#have u noticed that i am unable to draw hands that well

[ijustwannaloverobots]

just me and my dear bipedal robot dancing

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 30

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 30: In that house on top of the rock

AO3 - Masterlist

Joyce chuckled at Daenera’s attempt to embroider blue daisies on a field of bronze, the contrasting colors creating a vivid yet slightly chaotic display. Daenera huffed and extended her arm to study the blossoms she had stitched very few inches. Her brows furrowed as she couldn’t help but notice the crooked lines and varying sizes of the flowers. 

“The baby won’t be able to tell the difference,” Daenera reasoned, bringing the embroidery back onto her lap. As long as it kept the baby warm, it could care less for whether the flowers were in a straight line or not.

“But the rest of us will,” Joyce replied with a playful smile. 

“I think I’ve improved,” Daenera defended herself, head tilting as she examined the flower she was currently working on. One petal was bigger than the others, and a few of the strands were loose. 

“You have not,” Joyce retorted without hesitation. 

Daenera looked at her servant with a mix of offense and exasperation on her face. “Rude. Can you at least see what flower they are?”

“Daisies,” Joyce replied, grabbing a pillow from the settee and fluffing it up before putting it back down again. 

“See, it’s not that bad,” Daenera said as she threaded the needle again. “Besides, I’ve come too far to stop now.”

“I suppose it is a good thing that babies can’t differentiate the embroidery, otherwise it might be sorely disappointed,” Joyce teased. 

In response, an apple slice flew through the air, landing on Joyce’s chest and tumbling into her bodice. She quickly withdrew it from her chest and gave Daenera an indignant look, but couldn’t help but smile as she chewed into the slice. 

“How gracious of you to share your refreshments with me,” Joyce remarked. 

Daenera grinned mischievously. “I am gracious. I share my meals with the servants and prick my fingers bloody to sew a blanket for my brother once he comes.”

“You’ve got the blood and the sweat, now the blanket only needs your tears,” Joyce joked. 

“I hope I needn’t shed any,” Daenera said with a hint of worry in her voice. 

A knock resonated at the door, and Joyce hurried over to open it, welcoming the visitors inside. Fenrick stepped in first, his weathered expression showing the gravity of how Daenera’s anger weighed on him. He wore his usual attire of leather and thick fabric. Daenera’s gaze lifted, and she glanced at him through her eyelashes, holding onto the feeling of betrayal. 

Following Fenrick was a much younger man, drawing Daenera’s full attention as she studied him. Her hands rested in her lap, her focus solely on the newcomer. Both men bowed respectfully and greeted her with ‘Princess.’ 

Daenera disregarded her sworn shield and kept her eyes on the young man. He was taller than Fenrick, with broad shoulders and a well-built physique that hinted at years of training. His handsome face featured serious brows and mischievous gray eyes that complemented his pale complexion. His wild hair cascaded over his shoulders, giving him a rugged appeal. 

They both looked at her expectantly, awaiting for her response. 

“This is–” 

“He can introduce himself,” Daenera cut Fenrick off with a snap, her tone cool and dismissive. Fenrick bit down the displeasure and sowed his mouth shut. 

“I am Finan Pyne,” he introduced with a deep, rich voice. “Princess, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine depending on why you are here, Ser Pyne,” Daenera said, head tilting with curiosity. She couldn’t resisted the opportunity to ruffle Fenrick’s feathers by adopting a flirtatious undertone. Finan seemed to pick up on her playful intent, and a smile graced his handsome face, his plump lips curving upward in response. 

“Where are you from, Ser Pyne?” Daenera asked curiously.

“He–” Fenrick attempted to reply, but he was swiftly interrupted by Daenera’s sharp retort. 

“I believe he can answer for himself, can he not?” She did not want to hear his voice, nor did she wish to pretend that she had forgiven him from his betrayal. His actions still stung, and she couldn’t simply forget it. 

“I am from the North, Princess. Winterfell to be exact,” Finan replied, resting his hands on his belt as he spoke. His playful smile remained, seemingly unfazed by Fenrick’s presence. 

“Winterfell? Do you know Lord Cregan Stark?” Daenera inquired, intrigued by this piece of information. She had heard of Lord Stark but never met him personally. 

“That I do. We grew up together and fought together,” Finan revealed, the smile still lingering on his lips. 

Daenera’s lips pursed in thought. “It begs me to wonder how the two of you came to know each other.”

Finan’s gaze briefly flickered to Fenrick before returning to Daenera. “He saved my life and that of my mother. We were traveling on the King’s Road when a group of men attacked us. Fenrick defended us. It’s not often a stranger would risk their life to save others, but he did. And then he bedded my mother once we arrived in Winterfell.”

Fenrick’s face turned a deep shade of red, clearly agitated by the bluntness of Finan’s words. Joyce couldn’t help but let out a stifled laugh at the situation, lightly patting Fenrick on the arm as she slipped beside him to dust off the table. 

Finan continued, “He stayed with us for some time before returning to King’s Landing. I owe him a great debt for what he did.”

A playful smirk curled on Daenera’s lips as she lifted a brow in amusement. “For fucking your mother?”

Fenrick bristled at her boldness, but Finan chuckled, the sound warm and hearty, like crackling fire. With a half-hearted shrug Finan replied, “I forgive him for that. I owe him for saving our lives after all.”

Daenera couldn’t deny that this revelation intrigued her even more. She observed Fenrick closely, trying to decipher his emotions, and wondered what he intended to do with this boy. 

“Mmh, yes,” Daenera hummed, a serious expression falling upon her features. “You’re indebted to him. But what use is that to me?”

With A humble demeanor, Fenrick stepped forward, determined to regain her favor. He was familiar with how vengeful she could be. She had always been like this, holding and nursing grudges, seeking appropriate retaliation for any perceived slights.

“If I may speak, Princess,” Fenrick requested.

Daenera’s lips pursed into a tight expression before she gave him a curt nod. “You may.”

“I summoned Finan because I know him well. I have complete faith in his ability to serve you,” Fenrick said, his thick brows lifting in sincerity. “Finan is a skilled fighter, I taught him myself, and he is clever if not a little too bold.” 

Fenrick’s gaze shifted towards Finan with a subtle reprimand, as if silently warning him to be cautious of his words and boldness in the company of the princess. Finan in turn just quirked his lips. 

“I have little use for someone who’s loyalty lies elsewhere,” Daenera said, pressing the issue. “And it seems to me that Ser Pyne’s loyalty lies with the man who saved his life, the man who raised him. I cannot use someone who is not loyal to me–someone who may question or disobey my command.”

“The debt he owes me, I bestow upon you,” Fenrick said. 

Daenera arched a brow. 

“My life is yours, Princess,” Finan cut in, the tension between the princess and her sworn shield palpable and suffocating. Her eyes fell on Finan again, searching his face and she measured his response. 

Daenera rose from the settee, her gaze assessing Finan as she walked towards him. He was taller than her as well, though not by much. Up close she noticed the pale scar underneath his eye and the curve in his nose. 

“Has he told you about the position?” She asked, glancing briefly at Fenrick, who looked somewhat exhausted as if he had spent countless nights twisting and turning in bed. 

“He has,” Finan confirmed, looking thoughtful and a bit curious. 

Daenera continued, “I require someone who can think for themselves. Someone who understands the danger of the task, not only to themselves but to me. I am not seeking just another guard, I have plenty of those. I need a spy.” 

She waited, studying Finan’s reaction closely. He remained composed, giving away nothing. “If you do not think yourself capable of that, then take your leave now, and I will give you ten golden dragons for your travels… and your silence.”

“I am far too intrigued to leave now, Princess,” Finan smirked, his eyes meeting hers with determination.

Daenera turned her gaze upon Fenrick, attempting to gauge his reaction. He appeared solid and composed, his shoulders squared and back straight. Despite his betrayal, she knew he wouldn’t have brought Finan here if he didn’t fully trust him. While he might have betrayed her to Daemon and her mother, he would never risk her safety by putting her life in the hands of someone he didn’t trust implicitly.

“You will travel to King’s Landing on horseback. When you arrive, you’ll find a position as a guard in the City Watch. Make friends, allies, and pretend we’ve never met. You will stay there as a spy until I have need of you. And if I don’t, then enjoy your life as a Gold Cloak,” Daenera instructed, her voice steady and composed, yet laced with authority.  

Finan raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t think you’ll have need of me, why position me so?”

“There are spies lurking in every corner of the Red Keep. If I were to pick up a rock and toss it, I’d properly hit three belonging to three separate people,” Daenera remarked. “I have my informants, and my enemies have theirs. They’re well-acquainted with the people close to me. Having someone they don’t know about, someone close to me that I can count on, could prove invaluable should anything happen.”

Daenera’s words hung in the air, underscoring the precariousness of her position at court, and how volatile the political climate may become once the King dies. She glanced at Fenrick and Finan, now both aware of her plans. 

“What is your price?” Daenera questioned. 

Finan’s brows furrowed. “My price?”

“Everyone has a price.” 

“Loyalty cannot be bought,” Finan answered. 

“It can,” Daenera insisted. 

“Then it is not true loyalty.” 

Daenera couldn’t help but smile. 

Fenrick continued, “I suppose you’ll have to trust in my honor. I do not wish for gold; I wish to repay what Fenrick gave me.”

Weighing his response, Daenera’s smile remained, even as she was unsure if she fully trusted his unyielding stance on loyalty. But she decided to trust Fenrick’s judgment of his character. 

“Nevertheless, I will pay you handsomely once my mother ascends the throne,” she assured him. 

“Or you could keep me by your side,” Finan replied with a flirtatious smirk. It was tempting. She supposed she could do worse than having a handsome man at her side, especially with her marriage to Boris Baratheon looming. 

“That may be arranged,” Daenera responded, her tone light and playful. “Depends on your performance.”

Finan’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Does that mean you’ll hire me?” 

“Joyce will teach you our code and how to contact us with information,” Daenera said, nodding towards the older woman. “And Fenrick will prepare you for the journey… I need to make it clear that no one can know about this arrangement. Be careful with what you share. I trust that you decide what is and isn’t necessary to maintain your cover.”

Daenera watched Finan intently, her perceptive eyes gauging his reaction to her words. There was both determination and surety upon his face, though she couldn’t blame him for feeling a little apprehensive. The role of a spy was not to be taken lightly. 

She could see in him the potential for greatness, the wit and skill that Fenrick had spoken of, as well as natural charm. She hoped that he would prove a valuable asset. But she also understood the risks involved, both for him and for herself. 

“It is important that you understand your task,” Daenera continued. “And the risks involved.”

“I understand the risks, Princess. I won’t let you down.” 

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She admired his resolve. “Good.”

Daenera went back to the settee again, sitting down on the soft cushions before continuing, her voice filling with cold resignation. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I am to marry Boris Baratheon.” 

“I have, congratulations,” Finan replied, offering a polite smile in the face of her clear displeasure at the notion of marrying the Baratheon. 

“I want you to get close to his people, make friends with them if you have to,” she said, her eyes locking onto Finan’s with a sense of urgency.

Ever since she had reluctantly agreed to the marriage, Daenera had made it her mission to gather as much information as she could about Boris Baratheon. However, the details she managed to uncover were often muddled by politeness or mere hearsay. They painted a picture of a great warrior, renowned for his bravery and pride. Yet, whispers of his headstrong nature and quick temper also circulated. Most of the accounts she received on Dragonstone were second or third-hand, and she yearned for something more definitive. 

One was not always as one was presented. 

If she were to marry the brute, she’d make sure she knew exactly the kind of man he was. 

Finan nodded in acknowledgement, understanding the gravity of her request. Fenrick, standing nearby, looked visibly relieved, as if he could now rest a little easier at night knowing that someone he trusted was there to keep her safe. 

“I want to swear to me, upon your honor, upon your life,” Daenera continued, her voice ringing out with authority. “Swear to me upon the old gods and the new.”

Without hesitation, Finan dropped to one knee, placing a hand above his heart and bowing his head in reverence. “I swear to you upon the old gods and the new, that I will obey and protect you, that I will honor you and follow you until I draw my last breath or you release me of your service. I give you my life. All this I swear.”

The weight of his oath settled on Daenera’s shoulders like a mantle of power, filling her with a sense of empowerment. Her heart quickened its pace, and her posture straightened with a newfound confidence. She gestured for him to rise. 

“Thank you, Ser Finan Pyke.” 

Finan rose to his feet, his eyes unwavering as they met hers.

“You are dismissed, Ser Fenrick,” Daenera declared, her eyes narrowing slightly as they shifted to Fenrick. The taste of betrayal still lingered in her mouth. 

Fenrick hesitated for a moment, as if reluctant to leave her side. However, he ultimately straightened and gave a curt nod before departing, leaving Daenera alone with her new ally. 

Daenera gestured towards the opposite settee. “You may sit.”

“Princess,” Finan began cautiously after he settled into the seat in front of her. “If I may speak frankly.”

Daenera’s eyebrow arched slightly, showing  a mixture of curiosity and wariness. She picked up the flagon and poured two cups of wine. “That depends on what you have to say.”

Finan wetted his lips, though his demeanor remained untroubled, as if he were chatting with an old acquaintance, his eyes betrayed a flicker of caution. “Do not be too hard on Fenrick.”

With an arched brow, Daenera placed a cup of wine before him, as he continued without hesitation. “All he wishes is to protect you.”

Daenera’s gaze turned sharp and cold, her eyes locking onto Finan’s. “Has he told you what he did?”

“Not in detail, no.”

“Then do not assume to know anything about the situation,” she retorted curtly. “I do not take disobedience and betrayal lightly. Fenrick went against my direct orders, he dared to put my honor in question and made baseless accusations that resulted in me being betrothed to someone I do not care for.”

Joyce, observing the exchange from behind Finan, shared a silent understanding with Daenera. Despite knowing the truth of the matter, Joyce kept her silence, for she understood her place and remained steadfastly loyal to Daenera. While Fenrick’s accusations had a grain of truth, he had been explicitly instructed not to bring it up, yet he had done so nonetheless, bringing his speculations to her parents.

It was not a thing that could be so easily forgiven.  

“He made a mistake,” Finan agreed, seeking to elaborate, but Daenera interjected. 

“It was not a mistake.” Her voice was indignant, unforgiving. “A mistake is making the wrong step during dance. A mistake is dropping a cup and shattering it. What he did was a deliberate act of defiance. It was not a mistake, it was a misstep, one he must now face the consequences to.”

Fenrick’s decision to divulge the information to Daemon had been fueled by his desire to keep Daenera on Dragonstone–away from the dangers of King’s Landing, and more importantly, Aemond–or perhaps even to reprimand her and remind her of her duty.

However, he had underestimated the gravity of the consequences and how much it would cost her. What had he expected? That Daemon would slap her on the wrist? The thought of it, ignited the indignation within her. 

He had disregarded her explicit orders and in doing so, put her more at risk than anyone else. 

“Now, he must suffer my ire,” Daenera said, taking a sip of the wine, trying to wash the sourness on her tongue away. 

Finan nodded, recognizing the gravity of the situation. Nevertheless, he continued, “I will not question your judgment but I beg you to remember his intentions.”

Daenera’s gaze was cold as ice as she looked upon him. “It was never my intention to break Joffrey's toy but I did, and I suffered the consequences of an inconsolable toddler.”

The corner of his lip curled, but it soon fell into seriousness again. “Fenrick may have disobeyed you, Princess, but I am sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, that he only did it out of concern for you. He thinks of you as his own flesh and blood, he would never do anything to intentionally endanger you. I ask not for forgiveness, but perhaps a measure of mercy and understanding.”

Her eyes bore into him with cool measurement, and as she spoke her words came out sharp. “I understand his intention, but it does not negate the fact that he disobeyed me. He should have foreseen the result.”

“Perhaps,” Finan drawled. 

“What is the North like?” Daenera inquired, deftly changing the subject, not wishing to dwell further on the topic of Fenrick, especially with someone who did not understand her anger. 

Finan gracefully picked up on her cue and offered a warm smile. “Cold… but beautiful, especially when everything is blanketed in freshly fallen snow. The forests are so serene, you’d almost think you had gone deaf if it wasn’t for the soft creaking of snow beneath your boots.”

“And Winterfell, was is it like?” Daenera continued her line of questioning, trying to conjure up the image of the stone walls that would belong to the icy castle. “I’ve read about it, but I haven't seen it for myself.”

“Cregan Stark would be honored should you decide to visit,” Finan replied, a hint of slyness playing on his lips. “Winterfell is a true marvel. Tha castle walls offer warmth and comfort, a welcome respite from the chill outside. And the glass gardens are a sight to behold, filled with green.”

“Glass gardens?” Daenera’s curiosity was piqued. 

