand on your shoulder as tears fell from your eyes.

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry. I love you, Y/N. I’m sorry that I couldn’t keep my promise about Vegas, and I’m sorry for getting upset at you for something that’s completely my fault. It’s not fair.” His hand moved to lovingly hold the side of your face. “Let’s just enjoy these last two days and—”

You shoved him hard before grabbing your stuff and heading for the door.

“Y/N—I didn’t mean any of it. Please! Just wait a second… I’m sorry—”

Smack. You slammed the door shut behind you as you left Spencer’s dorm. The door swung open just as you neared the elevator.

“Y/N. I’m sorry. Please, let’s talk about this.”

You turned after pressing the elevator button. Ding.

“Sixteen weeks, huh?” you said, stepping inside the elevator. You swiped your keycard to access the floor with the girls’ dorms and pressed the button to close the doors.

[angstywaifu]

My Everything - Garrick Tavis

Summary: In a heated argument post mission, Garrick says something he doesn't mean. And sadly his words end up becoming true.

Request by @ri56 Warnings: This does not have a happy ending. This fic has a character death. Do not read if this is something that might upset you.

Masterlist | Links

I never thought much about how it would feel to die or how I would die. Ironic seeing as my life was full of it. From the rebellion and watching my parents die, to becoming a cadet in the Rider’s Quadrant where death was almost a daily occurrence. And now as I lie here, screaming in pain I thought it would be different. But sacrificing myself for someone I love, I couldn’t think of a better way to go. I’d always protect those I love with everything I had. And this was my everything.

“Where is he?” Someone yells out. Imogen maybe? It sounded like her usual commanding tone.

”I don’t know!” Someone replies as they rush over.

I let out another scream of pain as my dragon cries out behind me. So quiet compared to how loud they usually were. I look up at them, watching how weak their breathing is. Watching as their chest shudders for breath. It won’t be long now. I can feel it. Feel how weak our bond is, feel how weak we both are.

’Where is she?” I hear a familiar voice call out. The voice of the one I’d protected.

From what I could tell they sounded ok. Good. Least they’d survived. Otherwise our move would have been for nothing. He needed to live. He was to valuable to loose. Xaden needed him.

”Over here!” Imogen calls out.

I look over to see her shoving cadets aside to clear the way. The cadets behind them parting as their large figure pushes through the crowd. Their eyes meet mine, the colour draining from their face as they take me in, leaning up against my dragon as I writher in pain. They rush over to me, no longer caring if someone is in their way as they nearly push a cadet to the ground in their effort to get to me.

He kneels next to me, pulling me into his lap as he cradles me in his arms. His hand coming up to hold my face. His hazel eyes are glossed over with tears waiting to spill over. But I know he’s holding them back for me. He doesn’t want me to see him cry. He probably feels like it’s his fault. That he jinxed it.

“What the hell were you doing?” He yells at me as he storms over to where Imogen and I stand.

Imogen rolls her eyes. “Good luck.” She says before walking off towards the kitchen.

I turn towards him, crossing my arms across my chest. “My job. That’s what I was doing.” I tell him sternly.

I wasn’t going to let him put me down for this. I’d been given an order, and I’d done it. And I’d been told to get it done by any means necessary. Which I had. Had it nearly cost me my life? Yes. Would I do it again? Yes. I’d gotten us valuable intel that Brennan and the assembly had needed. Intel that could change a lot for us.

”You could have died doing what you did. What were you thinking sending the rest of your squad away?” He snaps at me as he stops in front of me. His chest rising and falling rapidly, his face twisted into a scowl. Yeah. He was pissed.

”I was thinking I didn’t want to get them killed. Better to lose one person than six.” I snap back.

It was hard not to feel intimidated by him. With his height and build, anyone felt small. And when he was pissed, I felt fucking tiny. But I had done the right thing. And no one had gotten hurt.

”Your life isn’t worth risking over some intel.” He growls out, his hands forming into fists. Something he always did when trying to stop himself from lashing out too much.

”That intel could say hundreds of lives. So yes, it is worth it. And last I checked I am alive and well. And none of us got hurt. I fail to see what the issue is Lieutenant.”

