#but there is this other girl in her class

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist

part one - you find out your work crush is a dad and offer to watch his mischievous little girl so he can get some work done 5.2k

a/n - penelope is a little shit and i love her dearly, general warnings/tags here

── .✦

“Hey, sorry to bother you, Steve. I just had a quick question– but before I forget, there’s this little girl in the lobby knocking stuff over. Do you know if her parents are here?” 

“Fuck– sorry. One sec.” 

He brushes past you with an urgency that is typical of Steve. As the community outreach coordinator, he’s naturally a busy man. You haven’t known him long– just the couple of months since you became a volunteer for the local rec center– but it’s clear he’s dedicated to his work. Always zipping from one end of the building to the other, juggling class setups, organizing meetings, or hunting down the next thing that needs fixing. He tends to add more to his plate than he can carry, at least according to another staff member, which is why you’ve been assigned to help him. 

You strain to match his long strides and nearly take out a trash can when he turns a corner unexpectedly. But you can’t lose him now– someone is always nearby to steal him for paperwork or performance reviews and all you have is a quick question. 

The lobby unfortunately looks like a tornado blew through the front doors. Cabinets are thrown open, papers are scattered like leaves across the floor, and a chair has been toppled over. And said tornado has her cheek pressed to the vending machine glass, an arm twisted inside the dispenser box to reach for a loose pack of Skittles. The scene is almost amusing until you remember you’ll likely be the one to clean it up. 

“Penelope!” Steve scolds, not loud but stern enough to surprise you. He’s consistently an embodiment of gentleness– always accommodating and rarely assertive. And while he’s still gentle with her, his tone carries a weight and firmness that’s a stark departure from his usual demeanor. 

The girl, Penelope, retracts her arm and spins around to face Steve. And if it wasn’t for the shit-eating grin pinned to her face, you might’ve felt bad for getting her in trouble. 

Steve’s hands snap to his hips. “I asked you to wait in my office.” 

She shrugs, “Need a snack.”

Steve huffs and rakes a hand through his hair– a habit when he’s stressed, which is most of the time it seems. By the end of the day, his hairspray will have been combed out and Steve will argue with the strands that curl over his forehead. 

“You can have one after you clean this up and if you stay in my office.” 

“Candy?”

“No, no candy. There’s snacks in your lunchbox.” He bends to scoop up a few pamphlets to hand to her. “Or I have pretzels. Do you want that?”

She pinches a page between her nails, weighing her options. 

Steve pries tiny fingers off, “Don’t rip those. Put ‘em away please.” 

And she listens for maybe the first time ever, it seems, cramming a stack of them back on the shelf. 

You gather your own stack of handouts and press them into Steve’s sleeve. He recoils a step, his eyes widening before rapidly shutting in a moment of realization. “Sorry! You had a question- I’m sorry.” 

Penelope abandons her organizing to plant herself at Steve’s left like a sidekick– anything to get out of cleaning up. She gazes at you with a familiar pair of almond eyes and then it clicks. Her hair is the same shade of brown and her jaw, though softer, is square shaped like Steve’s. The resemblance is indisputable. 

You redirect your stare to answer Steve. “Um, yeah– I just needed to borrow the storage closet key to grab some more chairs.” 

“Oh, of course.” He pats the front pocket of his jeans. “Keys are in my office– I hope.” 

Steve marches past you once again, a new mission in mind, tugging Penelope by the wrist and toeing a cabinet shut on the way out. Penelope’s poor little legs must be tired if he always walks this fast. 

“I don’t want pretzels,” she eventually decides. 

“Then you can have what’s in your lunchbox.” He glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re in tow, “This is my daughter, Penelope, by the way.” 

“Nice to meet you, Penelope.” You wave, not that she sees. 

A braid sits high on her head, swinging like a horse's tail with each hurried step. Her faded denim overalls ride up slightly, exposing just enough ankle to show off the bubblegum pink Converse on her feet. She’s a cute little thing, button-eyed and puffy-cheeked like a cabbage patch kid. 

Steve nudges her with his hip, “Say hi.”

She throws you an impartial glance. “Hi.” 

When Steve’s office is in sight, Penelope wriggles away from his hold to sprint down the hall. On her tip-toes, she flicks on the light, letting the door slam in Steve’s face. You catch him rolling his eyes as he stops the door with his foot for you. Penelope is clambering onto his chair like it’s a race and pushing off the desk to spin as soon as she’s seated. Steve steers her out of the way to search the drawers, passing you a set of keys when he finds them. 

“Just bring ‘em back, please. Dottie found them in lost and found last week.” 

“Thanks, I will,” you promise, eyes falling over Penelope again. 

It’s your cue to leave, but your feet remain anchored to the floor. Your mind is buzzing with questions that neither of you have the time to discuss. The rational part of you knows you should exit before you let your curiosity win. Yet, you find yourself lingering in the doorway, stalling just long enough for Steve to lift an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

And before you can rule whether or not it's a good idea, you blurt out, “I can keep an eye on her if you want?” 

Penelope peaks over the back of the chair, perched on her knees so she can see. 

Steve shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. You’ve got stuff to do. And Penelope is going to be a better listener for the rest of the day, right?” He ruffles her hair, earning him a glare. 

You bite back a smile. It’s a funny thing, seeing that frown and furrowed brows that resemble Steve’s so clearly because you can’t imagine him making that face at anyone ever. It’s cute, even if it’s meant to be mean, but you would never tell her as much. 

“I really don’t mind. She could help me tape the flyers up– If she wants something to do?” You direct the last part at Penelope. To a kid, being trapped in their dad’s dusty old office is probably boredom purgatory. 

Penelope blinks at you and then Steve for permission. 

“You want to?” He asks.

She nods, then adds, “Snack too?” 

“Yes, honey.” He sighs, faint but deflated, burdened by the guilt of not feeding her sooner. Steve fishes her backpack out from under his desk. A vivid shade of pink with a Barbie patch sewn to the front. Her tin lunchbox is similarly themed and only harbors a bag of fruit snacks. 

“Fruit snacks or pretzels?” 

Penelope’s features pinch in a way that says neither but she snatches the fruit snacks anyway. Decidedly dismissed or over the conversation, she hops off the chair and sees herself out. 

You can’t help the smile that finds your lips as you turn back to Steve.

He chuckles, “It’s been a day. Bring her back if she doesn’t listen. Good luck.” 

Penelope leans against the wall outside, popping a gummy in her mouth lazily. 

“We’re gonna make a pitstop at the supply closet and then you can help me with the flyers.” 

She doesn’t say anything, but she follows as you start walking, and that’s all you need from her. She’s strangely silent for a kid, especially Steve’s kid. Conversation seems to come easy to him, he likes to talk, which is one of the reasons you still can’t believe you didn’t know he had a child. On your first day as a volunteer, he’d crammed that he was on the swim team in high school, that he's from Indiana, and that he prefers the warmer months all in one conversation– the guy is an open book.  

And you’re quiet too because you’re focused on recalling where they put that damned supply closet. The rec center halls all sort of look the same still, bleeding into one jumbled image of wood paneling and old carpet in your mind. The building is practically a maze; constructed in the fifties, it still carries its historic charm—stubborn doors, leaky faucets, and all—issues the city claims they 'can’t afford' to fix. 

Penelope must get tired of going in circles because eventually she tugs on your sleeve and points down the opposite hall you were planning on going. When she leads you right up to the door you beam at her. For a second, she forgets to be brooding and smiles back. 

“You’re a smart little cookie, Penelope. How’d you know it was here?” You ask, unlocking the door. 

She shrugs nonchalantly, “I just know things.”

You laugh loud enough to draw eyes from a nearby meeting and determine Penelope is the funniest kid you’ve ever met. 

She holds the door open at your request, munching on her fruit snacks as you maneuver a stack of chairs into the hall. You make it back to the classroom without her directions, not to toot your own horn. She tosses her empty wrapper in the trash as you unstack the chairs. 

“Here,” you pass her a roll of tape. “Rip some pieces off for me?” 

She nods, ambling over to the wall with you.  

“So, Penelope, how old are you?” You ask, pressing a flyer against the wallpaper. 

She debates, flipping fingers up and down on her free hand before concluding, “Four.” 

“Ohh, very cool. You’re almost ready to go to school with the big kids, huh?” 

“Yes, at the big school. I’m in pre-school.” 

“Mhmm. Do you like preschool?” 

She hums no and strains to tear off a piece. 

“Here, like this,” you demonstrate, pulling in the proper direction. She copies you, ripping a neat line. The corners of her lips raise as she views her handiwork. 

“You don’t like school?” You ask, peering down. 

She hands you the slice of tape. “Only sometimes.” 

“Why only sometimes?” 

She shrugs and heaves a hefty sigh for such little lungs. She’s too small to be sighing like that, you think, and she definitely acquired it from Steve. 

“I only like work sometimes too,” you admit. 

Her eyes chase yours– all innocently wide and filled with disbelief. She rips off another square of tape, “Are your friends not nice?” 

You consider her question, answering truthfully, “Well, maybe sometimes, I guess.” 

“Meg was not a kind friend today.” Her tone is hilariously chastizing for a child. Kids are just like mini adults sometimes– collecting random phrases and mannerisms like trading cards.  

“No? Why’s that?” 

“She wouldn’t share. Daddy always says sharing is caring.” 

“That’s true. Did you tell your teacher?” 

Penelope shakes her head, tilting on her heels.

“Why not?”

“Meg told the teacher on me because I wasn’t being a kind friend either.” 

“Oh. Why weren’t you being a kind friend?” 

“Because I wanted to play with the dolls too,” she mumbles, upset wavering in her voice. To a child, these seemingly trivial matters really do feel like the end of the world, so you can’t help but empathize, even as you wish your worries were confined to sharing toys.

You crouch in front of Penelope, “We still should be kind, hmm? Even when our friends don’t want to share?” 

Penelope’s unconvinced, picking at her nail like the dirt underneath is a more important issue. But you’re at the end of your stack of cardstock and it maybe isn’t your place to have this conversation anyway. 

You get her set up at a table with printer paper and a box of crayons from the closet. She dumps them out immediately, spraying rainbow across her paper so she can find the “bestest” colors.  

“I can share,” she declares, sliding her extra sheet over to your end of the table. 

“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.” You catch a crayon before it rolls onto the floor. “What should I draw?” 

“I’m coloring my family.” 

“That’s nice. I think I’ll draw a dinosaur.” 

“A dinosaur?” She cocks her head and giggles, bubbly and pure in the way that kids laugh. Your heart aches with happiness. “That’s silly!” 

“What? Why’s that silly?” 

She cackles like this is the funniest idea anyone’s ever had. “They just are!” 

“Hmm. Should I draw a serious dinosaur then?” 

“All dinosaurs are silly– Trevor says so.”

“What! Why does he think that?” 

Her words fuse into one smear of a sound as she shrugs, “I dunno.” 

“Well, my dinosaur is very serious. See?”

She presses into your arm to examine your quick sketch. “That’s not a dinosaur!” 

“It is! You can’t tell?” 

She nibbles on her lip, smile growing as she shakes her head. 

You pull the paper closer, as if a better angle might somehow improve it. “Hmm, I guess it does look a bit like an alien, doesn’t it?”

Penelope giggles and nods enthusiastically before returning to her work. Her crayon moves methodically across the paper, lips pressed together in concentration. After a long spell of silence, she kindly requests, “Can you draw a house?” 

“Of course,” you reply, “On my paper or yours?”

“Mine,” she says, her pointer finger tapping the corner of her sheet with emphasis.

The drawing is a riot of color, blending bold strokes of crayon to create two people and an animal. The taller, presumably Steve, is painted with orange and yellow hues– true to the the warmth he represents. Penelope, doused in cooler tones, carries their floppy-eared pet– a bunny or a dog, maybe? 

“Wow, Penelope! This is amazing!” You genuinely mean it; despite her young age, her talent shines through in little details like eyelashes and a set of heart-shaped earrings. “Is this you and Daddy?”

“Yes, and Cinderella!” she adds proudly.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you say, admiring her work. “Is Cinderella your pet?” 

She bobs her head animatedly. 

“Wow, she looks like a very pretty… animal in your drawing.” 

“She is a very pretty cat,” Penelope affirms and you are relieved not to have guessed incorrectly. She stares at you for a long moment. “Is Cinderella family?” 

“Well, does she live with you?”

Penelope scrunches her nose and tips her head, “Sort of?”

“She sort of lives with you?”

“Yeah. She lives outside mostly but sometimes I let her inside.” Her pitch fluctuates as she talks, the words lilting in a strange, almost sing-song cadence that kids do. 

“Ohh,” you smile. “Do you feed Cinderella?”

“Yes, Daddy buys her food in a can and it’s really stinky!” 

Penelope joins you when you laugh. Not because you are but because stinky things are just funny at her age. 

“Do you love Cinderella?” You ask. 

“Yes– except when she bites me.” She sobers quickly, forehead wrinkling. 

“Oh,” you chuckle, “Well, I think she’s family then.” 

“I think so too,” she states seriously, swapping a blue crayon for a green. 

“What color should the house be?” You claw through the rainbow spread.  

“White!” 

“Well, the paper’s already white but how ‘bout I outline the house in black so you know where it is?” 

“I guess so. There’s two windows and the door is red– Oh, and there are lots of flowers outside.” 

You nod, sketching her vision into existence. “Is this your house?” 

“Yes, and Daddy’s. And sometimes Cinderella’s.”

“Just you three? Is that your whole family?” Admittedly, it’s a self-indulgent question. You’re curious about Penelope’s mom. And you noticed Steve doesn’t wear a ring, checked multiple times in the last few weeks even. But that doesn’t refute the possibility he might be seeing someone. 

“Yes, Daddy and Cinderella is my family. Daddy says families come in all shapes and sizes.” 

You’re glowing with a fondness that’s impossible to hide– because everything about her is adorable– her chubby cheeks, her tinkling little laugh, even her attitude, though Steve would probably disagree with the latter. She’s different than Steve in a lot of ways: grumpier and more aloof, but, at her age, it’s cute. And still, she feels like his carbon copy. An echo of everything you’ve come to like about him. 

Him being a dad makes perfect sense in retrospect. To have overlooked such an important part of his life seems silly. A tenderness radiates from Steve, the kind only a parent could possess. He’s full of love– too much not to share. He pours lots into his work: late nights at the center, taking on more than he can chew, always with a smile. And the rest? It must go to Penelope. 

“Your dad is very right about that.” 

She smirks confidently, holding up her artwork, “I’m going to give this to him.”

“I bet he’ll love it so much, Penelope!” 

And his dad senses must be tingling at the mention of his name because his face appears in the door’s slim window not even a minute later. His lips curve into a grin as he realizes he’s been caught spying. 

The door clicks and Penelope turns. “Hi, Daddy.”  

“Hi, baby,” Steve strolls over to the opposite side of the table, “Are you being a good listener?” His attention flicks around the room, searching for any signs of misbehavior. 

Penelope shimmies up tall in her seat and nods until he meets her pleased gaze. 

Steve must believe the girl because he doesn’t press further, but you praise her anyway, “Very good. Penelope’s been an amazing helper this afternoon.” 

“Is that right?” He orbits the table to stand behind her. “What are you drawing, Nell?”

She flips over her paper, clapping the front against the table. “It’s a surprise!”

“Oh, sorry!” He paces back, redirecting his attention to you. “I didn’t see it.” 

Penelope twists around to confirm his eyes are elsewhere before proceeding to squeeze in a final set of details– grass blades and sun rays. “Here,” she thrusts the page into his hands. “For you.” 

“For me?” His face lights up like a Christmas tree before he’s even seen it. She could hand him a pebble, and he’d treasure it like a gem. And when his eyes do fan across the drawing, he melts. 

“This is so lovely!” He coos. “Where did you get all this talent from? This belongs in a museum, Nell!” He keeps his heart from bursting with a steady palm to his chest. And with his free hand, he flashes it at you just long enough to catch a glimpse before he reels it in to study some more. “And you got Cinderella’s stripes too. Wow.” 

He squats behind Penelope’s chair, throwing an arm around her middle, “Thank you for this. And thank you for being a good listener. That makes my heart very happy.” 

She slumps into his chest, peering up at the reflection of her own features. “Is it time to go?” 

His eyes leap to the clock hung on the opposite wall. “Couple more hours, babe.”

Penelope huffs. 

“I’m gonna hang this in my office. I love it so so much!” He sows a couple of kisses on her temple, straining to stand with achy knees. “You wanna come hang out with me or stay here?” 

She looks at you like you might object. “Here.” 

If Steve’s offended, he doesn’t show it. He’s still grinning like the Cheshire cat, high on the parenting win that is receiving willing affection from your child.  “That okay?” He asks you. 

“Of course. I’ll put her to work,” you reassure. 

“Good, keep her busy. It keeps her out of trouble.” He raises the drawing for another look. “I’ll be in my office, doing paperwork, yay.” 

You snicker, as he retraces the path he came. “Have fun with that boss!”

Just before the door slams shut, he yells back, equally playful, “I told you to stop calling me that!”

Penelope doodles some more, gifting you a vibrant rendition of the night sky– a collection of stars and circles and swirls. You’re so grateful you tell her it’ll go on your fridge, and it does as soon as you’re home. She sorts through toys and equipment in the gym closet and even holds your dustpan when you sweep. Her role as your helper is taken very seriously. 

The two hours pass faster than you expect. Time flies when you're having fun, as Steve would say. All his little phrases and cheesy jokes suddenly make sense in the context of him being a dad. 

She takes your hand on the way to Steve’s office, escorting you when you pretend not to know which direction it’s in. It’s as comforting as it is validating; winning the kindness and attention of four-year-olds, especially this one, is difficult. You knock on the wood frame even though the door’s propped open. 

Steve peaks up through a rare pair of reading glasses. Round, wireframes that match the golden shade his hair assumes when it catches the light. They highlight his eyes—warm and gentle as a summer breeze. But he swipes them off his nose, folding them with practiced care. 

A smile mends his frown as Penelope climbs into his lap. “Hi, sweetheart.” 

She wiggles into a comfortable position, nudging his chest until he reclines further to make space. “Hi.”

“Are you having fun?” Steve cradles her shin to keep her from slipping. “What have you been up to?”

“Cleaning.” Her tone is casual, dismissive even, like it’s nothing to fuss over; but her eyes are fixed on him, waiting for a reaction. 

Steve gasps, “No way! You were cleaning? I don’t know if I believe it.” 

“I was!” Penelope whines, tickled with glee. 

“Hmm, is this true?” He arches an eyebrow at you. 

You nod, delighted to play along. “It is. Penelope here is excellent at handling a dustpan. She even organized the dodgeballs by color.”

“Really? Because you never-ever want to clean at home.”

“I do!” She squeals, bending backward over the arm of his chair.

“Yeah right.” He blows a raspberry on her belly where her shirt has pinched up.

She shrieks, squirming and kicking her heels into his thigh. Steve’s dad reflexes must clock in because he blocks her knee just before it drives into his cheek. And he takes it as a sign to ease up before someone gets hurt– craning back up and scooping Penelope into a baby cradle against his chest. Her legs are long and lanky, dangling over his arms like uncooked spaghetti. 

“Do we need to invite them over every time you make a mess in your room? Will that solve the problem?” He teases, squishing her arms against his shirt so she can’t escape and peppering kisses from temple to temple. 

Eventually, Penelope comes to terms that no amount of writhing will succeed against his strength. She slackens in his embrace, surrendering to the terrible thing that is unconditional love. 

“Oh, here are your keys!” They rattle against the desk where you drop them. 

Steve nods into Penelope's crown, poking her side. “Can you say ‘thank you for hanging out with me?’”

Anticipating another round of tickles, she grins before parroting, “Thank you for hanging out with me.”

“Thank you for helping me clean!”

Her eyes sweep back over to Steve, “Can we go home yet?” 

His fingers tap rhythmically on the desk, a small sigh escaping as he glances at the paperwork drowning his workspace. “We’ll leave as soon as I’m finished.” He pecks the top of her head. “Promise.”

She rolls her eyes, moaning, “Daddy, come on it’s taking, like, a million years!”

“A million? Surely not.” 

“It is!” She elongates the sound until it’s less word and more noise. 

His shoulders droop, tension slipping from his frame as he agrees, “Okay. I’m ready to go too.” 

You don’t blame him for giving in so easily, Penelope’s puppy eyes are powerful. Her chunky little hands smoosh his cheeks– molding and kneading like it’s play-doh, “Is that why your face looks so sleepy?”

A hearty laugh bursts from his throat, “Yes, that’s why my face looks so sleepy.” He pats her arms, “Come on. Up.” 

Penelope scoots off his knees, gripping his wrist for balance. Steve ducks under the desk for his backpack and shoves the stack of paperwork inside. 

“Hey, I meant to ask you, is the new schedule working okay for you?” He asks you, always so thoughtful. 

You nod earnestly. “Yeah, actually, I like doing Fridays better I think.”

“Yeah, Fridays are fun. Fitness Friday has been a big hit with the high school's soccer team.” He slings his bag over his shoulder and lifts Penelope’s by the strap. 

“Oh, good! Did the new jump ropes come in?” Conversations like this, as mundane as they are, are fleeting– the next interruption always around the corner– so you savor it while you have him. 

“Mmmm, not yet. I think they’re coming next week– shipping delays or something.” 

You turn to leave but stop in your tracks, attention stolen by Penelope’s drawing. As promised, it’s hung up– a few pieces of scotch tape secure it to the wall across from his desk. 

“I’m gonna get a frame for it,” Steve passes you with a toothy smile, flicking off the light. 

Penelope chimes in before you can respond, “Can I play jump rope?”

“I don't know if you know how, babe. I can teach you.” 

“I can! I did at school!”

“You did? I didn’t know that.” Steve waves to a passing coworker. “Maybe we’ll buy one for home too then.” 

Penelope nods, hopping the last stretch to the front door. 

“Any fun plans this weekend?” Steve asks you outside, bumping the back of Penelope’s hand until she takes his. The parking lot is almost empty at this time of day, but a few stragglers remain inside after hours. 

“If you think laundry is fun, then sure.” 

“Oh, I know all about that, trust me.” He nods at Penelope, “This one goes through more clothes in a week than I do in a month.” 

Steve approaches a BMW, only a few spots over from your car. An older model, but well taken care of. It’s a nice shade of burgundy with a stick-figure family on the back windshield. It feels so him. 

You hum a happy sound. “What about you? Any plans?” 

“Besides laundry? Well, we’re actually going kayaking at Red Fleet tomorrow,” he unlocks the passenger door, tucking the backpacks in the footwell. 

“Oh, fun! Are you excited?” You ask Penelope. 

“I’m gonna look for frogs.” 

She wrenches the handle a few times before her door flies open. Steve intercepts mid-swing to prevent her from denting the neighboring truck at the expense of his fingers. 

“Ow– shit,” he grimaces, shaking his wrist. He visibly swallows any other swears when he sees Penelope gawking, “Nell, I’ve told you to be gentle with the door.” 

“You said we can’t say that word,” she points out, climbing into her car seat.

You scrub your mouth, not so inconspicuously erasing your smile. 

“I– yes,” he nods, “You’re right. We shouldn’t say that word. I just–”

“Even when we’re frustrated; that’s what you said!” 

Steve takes a deep breath through his nose, choking down his several feelings. She’s right, he did say that, to hopefully stop her from swearing at preschool, but the profanity policing is comical coming from a four-year-old. And he can’t be laughing right now– he has parenting to do– but he’s on the verge of breaking when he catches sight of your face.  

Steve collects himself as he buckles her in. “Yes, Penelope. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.” 

She pats his head, “It’s okay. We all do mistakes.” 

Steve softens. The irritation evaporates instantly, replaced by a surge of satisfaction. This is one of those rare moments where he can so clearly recognize the lessons he’s instilled taking shape. 

He lets himself chuckle then, “We do. We all make mistakes and that’s okay.” 

She nods as he tightens her straps, “Like when I spilled my juice this morning.”

“Exactly.” He triple-checks that all her limbs are safely out of the door’s reach before shutting it.  

He faces you, scratching his cheek– rosy and round with joy. “How much you wanna bet she swears at me tomorrow?”

“Hey, I don’t doubt it!” Your elation mirrors his. 

“If she can’t find any frogs at the park I can almost guarantee it.” 

“Better help her look then.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’d invite you but it’s reservation-based. And I’d be surprised if there’s any spots open still… But we can sneak you in if you really want to go.” It’s meant to be a joke, but something in the way he holds your gaze suggests a level of seriousness. 

“No, that’s okay,” you grin. “The pile of laundry on my bed awaits.”

“Well, maybe next time.” 

You try not to read into it. Steve’s a friendly guy, he probably invites his coworkers out to things all the time. 

You nod, idling at the hood of his beamer. 

“I really appreciate you watching her today. You’re a lifesaver, truly,” he shakes his head, peeking at Penelope through the window. “She’s been a handful lately– I mean, I had to pick her up early today because she bit another kid, can you believe that?” 

“She’s a kid,” you shrug, “All kids do that at some point.”  

“I don’t know,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m honestly at my witts end. This is her third warning and if she gets kicked out of school— I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

“From what I saw today, she’s a really good kid, Steve. I can’t imagine they’d do that.” 

“I’ve just been so busy, you know, sometimes I wonder if she acts out because of that– and it’s just me so I can’t–” he pauses, wiping his face, “God– I’m sorry, you’re… I’m just dumping all of this on you when you’re trying to leave.”

“No! It’s okay, I don’t mind, really.” 

“It’s– Well, it’s a lot and I,” he’s cut short by Penelope knocking on the glass, impatience strewn across her features. 

He throws up his pointer finger to tell her one second. “We can talk next week. You’ll be here Friday?” 

“Yep. I will see you then,” you nod, backing up a step so he can cross over to the driver’s side. 

“Okay, thanks again,” he says, opening his door. 

You wave goodbye, “Of course. Have fun kayaking!” 

“You too!” He yells, then mumbles, “Shit.” 

“Dad!” Penelope’s voice scolds. 

A warmth simmers in your chest as you walk away– a fizzy feeling that had been bottled up and crammed into a forgotten corner of your body. But as soon as you’re settling into the privacy of your car, it boils over into this rush of giddy exhilaration, electrifying every inch of your skin. Giggles cut through the silence as your smile stretches wider, completely untamable. There’s no stopping this, not when you’re already fantasizing about a next time with Steve.

[thetransfemininereview]

Do you have any recommendations for gaining access to these books? I have a pretty long list of ones I want to read but can't afford most of them. The library has the big ones (Whipping Girl, Detransition Baby, Nevada) but the newer or less well known ones have been difficult to find

No this is actually so real though. Let's talk about it.

One of the big problems that I'm trying to address here is the fact that there is a lack of ability for trans books to reach their perhaps core audience, trans people. Over the last few years trans librarians have been trying to increase the number of trans books in circulation, but that's super contingent on where you live. Not to mention the fact that, at least in the US, states are actively trying to criminalize circulating trans books in libraries.

I know Tumblr is allergic to economics a lot of the time, but you've gotta look at the math to understand why this is the current state of things. Essentially it's a vicious cycle. Lots of trans people can't afford to buy a $25 hardcover on a whim, and traditional publishers put a lot of stock into how well a book performs on release, cause that's how they make money. So when the core audience can't afford it and isn't marketable, they register that as a lower demand, which means that fewer trans books get published, fewer end up in libraries, and the cost of an individual book is driven higher. Low demand, high price. Then because the price is high, trans people cant afford the books, and the cycle continues.

It is the dilemma of the transfemme author that most of their core audience is also gonna be transfemme. It's a self-selecting process that's very hard to break out of. And at the end of the day, there just isn't very much money to go around in the trans community because trans people so frequently get cut off from generational wealth. So when you get an ecosystem of transfemmes selling books to other transfemmes who also sell books to them....

I took a class on the Sociology of Art a few years ago, and one of my core takeaways was that the boundaries of a field (yes my teacher liked Bourdieu, come for her ass, not mine) are fundamentally governed by institutions and entities with the money and power to dictate their rules of play. In Althusser's language, you would call those ISAs (Ideological State Apparatuses). When you read Weber, he talks about how culture needs to have some level of social legitimation in order to become a force of power in the world (I butchered that but it's the gist lol). And it's like.

The people who have the money to read the books dictate which books receive the money. Organizations like Lambda Literary, presses, big name publishers, etc. One of the big problems in the field of trans literature up to this point is that the only people who've had the money to produce social legitimation from the organizing schema/matrix of an ISA have also only chosen to read a very small slice of the extant literature. Then, because those non-profits and presses and companies only champion a small selection of books, that in turn dictates for those who have less money which of those books deserve social attention, critical acclaim, sales, library slots, etc.

And like, all of that is an illusion, but it produces a material reality for the transfemme author. It dictates the material conditions for the reproduction of said literature and who can participate in it.

So, what's to be done about it?

"Buzz" is a big deal in the publishing industry. A good review, an award, a thinkpiece - all of that can be the difference between a successful book and a flop. Publishers look for that. If nobody talks about a book and it doesn't sell well, they'll drop the author faster than you can say Susan. Again, vicious cycle. But like, at the end of the day, a "field," an "ISA," a "legitimated" work of art, that's all just a class prerogative. The different between a Very Important Literary Blog and a "person talking about books on the internet" is money. Like. It's just money. The reality of it is really banal.

It's who has the money to read books. It's who has the money and time to write about books. It's who has the money to gain institutional access to book. It's who has the money to read enough to say, "Oh, well that might seem true, but if you look at X, Y, and Z it's clearly not." It takes money to fact check. It takes money to challenge institutional myths. It takes money because when an institution makes a claim about a book and none of the people who care enough to argue with them have the cash to challenge it, the claim tends to stand.

And like, the honest truth is that between the books, the website, and the education, I've spent a lot of money bringing this website online in the form you're reading it in. A lot of the books I've read were really fucking expensive. I grew up in a wealthy family, my parents were accepting. They have both the means and the desire to support my passion projects. I'm lucky.

The goal of The Transfeminine Review is to create at least one independently trans-run website that can challenge that brand of institutional legitimation work from non-profits and big publishers and cis outlets, a website that can actually highlight transfeminine literature as it exists in the world, not as the Big 5 publishers have dictated it. Topside, Metonymy, Arsenal Pulp, LittlePuss, etc. They've all taken on that challenge from the angle of producing books, but there hasn't been a corollary trans secondary ecosystem dedicated to documenting and critiquing them. Or there is, but it's extremely diffuse and hard to find if you don't know exactly what you're looking for. Then there are the general queer outlets, like them. and whatnot, and they do their best but literature is a side hustle at best. There's the queer-helmed literary outlets like Electric Lit (shout out Denne Michele Norris) but they spend most of their time talking about cis authors. None of it is designed to help or review self-published literature from poor authors, and let's be frank, most transfeminine publishing is still done indie or self.

It's an investment, essentially. On the longshot, the hope is that this website will inspire others to do similar work, and that eventually through the collective efforts of trans authors and their readership, we can begin to change the math on trans publishing and help to spread it to a wider audience.

Now.

None of this changes the current reality that trans lit is expensive.

Unless you're lucky, you're probably not gonna find much trans lit at the local library even if you dig for it. Another good place to find free trans books is transreads.org, but their selection is mostly non-fiction, and the fiction is, again, largely the same few books you can find elsewhere. Another good online queer library is https://www.queerliberationlibrary.org/, which might be a good place to look (shoutout to Skye for bringing it to my attention!)

There are a couple of cheaper places to find trans books. If you shop around on itch.io, a lot of self-published trans authors have "name your price" models, which can be more accessible. Creators on itch will also bundle their work on a fairly regular basis, so you can get like 10-20 books for $10, which is, by my token, an excellent price.

If there's a particular author you're interested in, a lot of self-pub trans authors have Patreon accounts where they serialize their novels. You also can find serial (pre-edit) versions of a bunch of books on Scribblehub.

This has gotten steadily less affordable over the last few years cause Amazon is evil, but Kindle Unlimited ($11.99 a month, but there's a free trial) has thousands of trans books. Most of them are erotica, but like, there are a lot of hidden gems in there, and if you're a voracious enough reader, then it'll definitely be much cheaper per book than buying trad.

The problem with all of these, though, is that they tend to favor specific genres and tropes. Like there's only so much variety on itch.io or Scribblehub or transreads.org or KU. So if you like the genre conventions, then awesome! But if you don't it's probably not for you.

And none of it will give you access to some of the rare older tradpub books or the new but scarce releases that I've been going through unless you're willing to pay the full price for them.

I wish I had a better answer, but that's unfortunately the current state of the industry :/

Hopefully this ramble is helpful.

Beth

[juniperskye]

That’ll Show Them.

Based on the following ask: 🥰 yay!! Okay. (Deep breath), so the idea was basically either preschool or elementary school setting. Hotch being a sexy single dad has most of the single (and not!) Moms drooling over him. Y/N or Reader is a single mom, not one of those drooling but definitely sees that he's attractive. But her kid (girl or boy) happens to quickly become Jack's BFF and this causes natural interactions and conversations between her and Hotch over the next few weeks which makes the other moms salty and jealous, and she overhears them at one point speculating that she probably told her kid to befriend Jack just so she could get closer to Hotch. I didn't really think of an ending for it but just had an idea of a scene where she's trying to remain calm and unaffected while overhearing them talking about her and giving side eye. Maybe Hotch hears it too and comes to her defense? Or makes them even saltier by asking her out in front of them? 😈 @nyxwolph thank you for requesting this! I did adjust a little bit, so I hope you like it!!

Aaron Hotchner x Single Mom! Reader

Angst/Fluff

Word count: 3569

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

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, some explicit language, reader is a single mom, mention of divorce, school moms being shitty, mention of Hotch’s ex father-in-law being ill, no use of y/n, Fem reader, reader has no physical description other than being shorter than hotch, reader is mentioned/implied to own a shop (no details), gay best friend, Hotch starts work at 8am (idk what the BAU hours are lmao) let me know if I missed any!

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

The moms were ruthless. You were barely three months into the school year and already you had been completely ostracized from the “mom group.” Part of you had assumed it was because the majority of these moms had all caught wind of your very public, messy divorce. The other part of you, however, knew that the main reason you’d been exiled was him.

Aaron HOTTIE Hotchner, as the other moms called him, had taken Ms. Jenson’s third grade class by storm. Meet the teacher night had been a frenzy of horny moms all praying their child ended up in the same class as Aaron’s son. There were hushed conversations and giggles, and hair flips all night long, you had felt bad for the teachers since their presentations had fallen second to the gossip travelling through the halls about the hot single dad.

“I heard he works for the FBI!”

“I heard he’s a widower. Could you even imagine?”

“Wow. He must be pretty amazing, a single dad and working for the FBI!”

“Can we be real for a moment and just admire how hot he is?”

“Did you see his hands?”

“Yes! Did you see his suit? I love a well-dressed man.”

They were vultures, every single one of them, and Aaron was their newest victim. He, of course, had been completely oblivious to the blatant flirting – he returned every advance they made with a kind smile or polite nod. And listen, you weren’t going to deny that Aaron was hot…you just weren’t trying to be like those other moms and gush about it at meet the teacher night.