“Just as the name suggests, Princess,” Finan explained. “Glasshouses where they grow crops. The temperature inside the glass gardens is carefully controlled, allowing the growth of various fruits and vegetables, even during the coldest of winters.”

As the conversation continued, Daenera delved deeper, inquiring about Finan’s relationship with Cregan Stark. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of emotions as he responded, “We were as close as brothers as we grew up together. My mother served as a maid in the castle, and my father, before he died, was one of the castle guards.”

Daenera sensed there was more to Finan’s story, an undercurrent of melancholy or reverence for what he had left behind. Intrigued, she probed further, “If you were like brothers, what prompted you to leave home?”

His smile, tinged with sadness yet unwaveringly sincere, illuminated his face. 

“Fenrick sent for me,” Finan confessed, the fire’s flickering light dancing in the gray steel of his eyes. “He asked me to come to Dragonstone and help keep you safe. It was a chance to repay him for saving my life and a chance for an adventure. I couldn’t resist the allure of such an opportunity.”

“But will you not remain loyal to your brother in arms?” Daenera questioned, her gaze penetrating, searching for any hint of deception. 

“I am loyal,” Finan affirmed. “As a man of the North, I hold honor in high regard. My word is my bond, and now my loyalty lies with you. Lord Stark released me from my oath to him, understanding the debt I owe… And should the need arise, my connection to the North may prove valuable in service to you.”

Daenera took another sip of wine, savoring the taste as she contemplated his words. She didn’t fully trust him, not yet, but there was something straightforward and honorable about the men from the North. They spoke their minds. 

“What made Fenrick leave the North? It seems like he had found a home there,” she inquired, genuinely curious about his past. Despite his long service to her, she knew very little of his life beyond Dragonstone. 

The corners of Finan’s lips curved upward, an amused glint in his gray eyes. 

“The cold didn’t agree with him,” he chuckled. “You see, the Dornish blood in his veins made it a challenge for him to endure the harsh winters.”

Daenera couldn’t help but laugh at the image of Fenrick grappling with the freezing temperatures of the North. Even Joyce, who had seemingly been engrossed in tending to the plants, joined in with a soft chuckle.

“I think he would have stayed if not for a letter that came for him,” Finan continued, his expression turning serious. “He received a summons from Ser Harwin Strong, who implored him to return to be by your side.”

“He just left you?” Daenera asked, incredulous at the thought of Fenrick leaving everything behind for her sake. 

“ He left us for you , Princess.”

Daenera couldn’t help but bite her bottom lip, feeling the sting of grief pierce her heart as Ser Harwin’s name was mentioned. Fenrick had left behind Winterfell–Finan and his mother, forsaking the life he had built there for her sake. 

“He didn’t hesitate,” Finan continued. “He owed a similar debt to Ser Harwin Strong as I did to him. I understood his decision, though my mother had a harder time accepting it. He still provides for her, though.”

Swallowing thickly, Daenera managed to regain her composure. “And now you leave her…”

“My mother understands now,” Finan reassured her gently. “She is happily married, and Fenrick made sure she would be well cared for.”

Daenera managed a small smile, but her moment of levity was shattered by the urgent knocks on the door. Joyce swiftly answered and spoke quietly with the servant who had arrived, his cheeks flushed. 

“Your mother’s water has broken,” the servant announced. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Daenera shot up from the settee, almost stumbling in her haste to grab the unfishied blanket, accidentally pricking her finger on the needle. A single drop of blood soaked into the petal of a blue daisy. She quickly discarded the needle and threat, and hurriedly searched the room for the pouches of herbs she had prepared for her mother. Joyce anticipated her needs and placed the pouches in her arms. 

Before leaving the room, Daenera turned to Joyce with a serious expression. “The blue vial with yellow ribbon around the neck, labeled Valerian Root extract, give that to fenrick. Tell him to take two drops on the tongue before he lays to sleep. And please, do not mention me.”

A subtle smile settled on Joyce’s face and she nodded in understanding. 

With that, Daenera was out of the room and rushing down the hall, forgetting momentarily that Finan still sat on the settee, his spiced wine untouched.

Loud moans resonated down the hall, resonating along the walls and creeping into the stone. Her steps echoed as she briskly walked down the hall, anxiety and anticipation coiling in her stomach, her heart thumping in her chest. 

The doors to her mothers chambers had been left open and she slid into the room, quickly placing the blanket and herbs on a chair to the side. 

Rhaenyra was sitting in what could be considered a nest of blankets and pillows, leaning her arms against the seat of a chair, her pale Valyrian hair cascading down her back. Already, the silk gown was sticking to her skin, the only thing providing a modicum of cover. She looked up as Daenera sank to her knees on a pillow beside her, placing a calming hand on her back as she breathed loudly. 

“It is good that you are here, I don’t think I could do it without you,” Rhaenyra moaned, placing her forehead on her arm as her body seized with another contraction. 

Daenera took a wet cloth and padded her mothers shoulders, waiting for the contraction to pass before dabbing at the pearls of sweat at her temples. “Of course you could.”

“You bring comfort and luck, my love.”

“You give me too much credit.” Daenera looked toward Sheran, the oldest and fattest of the midwives, who had helped Rhaenyra through the birth of all her children. “How far along?”

“Three fingers, princess,” Sheran answered, placing some cloth along the border of the ‘nest’, ready to be used if needed. 

Rhaenyra chuckled through the pain of contractions. “You’d think they’d come quicker by now.”

“That is not always how it works,” Daenera said with a smile on her lips. She ran the palm of her hand in a circle on her mothers back, trying to bring some comfort. 

“It is still better than laying an egg I would imagine,” Rhaenyra teased and all the midwives chuckled, remembering the whole conversation that was had when Joffrey was born. They would never let her live it down.  

“I was a child. I know better now.”

Maellery and Elinda Massey entered the chambers, closing the door after them, bringing two basins of boiled water. They placed them outside of the circle of blankets and pillows. They were both midwives as well, and had been with Rhaenyra since the birth of Daenera. It was comforting to have the same people around her with each birth. And no Maesters. 

“Soon this shall be you, my sweet flower,” Rhaenyra spoke, gripping Daenera’s hand. 

“I must admit,” Daenera said, a pinched look on her face. “I would rather dorn a sword and serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory.”

Rhaenyra laughed, then drew in a deep breath, humming from deep within her chest while another contraction washed over her. Her daughter patted the sweat off her brow and waited patiently for the contraction to pass. “I once said something similar.”

“And yet you are here, having your fifth child,” Daenera chided lovingly. 

“You are worth it, as I’ve told you before,” Rhaenyra reaffirmed, kissing her daughter's hand. “Mine own mother once told me that we have royal wombs and that the childbed is our battlefield.”

“It is a battlefield, I agree. There’s blood, sweat and tears, the only thing it really lacks is the mud.” 

Rhaenyra’s grip on her hand tightened a little. “We must learn to face it with a stiff lip.”

Whenever a woman faces the birth of her child, she must also face death itself. It was always a risk. It loomed in the corners of the rooms, lurked in the shadows, and nibbed at a woman's heels once she felt her first contraction. The risk of life was always death. And some women faced it more than others. 

Daenera knew what had happened to Queen Aemma Arryn. Knew of the complications she had throughout all her pregnancies. Many of the children never got to draw their first breath, some died in the cradle, some lost even before they had fully formed. It was a horror women understood and prayed to never face. 

And then she had died in childbed, cut open in the hopes of saving the son she carried, killed on the consent of the King. Ultimately, the child never got to see its third day and it had all been for nothing. 

The Maesters had been so quick to suggest murdering the Queen. It was what had made Rhaenyra weary of them.

Daenera had inherited the same weariness. 

“I am not planning to have a child any time soon, mother.”

“You are to marry soon, Daenera. Children come after marriage.” 

“To some,” Daenera muttered. Squeezing out giant Baratheon children was a terrifying thought, almost as terrifying as what precedes it. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want children, she did. But she wanted to see her mother on the throne first. And to choose their father. 

One of the conditions had been taken from her. 

“You are too young to be a grandmother,” Daenera noted with a smile. 

Hours went by slowly, filled with moans and groans and huffing breaths, as the contractions washed over Rhaenyra. At times she was up and walking with a firm grip on Daenera’s hand, as they attempted to urge the child to come. Her daughter brought her great comfort. 

“Rhaenyra.” Daemon spoke her name with the warmth of the sun. He slipped into the room, his hair still a little windswept from his flight with Caraxes, eyes quickly finding his wife and stepdaughter, both of which were red cheeked and smiling. He walked over to her and kissed his wifes temple. 

“You smell of dragon,” Rhaenyra noted, taking his hand and letting him lead her back to the circle of blankets and pillows. 

“A scent our child will know rather quickly,” Daemon hummed. 

Daenera helped her mother down to her knees again, glancing at Sheran as the midwife peeked below Rhaenyra’s gown. She nodded to Daenera. 

“It is time to push,” Daenera told her mother, then cast her eyes to Daemon who sat down on a chair beside his wife, as Rhaenyra gripped the seat of the chair she was leaning on at the wrecking sensation of another contraction. “You made it just in time.”

Daemon nodded curtly, taking his wife's hand. At the birth of their first son, he had told her to put all the pain onto him and that he would remain by her side through the birth. He had been afraid then, he was less so now. 

Rhaenyra prepared to push, taking a big gulp of breath before bearing down, groaning loudly. Daenera moved further behind her to better observe the birth, though her hand remained as a comfort on her shoulder. 

“Breathe,” Daenera reminded her, rubbing her back. 

Daenera pretended not to understand when Daemon leaned down to whisper into Rhaenyra’s ear in high Valyrian, giving them some form of privacy. She had to commend Daemon, men so rarely stayed with their wives through birth, and even rarer still was it for them to be a comfort rather than a nuisance. 

Sheran waved Daenera towards her, taking the princesses hand and guiding it up under the gown of her mother. It was wet and bloody and she felt her way towards where the head was crowning. She smiled. “It won't be long now.”

“You can tell how far she is along by how many fingers width you can count,” Sheran told Daenera as if she hadn’t had the lessons before. “The babe is crowning.”

Rhaenyra took in a deep breath through her nose and bit down hard, pushing with all her might as sweat ran down her back, her face burning with pressure, her body feeling as if it were on fire. 

Blood and water squirted as the head of the baby slipped out into the hand of Sheran who guided the baby out on the next push. The child slid from its mother and out into the world, immediately removed from between Rhaenyra’s legs to be looked over and dried off. It cried with loud strong lungs. 

For a moment, Rhaenyra rested her head on her arm, exhaustion wrecking through her body like the tremble of an earthquake. Daemon kissed her head and helped her to turn around and lean against the propped up pillows. 

Daenera quickly picked up the blanket she had made for the child, passing it over to Sheran, who wrapped it loosely around the squealing baby. 

The midwife smiled at the mother. “You’ve a healthy boy, princess.” 

Rhaenyra let out a relieved chuckle, reaching for the child that was carefully placed into her arms. The baby cried a few times more, but by the thumping of its mothers heart, it calmed. “Hello.” 

Daenera watched her mother greet the child with utter joy, then look at Daemon who mirrored her excitement. He kissed her hand, then her temple, looking down at his second son. 

It took a few moments before Rhaenyra noticed the crooked flowers on the blanket and looked back up at her daughter. “You made this?”

“Do not fault me for my poor attempt at needlework, Mother, my skills lie elsewhere,” Daenera quipped. 

“It is fine,” Rhaenyra told her, a grateful and loving smile on her face. “I am sure he will cherish it.” 

“May I ask what you attempted to make?” Daemon asked teasingly. 

“Blue daisies. If you laugh at them, I challenge you to pick up a needle and thread yourself. You may be skilled with a sword, Daemon Targaryen, but I imagine you to be worse at needlework than I.”

Daenera tied off the umbilical cord and cut it, and when the placenta came she was the one to examine it before passing it over to the midwives. She dried off her hands in one of the pieces of cloth scattering the floor, though she might as well have dried them off in her skirts, as the dress was ruined. “Have you chosen a name?”

“Viserys,” Rhaenyra answered, glancing up at Daemon to study his reaction. Daemon only smiled and agreed that it was a fine name for a son. 

Daenera hoped that once it was her turn for the childbed, that her husband were as attentive as Daemon was, or that she in the very least would have comfort in her mothers presence.

I’ll keep the kingWhen you are gone awayInto the darkness and howling, I’ll keep him from drowningAs our boat is untethered from the dockI’ll keep the kingKeep him safe at bayI’ll keep him safe from the dark things that waitIn that house at the top of the rockIn that house at the top of the rock

Rocking the little boy in her arms, Daenera hummed a soft lullaby, her voice a gentle melody that filled the air. She swayed gracefully from side to side, her movements soothing and rhythmic. Aegon, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and love, responded with infectious giggles. His chubby hands clapped together in delight, the plump fingers intertwining before releasing and clapping once more. 

His cheeks, flushed with the rosy hues of youth, were as round and plump as ripe peaches. His eyes, a mirror of their mothers, held a spark of curiosity and wonder as he gazed up at Daenera.

“King,” Aegon cooed in his baby babble, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he blew a raspberry, his pure delight evident. His tiny hand reached out, fingers outstretched, to gently graze against Daenera’s cheek, his touch tender and innocent. 

A soft, affectionate smile curved Daenera’s lips as she looked down at her baby brother. She turned her head slightly and pressed a loving kiss to the palm of his hand, a silent gesture. 

I’ll keep the kingI’ll keep the kingI’ll keep him safe from the dark things that waitIn that house at the top of the rock

The sun had triumphantly returned to the sky after days of overcast, casting a brilliant canvas of blue across the expanse, with only a smattering of fluffy clouds. Despite the renewed radiance, the winds still held their playful dance, coaxing the waves into a spirited frenzy. The ocean surged and roared, the white foam at the crest of each crashing wave a stark contrast  against the stony embrace of the shoreline. Daenera stood by her window, the vantage point offering her a captivating view of the sea.

Her keen eyes followed the Seafarer as it laid for anchor, awaiting her. A longboat was carefully lowered into the water, gliding with grace as it touched the expanse of the sea. 

“King safe!” came a cheerful cry, drawing Daenera’s attention downward and her gaze softened as Aegon grinned up at her. 

“Can you say Daenera?” She prompted.

Aegon’s claps resonated and he excitedly bounced in her arms. His lips pursed as he tried to form her name. “Da-na-na… Dananara… Danara!”

“Dae-ne-ra,” Daenera coaxed, forming her name carefully. 

“Dae-nara!” Aegon enunciated with triumphant determination, his eyes alight with the thrill of his perceived achievement. Complex words still posed a challenge for the three-year-old, especially the full names of his older siblings. Jacaerys, with its intricate syllables, was a challenge on its own. Daenera couldn’t help but wonder about the boy’s growth and what he would achieve while she’d be away in King’s Landing. 

The tendrils of her thoughts briefly entwined with a touch of melancholy. Would Aegon have mastered her name by the time they would see each other again? Would he have begun reading or started training with a wooden sword? Would those bright eyes still hold the spark of recognition when they next met?

“Ship!” Aegon’s voice ran with pure elation, a tiny finger pointing animatedly towards the Seafarer. The longboat strained against the current, valiantly attempting to conquer the distance to the shore where she’d board the ship. 

“Yes,” Daenera crooned and she adjusted her hold on him, lifting him higher on her hip to ensure a secure embrace as he wiggled in her arms excitedly. “This ship will carry me back to King’s Landing.”

Aegon’s eyes widened, innocence sparking within their depths. His voice held a mix of curiosity and concern as he muttered. “You will go?”

Her lips curved into a smile, an expression that sought to ease the worry that flickered across his round face. “Yes, I will, but I will come back.”

Though her words were uttered with an air of certainty, Daenera knew there was more to it. She couldn’t share with him the intricacies of her impending marriage or the political machinations that demanded her presence in the capital, or that she was doing this to keep them all safe. Such matters were far beyond the grasp of a child’s understanding. She watched as his forehead creased into a delicate frown, a silent protest against her departure. 

“Don’t go,” Aegon ordered with a pout, his voice carrying the beginning of a whine. Seeking solace, he nuzzled into the safe harbor of her neck, his small form seeking comfort in her warmth. His hands grabbed onto her clothes tightly, with a vice made of iron.

Daenera gently cradled the back of his head as her fingers brushed through the silky strands of his pale curls. They tickled against the skin of her palm. 

A sigh, soft and wistful, escaped her lips as she held him close, her heart aching in tandem with his protest. “I know, but remember, I will be back soon.”

As her brother’s small fingers clung to the fabric of her gown, Daenera’s gaze drifted beyond the confines of their chambers, to the distant horizon where the ship awaited. The concept of time remained elusive to a child’s mind. Once she was gone from view, she would slowly fade into the distance of his mind. He wouldn’t notice how much time would pass before he’d see her again. 