He shakes his head at me, scoffing at my retort as he turns his head from me. “Well maybe you should have gotten hurt and died. Might have taught you a lesson.”

I watch as he turns and storms off back to Riorson House, not even sparing me a glance as he turns the corner.

”You’re going to be ok sweetheart.” He tells me, his voice shaking as his lip trembles ever so slightly.

I do my best to smile up at him, reaching up and placing my hand over his. “No I’m not. We both know I’m not.” I gasp out as another wave of pain washes over me, my hand flying out and grasping his flight jacket.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t hav-”

”Don’t.” I say, cutting him off. “This wasn’t your fault.”

He nods at me, the motion causing a tear to roll down his face, following the line of the scar he’d gotten at Resson earlier this year.

”Why? I could have handled it.” He tells me, his thumb caressing my cheek.

I shake my head. “You’re good Garrick. But you aren’t that good. A-and, he needs you. You’re too valuable. He needs you.”

”He’d make do. I’m not worth your life.” He tells me, his voice more shaky than it was before as he glances up at my dragon.

I haven’t got much time. The bond is silent now. My head feels so quiet and empty for the first time in three years. It feels…. weird. Like I’m missing part of myself. Because I am. My dragon is gone. Meaning I won’t long left.

”Y-you are.” I get out before I cry out in pain, Garrick’s arms tightening as he holds me closer to him as I start to fade.

My hand falls from where it grips his jacket, my head starting to go limp in his hand. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did.” He rushes out, knowing I don’t have much time left.

I force my eyes open as they start to flutter close. “It’s ok. I f-forgive you.” I get out with a small smile. “Love you Garrick.”

My eyes fall close as the darkness pulls me in. Feeling Garrick start to panic as I slip away in his arms. Barely registering as his lips press to mine before I fade away. I gave my everything for Garrick, and I don’t regret it.

[kotemf]

If soldier, why so buir shaped?

(You can find this on Ao3 too.) 

Fox was never particularly fond of cadets.

  During their training on Kamino, they were sometimes assigned to watch younger troopers and train with them. Fox hated those training sessions. Cadets were... they were tiny. Fragile. Fox always spend the session in fear of breaking their little bones. The cadets for their part were usually afraid of Fox. Fox didn't really know why. It certainly wasn't his face, the cadets liked the rest of his batchmates just fine and they loved Cody and Wolffe.

  Nat-born children tended to fear the clones, even if the Coruscant guard was there to help them, to protect them. They all learned not to take it personally, the armor probably did look rather intimidating to normal people and there were also loads of anti-war propaganda that usually antagonized clones because they were the ones who were fighting, it didn't matter to them that they only fought because they had to.

  So yes, Fox was quite surprised when a random Zabrak child ran up to him, hugged him and refused to let go. He looked around. There were no anxious parents looking for a lost kid.

  "Hey, what are you doing here all alone?" Fox tried his best to not look like a big, scary clone commander. He could tell his efforts weren't successful. In his defense, appear non-threatening in a full set of armor and a blaster strapped to your thigh was a pretty difficult task. The child didn't look scared of him, though. Quite the opposite.

  They didn't answer.

  "What's your name?" Fox tried instead. He wasn't good at guessing people's age but this child was at least five standard years old. Five years old nat-borns were old enough to know their name, right?

  The child muttered something Fox didn't quite catch.

  "Can you say it louder?"

  "I don't have a name."

  "You don't?" Now that was a situation Fox wasn't prepared for. As far as he knew, nat-borns were supposed to have names. According to everything he's ever read about nat-borns, parents usually named their child whie they were still a baby. They weren't like clones, who had to wait for when their batchmates picked them a name, usually based on something they did or something they liked.

  The little Zabrak nodded. After taking a closer look, Fox guessed they were most likely male but he wasn't certain.

  "Where are your parents?"

  "I don't know."

  "Alright. I will take you to my office now and we will find them."

  "No! I'm not supposed to find them."

  "What do you mean?" Nat-born children were supposed to love their parents, or at least Fox has always thought that. Because why wouldn't they? Nat-born parents weren't like the Kaminoans, emotionless and only caring about perfection. They weren't like the trainers, only trying to get the best results out of their trainees no matter what it cost. They weren't a genetic template who only wanted one son and money and didn't care about anyone else. No, parents were an entirely different thing. They loved their children, they protected their children and they provided for them. So why exactly wouldn't this nameless kid be supposed to find their parents?