Your being excluded by the class moms had only gotten worse since Jack and Millie had become friends. Millie had told you on the first day of school, that a boy had pushed her down on the playground, and before you could panic, she told you that a different boy…one named Jack…had helped her up. She said after that, they sat together at lunch and read aloud.

You could barely contain you excitement. Since the divorce, Millie had been having a tough time making friends – mainly because the moms told their kids to stay away. Your ex had been quite cozy with some of the moms at Millie’s last school and you had eventually found out he was sleeping with one of them. Once the divorce was finalized and you had full custody, you’d moved and that meant a new school for Millie.

Realistically that should’ve been the end of the drama, but it just so happens that the girl who your husband slept with…well her sister’s child was in the same class as Millie. He of course was the kid that pushed Millie down on the first day of school.

It shouldn’t have bothered you, their constant whispers…but it had you seething. This was an everyday occurrence now that you drove Jack home. The moms all waiting for dismissal engaging in hushed conversations about how desperate you must be.

“I bet she told her daughter to befriend his son.”

“What a sad way to get his attention.”

“Well, I mean, her ex did cheat…so she’s probably desperate.”

“She’s ridiculous if you ask me.”

This new development has begun exactly two weeks ago. Jack and Millie had been on their sixth playdate – this had been the first one Aaron had been able to host (due to work obvi) which had led to you staying and the two of you talking about how demanding his work schedule must be. He had told you it kept him pretty busy and that his sister-in-law had been extremely helpful, but with her father falling ill, she was growing increasingly busy.

“You know, I could drive Jack. If you’re comfortable with it.” You offered.

“I couldn’t possibly ask that of you!” Aaron panicked.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t ask…I’m offering. I already have to drive to the school to get Millie, I could grab Jack and the two of them could hang out until you are off work. And if your sister-in-law ever can’t watch him while you’re away, know that I am more than willing.” You punctuated with a kind smile.

“What if I take them to school, I don’t need to be at work until eight, and then you could pick them up? That way it is even. Obviously when I’m out of town, which wouldn’t necessarily be possible, but I could coordinate with Jess and…” Aaron was spiraling.

“Aaron. If you want to take them to school when you’re in town, that would be great. That would allow me the time I need in the shop before opening. When you are out of town, if Jack is staying with me, I will take them to and from school – if he’s with Jess, she doesn’t have to worry about Millie okay?” You suggested.

“You’re a godsend. You know that?” Aaron said, a smile growing on his face.

“Yeah well, Jack has been an incredible friend to Millie, and I would love for them to spend more time together. Plus, the house has been so quiet and, I don’t know. It would be nice to have the kids there.” There was a slight cringe that was brought with the insinuation of your divorce.

“I appreciate it either way.” Aaron gently nudged your shoulder.

So, for the last two weeks, Aaron had been driving the kids to school and you had been picking them up. He shockingly had yet to be called on a case…but you knew it was only a matter of time.

Aaron was called away a few days later, he had let you know that Jess would be watching Jack. That had sent a tinge of pain right to your heart. In truth, you were attracted to Aaron, and the more time you spent with him, you were starting to fall for him. You tried not to focus too much on the fact that he’d sent Jack to stay with Jess…chalking up to the fact that Aaron probably didn’t want to burden you – even though he could never.

You didn’t hear from Aaron until nearly two weeks later.

A: Hey, we just got back from this case. I’ll pick Millie up in the morning for school. Are you good to pick up Jack after?

Y: Hey! Yeah I can pick them up tomorrow. I have to take Millie to get her cleats and shin guards for soccer, is it okay if Jack tags along?

A: I totally forgot soccer starts next weekend. If I sent some money in Jack’s backpack could you pick up his stuff too?

Y: Of course! Will you be late tomorrow?

A: Probably, after a case like this, there’s a lot of paperwork to be done. I will try to be there by 7pm if that’s okay.

Y: 7 is fine, we will get homework done and I will feed them and have Jack all ready for you!

A: Thank you. Seriously I don’t know what I’d do without you.

The next day you arrived at the school at 2:45 pm to pick up the kids. You parked your car like always and stood in wait with the other parents. You were checking your phone to see where the nearest sporting goods store was when one of the dads approached you.

“Hey, is Millie ready for soccer to start?”

“Oh, hey Scott! Yeah she is so excited! What about Macy?” You questioned.

“She’s nervous, but she told me she was glad Millie and Jack were playing too. Michael was really bummed that the girls weren’t in a class together this year.” Scott explained.

“I was too! How is Michael? We should all have dinner some time!” You suggested.

“He’s good, and I am sure he would love to have you and your new beau over for a meal – I will talk to him when we get home!” Scott beamed.

“New beau…what are you talking about? Do you mean Aaron? He and I, we’re not…” You stuttered.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay! You should be bragging to all those bitches that you bagged the hot DILF! Don’t let them spoil something good for you hon.” Scott gently squeezed your arm.

Just as you opened your mouth to reply, the kids came running out. Macy ran to hug her dad while Jack and Millie made their way to you. Both kids hugged you and then said their goodbyes to Macy. You moved to grab their hands and guide them to the car, but not without catching the glares from all the moms. They must’ve heard Scott and you talking…and while you and Aaron weren’t dating, it didn’t hurt to let them believe it for a bit.

After getting the kids soccer gear, you took them home and got them started on their homework and gave them some apple slices. You checked a few emails, changed the washer and dryer, and wrote up your grocery list in the meantime.

When they were done with their homework, you checked their work and then quizzed them on their spelling words. By then it was nearly 5:30 pm, you set the two of them up in the living room with a coloring book and some Legos while you got dinner started. You made some grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans – for the kids, you added some cheese to the potatoes and cut up the chicken – setting that on the table for them alongside a glass of chocolate milk.

“Kids, time for dinner!” You hollered.

“Coming mom!” Millie called.

You were about 10 minutes into dinner when a knock sounded from the front door. You excused yourself and walked over to let Aaron in.

“Hey, we were just having dinner, can I get you a plate?” You offered.

“Oh, as long as it’s not an imposition!” Aaron replied.

“Aaron, how many times do I have to tell you that it’s not an imposition. I like having you around.” You stopped abruptly, embarrassed that you’d let that slip. “I mean, you know, it’s nice that Millie and Jack are friends…I uh. I…”

“I know what you mean. And I like having you around too.” He said, finally stepping fully into the house.

Aaron placed a gentle hand on the small of your back to guide you toward the kitchen. You plated him up some food and he joined you at the table, sitting right beside you. You couldn’t help the growing heat that bloomed on your cheeks as his arm brushed against your own. The room was filled with the playful chatter of the eight-year-olds that sat across from you, giggles escaping them as they recounted the events of their day at school.

Glancing over, you noticed the joy radiating from Aaron’s expression. You hadn’t seen him this genuinely happy in all the time you’ve known him, and you wonder if it is because he doesn’t get to relax like this often. The thought allows your mind to drift even further – splaying images of cooking for the four of you all the time, of late nights cuddled with Aaron and even further into the future, welcoming a new child to the family you’ve curated…only it's all in your head.

“You alright?” Aaron whispers. His warm breath against your ear causes a chill to cascade across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, just lost in thought.”

“Hey mom, is Jack’s dad going to be my new dad?” Millie posed, causing you to choke on the bite of chicken you’d just taken.

“Woah, sweetheart you’re okay, just breathe!” Aaron patted your back gently. “Here, take a sip of water.”

Taking a swig, the chicken makes its way down. “Mills…baby where did you get that idea?”

“Well Rain said that his mom said that you were moving in on Jack’s dad, and I thought that if we were moving in, then that would make him my new dad!” Millie smiled.

It was Aaron who choked this time, only it was on his water, causing some of it to certainly escape through his nose. He pulled his napkin to his face as he coughed in an attempt to clear his airway.

“Aar…breathe.” You returned the favor of patting him gently on the back. “Are you okay?”

He answered with a nod and allowed a chuckle to escape his mouth before looking up to meet your gaze. Aaron wasn’t ignorant of the fact that the other moms had been eyeing him since the beginning of the year, he just hadn’t realized that they’d gone after you due to your budding closeness.

“Millie, Rain’s mom is just kidding. Jack’s dad and I are becoming good friends, like you and Jack, and they don’t like that, so they’re saying some not so nice things.” You explained.

“Oh…okay.” Millie said, a small pout gracing her features.

A pout that pulled on not only yours, but also Aaron’s heartstrings. He allowed himself a glance in your direction and took careful note of the hurt and disappointment that flashed across your own features briefly. Was it possible you felt more than you were letting on?

Six days later you received a call at four in the morning. It hadn’t been the thing to wake you up, but it came as a surprise, nonetheless.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I just got a call about a time sensitive case and Jess is dealing with her dad. Would you mind taking Jack while I am away?”

“Aaron, of course! Do you need me to come and get him?”

“No, I will get a bag together for him and drop him off on my way to the office. I am going to leave you with a key to my place just in case Jack needs anything. Thank you for doing this, seriously it means a lot.”

“It’s really not a problem, I will have a bed made up for him by the time you get here.”

“Thanks sweetheart, see you soon.”

With that, Aaron hung up, and for the second time you were taken by surprise at the pet name he so casually referred to you by. You had to remind yourself not to swoon. It wouldn’t do you any good to get into your thoughts about the meaning behind his slip of the tongue.

Jack Hotchner was the most wonderful child you have the privilege of knowing – aside from Millie of course. He was polite and he listened with no pushback. He helped Millie with her chores (cleaning up her toys and putting her clothes in the laundry basket), he didn’t complain, and he just exuded this kindness and joy that brought an extra bit of warmth to your home.

You could see Millie becoming attached and you feared her heart would break once Jack had to go back home. You only hoped that she’d understand that although Jack’s presence isn’t currently permanent, they’d still get to see each other all the time.

Jack stayed with you for five nights, Aaron surprised you all by showing up with a pizza on Saturday evening.

The three of you had been cuddled up on the couch watching Inside Out 2 when the doorbell rang. You shuffled over to the door in your sweats and fuzzy socks to see Aaron standing there in a quarter zip and jeans. Good God, he’s never looked so good.

“Aaron!” You couldn’t hide your excitement.

“Surprise! I brought pizza, I hope cheese is okay.” He inquired.

“Cheese is perfect.” You confirmed. “Kids, dinner is here!”

“Dad!”

Jack ran to embrace his father. Millie, however, stormed off to her room. You were quick to throw Aaron an apologetic glance, before following her down the hall.

“Mills…what’s wrong honey?”

Millie replied with a grumble in her pillow and a shake of her head.

“Baby, I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

“It’s not fair. Jack doesn’t have a mom, and I don’t have a dad. But when you and Mr. Aaron are together it feels like a normal family. How come you guys can’t just be together?” Millie cried.

“Oh, honey. It’s not that simple bug. Mr. Aaron, well he’s a busy man and I just…” You trailed off.

“Don’t you like him?”

“Mills, yeah I like him, but like I said, it’s not that simple. Even if he liked me back, that wouldn’t just make us a family, it would take some time for us to get serious and then we’d have to decide if that was the right step for us.”

“It is the right step! You guys like each other, and Jack and I get along…mommy it’s perfect! You could be Jack’s mom and Mr. Aaron could be my new dad.” Millie said matter-of-factly.

“Oh honey, is this about your dad?” You pulled Millie into a hug.

“No! He wasn’t nice to me like Mr. Aaron is. Mom I want Mr. Aaron to be my dad.” She whispered as tears stained her cheeks.

“I know honey, me too…me too.” You pressed a kiss to her head. “Baby lets go have some pizza and enjoy our time with Jack and Mr. Aaron, yeah?”

“Okay.”

That night, something shifted. Aaron and you had begun spending more time together, going to soccer practices and games together, taking the kids to the park, the movies, pottery painting places, dinner at your house, game night at his. Aaron had also exclusively been asking you to take Jack while he was away on cases – claiming Jess’ father was getting worse.

Two months passed like this, and things had started to feel very domestic. Millie was asking more and more about Jack being her brother and Aaron her father and you had to explain that even though they weren’t related, even by marriage, that friends could be considered family too.

Once again you were taking care of Jack while Aaron was out of town on a case, only this time it was a little different. Your car was in the shop, so Aaron had let you borrow his car, and today was the last day of school before winter break. The schoolyard was buzzing with anticipation of the final bell, parents were discussing their vacation plans with one another while waiting.

You has been talking to Scott and Michael when Becca approached you.

“You know, I think it’s a sick thing you’ve done, using your daughter to help you prey on a vulnerable man.” She hissed.

“Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about?” You shot back.

“Aaron. You had Millie befriend Jack and for what so you could trick Aaron into going out with you? It’s truly despicable behavior. He’s a good man and he deserves someone who is genuine.” Becca spewed.

“I don’t know where you get off, talking to me like that, but I can assure you – ”

“Becca, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t speak to my girlfriend that way. She is the kindest most genuine person I have ever met, and every day she shows me how much she cares for and loves Jack and me. So back off, and maybe don’t speak on things you don’t know anything about.” Aaron bit as his arm snuck its way around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“I KNEW IT!” Scott shouted.

Becca stormed off with a huff and you turned around to see Aaron wearing a shit eating grin. You couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with disbelief at the fact that Aaron was here right now, he’d stuck up for you, and he’d called you his girlfriend. Yeah, you were fairly sure your brain had short circuited.

“Girlfriend?” Your gaze lifted to meet his.

“You know, I’d been meaning to ask.” He grinned down at you. “What do you say?”

“Yes! Of course!”

Aaron closed the gap between you and captured your lips in a kiss. All the while the moms scoffed and huffed in disbelief that you truly had taken Aaron HOTTIE Hotchner off the market. And before you had a chance to pull away, Jack and Millie came bounding over just in time to catch the last bit of your kiss.

“Does this mean Mr. Aaron can finally be my dad?” Millie asked.

Aaron leaned down to Millie’s level “Mills, I would love nothing more than to be your dad, but we have to take things slow okay? Your mom and I have a lot of grown-up decisions to make before that can happen, so I need you to be patient. Can you do that for me?”

“I can do that!”

You leaned down in front of Jack, wanting to ensure he’s included in all this. “What do you think Jack? Would you be okay with me and your dad being together? It means you and Millie will be together a lot more often.”

“Will you eventually be my mom then?”

“If your dad and I choose to get married eventually, then yeah, I’d be your stepmom.” You explained.

“I think you’d be a really good mom.” Jack wrapped his arms around you.

Aaron and you may have only just made things official, but in the last five or so months, you’d both fallen for each other. Sometimes, things are just right, and all the pieces fall into place naturally. And for the first time in a long time, you couldn’t wait to see where this leads.

[bpmiranda]

Teacher/authority figure hugh please please!!

Follow My Lead (Hugh Jackman) nsfw

A/N: teacher!hugh, dancer!reader, virgin!reader, age gap, hugh is in his mid 40s in this one, 20+ f!reader, power imbalance, sir kink, unprotected sex

Landing a role in this particular broadway show was an honor beyond imaginable. You had worked incredibly hard to get to this place in your career and you couldn’t be more overjoyed, or so you thought. Apparently, Hugh Jackman was a co-director of choreography for this show and that meant you and your group would be learning the steps from him. Having been a fan of the X-Men franchise growing up, to say that you were starstruck by him would be an understatement.

“That’s very good, great job, you guys!” Hugh clapped for you and you all beamed happily, you and the girls in your line all turned to each other, giggling and sharing knowing smiles as he walked around and gave everyone a few pointers to work on for tomorrow as they filtered out. Your eyes locked with him and he gave you a charming grin as he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, is that right?” He asked you, leaning in close as if this were to be a private conversation. You give him a small nod, clutching your hands nervously close to your abdomen as he leans into your ear. “You moved so wonderfully today, I truly have no notes to give you.” He whispers and your heart skips a beat as your face warms up. “Perhaps this is a bit of an amateur production for you.”

“Oh, I-I don’t know about that.” You laugh lightly, shaking your head as he looks down at you with a small smirk. “I’m so honored to be here and working with you, sir. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Hugh’s tongue peeks out to moisten his lips and he grins at you. “Care to stay behind and run the main number through, just the two of us? We still haven’t found an understudy for the lead woman.”

Your mouth falls slightly in astonishment and you press a hand over your chest, your heart beating hard in your ribcage. “Sir, I-I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure that I’m qualified, I mean-”

“Say yes.” Hugh whispers, his hand falling off your shoulder and down your arm until he squeezes your hand softly.

A breathless sigh falls out of your lips as you nod, looking up at him with doe eyes as you whisper, “Yes.”

After rehearsal had ended, Hugh insisted that you let him take you out for a quick bite so as to regain energy. “Can’t have you goin’ hungry if we’re going to put in some work.” He teased as you walked together to a casual restaurant around the block from the dance studio. Your face couldn’t seem to reach a temperature below hot as he continued teasing and complimenting you during lunch. It simply could not register that you were having dinner with him. “I’ve never seen someone so in tune with the steps, and not even just for your own choreography. I’ve noticed you counting the steps for the main number during full show runs.” He comments and you simply wave him off.

“Oh, please, I’m sure there are others in the class better than me. I just absolutely adore dancing and the choreography you’ve written is a gorgeous depiction of the story and the feelings of these characters.” Your hand inadvertently touches his as you gush and Hugh smiles at you.

“Well, leave it to you to know about gorgeous.” He says as he takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. Again, your face warms up and you look away shyly. “Shall we get back?” He asks and you nod, almost too eager to spend one on one time with him.

It’s hard work, much harder and far more intimate than the background choreography you usually run. Hugh stands in for the part of the man who is gazing in bewilderment at the female lead before he jumps in to join her. The steps to the dance are quick tempo, fun and light hearted at the start. Hugh spins you around, he lifts you mid jump before you continue down the stage. Then the steps become slower, more intimate as the characters fall in love. Hugh’s hand runs down your back, guiding you around the stage, your eyes locked together while you breathed heavily. The man can’t let her go, he can’t have their dance finish before he confesses his love for her while she tries to fight against the fall, remembering there are other expectations of her than to simply dance, responsibilities much larger that would be cast aside if she fell head first into a romance. The music is dying down as Hugh suddenly stops, his hand still on the small of your back as you get in position for the big kiss which solidifies that the characters have fallen for each other.

There is a moment where you wonder if you’ll actually kiss, but you don’t want to mistakenly cross a boundary. “How was that, sir?” You find yourself asking, breathless from the dance and he glances at your lips. Your arms are trapped between your bodies and you settle your hands on his chest which rises and falls with his own heavy breathing.

His deep green eyes snap back onto yours and he smiles. “You’re a natural.” One of his hands comes up to your cheek and you inhale sharply as he smirks. “You’re really responsive to being led which is great for dancing.” He says, his other hand moves onto your hip and you inhale shakily. “It’s great for other things too.” His tone is heavy with suggestion and you feel your face warm up.

“Sir, I-should we-” You’re cut off by him suddenly kissing you, his lips are domineering and you all to eagerly give into him. One of your hands moves up his chest and over his shoulder as he blindly guides you backstage, your ass hits a table and he’s quick to sit you down on it. Without a thought, he pulls your blouse up and you let him take it off, shivering as he kisses your chest while undoing your bra clasp.

“You want a shot at that big role, sweetheart?” He asks against your breasts as you run your hands along his beard and you distinctly hear the buckle of his belt lightly jangling between you. Your body reacts to his words, your thighs clench around his waist and he chuckles. “It could be yours based on pure talent, but I can make certain it happens.” He whispers and you shake your head.

“I don’t need it,” You breathe out, biting your lip as you quickly lift yourself up so he can tug your leggings and jazz shoes off. “Not as much as I need you, sir.” You confess and he grins.

Hugh kisses you, hard, as he steps back between your legs and you run your hands up his shirt to feel on his toned, hairy chest. “Love how you keep calling me that.” He groans as he removes his t-shirt for you and you smile bashfully. “Such a polite little thing, aren’t you?” He teases as his fingers rub at your clit, prods at your entrance and he groans from how wet you are already. “You want this?”

“Yes, sir.” You sigh as you feel the head of his cock rub between your folds. You hook one arm around his shoulders while caressing his jaw, bringing his lips back to yours as he firmly places his hands onto the table behind you, pushing himself into your tight pussy. A sharp inhale catches his attention and he smirks.

“You a virgin?” He asks curiously and you shyly nod, looking at him with such a submissive gaze he can’t help the twitch in his cock and you whine softly. “Fuck, how’s that possible?” He grunts, pumping slowly and deeply into you, his lips attaching to your neck while you moan in his ear. “You’re so damn gorgeous.”

“Just-uh-waiting for-oh, my god-the right guy.” You whimper, holding tightly onto him as your walls coat him in a sheen of your arousal. It’s embarrassing how eager you are, how wet you get for him, but Hugh is crazy for it. Crazy for you.

“Want me to be that guy, sweetheart?” He asks, his forehead resting against yours, his lips kissing you softly as you nod desperately while your lower belly tenses. “Yeah? Want me to make you cum?”

“Yes, sir, please!” You mewl against his lips and he groans as he presses himself flush to your cervix, one hand squeezing tightly onto your hip, and you suddenly gush all around his cock. It surprises the both of you that you squirt, and Hugh can’t help the breathless gasp that falls from his mouth.

“Shit, baby.” He groans, smiling to himself quite proudly.

“Fuck!” You cry out, breathing heavily as he leans further over you, his hand pressing you into him by your back as you hang onto him and let him fuck himself into your sopping cunt. Hugh growls lowly against your neck as he quickly pulls out and unloads his release onto your thigh, his body jolts and his arms flex from the force. His hand squeezes your other thigh tightly as he milks himself onto you, groaning softly as you caress his shoulders and watch him, all dazed and high on the endorphins that cloud your mind. It’s quite a sight seeing him, the Hugh Jackman, so vulnerable here with you. “Was that-was I good?” You ask, swallowing hard as you steady your breathing. Hugh cups your face in his large hands to kiss you sweetly, making you whimper against his mouth.

“A natural, sweetheart. Is there anything you can’t do?” He teases and you laugh softly, sighing contently as he pulls away from you. “Come home with me?” He asks you as he grabs the towel he had been using during rehearsals to wipe your leg off and you nod, smiling sweetly at him.

“Yes, sir.” You say, earning a chuckle from him.

While writing this one, I realized I enjoy the sir kink a whole lot more than I thought🤭

🏷️: @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @peterparkernotfound @httpsells @evasmlp @ayatotiddies @thatlittlered @seasonofthenerd @littlemisscantloveyouback @scorpiosaintt @simpingfor-wakasa @spencerswh0r3 @thatweirdtheaternerd12 @shybluebirdninja @iamburdened

[randomdragonfires]

Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did | Part Three

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | The music blares and everyone’s out of it, but she turns and sees him. Detached from it all, Aemond stands on the balcony with a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips - watching the party unfold, watching her. The realization hits her as their eyes meet.

It’s him. It’s always been him. 

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Non-Con and Violence Elements; Use of Substances and Alcohol; Complicated Relationship Dynamics.

PAIRINGS | Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader [MAIN]; Modern!Daeron Targaryen x Reader

WORD COUNT | 24.5k [I'M SORRY]

Check out the art created for this fic by the lovely, talented and so very kind @azperja here!  

A/N | By now it's obvious. I really don't beta read things -_-

She starts with small changes. 

She takes different routes around campus, chooses study spots on the opposite end of the library, and declines any parties where she might run into him. They’re usually in different parts of the campus anyway, so avoiding him should be easy. But it isn’t. They run in the same circles, and all her friends know him. She has to be mindful, strategic, careful not to linger in places where their paths might cross.

The one shared class they have is her biggest challenge. She slips into the lecture hall just as the professor begins, taking a seat in the back, hidden among the sea of students. She keeps her head down, her attention fixed on her notes, refusing to let her eyes wander to where she knows he’s sitting.

But she feels his presence, even without looking. She can sense the way his gaze lingers on her, like a weight pressing on her shoulders. It takes every ounce of her willpower to ignore it, to pretend she doesn’t notice, that she isn’t affected by it. She keeps her mouth shut, barely even acknowledging the professor, just so Aemond won’t have a reason to notice her.

But he’s seen her. She knows he has. And yet, he hasn’t made any attempt to approach her. He hasn’t tried to talk to her after class, hasn’t texted, hasn’t even sent a cryptic message through a mutual friend.

The silence from him is both a relief and a torment. On one hand, she’s grateful that he’s giving her space, that he’s not forcing her to confront what happened. But on the other, she can’t help but wonder why. Why hasn’t he reached out? Does he understand that she needs space, or is he simply indifferent?

The conflicting thoughts whirl around her mind, making it impossible to focus. She’s avoiding him, yet she can’t stop thinking about him. She wonders if he’s reached the same conclusion she has - that whatever happened between them was a mistake. Or maybe… maybe the girl he’s seeing is back, and he’s realized that what they had was a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment that he regrets.

The thought makes her skin crawl.

It stings more than she’d like to admit. It’s ridiculous, she tells herself. She should be glad that he’s keeping his distance. It’s what she wanted, after all. But the doubts creep in, feeding the anxiety that’s been gnawing at her ever since that night.

Her finals don’t help either. The pressure to perform well, to maintain her grades, is a vice around her chest. She spends long hours in the library, her nose buried in textbooks, trying to drown out her thoughts with the relentless march of deadlines and exam schedules. But he is a constant presence at the back of her mind, and she cannot shake him off.

The final exam of the semester passes in a blur, each answer she scribbles onto the paper feeling more mechanical than the last. When it’s over, she walks out of the exam hall with a numbness that clings to her. The weight of the past weeks - the stress, the sleepless nights, the constant battle to keep her emotions in check - finally catches up with her.

She spends the entire day holed up in her flat, the blinds drawn to keep out the bright summer light. The silence is thick, the hours stretching on as she flits from one distraction to another. She tries reading, but the words blur together on the page. She turns on the laptop, but the shows barely hold her attention. Even scrolling through her phone feels empty.

As the afternoon fades into evening, a slow realization dawns on her: she can’t keep hiding forever. The exams were a temporary distraction, an excuse to avoid dealing with everything she’s been running from. But now that they’re over, she’s left with nothing but her thoughts - and the gnawing certainty that she can’t keep avoiding Aemond.

He’s likely finished his exams too, probably somewhere out there, living his life as if nothing’s changed. The thought brings a fresh wave of frustration. He hasn’t reached out to her, hasn’t made the slightest effort to clear the air.

It’s almost as if he’s content to let things remain as they are. But she's not.

The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that waiting for him to make the first move is futile. He’s not going to reach out, not after the way she’s been avoiding him. And maybe he’s thinking the same thing - that she doesn’t want to see him, that she’s already moved on.

The idea of confronting him terrifies her, but the thought of continuing on like this - of pretending that she can keep dodging him forever - is worse. She can’t live in this self-imposed exile, trapped by her own fears and doubts. If there’s any hope of moving past this, of getting closure, she needs to take the first step.

With a deep breath, she makes up her mind. The decision brings a strange sense of calm, like a weight being lifted from her chest. She can’t predict how it will go, but at least she’ll be taking control, no longer at the mercy of her own avoidance.

The evening sky outside her window is turning shades of pink and orange, and for the first time in days, she feels a spark of determination. She’s not going home for the summer, and neither, as far as she knows, is he.

There’s no more running, no more hiding.

Her eyes settle on Aemond - sprawled across his bed, completely at ease, as if he’s got not a care in the world.

The familiar scent hits her first - weed, strong and pungent, curling through the air and invading her senses. She pauses at the threshold, taking it in, before leaning against the doorway.

He doesn’t notice her at first. He’s too absorbed in the book he’s holding, his fingers lazily turning a page. She can’t make out the title, but she recognizes the Valyrian text on the cover, the ancient script curling elegantly along the spine.

For a moment, she watches him. There’s a strange, almost surreal quality to the scene - like she’s an outsider looking in on his life. His face is calm, his expression softened in the dim light, but there’s a tension in his posture, a quiet restlessness that she can’t quite place.

“So this is what you do when you’re high? Read Valyrian books?”

“They’re interesting,” he replies, his voice casual, detached. He doesn’t look at her, his eye still roving over the page, words spilling out as if she wasn’t there. Almost as if they hadn’t been icing each other out for weeks.

She doesn’t know what to say. The weight of their silence presses heavily down on her chest. She hesitates, her mind racing, but before she can form a coherent thought, he gestures toward her, a lazy wave of his hand as he adjusts himself on the bed.

“Come here.”

It’s not a request; it’s a command, spoken with the kind of casual authority that’s so inherently him. She swallows hard, the tension in her stomach coiling tighter. Part of her wants to resist, to stay rooted in place, but there’s another part of her - smaller, more vulnerable - that aches for the familiarity of being close to him again.

She pushes off the doorway, her steps slow and hesitant as she crosses the room. The air feels warmer near him, the scent of weed and smoke mingling with the faint smell of his cologne, a combination that’s both comforting and disorienting. When she reaches the bed, she pauses, unsure of what to do, where to sit, what to say.

Aemond looks up at her then, his gaze locking onto hers. There’s something different in his eye now, something softer, more aware. It’s like he’s really seeing her for the first time since she walked in.

He nods and she gives in, sitting down beside him, the mattress dipping under her weight. There’s a tension between them, a fragile thread that could snap at any moment, but for now, it holds.

She hesitates for a moment, then slowly lies down next to him, feeling the warmth of his body radiate through the thin fabric of her shirt. He doesn’t say anything, just shifts slightly to make room for her, and as she curls into the mattress, he slips an arm around her waist, pulling her in closer.

His hand rests on her side, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns on her skin through the fabric, the movement steady and soothing. She feels his breath against her hair, steady and calm, and for a moment, she closes her eyes, allowing herself to melt into him.

She takes her time, letting her gaze drift over him, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his hair falls messily across his forehead, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. The book is still in his other hand, balanced carefully as he continues to read, the pages illuminated by the dim light of the bedside lamp. He’s so absorbed in it, yet his hold on her is firm, as if he’s anchoring both of them to this moment, this shared silence.

She shifts slightly, her head resting on his shoulder as she glances at the book in his hand. “What are you reading?”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers stilling on the page as he looks down at her. “It’s called The Last Embrace.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a romantic.”

He chuckles softly at her remark, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through his chest. "It’s a Valyrian classic," he says. “I know someone who can find the premium first edition copies.”

“Hm.” She moves into him, and his hand roves over her clothed back, warmth seeping through. She nestles against him, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. “Read to me?” She asks softly, almost shyly, as if the request might shatter her pride.

He considers her for a moment, then gently adjusts his position, making sure she’s comfortable as he continues from where he left off. With his arm still wrapped around her, holding her close, he begins to read. The words flow from his lips - his voice deep and rich as it carries and fills the quiet space between them. She listens, captivated by the way he brings the story to life.

One word in particular catches her attention, its lilting syllables intriguing. She stops him, her gaze curious. “What does that mean?”

He looks down at her, his gaze tender and slightly dazed. “Gevie means ‘beautiful,’” he explains, his tone mellowed by a subtle high. She repeats the word, her attempt tentative. “Gevie.” Her pronunciation falters, and he gently corrects her, his voice a soothing murmur. “Gevie,” he reiterates, his lips curving into a soft smile.

She tries again, her voice more confident, “Gevie,” and he nods in approval, his hand squeezing lightly on her arm, a touch that sends a shiver down her spine.

The reading continues, and she’s captivated by another word. 

“Jorrāelagon,” she asks. “And this one?”

“It means ‘love.’” He replies, his eyes soft and hazy, the high giving his voice a languid quality that almost lulls her to sleep. She echoes. “Jorrāelagon,” but her pronunciation is awkward at the first try. He guides her gently, his voice dropping as he enunciates the word.

 “Jorrāelagon.”

She repeats the word again, and he nods, pleased. She doesn’t want to dwell on how pleasing him feels.

When they reach 'Vūjigon', she leans in closer, her curiosity and desire blending seamlessly. “What does this one mean?”

“To kiss,” he murmurs, his gaze growing more intense. She wonders if she’s seeing the slight red on his cheeks, or if it’s actually there. She repeats, “Vūjigon,” her pronunciation faltering again. He corrects her, his voice a velvety whisper.

As she practices the word, the anticipation builds between them. Her body shifts, aligning with his, and she straddles him, her movements deliberate and sensual. The mattress dips under her weight, and she feels the heat of his body radiate through the thin fabric of their clothes. His hands find her sides, gripping firmly but tenderly, his touch sending electric currents through her skin. She leans in closer, their foreheads touching, and she inhales deeply. The scent of his cologne mixes with the distinct smell of the weed. The high he's on adds a dream-like quality to his touch and his gaze, making every sensation more vivid and intense.

“Vūjigon,” she whispers, her voice husky with desire. The correct pronunciation flows from her lips, and the air between them is heated and heavy.

His eye darkens with desire as he gazes at her, the effect of the high amplifying his senses. He responds to her unspoken invitation, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that is both urgent and tender. The kiss deepens quickly as his hands move to her waist, pulling her closer, the heat of his touch igniting a fire within her.

His hands tighten on her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she can feel the hard line of his desire pressing against her. The sensation sends a shudder through her, a wave of heat that pools low in her belly.

This is happening, this is truly happening-

His kisses are a heady mix of passion and need, his tongue exploring her mouth with a fervor that leaves her breathless. She responds in kind, her own desire spiraling out of control as her fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently as she presses herself against him. The weight of him beneath her, the feel of his body so close, so real, is intoxicating.

With a low, rough sound in the back of his throat, he flips them over, his body covering hers, pressing her into the mattress. His hands are everywhere - roaming her sides, cupping her breasts, sliding down to grip her hips. The urgency of his movements is matched by the haze of the high, adding a surreal, almost dream-like quality to the moment.

She arches into him, her back curving as she seeks more of his touch, more of the heat that’s building between them. His mouth leaves hers, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, until he’s tugging her shirt aside, his lips finding the sensitive skin beneath. Every touch, every kiss, feels amplified, the high making her hyper-aware of every sensation.

He’s moving with purpose now, his hands tugging at the waistband of her pants, sliding them down her hips with a practiced ease. She helps him, kicking them off, leaving her bare beneath him. He follows quickly, discarding his own clothes until there’s nothing between them but heated skin.

His hands are back on her, rough and gentle all at once as he positions himself between her thighs. She feels the blunt pressure of him at her entrance, the anticipation so sharp it almost hurts. She meets his gaze, his eyes dark and blown with lust, the effect of the high making them seem even more intense. He pauses, just for a moment, his breath ragged. “I’m on the pill,” she murmurs, as if sensing his hesitation.

He thrusts into her with a single, powerful stroke.

The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that has her gasping, her hands clutching at his shoulders as he fills her completely. He stills for a moment, letting her adjust, his forehead pressing against hers as he takes a shuddering breath.

Then he’s moving, his hips snapping against hers in a rhythm that’s fast and unrelenting. Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure shooting through her, the friction, the heat, the intensity of it all pushing her closer to the edge. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her own hips meeting his in a desperate attempt to keep up with the pace he’s set.

His breathing is ragged in her ear, a rough counterpoint to the smoothness of his movements. She can feel him tensing, the way his thrusts grow more erratic, more desperate, as he nears his own release. His hand moves between them, fingers finding her clit and rubbing in tight, precise circles, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

With a low growl, he slams into her one last time, his body tensing as he comes hard, the force of his orgasm shaking him. He rides it out, his hips still moving in shallow thrusts as he chases the last remnants of pleasure.