But she would. She longed for her presence to linger in his memories, for her brothers to know that she loved them and she was doing what she could to protect them. 

“Finally found you!” Luke’s voice was a mix of exasperation and relief as he entered the room, his eyes swiftly scanning the space until they settled on his sister and his younger brother. “Maellery was worried sick that she had lost him.”

Daenera’s gaze shifted from the little face before her to her brother’s, a wry smile curving her lips. 

“Well, she had,” she replied, her tone carrying the note of amusement. “I found this little troublemaker rummaging through my chests.”

Luke let out a soft chuckle as he approached them, his arms outstretched to take Aegon from her. The boy’s laughter chimed in the air as the exchange was made. 

“You’ve caused quite a scare, little sneak,” Luke gently scolded, his tone more playful than stern. “You can’t just run off like that.”

Aegon squirmed in Luke’s grasp, his expressive eyes fixed on Daenera. With a small, determined pout, he reached his arms out, a silent plea to be returned to her arms. Without hesitation, Daenera reclaimed him, offering a reassuring smile as she did so. She knew well the unpredictability of young children’s emotions, and she wanted no tantrums to mar the already emotional day. 

Luke’s gaze remained on her, observant and curious. “Are you ready to leave?”

Daenera turned her eyes towards the window, the sun-drenched beach outside and landing on the longboat as it finally reached shore. “I am.”

“Then let's find Maellery.”

As the trio moved through the castle, they eventually reached Aegon’s chambers were they found Maellery on her hands and knees looking under the bed. Maellery’s face propped up and relief flooded her expression as she rose to her feet, letting out a eased breath. 

Aegon was hesitant to part from his sister’s arms, his small fingers clutching her gown and having to be pried off. 

With a mixture of reassurance and gentle encouragement, Daenera eased Aegon into Maellery’s arms, their eyes locking for just a moment. She leaned down, her lips brushing against Aegon’s curls, and whispered softly, her voice a soothing balm. “Be brave now, little dragon. Be strong and listen to your brothers. And keep Viserys safe, won’t you? He will look up to you.”

Aegon nestled closer to Maellery, his teary eyes reflecting a mixture of uncertainty and determination. “Strong… brave… dragon.”

A loving smile tugged at Daenera’s lips as she straightened, offering a final kiss to Aegon’s forehead before leaving the room. As she and Luke walked through the corridors, she intertwined her arm with his. 

“Are you beginning to feel nervous?” Luke inquired, his eyes flicking towards her. “With the impending nuptials and all.”

“A bit, perhaps,” Daenera admitted and she offered a small smile, her shoulders lifting in a nonchalant shrug. “But I believe it will all turn out well… It’s just… I wish you could all be there.”

Luke’s agreement was swift and fervent, his voice tinged with a touch of frustration. “So do I. It feels wrong not to be present on such an important day… We are your family, we should be there!”

A rueful expression crossed Daenera’s features as she contemplated the situation. “Mayhaps it’s a blessing in disguise. The last thing I need at my wedding is a brawl that’ll end in murder or the loss of an eye.”

Luke feigned a wounded look, dramatically clutching his chest as if struck by an invisible arrow. “Oh, that is cruel, even for you!” 

Daenera’s eyes rolled, but a soft chuckle escaped her lips. “You know as well as I that it would end in chaos should you attend.”

“Hmm…” Luke hummed sourly. “I can be civil.”

“I don’t doubt you,” Daenera answered. “It is the Hightowers I don’t trust.”

Luke made an expression that seemed to agree with what she said. 

They made their way down the grand stone steps, descending into the sprawling courtyard, where a contingent of horses stood poised. The sun cast its benevolent warmth upon the scene, offering a brief respite against the brisk winds that swept through, carrying with them the fluttering echoes of banners and flags that cracked like distant thunder. 

In this lively tableau, Daenera’s eyes sought out the familiar figures of her family. Rhaena and Jace stood in hushed conversation, their voices carried away by the wind. Nearby, Rhaenyra cradled little Viserys, swathed in the snug blanket that Daenera herself had made for him. 

Daemon’s approach brought a subtle shift in the atmosphere, as if the gravity of her impending departure had taken hold. A meaningful look directed at Luke conveyed the unspoken message that they needed a moment of privacy. Luke, understanding the silent communication, cast a fleeting glance at Daenera before joining forces with Jace and Rhaena. 

Amidst the backdrop of the bustling courtyard, Daemon’s voice reaches her, a question laden with a heavy undercurrent. “Have you prepared yourself?”

Daenera’s response was measured and spoken in a dry tone. “I am as ready as I can be.” 

A somber understanding lingered between them, an acknowledgement of the underlying tension that had settled since the announcement of her impending marriage to Boris baratheon. 

“I am well aware of your discontentment,” Daemon admitted, his words only hinting at regret. “You must understand the position you put yourself in.”

Biting her cheek and swallowing dryly, Daenera kept quiet, her eyes burning.

“The decision is not made lightly.”

Daenera held his gaze. “I understand the demands of duty.” 

The reality of her impending marriage to Boris Baratheon and the intricate web of alliances it weaved were not lost on her. She had positioned herself to inherit Dragonstone, if not Storm’s End. 

A wistful sigh escaped her lips as she gazed beyond the courtyard, her thoughts momentarily carried by the wind. “I only wish you could all be there.”

Regrettably, they were unable to attend the wedding. Her mother’s body still bore the echoes of childbirth’s toll, rendering her fragile and in need of respite. Nestled within her arms, Viserys, only a couple of weeks old, was still too young to endure the rigors of travel or potential solitude. And then there was the potential attendees –Daemon, Jace, and Luke– their presence, like sparks near tinder, had the potential to ignite unbridled tensions, even if they bore explicit instructions to be civil. Thus, came the conclusion that them being absent was the best course of action.  

Yet, despite the reasoned assessment, an undercurrent of longing persisted, threading its way through Daenera’s heart. 

Daemon’s expression softened, a fleeting sense of pity dancing in his eyes. 

“I have unwavering faith in your ability to make the best of this,” Daemon assured her, his hand tenderly resting atop her head in a loving pat. “Cleverness courses through your veins, as does the blood of the dragon. Remember this truth. Boris Baratheon, after all, is nothing but a stag.”

A resolute nod conveyed her understanding, the weight of his words settling upon her. 

A kiss upon her temple sealed his encouragement, a seemingly minor gesture that carried profound significance. He trusted her to do what was necessary for their family. 

She turned towards her brothers, enfolding them in embraces of unspoken emotion. Joffrey clung to her, his face buried in her skirts, a plea for her not to depart. It was Luke who gently intervened, coaxing Joffrey and comforting him. 

“The next time we lay eyes upon you, you shall be a married woman,” Jace remarked, his tone carrying a hint of both jest and sentiment.

Sarcasm draped over Daenera’s words like a velvet cloak. “Oh, really? That had somehow escaped my awareness.”

Jace responded with an eye-roll and was pushed aside as Rhaena encircled her in her arms. “I will attend your wedding.”

“Take Baela with you. I will undoubtedly require the presence of both of you,” Daenera said. 

Approaching her mother. In her arms, little Viserys emitted coos of infant delight, his chubby limbs moving in an adorable lack of coordination. One of his hands found its way into his mouth, swiftly becoming adorned with glistening droplets of saliva. Daenera leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his tiny forehead. 

Rhaenyra’s smile held a sad quality, and she lifted her hand to brush hair out of her daughter's face to get a proper look at her.  “You do not need to do this, my sweet girl.”

Daenera met her mother’s gaze, resolute but touched by a flicker of vulnerability.

“You know that I must, Mother.”

A nod of understanding from Rhaenyra, her eyes brimming with unspoken sentiments. “I wish I could stand beside you on your wedding day.”

“Fear not, Mother. Weddings are all the same,” Daenera reassured her. 

“They are not all the same,” Rhaenyra interjected, her brows inching up as she cupped Daenera’s cheek. “You are my daughter.”

Daenera gripped her mothers hand and placed a kiss on it. “We shall celebrate then, once I return to Dragonstone.”

Amidst their conversation, Viserys made a soft sound from the cozy folds of his blanket cocoon, his tiny fingers grasping at an ethereal prize as if he held a secret of the universe within his grasp. A thread from the blue daisy soon became the focus of his exploration, finding its way into his mouth. Daenera’s tender intervention salvaged the soggy thread, a loving smile exchanged between sister and mother. 

“We are ready, Princess,” Fenrick urged from atop his horse. 

The gravity of the impending separation lingered like a shadow. “Don’t let them forget me. Tell them that I love them very much, and that I will always keep them safe.”

Tears shined in Rhaenyra’s eyes, her voice quivering as she extended her arm, a silent invitation for her daughter to draw near. In the embrace that followed, Daenera found solace, her senses awash with the familiar scent of her mother – a delicate intermingling of lavender and the faintest traces of smokiness. Rhaenyra pressed a tender kiss to her daughter's forehead before releasing her.

** Blue Daisy; Long-term trust and loyalty

The song Daenera sings to Aegon is 'King' from The Amazing Devil. I thought it had great symbolism and that it might foreshadow what is to come/what im starting to plan for.

[sykosomatic]

So here is my third idea…a bit longer and darker but I hope you like it

So it starts right where part 2 ended…Evan and his new love interest are enjoying their food and flirting a little….Evan asks what brought reader over and asks semi seriously if he is that irresistible and gets a slight laugh in response

Evan then decides to play his answer machine and gets the same messages from the film as he admires his watch…reader is playing with the heating …..turning it and asks if he should be jealous Evan points out if he haven’t called them back no…

Reader comments how it’s getting really hot in here and maybe they need to cool off so they decide to head to the shower more flirting as they start to make out in the shower

Then they notice the temperature of the water starting to grow warmer and scalding …..they turning it off but it won’t work and the door is jammed…they start panicking/blaming each other as they desperately try to get out

Evan eventually smashes his way out by just shouldering the glass till it breaks ….later they are in Evans bedroom putting ice packs on each other as they apologise for turning on each other and they kiss with Evan asking what is happening Reader settles down with him on the bed and says he doesn’t know but he will find out

obvouvou;u they are going to stick together

what do you think ?

you've always got really creative ideas -- this fic would've been a one-shot without you lol -- let's see if you like the next installment! here we go--!

part 3 of evan lewis x male reader escaping death -- lovingly entitled 'luck of the draw' on ao3 --

cw: near-death experience, anxiety, making out, groping.

evan joined you at the little dining table, taking a seat and passing your food to you once it was all cooked. the entire little apartment smelled like rich, savory noodles; it was nice. this was the most at ease you'd felt since you'd met evan. that fact made you feel a little guilty. it wasn't as if you thought it was evan's fault, and you sure weren't gonna stop hanging out with him just over some silly superstitions you were having. you'd never been one to really believe in such things; but you couldn't deny the extreme relief you felt when you'd prevented whatever had been destined to happen. it gave you almost a sense of responsibility to stay and help him, to keep him safe from whatever power-that-be was hell-bent on hurting him. why evan, you found yourself thinking, of all people? and why you, sent to be his savior?

"so, uh…what brought you back here?" evan asked, after swallowing a bite of his food. he looked at you with an eyebrow raised. just as you were about to answer him and let him know about the strange feeling you'd been having, he smirked at you and continued speaking. "am i that irresistible?"

you laughed, rolling your eyes at his goofy expression. you decided to maybe bring up your weird feeling later. or maybe, not at all? after all you didn't even know if it was founded; maybe you were just having a weird week. maybe you needed to go back to that therapist you'd been seeing a while back.

"oh-- i forgot," evan said, reaching over and pressing a button on his answering machine. some messages from girls started to play, making you feel a little embarrassed. mainly for them; they sounded pretty desperate to get their hands on some of that money evan had just won from the lottery. you watched evan admire the watch he'd gotten the day before; fiddling with the latch as you stood up and cleared your throat awkwardly. you decided to busy yourself by absently messing with the thermostat, unable to find the remote to his tv and feeling that messing with your phone might've come off as rude.

"should i be jealous?" you asked evan, playfully, but also eyeing him a bit warily. he was a cocky guy, and the two of you hadn't said anything about being mutually exclusive just yet-- or ever, in that case. and he was entitled to do whatever he wanted, whether it be calling these women back or not.

"well, i mean, i haven't called them back yet, have i?" he pointed out. he finally looked up from his shiny new watch and looked over at you, reaching over to start deleting the messages. you grinned to yourself, turning the heat down a tad more. it had started getting a little hotter in the small apartment; it was freaking you out a bit. the thermostat said a cool 65 degrees fahrenheit once you were done messing with it. it shouldn't have felt so hot in there, right?

maybe you'd worked yourself up over evan's other potential lovers. you weren't really the jealous type; not outwardly, of course.

"hey, you wanna hop in the shower really quick?" you asked, crossing over to the dining table again. you put your arms around evan's shoulders from behind, leaning in and nibbling playfully on his ear. "it's getting kinda hot in here, don't you think? maybe we should cool off…" you said. you didn't boast about your flirting skills, that was for sure, but you thought you were charming enough. and evan evidently did too. he rolled his eyes, but there was definitely a grin on his face.

"you didn't even finish your food," he teased, though it didn't seem like he was all too concerned, after you'd just insinuated that he'd be getting lucky again. he stood from his chair and led you into the bathroom, the two of you flirtingly undressing each other on the way. there was a trail of clothes on the way to the bathroom, ending with the two of you standing by the shower. "i'm never gonna get tired of seeing that…" evan said playfully, eyeing your naked form beside him. he wrapped his arms around you, groping your ass and pulling you in for a kiss. you could feel yourself blush at the comment -- did that mean he wanted to keep seeing you? that maybe you'd be spending more time with him? you'd only known him for about a day, but he fascinated you, and you liked his goofy cockiness; it was surprisingly charming.

he turned around and started the water, leaning down and giving you access to return his groping. you grabbed his ass; it was really nice, you couldn't really tell that based on the clothes he wore, which made it all the better that you'd gotten to see it. and touch it, of course. he moaned as you massaged his ass and lower back. the water spritzed on, warm and steamy, inviting the two of you inside. the shower itself was a sort of glass box, with a door that swung open and clasped shut on the inside. it was the perfect size for the two of you to be intimately close in it together. the two of you clambered in, laughing as you bumped into each other while trying to get into comfortable positions. you ended up facing each other, a moment of thought before you both leaned in for a kiss.

the kiss deepened as the two of you started groping each other, becoming a full-on make-out session full of moaning and groaning. you broke away to bite on evan's neck, making him gasp out in surprise as you teeth scraped the delicate flesh just above his shoulder. "shit, wait, let me fix the temp real quick," evan grunted, pulling away from you, suddenly a bit agitated. you had to admit, the water was starting to get a little hot. he turned more cold on, but that didn't help. the water started getting hotter.

"are you turning the right knob?" you asked, hissing through your teeth as you felt the water start to sting the skin on your forearm. your arm was turning a bright, angry red as the water started to scald you.

"yes, i'm turning the right knob!" evan snipped at you, making you frown frustratedly at him. "i know which knob is cold, it's my apartment," he grumbled, turning both knobs now. it was clear he had been turning the right one; the water was just getting hotter by itself.

"maybe try turning it off?" you suggested, trying to scoot back away from the stream of boiling water. it had to be approaching something like 150 degrees at this point. you couldn't think straight, it was so hot. you were starting to panic, and you knew evan was too, but yours was starting to get intense. had you not avoided the thing that was supposed to hurt evan? and had you lumped yourself in with him? were the two of you going to die from third degree burns in this shower, trapped in the boiling water and choking on steam?

"i am trying to turn it off, man! i'm not stupid. why don't you try, if you're so smart?" evan snapped, shoving past you to trade you spots. now he was up against the glass wall of the shower, and he started to jiggle the clasp, trying to undo it. it was stuck. the two of you really were stuck, and if you didn't find a way out soon, it wasn't going to be pretty. "damn it, this is all your fault, you were the one who suggested getting in here in the first place… i bet you broke the stupid latch…"

"hey, don't get pissed off at me," you grouched back at him, angry that he was blaming you for something that clearly wasn't your fault. there were sinister things at play, here, working against you and evan and trying to harm you both now. "maybe if your apartment wasn't so hot, i wouldn't have wanted to get in here." you grumbled as the two of you worked on your tasks separately, faced away from each other. the heat of the water climbed in intensity so rapidly it was making you lightheaded. it had been all of three or four minutes that you'd been in there, and in just that time, the two of you had gotten agitated enough to blame each other for something that you at least knew wasn't anyone's fault. at this point it was clearly some sort of evil thing at play, here. you fiddled with the knobs desperately, evan messing with the latch, when in one quick second you heard a smashing sound behind you.

evan had busted through the foggy glass pane of the shower, shouldering it with all of his weight and smashing through it. cool air rushed in, already soothing your skin as you rushed out to him, stepping around glass and crouching down to where he lay on the floor amidst a bed of glass shards. the water sprayed on behind you, harmlessly flowing down the drain. steam curled up around you in the bathroom as you consoled evan, brushing glass off of him and pulling him up to his feet.

all animosity drained from the two of you as you looked into each other's eyes, safe from the boiling heat of the shower. "are you alright?" you asked him, gathering him in your arms and holding him close as the two of you mentally recovered from the ordeal you'd just been through.