  The child shrugged. "They left me here and told me not to follow them."

  Alright, that was weird. It almost sounded as if these parents wanted to get rid of their kid so they just left him alone on a random place on Coruscant? "Do you like your parents?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "They are mean."

  So apparently parents could be mean. Fox supposed he was going to have to work with that. "And why did you come to me?"

  "Because you feel kind."

  "What?"

  "You feel kind," the kid repeated themselves. Fox had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

  "Okay. Now we will go to my office and get you something to eat, what do you say?" Fox hoped he was doing this right. He had no idea how to talk to children.

  "Okay."

  Bringing a child into the Coruscant Guard's headquarters was a big deal, apparently. Fox didn't do anything more than sit the kid in his office and give him a glass of water and some of the priced treats Fox sometimes got from the nicer senators that he liked to give shinies and his comrades in particularly bad situations. The only other food available were ration bars and that was no food for a child.

  Not that the kid was in need. Ever since Fox brought him in, troopers have been coming into his office, bringing the child treats that Fox didn't really know where they got from, makeshift toys or just to take a look.

  "Aww, he's so tiny!" Thire cooed upon seeing the kid.

  "Told you he's a cute little thing."

  "Shut up, Thorn. It's not my fault I had senate duty and couldn't come to look at him sooner."

  Fox made a show of covering the kids ears. 'Shut up' wasn't by far the worst thing that the troopers said and Fox usually didn't mind but there was a child in the room!

  "I never would have guessed that marshal commander I have a stick up my ass Fox would become such a buir." Thorn grinned at him. He seriously had to stop swearing around the child or else. And Fox shouls also probably get rightfully offended to save his reputation of having, as Thorn put it, a stick up his ass.

  "So that's how you address your commanding officers?"

  "Apparently."

  "You know, senator Clovis requested a bodyguard to accompany him to a meeting with banking clan..."

  "No. Not Clovis. Please. I beg you." Thorn seemed terrified. Any trooper would. Senator Clovis was always rather awful to clones and he was so suspicious the Corries had a betting pool on when he openly defected to the Seppies. 

  "Maybe if you will kindly stop swearing in front of a child, I might consider looking further, even if you certainly have all the required skills."

  "Yeah, sure. Anything. Just not Clovis."

  Fox decided to take that as a promise. The kid didn't seem to get what was going on but he wasn't complaining. A darling really.

  It was a few hours later that the boy started to get bored. Fox tried entertaining him with a holo movie but that didn't work, the child felt the need to share what was going on the screen every minute or so. So Fox downloaded him a video game. That seemed to work. Until now.

  "Do you really have to work?"

  "Yes."

  "Why do you have to work so much?"

  "Because I have things that need to be done and I have a certain amount of time for each of them. Like this form that I'm filling right now, this one needs to be done today," Fox did his best to explain. In his humble opinion, he was getting pretty good at answering the kid's curious questions.

  "Oh... Okay. And will you play with me when you're done?"

  "I will have some more work then but we can play when I'm done, okay?"

  "Okay."

  The kid was clearly trying to be quiet. He wasn't very good at it. He was either kicking into Fox's desk, opening random drawers and then always sighing in disappointment when there was nothing but stacks of paper work, or quietly humming to himself. It was distracting but Fox let it slide. He remembered how difficult it was for him and his batchmates to stay silent when they were cadets. The only thing keeping them quiet was their fear of the Kaminoans and the trainers and he didn't want this sweet little thing to ever experience something like that.

  "Fox?"

  "Yes, kiddo?"

  "Will you get angry if I make things float?"

  "What?"

  "If I make things float," the boy repeated himself.

  Fox wondered for a bit if floating had any other meaning than, well, floating. He didn't think of anything so he just assumed it was some kind of a game. "Of course I won't get angry."

  The child beamed at him. Then the boy reached out with his hand and made the data pad Fox borrowed him float.

  And that's how the Coruscant Guard got their Jedi.