But he doesn’t stop. Even as his breathing slows, his hands remain on her, one sliding down her body until his fingers are slipping between her folds, finding the wet heat there. He pulls out of her slowly, and she whimpers at the loss, but the sound quickly turns to a moan as his head dips between her thighs.

His mouth finds her, his tongue licking a slow, teasing stripe up her center before his lips close around her clit. He sucks gently, his fingers pressing inside her, filling her again as he works her with a relentless, skillful rhythm. She’s already so close, her body still buzzing from the intensity of what they’ve just done, and it doesn’t take long for the pleasure to build again, fast and unstoppable.

As his mouth works her, his tongue drawing her closer and closer to the edge, he lifts his head just enough to murmur against her skin, “Gevie… ao gevie issi, jorrāelagon.”

His voice is thick with desire, the words rolling off his tongue with a reverence that sends shivers down her spine. She’s too far gone to try and grasp the meaning, her mind clouded with the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving her. But something about the way he says it, the heat in his voice, makes her gasp.

“What… what does that mean?” she manages to ask between moans, her voice breathless, shaky.

He doesn’t answer right away, his mouth returning to her with renewed focus, his fingers curling inside her in just the right way. The pleasure is dizzying, her body trembling as she’s pushed closer to the brink. When he finally speaks again, his words are low and guttural, vibrating against her skin.

“Gevie… beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with lust as he looks up at her, his eye dark and filled with heat. “Jorrāelagon… love.” His hand moves in sync with his words, drawing more moans from her lips, her mind barely able to process the translations as the pleasure intensifies.

Her body arches into him, desperate for more, needing more, and he gives it to her, his fingers working her relentlessly. She’s on the edge, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps, when he murmurs one last word against her skin.

“Vūjigon,” he says, the word slipping from his lips like a caress, his voice deeper, rougher, as he lifts his head to look at her, his gaze burning into hers.

“Kiss,” she breathes, finally understanding, the realization sending a fresh wave of desire crashing over her. Her body moves of its own accord, her hips grinding against his fingers as she chases the release that’s just out of reach.

He doesn’t give her time to dwell on it, his mouth returning to her with a fervor that’s almost too much to bear. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and need that builds and builds until she’s teetering on the edge, her mind a haze. Her hips lift off the mattress, seeking more, needing more, and he gives it to her, his tongue and fingers moving in perfect harmony until she’s falling over the edge, her orgasm crashing over her in waves. She cries out, her hands fisting in his hair as he pushes her through it, his mouth never leaving her until she’s trembling with the aftershocks, her body spent and sated.

When he lays back down and his lips meet hers, she thinks there could be no better feeling than being held in his arms.

The fact that he may still have another woman in his life slips her mind completely.

Tonight, he is hers.

The morning after, he's gone off for an early class, leaving her to rest. She finds The Last Embrace on his nightstand and picks it up, her nimble fingers turning the pages as she scans his notes scattered throughout the book.

Love is a disease of the mind, but one we willingly suffer for.

It’s the kind of observation she can easily imagine him making aloud, his voice detached yet tinged with a subtle irony. She almost pictures him writing it, pausing to consider the implications of the passage before inscribing his thoughts with careful precision. It’s a stark reminder of how his mind works - always a step removed, always observing from a distance, even when he’s most deeply involved.

It’s so very Aemond, the way he can reduce something as chaotic and overwhelming as love to a mere intellectual curiosity, and yet, in doing so, reveal more about himself than any grand declaration ever could.

A small smile plays on her lips as she closes the book, gently smoothing the folded corner.

She least expects it, but it hits her with the force of a brick wall when it does.

She finds herself at Aemond's apartment again, perched on the familiar countertop in his kitchen, picking at a bowl of leftover pasta he’d casually reheated for her. Aemond stands at the stove, his attention focused on a kettle of water beginning to steam. He moves with his usual grace, every action deliberate and precise, but there’s something slightly different about him today—a subtle energy that she can’t quite place.

Almost offhandedly as he reaches for a mug, he speaks. “I might not be around tomorrow night. I’ve got…plans.”

He says it so casually, the words slipping out as though they’re of no consequence. But there’s a flicker of something in his tone, something that makes her glance up from her bowl, her curiosity piqued.

“Plans?” she echoes, trying to keep her voice light, nonchalant, though a strange tightness begins to form in her chest.

“Yeah,” he continues, filling the mug with hot water before turning back to her, his expression as composed as ever. “Dinner, actually. With someone.”

The way he says it - "with someone" - is so deliberately vague, so carefully chosen, that it sends a chill through her, the pieces beginning to fall into place. The quiet confidence in his voice, the way he doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t feel the need to explain. It’s a subtle giveaway, but one she can’t ignore.

“Oh,” she murmurs, her gaze dropping back to her bowl, her appetite suddenly fading. She forces herself to take another bite, though it tastes like ash in her mouth. “That sounds…nice.”

“Yeah,” he replies, his tone so matter-of-fact, so indifferent, that it stings more than anything else. “It should be.”

For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say, the silence between them suddenly feeling heavier, more oppressive. The realization settles in slowly, a painful clarity that makes her heart ache. To him, what they have is just…convenient.

He isn’t even trying to hide it. The ease with which he mentions his plans, the lack of any concern for how she might feel about it—it all points to one thing. 

Casual. Non-exclusive.

Then again, he made no promises.

The realization - reminder, if she was being practical - is a bitter pill to swallow, and she fights to keep her expression neutral, not wanting to betray the sadness that’s creeping into her. She allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to this. But now, sitting there on his countertop, she sees it for what it truly is.

“Enjoy your dinner,” she says, her voice sounding distant to her own ears as she pushes the half-eaten bowl away and slides off the counter. She offers him a small, strained smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Thanks,” he replies, his gaze flicking over her briefly before returning to the kettle, as if her words are of no particular importance.

As she moves to grab her bag, her movements slow and deliberate, Aemond turns to look at her. The casual indifference that colored his words just moments before falters when he sees the expression on her face - something distant, guarded, as though she’s trying to shield herself from the truth that’s just settled between them.

“You’re upset,” he says, not as a question but as a statement, his tone flat. He’s always so direct, so infuriatingly precise in his observations, as if everything in the world can be neatly cataloged and understood.

She hesitates, her back to him as she reaches for her bag, fingers brushing over the strap, but she doesn’t pick it up right away. She can feel his gaze on her, sharp and assessing, waiting for her to respond.

“It’s nothing,” she murmurs, forcing herself to keep her voice steady, even though the words feel like they’re sticking in her throat. “Just…you could’ve mentioned it before.”

There’s a beat of silence, the air between them taut with unspoken things. She knows he’s searching for the right words, something that won’t sound like an admission but also won’t deny the reality she’s trying to ignore.

“You always knew there was someone else,” he says finally, his voice low, almost gentle, as if that can soften the blow.

She swallows hard, her grip tightening on the strap of her bag as the truth of his words settles in. Of course, she knows. There’s always been something in the way he holds himself slightly apart from her, something that hinted at the boundaries she was never meant to cross. And yet, she crossed them anyway, hoping—foolishly—that maybe he would meet her halfway.

“Did I?” she asks quietly, her voice trembling just enough to give her away. She turns to face him then, her eyes searching his, looking for something - anything - that will contradict what he’s just said. But there’s nothing. His expression is calm, measured, as though they’re discussing something inconsequential.

He doesn’t answer, but the silence that follows is more telling than anything he could say. She can see it now, how he’s always been careful with her, careful not to let things go too far, careful not to give her any false hope.

But he never really needed to, did he? Because she already knew, deep down, that whatever they had was just a small part of his life - a convenience, a passing thing that will end the moment someone else comes along. Someone more important, more permanent.

She lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, the sound heavy in the quiet of the kitchen. “Right,” she says, nodding to herself as if that will help make sense of everything. “I guess I did know.”

She hesitates, the words tasting bitter on her tongue as she adds, almost too casually, “Daeron texted about coming to Oldtown over the weekend. I probably have plans with him anyway.”

The silence that follows is suffocating, and when she dares to meet his gaze, she catches the subtle shift in his expression - a small, almost amused curl of his lips. It’s as if he can see right through her, peeling back the flimsy layers she’s tried to build around herself. The realization that he sees her so clearly, that he understands her attempts to guard herself, makes her feel smaller, more exposed than she ever intended.

His smile fades, replaced by something darker, more contemplative, and the weight of his gaze makes her want to shrink away, to hide from the way he’s dissecting her. He steps closer, the space between them shrinking to nothing as his presence looms large, overwhelming. She feels like she’s teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something that could shatter her if she’s not careful. But she doesn’t move, rooted to the spot by the intensity of his gaze, by the way he’s looking at her like he’s trying to decide if she’s worth the effort of breaking down completely.

The resignation in her voice must cut through him because he shifts, leaning back against the counter, his eyes never leaving hers. But he doesn’t move toward her, doesn’t try to reach out. It’s as if he knows that any attempt to comfort her now would only be hollow, empty of meaning.

She can smell the faint scent of the coffee still lingering on him, mixing with his cologne, and it makes her head swim, makes the room feel smaller, more suffocating. Everything feels too close, too real, and she needs to leave before she says something she can’t take back.

“Look, it’s fine,” she says quickly, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I should get going anyway. I’ve got things to do.”

He doesn’t stop her. He just watches as she slings the bag over her shoulder, his gaze cool and detached, like he’s studying her, trying to understand why she’s making such a big deal out of something they both knew had an expiration date.

But just as she turns to leave, he reaches out, taking hold of her hand. The contact is brief, almost hesitant, but it’s enough to make her pause. There’s something in his touch—something that feels more like pity than affection. It twists in her chest, making her feel even smaller, more exposed.

“Take care,” he says, his voice polite, almost distant, as if the gesture was merely obligatory.

The words sting, made worse by the way he immediately lets go, his hand slipping away as if it never held hers at all. She walks away.

She pauses for a moment, hand on the doorknob, before glancing back at him. There’s so much she wants to say, but she knows it will all sound pathetic and desperate, and she refuses to let him see her like that.

“Yeah,” she replies softly, her heart aching in a way that feels almost physical. “You too.”

She sits on the edge of her sofa, her fingers idly tracing the patterns on the faded fabric. 

She stares at the shadows, feeling them stretch and distort, like her own thoughts, twisted and knotted.

The apartment is a mess - books splayed open, cold coffee mugs scattered about, and a half-burnt vanilla scented candle that hasn’t seen use in days. The quiet hum of the city outside the window is distant, almost surreal, as if it belongs to another world entirely. Inside, it’s as if time has stopped, leaving her in a stagnant pool of self-pity that she hates like nothing else.

Her mind drifts to Aemond. She can’t shake the image of him talking with his date. The warmth of his voice, the way his eyes subtly light up - it all feels so tangible, yet so out of reach. She imagines him in those moments of connection, and each thought pulls her deeper into the mire of her own emotions. The more she dwells on it, the more isolated she feels.

The room feels colder now, the silence pressing in on her from all sides. She wraps her blanket tighter, but it doesn’t offer much comfort. Her phone buzzes on the coffee table, jolting her out of her reverie. She hesitates, a mix of curiosity and apprehension swirling inside her. It’s probably not Aemond, she tells herself, but she can’t help the flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, it is.

She reaches for the phone, her hand trembling slightly. The screen lights up with Daeron’s name. She swipes to open it, her heart pounding as she sees the photo he’s sent. It’s Daeron at Oldtown Airport, his face lit up with a smile that seems to brighten the whole frame. A text follows.

Lunch tomorrow?

She smiles.

She waits outside Moonbloom, the café's warm, inviting light spilling onto the pavement. She watches as people bustle by, each face a fleeting moment in the urban blur. Her nerves are a tight knot, and she checks her phone for the umpteenth time, though she already knows Daeron will be on time. She hears his voice before she sees him.

"Hey," Daeron says, a smile tugging at his lips as he approaches. His eyes, as familiar as they are, carry a weight that wasn’t there before. They embrace awkwardly, and it makes her bristle.

Inside, the café is bustling with midday energy. They choose a corner table, its cozy atmosphere offering some solace from the crowd. Daeron settles into his seat, his movements slightly hesitant. She follows suit, their conversation initially faltering as they tiptoe around the more profound emotions that linger between them.

“So, um,” she begins, fidgeting with the menu, “have you been to this place before?”

“Not really,” Daeron replies, his fingers tapping nervously on his coffee cup. “I mean, I’ve passed by, but I’ve never actually been in. It’s...nice.”

“I love the way they’ve decorated it.”

Daeron looks around, taking in the mismatched furniture and the array of quirky knick-knacks. “Definitely. It’s kind of...charming. I guess I didn’t expect it to be this warm.”

She smiles, relieved to have found a neutral topic. “Yeah, it’s cozy. I come here when I need to get away from everything for a bit.”

“Sounds like it’s a good spot for that,” Daeron says, his voice warming slightly. “I could use a little escape myself.”

They both pause, a slight awkwardness settling over them. The menu sits between them, a practical distraction from the underlying tension. Daeron glances at it, his brow furrowing as he tries to decide.

“So, have you tried anything here that’s a must-have?” Daeron asks, attempting to steer the conversation back to safe ground.

She looks at the menu thoughtfully. “The avocado toast is really good, and the latte is pretty great too. It’s one of those places where you can’t go wrong with pretty much anything. Oh and they have a really good cheesecake!”

“Sounds good,” Daeron says, nodding as if making a mental note. “I’ll have to try both then.”

She chuckles softly, trying to ease the nervous energy between them. “You won’t regret it.”

The menu arrives, and they both laugh over the choices—an easy distraction from the real conversation they know is coming. They talk about trivial things first: the new book she’s reading, Daeron’s latest coffee obsession. The conversation is light, almost too light, as if they’re both waiting for the right moment to dive into the deeper waters.

As their meals arrive, Daeron takes a deep breath, his fingers absently tracing the edge of his coffee cup. “I didn’t realize how much I missed this. You.”

She looks up, surprised by the shift in tone. “Yeah, moving away does that to you.” 

Daeron’s gaze meets hers, a mixture of nostalgia and hesitation in his eyes. “It’s like, I’ve been so caught up in trying to manage everything that I forgot to appreciate these simpler things. I’ve been trying to figure out what really matters, and I think...I think that’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

Her curiosity is piqued, the earlier awkwardness giving way to a more genuine connection. “What do you mean?”

Daeron hesitates, fiddling with the edge of his napkin as he searches for the right words. “Floris and me. You know, things seemed okay, but I was always looking for the next problem, the next thing that might go wrong. I never really stopped to appreciate what we had, or how well things were actually working.”

She listens intently, her eyes softening as she senses the depth of his struggle. “And?”

Daeron sighs, his gaze meeting hers with a sincerity that tugs at her heart. “I’ve realized that I need to take a step back and figure things out. It’s why I came to stay here for the next month. It’s not just about getting away from everything. It’s more about taking the time to understand myself better. I want to be in a better place for her - when I go back, I want to be someone who’s really ready.”

The café hums around them, the sounds of chatter and clinking cutlery providing a gentle backdrop to their conversation. She absorbs his words, feeling a mix of sadness and a surprising sense of relief. “You’re actually going to do this?” she asks quietly.

Daeron nods, a small, hopeful smile touching his lips. “Yeah, I think it’s what I need. Just some time to be with myself, to figure out what really matters. I want to make sure I’m not just rushing through life, looking for the next thing. I want to be present for her, for myself. You know?”

There’s something endearing about Daeron, who he’s grown into, and his willingness to admit he needs to take time for himself. It is eons ahead of the boy she knew. For a brief moment, she sees Aemond in him, and she takes a deep breath before she lets her thoughts carry her away.

“I think that’s really brave,” she says softly. “It’s not easy to take a step back and admit you need to sort things out.”

She wonders if her words are for him, or herself.

Your Starry Sept postcards are at my place.

The afternoon sun hits just right as they walk through the market with their condensing iced coffee cups in hand. The stalls around them are alive with the scent of fresh bread, spices and flowers. It’s been days since she’s seen Aemond, and she ignores his texts and any chance to see him like the plague.

They sip their coffee, exchanging easy smiles as they pass by vendors selling everything from handmade jewelry to antique trinkets. The atmosphere is relaxed, yet a tension lingers beneath the surface. Daeron, seemingly content, glances at her and notices a shift in her demeanor as they approach an antique store.

“What’s up with you?” he asks, his tone light. “You’ve been a bit...off today.”

Now more than ever, she hates how well the Targaryen brothers know her. Her heart skips a beat.

“Uh, it’s nothing,” she says, her voice a bit too high-pitched, betraying herself. “Just...a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Daeron raises an eyebrow, his concern deepening. “Come on… We’ve known each other long enough. You can tell me if something’s bothering you.”

She looks away, her eyes darting over the colorful array of vintage items displayed in the store’s window. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. The prospect of confessing her recent history with Aemond is daunting, especially since she had poured out her feelings to Daeron not so long ago.

If anything, it makes it all feel a lot less valid if she thinks of it that way.

“It’s a bit complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

The question hangs in the air, and Wylde feels a lump form in her throat. She swallows hard, weighing the consequences of her next words. She recalls the emotional turmoil she experienced when she admitted her feelings for Daeron and how vulnerable she felt. The idea of now revealing that she’s been seeing Aemond—his brother, no less—feels like an insurmountable hurdle.

She takes another sip of her coffee, trying to buy time. “It’s just...I don’t know how to explain it. There’s been some...changes, you know?”

Daeron looks at her intently, sensing her hesitation. “Look, if you’re not ready to talk about it, that’s okay.” Her heart aches at his genuine concern. She knows she should be honest, but the fear of how Daeron will react clouds her judgment. She finally meets his gaze, the weight of her secret pressing heavily on her shoulders.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s...complicated.”

Daeron’s expression shifts from concern to confusion. “Someone? Who?” She sees his frown lift into a smile.

“Who… that’s not relevant.” 

Before he can interrupt and charm Aemond’s identity out of her, she continues. “He was already with someone, but I caught feelings for him anyway. Then we hooked up, and I worry that I just…”

“You worry that you’ve made a mistake.”

“Among other things. I…” She sighs. “I just want someone that’s mine, you know? It is a bit of a shame that the boys I like always belong to someone else.”

He chuckles. “I’m going to ask you to think well and be honest. Do you know him well enough?”

“Very well.”

“Do you think he’s the type to cheat?”

“Definitely not.”

“And did you ask him about this? What he wants from you, and what his situation with the other person is like?”

“I guess.”

“And what did he say?”

“He made no promises. He said I always knew there was someone else. I… I messed up. I shouldn’t have encouraged him, to be frank. He always knew what it was. He always knew, and I… did too. Just took a while for it to sink in. And… I was slightly foolish in hoping that he’d be just for me… for a while there it felt like… the last few months, it was all building up to it.”

“And you’re sure a fling is what he wants?”

“He went out for dinner with this other girl yesterday. Safe to assume.”

“I guess the question is…” He sighs. “Having as little of him as he can give you… is that something you’re willing to have? Because if not, you’ll have to push him away entirely. Protect yourself.”

She closes her eyes and brings a hand up to her mouth in resignation. “I feel so stupid.”

Daeron places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it takes two to make something work. Don’t beat yourself up if he isn’t.”

When she walks back to her flat that night, Daeron’s words echo through her mind like a fast growing wildfire.

Is he worth it? 

She knows the answer long before she even ponders on the question. It is simply a question of whether or not she can handle it.

There’s more cheesecake in the fridge.

She avoids Aemond and his texts for the next few days, her thoughts spiraling as she wonders what he really wants from her if he’s seeing someone else. Every time her phone buzzes, she tenses, half-hoping, half-dreading it’s him. 

Of course he won’t say he misses her. He won’t say he wants to see her. That’s just not his style.

She stares at the screen for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the keyboard before she decides to leave him on read. Her heart pounds, but she doesn't know how to respond. It’s easier to focus on Daeron, easier to avoid the growing confusion that Aemond has brought into her life.

They lie on the blanket, the sound of waves crashing below the cliffs filling the comfortable silence between them. The sky above them shifts in shades of pink and orange as the sun inches closer to the horizon. It’s a scene that could easily be romantic if things had turned out differently between them.

“You know,” Daeron starts, his voice light but thoughtful, “we’re pretty compatible.”

She turns her head to look at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, we are. It’s kind of a shame things didn’t… I don’t know, grow between us the way they could’ve.”

“Yeah,” he echoes, his tone carrying a hint of wistfulness. “It just never… happened.”

With you, she wants to add. I loved you for so long, you just didn’t love me back.

They both know there’s no regret in those words, just a shared acknowledgment of something that could have been but never was.

“I remember the first time I realized I had feelings for you,” she says, her voice softer now as she gazes out at the sea. “I was probably eight years old. That day on the school grounds, when you and Luke fought because he was bothering me. In my defense, I was eight years old and that was the most romantic thing ever.”

Daeron laughs, a genuine sound that makes her smile. “Eight years old, huh? Wow, I didn’t know I was such a charmer back then.”

“You weren’t. I was just an idiot.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, well, you had your moments,” she teases, nudging him with her shoulder. “But really, it was just a silly crush. I got over it eventually. Wasn’t great, but I managed it somehow.” The gravity of underselling her feelings hits her, but she’s not quite upset about it anymore. Daeron is a thing of her past - how much power can feelings from the past hold anyway?

“It all seems silly to me now.”

Daeron nods, understanding. “I get that. I always thought you’d make an awesome girlfriend, though.”

She raises an eyebrow, amused. “Yeah?”

“You’re cool and smart, and we always have a good time together. But I just… never felt much more than that. I do love you, just…”

“You’re not in love with me. I don’t blame you.” She sighs. “At least, not anymore.”

“You know what I mean,” Daeron says, chuckling. “We were close, and it always felt like we could’ve been something more, but it never felt… right. I think I just always saw you as my best friend.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it? We’re practically perfect for each other in so many ways, but the spark was never really there. No matter how much I used to want it.”

“Practically perfect,” Daeron agrees, smiling as he echoes her words. “Maybe we’re too practical.”

“Or maybe too perfect.” She grins, looking at him through her sunglasses.

“On paper, definitely.” They both laugh, the sound mingling with the crashing waves. They’re not sad about what could have been; they’re content with what they have.

She realizes she quite likes it this way.

“Hey, you know what?” Daeron says, his tone suddenly playful. “If we’re both still single at forty, we should just get married.”

She snorts, covering her mouth as she laughs. “Seriously?”

“Why not?” he says, grinning. “We’d make a pretty awesome couple, don’t you think?”

She looks at him, pretending to consider it. “Yeah, perfect on paper.”

“Come on, indulge me.”

“Fuck no. What if I’m actually single at forty and have to follow through?”

“It won’t be so bad, I promise.”

“If I’m still single by forty, I’d rather throw myself off this cliff.”

“Be a little brave for once. It’s just a far off possibility.”

“Ugh, fine. You have a deal.” Just as she says it, she extends her hand to him.

“Deal.” He laughs, and the realization is devoid of any pesky feelings as she thinks this is the best laugh she knows.

Hearty, boyish and pure.

Came by the flat, it’s locked. Tell me you’re okay. It’s been more than a week.

I’m fine.

She doesn’t want to see him till she knows exactly what she wants to say. He’s made his stance very clear - that this is very casual to him, and that he doesn’t take what they have as seriously as she thought. She envies him, in all honesty. Why can’t her heart be as straightforward as his?

Daeron had met Aemond and their uncle Gwayne for a game of tennis at the Hightower Townhouse and invited her - but she refused politely and chose to not dwell. A few days later, he takes the private jet to Essos to visit Helaena during her exchange year and she clings to him in a tight hug before letting him go.

Like Daeron, who has chosen to relax this summer, she knows that first-year internships aren't mandatory. If she wanted one, she could easily get it - her name carries significant weight in the world of art and history. Her great-great-great-great-grandmother, Coryanne Wylde, left an indelible mark on the Westerosi art scene with her scandalous and groundbreaking series of erotic paintings titled A Caution for Young Girls. The collection - now cared for at the Citadel in Oldtown - is notorious for its bold sexual depictions, and is considered a turning point in the history of Westerosi art. That, coupled with her family’s considerable wealth - she has the luxury to forgo work during the first year holidays and focus solely on herself.

This summer, she’s embracing that privilege fully. Her days are spent immersed in books, wandering through museums, and exploring the city. She takes day trips to quaint coastal towns, armed with her sketchbook and ready to draw.

Summer will come to a close in less than a fortnight, and she’s grateful for the rest. As much as she loves studying art history, it does take a lot of energy out of her to channel that interest into wading through a structured syllabus that doesn’t run on her own time or pace.

Mornings begin with walks through the city, sketchbook always in hand, capturing the delicate lines of the older architecture or the vibrant chaos of modern installations. She takes her camera too, and each photograph she takes feels like a small rebellion against the uncertainty that has plagued her thoughts.

Afternoons are reserved for exploring the smaller towns along the coastline. She finds solace in the simplicity of these places—the way the sea breeze carries the scent of salt and wildflowers, the way cobblestone streets wind past charming cafes and artisan shops. She sits by the harbor, sketching boats bobbing gently on the waves, or wanders through quaint markets, photographing the scenes. She lets the local old women near the port weave flowers and shells into her hair, and wears loose fitting bright gowns that she finds in smaller stalls.

As the weeks pass, Aemond’s messages become sparse. When the texts stop altogether, she feels a pang of guilt she can’t quite shake. She knows it’s probably for the best, that she needs the space to sort out what she wants from him, but the silence echoes in her mind, leaving her to wonder what she might have done differently.

In every possibility, she realizes she wants him. But she never dwells in her thoughts long enough to understand what that means for them.

One evening, a few days before the next semester is set to begin, she finds herself at the Quill and Tankard, a charming little pub nestled in a cozy corner of the city. The warm, dimly lit space is filled with the hum of conversation and the clink of glasses. She orders a drink, the amber liquid swirling in her glass, and settles into a secluded booth. The conversations around her blur into a comforting background noise as she sips her drink, the alcohol loosening the tight knot of anxiety in her chest.

As the night wears on, her thoughts drift back to Aemond. She has tried so hard to avoid him, to drown out the questions and doubts he has stirred within her. But here in the pub, the memories feel sharper, more insistent. She glances around the room, watching other couples laugh and share stories, and wonders why her own connections feel so fraught with uncertainty.

Her phone buzzes on the table, a reminder of the texts that have long ceased. She glances at it, feeling a pang of longing and frustration. The lack of communication from Aemond leaves her with unanswered questions and unresolved feelings. She takes another sip of her drink, the warmth spreading through her, and feels a surge of impulse.

With a deep breath, she reaches for her phone. Her fingers hover over the screen for a moment, trembling slightly. She knows she shouldn’t be doing this, that reaching out might only reopen wounds she isn’t ready to face. But the need for some semblance of understanding is too strong to ignore.

Finally, she presses the call button and holds the phone to her ear. The familiar ringtone feels both comforting and jarring in the quiet of the pub. She takes another sip, steeling herself for whatever comes next.

"Hey, can I come over?”

Despite living a stone’s throw away from each other, she hasn’t seen him in a month - and the moment she lays eyes on him again, she’s struck by how effortlessly captivating he is. Aemond sits at his desk, a stack of papers spread out before him, his focus completely absorbed by whatever it is he’s reading. The dim white light from his half-open laptop casts a soft glow on his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the intensity in his expression. He’s in his element, completely at ease in the quiet of his own space.

She realizes, not for the first time, that it’s easy to stare at Aemond. Easy, because he’s always so absorbed in whatever task demands his attention. His head is often down, his gaze fixed on the papers, books, or screens in front of him, making it simple for her to observe him without the risk of getting caught. But more than that, it’s easy to stare at Aemond because there’s something about him that draws her in. He doesn’t have the easy, effortless charm of Daeron or the overwhelming presence of Aegon, but his appeal lies in the subtleties.

There’s a sharper, quieter beauty in Aemond that reveals itself in the smallest of ways. The way his brow furrows slightly when he’s deep in thought, the almost imperceptible lift of his lips when something amuses him. His beauty isn’t meant to be obvious or attention grabbing; it’s there for those who take the time to notice, for those who can appreciate the details that make him who he is. It’s the kind of beauty that makes her wonder about the thoughts that flicker behind his stormy eye, those that he keeps so carefully guarded.

In many ways, Helaena is much the same. There’s a quiet elegance to her, a softness that’s easy to overlook but impossible to forget once you’ve seen it. The two of them, siblings with such contrasting temperaments, share this unspoken, understated allure. They leave a lasting impression, like a delicate piece of art that grows more intricate the longer you look at it.

She stands there for a moment longer, taking him in - the way his long fingers trace the edge of the paper, the way a few stray strands of hair fall across his forehead. The familiarity of this scene almost comforts her as she leans into the doorway, unsure if she’s ready for this confrontation, but knowing it’s inevitable.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come,” she murmurs, the words slipping out like a secret, barely more than a breath. They drift into the space between them, fragile and hesitant.

“I told you to,” he replies, his voice steady, almost indifferent. His eyes remain fixed on the papers before him, the rustling of the sheets filling the silence between them.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “What are you working on?”

“Going through some numbers, drafting reports for Otto,” he answers, still without looking up.

“Did you work with your grandfather? For the summer?” she asks, grasping at the small talk like a lifeline.

“Yes, father wanted me to train with him.”

“Hm.”

The conversation stalls, and she moves away from the doorway, retreating to the kitchen as if the physical distance might help her regain her composure. She rifles through his fridge, finding a slice of cheesecake and brewing a pot of coffee. The mundane actions feel almost grounding, but the tension remains, coiled tight in her chest.

As she watches the coffee drip, her mind races. She’s tense at his curtness, but a part of her knows she deserves it after avoiding him for so long. Still, she can’t help the anger simmering beneath the surface. She left to protect herself, but he’s acting as if her absence was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

She walks back into the room, determined now. She nudges herself between him and his work desk, leaning back with her palms pressing against the surface. He finally looks up, his gaze sweeping over her from top to bottom, assessing. His hand rests over his lips, elbows braced on the armrests of his chair. The quiet intensity of his stare sends a shiver down her spine, but she doesn’t back down.

“What are we doing?” she asks, her voice low but firm.

“You disappeared for weeks on end, and now you’re back,” he responds, his tone maddeningly calm, as if nothing has happened.

Her nostrils flare in irritation. “What were we doing before I left?” She’s not letting him off that easily.

“Hm.” He takes a deep, audible breath, the kind that makes her want to scream. “We slept together, and you walked away to sort yourself out.”

“Are you serious right now?” she scoffs, her voice rising in disbelief. “I left because we slept together, and then you told me you were still seeing someone else! Something I asked you about, and you never bothered addressing!”

The frustration bubbling inside her threatens to spill over. She feels like a petulant child, but she knows she’s not entirely in the wrong. Yet his infuriatingly level-headed tone only makes her feel more on edge.

Without warning, he stands up, looming over her like a dark shadow. His presence is overwhelming, and when he steps closer, she can feel the heat radiating from him. His hands slam down on the table on either side of her, caging her in. Their breaths mingle in the small space between them, and she refuses to break eye contact, challenging him with every ounce of defiance she has left.

“Did you, for once, consider that I may not have wanted to wreck whatever it is you have with this other girl you’ve been seeing? For more than a year too, if I might add?” Her voice is laced with bitterness, but there’s an edge of vulnerability there too, one she can’t quite hide.

“Hm.”

His nonchalant response is the final straw. “Do you have nothing to say to me?” she nearly pleads, her tone wavering. It’s borderline pathetic, and the entire situation feels far messier than she can handle. “You blindsided me.”

He watches her for a moment, his gaze unreadable, before he finally speaks. “Do you regret it?”

Despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her, that answer is easy. “I probably should, but no.”

Her words hang between them, and for a moment, neither of them moves. Then, almost imperceptibly, his hand brushes against hers where it rests on the table. It’s a tentative touch, the barest graze of his fingers, but it’s enough to send a jolt of electricity through her. She inhales sharply, her breath catching in her throat.

He leans in closer, the distance between them shrinking to nothing. She can feel the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the tension thickens, wrapping around them like a vise. His gaze drops to her lips, and she feels her resolve weakening, her anger melting away into something far more dangerous.

“Aemond…” she whispers, her voice trembling.

He tilts his head slightly, his lips almost brushing against hers. “Wylde,” he murmurs, the sound of her name on his lips making her heart stutter. His eyes darken, and she knows there’s no going back now.

She can feel the tension, heavy and palpable. And then, without another word, he closes the final gap between them, capturing her lips with his in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. 

It’s messy, complicated, and far from perfect, but at this moment, he is all that matters.

His lips find the tender skin of her neck, trailing a path of open-mouthed kisses down to her collarbone. The wet warmth of his mouth sends shivers down her spine, his breath hot against her skin. His hands are everywhere - exploring, claiming, running up and down her sides under her shirt, fingers pressing into her flesh as if trying to memorize the feel of her.

“Been too fucking long,” he murmurs, the words flowing like water.

She pulls his head up, capturing his lips with hers in a fierce kiss, a desperate melding of mouths that leaves them both breathless. They move together with a practiced urgency, her shirt sliding over her head, his following a second later. Her bra is discarded just as quickly, tossed aside without a second thought, as their bodies come together, skin to skin, the heat between them searing.

But when she reaches out, shifting his papers aside to sit on the edge of the desk, he laughs quietly, a low rumble that sends a thrill through her. He shakes his head, amusement flickering in his eyes, and lifts her effortlessly, his hands strong and steady beneath her. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, holding on tight as he carries her toward the bed.

“Those papers took me a while to organize,” he murmurs sharply, his tone laced with mock seriousness. If she didn’t know him better, she might think he was truly annoyed.

But she does know him, knows the way his eyes glint with barely concealed mirth as he lowers her onto the bed. The cool sheets contrast with the heat of their bodies, and she arches up into him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulls him down for another kiss. 

Aemond’s hands trail down her body, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her pants as he pulls away slightly, eyes dark and intent. She watches him, breathless, as he slides her pants and underwear down in one smooth motion, the cool air hitting her skin making her shiver.

He kisses his way down her body, lingering at her hips before settling between her thighs. The anticipation coils tight in her belly, her breath hitching as he looks up at her, his expression unreadable but undeniably hungry. He presses a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, and she feels the tension in her body build with each brush of his lips against her skin.

When he finally touches her where she needs him most, she gasps, her hips arching off the bed in response. He holds her down gently, his strong hands firm on her thighs as his mouth moves with skillful precision. The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve ending alive and thrumming with pleasure as he takes his time, drawing out every gasp and moan that slips from her lips.

She threads her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly as she loses herself in the feeling, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. His name slips past her lips, a breathless plea that only seems to spur him on, his tongue and lips working in tandem to push her closer and closer to the edge.

It’s a slow build, a steady climb toward something that feels almost too intense to bear. 

When she finally falls over the edge, it’s like the world shatters around her, a white-hot burst of pleasure that leaves her breathless and shaking, her hands gripping his hair tightly as she rides out the waves of her release. He stays with her through it all, his mouth still moving against her until the sensation becomes too much and she gently pulls him up to her, needing to feel his lips on hers, to ground herself in the warmth of his kiss.