"sorry i was being such an ass," evan said to you, softly, as you passed an ice pack and frozen peas back and forth to each other. he'd given you a spare pair of pajama pants and was wearing a pair himself as the two of you sat on his bed together. your head was swimming with all the things that had happened the past day; you barely heard him.

"it's okay. i was being an ass too -- it wasn't anybody's fault," you assured him, leaning in and kissing him on the lips. it was a gentle kiss, meant to be comforting. it seemed to have worked at least a little bit, but he was still a little worked up.

"maybe not, but.. what the hell was it, then? that shit doesn't just happen."

you sighed softly, biting on your lip. you knew that you'd been right all along, that the crazy-anxious feeling you'd been having was founded in some kind of truth. this wouldn't be the last time something like this happened. the pit in your stomach had started to return, and you had a feeling that it would be there for a while. you figured you better get used to saving evan's life, and he'd better get used to saving yours. you didn't know what the feeling meant exactly, other than the two of you would be being chased by death for a good while going forward. "i don't really know," you said, pausing. you thought about just brushing it off, keeping him in the dark for just a moment longer, letting him have that ignorant bliss. but it felt irresponsible. "but it feels… cosmic," you muttered, just in case he thought you were being crazy. but when you looked up at him, he was nodding slowly and thoughtfully. "and we'll figure it out. i'll get to the bottom of this, and we'll stop it," you promised, reaching over to hold his hand in your lap.

24-hour relationship or not, evan wasn't going to die, and neither were you. you were going to see to that.

[kiss-inthekitchen]

all that you ask of me | loki laufeyson

summary: you and Loki have a discussion about your kinks, and you learn something about him that you weren’t expecting

wc: 1.5k

warnings: smutty themes!! talk of bdsm, both reader and loki are switches and they aren't chill about it, teasing, light degradation but in a cute way, sub!loki, dom!loki, f!reader. loki has huge bisexual switch energy and i had to put it in a fic

a/n: title is kind of unrelated lol it makes more sense in the next chapter. pls let me know if you like it, i love when u guys leave comments or tags !

It’s been a few weeks since you and Loki had started dating and your sexual chemistry has been insane, which was a surprise to neither of you. You’d started out as friends, and even then, any time Loki had so much as brushed his fingers along your skin you felt something akin to electricity spike through your body. And though he was loath to admit it at first, Loki felt the same. So, once you finally gave in to your mutual feelings for each other, things only got more exciting.

Though the two of you had been having sex for weeks, you hadn’t really done anything too spicy yet, still getting used to this new aspect of your relationship. Now, though, you’d decided it would be a good idea to get it all out there, rather than try to figure it out as you went along. Besides, something about the idea of talking things out with Loki like it was nothing more than a casual conversation was thrilling to you.

You and Loki were sitting on the couch, your legs resting in his lap as he absentmindedly soothed circles into one of your calves. You smiled fondly at the way he always had to be touching some part of you. The two of you had covered a few topics already, going over safewords (you were partial to the traffic light system, and Loki agreed) and some of your hard limits, and now you were on to the fun part. Specifically, a rather exciting interest your partner had just confessed to.

“You know,” you mused, unable to keep the teasing smile off your face, “I wouldn’t have expected you to be into submission, what with your whole...thing.”

“My whole thing?” He repeated, raising his eyebrows at your choice of words. You suppressed a laugh. He probably would’ve spent more time on his faux outrage if the look on your face wasn’t so damn cute. “Yes, well. I am full of surprises, aren’t I?”

You hummed in response. “I mean, I had hoped you’d be into it. Or, I guess, fantasized, would be the better w-”

“Did you?” He cut you off, sounding all too pleased.

“Oh, for a while now,” you smirked.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” he said, the admiration in his eyes shifting to smugness as he continued, “I wouldn’t expect you to be a dom, what with your whole thing.”

You made a show of rolling your eyes at him. He wasn’t wrong, though. Compared to Loki, you were much more bubbly and warm, not that he was really so cold anymore, but he was still… him. On top of that, your style tended to lean more toward pastel colors, though lately you were known to also rock some dark green tones. You supposed that from the outside, people would assume you to be the more submissive one in the relationship. Which you definitely could be, but your tastes went both ways.

“Okay, I deserved that,” you relented. “Now come on, tell me what I want to know.”

“Okay, well. I’ve no problem with bondage, as I’m sure you know.”

“You do seem to end up in chains quite often, my love. But... not sexually?” You’d meant for it to be a statement, but then you realized you actually had no idea, your voice lilting up into a question.

He fixed you with a look that very clearly told you you’d been wrong.

Well, okay then. “Right,” you responded, a little breathier than before, trying not to let your imagination run wild just yet. Loki squeezed your ankle playfully, bringing you back before you could lose focus. “So, is there anything you’re not okay with, bondage-wise? Like, collars, ties, cuffs…?” You trailed off.

He thought for a moment. “No, it’s all fine with me. What about you?”

“Cuffs kinda freak me out, actually. I don’t have superhuman strength and all.”

“Noted. Oh, one thing I do want to mention- I’m going to have to ask that you refer to me exclusively as ‘Your Majesty’ when I’m in charge,” he said, expression unwavering.

Your mouth dropped open for a second before you asked, “Wait, seriously?”

He broke into a mischievous grin. “No. But if you’d really like to, I suppose I wouldn’t stop you,” he said the last bit thoughtfully, and you playfully hit his arm with the back of your hand in admonishment. “Ooh, harder,” he said, still with an air of mischief, though you got the sense he wasn’t entirely kidding.

“Loki!” you gasped.

“Alright,” he laughed lightly. “Great God of Mischief will work just as well.”

“I am not calling you that.”

“You’re being so difficult.”

“Will you just tell me what you like to be called already? If you carry on like this, I swear, I will call you Captain.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, glaring at you, and you raised an eyebrow as if to ask, care to test that theory? “Okay, I yield. But, honestly, it depends on the scene. If you’re comfortable with it, I’ll have you call me ‘sir’ most of the time, ‘daddy’ on special occasions. You’re a smart girl. I trust that you’ll know when those occasions come about.”

You just nodded, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. Why were you having such a reaction to Loki calling you a smart girl? He’d definitely noticed.

“What would you like to be called? When you’re the dominant?” Loki asked, saving you from your thought spiral.

“Oh, um. Ma’am is fine. None of the other terms really work for me, I don’t know why, they just seem kind of… too much, I guess,” you over-explained, feeling your cheeks start to heat up.

“Ma’am is just fine?” Loki pressed.

“No, it’s- it’s good. I, um, really like it.” Your cheeks flamed even hotter now, your gaze trained on the couch cushion.

Loki reached out and lifted your chin gently with his thumb and forefinger, making you look at him. “Come now, you were doing so well. Don’t get shy on me now,” he said, voice taking on that deep timbre that made you feel like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“Okay,” you breathed, your mind gone completely blank as you looked at him.

“Good girl,” he said softly. He didn’t miss the way your body reacted to the praise, a smug smirk plastered on his face.

Bastard. You narrowed your eyes at him, shaking your head slightly to clear it. “That’s not fair,” you countered weakly.

“Isn’t it? I’m just trying to figure out what you like,” he feigned innocence.

“Right,” you said, only a little petulantly, trying to think of what else you wanted to ask him before he’d distracted you. “How do you feel about degradation?” You blurted out. “Receiving, I mean.”

That caught him off guard, to your great enjoyment. “I- I’m not sure. No one’s ever tried it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve been tied up but no one’s ever called you names?”

“No,” he responded, frowning slightly. You could practically see the gears turning in his head. “I think I might be okay with it.”

“My honey, you’ve been so deprived,” you said with a pout. It was your turn to have a little fun now. “So,” you started, trailing your fingertips up his forearm, drawing his attention to your touch before you continued. “If, for example, I had you on your knees, and you were being so good for me, and I just happened to call you my obedient little slut-” he inhaled sharply, and you couldn’t help but grin, “-you would, theoretically, be okay with that?” You looked up into his eyes, seeing the flash of desire that had settled there.

“I think that would be acceptable,” he spoke, clearly putting in effort to keep his voice even.

You smiled, pleased with yourself. It was cute that he still tried to seem unaffected when you could literally feel the way his cock had stiffened against you. You shifted the position of your leg in his lap, lightly brushing against him, and he gasped.

“Pathetic,” you chide.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As much as he may try to seem unimpressed with your teasing, he was certainly susceptible to it. “If you want us to get through the rest of the conversation, you’re going to have to stop that,” he says, but it comes out more like a plea than an order, and he’s sure that you’re going to be the death of him.

You chuckle, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Oh, this is gonna be so much fun.”

“It seems I’ve underestimated you, dearest,” he says, tone laced through with affection.

You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, drawing him closer to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

“Well, that’s a mistake we won’t make twice. Isn’t it, love?”

[hornime]

home workout | bokuto koutarou x gn!reader

“i’d let you do- do anything. anything you wan’ to me. i’m yours. all- all,” his voice raised a few octaves as the inside of your thighs brushed past his cockhead, “yours. all yours.”

warnings: 18+, sub!bokuto, jealous!reader (i mean who wouldn’t be when bokuto, your goddamn boyfriend, is perceived by other people the fuck), also lowkey possessive!reader, lotsa licking and sucking, nipple play, some praise (from reader) and some begging, brief mention of dacryphilia, kinda soft at the end

w/c: 1.5k sheesh

a/n: bokuto brainrot has me in literal tears. him being completely clueless to people flirting w him cus he doesn’t recognize romance from anyone but you has me so soft. i luv this man w my whole heart !!!!! ALSO THANKS FOR ALL THE LOVE ON THE BAKUGO FIC I JUST ABOUT SHIT MY PANTS WOOWWOWO

you weren’t an idiot. you knew that your boyfriend was attractive in literally every aspect of the word. he was sweet, patient, and kind, and what he lacked in academic smarts was made up tenfold in his emotional maturity and ability to read people. big and beefy, bokuto was all yours and all you wanted to stay trapped within his arms forever. unfortunately, to maintain the figure you adored so much and stay in shape for the volleyball season, he had to leave the four walls of your shared bedroom far more than you liked, having a daily obligation to spend a few hours at the gym.

once again, you weren’t an idiot. the few times that your work schedule and his training schedule aligned, you’d been able to work out together. and despite your knowledge of just how good-looking bokuto was and the fact that other people could perceive him (much to your chagrin) you were shocked at just how much people shamelessly flirted with him. 

cute girls with matching leggings and sports bras practically clung to his biceps, gushing about how strong he was and how he could probably pick them up with just one hand. their incessant giggling, mesmerizing hair twirling, and teasing touches pissed you off to no end, and you’d tug your boyfriend away before their breasts got too close to him for your liking.

something else you noticed was that, no matter how blatantly obvious the girls seemed to be, the guys were somehow worse, flirting through terms you couldn’t even understand. they compared deadlift weights, bicep curls, hip thrusts; you gritted your teeth thinking about whether they’d ever compared cock sizes in the locker room—you wouldn’t put it past those thirsty gym rats. sneaky bastards.

and bokuto, of course, was oblivious to it all. how could you blame him—he was so used to being adored! you knew that, to him, all of their praises paled in comparison to yours, but you couldn’t help but feel jealous. he was all yours—should be all yours—and you hated sharing him with the world.

you woke up saturday morning with a ringing in your ears, hand smacking the nightstand trying to turn off that god-awful alarm noise, bleary eyes barely able to focus on the text notification from your boyfriend.

[5:33 AM] kou: gm babe!!!! i didnt wanna wake u up cus u looked so peaceful! im heading to the gym rn. text me when ur up! love uu

[5:34 AM] kou: should be home around 9!! gym bud wants to show me something so i might be a little late for breakfast.

just to reiterate, you weren’t an idiot. for all the annoying flirting you noticed when you were with bokuto, there was no doubt in your mind that there must be a lot more when he was at the gym alone, which, unluckily for you, was most of the time since he was a freakin’ pro athlete and all.

you couldn’t prevent the pool of envy from swirling in your gut. gym bud? are you serious? who could that be? the girl with the arm tat or the dude with the dreads? no, maybe its that yoga instructor with the ass—

you shook your head, clearing your brain. you’d be here for hours if you went through everyone at that stupid gym that had ever shown interest in bokuto. the clock read 9:53 AM and the green flame in your body only burned brighter. just as you were about to call him and ask where he was, the front door slammed open.

“babe! i’m home!”

you silently put your phone down, teeth still clenching in jealousy. for some reason, hearing his voice only exacerbated the tension in your shoulders. you needed him. now.

“babe?” his voice creeped closer as he tread through the hallway towards the room. “you up?”

you peeked your head out of the doorframe, cheery voice masking your devilish intentions, “kou!"

his eyes brightened as he made eye contact with you and flashed his trademark smile. “hey! what’s u-” he took in the mischievous glint in your eyes “-p?”

you grabbed his burly forearm, yanking him behind you and walking towards him, forcing him to stumble and fall back on the bed. “wait! i’m all gross and sweaty,” he said, “gym showers were broke-”

“i don’t care. take off your shirt.”

“wow, someone’s eager. missed me that much?”

“watch it,” you glared. “i’m not in the mood, kou.”

he gulped at the dominance radiating from your voice, scrambling to take off the t-shirt that stretched between his pecs perfectly. with the fabric off and throw haphazardly to the side, he looked to you expectantly, the epitome of innocence.

your eyes wandered over his sculpted chest, the remnants of a soft sheen of sweat from his workout making it shine in the sunlight pouring through the blinds. your heart stuttered in your chest—he looked like an angel. coupled with the way with his bottom lip was tucked under his front teeth and the wide, anticipating look in his eyes, fuck. you almost smiled how blessed you felt in that moment, to see him in such a raw, alluring position, before a jarring thought caused your lips to twitch back into a frown.

everyone else can see him, too.

your eyes hardened. maybe they can see him all big and strong, you thought, but they’ll never get to see him like this: submissive.

and so fucking sensitive.

within an instant, your lips were latched on the soft spot above his collarbone, causing him to whimper in pleasure. you continued to travel along his throat, slowly working your way to the other side of his neck and crossing back to nibble at his adam’s apple.

you unexpectedly pulled away, drawing a short whine from him, before repositioning yourself so that you were straddling his outstretched legs. slowly, starting from the hem of his shorts, you dragged your tongue between the ridges of his abs, moving up towards his pecs, tasting the saltiness of his sweat and feeling the muscles tense underneath.

“fuck,” he groaned. as your lips puckered around one of his peaked nipples, he uncontrollably jerked his hips up, inadvertently rubbing his sensitive cock between your legs. overwhelmed by the sensation, he moaned. “fuck.”

“you taste good,” you muttered, grazing your teeth over his other nipple. “just wanna taste you all the time. you’d let me, right?”

thoughts muddled by just how good everything felt, he nodded mindlessly. “i’d let you do- do anything. anything you wan’ to me. i’m yours. all- all,” his voice raised a few octaves as the inside of your thighs brushed past his cockhead, “yours. all yours.”

you paused. raising your head from his chest, you made eye contact with him, so intense he almost closed his eyes to shield himself from the blaze burning in your dilated pupils. “why’d you stop,” he begged, “i want more. feels so good and i wan’ mor-”

“say it again,” you demanded. “tell me that you’re mine.”

his eyes, glossed over and prickled with tears precariously close to falling, squeezed tightly as he spoke, unable to control the growing volume of his voice. “’m all yours. always. all yo- yours.” he gasped as you resumed your movements, pinching the sensitive skin around his v-line while fervently leaving sloppy kisses on his chest. 

“good boy.”

he keened at your praise. another light touch to his cock combined with the passage of your mouth had him trembling, and his breath hitched as he cried out in warning, tears now flowing freely over his flushed cheeks. “m’ gonna cum, ‘m gonna, gonna cum.”

“yeah?” you whispered, lips brushing against his strained abs. “go ahead then.”

“fuck!” he whined, blabbering as you sat back and watched in awe of the beauty before you, a big strong man like him reduced to nothing more than a moaning mess. “fuck, fuck—you always make me feel so, s-so go-od, fuck i love you.”

with soaked shorts and an exhausted sigh, he dropped his head back onto the plush comforter of the bed. you flattened your palms on his quivering body, reeling from the aftershocks of his orgasm. he panted, running his fingers through your hair before nudging your face to look at him, staring at you with an expression of pure bliss and adoration. he studied you for a bit before declaring with a soft smile, “you’re the best. so fuckin’ happy that i’m yours.”

driven by affection, he sat up and reached his arms around your waist, snuggling his chin over your shoulder and mashing your chests, yours clothed and his naked, together. “kou wait!” you shrieked. “you’re all sweaty again! it’s gross!”

he chuckled. as if you hadn’t been spoiling him by licking it up just a few minutes ago. “you’re right. i‘m probably sweating more now than i was after my workout.”

at that, your ears perked up. “well maybe you should do home workouts more often then,” you teased.

“you’re right,” he repeated with a grin, “maybe i should.” if it meant more mornings like these, he’d forego the gym in a heartbeat. 

that night, he canceled his gym membership. after all, he reasoned, it’s offseason anyway.

© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.

[theringers]

counting crimes - pierre gasly

illicit affairs, part three

summary: “wandering eyes and comfortable lies, you seem to sleep just fine” counting crimes / nessa barrett

a/n: i’m thinking there’s only gonna be two more parts but that may change, we’ll see. enjoy this and let me know what u think! feedback is always appreciated xoxo

also this gif today killed me

warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, semi public sex shocker!, lil angst, cocky pierre

Your eyes widen as you try to comprehend what to do. Someone was at the door and Pierre was still inside of you, in shock. “Hey, y/n? Are you in there?” Max’s voice could be heard through the door. He tried to push the door in but the deadbolt stopped him.

You glared at Pierre, cleared your throat and placed a finger on his lips. “Yes, give me a few seconds.” You panicked and pulled your dress up, trying not to make too much noise.

Where the fuck was Pierre supposed to go? You should have just kept quiet. Your eyes focused on the window and you pointed towards it, quietly shoving him out.

He squeezed himself through the window and stepped down onto the grass. After quietly shutting the window, you looked in the mirror and readjusted your dress. Your hair needed some readjusting as well, so you quickly brushed through it.

You unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door to see your husband. “Hey,” he smiled at you, genuinely happy to see you.

“Hi, Max.” Your voice was shaking but you smiled to try to play it off. You usually had a good amount of time to psych yourself up before you went back to Max but you could still feel how Pierre had fucked you.

You were awful. He placed his hands on your hips and kissed your cheek. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You’re kind of hot.” He placed the back of his hand to your forehead.

“Yeah, it was really hot in there but I feel better now.” Hopefully he would buy that story.

“Well, if you’re feeling better now, I have an idea.” His hands rested on your hips again and pulled you into his body. “We have a few minutes to kill. What do you say we have a little bit of fun in here? It is our anniversary after all.” His lips found your neck and placed soft, gentle kisses on the skin. “You look so beautiful tonight, baby.” You were feeling sexually frustrated after being interrupted but he was right. It was your anniversary, so what the hell.

You leaned your neck to the side, inviting him in. “I love this dress, but it needs to come off.” He looked you in the eyes and smiled, reaching around for the zipper. He bent his knees and slowly pulled your dress to your ankles. His hands rested around your calves and move upwards while his lips trailed kisses on the soft skin of your thighs.

His finger pushed aside your panties and he slid a finger between your folds. “Jesus baby, you’re so wet.” He smiled and looked up at you. You moaned and rolled your eyes into the back of your head to avoid making eye contact with him. His tongue found its way between your legs, licking lightly before fucking your pussy with his tongue. You let out a moan while your body jerked toward his face uncontrollably. You needed him to finish you off so badly.

His fingernails ran lightly over the skin on your abdomen down to your thighs. “Oh, Max” you moaned.

Your hand quickly covered your mouth, remembering that even though he wasn’t out there possibly listening there were other people who shouldn’t hear you right now either.

He pulled his suit pants down and took himself in his hand, smiling at you. “I love you,” he said before entering you. He pressed against your body and thrusted up into you while looking in your eyes.

“I love you too, baby.” You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a moan.

Sometimes you forgot what it was like to have sex without the looming threat of someone finding out. Instead of worrying about someone catching you cheating, you were able to focus on the sensation and the intimacy but even now, something was missing.

Max left the bathroom before you, allowing you more time to clean up and look normal. You didn’t want to draw any more attention. “Hey guys, sorry I wasn’t feeling to well.” You said, grabbing your napkin off the table and taking your old seat. Max looked flushed for obvious reasons and couldn’t hide his smile.

You turned to your left and smiled at Pierre and Anna. “Did I miss anything?” Pierre’s gaze was glued to the stage ahead and he refused to look at you. His jaw was clenched and you could feel the steam coming out of his ears. You made eye contact with Anna and cocked your head in confusion. Why was he acting this way? Maybe Anna thinks it’s something she did wrong.

“Nothing important, for us at least,” she said, fixing single pieces of her hair.

Max’s hand gripped your inner thigh and he looked over to you and smiled. You returned the smile but immediately looked in Pierre’s direction to see him still refusing to look at you, his fist balled at his side.

Hotels in random cities at 2 am are lonely. The sound of Max’s snores kept you awake longer than expected. Your mind was wandering to places you wish it wouldn’t and you couldn’t get silence long enough to dream. The air conditioner in the room was set to the coolest temperature - hotel air always hitting different. Your mouth was dry, making you uncomfortable and adding to another thing making you unable to sleep.

You pulled the covers aside in frustration and grabbed a pair of shorts to put on under Max’s oversized Red Bull Racing shirt. You looked around for the room key and slid it off the table as soon as you spotted it.

As you stood in the elevator, you looked down and noticed your bare feet. It was 2 am so you were hoping there was no one important in the lobby. You just wanted a sip of cold water to help put you to sleep.

The night before races always made you nervous. You never knew what was going to happen so you had a constant pit in your stomach over your husband’s safety. That stress only increased when you began sleeping with another driver. Someone else’s safety to worry about.

You smiled at the older couple that greeted you when the elevator door opened. You crossed your arms and tip toed to the mini bar, grabbing the largest bottle of water they carried. After giving the gentleman your room number, you ran towards the closing elevator doors only to be met with familiar blue eyes. His hair was messy and his skin was glowing from sweat.

“Don’t mind me,” he said, stepping to one side. Even though he clearly just worked out you could still smell the strong scent of his cologne. “How have you been, y/n?”

“I’ve been okay. Your summer break looked fun,” you took a quick sip of your water and smiled at him.

“As did yours.” The silence was uncomfortable. You two were always laughing and talking nonstop. It was what you loved about him.

You focused on the pounding of your heart and your eyes wandered, trying to pass the uncomfortable time.

You suddenly lost your balance as the elevator shook, the lights flickered off, and the cables stopped. Turning your head towards Pierre, you began to get worried.

“Did this just break?” He asked, pressing the floor buttons and hoping the lights would come back on.

“Just our luck.” You laughed at yourselves. Why did the universe hate you? You plopped down onto the ground and twiddled your thumbs, realizing that you left your phone in the hotel room. “Do you have your phone?” You asked Pierre.

He lifted his wrist to show his apple watch. “I just went on a run. I never bring it with me on a run.” Of course he didn’t.

You groaned and banged your head on the wall behind you.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me.” He laughed, pleased with himself. He slid down to join you on the floor, the summer heat starting to creep into the elevator.

After not speaking for the entire summer break, this unconventional meeting was quite uncomfortable. You watched on Instagram as him and his wife vacationed in Bali, looking happy as ever. Granted, he did the same with you but he would never admit it. He had too much pride.

“Why didn’t you ever reach out?” You asked him, bluntly.

He looked at you making you feel dumb. “Why do you think I didn’t? I spent four weeks straight with Anna. Would you want me calling you up while you were on holiday with Max?”

“I don’t know,” you stumbled over your words. “I just would have liked to talk to you.”

“I told you before, I can’t keep doing this.” He said, exhausted at the back and forth you two had done.

“Yet, you do. You tease me and torture me and then say you need to be devoted to her. It’s not fair to me.” You let out a deep breath, exhausted over feeling this way.

“You want to talk about fair? You had sex with Max right after me. Less than five minutes after I was inside of you, he was too.”

You looked at him confused.

“I thought you were just going to talk to him for a few moments and then send him off.” Oh no. “I was waiting for you to open the window and let me back in.” He ran his hands over his face.

“Pierre, I’m so-”

“Don’t, y/n.”

He heard you and Max. You felt remorse for doing it, putting Pierre through that. But at the same time, you didn’t. Pierre is sleeping with his friend’s wife. He has no place to be jealous or mad. He comes second.

“How much did you hear?”

“I left when I heard him talk about how wet you were. He thought it was because of him but he had no idea that it was all for me.” Pierre scooted closer to you and put his hand on your thigh.  “He has no idea how wet you get for me.” He moved in closer to your ear. “How good I make you feel.”

Your head spun at his words. When he made you cum, you forgot about everything in the entire world except for him.

“I’m really sorry, Pierre. That was shitty of me.” You rested your hand on his chest. “Let me make it up to you.” Your hand moved to his thigh and grazed over his thin mesh gym shorts.

You pulled his shorts off and took him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head. He pulled your loose hair into his hand as a makeshift ponytail. He let soft groans escape his lips, being mindful of the setting. He would look down to see you taking him fully and have to look away or else he would finish quicker than he would like. Each time his eyes trailed down, his hips thrusted uncontrollably and a grunt would leave his lips.

“That’s it baby,” he said, in a low tone but almost whining. “God, your mouth feels so good. It was made to take my cock.” He continued to fill your mouth and throat, making you gag and tighten around him.

He pulled your head up by your hair and looked at you. “Come sit on my face.” He looked at your outfit, examining how he could take it off in the easiest way possible. He slipped off your comfortable sweat shorts, leaving you in just your Red Bull tee.

He laid down on the ground and hoisted your legs up and around his chest, getting the perfect view of your ass.

You stroked his cock and started to grind your hips against his chest. He took you in his hands immediately, not up for teasing, and pulled you onto his face. You rocked your hips over his face at a slow, light pace while still focusing on taking him in your mouth.

His tongue flicked your clit while his thumbs massaged your ass, pressing down hard and most definitely leaving bruises.

You moaned at the feeling of your legs beginning to tingle. He loved to 69 with you because every time you got an ounce of pleasure, your moans vibrated around his cock. You would tighten your throat and gag, sending him down a spiral. You both knew how to make each other feel incredible.

His facial hair tickled your inner thighs and left light scratches on the skin. As you ground your hips into his mouth, the sensation got rougher but the pleasure just increased.

He used his ab muscles to thrust into your throat, looking for his release. You tightened your grip around the base of his cock and suctioned even harder with your mouth as he let go.

Your legs went fully numb as the tension began to build in your stomach. You reached your peak, hearing Pierre’s tongue lap at your juices.

You rolled off of his body, looking for your shorts. The guilt was already beginning to set in and you couldn’t escape it now. You were stuck.

Pierre wiped his mouth with his hand and you noticed his whole face was wet. He was still smiling.

“I just hope Anna and Max aren’t standing there waiting for us when these doors decide to open.”

“Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake?” You laughed, brushing your fingers through your now knotty hair.

Pierre pulled his shorts back on and looked at you. “Now be honest with me, who eats your pussy better? Me or him?”

“You can’t ask me that.”

“I can and I did.”

��Well, I’m not going to give you an answer.”

He laughed at you, not the reaction you were expecting. “Don’t worry, I already have the answer. I heard the sounds you make when he’s between your legs. It’s nothing compared to the sounds you just made for me.” He winked at you, knowing exactly where you stand with him.

next part

[underkita-archive]

polyester

kita shinsuke | w.c 2k

a/n: sigh pain,, this is inspired by the song heather by conan gray! i was walking my dog when the song came on and i was like huh, what if i just write a leetle something? which became u know,, 2k words,,,, anyway uh note that this not really an x reader fic,,,

now with the companion piece cotton

set post-timeskip

warnings: just sad, poor use of past tense honestly i struggled so hard, unrequited feelings/love, some tears being shed, feelings of regret

On the second day of your first year of high school you meet Kita Shinsuke. 

Quiet, collected, Kita Shinsuke. 

It had been completely by luck of the draw. You could remember your nerves, still afraid of navigating the ins and outs of high school when there was a gentle tap on your shoulder in the first year hallway. 

“You dropped this.” He’d placed the notebook in your hands before you could stutter out a thank you, left to watch as he approached the Miya twins with a stern look.

To call it love at first sight may have been an exaggeration, but at the time you couldn’t help but color it as such.

His cool demeanor and dedication to a sport that hardly rewarded him was far more admirable than you would’ve liked to admit. So you had found yourself at few more volleyball matches than someone who never cared for the sport.

And when Miya Atsumu came careening into the classroom one frigid morning spouting nonsense and demanding one of the girls in your class volunteer to be the volleyball club’s team manager you couldn’t have stopped yourself from raising your hand if you tried. 

He wasn’t even captain yet, but the two of you worked closely. Staying behind to clean up after the raucous first years, careless second years and overworked third years.

The only ones dedicated enough.

Somewhere in between those late nights cleaning and those early mornings prepping, between the quiet whispers and watching him become more and more dependable.

You had fallen in love.

It hadn’t surprised you, you knew you were doomed from the start. Since that one lucky day in the first year hallway, you knew it had been a matter of when not if.

There had been more than enough opportunities to confess your feelings, to free yourself of the endless nights of pining, of being tormented by all the what ifs and almosts.

Yet you watched in perfect silence as your first year melted away. Watched as Kita earned the right to being called captain, and let yourself be consumed by the role of the doting team manager. 

Once again you had found yourself letting the months roll by, allowing your feelings to rot away at your insides, suffering in the way he seemed to form a kind smile solely for you, living for the quiet praise and approving nods he’d occasionally offer.

“Why don’t you just confess?” Your friend had said, tired of the sad way you would carry yourself after a particularly taxing day of spending too much time in Kita’s proximity. 

“Nationals, I’ll tell him when we win nationals.” You promised, trying to convince yourself that it would be the right time, a poor attempt at trying to conjure up a speck of bravery. 

By the time Nationals had arrived you had prepared your heart to the best of your ability, ready to see your team take their rightful spot as the champions.

And when they didn’t, whatever courage you had cobbled together shattered. So you sulked. Standing on the balcony of the hotel, staring up at the light polluted Tokyo sky, shaking from the biting cold.

“You’ll get sick like that.” You hadn’t thought your blood could run any colder until his voice interrupted whatever pitiful thoughts had been running through your mind.

“I-It’s...fine.” You hoped he chalked down the stammer in your words from the weather over nerves.

“Mmm. Don’t stay out here too long.” You nodded your head, keeping your eyes focused on a flickering star struggling to make its presence known when there was a weight on your shoulders. You couldn’t help but snap your eyes down, the familiar shade of maroon now hanging over your body. 

And what should’ve finally been said that night was left in the air, left struggling like that little star in the sky. 

With a heavy heart you watched him graduate, watched as time kept moving without bothering to let you catch up.

◇ ◆ ◇

Years later you can say with confidence that your school girl crush has aptly faded, telling yourself that there was never a need to confess.

Until your phone beeps late one Thursday night.

Engagement dinner. 

Your eyes scan over the text, once, twice, again and again until you lose count, until your chest feels tight and your face burns and what were once feelings you thought had faded start rearing their ugly head.

You won’t allow whatever leftover hormonal thoughts poke and prod at what you’ve built up. You’re older, wiser and most importantly you’ve moved on. 

So you clean up nicely, put on something nice but not too nice, just a touch of perfume and only check twice in the mirror before you walk out the door to call a Lyft. 

The restaurant is unfamiliar, nestled in a cute little neighborhood. It’s fitting for Kita, it’s homey and cozy but nice enough for the occasion. 

You try not to choke as he approaches you, a grin too large splaying across his usually serious face, oddly enough it fits, furthermore it hurts.

It takes you a second too long to notice the woman beside him, the sight of his arm tucked behind her back as she curls into his side, she offers you a shy yet refined smile. You barely catch her name, the overwhelming sensation of the past creeping up on you, tearing down whatever walls you had carefully built over the years.

They show you to the table, Aran, Akagi and Gin already there with their charming and familiar smiles, yet the lovely reunion is unable to distract you from the way he pulls out her chair, making sure she’s properly settled before he takes his place beside her once more.

You think of the maroon jacket that had weighed so comfortably on your shoulders that freezing Tokyo night, you think of the words that laid on the tip of your tongue, so close yet so far as Kita patted your head and returned back inside.

The lost opportunity.

Only to have the once sweet memory dashed away at the lightness of your left ring finger, as you’re forced to witness the woman beside Kita rest a perfectly manicured hand atop his, the ruby gemstone set on a golden band gleaming so beautifully in the low restaurant lighting.