Her breath is still uneven as she pulls him closer, her hand sliding down his chest, tracing the hard lines of his torso. She meets his gaze, eyes dark with desire, and murmurs, “I need you.”

Without breaking eye contact, her hand slips into his slacks, finding him already hard and straining against the fabric. He hisses at the contact, his jaw tightening as she wraps her fingers around him, stroking slowly, deliberately.

But it doesn’t last long. With a low growl, he pulls her hand away and stands up, quickly shedding his slacks and boxers, the clothing falling to the floor in a heap. The sight of him, fully bared to her, sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through her.

He’s back on her in an instant, his mouth on hers, urgent and demanding, as he positions himself between her legs. She wraps her legs around his waist, drawing him closer, and when he enters her in one smooth thrust, eliciting a gasp from them both.

He stills for a moment, buried deep inside her, his breath hot against her neck. Then, with a groan, he starts to move, slow at first, each thrust measured and deliberate, as if he’s savoring the way her body reacts to him. It doesn’t take long for the pace to quicken, the room filling with the sounds of their bodies moving together, the bed creaking beneath them.

She clings to him, her nails digging into his back as he drives into her, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. His grip on her hips is firm, his movements powerful and unrelenting, as if he’s intent on losing himself in her.

“Ae-mond…”

Their breaths mingle, their bodies slick with sweat as they move together, the world outside fading away until all that exists is this. A conversation is due and far from over, but her mind is clouded by thoughts of him, him, him-

She breaks the kiss, her head falling back as her body tightens around him, pulling him deeper as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. He buries his face in her neck, his breath ragged against her skin, and with one final, languid thrust, he comes in pleasure as he moans into her skin.

For a moment, they remain tangled together, their breaths harsh and uneven, the aftermath of their release leaving them both dazed and spent. He stays inside her as long as he can, as if reluctant to break the connection, before finally pulling away and collapsing beside her, pulling her into his arms.

Her head rests on his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm beneath her ear. His arm is draped over her back, holding her close as if to keep the world at bay for just a little longer.

But as the silence stretches on, the reality of their situation begins to creep back in, and she feels the familiar weight of her thoughts clouding her mind. What are they really doing here? What does any of this mean? The questions swirl in her head, tugging her back to the uncertainty she’s been trying to avoid.

He notices the change in her immediately. The way her body tenses slightly, the furrow that forms between her brows. He’s seen this look before - when she’s lost in thought, when something’s weighing heavily on her. His grip tightens around her, and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, trying to anchor her in the present.

She tilts her head up, meeting his gaze. There’s a softness in his eyes, a tenderness that makes her chest tighten. For a moment, neither of them speaks, the air thick. His hand comes up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch lingering on her cheek.

Her heart skips a beat as she tries to find the words to express the tangle of emotions inside her. But before she can speak, he abruptly breaks the silence.

“It’s never going to be exclusive or long-term with her. That’s not what we have.” he says, his voice steady but laced with something she can’t quite place. “You’re not destroying anything.”

The words hang in the air between them, heavy and final. He’s said them almost as if to preempt whatever she was going to say, as if to take away the guilt and confusion that’s been gnawing at her since this all began. His eyes search hers, gauging her reaction.

She blinks, trying to process what he’s just said. The admission should bring some relief, should ease the turmoil inside her, but instead, it leaves her feeling more conflicted. The clarity she sought doesn’t come; instead, she’s left with a hollowness that only deepens the questions she’s been grappling with.

“You think saying that makes this easier?” she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m saying it because I don’t want you to feel guilty,” he replies, his tone firm but not unkind. “This—whatever this is—doesn’t have to be complicated. It can be just us, without any strings attached.”

She bites her lip, the words sinking in. He’s offering her an out, a way to keep whatever they have without the burden of labels or expectations. But is that really what she wants?

Especially now that her heart skips a beat whenever he comes around? 

“You were in love with him for a long time. This is what you need. Something that won’t trouble you.” His hand trails down her arm, grounding her in the moment. “You don’t have to overthink it,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “We want each other.”

She likes him. More than she should, if a fling with her is all he wants. But she can't bring herself to push him away.

“We can just be.”

She looks up at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but there’s none. He’s being honest with her, laying it all out so she can make her own choice.

“You're saying you've been seeing a girl for more than a year, but she's alright with you sleeping with me?”

“Think that's how an open relationship works. Don't you?”

She wants to ask who it is, but she has a feeling that's more trouble than it's worth.

“And what if I don't want this?”

“You can stop anytime. But you won't.”

His functional eye narrows and there's knots of muscle in both corners of his jaw, a slight twitch of the eyebrow. She likes him when he's like this.

She likes when he knows her. She likes that he's indispensable to her. She likes that he knows that too.

She kisses him and goes to sleep in his arms.

Does any of it matter if she gets to have him like this?

The room is quiet except for the faint rustle of pages as Aemond flips through her sketchbook, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders. She traces absent-minded patterns on his chest, the tip of her finger skimming over the faint lines of his muscles, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

The dim light filters in through the curtains, casting a soft glow over them, highlighting the contentment on her face. Her head rests against him, hair fanned out over the pillow as she relaxes into the moment, her mind drifting aimlessly. 

Aemond’s fingers lazily flip through the pages filled with rough pencil strokes, some finished, others abandoned halfway. His gaze pauses on one drawing in particular - a silhouette of a woman standing at the edge of the sea, her figure gazing out toward the endless horizon.

He runs his thumb over the page, his voice low. “What’s this one?”

She turns her head, glancing at the sketch. Her lips curve into a small smile, though her mind drifts back to the scene that had inspired it. “I was hanging out at the Sunset Sea for a few days. I’d been studying Jaeron of Lys in my class with Professor Rivers, you know, the old painter?” He shifts slightly, and she shifts along with him. “His work was all about those distant, far-off humans in his portraits, always framed by these huge, sweeping landscapes.” 

Aemond listens intently, his fingers still resting on the paper as she speaks. He turns his head slightly toward her, encouraging her to continue.

“It’s why his work is so widely discussed. The people in his paintings are always so still. Silent. You barely notice them at first, almost like they’re not even the focus. But the longer you look, the more you wonder what they’re thinking, what they’re feeling. He made the audience do the work to comprehend them.”

Aemond’s brow furrows slightly, intrigued by the thought. “I’ve seen some of his work in the books. There’s this tension in it, like the figures are waiting for something, even though the rest of the world moves on around them.”

She nods. “Exactly. That tension is what makes it brilliant. What’s even more tragic, though, is what happened to him.” Her voice softens, the weight of the story pulling her deeper into it.

“Jaeron went blind in his later years. He couldn’t paint, couldn’t create for years. The grief of not being able to see art, beauty… it destroyed him. He never touched a brush again, not until he was on his deathbed. And even then, he wished for one last chance to paint.”

Aemond turns fully to face her now, propping his head on his hand, captivated by the story. “And did he?”

She nods, her gaze distant as she recalls the details from her class. “He did. Blind and frail, he recreated his first-ever painting—a woman looking into the sea. It was perfect, down to the smallest detail. His final masterpiece.”

“The class was about muscle memory in art,” she continues softly. “How creativity, no matter how burnt out you feel, is what makes you… you. Even after all that time, even when he couldn’t see, his body remembered. His hands knew the strokes, the curves, like he’d never left it.”

“Hm.” Aemond’s noncommittal sound hums through the air as she turns her head, her eyes searching his face. “It is,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “I think about that sometimes - how you can leave something behind, but when you pick it back up… it’s like it never left you either. You just know.”

His thumb traces slow, soothing circles over her hand, his attention fully on her as she sighs, lost in thought.

“A lot of it translates into real life,” she continues, her voice softer now. “Like cycling, or swimming… even driving. Things that require focus and rhythm.”

She pauses, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s like learning to be in sync with something, or someone.”

Aemond’s eyebrow quirks up slightly at her words, a hint of curiosity flickering in his gaze as she drops her eyes, feeling the warmth of his chest beneath her cheek. She presses on, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Like how we didn’t see each other for the entire summer,” she says, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his skin, “but when we came back together… the chemistry, whatever it is. It was there. You didn’t forget what I liked, and I didn’t forget either.”

Her words hang in the air, the silence stretching. She feels a pang of doubt, wondering if her attempt at lightness had been too blunt, too revealing, too… stupid. She glances up at him, ready to brush it off, but Aemond is staring straight ahead, his fingers threading gently through her hair, the weight of his thoughts visible. She can see the wheels turn in his head.

“I wouldn’t want to forget anything about you,” he says. His voice settles deep within her chest.

Her breath catches, and for a moment, she’s at a loss for words, the intensity of his statement catching her off guard. A flush creeps up her neck, coloring her cheeks, and she feels the fluttering in her chest threaten to overwhelm her.

Desperate to lighten the mood, to distract herself from the way his words made her feel, she lets out a shaky laugh, trying to mask her flustered mind. “You’re being fucking pretentious now,” she jokes, but her voice betrays her, a bit too breathless, a bit too forced.

Why say things like that if you don't mean them?

Aemond doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze steady on hers. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh, just keeps looking at her with a quiet intensity that makes her heart race. The flutter in her chest doesn’t fade, and the realization hits her, taking her down with the force of a well-aimed punch to the gut.

He’s seen right through her.

When she wakes, she glances at the clock—her classes start in an hour or so, but Aemond's are earlier, and he’s already gone. The quiet of the apartment feels warm, almost comforting.

She heads to the bathroom and steps into the shower. As the steam fogs up the glass, she notices faint traces of where his fingers must have absently brushed across the condensation, drawing random patterns. 

Proof that this isn’t a dream, he was hers last night.

After her shower, she rummages through his cupboard to find something to wear, but instead finds a shirt she left behind long ago, forgotten until now. She pulls it on, feeling the fabric cling to her still-damp skin, and shimmies into the same pants from yesterday. The hunger hits her suddenly, and she practically inhales the toast, eggs and coffee, savoring every bite.

As she prepares to leave, she looks for the keys to lock the apartment. By the keystand, a small note catches her eye. She picks it up, her heart giving a small flutter as she reads the familiar handwriting.

Remember your postcards.

She finds the small stack right next to the note and smiles. She picks it up and almost walks out, before she walks back in and takes the note along with her too.

They sit across from each other at one of the long, narrow tables, the polished wood catching the golden hour light filtering through the tall windows.

Months have passed, and classes have begun again. Their time together has been good, even great, filled with moments that make her heart flutter more often than she’d care to admit. But with each passing day, a nagging feeling settles deeper in her chest - a constant reminder that they’re not dating, that her feelings for him shouldn’t matter. It’s something she has to tell herself over and over, especially when he does something that makes her smile in his own subtle way.

She’s focused on her laptop, typing away at her latest assignment, but her concentration wavers every now and then. She can’t help but sneak glances at Aemond, who’s engrossed in one of his textbooks, his brow furrowed in that familiar way that tugs at something deep within her.

Every so often, his foot nudges hers lightly under the table, a small gesture that sends a tingling sensation up her spine. It’s almost as if he does it without thinking, but the effect on her is anything but casual. She tries to keep her mind on her work, but the reminders keep coming - small touches that feel too intimate, like the brush of his hand against hers when they both reach for their coffee, or the way he sometimes squeezes her knee under the table, just for a moment, before going back to his reading as if nothing happened.

The thoughts swirl in her mind, making it harder and harder to focus. She needs a break, something to pull her away from these confusing feelings. So, she stands up, mumbling about needing a book for her research. Aemond doesn’t look up, but she can feel his presence, his quiet attention, as she walks away from the table.

She wanders through the rows of books, her fingers brushing along the spines as she tries to steady her thoughts. The library’s quiet, the only sounds the soft rustle of pages and the distant hum of conversation. She’s been walking for a few minutes when she suddenly stops, feeling a familiar presence behind her.

His shadow falls over her, unmistakable in its solidity, in the way it looms, tall and certain. Even without turning, she knows it’s Aemond. There’s something about the way he stands, the way his silhouette feels different from anyone else’s—broader, more composed, with an intensity that seems to fill the space around him.

She senses him draw closer, the warmth of his body pressing gently against her back. Her breath catches in her throat when she feels his hand brush her hair aside, the strands falling softly over her shoulder. Aemond’s fingers graze the nape of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. He leans in, his lips just barely touching her skin, teasing her with featherlight kisses that make her knees go weak.

“Hi,” she faintly murmurs. He grumbles just slightly, his voice low and rough in her ear, laced with a quiet amusement that makes her heart skip a beat. His breath is hot against her skin, and she can feel the faint rumble of his laugh as his lips travel along the curve of her neck.

Her breath catches as one of his hands slides under her skirt, fingers brushing over the curve of her ass, squeezing lightly before venturing lower, teasing the sensitive skin at the top of her thigh. The other hand moves up, slipping beneath her shirt. His touch is firm, confident, as his fingers trace over the fabric of her bra, finding the sensitive peaks of her nipples. He brushes over them, his touch sending a shudder through her that she can’t hide.

“Aemond…” she whispers, her voice a mix of plea and warning, but it only makes him smile against her skin.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he says softly, his voice full of a challenge she’s not sure she can meet. His fingers pinch lightly, just enough to make her gasp, the sound swallowed by his quiet groan of approval.

But she doesn’t tell him to stop. Instead, she leans back into him, her body betraying her mind as it seeks more of his touch. His hand on her ass tightens, pulling her against him, and she feels the heat of him, the way he presses against her as if he can’t get close enough.

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs, his lips trailing back up to her ear, nipping lightly at the lobe. “You know that, right?”

She nods, her breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts as his hand beneath her shirt continues its slow, deliberate torment.

“Say the word,” he whispers, his voice a low rumble that makes her insides twist with want. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”

But the words won’t come. Instead, she turns her head slightly, catching his gaze out of the corner of her eye, the intensity there stealing whatever resolve she thought she had. His eyes are dark, filled with something deep and consuming, and it’s in that moment she knows she’s lost.

“Aemond…” she breathes again, but this time, it’s not a warning. It’s an invitation, and he knows it. His hand leaves her ass, sliding around to her front, pulling her even closer, and she feels the low, satisfied hum in his chest as he kisses the side of her neck, harder this time, more insistent.

The hand slides further down, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties. His fingers move with agonizing slowness, tracing the curve of her before dipping into the heat between her thighs. She bites down on her lip, trying to stifle the gasp that escapes her as his fingers brush over her entrance.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs against her ear, his voice thick with desire. His fingers start to move in slow, deliberate circles, teasing and tormenting her with a touch that’s just enough to make her want more but not enough to satisfy the growing ache inside her.

She grips the edge of the bookshelf in front of her, knuckles turning white as she tries to stay quiet, but every slow, precise movement of his fingers makes it harder. Her breath hitches in her throat as he presses harder, moving against her in a way that makes her whole body tense with need.

“Please, Aemond,” she whispers, her voice trembling with the weight of everything she’s feeling. She wants more, needs more, and she knows he can give it to her.

A low, dark chuckle rumbles in his chest as he withdraws his hand, making her whimper at the loss. But before she can protest, he’s turning her around, his movements quick and deliberate, as if he’s been waiting for this just as much as she has.

He pushes her back against the shelves, his body pressing into hers, trapping her between the cool wood and his heat. His mouth is on hers before she can say anything else, kissing her hard and deep, swallowing the moan that escapes her as he reaches between them to tug her panties down. His fingers work deftly, the fabric falling to the floor around her ankles as he frees himself from his pants.

He pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, his gaze dark and filled with something primal. “It’s a shame,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “I quite like it when you scream.”

Her breath catches at his words, the anticipation tightening in her stomach as he leans in, his lips brushing against her ear. “But you’re going to have to be quiet, or they’ll hear you.”

He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before he’s lifting her leg, wrapping it around his waist as he guides himself to her entrance. She gasps as he pushes into her slowly, stretching her inch by inch in a way that feels both torturous and utterly perfect.

She bites down on her lip to keep from crying out, the intensity of the sensation almost too much to bear as he fills her completely. His hand slides under her shirt again, pushing the fabric up and palming her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a way that makes her arch against him, her body desperate for more of his touch.

He begins to move, thrusting into her with a slow, steady rhythm that has her head spinning. Each movement is deliberate, controlled, as if he’s savoring every moment, every sound she makes. She can’t help the small moans that escape her, each one muffled against his shoulder as she clings to him, her body trembling with the force of her need.

But even her attempts to stay quiet aren’t enough to satisfy him. He kisses her again, harder this time, swallowing her cries as he picks up the pace, his hips snapping against hers with a force that makes the bookshelf behind her rattle. The sounds of the library fade away, leaving only the echo of their ragged breaths and the wet, slick sounds of their bodies moving together.

“So fucking perfect,” he groans, his lips brushing against her ear as he pounds into her, each thrust hitting deeper, harder.

She can feel the tension building inside her, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust. Her fingers dig into his back, holding on to him like he’s the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground.

“I need you,” she gasps, her voice a desperate whisper against his neck. “Please, Aemond… don’t stop.” The thrill of being caught only seems to make her want more.

His response is a low, guttural sound that sends shivers down her spine. He shifts slightly, changing the angle just enough to hit that perfect spot inside her, and suddenly she’s teetering on the edge, every nerve in her body alight with sensation.

“Come for me,” he whispers, his voice a dark command that she can’t resist.

And she does. Her body shatters around him, her release crashing over her in waves that leave her trembling and breathless. He kisses her again, swallowing her cries as he thrusts into her harder, faster, riding out her orgasm until she’s nothing but a quivering mess in his arms.

Aemond isn’t far behind. With a few more powerful thrusts, he buries himself deep inside her, his body going rigid as he finds his own release, groaning her name against her lips as he spills into her.

They stay like that for a moment, both of them breathing heavily, their bodies pressed together as they come down from the high. He kisses her softly, his lips lingering on hers as if he’s reluctant to pull away, and for a moment, it’s just the two of them, lost in the aftermath of what they’ve just shared.

When he finally pulls back, there’s a look in his eyes that she can’t quite place, something intense and raw that makes her heart skip a beat. He smooths her hair back, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before helping her adjust her clothes, his touch now tender, almost reverent.

When she’s done with adjusting herself, she brings her hands over her mouth and lets out a long, shuddering breath - disbelief, over what they’d just done. He seems quite unfazed, almost as if he constantly engages in semi-public sex and she can’t help but wonder.

Has he done this with her too?

When he pulls her into his chest with an arm over her shoulder, she smiles. She smiles and smiles and smiles until her lips go taut and her dimples are seemingly permanent.

Aemond pushes open the door to her room, stepping inside with a quiet creak of the hinges. He pauses, his gaze taking in the chaos that greets him: clothes scattered across the floor, stacks of books and sketch pads teetering on the edge of her desk, and an assortment of half-packed bags and boxes cluttering every available surface. 

Raising an eyebrow, he surveys the scene with amusement. “You’ve been busy,” he says, his tone both teasing and intrigued.

She glances up from where she is hunched over a suitcase, her hands busy stuffing garments into it with an absentminded efficiency. “I am,” she says with a sigh, straightening up and brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I’m packing to go back home next week. One of my older half-brothers is launching his business, and my dad called me today. He’s got plane tickets for me, so I thought I’d just stay at King’s Landing until the Targaryen Charity Benefit.”

Her eyes flicker over to him, a hint of apology in them as if she were embarrassed by the state of her room. “I’m taking my classes online while I’m there.”

Aemond hums, his gaze drifting to the cluttered bed as he sits at the edge. He runs a hand through his hair, still processing her news. “You’ll be gone for three weeks.”

She leaves the mess behind and stands in front of him, between his legs. Almost as though it’s second nature, she straddles him, her legs wrapping around his waist. His hands settle on her hips, holding her in place, and she smiles. “Yes, whatever will you do without me?”

Aemond’s grip tightens around her hips as she straddles him. He lifts a hand to brush a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender. Without a word, she leans down, capturing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

It’s gentle at first. His hands roam up her back, steadying her against him, while her fingers trace the line of his jaw, feeling the sharp angles beneath her touch. She melts into him, savoring the warmth of his chest and the familiar feel of his arms around her.

Her mind betrays her, hitting her with the sudden realization of how much she cares for him - how her feelings have resurfaced in full force despite everything. She told herself before that this was casual, but now, pressed against him, it's impossible to ignore the tenderness of the moment, how much it means to her.

Just as she's about to lose herself entirely, Aemond pulls back slightly, his lips brushing against hers as he speaks softly. “Come with me… to the Targaryen Charity Benefit.”

She blinks, his words cutting through the haze of her thoughts. “What?”

He meets her eyes, his thumb stroking her side. “Come with me.”

“As your date?” She raises her eyebrows, knowing very well that going with him to public events is probably not a safe bet to make.

“As whatever you’d like.”

Her heart skips a beat, the invitation sending a flutter through her chest. For a moment, she hesitates, her mind whirling. She can see herself there, on his arm, but doubt quickly gnaws at her. What about the other woman? The one she knows he’s seeing? Wouldn't that complicate things further?

But she pushes the thoughts aside, smiling softly at him as she whispers, “Okay.”

Before she can overthink it, she leans down and kisses him again, her lips urgent against his, as though trying to drown out the uncertainty lingering in her mind. But as the kiss deepens, the doubt creeps back in. Can she really be the girl on his arm without stirring up more trouble? Will his other entanglements only complicate things further? What are they even doing?

She can’t shake the feeling that it’s not as simple as he makes it sound.

Pulling back from the kiss, her breath still mingling with his, her fingers still on his chest. The question that’s been nagging at the back of her mind breaks through, and she can’t keep it at bay any longer. “What about her?” she asks, her voice quieter now. “The girl you’re seeing… is that not going to be a problem?”

Aemond’s expression shifts ever so slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze. He sighs, his hands resting lightly on her hips as he looks down, avoiding her eyes for a moment. “It’s not what we do,” he says, his voice soft but edged with a weight that makes her heart sink. “We don’t… go out.”

There’s a heaviness to his words, something almost resigned in the way he says them. It breaks her heart just slightly, the realization that this other girl—whoever she is— isn’t someone he even takes out in public. But why? Why would he hide someone if she wasn’t important to him in some way? Why come to her if she was important?

Her brows knitted together as she looked at him, searching his face for answers. “Why?” she asked softly, the question slipping out before she could stop herself. “Why hide her if she’s not…?”

He met her gaze then, his expression hard to read. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, as if weighing his response. “It’s complicated,” he finally said, his voice low, almost distant. “It’s not what we do. We can’t… it’s not what we do.”

The way he said it, the way the words hung between them, sent a pang through her chest. She had no idea what he was dealing with, but it was clear that whatever this was with the other woman wasn’t as simple as she’d imagined. Still, it left her wondering if she’d ever really have him, all of him, or if he was always going to be torn between worlds she couldn’t fully understand.

She looked away, trying to process it all. The warmth of his body against hers, the comfort of his arms around her—none of it could quiet the confusion that swirled in her mind. Aemond’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on her hips as he noticed the way her expression shifted, the light in her eyes dimming.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost pleading. He lifted a hand to cup her face, gently turning her head so she’d look at him. His thumb brushed lightly over her cheek. “It’s not what you think.”

She held his gaze for a moment, her expression guarded, but the doubt lingered in her eyes. “Isn’t it?”

Aemond exhaled, feeling the weight of the moment press down on him. “It’s not like that with her,” he said, his voice low, steady. “She won’t mind.”

She won’t mind. She won’t mind. She won’t mind. She won’t-

Her time with him was all because this other girl did not mind. And if she did? What then?

The words echoed in her mind, reverberating off every wall of her thoughts until they drowned out the sound of Aemond’s voice, the warmth of his touch. She won’t mind. It burned into her, the reality she had been pushing aside - her time with him, their moments together, the intimacy they shared, all hinged on the indifference of another woman. Her existence in his life was allowed because someone else didn’t care enough to stop it.

But what if she did? What if this other woman, whoever she was, suddenly decided she did care? What if, one day, Aemond had to choose? She already knew the answer, and it made her stomach twist painfully.

Her mind raced, flicking through every moment they’d shared - every touch, every kiss, every lingering glance - and she saw it clearly now. This arrangement, whatever it was, wasn’t the casual thing she had imagined. It was precarious, temporary, held together by his convenience and Aemond’s careful balancing act between her and someone else. And if that balance tipped? If the other girl did mind?

The thought is ugly, but she can’t help it.

She’ll be the one left behind, a brief chapter in his life, an afterthought in the wake of his real relationship. The thought makes her sick. She doesn’t want to be with someone who can’t put her first, who keeps her around because it’s easy and doesn’t disrupt his life. She doesn’t want to be the girl waiting in the wings, always wondering when it’ll end, when she’ll be discarded because something else took precedence.

Aemond’s touch no longer feels like a comfort. His words, however sweet, now seem hollow. She wants him, yes—wants him desperately, but not like this. She doesn’t need him. Not so much that she would destroy herself, let herself be diminished, just to be with him.

She doesn’t want to help him keep up his image while he spends the entire night waiting to go back to her.

The realization hits her like a wave, flooding her with a clarity she hasn’t grasped before. She’s been clinging to him, holding on to the fragments of what they have because she thought she couldn’t let go. But now, she sees it for what it is. She deserves more than being someone’s second choice, someone’s convenience.

She exhales softly and looks at him, really looks at him. His sharp features, silver hair falling slightly into his eyes, his expression holding mild confusion as he notices her shift. He’s beautiful, enigmatic, the kind of person who draws you in without even trying. And she loves him. That much is clear. But she loves herself, too. And this—this isn’t good for her.

For a long moment, she stays silent, her heart thudding in her chest as she gathers the courage to say what she knows has to be said. Her eyes search his face, memorizing him, this moment. Because after this, everything will change. There will be no going back.

All of this is happening on borrowed time - she deserves more.

Before she can fully process her resolve, Aemond moves. In one swift motion, he lifts her effortlessly, a startled gasp escaping her lips as he throws her back onto the bed. Her body bounces lightly against the sheets, her heart pounding as she looks up at him. He looms above her, a quiet intensity in his eyes, and for a second, everything else fades away - there’s only him.

His thumb grazes her bottom lip, slow and deliberate, as if he’s committing the feel of her to memory. She can’t tear her gaze away, her breath hitching when he leans down, pressing his forehead against hers. The warmth of his skin, the closeness of his breath - it’s intoxicating, and despite everything, despite her earlier resolve, she feels herself crumbling.

“Come with me.” His voice is low, a quiet plea she can't resist. Their foreheads press together, breath mingling, and for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath.

Her heart wavers, but the word slips out before she can stop it. “Okay.”

And then he's on her, kissing her with an intensity that steals her breath. His hands roam her body, rough yet tender, like he can't get enough of her. She melts beneath him, her hands tangling in his silver hair, pulling him closer, deeper.

Their bodies move together, a rhythm they know too well. He pushes into her slowly at first, drawing out her pleasure until she's arching into him, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. His hands grip her hips, holding her steady as his thrusts become more urgent, more insistent.

She moans, her nails digging into his back under his shirt as she rides the waves of her release, trembling beneath him. But he isn’t done.

Before she can catch her breath, Aemond flips her over, positioning her on all fours. The cool air hits her back, sharp against the heat of his touch, and she shivers. His lips trace her spine with sweet kisses before he grips her hips again, pulling her back towards him.

Without warning, he thrusts into her hard and deep, and she cries out, her fingers clenching the sheets as he fills her completely. His movements are rough, every thrust powerful, almost desperate, as he chases his own pleasure. She can feel the tension in his body, the way his fingers dig into her skin, the low growl escaping his lips as he loses himself in her.

Each thrust sends her reeling, her body arching as he pounds into her, the bed creaking beneath them. The pressure builds again, her senses overwhelmed by the roughness of his touch, the way his body dominates hers. It’s primal, raw, and she gives in to it, letting the pleasure wash over her once more.

He moves faster, harder, his breaths ragged as he pushes them both to the edge. His fingers tighten on her hips, pulling her back into him with each powerful thrust, his control slipping. She feels him tense behind her, his rhythm faltering as he reaches his peak, his final thrusts erratic and frantic.

With one final, forceful push, he groans, his body trembling as he spills into her, his grip tightening as he holds her close. She gasps, her own body quivering from the intensity of it all, pleasure mingling with the rawness of what they’ve just shared.

Aemond shifts beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he pulls her into his chest. His warmth envelops her, the steady rise and fall of his breathing soothing against her skin. She nestles closer, feeling the way his body fits perfectly around hers, his arm draped possessively over her stomach.

The room is quiet, just the sound of their breathing filling the space. She stares at the wall, her mind still spinning from everything—the way he held her, the feel of his body against hers. It feels so real, so perfect, and it terrifies her.

"I'm hungry," she whines.

And then, he laughs. It’s quiet, just a low chuckle, but she feels his whole body move behind her, his chest pressing into her back as his shoulders shake slightly. She doesn’t need to see his face to know how he looks when he laughs - his lips upturned slightly, the sound soft but genuine, his whole body leaning forward with it. It’s rare, but she cherishes it every time.

She smiles to herself, her heart swelling in her chest. She likes him too much, more than she ever thought she would. Maybe she even loves him. The thought sends a pang through her, bittersweet and undeniable. Loving him wasn’t supposed to happen, not like this, but it’s too late to deny it.

But she’ll leave soon. And when she comes back, she’ll tell him the truth. She needs to know if there’s space for her in his life, or if the woman he guards so fiercely already holds that place.

Her chest tightens at the thought. She wants to be the one he turns to, the one he holds like this, the one he laughs with. But she can’t let herself be second. Not again.

She closes her eyes, breathing in the moment, memorizing how it feels to be wrapped in his arms. Because when she returns, everything will change.

One way or another.

She sits cross-legged on Arianne’s living room floor, nursing a glass of wine as she absentmindedly swirls the deep red liquid around in her glass. The cozy, dimly lit flat is filled with the soft sounds of an old record playing in the background, casting a nostalgic haze over the room. Arianne, always effortlessly composed, lounges on the couch, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she watches her with a knowing look in her eyes.

"You sneaky little bitch," Arianne says, narrowing her eyes playfully, lips curving into a teasing smirk. She exaggerates a cross-eyed look, making her wince and laugh in guilt.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner,” she mumbles, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass.

“Yeah, you should have,” Arianne huffs, tossing a pillow at her. “I would’ve liked to know you were fucking Aemond Targaryen, for gods’ sake! Girl, you should have told me!”

She winces again, guilt gnawing at her. “I’m sor—"

“Aemond. Fucking. Targaryen of all people,” Arianne says, incredulous, her eyes wide as she takes a gulp of her wine. “He doesn’t seem like your type, though. What’s going on there?”

She blinks, a little taken aback by that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Arianne begins, leaning back into the couch with a lazy smile, “he’s Aemond Targaryen. The man calls Facebook ‘Book of the Face,’ for crying out loud. Posh, arrogant prick.”

“He’s posh? You’re a bloody Martell!” She retorts, raising her glass to her lips. “And for the record, he’s not even on Facebook.”

Arianne rolls her eyes dramatically. “Weird. I’d have thought the youngest one, Daeron, would’ve been more your type. The life of the party, you know?”

Of course, she’d say that. Arianne has known the Targaryens for most of her life. The Martells, like the Targaryens, are part of Westeros' seven most prominent families—the others being the Starks, Lannisters, Tullys, Tyrells, and Baratheons. In these circles, it’s not just about wealth or influence; it's about legacy. Apart from the reclusive Starks, the children of these families grow up in each other's orbits, attending the same elite schools, galas, and events that reinforce their status at the top.

Wherever life takes them, they find one another, keeping close within their exclusive, almost impenetrable social circle. Friendships and rivalries are passed down from generation to generation, their connections as powerful as the fortunes they control. She understands this better than anyone. Her family, after all, has sat on the board of Targaryen Consolidated for generations, their fates intertwined with the silver-haired dynasty. It’s a world where the personal and professional are inseparable, where trust is as valuable as the wealth that surrounds them.

She shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah, Daeron’s... charming in his own way, but he’s basically Aegon if he wasn’t trying to screw anything in a dress.”

Arianne bursts into laughter, loud and unfiltered, leaning her head back. “Aegon’s fun though! I’ve hooked up with him a couple of times, and the sex was goo-ood!”

She groans, burying her face in her hands. “Ew, stop!”

“I’m just saying,” Arianne continues, completely unbothered. “Aegon may be a bit of a mess, but at least he knows how to have a good time. Aemond, on the other hand…” She trails off, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by the whole situation. “I can’t believe you’re with him.”

She rolls her eyes, though a small smile tugs at her lips. “It’s not like that. Not really.”

Arianne scoots closer, intrigued. “Oh? Do tell.”

She sighs, taking a deep breath before the words tumble out. “I think I’m falling for him, Ari. But... It's so confusing. I mean, I was in love with Daeron not even a year ago. How does that even look? Like I’m hopping from one brother to the other.”

Arianne’s teasing expression softens at that, and she reaches out, placing a hand on her knee. “You…” she says gently, her voice lacking its usual playful edge. “You’re not hopping from one brother to the next. You’re figuring out what you want. It’s okay to change, to grow. And it’s okay to love someone new.”

Arianne tilts her head, considering her words carefully. “Look, if Aemond thought you were confused, he wouldn’t be spending all this time with you. He’s smart—too smart to waste his time on something that doesn’t matter to him. And from what you’ve told me, it sounds like he does care about you.”

She lets the words sink in, her chest tightening. “But it’s so much more complicated. He’s seeing someone—or was seeing someone. I don’t even know. He says it’s not serious, but…”

Arianne lets out a sympathetic sigh, pulling her into a side hug. “You need to talk to him. Really talk to him. Figure out where you both stand.”

She leans into her, resting her head on Arianne’s shoulder. “I’m scared. What if telling him ruins everything?”

Arianne rubs her back gently. “And what if it doesn’t? What if this is exactly what you both need to figure out where you’re going? You can’t keep avoiding it.”

She takes a deep breath, nodding. “You’re right. I’ll talk to him when I get back.”

“And if it’s real,” Arianne adds softly, “you won’t lose him. But if it’s not... you’ll be okay. I think you deserve better anyway.”

“Stop!” She whines. She then smiles, feeling lighter. “Thanks, Ari.”

“Anytime,” Arianne grins, nudging her playfully. “Now, can we please watch something trashy and stop talking about your Targaryen boys? My brain needs a break from all this drama.”

She laughs, grateful for the distraction. “I brought soda and chips!”

Arianne cheers, grabbing the remote. “You know just how to spoil me.”

“Ae-mond, please…”

On their last night before her flight back to King's Landing, they move slowly together, every touch deliberate and heavy. Their bodies come together with a fervor that’s almost desperate, as if they’re trying to hold onto something that’s slipping through their fingers.

Each kiss feels like a search, an attempt to erase the lingering traces of someone else’s touch from his skin. She wonders if she’ll ever fully wash away the imprint of another’s fingertips, or if she’s merely adding her own layer to him. Every caress, every kiss is an exercise in forensics, a quest to mark him with her own brand, hoping that her touch will replace any remnants of someone else.

As he presses into her with a familiar, almost instinctive harshness, she can’t help but wonder if the other girl’s body was fuller, more curvaceous. The way he handles her, the way he’s rough and gentle all at once, speaks of an experience that goes beyond her. His touch is meticulous, as if he’s dedicated to exploring every contour of her body with a reverence she feels he must have practiced before.