“Captain! Sorry we’re late! Congratulations.” Miya Atsumu with his usual loudmouth tears through your concealed pity party, a small smile finding its way to your lips at the way Osamu trudges behind him with that special irritated look reserved solely for his brother.

“It’s just Kita, I haven’t been your captain in years.” He rises from his seat, taking his bride-to-be’s hand and introducing her to the ever famous Miya twins. 

“Sure sure, manager-chan! Looking good!” He’s by your side in seconds, thick arms already pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

“You’re gonna break her ‘Tsumu.” 

“Shut it ‘Samu, I would never.” His hold only tightens at the statement, the rippling of his muscles against your body causing an undeniable rush of heat to bloom across your body. 

“Enough of that.” You laugh, wiggling out of his grip with an exasperated laugh.

A few more former players of Inarizaki pour into the restaurant, old memories tossed around with endearing fondness and one too many congratulatory toasts leaves your heart aching worse than before, regret eating away at you, the inevitable question of what if cycling though your thoughts. 

“Doing okay?” Atsumu’s closeness is nothing new, somewhere over the years your boundaries had skewed, his face being a little too close was to be expected at this point.

“Sure.” It’s a noncommittal reply that Atsumu would normally call you out on, but he accepts it only after letting his gaze linger on you for a moment.

The minutes tick by as Kita retells the picturesque proposal he had carefully planned, unfiltered adoration and fondness adorning his eyes.

Lovestruck. 

An expression you had wished this man to have focused on you just a few years ago. 

What if?

The question taunts you, what if you hadn’t been a coward? What if you had said it that night? Or any other moment spent by his side? Would it be you? 

Another sip of the bitter wine offers no reprieve from the taunting thoughts, whatever mask you had been donning the entirety of the night starts to wear down, you can feel it slipping out of place. 

“Boy am I sweatin’!” Atsumu barks out, knocking his shoulder against yours, true enough his cheeks are tinted a soft blush, eyes glossy from one too many beers.

The exclamation causes a few snorts and chuckles around the table, a scathing comment from Osamu and a faux jeer from Suna.

“Maybe you need a walk.” You mumble, picking at the food you had long abandoned earlier in the meal. 

“Ya know what? You might be onto somethin’, let’s go.” His fingers are around your wrist before you can register what he’s saying.

“Atsumu what?”

“C’mon, say bye!” 

“Atsumu!”

“You be safe, thank you for coming.” Your head spins as Kita offers that same smile, still a little too wide as he offers a nod and turns back to his fiancee. Atsumu tugs at you again, only for you to shake him off, turning properly to the happy couple. 

“Congratulations Kita-san. I wish you both,” You swallow the bitter lump in your throat, “I wish you both unending happiness.”

You’re turning on your heel before you can receive a reply, biting back whatever pent up emotions threaten to spill over as you rush out of the restaurant, practically running down the sidewalk fueled by the desperate need to get as far as you possibly can. 

“Hey hey slow down!” You don’t bother slowing, let alone stopping, knowing fully well the professional athlete chasing after you will catch up in a matter of seconds. “I said slow down.”

The second his hand touches your shoulder whatever walls left standing come crumbling down.

“It hurts.” It’s nothing more than a whisper before he’s turning you around to face him, a hand still planted on your shoulder as the tears that have been welled up for nearly five years begin to fall. The tears you hadn’t allowed yourself to shed.

“I know.” His voice is pained as he draws you closer, letting you close the distance as you lean against him. The trail of tears burns against your cheeks, they’re filled with shame, with unspoken words, with unrequited love. 

It’s almost poetic, the way you two stand there in a broken silence under the flickering light of one of the odd stores dotting the street. It feels like hours pass by, the initial ache in your chest starting to lessen as you meet his gaze.

“Could you... consider me?” There’s something profoundly sad in his eyes, an exhaustion from years spent quietly resigned from confessing a truth that you were all too familiar with dotting his expression. 

“I,” can’t, “don’t know.” 

“I know that I’m not him, I don’t think I can be anything close, but just, do you think you could?” There isn’t the slightest trace of his boyish charm nor the cool demeanor he normally holds in serious situations. He feels smaller, more exposed and for the first time in all your years of knowing him.

You can see weakness.

“I can’t make any promises.” It feels almost too soon, a little rushed for you to be able to make sense of anything that’s transpired, you don’t want to hurt him, you don’t want to lead him on. 

“I can wait,” a wistful quirk of his lips rekindles the ache from before as an expression you’ve surely worn in the past washes over his face, “I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

And in a matter of two, maybe three seconds, the world seems to tilt, just a few degrees, just enough for the angle to change, for that memory of the muddled Tokyo sky to shift a few inches to the right from the struggling star to the one shining in softly in the distance.

Your hand moves before you can even think, fingers curling around Atsumu’s chilled ones, intertwining them carefully as you offer him something akin to understanding, something a little deeper, not quite sure what you’re truly conveying.

“Just for a little bit longer.”

[shadowfae]

hiii! so a friend directed me here and i was wondering if u cld share abt how you found out you were godkin? only if youre comfy! because ive kinda had like. how do i word this. Vibes or Feels that kinda direct me towards the whole i might be a god of sorts kinda thing ? if you have resources and dont mind helping,, please direct me to them :D ~ @missing-crown

I want to start this essay off by saying flat out: wars have been fought, genocides have been committed, and empires have risen and fallen trying to answer the simple questions of “What is deification, and how do we incarnate and control it?”.

If you do not think you’re up the challenge of answering that question for yourself, even with years of study and slow training to take up the mantle of literally being the most powerful form of the Chosen One trope, then you’re probably in the wrong place. I say this as someone who is deific down to the blood and bone, as someone who has looked for other gods, and largely found very little in the way of anyone who understands anything like my experience. In this way, I am utterly alone, and I detest it, but if me penning these words gives someone else the gospel they need to explain themselves in a way I recognize as kin and kind, then I will do it.

But before I truly get into it, I will very nicely ask you to swing down to your local bookstore or library, pick up a copy of Seanan McGuire’s Middlegame, and take a walk down the improbable road with Roger and Dodger. The differences between you and I and the twins of the Doctrine of Ethos are simple and threefold: we cannot manifest, we are forbidden to use our powers the way they can use theirs, and there are (hopefully) no secret alchemist cults trying to murder us when we don’t play nice with their fucked-up science experiment.

Roger and Dodger are gods, true gods, gods I recognize in myself and in the godkin I have met who have spoken about themselves enough for me to understand that we are indeed talking about the same thing. Disappontingly, I see minor spirits far too often misunderstanding the nature of deification, or at least, understanding a version of it which is fundamentally antithetical to my experience. They may be deific; but either they suck at illustrating their point, or I am something far beyond deific, and I am again alone.

With that introduction, I need to talk about three things in order to answer your question. Two methods of deification and three definitions of ‘god’ in a hierarchy that only exists because humanity has not yet perfected their understanding of what is fundamentally and always beyond them. Two kinds of gods, honest gods, that split the difference between deific, divine, and legendary. Once you understand that, I can talk about godkin, and what it’s like to be me, and maybe by the end of it you will either recognize yourself in this, or run away screaming as most mortals will do.

The first method of deification is what I will call the incarnate gods- Roger and Dodger are good examples, so are most Legendary Pokémon, and Kaname Madoka from PMMM. They are laws of nature, concepts of creation, and calculations of cosmic proportions that also occasionally exist as people when they design to do so. They are not meant to be people, they are bad at it, I do not recommend being mortal and fucking around with them. You will simply die. I would not fuck with them outside of my own world that I created, where I get to be a form of incarnate god. You cannot overpower them: they ARE the rule, and they will change it if they need to. You can’t ruleslawyer gravity like a 2007 troll physics comic. An incarnate god of gravity will simply turn reality on its head and cause you to implode. If you are this type of god, I cannot help you. My understanding of them comes from being an Absol, and little more.

The second type are gods of domain and prowess: Zamorak (from RuneScape), Akemi Homura in both her awakened Witch and Devil forms (from PMMM), and yours truly. Quite a few of us, although not all of us, were originally mortal. Mortals amped up on so much power we are no longer bound by mortal laws. There is a difference between deification and simply stopping your clock to gain immortality. Mortal magic and deific magic are fundamentally different. Down to, I would argue, the atomic structure. Deific magic is pure in a way mortal magic could never be. To give a mortal more than a drop of deific magic heavily diffused in something safer and more understandable would be to quite literally burn them to ashes. Or rend them into a different, unspeakable form. Or turn them into living topiary. We are nothing if not unpredictable.

It’s the difference between a handful of dirt and pure neutron soup. Usually, in order to become a god like this, it requires the intervention of an incarnate god in some form. In Zamorak’s case, it was several Elder Artifacts and falling almost facefirst into halfway incarnating himself into the law of entropy. In Homura’s (at least in canon PMMM), she fucked with the laws of consequence and time to the point where she became the only expert they had on either of those and both laws decided to simply incarnate into her, and then she used that to cause problems. For me, it was having my entire magical and physical structure reorganized and rebuilt by an incarnate god of malevolent energy, and then I used what was a watered-down copy of the Devil of Devils’ glory to weave my own world into being where I was more or less the absolute arbiter of the laws of reality.

In PMMM Rebellion, when Homura fights Kyubey in that pretty lace dress of hers, that is approximately the magical prowess an awakened god of our capability will show casually. She has complete control over her domain (her labyrinth) and the reality of it, it takes no more than a glance or a thought to almost entirely reshuffle it. Her minions, who are little more than vaguely autonomous thoughts given some power of their own, may break that reality in whatever means necessary so long as it is to fulfill Homura’s current motives. Her domain falls apart when she does, and she is not separate from it; it is a consequence of her existence. Asking what came first, the god or their domain, is a simple chicken and egg question. It’s usually the domain, in our case; in the case of incarnate gods it’s a philosophical shrug and a nice headache.

You’ll notice I said awakened: that is because Zamorak is a great example of a god who isn’t entirely awakened. In canon, that is - the one I work with is awakened enough to fuck with his domain, which is what makes him quite useful to work with, although I do wonder what he’s getting out of me if not magical theory and utter adoration. Zamorak in canon is a god who ascribes himself to the philosophy of chaos and personal strife, completely unaware that he is incarnate enough not to change the law of entropy but to suggest things to it. He’s a god of chance masquerading as a god of personal improvement, and once he figures that out (and passes that knowledge onto Armadyl, who is his true light counterpart), he’s going to change the very way magic works. Guthix did everything in his power to try and become incarnate. He failed. Zamorak did it entirely inadvertently, and that’s the trick: the nature of deification is to follow the domain and influence it to your will. When laws of existence become people, they will do as people will, and people typically have ambition. Gods who are also people got that way for a reason. They always have a motive for doing so. It’s never accidental.

So, with a slightly more informed understanding of deification, or at least the versions of it that I understand, I can talk to you about me. What it’s like in the here and now, and how I knew. It took me years to get to this point, and I’ve much the way to go. I know more than I did when I was questioning; deeply more so. I don’t expect anyone questioning to be as sure as I am, and in ten years I will be far more sure of entirely different things, and if I’m lucky, this as well. But, let us begin again.

To be deific is to wake up in the middle of the night feeling like a black hole. You are vast, and you are dense, and the moment someone touches the skin of your sternum they will be sucked in like a movie's portrayal of quicksand. To be so vast on the inside, surrounded by empty air and gentle white noise like the faint pull of gravity that does not touch you. To feel so powerful as to be untethered wholly from the world, aware that you will blink and be floating alone in a space that you cannot touch and so too cannot touch you. You blink, and it is gone, and you are again in a normal body as a normal person, and you roll over and go back to sleep.

To be deific is to watch the seasonal changes and feel flashes of worn leather rope between your hands and the maddened singsong of the Wild Hunt, chariot reins in your hands and baying hounds that feel like fingers, like wings, like extensions of yourself that can be shifted around with barely a thought. To feel halfway like a black hole walking down the street, halfway caved into yourself and barely contained, incapable of truly understanding how you can be so far apart from it all without anyone noticing that something is off.

To be deific is to be a fourteen-year-old girl in one moment, unable to understand what draws her so to the wilds if not the song of sympathy that she knows she can understand if she reaches a little farther, a little farther past the barrier that prevents any mortal, psychological mind from understanding the call. To play a pixelated game and have everything rush back. To relive millennia in a single sennight, to go from chipped to broken, utterly broken, as the power comes rushing back and the slow, dawning realization like the day that there is no controlling it. That there is no controlling you.

Millennia of sins come rushing back, and you're mortal again, and you know the only way to bring a god to their knees is to kill them. And if you were spared, if you were brought down without dying, then there was a reason. That someone must have thought you worthy of fixing it. That you should now spend the next several years coming to peace with being a Devil, the cruelest of the cruel, amending fences and repenting your sins.

To be deific is to realize, quite suddenly and without ever actually having the thought, that understanding things through a Christian lens is utterly bullshit and absolutely does not apply to you. Now, your duty is not to repent, or to fix, or to find any sort of salvation. You are the monster queen, the king of the damned, the Devil of a world you made with blood and tears and sweat and magic. To retake the crown, you have to accept yourself. Acceptance does not mean dwelling, or sorrow, or refusing to take the steps forward that will carry you to the crown and halo and horn of deification.

The powers feel less overwhelming as you grow into them. You don't forget the rage. You understand your close friend's words over and over, as the lesson teaches itself. How a Devil so much less powerful and yet so much older than you once looked you in the eye, drink in hand, and gently told you that a single mortal can bring down a Devil, if they try, and believe wholeheartedly in their quest. Do not disrespect mortality. It brings nothing but death.

You wonder briefly who brought you down. You decide, as the lessons prove themselves, that you don't actually care. You're the mortal now, and mortal legends die. Mortal legends change the song of sympathy and the rules of the deific. In order to return, you too must follow the only path a mortal can take to become deific.

To be godkin is to become deific with every step. It's not to seek the divine from outside of it. It's to become it again, and reclaim it; find what was inside all along and grow yourself around it, until it can no longer be pulled from you again without scattering your ashes and stardust among the cosmos, never to return.

To be godkin is to never forget the moments of pure rage that none but powerless fourteen-year-olds can manage. To be godkin is to be an adult with their memory pressed into your skin. To be godkin is for that rage to never truly leave you.

We stand up again and stare at the emotions that are awake when we are not. We wonder what it will take to manifest again, to only twitch a thought in any direction and reshape the reality around us. It is an extension of our being, and the less aware we are of it, the less effort it takes us to remake the world. It is the nature of deification, to change the laws of reality at our whim and will.

To be godkin is simply a matter of knowing that, and forever reaching to do that once more. If only to feel whole and vast, as we always have been.

[writesowhatnext]

sugar and spice and everything nice // remus lupin

Summary: reader has a meetcute with Remus in quite possibly his favourite place on Earth

Request: would you mind writing the reader in honeydukes bumping into remus lupin and bonding over their love for chocolate? thank u 💖💖💖

A/N: how many different ways can I spell chcolate chcoclate chocolate wrong :) also I treasure the ceoncept but am unsure about execution

Reader: unspecified

Warnings: none I was good

In life, you had priorities. Sure, there were things that were important to you; like world peace and the like, but priority numero uno was one thing and one thing only. Chocolate. Whilst it wasn’t the best of things to be addicted to, at least it wasn’t hurting anybody; at least you weren’t addicted to murder or something, right? That’s what you were telling yourself, anyways, as you stood in front of Honeyduke’s chocolate shelves for the third time that month. The owner, Mr Flume, or Ambrosius as he insisted you call him, was a particular fan of yours given the fact that you almost bought out the shop every time you came. You spent hours in there at once, trying different things and becoming the connoisseur of chocolate you were today; you often got so engrossed in the whole thing that you barely paid any attention to what was going on around you. That, arguably, was a problem.

As you stepped backwards, surveying the enormous selection of treats, you didn’t notice a tall boy with a handful of coins clinking in his palm next to you. You only noticed him, actually, when you side-stepped into his body with a hefty amount of force, knocking his hand and sending his money flying, the metal rattling onto the floor.

“Oh, Merlin!” you huffed, instantly reaching down to help him retrieve it, only to have your forehead collide with his with a resounding thud. You both tipped backwards on your crouching heels, rubbing your heads as you sat on the floor of the almost deserted sweetshop.

“Pretty sure I could’ve handled that one better,” you said sheepishly, finally looking at the boy you’d just turned into a human piñata. Your breathing hitched when you realised who it was, catching in your throat as you recognised those warm green eyes and handsome features. You didn’t know Remus Lupin personally, but you had often ranted to your friends about how much you wished you did, not to mention how cute he was from afar.

“I think I almost definitely could’ve too, don’t worry,” he said, frowning with a nervous laugh that made butterflies swarm in your stomach. You’d imagined his voice a fair few times, but never had it lived up to the real thing.