She’s acutely aware that he isn’t new to the art of adoration. His hands, his lips, his entire presence seem to carry a certain expertise—each stroke, each touch is a testament to a history of worshiping a woman’s body with precision and care. He seems to know exactly where to touch, how to press, as if he’s memorized the map of desire and is determined to chart every inch of her.

With every touch, she is reminded that there is someone else. It breaks her like nothing else.

Aemond’s hands roam with purpose, tracing every curve, every hollow with a skill that leaves her breathless. She can’t shake the thought that this is a ritual of sorts, a final act of devotion before she departs. Each touch, each kiss feels like an affirmation of what they’ve shared, an attempt to seal their moments together into something tangible, something she can carry with her.

As she nears her release, her body arches and shudders beneath him, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He follows soon after, his movements urgent and final, his breath ragged against her skin.

Afterward, they lie together in the dim room, the sounds of crickets chirping softly through the open window.

“How are you getting to the airport?” His voice is soft in a way that she wishes she can bottle up and take with her.

“Dad’s sending a car to the flat,” she replies, her voice muffled by the pillow and his embrace.

The room is filled with the subtle buzz of the lamp and the gentle rustling of the curtains in the night breeze. Aemond pulls her close, his arms wrapping around her as he kisses her shoulder tenderly.

When they wake, he says nothing as she takes a shower in a hurry to leave. He cooks a quick breakfast for them both with whatever he could find in her fridge, and she eats like a woman starved. He kisses her gently before he lets her go, and she cannot help but think.

She’s leaving every inch of Aemond to another woman exclusively for three weeks. What if he decides he does not want her when she comes back?

Then the thought at the back of her mind resurfaces - that she’s the other woman. No matter what Aemond says, she knows that much to be true.

“Aemond…?” She murmurs, quickly debating whether or not she should tell him now, if only so that he’d be tempted to not push her aside completely in her absence.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” 

The words die on her tongue, just like a piece of her heart does when she gets on the plane.

The weeks pass by in a blur, and soon she finds herself standing in a crowded event hall, meeting her half-siblings after what feels like an eternity. Two of them are launching their new venture in the city, and the occasion has brought them all together. She interacts with them as much as she can, offering polite conversation and smiles, but she can’t help but feel a quiet astonishment at how little she truly knows about them. Despite the shared blood, they seem like strangers bound only by a distant connection.

It isn’t surprising, really. Jasper Wylde’s five children by his first wife had been adults long before he met her mother, and by the time she was born, the youngest of them was just leaving for college. The age gap, the separate lives - they had grown up worlds apart. There’s only so much they could have in common, and that knowledge weighs heavily on her as she exchanges pleasantries with them, feeling the disconnect more keenly with each passing moment.

She watches them closely - the way they move through the crowd, how they speak to each other with an ease that she’s never known with them. They have their own inside jokes, shared memories, and a rhythm that she’s never been a part of. It’s like watching a family dynamic she can’t quite break into, one she’s always been on the outskirts of. Even as they make small talk, she feels the invisible walls between them, the years of absence and unfamiliarity creating a distance that no amount of cordiality can erase.

But she plays her part—engages when they speak to her, listens as they recount their stories, and smiles when it’s appropriate. Yet all the while, she feels that sense of being on the outside looking in. They talk about their father, Jasper, with a familiarity that she can’t match, their experiences with him vastly different from her own. It’s clear that, in many ways, they had a father she never really knew.

What amazes her most, though, is how much closer she feels to the Targaryens than to her own blood. The realization strikes her with a quiet weight as she stands among her half-siblings, exchanging polite words, but never quite connecting. With the Targaryens, everything feels different—natural, easy, as though she belongs in their orbit in a way she never has with her own family.

With the Targaryens, she doesn’t feel like she’s on the outside looking in. She belongs. In their world, she’s more than just the youngest child of a man with a complicated past - she’s someone who matters.

Being home has made her feel strangely untethered. It’s not that she isn’t used to it—this distance from Aemond—but somehow, this time it feels different. Maybe it’s because she knows she’ll see him again soon, in just a matter of weeks, but it feels like the days are dragging by, each one marked by the weight of missing him.

She lies in bed late one evening, her phone resting on the pillow next to her, waiting for the familiar buzz. It’s become a routine—Aemond calling just before she falls asleep, his voice the last thing she hears at night. When the phone finally lights up with his name, she answers without hesitation.

"Hey," she says, trying to keep her voice casual, but her heart picks up the pace as soon as she hears his breath on the other end.

"Hey," he replies softly. There’s a brief pause, and she can hear the faint sounds of his apartment in the background—the muffled hum of traffic, the creak of his chair. "How’s home?"

"Fine, I guess. Quiet." She smiles a little, thinking of how everything feels slower here. "I saw my half-siblings today, for the launch thing."

"How was that?" His tone is neutral, but she knows he’s asking because he cares, not out of mere politeness.

"It was... weird. I don’t know, I barely know them. I guess I’m just realizing how distant we are." She pauses, feeling the words settle in the quiet between them. "I feel closer to your family than to mine. Maybe because yours is the better family. Although, I do have the better father."

He’s quiet for a moment, and she imagines him leaning back in his chair, considering her words. “I can assure you, your family is just fine. You don’t want mine.”

She laughs, a little caught off guard by the softness in his voice. "Yeah, maybe."

They fall into an easy rhythm after that, talking about nothing in particular—work, the weather, what he had for dinner. It’s all so simple, so familiar, and yet she finds herself hanging on every word, savoring the sound of his voice, the way he says her name. It’s the closest she can get to him right now, and it isn’t enough.

There’s a pause, and then Aemond asks, "So, how long now? Two weeks?"

She bites her lip, her heart skipping a beat. "Yeah, just about."

"You’re counting the days?"

She can hear the smile in his voice, and she feels her cheeks flush despite herself. "Maybe."

"You miss me," he says, his voice gentle, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement, and it lands with a weight that she can feel in her chest.

"Maybe I do," she admits quietly, her heart pounding. There’s a moment of silence, and in that space, the truth presses at the edges of her thoughts, threatening to spill out.

When she speaks again, her voice is softer, more serious. "Aemond, we need to talk.”

She hears him shift on the other end, a subtle rustling of fabric. "What is it?"

She hesitates, not ready to say it yet. "A conversation best had in person."

"Alright," he says, his voice low, almost tender. 

She hangs up, her heart racing, her fingers still gripping the phone tightly. The warmth of his words lingers, solidifying her resolve. When she sees him again, she’ll tell him. She’ll tell him everything.

The event takes place in a grand hall, tucked away in the heart of the city but worlds apart from the modern, bustling life outside. The walls are lined with rich mahogany wood, centuries-old oil portraits of stern ancestors in gilded frames, and shelves stacked high with leather-bound books whose spines are worn with age. 

She steps inside and is immediately enveloped in the hushed murmurs of conversation, the gentle clinking of crystal glasses, and the soft rustle of fabric as guests move gracefully through the dimly lit space. Despite the outward calm, there’s an electric tension in the air as the auctioneer lifts the gavel to announce each winning bid. There’s a certain satisfaction, almost smug, in the faces of those who come away with a prized possession, as if they’ve secured another piece of their heritage. For the others, there’s no outward disappointment—just a cool, composed silence, knowing there will be another opportunity to prove their worth.

She sits back, observing it all, feeling both a part of this world and strangely removed from it. The dark paneling on the walls, the rich smell of leather and smoke, the soft glow of the fireplace at the far end of the room - it’s all familiar, yet there’s something about it that feels performative, as if the evening is a carefully constructed illusion. The charity, the good intentions, seem secondary to the ritual of it all. As the final item is brought out - a centuries-old manuscript in a glass case - the room stills. In the end, the manuscript is sold for an astronomical price. The gavel falls with a sharp crack, and polite applause ripples through the crowd, though it’s more a gesture of respect than enthusiasm.

As the final round of applause fades, the grand oak doors at the back of the room swing open, and Viserys Targaryen steps forward. His presence is immediately felt, even if he looks frail and thinner than ever before. She heard from Aemond that he’d taken up residence at Dragonstone now, having bought an apartment for himself to stay after his parents' secret, unofficial separation.

"Ladies and gentlemen," his voice is smooth, warm, and commanding all at once, carrying easily over the subdued murmur of the crowd. "What a night this has been. I’m not sure what’s more impressive - the art we’ve auctioned off or the fact that some of you managed to keep your bids as discreet as you did. Subtlety, after all, is an art in itself," he says with a slight chuckle, eliciting polite laughter from the audience.

"Your generosity tonight is overwhelming," he continues, his tone shifting to one of sincere gratitude. "These contributions will go a long way in supporting the causes we hold dear, ensuring that history is preserved for future generations to appreciate - something I think we all understand better than most."

"And now," Viserys adds with a glint of amusement, "I know you’ve all been quite serious about your bidding, but it's time to relax a little." The room hums in agreement.

"Please," he gestures toward the doors leading to the adjoining ballroom, "join me for a night of music, dancing, and, of course, more wine. I think we’ve all earned it after such a spectacular evening."

With a final smile, Viserys steps down from the podium, the soft clapping of the crowd filling the room as guests begin to rise from their seats, gathering their evening coats and handbags. The heavy double doors to the ballroom swing open, revealing a space even grander than the auction hall. The light spills out, golden and inviting, as the soft strains of a string quartet begin to play from within.

She takes her father’s hand and walks in with him, their pace in tandem with each other. 

Do you think we’ll make it through this evening without someone bringing up a new investment opportunity?" she murmurs, her voice laced with dry amusement, eyes scanning the sea of chandeliers, gilded mirrors, and finely dressed people mingling as they enter the ballroom.

Jasper Wylde glances down at her with a half-smile. "Doubt it," he says. "There’s always someone with a 'brilliant' idea that just needs a little backing."

She lets out a soft chuckle. "Maybe we should place bets on who brings it up first."

"Ten crowns on Lord Massey," he says, his tone casual, but the glint in his eye betrays his amusement. "He’s been circling us all night."

"You're on," she replies, feeling lighter as they reach the grand archway leading into the ballroom. The gentle strains of the string quartet swirl around them, and she allows herself to soak in the surroundings.

Their moment of ease is brief. As soon as they step fully into the room, a cohort of middle-aged men in dark suits, all clutching glasses of whiskey, make their approach, their faces lighting up at the sight of her father. She can see the shift in his demeanor - the casualness dropping ever so slightly, replaced by a more guarded, professional air.

"Ah, here we go," Jasper mutters under his breath. 

One of the men, a stocky figure with graying hair and a booming voice, claps her father on the shoulder. "Ironrod, just the man we were looking for!" he says, raising his glass. "We were just discussing the latest venture down in Storm’s End. Care to weigh in?"

Her father gives her a rueful look, the corner of his mouth quirking as if to say I told you so. "Duty calls," he says softly to her, before turning to the group with a more affable expression. "Gentlemen, lead the way."

And just like that, he’s swept up into the conversation, nodding and exchanging knowing glances with the men as they disappear into a corner of the ballroom. Before she can fully orient herself, Daeron appears at her side, his usual easy grin plastered across his face.

"Well, look who it is," he says warmly, pulling her into a quick embrace. "I thought I'd have to search the entire ballroom to find you."

She laughs lightly. "I wasn’t hiding, just waiting for you to make your grand entrance. How was Essos?"

Daeron’s face lights up, and he launches into a recount of his summer abroad with Helaena, his energy infectious. "It was wild. Good time with Hel, she took me along to the coastline and we went around looking for almost-extinct bugs in Lys." He rolls his eyes but there’s fondness in his voice.

She smiles at the thought of Helaena. "Sounds like her. Where is she tonight?"

"With our grandfather and Aemond, somewhere over there," Daeron says, nodding toward a nearby cluster of people. Sure enough, she spots Helaena waving enthusiastically, her face alight with joy as she talks to Otto. Aemond, standing next to her, gives a small, almost imperceptible nod when their eyes meet. His gaze lingers for a moment longer than it should, and her heart stirs in response.

She can’t help but smile softly, and, on a whim, she winks at him. She’s had a bad feeling about this night ever since she woke, but it all dissipates massively the moment his gaze meets hers. He doesn’t react outwardly, but there’s something in his posture that shifts ever so slightly, a subtle acknowledgment.

Daeron catches the exchange but remains oblivious, laughing as he gestures to the ballroom. "Come on, let’s take a look around. It's the same as always, but a little darker, don't you think?"

“Perhaps,” she remarks dryly, glancing around at the decadent decor.

As they stroll through the room, their eyes catch Will Tyrell, who is deep in conversation with an older man near the far end of the ballroom.

"Ah, Will," Daeron says, grinning as he gestures toward him. "His father's expanding their business, you know. Will's been training to take over soon. Everyone's talking about it."

"I’ve seen him around campus," she replies, keeping her voice casual. "We almost hooked up once, actually."

Daeron raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Really? What happened?"

Her stomach twists at the memory, a flash of the panic that had overwhelmed her that night. She remembers calling Aemond, his voice steadying her over the phone as she told him where she was. He’d picked her up, no questions asked. The bitterness that rises in her throat is unexpected, but it’s there, sharp and real.

"Don’t even ask," she mutters, her voice tight as she glances away, trying to shake off the heaviness of the memory.

Daeron, sensing her shift in mood, just nods, his usual carefree demeanor faltering slightly. He doesn’t push for details, instead flashing her a soft smile as they continue to walk through the room, the tension between them dissipating into the hum of the ballroom.

"Oh look, it’s the little runts," Aegon drawls, his speech a bit slurred. He saunters toward them, an empty champagne flute dangling from his fingers, Sara Snow by his side. She’s looking slightly amused, though there’s a softness in her expression that suggests she's trying to rein him in.

"Aegon," Daeron greets him with mock surprise, a grin spreading across his face. “Dude you’re already drunk, mum’s going to kill you.”

"Give it time," Aegon quips with a lazy smirk. "The night’s still young, brother."

Sara stifles a laugh, though her eyes are warm as she glances up at Aegon. "I’m doing my best to make sure he behaves," she says, her voice carrying a playful edge.

"Oh, please," Daeron rolls his eyes. "Aegon behaving is like...what, dragons coming back to life?”

"Exactly," Aegon retorts. "No fun at all."

"Yeah, you're all fun and no taste," Daeron jabs back. "In...well, pretty much everything."

Aegon dramatically clutches his chest as if wounded. "Excuse you, I happen to have impeccable taste."

"Oh really?" she chimes in, unable to resist the tease. "Let's not forget the time you tried to convince everyone that that neon green sports car was ‘classy.’ Or when you spent a fortune on that God-awful abstract painting that looked like a child had spilled paint on a canvas."

Aegon raises an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. "Hey, that car is an acquired taste, and the painting? It’s avant-garde. You wouldn’t get it."

Daeron bursts out laughing, shaking his head. "Right, keep telling yourself that."

But before anyone else can jump in, she adds with a smirk, "To be fair, Aegon has great taste in women."

Sara, who had been quietly listening, suddenly blushes furiously, her cheeks turning a deep shade of pink. She ducks her head, trying to hide her smile, but it’s clear she’s both flattered and embarrassed by the comment.

Aegon, however, grins wickedly. "Ah, finally, someone recognizes my true genius," he says, draping an arm around Sara, who shoots him a look but doesn’t pull away.

"Yeah, genius is the word I’d use," Daeron deadpans, earning another round of laughter from the group.

Aegon, noticeably tipsy and grinning like a Cheshire cat, leans in close to Sara, his words slightly garbled. "You know, Sara, I just remembered I left something...um, somewhere. How about we go find it together?"

Sara looks at him with a mixture of amusement and mild concern, but before she can respond, Aegon takes her hand and starts to guide her toward the door.

"Careful with that one," Daeron calls out, his tone light and teasing. "I’ve seen him turn a charity event into a rave before."

"Ah, don’t worry," she replies, her voice tinged with a hint of laughter. "I think he’s already got plans for a private after-party."

With a final chuckle, Daeron watches as they exit, the door closing behind them.

She turns back to Daeron, her gaze thoughtful. "By the way, what’s up with Floris? I haven’t seen her around tonight."

Daeron’s expression shifts, a shadow of sadness crossing his face. "Oh, um, we broke up," he says quietly, almost as if he’s still coming to terms with it.

Her heart twinges with genuine sympathy. "I’m really sorry to hear that. I hope you’re okay."

Daeron nods, managing a small, appreciative smile. "Thanks. It’s been...a lot. But I’ll be fine."

"Where is she, then? At the event, I presume?"

"Yeah, she’s here," Daeron confirms. "Probably with her parents and sisters. It was a bit weird to be honest.”

“I can imagine.” Just then, a waiter with a tray of champagne flutes comes by. They each take one, and Daeron is about to take a sip when he is called away by Otto Hightower.

As Daeron makes his way through the crowd, she turns to find Arianne Martell approaching her, her presence immediately drawing attention with her striking elegance. “You look amazing, Ari!”

Arianne’s eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief as she greets her. “So do you. But let’s cut to the chase. That’s not the Targaryen I was expecting to see you with tonight.”

“I haven’t told him yet. The time isn’t right. Soon though.”

“You mean you keep putting it off.”

“No, I just… I don’t know.”

“Look around you, babe. Half of these people are on the lookout - and those Targaryen kids? All their mothers are training their girls to get one. If my father had his way, I’d be throwing myself at Aegon!”

“Ari! Don’t be so crude.”

“I’m being realistic. Make your move.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m your best friend.” 

As they talk, she feels a strange unease settling in her stomach. Her gaze drifts across the room, taking in the opulence and the perfectly polished ambiance of the ballroom. Something about it all feels off, like there’s an underlying current she can’t quite grasp.

Noticing her silence and distant look, Arianne asks, “Is everything okay? You seem a bit… off.”

She hesitates for a moment before responding, “I don’t know. It’s just… something feels off. I have this gut feeling, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

Arianne’s brow furrows in concern. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, trying to shake off the unease. “I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just the atmosphere. Everything is so perfect, almost too perfect.”

Arianne’s brow furrows in concern. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, trying to shake off the unease. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if it’s just me being paranoid or if there’s actually something going on.”

Arianne nods, her expression thoughtful. “It’s in your head babe. Calm down alright? You’ll be fine!”

Aemond finds them, cutting through the crowd with an ease that only someone accustomed to these events could manage. His presence alone seems to command attention, and she feels her heart flutter as he approaches. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to her forehead, his breath warm and comforting. “You look pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and genuine.

Her eyes follow him as he straightens, unable to help herself from shamelessly ogling him. The way his dark suit fits him so perfectly, the sharp cut of his jaw, the glint of his eyes—it’s all so striking that she finds it hard to look away. He’s right in front of her, and yet he feels like a distant star that she can’t quite reach, but desperately wants to.

Arianne, ever perceptive, catches the look on her face and raises an eyebrow with a playful smirk. “I’ll leave you two to it,” she says, her tone dripping with teasing. “You know, give you some space.”

She winks at them both before wiggling her eyebrows suggestively and slipping away into the crowd. Her departure leaves a space between them that feels both comforting yet like too much. “You look very nice,” she says.

Aemond’s lips curl into a faint, enigmatic smile. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he replies, his tone a mix of aloofness and affection that she finds utterly endearing. “Though I must say, I’m quite taken with how you look tonight.”

She catches his gaze, her smile widening. “Well, I’m glad I managed to impress you.”

His eyes twinkle with mischief. “You always manage to.”

There’s a pause, a moment of quiet intimacy, as their eyes lock. Aemond’s hand on her back feels reassuring, grounding her in the present. He then wordlessly gives her his hand, and she takes it. She always will, she is his.

With a gentle but purposeful tug, Aemond guides her through the maze of the ballroom, leading her into the darker, quieter corridors of the estate. The soft hum of distant conversations and the clinking of glasses fade as they move further from the main event.

Eventually, they reach a secluded room, dimly lit and private. Aemond closes the door behind them, cutting off the noise from the outside world. Without a word, he steps closer, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens. Aemond’s hands find her waist, his grip firm and possessive. 

His lips are demanding, their kisses fiery and passionate. She responds with equal fervor, her hands sliding up his chest to grip the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. The connection between them is raw, almost desperate, as if they’re trying to make up for lost time with every touch.

Aemond’s hands roam over her back, his fingers pressing firmly against her skin, as if he’s trying to imprint her presence into his memory. She can feel the heat of his body through the fabric of their clothes, the tension in his muscles as he holds her tightly.

She gasps into his mouth as he pulls her even closer, his touch igniting a fire within her. His hands travel down to her waist, pulling her flush against him, his lips trailing hot, urgent kisses along her jawline and down her neck. She arches into his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair, drawing him back to her lips with a desperate hunger.

Gods, she likes him too much for her own good.

Finally, their lips part, and they break away, both gasping for breath. The room is filled with a lingering tension, the air heavy with the intensity of their embrace. They take a moment to collect themselves, their faces flushed and eyes still locked in a shared, heated gaze.

Aemond gently brushes a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender despite the fervor of their earlier kisses. “I have to go shake more hands,” he says, his voice reluctant. He offers a small, apologetic smile, his knuckles lingering on her cheek for a moment longer before he pulls away. “I’ll find you later.”

She nods, her heart still racing from their encounter. “Okay,” she replies softly, her voice a touch breathless. She watches as he turns to leave, and the moment he does - the feeling of unease comes back.

She walks back into the ballroom, smoothing down her dress and taking a deep breath to calm the rapid beat of her heart. The lingering warmth from Aemond’s touch is still on her skin, but the feeling of unease that had vanished in his presence now returns in full force.

As she steps further into the room, she spots a familiar face from across the crowd - one of the curators from the Westeros National Museum. He strides toward her with a knowing smile, gesturing to a nearby exhibit of her ancestor Coryanne Wylde’s paintings. “I was just about to ask if you’d seen these,” he says as they exchange pleasantries. “It’s rare to come across someone with a direct connection to the artist.” She smiles in response.

The curator nods in appreciation, and together, they walk over to the group of art enthusiasts who are gathered around the paintings. As they approach, she immediately recognizes someone else among them: her professor Alys Rivers. The professor’s sharp gaze softens slightly when she spots her, clearly surprised to see her here.

“Professor! So good to see you here, I wasn’t expecting you! Are you with someone?”

Alys chuckles lightly, offering a polite smile and points her finger beyond her shoulder. “That’s my brother.” She raises her eyebrows as she follows her gaze and raises an eyebrow. “Your brother’s Headmaster Strong?”

“My half-brother, yes. Which explains the different surnames.”

“Wow, small world.”

“We were just discussing some of the first-edition Volantene classics that we’ve been trying to source for the museum,” one of the curators says, a note of excitement in his voice. “A few Valyrian classics as well. It’s been quite the hunt.”

Her interest piques at the mention of Valyrian literature. The conversation drifts toward a particular Valyrian classic, The Last Embrace, and her attention locks in immediately, memories of Aemond reading it to her still vivid in her mind. One of the curators leans forward, adjusting his glasses.

“It’s such a beautiful work,” he says. “That passage where they talk about love being both a gift and a curse? The language is so intricate, it’s no wonder it’s one of the rarest Valyrian texts we’ve managed to preserve.”

Another curator nods in agreement. “Yes, I believe the exact line is something about love being a disease, but one we choose to suffer from?”

Before Wylde can speak, Professor Rivers steps in, her voice measured and calm. “Love is a disease of the mind, but one we willingly suffer for. It’s one of the most poignant lines in the entire text.”

Wylde's breath catches at the familiarity of the words. It was the same phrase he had marked, tracing the words as he read.

“That line,” Professor Rivers continues, “it’s always struck me. The complexity of love in Valyrian culture—how it could be both destructive and profound at the same time.”

The first curator smiles thoughtfully. “It’s fascinating how much depth there is in just one sentence. That’s what makes it a masterpiece. We’ve been trying to source a first-edition copy for years now.”

Rivers nods. “It’s difficult to find. I was lucky enough to own one of the first editions. Loaned it to someone close a while back, actually.”

Her chest tightens. The same line. The same book. She tries to push the thought away, but it grips her, the unease from earlier settling deep in her bones.

I know someone who can find the premium first edition copies, he had said.

But she doesn’t even teach him. And he’s Aemond Targaryen - he probably knows a hundred people of resource who can find him all the books he wants.

But there’s only three known copies of the first print in Westeros…

The feeling of unease that she had pushed aside the entire night comes back in full force - she doesn’t know why. It is a nagging feeling that refuses to go away, and she does not know what she’ll do about it.

Before she can dwell on it further, an attendant addresses her. He tells her that her father is asking for her from across the room. She excuses herself, turning away from the group with a polite smile. As she moves, she catches a fleeting glimpse of Professor Rivers’ necklace, the light glinting off the familiar design. Her breath falters.

She recognizes it.

A few months ago, she had seen that very necklace at Aemond’s apartment. She remembers asking him about it, how he had alluded to it belonging to a woman that he’s seeing. At the time, she hadn’t pressed him, unsure if she even wanted to know the details.

One of the curators points out the necklace, commenting on its unique craftsmanship. “That’s a Strong family heirloom, isn’t it?” he asks with admiration. “Quite the rare piece. One of a kind, if I’m not mistaken.”

Alys smiles, her hand brushing over the pendant. “Yes, it is. Passed down through generations. Only one of a kind.”

She feels like the ground is shifting beneath her feet. She can’t stop the flood of thoughts now, the connections falling into place. Her chest tightens as she pulls away from the group, her steps unsteady, her mind whirling with possibilities she doesn’t want to entertain.

No. It’s not what you think. It can’t be.

“It’s very beautiful, professor,” she says. “It was… uhm… it was nice to see you here. I’m going back to… my father’s expecting me.” The torrid nature of her thoughts shows on her face, and she can feel her palms sweating as the music and the crowd threaten to overwhelm her.

“Are you alright, Ms Wylde? You seem quite disoriented,” her professor says. She holds her onto her elbow to help steady her even if she hasn’t quite careened to the floor yet. Her skin burns where she holds her, and she wonders if she knows.

She looks her professor straight in her eyes, hoping to find any recognition. Then again, she doesn’t want to know too. 

“No, just… you know how these things can be. They tire you out quickly I suppose. I’m just going to…” 

She walks out of the ballroom and into the vast expanse of open gardens. She breathes and breathes and breathes.

It can’t be.

MASTERLIST

NO TAG LIST. PLEASE FOLLOW AND TURN ON POST NOTIFS FOR @randomdragonfics for fic updates!

[enreveriee]

. , lilac , p.js (☂️)

IN WHICH: you liked jay a lot, but your innocent crush soon spiraled into an obsession, blurring the line between fantasy and reality, as your thoughts twisted into something darker than you expected. GENRE: fluff, slightly dark (?). WARNING(S): obsession, stalking, mentions of accident, kissing, not proofread, lmk if I missed anything. WORD COUNT: 7.8k

LIKE THE FLOATING CLOUD — Changing schools wasn’t on your wishlist, but here you were. It had been a long time since you’d recovered from the accident, and life had thrown you yet another curveball—starting over in a new place. Just weeks ago, you'd woken up from a coma, expecting some form of respite from life’s relentless challenges. But the world doesn’t pause, does it? You were thrust into yet another whirlwind, this time, school. New faces, new halls, and new pressures to bear.

The morning sunlight gleamed off the freshly polished windows of the sprawling campus, casting reflections that danced across the pavement. The building loomed before you—its modern glass façade glimmering in stark contrast to the worn, familiar bricks of your old school. You stopped for a moment, taking in its sheer size. “Damn,” you muttered under your breath, barely aware of the words slipping from your mouth. “They have a better infrastructure than my previous school.”

Stepping inside, the scent of fresh paint and newly waxed floors hit you, a stark reminder of just how new everything was. The halls were alive with the buzz of students rushing to get to their first classes. Lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked against the tile floors, and the faint hum of conversation filled the air. You watched them—groups of friends laughing, others buried in their phones or textbooks, weaving through the maze of hallways like they’d been doing it forever.

It felt strange, seeing all this after months confined to the stillness of a hospital bed. A stark contrast to the sterile walls and cold, white lights you had grown so familiar with. The vibrant chaos of school was both overwhelming and comforting in a way. You stood there for a moment, just observing, soaking in the life you’d almost forgotten. The sight of students hurrying to their classes, backpacks bouncing against their shoulders, gave you a sense of normalcy. The halls were bright, lined with posters of school events, sports team victories, and upcoming dances—everything you’d missed out on for what felt like a lifetime.

You clutched the straps of your bag a little tighter, pulling it further up your shoulder, almost as if it would anchor you in this unfamiliar place. You could feel the faintest bit of nervous energy rising within you, the kind that makes your heart beat just a little faster. But you weren’t going to let it overwhelm you. Not today.

As you passed by a few students gathered in the corridor, you could hear bits of their conversation. “Did you finish the homework for Mr. Park's class?” one asked, flipping through her notebook. The other girl nodded, her head buried in a thick textbook. You glanced at them, envy prickling the edges of your mind. They belonged here, and you… well, you were still finding your place.

“Alright,” you whispered to yourself, straightening up and taking a deep breath. “New school, new start.” With one last glance at the crowded hallway, you made your way toward your first class, determined to make this day yours, no matter how alien everything felt.

HELLO, HELLO LIKE A PETAL — Not even a week into your new school, you saw him for the first time—the class president. You didn’t know his name yet, but something about him drew your attention. He moved with quiet confidence, guiding students through their doubts with ease, his voice calm, yet commanding. His presence was magnetic, the way he gestured with his hands as he explained a complex problem, or the soft smile he gave when someone finally understood.

“Do you like him?” Semi, the girl sitting next to you, nudged your arm gently, her teasing grin barely concealed behind her hand. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the heat creeping up your neck. How could you like someone this early? It was ridiculous.

“I’ve never even seen him before today,” you muttered, pretending to focus on the scribbles in your notebook, though the lines blurred together as your thoughts wandered. “I don’t like him… not yet, at least.” You added a nervous chuckle, but your eyes refused to stray from him.

It wasn’t until he glanced back—straight at you—that your heart betrayed you, hammering against your chest as if it had been caught in the act. He walked over, each step deliberate, his posture straight and assured. You could feel Semi's gaze burning into the side of your face, her amusement at your sudden silence barely restrained.

“You haven’t submitted your assignment yet,” he said, his tone polite but firm, snapping you out of your daze. His eyes were kind, though, like he didn’t even notice the way your hands fumbled nervously with your pen as you nodded, barely able to form words.

“I’ll, uh, get that to you… soon,” you stammered, mentally kicking yourself. Of course, a guy like him wouldn’t even blink in your direction beyond official school matters. He was the class president, for crying out loud—probably too busy managing a thousand other things to even notice you.

As he turned to walk away, Semi was quick to jump in with a teasing whisper, “Girl, you’re down bad.” She let out a soft snicker as you glared at her, your heart still racing from the brief encounter.

Your eyes followed him despite yourself, as if they couldn’t tear away from the sight of him—his tall figure moving with that same effortless grace. It was just a simple conversation, nothing more than a sentence or two exchanged. But it left a mark, one that you knew would linger. Something about him seemed like a beacon, and you weren’t ready to look away.

“Well, that’s one way to make an impression,” you murmured to yourself, sighing quietly. It was ridiculous how so little could feel like so much.

LIKE THE SPRING BREEZE — You were still new at school, trying to adjust to the routine, but at least you had made one friend—Semi. She was your lifeline in this sea of unfamiliar faces, and with her by your side, school didn’t seem as daunting anymore. And then, there was Jay. You’d finally learned his name, not that it had been hard. He was popular, almost too popular.

One search of his Instagram, and you were greeted with hundreds of likes and comments from not just your school but people outside as well. He had that effortless charm, the kind that made people gravitate toward him. Maybe that was why you were crushing on him so hard—or maybe it was the way his smile seemed to light up the hallway whenever he passed by.

You found yourself scrolling through his feed late at night, learning everything you could without actually knowing him. You knew when his birthday was, how he liked his coffee, and what his favorite band was. And today, you decided to make a move, something small but hopefully memorable. You bought him a pastry, a cute little cupcake from the bakery down the street, wrapped it in a box with a neat little bow, and headed straight for his locker before school started.

Standing in front of his locker, you took a deep breath, placing the box inside. The nerves were eating you alive, but you didn’t want to back out now. Just as you turned around to leave, you froze. There he was. Jay, standing right behind you, his expression a mix of curiosity and confusion.

His voice broke the silence. “What are you doing?” He asked, his hand brushing against yours as he reached for the box. The contact sent a jolt up your spine, making your heart race even faster.

Your mouth went dry, but you managed to stammer out, “It’s your birthday, right? I, uh... got you these.” You held out the cupcake, your smile shaky as you tried to mask how flustered you were.

Jay blinked, glancing between you and the cupcake before offering a polite smile. “Thanks, but... do I know you?”

The words hit harder than they should have. You felt your heart drop into your stomach, the awkwardness thick in the air. He didn’t even know you? All this time, you’d been working up the courage to talk to him, and he didn’t even recognize you. Ouch. You forced a smile, trying to save face, but the sting of embarrassment was hard to shake off.

“We’re in the same class. I’m the new student,” you muttered, your voice a little quieter, hoping this wouldn’t be as humiliating as it felt.

Jay’s eyes widened slightly, realization dawning. “Oh, right. I must’ve forgotten. Sorry about that.” He gave you another smile, the kind that was polite but distant. “Thanks for this.” He held up the box, gave you a nod, and with that, he walked away, leaving you standing there with your pride in pieces.

You couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that escaped your lips as you watched him go. “Such a bastard,” you mumbled under your breath, though there wasn’t any real anger behind it. Just exasperation. Despite the awkwardness, you still found yourself drawn to him. How could you not? The way he walked, the way his shoulders moved with an effortless swagger—there was something about him that just pulled you in.

But then again, you weren’t the only one. You’d seen the way other girls looked at him, the way they’d flock to him like moths to a flame. You were just another admirer in a sea of them. And yet, here you were, feeling like this tiny interaction, awkward as it was, was something special. Maybe it was your first real conversation with him, but it was something.

LOVE RESEMBLES MISTY DREAMS — Love, for you, felt like one of those foggy dreams you have just before waking up—the kind where everything is hazy, but you can still remember the emotions. It was no longer just a feeling but a reality you crafted for yourself. Everything was deliberate, including the way you “accidentally” bumped into Jay in the hallways or “coincidentally” ended up in places where he usually went after school. Some might call it stalking, but you thought of it as strategic planning. After all, you just wanted to talk to him—get to know him.

And then, one day, you got your golden opportunity. How? You joined the History Club. You absolutely loathed history. Memorizing dates, names, and ancient events was the last thing you wanted to do, but none of that mattered when Jay was the club leader. You’d force yourself to endure it, just for a few moments with him.

Today was one of those long club meetings, the kind that dragged on forever as Jay led the discussion while you sat across the room, your eyes barely leaving him. The topic was something about ancient dynasties—honestly, you weren’t paying attention. Instead, you had focused on making your notes look as neat and perfect as possible, hoping to catch his eye with the colorful highlighters and meticulous doodles. When you finished, you slid over to where he was sitting, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Jay, how does this look?” you asked, handing over your notebook with a hopeful smile.

Jay barely glanced at the notes before his brows furrowed in confusion. “It’s... nice. But, um, you shouldn’t have used so many highlighters. It’s kinda hard to read with all the colors.” His tone was polite, but it still stung a little. Semi, who was sitting beside you, covered her mouth to hide her laughter, shaking her head as she continued working on her own notes.

“Oh... okay.” You tried not to let your disappointment show, but it was hard. Your enthusiasm had deflated like a balloon, and the frown tugging at your lips was a clear giveaway. Trying to keep your cool, you casually pulled out a small, wrapped box from your bag and slid it toward him, as if this were a completely normal thing to do.

Semi’s eyes widened, her shock evident. She was always amused by how bold you were when it came to Jay, but this—this was a new level. Jay blinked in confusion, his gaze flickering between you and the box now in front of him.

“What’s this for?” he asked, a small crease forming on his forehead. He picked up the box, turning it over in his hands as if trying to figure out why you’d given it to him.

You swallowed nervously. “I, uh, made some cookies for you.”

There. You said it. No going back now. You could practically hear Semi holding back her laugh, but you didn’t dare look at her. Your eyes were glued to Jay, waiting for his reaction. He stared at the box for a moment, looking almost... awkward. His smile was tight, as if he didn’t quite know how to handle the situation.

“Oh... thanks,” he said, his voice uncertain, like he was trying to be nice but wasn’t sure how to accept this gesture. He shifted his weight, glancing around the room as if searching for an escape route, and that small gesture hit you harder than you expected.

Your heart sank. The realization washed over you like a cold wave—he wasn’t interested. He probably had girls giving him gifts all the time, and you were just another admirer in the crowd. The worst part? He was too polite to brush you off outright, which only made you feel worse. The room began to clear out, and soon, it was just the two of you left, the silence hanging heavy between you.

You fiddled with the edge of your notebook, finally breaking the quiet with a question you dreaded asking but couldn’t keep inside any longer. “Do I... do I annoy you?”

Jay’s head snapped up at your words, his eyes wide with surprise. “What? No! Of course not.”

But you could tell from the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes that he wasn’t telling the whole truth. He was trying to be kind, but his discomfort was impossible to ignore. You forced a smile, but the hurt still crept into your voice.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, waving it off as if it didn’t matter. As if your heart wasn’t breaking a little.

Jay hesitated, his fingers tightening around the box of cookies you had given him. He looked almost guilty now, as if he knew how much his reaction had affected you. Without saying anything, he opened the box and took one of the heart-shaped cookies, biting into it quietly. You watched as he chewed slowly, his gaze drifting to the floor.

The silence that followed felt heavy, awkward, and filled with all the unsaid things that lingered in the air between you. It wasn’t much, but seeing him eat the cookies you made—even though you knew they weren’t going to change anything—was enough to make you feel a small flicker of hope again, even if just for a moment.

I LIKE THE SCENT OF TODAY — As if life had its own twisted way of pulling strings, you eventually grew closer to Jay—or at least, that’s what you told yourself. Bonding over history wasn’t something you ever anticipated, but somehow, there you were. It had been five months. Five months of stolen glances, hushed conversations, and countless moments where you felt your heart skip a beat just from being near him.

Five months of wondering why Jay didn’t push you away. Despite knowing your feelings, he had never told you to stop. Sure, you had followed him home once or twice—okay, maybe more than once. But the strange thing was, he noticed. He noticed and he never did anything to stop you. Instead, he fed your one-sided affection with smiles that lingered a bit too long and conversations that bordered on intimate. It confused you. Sometimes you wondered why he acted as if he was leading you on, yet at other times, it felt like he was just being kind out of some sort of obligation.

You remembered one afternoon clearly. It was just the two of you in the History Club room. The other members had gone out for a break, and the quiet settled between you like a soft, suffocating blanket. Jay was engrossed in some text about ancient civilizations, flipping through the pages with a look of calm concentration. You, on the other hand, couldn’t focus. Your eyes kept drifting toward him, your mind racing with the questions you had been holding in for weeks.

“Jay? Stop talking about historical monuments,” you muttered softly, breaking the silence. You’d lost track of how long he’d been going on about some ancient ruin. Normally, you’d let him talk—it was one of the things you liked about him. But today was different. There was something bubbling inside you, a feeling that couldn’t be ignored any longer.

Jay blinked, startled by your interruption. He looked up from his book, his dark eyes meeting yours with a curious glint. “Oh?” he asked, his voice tinged with confusion. He set the book aside, leaning back in his chair, and raised an eyebrow. “Then, what do you want to talk about?”

Before you could respond, he casually reached out, gripping the arm of your chair and pulling it closer to his. The sudden movement caught you off guard, and now your knees almost brushed his. You felt a blush creeping up your neck, your heart fluttering in your chest as you looked down, avoiding his gaze.

But you had to ask. You had to know. Swallowing your nerves, you looked back up at him, eyes searching his for some kind of answer. “Jay? Why are you doing this?”

He frowned, clearly not understanding what you meant. “Doing what?” he asked, his tone casual, but you could tell he was puzzled. His gaze flickered to the small, wrapped gift boxes and notes that littered his desk—tokens of affection from his admirers, yourself included. You watched his eyes settle on the trinkets, as if they might hold the answer.

You followed his gaze, feeling a knot of frustration tightening in your chest. “Accepting my gifts, I mean… and talking to me,” you clarified, your voice quieter now, but firm. You hated the way your heart felt heavy, as if you were bracing for a truth you didn’t want to hear. “Why do you talk to me like this? Why do you make me feel like there’s something between us?”

Jay seemed taken aback by your bluntness. He glanced back at you, a small, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips as he looked away again, his fingers tracing the edge of the nearest gift box. “Oh, that… they were nice,” he muttered after a moment, his tone flat.

Nice? That was it? You felt the sting of his words, the casual way he dismissed what meant so much to you. “That’s the only reason?” you asked, frowning as you leaned back slightly, feeling the weight of disappointment settle in.

“Yeah.” His response came without hesitation, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your frustration simmered, but more than that, there was a growing ache in your chest. How could he be so oblivious? You stood up, pushing your chair back with a scrape that echoed through the empty room. “Jay, don’t you think someone might not give this kind of stuff to just a friend?” You didn’t care if you sounded angry now—hell, you were angry. Angry, hurt, and confused.

Jay met your gaze, his expression unreadable. He didn’t flinch. “I know.”

You blinked, your frown deepening. “You know?” The words felt like a punch, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “Then why are you leading me on?”

Jay lowered his head, his hair falling slightly over his eyes as he let out another sigh. His voice was quieter when he spoke, tinged with something that almost sounded like regret. “I know that you like me,” he admitted. “But… I don’t think I want to love anyone anytime soon.”

You froze, the air between you thick with unsaid words. The way he said it was like a door closing—a gentle but firm rejection. He wasn’t even trying to keep you there, to stop you from walking out. He just sat there, looking down, his hands resting on the table as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest, but then curiosity took over. “Why not?” you asked, stepping closer. The hurt was still there, but now there was something else—an ache to understand. “Why don’t you want to love someone?”

Jay looked up, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before they darted away again. He hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper when he finally spoke. “I’m afraid of loving someone… and getting hurt.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. There was a vulnerability in his tone that made you hesitate, but you pushed that aside. Instead, you took a deep breath, letting the silence stretch for a moment before you stepped even closer, a sudden idea forming in your mind.

“Then…” You paused, feeling the weight of your words. “How about you date me until graduation? And once the spring comes, we’ll part ways.” You smiled softly, the sadness lingering behind it as you met his eyes again. “Love me only until this spring.”

Jay’s eyes widened slightly, surprised by your proposal. You could see the conflict in his gaze, the way he wanted to say no but hesitated. He looked down at the pile of gifts again, his fingers brushing the edge of one of the boxes before he finally sighed, shaking his head softly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he murmured, his voice unsure.

You bit your lip, stepping even closer. “Oh, c’mon! Please?” You knew how desperate you sounded, how much like a lovestruck fool you must’ve appeared. But you didn’t care. You couldn’t let this chance slip away—not when you were this close.

Jay looked up at you, really looked at you this time. His eyes searched yours for something, and after a long pause, he let out a resigned sigh. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice soft but clear. “I’ll love you… only until this spring.”

And as he spoke, he gazed at you, his expression unreadable as his eyes flickered to the gifts on his desk—reminders of the fleeting nature of the affection people offered him. You couldn’t help but wonder if, just maybe, this was the start of something that could last longer than a single season.

LOVE ME ONLY ‘TIL THIS SPRING — Spring had barely begun to unfurl its vibrant colors, but you already felt the weight of an unspoken clock ticking down. Two months remained until graduation, and with it, the end of your deal with Jay—no strings, no lasting attachments, just a fleeting experience of dating. But for you, it was never just that. You had been attached long before this "spring romance" ever started, yet here you were, clinging to his arm like a lifeline, trying to savor each moment despite the cold reality of an expiration date.

Walking down the crowded hallway, your grip on his arm tightened. The judgmental glances from other students followed you both, sharp and filled with disdain, as though they couldn't understand why Jay, the untouchable, mysterious boy, was with you. You knew the looks well—they stung, but they didn’t surprise you. This whole thing was supposed to be temporary, just a silly experiment. Yet, the knot in your chest told a different story. You were already in too deep.

Jay, on the other hand, remained indifferent. His usual stoic expression hadn't changed much since the two of you began this strange arrangement. He didn't stop you from holding his hand, from clinging to his arm, but he didn’t make any gestures that suggested anything deeper. He had agreed to this—dating until spring, no more, no less—but you couldn’t help but wonder: Was this all just a façade?

“Don’t you dare hurt her.” Semi, your friend, shot Jay a warning glance as the two of you passed by her near the lockers. The sharpness in her voice cut through the haze of your thoughts, bringing you back to reality. You almost winced at her words, remembering how you’d bragged about dating Jay. What would she say if she knew this was all temporary?

Jay glanced down at you, sensing your discomfort, and squeezed your hand gently. It was a small gesture, but one that momentarily eased your embarrassment. For a second, you allowed yourself to imagine that this wasn’t just for show, that maybe—just maybe—he felt something too.

The walk home after school was quiet, as usual. Jay walked beside you, his hands in his pockets, while you clutched your bag, the silence between you growing heavier with each step. Even though you had been dating for a month, it was nothing like the relationships you’d imagined. There were no sweet goodnight texts, no surprise visits, no real affection beyond holding hands. He never let you into his world—into his home or his heart.

Finally, when you reached the school gates, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. The words spilled out before you could stop them.

“Jay...” You called his name softly, biting your lip, your hand clutching your bag tighter.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable. “Mm?” was all he hummed in response, his voice low and casual.

You felt your heart race, unsure if you were being too bold or foolish, but you pressed on. “Can you kiss me?” The words came out rushed, your face heating up instantly. You almost couldn’t believe what you’d just said. “I mean—I'm your girlfriend, right... So, can you kiss me? A peck is fine too.”

Jay froze, blinking in surprise. His eyes widened slightly as if he hadn’t expected such a request from you. “Huh?” He coughed, nearly choking on his breath, clearly caught off guard by your sudden boldness. The corner of his lips twitched as though he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or be serious.

You immediately regretted it, feeling your face burn even more. The silence that followed felt agonizing. You could practically hear your own heart pounding in your chest. “Nevermind,” you mumbled, waving it off as you turned away, your shoulders slumping in defeat. Why did I say that? Embarrassment flooded through you, and you started to walk ahead, putting distance between the two of you.

But then, before you could take more than two steps, you felt a sudden tug on your wrist. Jay had grabbed you from behind, his hand firm yet gentle as he pulled you back toward him. You barely had time to turn around before he was there—his lips crashing onto yours.

The kiss was sudden, forceful, and filled with an intensity you hadn’t anticipated. His lips were soft, warm against yours, but there was something almost desperate in the way he kissed you, as if he was letting out something he had been holding back for too long. You were momentarily stunned, eyes wide in shock, but your body responded instinctively, your hands coming up to gently hold onto his shirt for support.

Jay's other hand slid to the back of your neck, his touch delicate but firm, pulling you closer as though he needed to feel your presence, to make the moment real. The world around you seemed to blur, the whispers of students, the hum of cars in the distance—all of it faded as the kiss deepened. You could feel your heartbeat hammering in your chest, but it wasn’t just because of the kiss—it was the realization that, in this brief moment, something shifted. This wasn’t the kiss of someone merely fulfilling a temporary deal.

After what felt like an eternity, Jay slowly pulled back, his breath warm against your lips. He gazed down at you, his usual calm demeanor replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. His hand lingered on your wrist for a second longer, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“I... I didn’t expect that,” you breathed out, still dazed from the kiss, your cheeks flushed as you stared up at him.

Jay didn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes searching yours, as if debating whether to speak or to leave things unsaid. Finally, he muttered, “You asked for it.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

He shrugged, his lips quirking up in a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe I wanted to.” His voice was low, almost as if he hadn’t meant for you to hear it.

For a moment, you stood there, staring at each other, the weight of the unspoken emotions between you heavy in the air. Maybe this spring wasn’t just a fleeting experience. Maybe, just maybe, something real was growing between the two of you. But neither of you dared to say it aloud.

THE DAY THE LILAC FLOWERS FALL — The weekend sun shone brightly, casting a golden hue over the bustling streets as you wandered aimlessly with Semi by your side. It was a rare day of freedom, a chance to escape from the chaos of school and simply relax. Laughter filled the air as the two of you shared stories and jokes, weaving through the crowd in search of the next spot to explore.

But then, everything shifted in an instant.

Distracted by Semi's teasing, you hadn’t noticed the tall figure walking toward you until it was too late. Your shoulder brushed against his, and before you knew it, the man was glaring down at you with a look that sent a shiver down your spine. “Sorry,” you muttered quickly, lowering your head in hopes that your apology would be enough to diffuse the situation.

It wasn’t.

“Girls like you always do this.” His voice was a low, menacing growl, filled with disdain. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he suddenly reached out, grabbing your wrists with a force that made you wince. The sudden, painful grip startled you, your breath catching in your throat as fear surged through your veins.

Semi, ever the protective friend, immediately rushed forward. “Hey, let go of her!” she demanded, her voice firm despite the obvious tension. But even she hesitated slightly, clearly aware of how much stronger the guy was.

You struggled against his hold, trying to pull away, but his grip only tightened, making you feel more trapped with each passing second. Panic set in, and just as you were about to call out for help, a blur of movement caught your eye.

A sharp, powerful punch connected with the man’s face, and the sound echoed in your ears, causing everyone around to freeze. You gasped as you realized who had thrown the punch—Jay.

Your eyes widened as you watched in stunned silence. Jay had appeared out of nowhere, and now, he was standing protectively in front of you, his fists clenched and his expression dark, far more intense than you’d ever seen before. The guy stumbled back, groaning in pain, but Jay wasn’t done. He lunged forward, landing another punch, and then another, each hit more brutal than the last.

“Jay, stop!” you cried out, rushing toward him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. You had never seen him like this before, this fierce and angry. He was relentless, and the guy, now bleeding and terrified, tried to shield himself, but Jay didn’t let up.

You reached out, grabbing onto Jay’s arm from behind, desperately trying to pull him away. “Jay, please!” you pleaded, your voice shaky. “That’s enough. Please…”

At your touch, Jay finally froze. His body stiffened as if suddenly aware of what he had done. The guy on the receiving end of his punches scrambled to his feet and fled, not daring to look back, his face bloodied and bruised. You stood there, still gripping Jay’s arm, your breath shaky as you tried to process what had just happened.

Before you could say anything else, Jay turned toward you. In an instant, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. The suddenness of it made your heart skip a beat. His embrace was tight, protective, almost as if he was trying to shield you from the world. One of his hands gently stroked your hair, his touch surprisingly tender considering the fury that had consumed him moments before.

“You could’ve gotten hurt,” he muttered, his voice low and filled with concern as he buried his face into your hair, breathing deeply as if needing to calm himself down.

You stood there in his arms, completely speechless. This wasn’t the Jay you were used to—the distant, indifferent guy who rarely showed emotion. This was different. The way he held you, the way he had rushed to your side without hesitation… it felt real, it felt genuine. For the first time, he felt like a real boyfriend, and the warmth that spread through you at that realization was almost overwhelming.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile as you wrapped your arms around him in return, hugging him tightly. His scent, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—it all made you feel safe, like nothing in the world could hurt you as long as he was there. You wanted to stay in that moment forever.

But then, of course, Semi broke the silence with a loud, exaggerated cough. You could hear the barely-contained giggles bubbling up in her throat, and when you looked over, she was smirking, clearly enjoying the display of "live romance" that had unfolded before her eyes.

You felt a rush of embarrassment flood through you, your cheeks heating up as you quickly pulled away from Jay’s embrace, though part of you didn’t really want to let go. Jay cleared his throat, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as he glanced between you and Semi.

“Um…” you started, but you weren’t even sure what to say. How could you even begin to explain all of this?

Semi, however, wasn’t going to let you off that easily. She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a mischievous grin. “Well, that was… something,” she teased, folding her arms across her chest. “Didn’t know Jay had it in him to be a knight in shining armor.”

Jay rolled his eyes, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I wasn’t trying to be anything,” he muttered under his breath, but his hand found its way to yours again, fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture that felt so natural, it made your heart flutter.

“You definitely looked the part,” Semi added, winking at you. “Seriously though, you okay? That guy was a creep.”

You nodded, still a little shaken but grateful. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks to Jay.” You glanced up at him, unable to hide the soft smile on your face. He looked down at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Good,” he said quietly, his eyes lingering on you for just a second longer. There was something in his gaze, something unspoken that made you wonder if this moment had changed things between you two—if maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t just for show anymore.

CLIMAX OF OUR WHITE SPRING DAYS — Graduation day had arrived like a ticking clock you couldn’t silence. The weight of finality pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. You stood in the sea of students, watching the world pass by in slow motion as the sun bathed everything in warm light, but inside, you felt cold.

Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your gown as you glanced over at him—Jay—standing with his friends, laughing about something that seemed distant and unreachable. The end of your three-month dating experiment loomed over you like a dark cloud. It wasn’t just the end of school. It was the end of him, of being close to him, even if it was just pretend.

“Go talk to him.” Semi’s voice broke through the haze as she nudged you, her eyes filled with that encouraging spark she always had. But you didn’t move. How could you? You weren’t his girlfriend anymore, not even in the superficial way you'd been for these past few months.

You had no right to approach him.

Your chest tightened as you tried to steady your breath, but your eyes betrayed you, drifting back to him once more. The laughter, the movement, the noise—it all blurred, dimming around the edges until it seemed like everyone was fading away, disappearing like smoke in the wind. And then there was just him.

Only him.

The background turned white, stark and empty. The vividness of the graduation, the bright colors of everyone’s robes and caps, the cheerful chaos—all of it vanished, leaving you standing in this surreal silence.

Jay stood alone now, the only one left in this strange world that suddenly felt more dream than reality. He started walking toward you, every step deliberate, but there was something different—something ethereal.

You blinked, unsure of what you were seeing. There was a faint shimmer behind him, something soft and luminous, like wings. Wings? You blinked again, and there they were, delicate and translucent, fluttering gently with each step he took. His face was calm, serene, almost unrecognizable from the boy you'd dated. He was... otherworldly.

Your heart pounded in your chest, confusion twisting through you. “What…?” you muttered to yourself, trying to make sense of it, but nothing made sense anymore.

Jay stopped in front of you, his gaze soft and yet so intense, locking onto yours with an emotion you couldn’t place. Slowly, as if afraid he might shatter the moment, he reached up and grazed his fingers across your cheek, his touch light as a feather.

“You need to wake up now,” he whispered, his voice deeper, gentler than you'd ever heard before. “It’s been too long since you’ve been in the dark.”

His words cut through you, leaving you more confused than ever. Wake up? What did that mean? What darkness was he talking about?

You flinched at his touch, stepping back as your breath hitched. “What are you saying?” The tremor in your voice betrayed your panic. You looked around, desperate to find something familiar, something to cling to. But all you could see was the white, stretching endlessly around you. You couldn’t make sense of anything. Nothing was real.

Your hands flew to your head as a sudden pain pulsed in your temples. Flashes of light blinked before your eyes—images you couldn’t fully grasp, memories or maybe dreams, flashing too fast for you to catch. You dropped to your knees, the weight of it all crashing down on you, confusion and frustration mixing until you couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t—” Your voice cracked as you clawed at the air, scratching your head as if trying to tear away the confusion. “What’s happening?”

The ground felt soft beneath you, like clouds, but the pressure in your chest grew tighter, heavier, as if the world itself was closing in.

Jay knelt down beside you, his movements slow and calm, his eyes filled with something deep, something almost tender. He reached for you again, but you flinched, not wanting to feel the foreignness of his touch.

“Shhh,” he whispered softly, his voice like a lullaby, as his hand hovered over your head. He didn't push. He simply waited, his presence both grounding and terrifying at once. You wanted to push him away, to demand answers, but at the same time, a strange comfort wrapped around you, like a blanket in the middle of a storm.

The world flickered around you, the white light growing brighter, almost blinding.

Jay leaned closer, his face inches from yours. “It’s time to say goodnight,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. Before you could protest, before you could even think, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips gentle and reassuring.

And then, just as quickly as he had appeared, the world around you shifted. The soft white light began to darken, curling at the edges, growing darker and darker until it swallowed everything whole. The last thing you felt was Jay’s warmth before it, too, faded into the blackness. You were alone.

Your breath hitched, and you closed your eyes as the darkness wrapped around you like a heavy blanket, pulling you under.

THE END OF LILAC SPRING — The world felt like it was spinning, even though you were lying still. Blinding light from the overhead lamp above your hospital bed seeped into your barely-open eyes, burning your retinas. The persistent beep of a heart monitor echoed in the room, in time with the erratic pounding of your heart. But the voice that broke through it all— Semi's voice—was frantic, pulling you back to the surface.

“Wake up! Wake up!”

Your eyelids fluttered open fully, only to meet the concerned face of your best friend, Semi. Her hands hovered just above your blanket-covered arms, as if afraid to touch you. Her wide eyes, framed by disheveled strands of hair, looked both relieved and shaken. This wasn’t the Semi you’d known for years. There was something different about her—something less familiar, almost like she was a stranger. And that strange feeling twisted in your chest like a knife.

You blinked, trying to adjust to the light, to the sudden rush of sensations hitting you all at once—the smell of antiseptic, the sound of footsteps outside the door, the faint chatter of doctors and nurses.

But none of that mattered. Where was Jay?

“W-where’s Jay?” you gasped out, sitting up too quickly, causing a sharp tug on the tubes attached to your arms. You barely registered the IV drip dangling beside you or the oxygen clip on your finger. Your mind was racing, your heart thundering against your ribcage as you searched the sterile, white room. He had to be here. He always was.

Semi blinked, her brows knitting together in confusion. “Jay?” she echoed, her voice hesitant as she sat down on the chair beside your hospital bed, shifting uncomfortably. You could see the confusion written all over her face, like she was trying to solve a puzzle but missing the pieces.

Your heart lurched. Why wasn’t she answering? Why wasn’t he here?

“Jay!” you nearly shouted this time, the panic rising in your throat, making your voice crack. “The class leader! He was in the history club too—he was my boyfriend!” Your words tumbled out, desperate, almost pleading with her to remember.

But Semi’s expression only grew more puzzled, her lips parting slightly as if trying to find the right words. She didn’t know him.

“There’s no Jay,” she said, her voice flat, her eyes searching yours as if waiting for a reaction. “What are you even talking about? You’ve been in a coma for almost a year, and the first thing you ask about is some guy?”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. No Jay? No Jay?! You stared at her, wide-eyed, the room tilting dangerously around you. Your breath caught in your throat, and you glanced around again, your head pounding as if your brain couldn’t process what she was saying. You could barely hear the doctors' voices outside, your parents’ relieved murmurs from the corner of the room.

“I—I don’t understand.” Your voice trembled, and your fingers clutched the thin hospital blanket in a white-knuckled grip. How could Jay not exist? How could she not know him when every single day had been filled with him? “We were together, Semi. He was real. He was real!”

But Semi wasn’t budging. She leaned back, crossing her arms, frustration flickering in her eyes. “You were in a car accident. Do you remember that?” she asked, her voice softening slightly, though there was still a hint of disbelief. “A car crash. Blood everywhere. That’s why you’ve been in a coma.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as her eyes flickered to the tubes attached to your body. “That’s why you’re here.”

Your body went cold. A coma? Blood? The words bounced around in your head, but they didn’t stick. Your hands trembled as they reached for the bed’s railing, trying to anchor yourself. You could still feel Jay’s presence, still remember his smile, his touch, the way he’d whispered goodnight to you... before everything went dark.

A cold shiver ran down your spine, and your throat tightened as you managed to ask, “W-what date is it?”

“September 20, 2024,” Semi replied, her voice barely audible, but it hit you like a tidal wave. September.

Your eyes widened as the pieces began to fall apart in your mind, crumbling like ash in your hands. The school year, the three months with Jay, the spring—none of it had been real. None of it.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the weight of it all settled in your chest like a boulder, pressing down, squeezing the air from your lungs. A quiet tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, turning to look out the window as if the outside world could give you some semblance of reality.

Beyond the glass, the sky was painted in soft shades of pink and orange, the setting sun casting a warm glow over everything. Lilac flowers fluttered from a nearby tree, caught in the gentle breeze. They swirled in the air, delicate and fleeting, just like the memories of Jay.

You watched them fall, your heart aching with a bittersweet pang. Was it all just a dream? Had Jay been nothing more than a figment of your comatose mind, created to fill the emptiness while you lay in the dark? The thought was unbearable, but the more you tried to hold onto him, the more he slipped away—like the lilac petals, fading from your reach.

But somewhere deep inside, beneath the confusion and pain, a small part of you hoped—hoped that he was real. That maybe, somewhere, in some other world, Jay existed, waiting with that final page of your story. And though you couldn’t be sure, you held onto that hope, because the goodbye—his goodnight—had been too sweet, too tender to be nothing at all.

With trembling hands, you let the last tear fall, watching as the petals danced in the wind, disappearing into the horizon. Even if it was just a dream, you wished for one more chapter—one more part in the story that had been left unfinished.

© enreveriee | tumblr

[pretty-sparkle-bomb]

Guys, I got cuteness aggression this morning. Am I being delusional? Maybe, maybe not.

Pt 1, Pt 2

♥︎~

You sighed, stopping halfway on the set of stairs. "Whose bright idea was it to put our class on the top floor of this gigantic building? And why—seriously, why—don’t we have elevators?"

Mina snorted as she looked back at you. "Tired already?" she teased, nudging Jirou who laughed quietly at your pouty face.

"No shit, sherlock. These stairs are torture."

"You're a hero in training, honeybunch. Move those legs." Mina jogged the rest of the way up, reaching the top effortlessly with Jirou by her side. Both turned to look down at you, matching smiles on their faces.

You straightened up, arms crossed. “Nope, I’m done. You two can carry me the rest of the way.”

Mina chuckled; she had waited so long for this moment. “Why don’t you call your boyfriend to do it then? I distinctly remember you saying you’d love his hands all over you, especially when—”

“Shut up, Mina!” you screeched, bolting up the remaining steps and slapping a hand over her mouth before she could finish. Your face was on fire. How could she do this to you?

Jirou doubled over in laughter, slapping her knee for emphasis. Your face was painted with disbelief, which only fueled her laughter.

It was hard to keep a straight face when she was wriggling her eyebrows suggestively at you.

As you all walked to the doors of 1A, you took a deep nervous breath. Would Bakugo speak to you today?

"You look constipated." Jirou whispered, placing a hand on your shoulder as she stepped infront of you. "Calm down, girl."

As you entered the class, Bakugo's eyes immediately shot to you. Did you do something to your hair? He tries to remember what hairstyle you took the previous day and shakes his head, trying to tune back into the conversation he was having with Kaminari and Kirishima.

“...and bam! I took him out. Man, I hate campers,” the electric blonde said, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis.

Kirishima laughed, nodding. “I hear you, dude. Totally unmanly behaviour.”

Bakugo grunted in agreement but glanced back at you, almost as if he couldn’t help himself. His brows furrowed slightly, as if he was still trying to figure out what was different.

You felt a surge of confidence. Maybe today would be different. Maybe, just maybe, you’d actually get to talk to him without turning into a stuttering mess.

Mina gave you a gentle shove forward. “Go on, before you chicken out.”

You locked eyes with him and your heart tightened in your chest. Woah, his eyes were so pretty.

"Heyy y/n." Kaminari drawled, propping his face onto his palm as he winked at you. You rolled your eyes at his antics. "Morning Kaminari." you muttered.

"No good morning for the other two gentlemen here?" Kirishima playfully huffed.

You chuckled, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Good morning, Kirishima,” you said with a warm smile.

Oh boy, did you have to say that to him too?

“...hey Bakugo... morning.” You kept your voice steady, but your pulse quickened when his eyes stared up into yours.

"Mornin'." he grumbled, turning away to look at Kirishima, giving him a glare as if to say 'why the hell are you forcing it?'.

The redhead pretended to be oblivious to the holes that Bakugo was grilling into the side of his head as he chuckled at you. "See? That wasn't too hard, was it?"

You giggled, "Whatever, Kiri. See you guys later."

You exhaled shakily as you made your way back to the two girls who were waiting for you by the door with curious gazes. They motioned for you to go outside and with a shaky exhale, you did.

...

"Ohmygoshdidyouseethewayhewaslookingatyou?!" Mina squealed, shaking your shoulders excitedly.

"Let her breathe, Mina." Jirou whispered, though you could tell she was happy for the small interaction. "His eyes were so soft when he was speaking to you. He looked like a vulnerable little puppy." she mused, turning to you.

Mina nodded frantically. "And his eyes were on you like the whole time! Even when you were walking back to us! Rahh, just date already!" she jumped around.

Your face was so red. You spoke to him... he spoke to you... he was looking at you?

"Was he really looking at me?" you asked hopefully.

"Mhm."

Damn it, Katsuki Bakugo... the things you do to me.

♥︎~

Taglist! Thank you for all the support <3

@mimidonottouch @mikestuffffs @vant3hell @succulent-momma @minkyungseokie @sugurusmoon @idkwhattocallmyselfs @cutebutpsychooxx @jprincesssf @unofficialsapphire @zanyqueencoffee @maddie-rose-1 @madisonnnnnstvr @aefillor @love-me-satoru @meeeepsworld @oddball08 @reads-stuff-quietly @starmycar @djlance-rock @bkgsdoll @nqobil3 @your-mum3000 @dynakats @emmaiskoolio @ggrumbir @ginevraxrogers @emmab3mma

[lets-get-kraken-boys]

Gojo and Geto with bad bitch Chubby Reader

Guys, I tried to avoid being a Gojo stan...I tried so hard to hate him...but the pull was too strong. He got my ass. He's too silly. He's too cute the little shit. He's too perfect. Geto's great too before he lost his shit and went psycho the two are just too great to pass up.

2024 WILL BE THE YEAR THAT I GET YOU BITCHES TO PREACH STRONG, CONFIDENT, INDEPENDENT but not too independent bc these men are still yummy af CHUBBY READER! No longer will I be insecure about my weight because these men LOVE to see me coming AND going, I can tell you that.

WARNING: Fatphobia (happens when first meeting Gojo & Geto—they’re teens trying to bully Reader, but she handles herself because they’re idiots), A little angst with the small amount of bullying but I hope I made up for it, Cursing

✧༺♥༻✧

Imagine you, Gojo, Geto, and Shoko being classmates and friends during their schooling at Jujutsu High. All of you are powerful threats not to be taken lightly. The boys were undoubtedly freaks of nature with how strong they were—though, you had doubled over laughing alongside Shoko a couple of times when you heard them deem themselves "the strongest duo", as if they were some cool loner wolf types. Shoko was a master in the medicinal field; she made any injury look like a breeze to clean. She'd stitch them up no problem with her cursed energy and send them merrily on their way with a swift kick to their backside.

You definitely have more proficiency with cursed energy usage for combat more so than healing, but you could manage healing yourself just fine. You’d been born into a clan, not as highly revered as the Zenin or Gojo clans but still notable, so you’ve been taught from an early age how to wield cursed energy. Sacrificing yourself for the greater good of the world has been drilled into your head since birth, and you agreed with it. The world’s innocence needs to be protected from the cursed dangers life creates. Sure, there are bad people in the world, but the good people make life worth living. At least, that’s what you choose to believe.

While you’re just a normal—aside from the slight infinite power and jaw-dropping strength—girl, you are different in one more physical way. You’re chubbier than most, and not by a small bit.

Are you insecure about it?

Hell fucking no!

You’re a bad bitch. Fantastic face, banging body, stunning smile, bright eyes, a kind but strong heart, and even a cute butt to top it off. You knew this world inside out with how cruel it could be to plus sized folk, and while you took the beating for far too long without fighting back, you took a couple of steps back a few years ago to look at the situation. Why let people push you around like you didn’t matter? Why let them speak to you like you’re lesser than them simply because you weigh more? You were done being talked to like you were filth underneath their boots.

Since that new perspective, you’ve chosen the road of self love and hands rated E for everyone. You’re kind and sweet to those who reciprocate the respect. To those who try you, you beat their asses with a smile. “Education on Human Decency” is what you’ve begun to call the smackdowns since many want to try casting judgment in snide remarks or sneering looks. They can try these hands instead :)

That’s where Jujutsu High and the headaches you know as Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru fit into this philosophy of yours.

You were homeschooled by your clan in the first year of your sorcery high school. Though, after much begging for a change of scenery and yearning for social interactions other than your family and neighbors, they allowed you to go to a high school centered on jujutsu sorcery the next school year.

When you started Jujutsu High in your second year, that is where you met Shoko, Gojo, and Geto, your classmates. The first thought to cross your mind was how small this crowd was. Sure, it wasn’t like the classes you’ve had before had many students in them either; the world of curses and cursed energy wasn’t exactly a booming population to start with, especially when every year is the same class roster composed of the few brothers and sisters you had. Considering that, three new faces was much better than before! You introduced yourself with a joyful tone and an eager handshake.

You started with Shoko since she was the only other girl. You’re glad you did. Shoko, who you originally thought would be tricky to get along with since she gave off “rebel” vibes with that unlit cigarette dangling from her lips and you were nothing of the sort, held a grin and took your handshake with grace. She told you she liked your spunk, that it was nice to be around another girl rather than more stinking boys. You agreed with her with a relieved sigh. You two shared a laugh and chatted some more, each of you discussing your thoughts of the school and figuring out your mutual interests.

Soon enough, you were interrupted by someone giving a very noticeable and forced cough behind you. You turned and were met with two boys, one with jet black hair and a sly grin and the other one with silvery moonlight colored strands sharing the same expression hidden behind circular sunglasses. The white haired boy was leaning heavily on the black haired boy with one arm propped on his shoulder as the black-haired boy crossed his arms in front of himself. Seems like the two are close. No matter.

You stuck your hand out, another smile—admittedly, this one was a little more forced than the one you shared with Shoko—and gave your name. Suguru was the first to bite. He grabbed your hand with a smooth, warm grip, and exchanged his name. His shake felt sincere, though the cunning smirk still laid on his lips.