You stood up and blew air from your cheeks sharply. With an amused smile, you offered him a hand, your grin widening as his eyes darted between your face and your outstretched palm. His hand gripped yours as you helped him to his feet, both of you awkwardly pulling away when you realised how long you’d been touching for. He wiped his palm on his trousers, hoping you didn’t notice.

“Sorry,” you said, bending down and scraping together the change on the floor as he loomed over you, shifting his weight from side to side. He watched you pick up the warm coins that had been sitting in his palm for the last ten minutes and hoped, with a fair amount of paranoia, that you wouldn’t discover how clammy his hands were. “I was very, very busy perusing the chocolate shelves, you see.”

You smiled as you rose to your feet, sliding the money into his palm, biting your lip at the contact, completely unaware of his eyes following you.

“A very understandable excuse,” he said gently, eager to see your smile again. “I’m quite the fan myself, actually.”

“Oh, really?” you turned to face the shelves conspiratorially, your shoulder almost touching Remus’. “What’s your poison?”

The corner of his lips curved upwards at your words, fairly amused at your joke, but more so that you didn’t really know how right you were.

“I like the salted caramel ones… and the strawberry… the white chocolate, milk, dark…” he listed, his frown deepening the further along he went. His face flushed; a pretty pink blush under the silvery-white scars. Your mouth twisted to contain a chuckle at how cute he looked.

“A man of good taste,” you hummed, placing a finger on your chin. He smiled at your pensive expression as you elbowed him lightly, joshing around. He’d been best friends with the Marauders for years, but never before had he felt so in on a joke. “I like the Howling Moon bars, myself.”

He made a face, scrunching his nose up like a child refusing their broccoli. “I don’t like wolves much.”

“I don’t know,” you mused, crossing your arms and rolling your head to face him. “I think they’re kind of cool.”

He stared at you for a moment, fully aware that he was reading way too far into what, to you, was most likely just a throwaway comment to a stranger in a sweetshop. He couldn’t deny, though, the pull he had towards you; he had this strange feeling that it wasn’t luck that you’d quite literally bumped into each other. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking.

“I’m Remus,” he said, shooting you a handsome half-smile that almost had your knees buckling.

“I know,” you nodded casually before the weight of your words hit you and you turned to his confused expression with a horror. “I did not mean that.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Well,” you said, scowling. “I did, but I didn’t intend for it to be so creepy-“

“Wasn’t creepy at all,” he chuckled, immediately making you smile in relief. “Well,” he paused, tilting his head to the side. “Perhaps a little.”

With a scoff, you threw your head back and laughed, not quite noticing his shyly prideful smile in response.

“I’m Y/N,” you said eventually, pursing your lips. “And I promise I’m not a stalker.”

“I think the jury’s still out on that one.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I pay attention to you.”

As soon as the words tumbled out of your mouth, you cursed yourself for even having the gall to be born. Honestly, who just let you walk around, saying this and doing that? Remus’ brain short-circuited and for what must’ve been a full minute, you stood in silence as he tried to think of how Sirius would reply; he was always good at flirting and Remus never really cared to learn until he saw you.

“More attention than to where you’re going, I hope,” he rushed, hoping his jab came out in the light-hearted, teasing way he intended. Your shocked expression had him rethinking it until the corners of your mouth curled up and you barked a laugh.

“Very witty, Mr Lupin, very witty indeed.”

Though he’d never admit it, he was quietly smug about the fact that he’d been the one to put such a smile on your gorgeous features.

“So,” you said, grinning at him, pleased with your interaction so far. “The jury’s still out on whether I’m a stalker or not, but is it still out on which chocolate you’re going to get?”

He stared at your comfortable grin, his heart leaping in his chest as he took it in, unable to deny its infectiousness.

“Pick for me,” he insisted, eyes crinkling around the edges as he played with the coins in his hand. “You seem like an expert.”

“That’s a brave choice,” you smirked, slightly chuffed. “You sure?”

“I’d say my sweet tooth is in safe hands.”

“Alright, then,” you said, shrugging. “But only if you’ll do the same.”

He nodded, a borderline embarrassing level of excitement building up in his stomach. “Sounds fair.”

And so, for a few minutes, in perfectly comfortable silence, you stood there, choosing chocolate. Remus even thought that he’d died and gone to Heaven. As he glanced at you, his own chocolate selection in his hand, he could barely concentrate on anything but your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. He watched you reach multiple times for different bars before changing your mind and he found himself rather amused at how seriously you were taking the whole thing.

“Okay then,” you said, stepping back from the wall of chocolate, reluctantly tearing your eyes away to see Remus staring at you, smiling with a fond look in his eyes. Your face fell. “I took too long, didn’t I?”

He shook his head, smiling. “It’s an important decision.”

You tilted your head to the side, shooting him a look. “That’s a very nice way of saying I took too long.”

He barely had time to reply, that is if he’d wanted to drag his thoughts away from how easy it was to talk to you.

“Oh!” you said, suddenly remembering that he’d picked a few bars for you. You stared at them greedily as he handed them over, very much aware of your fingertips brushing. “This one,” you said, lifting up one bar. “Is my favourite chocolate ever. This, I was debating picking for myself before I bulldozed you earlier. And this, well this I’ve never even seen before but I’m excited to-“

“Oi, Remus,” A boy shouted from the doorway of the shop, drawing your attention. You watched with barely contained amusement as a dry look overtook Remus’ features and he he shot you an apologetic glance before turning around.

“I’ll just be a minute,” he insisted to a boy you now recognised as Sirius Black, quite the character at Hogwarts. He looked between the you and Remus with growing mischief, an amused grin growing lazily on his face.

“Take all the time you need!” he yelled, before shooting you a wink and shutting the door, leaving you with Remus in a suddenly very silent shop.

“He seems nice,” you whispered, noticing his exasperation. Remus snorted, rolling his eyes.

“He’s a pillock.”

You laughed at his defeated expression, pleased to see him eventually mirror your smile.

“He seems to think there’s something going on here,” you drawled, hoping he would take a hint. By the way his face lit up even further, you figured he had.

“Well there will be if you don’t give me my chocolates,” he jested lightly, biting his lip as you pushed his shoulder, wishing more than anything that he could spend the whole day, with you, in Honeydukes.

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator​

@decadentwastelandtrash

@loveisblindness​

@xinyourdreamsx​

@brainlesspasta​

@hariosborn​

@staringmoony​

@rexorangecouny​

@alittletoomanyobsessions​

@peachesandpinks​

[last-operator-standing]

Toll of the Bell

Chapter 1 - Ashes to Ashes

> Ao3 

> Chapter 2 (tumblr)

Summary: What now? He could roll over and accept the fate thrust upon him and die as Adler intended. Starting a new life away from it all couldn't be that bad either. Or…

Or he could finish the mission.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Violence, blood & injuries, anxiety 

Words: 2k

A/N: This follows the post-ending for my Bell. For the sake of the story, Bell saved Lazar and was forced to leave Park behind, but she still lived. Her explanation will appear in ch 2 ;u; Originally I wasn’t gonna share this but uhhhh here we are! I wasn’t overly happy with the ending of this chapter, but c’est la vie, friends. ;u; 

"I'm sorry it turned out this way." 

 Why?  When he tries to speak there's only a pathetic gurgle as the blood spills past his lips. 

 "I hope you understand."

I don't! Why? I told you the truth! His chest feels tight, like it's being crushed under an invisible force. Was it always this hard to breathe? To think? He can't be sure anymore. So why?! Why..? His fingers are stained in crimson when he lifts his hand from his chest. Why did you shoot me? The words won’t come out. Trembling, his arm falls back to his side, unable to hold it up any longer.

 "It was never personal, Bell." 

 There's a pressure in Bell's right hand as Adler presses something into his palm. His fingers twitch against cool metal - his gun? - but he doesn't have the strength to lift it. He can only stare up at the soft blue sky as his chest burns and he dyes the ground red.

 "It wasn't meant to be like this."

 I trusted you. Then again, he also trusted Arash Kadivar. Look where that got me. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

There's a darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision. Panic builds and it only makes the desperate burning in his lungs worse. He struggles to force air past the fluid. A terrible bubbling resonates in his chest and Bell idly wonders if he'll drown in his own blood before he bleeds out. I bet this makes you happy. Adler's face slides into view when he kneels beside Bell: His features are blurry and the colors somehow don't feel right. But he's not smiling. He almost looks.. sad.

 A hand slides against Bell's cheek, pressing gently, tilting his head a bit to the right and allowing him a clearer view of his would-be murderer. It's easier now to see  how Adler's face is pinched downwards in a grimace. Adler stares down at his dying protégé just as much as he stares back, once vibrant emerald eyes now dull and swimming with uncertainty and betrayal as he teeters on the edge of oblivion. 

 Bell wishes he had something else to dwell on in his final moments. Something that was his and not the manufactured memories pounded into his head by Adler and his trigger phrase. He tries to think back to before the CIA, before MK-Ultra, before Perseus. All he comes up with is Adler's smug smile as he wakes him in Vietnam. Fake. How Sims and he recovered the Russian comms log during Operation Fracture Jaw. Fake. Fending off the VC attack after his bird is knocked from the sky. All of it, fake.  

 The anguish of knowing there's nothing left of him- the real him- brings a burning to his eyes. Who am I? Bell doesn't realize he's crying until a gloved thumb brushes a tear from his cheek. 

 "Hey." 

 Bell's cold. The jacket does nothing to keep him warm. His limbs feel impossibly heavy. Any trail of thought he has slips between his fingers before he has time to complete it. No matter how much he blinks the world stays blurry and he's losing the energy to keep his eyes open. He tries to focus on Adler's face but he's nothing more than a tan smudge against a blue sky. 

 Bell's so, so tired...

 "You did good, kid."

 Deep down Bell knew it was always going to end like this. He was never truly part of the team. That was apparent in the way Sims refused to acknowledge him (didn't their time together in Vietnam mean anything?) or in the pitying look Mason would cast his way when he thought Bell wasn't looking (like he somehow understood..)

 Above all he knew from the way Hudson spoke about him.

  Bell? Don't get me started...

  Are you taking him into the KGB with you? Are you crazy ?

  If we can't control the asset, we end the asset.

 Bell's eyes flutter close and they don't open again. The warmth at his side, Adler's warmth, is only there a moment longer before it pulls away and is gone, leaving Bell alone with only the abyss. 

 Dying isn't what Bell ever imagined it to be. He feels light, like he's floating amongst the clouds. The coldness has long since seeped away to a numbness and he forgot about the hard concrete below him. Bell can't hear anything, can't feel anything. The abyss swallows him whole. He bathes in its darkness and floats in its silence, drifting through oblivion.

 Bell doesn't expect to ever open his eyes again. Without medical intervention, there was no logical way he would survive the bullet in his chest. This makes it all the more jarring when he's dragged into consciousness. He simply lays there at first, the numbness creeping back in and replacing the blissful void of nothingness he felt while unconscious.

 It's dark when he finally musters the energy to squint open his eyes. Gone is the calm cliffside in which Adler shot him at. Instead, he's in an unfamiliar room with faded green walls and blankets around him that are far too stiff and cause his aching body to itch . There's railings on either side of him, the kind you'd find on a hospital bed or to prevent children from rolling off the side at night. Voices resonate just behind a closed door. They're hushed and aggressive but Bell can't make out what they're saying. When they fall silent the light beneath the door flicks off and he's left with only a digital clock for illumination.

 Bell drifts in and out of awareness. He can't keep track of the passing time. On one occasion there's movement at his bedside and voices filling his ears.

 "..ell? B…?" 

"Is.. wake..?"

"Damn.. all, he… again.."

"Bell?"

 When he looks up, their face is too blurry to make out. Someone joins them at his side, but they are too fuzzy to see as well. Their voices sound like they're speaking underwater; too far and too jumbled to make out. Moments later he's unconscious once more.

 It's night again once Bell is able to stay awake properly. He feels heavy but warm and the room spins when he tries to look around. It's not until he tries to raise a hand to calm the spinning that he realizes something is wrong. He only manages to lift his arm a few inches before something stops him. Confused, he tries tugging a few times. A metallic jingle fills his ears. Looking over confirms his suspicions: He's handcuffed to the railing. Swallowing down the building panic, Bell tries the other arm only to find it just as restrained to the opposite railing. 

 He tries to keep calm. He really does. But it's all too much for him; he should be dead, he knows that. Not chained up inside an unfamiliar room with no idea how or when he got here, or who brought him here in the first place. A memory forces itself to the front of his mind.

  Bell woke up to voices. "I gotta admit," the first voice, American, rumbled, drawing his attention. It took some effort but Bell managed to lull his head towards the speaker. Two individuals peered down at him. "I didn't expect him to recover so quickly." His limbs were restrained, preventing any movement. "He's a resilient one," the second person agreed. Bell did his best to hold back his fear and anxiety. This certainly wasn't Perseus nor the KGB, which only meant he was now in the hands of the enemy. He wouldn't let them break him. 

  Not again. Bell fights against his restraints as hysteria begins to take hold. I can't do this again. Losing his mind once was too much; no way he could withstand being reset a second time. A rapid beep-beep-beep fills his ears but the Russian is too fixated on freeing himself to pay it much attention. A light flips on beneath the door, encouraging him to struggle all the more. 

 "Bell!" The door flings open. There's hands on his shoulders. "Bell, you're safe!" He thrashes. The light flicks on. "What's going on?" The hands leave Bell's shoulders and move to the sides of his head, forcing him to turn wide-eyed toward a familiar face. "Bell, hey, calm down," Lazar sooths.

 Bell falls still from exhaustion. His chest heaves with each rapid breath. Eyes wide, he stares between Lazar at his side and Park, who stands tense at the door. 

 "Bell-"

"Lazar, what's going on-"

"Park, not now-"

"I knew we couldn't trust him."

"Park, please! You're not helping." The MI6 agent scoffs but relents, leaving Lazar alone with Bell. 

 Bell trembles with a fear like he's never felt before. "Bell," Lazar tries again with a weak smile. "It's alright. You're safe. We're at an MI6 safehouse. I'm, uh… sorry. About the cuffs. It's the only way Park would agree.."

 "How..?" Bell only manages a croak, throat tight. 

 "Call it a hunch," Lazar offered. "I knew something was off with Adler. Followed you guys. Got there after everything already went down. We tried to patch you up the best we could with the equipment we have here. You've been out for a few days." Bell calms himself and listens intently. The exhaustion is clear on the Russian's face. 

 "I just.. I feel like I owe you, Bell. You saved my life back in Cuba." Lazar sighs softly. "Park is.. weary. She thinks you'll turn on us now that you've, well," he motions awkward towards Bell. "Now that you've begun to break your programming." 

 Lazar's face turns serious when he stares into Bell's eyes. "I didn't think it was fair to cut you out of the picture before you had the choice to decide who you really are." 

  The choice to decide who I really am...

 The distress must be noticeable on Bell's face because Lazar suddenly lightens up with a smile and gentle squeeze to his shoulder. "Hey, it's alright. It'll take time, but I'm sure you'll figure it out. You chose to tell the truth, you can't be all that bad, eh?" 

 Bell's head is a hurricane of emotion despite Lazar's teasing reassurance. Aside from his meeting with Perseus, the implanted memories, and everything that's happened to him in the past couple months, Bell knew nothing about himself. Am I righteous? Am I a terrorist? Just? Prejudice ? If he's honest with himself.. he was terrified of the truth. It was so much easier to be told who he was, to do what he was told, to put his trust in the team and his life in Adler's hands.

  Adler.

 "Get some rest." Lazar's voice shakes Bell from his thoughts. "We can talk more tomorrow, sort everything out. Don't worry about Park- she's suspicious but she wouldn't hurt you." Somehow, Bell isn't entirely convinced. He doesn't comment on it. 

 ".. Spasiba, Lazar. For saving me." 

 Lazar pauses at the door and turns. His surprise turns into another small, genuine smile. "No problem, Bell."

 Alone once again in the dark, Bell takes a shaky breath. He doesn't realize he's clenching his hands until he feels the ache. It takes some time but he relaxes the best he can and takes stock of his condition. Head throbbing, chest burning, mind buzzing with uncertainty and raw with emotion, but undeniable alive . 

  "It's always been for the greater good."

 There's a feeling he can't quite shake. It brings apprehension. Bell's not sure what will happen next. Will his would-be rescuers turn him in? Will Adler come back to finish the job? Will I ever get my memory back? Many questions burn in the Russian's head and not many answers come to mind. What now? He could roll over and accept the fate thrust upon him and die as Adler intended. Starting a new life away from it all couldn't be that bad either. Or…

  Or he could finish the mission. 