You tried to shake the other boy’s hand after letting Suguru go, but he decided otherwise. He swiftly with no mercy said he wasn’t going to shake hands with the likes of “you”. You raised an eyebrow, already sensing the insult he would try to hurl at you. One thing bullies are is predictable. None of them have any creative bone in their body, they’re like leeches, in a way. Mooching off other clever remarks they’ve heard used before through the Internet or their idiot friends. Though, they alway reproduce it much shitter than the first time they heard it.

He leaned in with a smile and yapped about how if he touches you, some of your fat might rub off on him. Gojo tries to drag Geto into bullying you too by shamelessly asking if Geto is worried that will happen to him now that he’s so brazenly touched you. As much as you wanted Suguru to be his own person, to be better than the loser clinging to him like a koala, he chimed in that while Gojo’s afraid of that, that that could never happen to him. He sneered while looking down at you that he actually has the discipline to keep the weight off. The two of them share an evil snicker together.

Oh, so that’s how they wanna play it.

Okay. You don’t mind showing a bitch their place.

As Shoko pipes up and tells them to shut the hell up, you stop her. You give her a kind smile that says “I love you, but please back the fuck up as I rock these bitches world”. Her eyebrows jump up in surprise, but she gives you a nod. She quiets down.

You choose to laugh with them. They slowly shut their mouths, finding laughing at you not that funny when you don’t crumple under their taunts like they’d expected. You then explain to them that what you find so funny is that punks like them are so easy to read and, subsequently, ruin. You told them they need to find better insults to steal if they wanna cackle like they’re some kind of drunk hyenas and, unless they get more creative, they’re not worth the air they take from others. You turned to walk away, but since you just couldn’t help yourself, you gave the both of them a swift kick to the chest. Unprepared for the action, they both were sent careening back, but remained standing. You also snarkily nagged that being “undisciplined in weight loss” gave you the extra weight to knock their scrawny asses back that far.

Shoko gave you a hearty high five while laughing at them getting what they deserve. Gojo, though baffled at your defiance, is ready to start throwing punches, as he spews half-assed insults left and right. Geto manages to keep his thoughts to himself, but you do note his expression has definitely become sour. This little scrap is swiftly interrupted by your new teacher, Masamichi Yaga, when he enters and orders the class to settle down. He also snuffs Gojo’s babbling tantrum with a merciless smack to his forehead.

You give a small grin stuck your tongue out at the two when Mr. Masamichi turned his back. From then on, it was war.

You, Geto, and Gojo fought constantly in the beginning

When they (mostly Gojo now) tried to stir shit with you, you’d fling their rudeness right back at them

Whether they tried to pick on your weight, or cheery personality, or strength (which they couldn’t make too much fun off since you were only a little less strong than they were, but so was everyone else compared to their insane powers), you were always ready to kick their asses

You didn’t resent them for their teasing, mostly since you had a good head on your shoulders and you know that Gojo’s only deflecting all the shit he hates about himself onto other people, but they sure got on your nerves sometimes

So, you decided soon into your acquaintance with these dopes that instead of simply beating their asses every time they said some wack shit and never correcting the behavior, you’re going put an end to their bullying of based on others appearances

Because, who knows. You have enough self love and confidence to defend yourself against their rude remarks, but not everyone does. What happens if they target other plus sized people who maybe can’t or won’t defend themselves?

So, when they’d try to make fun of you, you’d correct them with sincerity and help them understand why that would hurt to someone

Geto pretty much never made a passing comment like that again towards you. You’re happy to see that change in him

Gojo huffed and puffed after what he called “your lecture”, but you also saw change in him

After that, it was slow progress to all be friends

Shoko and you were doing great! Hanging out outside of school, dragging her along with you to do some window shopping, eating a sit down lunch together, going to the nearest bookstore, grabbing a yummy sweet treat, stargazing—you did it all together!

She always made a fuss that she had “no interest” in what you would force her to do, but you could secretly tell she liked doing girly stuff together. As long as she could have a smoke break in between these hang outs, she was all good

The first time you, Geto, and Gojo made a recovery in your rocky relationship was when they asked if they could come along with the two of you to get a treat together

You were a bit hesitant to share the thing that brings you joy with the two people who tried to make you the butt of the joke, but you threw them bone and agreed

You four walked down the sidewalk, mostly you chit chatting with Shoko, when Gojo butted his way into the conversation at your mention of Kikufuku.

You and him bonded over your mutual love of the delicate, bouncy sweet treat and you watched as his eyes sparkled like a little kid when you said the place you were going to had an excellent Kikufuku

You know, when Gojo isn’t being a menace, he’s actually nice to share a conversation with

Geto teased Gojo for his astounding sweet tooth, and explained to you an embarrassing story of Gojo losing his mind one time when a dog stole one of his dorayaki treats and ran off

You laughed as Gojo tried to hit Geto as payback for sharing the “secret” but Geto fended off his flailing

Maybe I'll come back to this idea one day when I'm not hung up on the bullying. If you guys like this idea, I might continue it with less bullying. I am a baby when it comes to angst lol. I really do love these boys, I just don't think my heart is ready for the subject matter I wrote.

✧༺♥༻✧

[wandaslovey]

Hey, just wanted to say love all ur mommy Wanda content and can’t help but reread them all the time.

I was just wondering if u would wright something along the lines of reader injuring her leg some how, like a sprained ankle, and is having trouble walking on it but is to stubborn to rest up and not walk on it. Hence mommy Wanda having to take manners into her own hands, however u wish to interpret that.

Possibly with praise sprinkled in plz

If not it’s all good :) 

Her Stubborn Girl

a/n: hi nonnie!! thanks for the request! hopefully this (sorta) lengthy drabble is the sort of thing you were looking for :))

a/n: i wrote this in 45 minutes so please forgive all spelling/grammar errors thaaanks🫶🏻🫶🏻

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•

you fumble with your keys, almost dropping them twice as you all but wrestle with them to stick it through the lock. you were tired physically and mentally. you had three in-person college courses every wednesday, and now being 4 weeks into the semester, you were seriously regretting your decision to be an “over-achiever.” your ankle hurt like a bitch. it was still healing from a sprain, but you hated walking around with those stupid crutches. you’d be damned if you drew more attention to yourself any more than your wrapped ankle already gave away. you finally enter your shared home with your girlfriend, wanda. you saw that her car was parked in the driveway, so she must have decided to work from home today. you huff, tossing your keys on the little table beside the door, carefully chucking your shoes off. you hear wanda’s feet padding against the hard wood floors to the kitchen. you mentally curse yourself as you know she’s going to immediately notice that you walked to your classes today with no crutches. you had hoped you’d have time to go and grab them from where you left them last but, no such luck.

“hi sweetheart, welcome h—“ wanda pauses as she rounds the corner, taking in your appearance and the lack of what should be the accompanying crutches. you offer her a weak smile and turn to get a water from the fridge, not in the mood for her to berate you for your carelessness.

“Y/N! did you seriously go to your classes today without your crutches??” she walks up to you from behind, her arm swiftly wrapping around your back to pull you carefully to the table. you sigh, running your fingers through your hair. you knew how sensitive she was when it came to your health and well-being. “yes. my ankle is almost healed,” you say to placate her, though you know putting so much weight on it today surely didn’t do you any favors. you could feel a throbbing sensation shooting up your leg, even though you were now sitting down. wanda takes the seat next to you, gently lifting your hurt ankle and settling it in her lap. “almost healed my ass…oh honey, look at it! it’s all swollen!” her fingers gently caress the area over her careful wrapping job. “you— stay right here.” she says, her tone chiding. she gently sets your leg to rest on the chair as she gets up to retrieve an ice pack.

she comes and sits back down, resettling your foot in her lap and gently placing the ice pack around your now extra swollen ankle. you suddenly feel a little bit guilty, knowing that you hurting yourself hurts her just as much—maybe even more sometimes. you didn’t mean to upset her. your shoulders slump forward, an apologetic look on your face as she looks at you with nothing but sternness. “i don’t take kindly to you not taking care of yourself Y/N. you know that.” your posture falls, the guilt weighing even heavier on yourself as her words affirm your suspicion. “i’m sorry, mommy.” you use her honorific, hoping it would help in smoothing her over.

your apology seems to fly in one ear and out the other as the firm expression remains plastered on her face. “you’re not going to put any more weight on this ankle of yours for the rest of the day. do you hear me?” you look down. avoiding her gaze as you nod your agreement. she grasps onto your chin with her thumb and first finger, lifting your head back up to look at her. “words. i need to hear you say it.” her grip on your chin is firm and you find that your previous defiant attitude when you first came home had all but vanished into thin air. “i won’t put any more weight on my ankle for the rest of the day,” you say quietly, your lip slightly pouty and your eyes wide, full of sincere apology. “good girl,” she nods, releasing her hold on your chin. she takes pity on you, knowing that she had scolded you enough already.

you sit in comfortable silence for several moments, her still holding the ice pack to your ankle. “how about we watch a movie together before i finish up my work for the day? then i can make us some dinner and you can tell me all you learned in your classes today.” you smile, quickly agreeing with her suggestion.

you move to stand, but she grips onto your foot to keep it there, giving you a warning look. “sorry..” you quickly readjust into your seat, remembering your recent promise to not walk on your bad ankle the rest of the day. she stands up, settling your leg back over the chair. “where did you leave your crutches?” she asks, looking around the room for them. you whine, not wanting to see or use those stupid things ever again. “don’t make me use those. i hate those things. they just make it more difficult to move around and they hurt my armpits..” you complain, your voice sounding petulant like a stubborn child.

she rolls her eyes at your tone, a small affectionate smile tugging at her lips before she suddenly reaches down and pulls you up into her arms. you make a small noise of surprise, but she makes no moves to put you down, instead carrying you to the couch that’s in front of the tv. she settles you onto the cushions, lifting both your legs so your feet were resting in her lap.

she lets you choose the movie and you put one on that you’ve both seen many times together. throughout the movie she’ll glance over at you, smiling kindly whenever your eyes meet hers. somewhere towards the end of the movie, her hands begin massaging your uninjured foot but you find the sensations felt more tickle-y than anything else. you squirm slightly in your seat, your foot twitching in her gently grasp. her lips curve into a knowing smile as she takes notice of your fidgeting.

“does that tickle, detka?” as she asks, she lightly scratches her fingernails over the arch of your foot. you press your lips together, unwilling to give her the reaction she was looking for.

“no,” you say stubbornly, barely glancing in her direction as you opt to keep staring at the screen ahead.

“oh, so you don’t mind if i do this then?” her fingers then move up your foot, tickling the sensitive little spaces in between your toes. you try to jerk and pull your foot back but she was quicker than you—using her other hand to firmly hold your ankle in place. a low whine and a stream of reluctant giggles bubble past your lips as her fingers scratch at your toes. “what’re you laughing at, huh? i thought you said this didn’t tickle…” she teases, keeping up her playful assault on your poor foot for a few more moments before stopping.

she leans closer to you, kissing you sweetly as she gives your foot a soft squeeze. she looks at you, love and adoration evident in her gaze. you melt under her affectionate look, feeling that warm fuzziness seep into your skin and brain.

“Y/N, i don’t ever want to see you without those crutches until the doctor gives you the all clear. if i do see that, you won’t like what i’ll have in store for you.” she turns more stern again for a moment, making sure she gets her point across. you decide to tease her a bit, her little tickle attack making you feel a little giddy still.

“like what? you’ll spank me?” you smirk slightly, knowing that that particular punishment isn’t normally so bad.

“oh no.. no, no. i know you enjoy your spankings far too much, my darling. i was thinking more along the lines of writing me 500 lines stating ‘i will take care of myself and obey my mommy.’”

she mimics your expression, also smirking as she knows you and how much you hate writing lines. you groan and her smirk stretches into a victorious smile.

“how about i throw in a sweetener? if you be the good little girl i know you can be, i’ll let you choose your reward once the doctor clears you.” her offer instantly makes you perk up, your eyes lighting up as several ideas instantly pop into your head.

“really??” you ask excitedly, almost bouncing in your place on the couch. she chuckles, nodding her head. “really, really.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mad Season 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, social anxiety, chronic illness, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker

Summary: a class project gets messy. (short!reader)

Note: yes I'm being irresponsible.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

‘So sorry I’m running behind. May forgot her wallet’. You reread Peter’s message for the fifth time and check the time under the bubble. More than forty minutes ago. He has to be close. 

You thought of checking but you don’t want to pressure him. Besides, he is doing a favour by bringing you to Stark Tower to let you use the space with him. You turn and pace along the wall, out of the way of the New York pedestrians who wouldn’t even notice if you got underfoot. 

You thought of waiting in the lobby but that’s too much. You focus on breathing. You feel alright for the moment, but a few times, you’ve reached for your inhaler just out of habit.  

“Hey,” a voice draws you out of your mounting anxiety, bringing you back down to just above neutral. “Door’s open, you know?” 

You face Bucky as he holds open of the many glass doors. 

You nod and teeter on your heels. “I know, sir. Just waiting.” 

“Bucky,” he corrects you. Like last time. Oops. “Waiting on the kid?” You gesture affirmatively again. He waves you over casually with a gloved hand, “come on. I can get ya into the lab.” 

“Mm, ahem,” you clear your throat, it’s getting tight. You get closer as the noise of the street makes it hard to hear your own thoughts. “That’s nice but I said I’d wait here.” 

“Busy,” he comments and his eyes roll around derisively. “Should be out here on the street. Let the kid know you’ll be upstairs.” 

There’s no arguing with him, not that you would ever dare. You’re not afraid of him. Maybe intimidated but who doesn’t make you feel small. No, he’s Bucky Barnes, an Avenger. You have no ground to tell him no. Besides, he’s being nice even if his tone remains mostly indifferent. 

“Thanks, s—Bucky,” you muster a tight-lipped smile. 

He holds the door and you flit in ahead of him, your wool jacket flapping and brushing against him. He follows. You hurry ahead then stop short as you realise you don’t know where you going. As you do, a man in a suit huffs and nearly knocks you over with his arm. 

“Watch it, little girl.” He sneers. 

“Hey,” Bucky catches him by his tie, “what’d you say to the lady?” 

You spin around in shock, rubbing your arm at the suddenness of it all. 

“N-nothing, I--” the man blinks in fear. “Nothing, she just got in my way.” 

“You knocked into her and you can’t say sorry?” Bucky pulls him closer, glaring at him with a furrow of his nose. 

“N-no,” the man shows his palms, “no.” 

“Look at her. She’s half your size, pal. You think she could hurt you?” 

“No, no, look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” The man sputters. 

“Not to me,” Bucky slides his hand down the man’s tie and pulls him like a dog on a leash toward you, “her.” 

The man blanches and gulp, “look, miss, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. I shouldn’t have... I should look where I’m going.” 

“Good boy,” Bucky’s snarl comes close to a smirk as he lets the man go and taps his cheek lightly. “Go.” 

He shoves the man by the shoulder and you bat your eyes dumbly. You watch him go as Bucky looms close. You look at him and reach for your bag. You unzip the pouch at the end of the thin strap and pull out your inhaler. You take a puff. 

His expression softens, “oh, is that me?” 

You shake your head, “too many people.” 

“Ah, right,” he points toward the elevators. 

You follow him as he bulldozes through the bodies and pushes the button. You stop beside him and fidget with your inhaler. You peek over at him again. He looks down at you and you wince. 

“Sorry... I...” 

“People usually only stare when I got the arm out,” he shrugs. “I got something on my face? Damn beard catches.”  

Brushes his fingers over the thicket of hair across his jaw. You shake your head again. 

“S-sorry. I... I...” you sniff as the doors open and he beckons you ahead of him. You scurry on and he follows as a slow pace. He spins and jabs the buttons.  

“Thanks for... for helping.” 

“Not at all,” he says. Silence rises with the elevator. He coughs. “You know, I had a buddy with ashthma. Still my buddy but he don’t got the asthma no more.”  

He snorts. You mull his words. You think know who he means.  

“The stuff or whatever... got rid of it?” You ask meekly. 

“Yeah, the stuff. Serum. Poison,” he scoffs. 

“Oh,” you hum. 

“Guess I take it for granted. Never had to worry about much of the being sick part. Sister did. Yeah, she used to always have something,” he clicks his tongue. “Tell me when to shut up.” 

“No, no, I wouldn’t... wouldn’t ever,” you stutter. 

Another lulls fills the elevator as it opens, but the tension remains trapped inside. He points you out first and waits to trail after you. You come out onto the floor. You vaguely recognise some of the acrylic decor and the stiff looking chairs but you don’t know where to go. 

“Left,” he directs you with a gentle caress down your sleeve. “Easy to get lost when you don’t waste your life here." 

You let him guide you. You’d lose yourself without him. It’s exactly why you’d been out on the street.  

That reminds you of Peter. You reach for your bag again and pull out your phone. You check for a message. 

“Kid standing a nice gal like you up?” He asks. 

You flinch, “uh, no, his aunt... there was an emergency.” 

“More important than you, huh?” He pivots and presses his finger to the keypad. The door opens. 

“I don’t... I don’t know. It’s not a big deal.” 

He looks at you, his eyes narrowing, “you’re not a big deal?” 

“No, waiting isn’t... isn’t that bad,” you stammer. “Uh, thanks, again.” 

“Well, you know, in my day, we treated ladies with respect. Let me know if the kid needs a lesson or two,” he taps the doorframe. “I’ll check in, just in case.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I know I don’t,” he says. “Go on,” he nods through the door. 

You don’t hesitate. You enter the lab with another thanks, eager to have some time to yourself. You go to the table and untangle your knapsack. You look back just as the door starts to slide shut. You only get a glimpse of his eyes before he’s blocked out by the metal barrier. You can feel his gaze staining you. 

You know it must be all in your head but he is so intense. Not as angry as last time but still... a lot. 

[itsabouttimex2]

I hope this isn't an odd question

But, do you think Wukong or Macaque would act or treat different their "cub" if they genders were swapped or being a female version? This is also for a Yan behavior

I don't know too much about how is the raising of a monkey from the father and mother so I was curious with this since they're both mystical demons

I was thinking about this when I saw some fanarts from the artist @/car_nimbus on Twitter, they made a neat versions of the characters with another gender

Monkey Mama

(Hmm okay let me build a hypothetical OG “Female Monkey King” to work off of here and then I’ll try to translate that into LMK’s SWK. Also, I’ll probably make a second variation of this afterwards with other characters, haha. This got a little long to do both SWK and Mac!)

Sun Wukong as a character is already heavily defined by rebellion and personal choice, so I think that making him a girl only really compounds that layer of his character.

In many older narratives, female characters are often expected to be more obedient or modest than men, and very frequently only exist as prizes or, more rarely, villains. A female Sun Wukong; assuming she plays the same role as her original incarnation, defies the expectations of how “traditional” women should behave, shirking the demure and passive “ideal” and adding another layer of rebellion to her character.

(JTTW is actually pretty great in terms of female representation, with characters ranging from the perpetually good Quanyin, the eventually repentant Princess Iron Fan, and the straight up evil White Bone Spirit. I’m a big fan of how the women aren’t slid into any one “role” throughout the story.)

I think: in story, she’d likely be viewed as a sort of “anomaly”—a woman too strong, too outspoken, and too unwilling to conform to typical feminine ideals. Her defiance and arrogance might be viewed as even more scandalous by the Celestial Realm.

Instead of being made a “stable-keeper”, I think probably she’s sent to whatever Heavenly Scullery exists in that divine realm, and put to work very quickly. She would treat this “job” with indifference or even amusement at first-after all, physical labor or menial tasks don't diminish her self-worth or confidence! She’s had a life of hard work, leading an army of Yaoguai, cultivating Flower Fruit Mountain,

So she’s fine with this… at first. Then it turns out that the food she makes with her fellow low-class workers isn’t distributed amongst the people making it, but plated up nice and pretty for a bunch of “stuffy old gods” who didn’t lift a finger! Bullshit!

So obviously, the prideful Monkey Queen goes on a destructive rampage in regards to the unfair disparity of treatment, then storms back down to Earth to throw a “feel-better” party with her fellow Yaogaui.

(Which isn’t just a party, but a symbolic reclaiming of joy and community, with her monkey tribe representing the freedom she craves and the earthly bonds she prefers over heavenly authority. It's not just an escape, but a statement of independence.)

After an extensive set of repairs, the Court sends down someone to drag her back, because, you know, the local super-powered monkey is back on the loose, and that’s not exactly great for them. This time, they offer her a “better” role- she gets to become an official Peach Maiden, lucky her!

Of course, it’s just another form of entrapment, but within a prettier cage. Even though she's given a cushier position, it's a veneer- she's still being silenced, controlled, and stripped of her freedom. The role played by a Peach Maiden is an inversion of Wukong's essence, as these women are happily serving the role of passive caretakers, nurturing with gentle smiles—a direct contrast to the free-willed, brash nature of the Monkey Queen.

(And while there’s nothing wrong with being demure, passive, and feminine, having people try to force her into that role is where Sun Wukong draws her line.)

Here, she is expected to watch in silence as others revel in the freedom and power denied to her. It's a different kind of prison, one that quietly erodes her spirit. When the Celestial Court tries to reintegrate her as a Peach Maiden, they are once again attempting to place her into a docile, decorative role, one that strips away her power and independence. Those immortal peach orchards, a symbol of immortality and divine favor, becomes a prison for her.

Surrounded by "ideal" women who embody the quiet, submissive role she despises, the Monkey Queen finds herself chafing under the pressure of conformity. Her energy, once boundless and chaotic, is now caged, and the simmering resentment builds.

The buildup to her inevitable rebellion after being made a Peach Maiden, then, becomes a very sympathetic moment because it's not just a rejection of the role forced on her, but a rejection of the very system that tries to diminish who she is at her core. Her rebellion isn’t about anger and shame- it’s about reclaiming her true self after having been suffocated by the expectations of the Celestial Court. Her rampage becomes an assertion of her identity as something that can't be confined by heavenly rules or social mores.

The Court, in its attempt to “contain" her, only fuels her defiance further, leading her once again to rebel.

It was never going to end well. But it ends all the same, and punishment is to be levied to the Queen, just the same as any other rebellious rule-breaker... actually, probably harsher.

There’s “you broke our rules and tried to lead a coup”, then there’s “you did all that, and we also find your very person to be wrong on a fundamental level”, and then she gets the book thrown at her twice over.

But! Then she meets Tang Sanzang, who sees something in her that neither the Celestial Realm nor her own band of Sworn Brothers saw. Not a heretic simian savaging a holy realm. Not a Queen to rally behind for their own gain.

But a lost soul in need of guidance.

And from there the Great Monk works on building Sun Wukong up as a person instead of leading her astray or trying to cut massive chunks of her personality out? And talks to her about the things she cares about? And teaches her about all the things she missed after spending five hundred years under a rock?

And then she meets Zhu Baije, who starts out a little too happy and carefree about having a beautiful woman around, but eventually comes to smash open heads when Wukong is disrespected, because that’s not just a hot woman, that’s his sister?

Or Sha Wujing, who helps her with even the smallest things, from trimming her claws to cutting her wild hair to preparing meals for the monk? And lets her perch on his shoulders and head so the queen can get some skinship in?

Then Ao Lie, who is every bit the “disappointment to the world at large” that she was considered? And they take turns braiding each other’s hair and wiping the mess from the other’s face, and sleeping in the same tent and same bedroom because it’s less effort?

She gets a dad and three little brothers?

She gets a family.

And then loses it and is alone again for several hundred years more.

So if we go with this theoretical “My natural existence has been rejected for being seen as ‘improper’ by a court of stuffy traditional assholes” and then “I dearly love/miss my dead found family” angle, I think she’d be portrayed as a very different sort of character in LMK.

She’s quicker to lash out and defend herself, and much less willing to sit around and let the world pass her by- because that’s what was demanded of her by the Celestial Realm.

Be good. Be quiet. Be demure. Be obedient. Be anything except you.

I don’t think she’d be as willing to “rest on her laurels” as her canon counterpart, given that a “quiet boring life” was what she had fought so very hard to escape in the first place, so instead of isolating herself from the world in the first place, she probably sets up a little “souvenir shop” at the foot of Flower Fruit Mountain, taking a human form to sell little knick-knacks that herald to the journey she undertook with her old friends.

In part, this is how Wukong works to honor them. To spread their legacy. To ensure that they aren’t forgotten, left as a footnote in the annals of history. To remember them.

In part, it’s how she justifies all the mistakes she’s made and the suffering she’s been through. Settling in to a pointlessly relaxed life is exactly what she fought against, after all. She’s heavily fallen into the “sunk-cost fallacy”, where giving up and settling in, to her, means “losing”. It means “everything I went through was all for nothing”. So she keeps at this little store instead of just retiring and isolating herself from the world, even though she’d be happier to ditch it and lounge about.

So when MK and his eccentric bunch of friends comes around with their boundless energy and mischief, she immediately goes, “Oh, okay! This is what I wanted!”

(It’s not. All she’s ever wanted is her friends back. How could there be anything else?)

The Monkie Kids are vibrant, eccentric, and full of qualities that immediately resonate with Wukong. They remind her of the energy, camaraderie, and sense of adventure that she once shared with her old companions. She sees MK's arrival not just as a chance to teach someone a few of her old tricks, but as an echo of her own life—a life she hasn't been able to truly let go of.

So she starts projecting- on the surface, MK is very much like her. He's spirited, good-natured, and curious- and reckless. Just like she was. Wukong latches onto this quickly, sort of using the kid as a proxy for herself. After all, if she can't go back to her old life, why not embrace a new one that feels close enough? In some ways, this marks her refusal to accept the passage of time, a desperate clinging to the hope that, through MK, she can rekindle the connections she once cherished.

However, underneath that initial enthusiasm is the repressed understanding that MK, despite his similarities to her younger self, cannot truly replace what she lost. The friends she fought beside, the battles they waged together, and the lessons they learned are unique, irreplaceable moments in her life. No matter how much MK’s gang reminds her of the past, he and his friends a stand-in for the companions she still longs for. But her deep desire to reconnect with her old friends clouds her ability to see MK for who he truly is: his own person, on his own journey.

It takes her a while to get to that point, though. So she’s more doting and affectionate, in a way that somewhat stifles her student’s training because she wants to be both her old carefree self and also a good mentor, and the two just get jumbled.

Sidenote: I think with the difference in actions and behavior, MK would be more open to viewing Fem!Wukong as a parental figure than the OG, especially since he doesn’t really have someone to fulfill that “mom” role.

For their dynamic, I think something like this would be the outcome:

———————————————————————-

The afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, painting the landscape in hues of varied orange and blue. With a tired hand, MK wipes the sweat from his brow.

He’s perched on one of the rocky spires dotting Flower Fruit Mountain, gazing at the view with a small smile of accomplishment. Training had been intense lately… if only because he had been doubling down on the time he spent practicing, without giving as much care to rest or aftercare.

After all, even though his powers were blooming steadily… his enemies also were growing in power and quantity, leading to the ever-creeping edge of fear that anything less than a constant one-hundred percent just wouldn’t be “enough”.

And right as he reaches back to grab the golden staff he has inherited from the Monkey Queen-

“MK! I told you to take a break, not run off to do more training!”

Her voice, uncharacteristically sharp, cuts through the formerly tranquil air, causing MK to jump. He turns just in time to see Sun Wukong strolling toward him, her hands on her hips and a look of mock annoyance on her face.

MK grinned sheepishly, shifting his grass-stained boots against the dirt. “I was just, you know… checking out the view.”

She raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement as her eyes narrowed in annoyance. This kid... “Uh-huh. Checking out the view or sneaking in some practice when I wasn’t looking?”

Caught fast in his lie, MK rubbed the back of his neck, face scrunching up in embarrassment. “Maybe a little of both?”

In spite of herself, Sun Wukong quietly laughs, the sound echoing like a chiming bell through the mountain. Her long, golden hair flowed behind her in the wind, each strand catching the light like molten fire. Despite her legendary status- the rebellious warrior who’d fought the heavens and nearly won!- there was a warmth to her that MK had come to cherish.

“All work and no play, MK,” she said, sitting beside him on the rock and ruffling his hair with a fondness that always made him feel like a little kid again. “You’ll burn out before you get anywhere.”

He looked at her, eyes shining with admiration. “But you never stop training. You’ve been at this for centuries! I just…”

A pause, as his chest turns over, unsettled by the notion of opening up. But… it’s the Monkey Queen. So it.. should be okay, right?

“I want to make you proud.”

Sun Wukong’s expression softens, and she wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling the boy close in a tight embrace. “You already make me proud, kid. You don’t have to prove anything.”

MK leaned into the touch, feeling a wave of comfort wash over him. Even from the start she’d been like this with him- protective, nurturing… and maybe a bit overbearing at times. But he didn’t mind. It made him feel safe, like no matter what challenges lay ahead, he wasn’t alone.

MK chuckled, turning his face up to meet his idol’s eyes.” I’ll keep up,” he triumphantly declares, pumping a fist.” I promise.”

“Good.” Wukong shifted, her clawed hand lightly missing his spiked locks. “Now, how about we head back to the shop and grab something to eat? You’ve earned it.”

MK’s stomach growled at the mention of food, and he nodded so eagerly that she wondered if his head wouldn’t ache from the motion. “You know, I won’t say no to a good meal.”

The Monkey Queen stood up, dusting off her mentee’s clothes before offering him a hand. “Of course you won’t. C’mon, my treat.”

———————————————————————-

Now, to answer your question about how she acts in regards to her own cub… in general I think she’s much more doting than the OG, willing to express herself through constant displays of physical affection, in ways that are far more varied.

Constant forehead smooching, cuddles, grooming sessions, all of it! Mama Wukong never wants to let go of her baby! Sit down and let her paint your nails! Let her comb and braid your hair! Let her make you a nice lunch (loaded with mystical drugs to keep you nice and sleepy for extra cuddles), or at least a filling snack! Let her pepper your face with kisses as she spins you in her powerful arms!

Lots and lots of indulgent fluffy days of binging unhealthy foods and watching cozy reruns of old shows, your head in her lap as she hums and does up your hair with her lazy hands.

Lots of reminiscing about old suitors as she considers the quietest and quickest ways to kill anyone who makes the futile attempt to pursue you in the same way.

Despite her obsessive behavior, Wukong struggles with conflicting feelings about wanting her child to be strong and independent, just like her! She pushes you to train hard and become powerful, but when you inevitably seek their own freedom or autonomy, she’d experience a mix of pride and heartbreak, pushing her deeper into possessive tendencies.

If you ever tried to leave or even just start to break away, Wukong’s worst traits would bubble up like hellfire. Just as she fought against an entire realm’s authority, she would absolutely wage a war to keep her child close, all while justifying her actions as love.

The Monkey Queen is also more willing to take routes outside of brute force if it means securing extra protection for Y/N. If Macaque or maybe Azure (or someone else like Erlang Shen) wants to try and play “suitor”, well, she’s not too interested… until the thought arises that having him around makes you extra safe! And then she’s willing to think on it.

(That’s assuming that you aren’t one of their biological kids to begin with, in which case there might be a sort of “yandere triangle”. Azure/Macaque/Erlang Shen doing his damndest to reclaim his wife, before he learns that she’s had a child while he was gone... or maybe Pigsy and Tang decided that MK needs his mentor in a more ‘accessible’ position, and plot to drag her to Megapolis…)

Lots of potential monkey mama shenanigans, basically!

[call-me-mrs-winchester]

RELAX

PAIRING : stanford!sam winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY : reader is stressed from studying for her upcoming final and sam helps her relax

WARNINGS : fluff. smut. oral (fem. receiving). fingering. rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie. strong language.

REQUESTED BY @s4wdvator : "I would love a Sam Winchester fic, I love him, I'm a total Sam girl who also loves Dean hejehjhehe. It would be a Stanford thing!Sam dating Fem!Reader, it could be smutt or fluff!!"

A/N : this was requested by a fellow mutual of mine (sorry it took so long.) hopefully it's similar to what you had in mind, if not, hope you enjoy it anyway! my requests are currently on hold since i have so many ideas of my own that i still need to write, but it'll be open in the future, i promise. this is my first sam oneshot ever, hope you guys enjoy it!

For the past week, you went to class and then straight home. You had a huge test coming up that counted for half your grade. If you failed, you could kiss your scholarship goodbye. So, for the weekend, you decided to turn your distracting phone off so you could study. And it seemed to work... until it didn't.

The room had been eerily silent as you read. You were so concentrated on the material before you that a loud knock made you jump in freight. After a beat or two, your heart calms. With a groan, you push the chair away from the desk and walk to the door. Sam stands before you, a worried expression on his face.

"Y/N," He huffs. "Are you all right? I've been calling and texting you!"

You sigh, moving out of the doorway to let him in. "'Sorry. I've been studying."

He walks in, and you close the door behind him. "Your head's been buried in that book for a week. You need to take a break."

You sit on your bed, replying, "I can't. If I fail, I won't be able to afford to keep going here. Then how will we be together?"

"Hey," Sam sits beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Don't talk like that. You're the most intelligent girl I know. You'll pass the test."

You stand up, facing him as you rant. "But what if I don't? What if I have to leave and—"

"You're not going to leave." He interrupts your spiraling, knowing if he didn't stop it now, you wouldn't stop. "You're going to pass. Then you'll be stuck with me."

A giggle slips past your lips. You could always count on your boyfriend to lighten your mood. A smirk takes over his beautiful face, his gaze shifting from your eyes to your lips.

Sam leans in closer and says, "Take a break. Let me help you relax."

You hesitate for a moment, afraid if you give in, you won't be able to study afterward. "I don't know..."

"I'll quiz you after." He entices.

"Mm... alright."

Sam gets up from the mattress and sheds his jacket. Tossing it aside, he tells you to lay on your belly. Without question, you do as he says. You stretch across your bed, head tilted towards the wall, eyes closed, as you slowly inhale. The bed dips as Sam climbs on before sitting on your ass. His large and magical hands grip your tense shoulders. You exhale in euphoria as his fingers dig into your muscles just right.

Tingling sensations rid the worry from your body. Your teeth sink into your lip, trying to suppress moans. Part of you didn't want to admit how much you needed this. His hands travel below your shoulder blades, toward the middle of your back. He works your back exactly how you need it, causing breathy groans to slip past your lips. It continues for a few minutes, and you're in another world.

Your brain becomes unaware of Sam sliding off and kneeling between your thighs. His hands begin to massage your behind, quickly drawing your attention. Part of you knew you should stop him, but the other didn't want to. Instead, you let his hands slither under your loose-fitted shorts and focus on your ass. His thumbs massage closer and closer to your lips, occasionally brushing against them.

It was all you could think about. You need him. You craved Sam's long and slender fingers inside you. The more he teased, the wetter your pussy got. You open your legs wider, giving him access like any other time.

A whimper falls from your mouth as your boyfriend gently rubs over your slick entrance. Wetness lubricates his thumbs, and before you beg him to, he slides them in. You gasped, but just as fast as they were in, they were out. He brings his fore and middle fingers to your entrance before gliding your slick towards your clit.

He rubs your bundle of nerves a few times, only making you wetter. The moans held back were now audible. His fingers slide back to your core, and without missing a beat, he plunges them in. Your body tenses as he dives deep, the tips of his long fingers hitting your cervix. A pained yet pleasurable moan echoes in the small room.

You were so thankful your roommate decided to go out. Sam slowly draws his fingers in and out. Once they're covered in your wetness, they disappear from your core. You open your eyes and look over your shoulder, missing his touch. The sight you saw somehow made you wetter. He had his fingers in his mouth, his cheeks hollowing around his digits, sucking them clean.

He slowly pulls them out, and you watch with admiration. Sam flips you on your back, granting you a better view. He pulls your underwear down, leaving you in the oversized shift you stole from him. He tosses them off the bed and gives you a mischievous smirk. His head dips between your thighs, and your hand quickly grabs his hair.

His mouth closes around your clit, sucking hard enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your walls clench around nothing, making you miss his fingers. As if he read your mind, he fills you with his slender digits. He steadily increases his speed until he reaches the pace that makes your toes curl and your back arch. Your grip on his hair tightens as his teeth graze and lightly bite your clit before soothing it with his tongue.

The pressure in your belly quickly builds, threatening to burst. You force your vision to focus right on your boyfriend. As if he sensed your stare, he gazes up at you, a smirk upon his lips. You throw your head back as he harshly sucks on your sensitive nub. His knuckles pound against your skin, leaving bruises where your pussy ends and your legs begin. It all became too much, and before you knew it, you came on his fingers.

Without missing a beat, Sam removes his fingers and drags his tongue across your soaked entrance, licking between each fold to get every last drop. Once he finishes, he sits up and unbuckles his belt. As relaxed as you feel, you wouldn't mind a good fucking. He unzips and pulls his pants to his knees. You dampen and bite your bottom lip as his member springs free.

There were several reasons why you fell in love with Sam, and his dick was one of them. You'd never objectify him, but if others understood what hid beneath his boxers, they'd try harder to steal him away. The first time you'd seen it, you wondered how he planned to fit his entire cock inside you. It took a few tries before you could finally take him all in, and man, was it worth it. You hated to admit it, but he had you dick-whipped.

"Like what you see?"

"Mhm. Now, shut up and fuck me," You demand before pulling his neck down and connecting your lips with his.

You could taste your sweet juice on his tongue. The thought of you tasting your cum on another man's lips repulsed you, but on Sam's, it only fed your lust. He presses his body against yours, his tip tracing your inner thigh. You moan into his mouth, practically begging for more. Sam breaks the kiss but remains close enough that his breath fans across your lips as he speaks.

"You ready for me?" You nod eagerly. He reaches between your legs, aligning his long member with your entrance. With eyes closed, you anticipate the slight but brief pain that'll come with his penetration. He holds down your hip with his left hand, feeling how tense you are before whispering, "Relax."

That's exactly what you did. Or at least tried to, anyway. You take a few deep breaths, willing your mind and heart rate to slow. Once Sam feels your body loosen, he pushes himself into your tight cunt. You whimper as his dick stretches your walls, both pleasure and pain fighting for dominance. He fits half of his appendage before pulling out. With every thrust, he goes deeper and deeper until his entire cock fits inside your small hole. Soon, the pleasure had won.

You were a moaning mess underneath your boyfriend. His hips moved skillfully, pushing you towards the edge. You clutch his shirt, hanging on for dear life as he rails into you at a hard and fast pace. The tip of his member brushes against your cervix when you wrap your legs around his torso, giving him a deeper angle. The sounds of skin clapping and your bed creaking to the rhythm of each thrust fill the quiet room.

He dips his head, finding comfort in your neck. Sam nibbles at your skin before sucking harshly, leaving a mark. You try arching your back, but his weight won't let you. Tears pool in your eyes as the pleasure becomes overwhelming. His hand snakes between your bodies, and his thumb rubs your sensitive clit. It was enough for your tears to spill over. You feel the familiar rush and warn Sam.

"Ohmygod, baby, I'mgonnacum," You mumble quickly.

"Let it go, sweetheart."

With his permission, you came undone. You scream as the waves wash over your body. Sam helps you ride out your orgasm, somehow going even harder. Your eyes roll back, and your mouth forms an 'O' as he murders your soaked pussy. It was pure luck you liked it hard and fast like he does.

You knew from experience your lips would be swollen after this, and hell if you didn't consider it a trophy. Suddenly, Sam's thrusts stopped, and you knew what that meant. He was cumming. And sure enough, spurts of hot cum shoot into you as he grunts into your ear. You moan as he fills you up, making you feel full in a different but great way.

He kisses his way to your mouth and shoves his tongue down your throat. You run your fingers through his hair as your body warms up for round 2. After your legs drop to the mattress and shake, you decide to wait a little longer before taking that rollercoaster ride again. Sam pulls away, so you open your eyes and see him gazing lovingly at you. A smile pulls at your lips to match his.

"Are you relaxed?"

You couldn't help but chuckle and answer, "I'm so relaxed."

"Good," He gives you a quick peck. "I should help you relax more often."

"Well, I'll be studying until next Thursday."

"Mm..." Sam traces his lips along your face, tickling your skin. "Sounds good to me."

He kisses your shoulder before pulling out of your dripping cunt and getting up from the bed. You prop yourself on one shoulder as you wonder what he was doing. He pulls on his boxers and walks toward your desk. Your eyebrows furrow as he picks up your textbook. And true to his word, he began quizzing you.

SAM WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | JOIN THE TAG LIST

FOREVER TAGS : @jaredpadonlyyyy, @nicksalchemy1, @graciehams, @impala67rollingthroughtown, @nancymcl

SAM TAGS : @lucid315

SUPERNATURAL TAGS : @criminalyetminimal, @nikimisery, @celticma, @deadlymistletoe, @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld

@kindollss, @juicyballsworld, @kamisobsessed, @devilslittlehelper

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO CALL-ME-MRS-WINCHESTER

: do not steal, plagiarize, translate, and/or republish any of my works* on here or another platform

*beside my writing, my works include : all banners, headers, dividers, and gifs that i use (which were made by me,) unless otherwise stated.

[slut4hee]

please please please. Sunghoon x blk chubby reader. And a breeding kink! Please.

DOWN BAD FOR YOUꕥ

{Paring: College Jock Sunghoon x Chubby Blk Fem! Reader

{Genre: smut, kinda fluffy college au, 18+ so (mdni).

{Synopsis: Just a little cute scenario, where Sunghoon is down bad for his adorable chubby blk queen, and he loves to stuff her full with his cum.

{Warnings: explicit scenes, softdom sunghoon, sub reader, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering,, dirty talk, pet names, breeding kink, corruption kink, creampie, hoon is lowkey obsessed with reader, hoon kinda has a fetish for your thighs, slight age gap (reader is 21 and hoon is 23), mentions of insecurities, mentions of reader being called names.

Sunghoon, remembers it like it was yesterday, when he first saw you, you were running through the halls lost, looking at your schedule frantically, as you try to find out where your biology class was. Not looking ahead, you bumped into him, causing your books and papers to fall to the ground, along with his gym bag. “Woah, slow down there princess” he grinned smugly, leaning down to help you pick up your books. “S-Sorry, I’m new to campus, so I’m kinda lost” you apologized as you hurriedly drop down to your knees, helping him pick up the books, while trying to keep your glasses from falling off your face. You didn’t notice the lingering gaze that Sunghoon was giving you, until you looked up and met his gaze, you immediately grew flustered, grabbing your things and running off before he could even get another word in.

From that day forward, you’ve completely taken over Sunghoon’s mind, he couldn’t stop thinking about you and wanting to be in your presence. Maybe it was the way he found you so adorable and innocent, he loves seeing you walking around campus with your friends, clad in your white mini skirts that hugged your curves in all the right places, and your cute little pink crop tops, that barely covered your chest area, showing the outline of your voluptuous breast that spills out in your too little bra, but what really got him worked up was your plump thighs.

Sunghoon was losing his mind, trying to come up with ways on how to approach you, and how he was going to make you his. One day you decided to volunteer for tutoring, and Sunghoon couldn’t thank the heavens enough, once his ice hockey practice was over, he rushed to the counselors office, finding the clip board and signing his name on it with no regrets.

A couple days later Sunghoon found himself, sitting at a table in the library, staring at the biology book, that sat untouched in front of him. He jerked up in his seat, fixing his posture, when he sees you walk through the doors of the library, with your usual cute little innocent look, god she’s so fucking beautiful and pure, he thought to himself, as he watches you look around the library, trying to find the table he’s sitting at.

As the tutoring session went on, Sunghoon only grew more infuriated with you, not only were you so gorgeous, but you were so smart, and passionate about your field of study. Sunghoon on the other hand, couldn’t care less about schoolwork, his life evolves around playing ice hockey, and being known around campus for his role as the devoted team captain, and of course, fantasizing about you, when he’s all alone in his dorm room.

Sunghoon, never thought he would fall for a girl like you, you were so different from the other girls he usually messed around with, so easy to give it up, and so easy to feed a bunch of bullshit lies to, but you, No, you knew your worth and that’s what turned him on the most. One day, he grew the balls to finally ask you out on a date, and Sunghoon felt like a teenage boy all over again, when he jumped up in his room out of excitement, when you sent him a text agreeing to see a movie with him Friday night.

The whole time, during the movie, Sunghoon couldn’t help but stare at you in awe, the way the brightness of the screen, illuminated your pretty brown skin in the dark theater, and the way you had to cover your mouth, to keep yourself from laughing too loud, every time a funny scene came on.

You, couldn’t believe someone like Sunghoon was interested in you, when you first bumped into him on your first day of college, you couldn’t deny that he was one of the most handsome man you had ever seen.

You always been a little insecure about your weight, being that you always been on the chubbier side, you been bullied and called names, back in your early years of school, but every since you met Sunghoon, you found yourself wanting to show off your body a little more than usual. You couldn’t deny that, you loved seeing the way Sunghoon stared at your body with an intense hunger facial expression, causing you to grow wet between your legs all the time.

It had been months, since you had been getting to know Sunghoon, and finally, for what felt like forever, he asked you to be his girlfriend on your 21st birthday, he was little older than you, by two years, you were a sophomore and Sunghoon was a junior.

Fast forward, it has been three months, since you and Sunghoon had been officially dating, and just like any other day you were in class, jotting down notes and paying attention to what the professor was saying, until your phone buzzed, knocking you out of your focused thoughts.

Hoonie💙⛸️: Hey baby girl❤️, practice just ended are you still in class?

You couldn’t help but feel giddy and smile so brightly at your phone, when you see the message from Sunghoon, he never fails to make your heart skip a beat, when he calls you pet names.

You: Hey, my handsome ice prince🥹😍, umm I’m still in class but it should be over soon, meet me after?

Hoonie💙⛸️: love when you call me that 😩and I’m already on my way to your building, I’ll wait for you at the bench🫶🏽 don’t keep daddy waiting tho

You feel your cheeks warm up, when you read the last words of his text, you’re still getting used to his very flirty nature,

You: See you soon my love🤭🫶🏽

ミ★

Finally your class ended, and you never been so happy to leave a classroom until you started dating Sunghoon, you quickly grabbed your things, and made your way out of the classroom. You speed walk down the lecture halls, with anticipation, wanting nothing more than to hug and kiss your handsome boyfriend, whom you haven’t seen for two days straight, due to both your tight schedules but finally you’ll be able to be in his arms again and hopefully do a little more.

You push through the double glass doors, the outside welcoming you, and the sun beams bright, in your face and the breeze from the wind makes your fluffy thick hair flow naturally. As you’re walking down the steps, you spot Sunghoon sitting on one of the benches, looking fine as fuck, you feel the butterflies erupt in your stomach as you stop in your tracks, to admire how attractive he really is and wonder how someone like you were able to pull him.

You being in a trance, you didn’t notice when Sunghoon got up from the bench and started walking towards you, until he came and pulled you into a hug, wrapping his big strong arms around you. “Hey my baby” he says muffled, as he snuggles his face into your neck, you smiled adorably at him, rubbing his head lovingly.

“Missed you so much hoonie, can’t believe we haven’t seen each other for two days” you pouted, wrapping your arms around his neck, as he pulled his head from your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I know baby, I’m sorry but I’m here now, I missed my pretty mama so much” he murmured softly as he leaned down to place a kiss on your soft plump, two toned lips. You smiled Lovingly at him before intertwining your hand with his, as you both made your way to your dorm.

What started off as a, cute little romantic movie date and cuddle session, quickly turned into something more heated, as you found yourself sprawled out on your mattress, legs spread wide as Sunghoon eats you out like a starved man. “Oh s-shit hoonie, fuck right there feels so good” you whimper loudly as you feel his experienced tongue, lapping up all your arousal, that drips from your wet cunt. You gripped his hair tightly, when you feel his wet muscle licking inside your hole, causing him to let out a muffled groan.

“Ugh yes yes yes,daddy please don’t stop I’m gonna cum for you” you moan loudly, arching your back, as he explores your insides with his tongue, you’re literally on cloud nine, every time Sunghoon eats you out, his tongue just feels so damn good. “You gonna be a good fucking girl, and cum on my face yeah?” He said muffled, not wanting to detach his mouth from your sweet melanated pussy. “Y-yes i will, baby I wanna cum so bad ugh please make me cum daddy” you begged desperately for your release, and your legs are trembling from the intense pleasure you’re feeling from his mouth. He continues to devour your pussy like it’s his last meal on earth, he looks up at you with half lidded eyes, as he inserts a finger inside your tight throbbing hole.

“Ahh, f-fuck, oh my god yes hoonie” you cried out, as you feel your climax approaching dangerously, he licked and sucked on your puffy clit, making your eyes roll back to the back your head, when you feel him finger fucking your hole. It only took a few more strokes of his long finger and another harsh suck of his tongue, to your sensitive bundle of nerves, to send you into frenzy, as your orgasm comes crashing down on you, causing your legs to shake uncontrollably as you make a mess on his face.

“Fuck baby that was so hot, you’re so damn sexy squirting for me like that” he groaned, licking his lips tasting your cum on his lips. You whimpered, when you watched his put his digit up to his mouth, licking your arousal off of it. “Fuck baby look what you do to me, shit look how hard that dick is for you” he grunted as he palmed himself through his boxers. “Hoonie please, need your cock” you said whiny, your mouth watering at the sight of his very obvious bulge in his boxers.

“Awe does my pretty little slut want daddy’s cock in her tight pussy” he said teasingly, smiling smugly at you, as he watches you squirm and act like a desperate bitch in heat. “Yes daddy please, I need it so bad I been such a good girl for you” you pleaded, wanting nothing more than to feel his thick girthy dick inside you. You can feel the arousal leak out of your pussy, onto the seats as you watch him rid himself of his clothes, his leaky hard cock springs out, standing tall and proud.

“Fuck just look at you, looking all sexy and submissive, waiting patiently for daddy to give out orders, shit such a good fucking girl” he let out a deep groan, as he stroked his cock slowly, watching your sexy chubby exposed body laying on the bed, looking fucked out as ever. He climbed on top of the bed, hovering over you, as lifts up your legs and positions them on his shoulders. “Gonna let breed this fat juicy wet cunt yeah?” He asked, voice coming out low and husky, and his dark eyes stare back at you, full of lust and desire. “Yes please, breed my pussy, I’m your good little slut, so use me as you like”

He groaned in response, leaning his body on yours as he aligned his tip at your hole, he started to push his cock inside your wet pussy, hissing at the tightness of your quivering walls, “Ahh Shitt, pussy so fucking tight and wet” he grunted pushing the rest of himself inside, you let out a pain moan, when you feel his dick so deep, the head of his cock is touching your cervix. After he letting you adjust to his size, looking at your face for any signs of discomfort, when he sees on pleasure written on your face, he finally bottoms out.

“Hoonie! Ugh fuck, y-your dick it’s so big, feel in my stomach” you let out a whiny moan, clawing at his back with your long acrylics, as he sets a brutal pace, fucking into you hard. “Yeah? You like that huh, like feeling me deep in your guts precious girl” he pants as he delivers relentless pounds to your tight we pussy. “Yes daddy, love it so much, love your cock so much” you slurred your words, tears filling your eyes, from the overwhelming feeling of being drilled by your boyfriend’s big cock.

“Holy shit, pussy so fucking good, gonna fucking stuff you full of my cum, like you my pretty little slut deserves” he lets out a deep grunt when he feels you clench around his tighter, his cock twitches uncontrollably, letting you know he’s close and you are too. “Baby baby baby, oh my gosh, I’m gonna cum please let me cum for you again” you screamed out, feeling the band in your stomach threatening to snap. “Cum for me baby, cream on daddy’s cock” he whispered in your ear as you wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling him deeper than before. The bed is creaking loudly and the headboard is slamming against the wall, as he fucks you into an oblivion.

“Shit shit shit, I’m not gonna last lost baby, pussy too damn good, fuck I’m so obsessed with you baby love you so much” he lets out a loud moan, chasing his high, wanting nothing more than to fill you up with his cum. After three more harsh strokes, you’re seeing white, as your orgasm hits you like a speed of lighting, squirting and creaming all on his dick. Not long after, he follows behind you, spurting his thick ropes of warm cum inside your spent pussy. He collapses on top of you, both of you panting and trying to catch your breaths. He goes to get up to give you aftercare, like always does after he fucks you real good, but you stopped him, pulling him back to bed not wanting him to leave your side.

“We can take a shower in the morning, right now I just want to hold you close hoonie”

Tʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ

A/n: Whew, this is so hot😩, I need him so bad and I enjoyed writing this so much. Thanks, to anon who requested this🫶🏽 reblogs are appreciated 🥰.

[onefleshonepod]

On Barbie

I'd like to share my thoughts on John’s choice to house Alecto in a body that looks like Hollywood Hair Barbie.

To the best of my recollection over the past year, I've seen several people claim that Barbie being a famously unattainable beauty standard for women and arguably a sex symbol was irrelevant to John's decision to make Alecto a Barbie lookalike, and that rather the main impetus for this decision of John’s was his trauma, gender non-conformity, internalized homophobia, and desire to return to the comfort of childhood. This argument posits that John's decision had little or nothing to do with patriarchy, misogyny, objectification of women, or impossible beauty standards placed on women by men.

I empathize with the above position to a certain extent — it's absolutely crucial to remember and consider in our analyses that John is a queer working-class Indigenous man.

But………....................

John is not a real person. He is a character written to advance plot, themes, and political commentary within a carefully crafted story.

If I'm Tamsyn Muir writing John 1:20 in Nona the Ninth, and the point I want to make about my character is specifically and only that he is struggling with self-doubt, trauma, gender non-conformity, internalized homophobia, and yearning for the comfort of home and childhood — and I want to say nothing about patriarchy and misogyny?

I'm not having him make the soul of the earth into a Barbie!

I'd be having him model Alecto after a completely different popular 1990s toy for girls, like a Polly Pocket, or Betty Spaghetti, or a Raggedy Ann doll, or another doll that doesn't carry the same connotations as Barbie. Or, hell, I’d be having John make Alecto look exactly like his mum, or his nan, or female Māori mythological figures from stories he must have heard from his nan in childhood, like Papatūānuku, or the first woman, Hineahuone, who was made from earth.

I'm not smarter or more creative than Tamsyn, and the above ideas are just the alternatives I thought of in five minutes that would have specifically symbolized John's personal trauma and nothing else.

But Tamsyn didn't do that. Tamsyn picked Barbie specifically. I think that's worth taking into consideration.

Let’s examine exactly what John says in John 1:20.

Hollywood Hair Barbie's physical appearance comes first in the list of reasons why she was his favourite, and her other characteristics come last. He lists two physical traits and one non-physical trait of hers. “My favourite was her old Hollywood Hair Barbie,” he murmured. “I loved her little gold outfit and her long yellow hair. She was the best. She got to have all the adventures.”

He discards as an option a model of a woman who doesn't conform to patriarchal, Eurocentric beauty standards specifically because of her appearance: “There was also a Bride’s Dream Midge, but Mum had cut Midge’s hair into this weird mullet.”

He chooses a blonde Barbie body that he can mould into and mentally map onto glamourized versions of women created by men through the ages. “I made you look like a Christmas-tree fairy … I made you look like a Renaissance angel … I made you Adam and Eve … Galatea. Barbie. Frankenstein’s monster with long yellow hair.”

Our famous cultural images of Renaissance angels are all idealized depictions of women made by men — Raphael, Titian, Albrecht Dürer, etc. Frankenstein's monster, a man loathed and discarded by his creator, is a more nuanced comparison... but the only thing John notes is that his version has long yellow hair.

I'm not even getting into the whiteness (or the plastic-ness) of it all, but three of John's comparisons here are specifically coded as white women considered beautiful by Eurocentric standards in the Western cultural imagination (Christmas tree toppers, Renaissance angels, and Barbie), and the others are often depicted as white.

Galatea specifically is such a telling comparison. This myth is the story of a man caging and controlling his idealized, beautiful female creation, which exactly parallels John’s goals with Alecto: “From my blood and bone and vomit I conjured up a beautiful labyrinth to house you in. I was terrified you’d find some way to escape before I was done.”

Given all of this, I genuinely think that John's choice of Barbie as a model for Alecto was intended to position John as a symbol of patriarchy, misogyny, and objectification of women, through both a political and religious lens. Tamsyn is way, way too smart to have not made a careful, considered, intentional choice here.

John didn’t make Alecto into a Māori goddess from his nan’s stories. He didn't make her into a cheerful Raggedy Ann. He made her into a beautiful, blonde Hollywood hair Barbie.

[chleem]

Flashing lights prologue

Series; actor Drew x actress reader

Summary: Drew gets involved in the worst scandal of his career. One way to solve it? Proving to the whole world that he’s the sweetest lover to exist. Who better to help than the one person he can’t stand? You, an A class actress with an alcohol addiction. So, will Drew clear up his reputation, or leave with a bigger mess to clean up?

Genre: fake dating, enemies to lovers(?, slow burn, angst, smut,

Warning: mentions of alcohol, swearing, mentions of k!lling oneself, mentions of rape & sa, mentions of drug usage, smoking & vaping,

⋆.˚ please dont copy my work, if inspired please tag me

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

♡⸝⸝ ps: chapter one soon! index

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Talk about a scandal. 

‘Drew Starkey, rising star from OBX, impregnates girl and refuses to take responsibility.’ ‘Drew Starkey impregnates girl and forces her for an abortion.’ ‘All to know about OBX star that SA a girl.’

Even an interview starring a random girl that claims to be pregnant with Drew’s child. 

If Drew knew going to the club a week ago would cause such big damage to his career, he would have never stop foot in there. But being stubborn and a sucker for fun, he just needed the relaxation that clubbing would offer. 

His PR manager Henry, who Drew’s only sees once a year, is surprisingly quiet. He sits across Drew, staring at his laptop. His typing makes up for the quiet and tense (at least for Drew) atmosphere in his manager’s office. 

“I’m sorry,” Drew starts, genuinely, his eyes shifting between his manager Jeff and Henry. “Look, I don’t know who that woman is. She’s lying, alright? I didn’t even talk to any strangers last night. Just my friends. And I was careful with how much I drank-”

“Calm down, we didn’t accuse you of it,” Jeff chuckles, also surprisingly calm and not scolding Drew. Normally, Jeff would scold Drew so hard that it took Drew back to the days of being coached by his dad. “I’ve worked with you for almost ten years, I know you wouldn’t do that.”

Hold up. Was this a dream? He fucked up real bad, why were his managers so forgiving? So… calm? This felt way too strange. They should be furious right now, thinking of a solution and threatening to kill Drew. So why were they so gentle with this situation?

Drew adjusts his hat, pocking his tongue against his cheek. Without thinking, he simply says, “What?”

Jeff glances at Henry, who nods, looking up from his laptop. Drew furrows his eyebrows at Jeff, who simply looks away as Henry starts. “Fine, Drew. We’re all fucking pissed at your mistake. Do you know how many sponsors have asked to break up your contract? Even after we’ve came up with a clean statement? For fuck’s sake, Drew. You’re fucking thirty now, and you still act like a fucking child!”

Drew licks his lips looking away. Okay, this was the Henry he saw yelling at other artists, and what he expected when he walked into the office this morning. But now that he was yelling at him, it felt horrible still. After all, who likes to be yelled at? 

“I’ve had to pull multiple strings to help you, to clear your name up. So you better hope this is your last mistake,” Henry continues. 

Drew couldn’t help but ask, “what did you do?”

“We’ve come up with a plan,” Henry says, walking over to the printer. He grabs the paper, taking a quick look before placing it on the table in front of Drew.

Drew’s eyebrows furrow, sensing something really strange. 

And he was right. On the top of the paper, it read, “Fake dating Proposal.”

What the fuck. He reads through the first sentence in his head, with widen eyes, “In order to save Drew Starkey’s career, he must conduct a year-long fake relationship with Y/n Y/l/n.”

He falls back in his seat. “You’re not fucking serious. This is the strings you had to pull? This is fucking ridiculous! How is this-“

“Drew!” Jeff yells, making him shut up. His face was slightly red, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Drew, trust us. We wouldn’t cause more harm. This, this will save your career, save you.”

“but out of anyone-“ Drew adjusts his hat once again. “Out of anyone, and you chose her?”

“She’s the best choice of right now, and the only one who even agreed. Drew. You’re not in the place of choosing. You sign, and you accept it. Or it’s the end.”

He couldn’t believe himself right now. Literally. Out of every solution, every person, it had to be you. You, the one person he can’t stand. You, the one person that gets him worked up and annoyed. It was like the end of the world for him. 

Worse, his manager seems to agree with this solution. As if he doesn’t know how much Drew despises you. Jeff places the pen next to Drew. “I hate to say this, but Drew, you’re screwed unless you do this. We see the vision, and in a few years, you’ll see it too. Just, just treat this as another acting class, okay?”

Do I have a choice anyways, he thinks. Drew rubs his face in annoyance. Fuck. Damn you and damn himself. Getting into this stupid situation in the first place. 

He looks at the contract again. Sees your name again. And his head hurts a thousand times worse than a hangover. 

He reads through the contract terms, cringing at it. 

‘Must show up at five or more public evens together.’

‘Must show PDA at public events, such as touching, holding hands, kissing etc.’

‘Y/n Y/l/n must talk sweetly about Drew Starkey, and steer away any negative comments.’

‘During the course of this fake-relationship, being seen with any other costar of the opposite sex is forbidden.’

Much more was listed, at least twenty terms were on this contract alone. So this is the real thing. 

And at the bottom, Drew sees what was offered. Wow. You get offered millions of dollars, while all Drew receives is a clear to his scandal. 

He should at least get half the amount you’re earning, considering that he has to put up with you. “How can she get so much cash?” Drew asks, curiosity killing him. 

“Because she’s got nothing to gain from being with you,” Jeff states matter-of-factly, that hurt Drew’s ego more than it should have. He also noticed how much money this was, almost all the money he earned from acting in OBX. Wow. So not only were you a moody bitch, but a greedy one as well. 

Drew rubs his eyes aggressively, a frustrated yawn coming out. He so is going to regret this. The worst decision he ever has to make. 

You better be the savior to his career, or he was going to kill himself. 

Drew signs, pushing the paper away as if it had some kind of disease. 

Henry forces a smile, grabbing the paper. Drew gets ready to leave, but Henry stops him. “Where are you going?”

“Home. I- that was enough for me.”

“No, no. You’re going to Y/n’s filming set.”

“What?”

“Yes, you heard me. Her manager gave the green light, so you’re going.”

“Fuck, it’s only like, a minute since I signed.”

“Hey, I’m saving you right now,” Henry says. “Now, you want your sponsors back or not?”

Drew curses under his breath, never wanting to punch a wall as much as right now. “Fine. I'll go. But I can’t promise that I’m hugging or touching her or anything. She’s a complete stranger to me.”

“We just need a couple of photos to leak out,” Jeff says, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll drive you there.”

“Fucking hate you Jeff,” Drew says, walking out the office. “Henry you asshole.”

Either his managers heard and said whatever, or they didn’t care. But cursing at people who's helping him ‘save’ his career was the least of his worries. His head is just consumed with meeting you again, the brattiest bitch he's ever known.

-------------------------------

word count: 1.2k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: i'm sooo happy for the support and how much people liked the teaser! i was giggling seeing the reblogs and likes.

anyways, thought i should release a prologue first, to give drew's pov of this situation. apologies in advance for y/n's character and anyone who can't handle her! but i'm so excited for you guys to read ch1, which will be released later this week! like or comment to show support, really appreciate it <3

[suplicyy]

heyy hope you’re gonna take this request, can you write something about canon kuroo confessing?

No time skip please. Like with a female reader which doesn’t act in love with him like the rest of the girls, she’s not pick me or stuff like this.

So Kuroo can do nothing but finally talk to her because he can’t stand the fact that she’s different from other girls.

I can’t really picture canon Kuroo confessing, that’s why I’m asking, I really like your writing!

Thank u so much

Notice me Please!!!

Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

— Summary: He has his eyes on you, but for some reason you don't look back.

— Tags/Genre: Fem!Reader | Fluff

— Warnings: None!

Kuroo drums his fingers impatiently on his desk, and with one hand resting on his chin, he stares at your figure across the classroom. You seemed quite entertained listening to music, which he has no idea what it is, but that sight makes him feel something inside him.

Frustration. He admit that he can't stand seeing you like this, because you're never like that when he tries to talk to you, and that made him feel a kind of jealousy, even if it was for something inanimate.

Every time you talked to him, you seemed indifferent, almost as if you were uninterested. Damn, why don't you look at him with the same twinkle in your eye when you're listening to something on your stupid headphones?

It's been a while since Kuroo started to have strong feelings for you, your heart skips a beat every time you pass each other in the school hallways, with Kuroo always looking back when you pass by him. But he never revealed that to you of course.

And no matter how many bad jokes or flirtations he told you, how many little gifts he left in your locker or on your desk in secret and then hinted that he was the one who left them there, it seemed like you never cared about his desperate actions for your attention.

At first, he thought this was just the way you acted, that you were more shy and reserved. But then he noticed the giggles you had with your friends, how talkative you seemed to be around them.

Now he thinks the problem is with him, that maybe you hate his presence, or just don't care about him.

He is a relatively popular person at school. His volleyball team reached the Nationals, which gave great prominence to all the team members, especially him. So it's no surprise to hear girls gossiping about Kuroo in the hallways.

To tell the truth, he didn't care much about it, sometimes he would even tease Yaku for having more fans than him, but that was it.

The only person he craves attention from is you.

But he doesn't know if you feel the same way, or at least care about his existence.

So that's why today would be the day he would bring the whole truth to light. His only option now would be to confess to you. Maybe it was a last choice made out of desperation and doubt, but he can no longer bear your indifference towards him.

Your club activities are over, so you can finally go home after a tiring day of boring classes and uninteresting people.

Now, you were walking towards the school exit, but you soon stopped when you saw a certain boy with a peculiar hairstyle standing at the gate, almost as if he was waiting for someone.

You figured he was waiting for Kenma to go home since they were best friends, so you didn't care much about it and continued walking to the exit.

"Hey, [Name]!"

A familiar voice calls you. And as you turn to the side, you see Kuroo walking towards you, waving at you.

"Let's go home together, shall we?" you look around, and then you look at him again, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you going with Kenma?" "He said he needed to go somewhere else to buy a new game, something like that. And since I'm alone... I thought about going with you."

He gives you a smile that would make anyone fall in love immediately, but it never seemed to have any effect on you.

You looked at him with an enigmatic expression, almost as if you want to read him through his actions and words. "Um, sure." You say as you adjust your backpack hanging on your shoulder, soon starting to walk, with Kuroo by your side.

Your house wasn't that far from the school, but in the situation you were in, it felt like an eternity had passed since you left the school gates and started walking.

Neither of you exchanged a single word, except for Kuroo who was humming some random song.

"Y'know..." he says after a moment, which made you direct your gaze to him, who was still staring at the path ahead.

"I once heard you listening to this song. You turn your music up so loud that anyone who passes by can hear it coming from your headphones." your expression changes to one of surprise.

"S-Seriously? I never realized that..." you laugh awkwardly, looking away to the floor.

"Yeah... but it's not because of music or headphones that I called you to walk with me." Kuroo stops walking unexpectedly, making you stop too.

Looking back, you notice his expression is more serious, almost as if he is a little nervous.

"Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you."

His tone of voice seemed to have changed too, which left you confused, or even a little nervous, as much as you didn't want to admit it.

"I...like you, [Name]." As he uttered these words, it was almost as if a weight had been lifted from the boy's shoulders, his previously tense posture allowing himself the luxury of relaxing, even if for a brief moment.

However, the opposite seemed to manifest in you. Previously unconcerned about what this simple walk would offer you, it was almost as if your breath was suddenly caught in your throat. Your heart soon feels like it's leaving your body, hammering in your chest in a fast, nervous rhythm.

"Huh?" you say in disbelief at what you heard. Shock quickly turns to annoyance, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. "Look... don't think this kind of joke is funny, because you won't hear me laugh about it."

"Joke? Why would you think that?" Kuroo says this right after with a nasal laugh.

He walks closer to you, and you instinctively step back, until your back is in contact with a large tree that was close to the sidewalk. He stops right in front of you, and looks at you with a touch of doubt, almost as if he had heard something incredible.

"Why do you think I would make fun of something like that? You- my feelings for you... would never be a joke to me." he says with an affectionate tone, his eyes softening for a moment as he maintains eye contact with you.

"Maybe this could have been just a challenge your friends arranged for you, like in those cliché movies." your tone conveys sarcasm, but with a touch of bitterness "Or maybe some pretty girl rejected you, and is now looking for solace in anyone even remotely close to you..." "Or even-"

Your words are cut off as you feel Kuroo's lips land tenderly on your cheek. His hand reaches out to cup the other side of your face, and the other lands on the tree behind you, pinning you there.

"I like you, [Name]." he whispers in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "And I will tell you this until you can't prove otherwise."

Kuroo takes his hand off the tree and takes your hand, then looks at you seriously. "And I mean it."

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you quickly compose yourself, and a small smile appears on your face, but this time it's genuine.

"Hmm, so you want to win me over, huh?" you push yourself away from the tree, placing your free hand on his shoulder. Your sudden closeness makes Kuroo surprised, making him suddenly feel shy.

"Only words won't convince me... you better work hard for it, Tetsurou." you move away from him, and start opening your backpack, looking for your headphones.

You give a small wave to Kuroo, but without turning towards him, focusing only on the path in front of you.

Dumbfounded, Kuroo waves back, his cheeks dyed with pink in embarrassment.

"Thank you for accompanying me, but I can go on my own from here." You say as you fit your headphones onto your head, putting on a random playlist that you made in honor of your little crush, who is definitely not Kuroo Tetsurou (it is).

— A/N: Uh........hi........I'm back.............

First of all, I want to apologize a thousand times to whoever sent me this request, I'm really sorry it took me SO LONG to post this. In addition to apologizing to everyone who follows me here, for not having given any sign of life for more than a month....😭

I really don't have a real excuse for doing this other than a total of 0 creativity and several hours of my life in hell (school), so I really needed to take this time for myself, until I felt more comfortable coming back here again.

I'm currently feeling quite creative artistically, mainly because I'm watching MHA again (which I'll probably bring here on my page) and also because I'm reading the Haikyuu manga. Plus, I passed pretty much every subject at school, so I don't have to worry so much about grades.

So...I'm officially back now!! I apologize again, and in compensation for this, I am already writing 3 more new things for you (2 are from MHA😜😜🤪); and I also won't open requests until I finish writing these, so stay tuned!!