 Whoever he was before Bell may never know. It doesn't matter; that person is dead. The CIA reinvented him and gave life to 'Bell'. Now he has to live with that. Whether or not they like it they gave him a job. Find Perseus and stop him. 

 He found Perseus once.

 He'd find him again.

[fullmetalscullyy]

Royai prompt: Are you flirting with me, Colonel?

thank u sm for the prompt!! it was so fun to delve into this even if i can’t flirt to save my life lmaooo hope u enjoy some royai banter and roy just trying to make riza smile uwu

rated: t | words: 1991 | tags: wedding, alcohol, romance, flirting

read on: ao3 | ffnet

The atmosphere in the room was electric as Roy made his way through it. The party was in full swing and the dancefloor was filled with people, dancing their cares away and having a good time.

Roy watched as Edward danced with Winry in the centre of the dancefloor. Alphonse and Mei were beside them, all four laughing together as they moved in time to the music. Havoc was trying to impress Catalina with his “moves” but they weren’t very impressive. He looked quite hopeless, unable to find the beat properly, but he was still having a good time and that was all that mattered. Catalina laughed with him though and the way she hung onto his arm told Roy that it didn’t really matter. She was impressed by him despite his awful timing with music. Fuery and Breda were deep in conversation with Falman and his wife, talking animatedly with red rosy cheeks, flushed from the alcohol and their amusement.

It was a wonderful scene to witness. It made Roy smile widely as he wandered over to where his companion was waiting for him, a glass in each hand.

Riza was sitting at the table they’d been allocated for the meal, opting to remain there and watch, pleased, as everyone had fun and celebrated Edward and Winry’s wedding.

The dress she was wearing was high backed and formed a collar around her throat. It was a pale pink colour and fell down to her ankles, swishing mesmerizingly every time she walked. It also revealed her shoes which matched the colour of the dress perfectly. The heel on them was small but it was still enough to give her an extra inch in height. On her wrist there was a silver bracelet she’d received as a gift “a long time ago”. Roy had bought her it for her birthday once. He’d been surprised to see her wearing it and Riza had just smiled warmly at him once he noticed and recognised the piece of jewellery, saying nothing more on the matter.

Taking a deep breath, Roy tried to collect himself as he approached her. She was the epitome of beauty and grace today and it was extremely distracting. But in the most wonderful of ways.

“Excuse me, Ma’am?” Roy grinned and dropped his voice as deep as he could, changing it completely.

The effect worked because Riza turned around at the surprised interruption. It was clear she didn’t recognise who it was who’d approached her. Once she realised though her shoulders fell, and she shook her head fondly at his antics.

“Is this seat taken?” He continued his charade, pleased to have gotten such a surprised reaction from her from his joke.

She rolled her eyes and said nothing. Roy did manage to catch the smile she tried to hide though once she looked away.

“A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be left sitting alone at a party such as this,” he added, speaking lowly as he handed her the wine glass in his left. “You should shoot the bastard who left you all alone. How rude of him.”

“Are you flirting with me, Colonel?” The Lieutenant lifted a disapproving eyebrow that strongly hinted that he better not be. “Well,” she smirked, “are you trying to?”

“You wound me, Hawkeye.” He clutched at his chest for dramatic effect. “So what if I am?” His reply was nonchalant as he settled into his chair and took a sip of his whisky. It went down smooth, settling inside his chest and spreading warmth across it.

“I would have to disapprove, of course.” Her tone gave nothing away so Roy tilted his head so he could get a better read on her out the corner of his eye.

“You would ‘have to’, huh?”

“Of course, sir,” she replied evenly. Her wine glass lifted to her perfectly painted lips and Roy was distracted for a moment as he watched her move. “It would be highly unprofessional, wouldn’t it?”

Roy hummed noncommittally, pulling himself out of his distracted thoughts.

“In response to your violent proposal,” she added, “lucky for you, my weapon is concealed, and I don’t intend to remove it at a friend’s wedding, sir.”

That interested Roy. He hadn’t seen a weapon anywhere on her person. But then, Roy thought dumbly, that was the whole point.

Damn this alcohol and your ability to be so easily distracted by her. Not that he really minded that last part though.

“Like you said, it’s a wedding. It’s where people show their love for one another,” he shrugged.

“By trying poor pickup lines on me? Now you’re begging me to shoot you,” she deadpanned, and Roy laughed to himself as he watched the rest of the room. “At least if I do it will keep you quiet.”

“Well, I can turn it on more if you’d like me too?” He flashed an excited smile at her.

Riza groaned in response. She pressed a hand to her face. “Please don’t.”

“So, do you come here often, Ma’am?” His voice dropped to the same deep one he’d used before as he joked with her. It resulted in a sideways glare from Riza.

“That’s another poor effort. Even from you.”

“So, it’s not working?”

She scoffed. Loudly. “Not one bit.”

He sighed dramatically. “Darn.”

“I would’ve expected better than that from the likes of you.”

“Well, I thought it was funny,” he snickered, thoroughly enjoying their banter.

“You would.” There was no real ire in her eyes, nor irritation. Just fondness as she shook her head at him.

“All right,” he relented, lifting his hands in surrender, “I’ll stop.”

“I think that would be best, sir.”

Looking over, he was worried she really was annoyed at him now, but her expression was neutral. However, there was a hint of a smile on her face and she shook her head minutely as she placed her glass back on the table.

“Your flirting is so terrible that I cannot bear to listen to it any longer,” Riza added after a beat. One corner of her mouth quirked up into a smirk as she laughed at his surprised expression. “I can’t believe you actually use those on your dates.” She was enjoying teasing him.

His jaw had gone slack and he huffed in mock indignation. “It wasn’t that bad,” he joked, pretending to be sullen.

“It was torture.”

“Hush, you,” he glared at her.

“Is that an order, sir?”

The mood of the conversation shifted. Roy refocussed his attention on Riza as he picked up her husky tone. She looked at him over the rim of her glass. Her smile was playful and her eyes were sparkling with amusement. However there was something else in there too. Something that wasn’t completely innocent.

Roy swallowed. “Do you want it to be?” He was dumbstruck suddenly, left reeling by the wanting look in her eyes.

Her expression broke down and she started to laugh. Roy blinked and was snapped out of the spell she’d cast upon him with just a single look and one suggestive question.

“What?” He recovered quickly then frowned at her laughter.

“That’s how you do it, sir.” She’d leaned in close to speak to him softly and Roy was caught off guard by the wonderful smell of her perfume that wafted his way.

“You played me,” he cried as loudly as he dared. No one was around but it still wouldn’t do to draw attention to them both loudly.

She giggled. Riza actually giggled. Once more, Roy was rendered mute. All he could do is stare at her as she winked at him playfully and nudged his knee with her own underneath the table.

“I’m simply better at it than you. Clearly,” she snorted.

Roy huffed and crossed his arms over his chest with a scowl.

“Don’t feel bad, sir.” Her neutral tone was back however she still looked far too pleased with herself. “We all have our strength and weaknesses.”

He muttered to himself underneath his breath.

“But,” she sighed, “I suppose we should stop. I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation any more than I already have.”

“You are relentless today, Lieutenant,” he muttered.

“You said it yourself. Call it payback for leaving a lady alone by herself at a party.”

He uncrossed his arms and sat up straighter in his chair. “I didn’t say that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him with a smile. “Yes you did.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I said a pretty lady.”

The skin of her nose and cheeks turned a shade pinker after his compliment. Riza coughed and looked away from him but Roy could see her hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass.

“And that was the truth,” Roy added, tilting his body over towards her and dropping his voice low. “I wasn’t joking when I said that.”

“Sir,” she scolded lightly.

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Just telling the truth,” he defended.

Her mouth snapped closed and she was silent for a moment. “Hush, you,” she muttered finally, cheeks still pink.

“Are you telling me to lie, Riza?” He acted scandalised, opening his mouth in shock at her suggestion.

“Fine,” she relented, looking around their vicinity to see if anyone could overhear, but there was no one to be found. “I’ll admit, it is nice to hear.” She mumbled it so quietly that Roy had to lean forwards to hear her.

“I’ll just have to tell you at every opportunity I can then.”

A warning look was shot his way.

“And I’ll do it, too,” he grinned brightly. “You know I will.”

“Maybe I will extract my weapon.” She lifted a hand to her chin and tapped it with one finger as she pondered the thought.

The two fell silent, laughing quietly together as all joking was dropped for the moment. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment longer and Roy couldn’t look away no matter how hard he tried.

“Thank you, Roy,” she murmured.

“For what?”

“For being so good to me.”

“It’s what you deserve,” he replied simply. “If I could show you it every day then I would.”

“I know,” she reassured him with an appreciative look. “I would do the same.”

“You already know you own this,” he added quietly. He stretched above his head but as his hands lowered he tapped the left side of his chest above his heart, feigning that it was just a tic of his. “That will never change.”

Riza’s hand slowly moved underneath the tablecloth, as if she was moving to fix her dress. She tapped his knee with the back of her hand and Roy slid his own hand underneath it too. Riza latched onto it tightly, giving it a hard squeeze of gratitude. Roy smiled at her, lost in her eyes, and stroked his thumb over the skin on the back of her hand. Suddenly, everything else just fell away. The party, the noise, the music, it was all gone. It was just the two of them.

Subtly looking around one final time, Riza deemed it was safe to speak what was on her mind. Still, her glass was lifted to her lips so her mouth was hidden from the rest of the room, but Roy could still see it moving. She paused before she took a drink.

“I love you,” she breathed.

Roy squeezed her hand tightly in his. Then, he extracted it from her hold but didn’t let Riza move far. He guided her hand to rest flat atop his knee. The warmth from her palm seeped into his trousers, making him smile to himself. Maintaining eye contact, he drew a love heart on the back of her hand and placed his own atop hers, covering it completely.

“That’s a new one,” she commented softly.

He grinned at her. “I like to keep things fresh, Lieutenant. And I return your sentiment. Wholeheartedly.”

[shinsouskitten]

Hola mis amiga (I’m a French student what am I doing) I saw that your ass class requests were non existant so I’m here with a request. Can u do karma and Nagisa with a blind s/o who’s a pro assassin at 15 (is that how old they are??) and also v smart and they were sent by the government to 3-e to help with the Assassination? Bonus points if they’re low key a reaper level assassin like they have a good chance of winning if they went against the reaper 1 on 1. It’s chill if u don’t get to this 💖

Yo! I am no language student cause I can’t even english correctly half the time

Also this is what happens when I finally get requests for a character I love… I go a little ott

Warnings: reference to violence and assassination (uhh… yk, it’s called assassination classroom for a reason), Karma

---

Important info: 

💬 To have the reader be a pro assassin at 15, my friend (@grapefantaenby the beautiful Sammy whom I love dearly but is also a bitch sometimes) and I decided it might be a good idea for them to be basically the next gen Irina - not as a femme fatale, but just the next gen of pro trained assassins

💬 So for this request I am writing the reader as if they were chosen to be trained (possibly by Irina herself) and sent to e-class after Irina’s original attempt failed. Only Irina and Karasuma knows the reader is an assassin

💬 If you wish to read it from another perspective that’s fine too, but that was the idea I was writing from, so I hope that’s okay

---

Karma Akabane:

🔫😈 When he first meets you Karma barely bats an eye. You’re just another kid stuck in e-class for some reason or another. Midterms are coming up, he has a weird yellow octopus to kill, a new student doesn’t really matter to him

🔫😈 It’s only when you all get your tests results that he first notices you. You didn’t take the tests with them, instead in a lone room with braille substituted for the usual test papers, and a scribe to write down your answers, but it was the results that Karma noticed. You scored as high as him, though perhaps in different areas. None of your scores were below 95%, but you weren’t nearly as showy as he was. If he hadn’t heard Korosensei praising you he wouldn’t have even realized

🔫😈 You didn’t travel on the school trip with them, which kind of disappointed Karma (not that he’d admit it). He wanted to find out more about you, but even so, he wasn’t too bothered. He’s Karma after all

🔫😈 As mean as it sounds, he highly doubts your ability to be an assassin - at least, when he first meets you. Sight is one of the most important senses, and if you’re trying to kill an inhuman yellow… thing, you’re going to need everything you have

🔫😈 The first occasion is in science class, where you trip seemingly on nothing while making your way to your desk. Karma moves to catch you, surprising himself for a moment, but Korosensei is there first. The second he offers a tentacle to help you up, it explodes. Your hand had been covered in antisensei pellets you’d powdered so that they were invisible if someone wasn’t paying enough attention. In his surprise he doesn’t move fast enough as you fling your other arm out, catching the edge of another tentacle and slicing through it halfway. You’re unable to make another attack, as this time Korosensei moves too far away, but for a moment the whole class is silent

🔫😈 You’d gotten further than anyone, destroyed 1 (and a half) tentacles and no one had even suspected it was an attempt. Korosensei is surprised, while Irina watches her protege from the sidelines, secretly incredibly proud of your attempt

🔫😈 And Karma… Karma doesn’t know what to think. Your first trick was similar to his original attempt on Korosensei; a hand covered in antisensei material and a seemingly innocent gesture of assistance/goodwill. Did you know he’d attempted something similar? Of course not. You weren’t even there when he arrived, and besides, it’s not like you could’ve seen what he did (okay is this mean I have rlly bad social cues)

🔫😈 He doesn’t know what to think. Had he really doubted you that much?

🔫😈 With AIFA’s introduction some of the attention is steered away from you, which Karma takes as an opportunity to steal you away for a moment. It’s during gym class, he slips away easily, leading you by the elbow until you’re out of sight of the others (sneaky boi)

🔫😈 He asks question after question, at one point even joking that the two of you together would be an unstoppable force. Of course, he doesn’t mean dating, but it slowly starts to become less and less of a joke the more time you spend together. Plotting assassination slowly turns into study dates, then just regular dates

🔫😈 It’s only when some jerkwads from another class try picking on you that you and Karma are forced to decide; is it something more? I say that, because when he sees this amateur bullying attempt, he quickly slides up next to you, curling an arm around your waist and warning the kids to stay away from his s/o. It leads to one of the worst questions a person can hear… “what are we?”

🔫😈 It all works out happily though, and when he finds out about your profession he’s only intrigued (I was gonna say he’d kill to be a pro assassin then I realized the irony of my sentence)

🔫😈 He was right, the two of you do make a great team, and although you’re unable to kill Korosensei, you’re grateful for him allowing you to meet the one and only Karma Akabane

---

Nagisa Shiota:

🐍🔪 Nagisa notices you almost instantly, a complete reversal of Karma’s first reaction. He’s attentive, and so he realises there’s something different about you (not the blind things tho, I mean the assassin thing), even if he can’t quite put his finger on it

🐍🔪 He’s amazed when you score as high as Karma in the midterms, but doesn’t bring it up to you immediately. He doesn’t want you to feel singled out, so instead he waits until the day is over. It’s the first time he gets to talk to you, and even though the conversation flows smoothly, there’s still something in the back of his mind that he can’t quite place

🐍🔪 Much like Karma he’s disappointed that you don’t join them for the school trip, but he can’t really blame you. You’ve only just joined e-class, you likely don’t feel comfortable trusting them to lead you around an unfamiliar city

🐍🔪 When he returns, Nagisa can tell you’re planning something, though for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what it is. Eventually your plan reveals itself to him. You’d changed your walking stick, something no one else had really noticed. It was the same colour, in fact it was almost exactly the same, save for the slight sheen of plastic

🐍🔪 It happens the next day, just before the bell rings when you’re sitting on the steps to your class building. You frown as your hands trace across the floor, unable to reach the stick a few feet from you. Korosensei sees, and ever the helpful teacher, speeds over to hand it to you, not realising until it’s too late the new material covering the surface. And just like that two tentacles are destroyed. You attempt to finish the job with a knife, jumping towards where you heard Korosensei’s surprised gasp, but he dodges quickly

🐍🔪 You smile, murmerming out loud that it was a good plan. Korosensei agrees, after the initial shock wears off, but notes that you should’ve made your final attack just slightly quicker. If he hadn’t recovered so fast, you likely would've had him

🐍🔪 Against his better judgement, Nagisa decides to ask you where you learnt to do that. You brush him off easily at first, but it quickly becomes clear he doesn’t believe you, so eventually you give in and tell him the truth

🐍🔪 He’s surprised, but also, he’s not. Okay that sounds confusing. He could tell something was different about you, the way you act seemed too mature for a 15 year old at the bottom of the school. But at the same time he almost expected it. I mean, you had no disciplinaries and your grades were superb. Why else would you be in e-class? Karasuma, Irina, you, AIFA, all of you were there for another reason. It wasn’t to teach, or to learn, it was to kill

🐍🔪 There’s a lot of things that draw Nagisa to you, and it’s only a matter of time before he realises he’s big fat crushing on you. Karma noticed Nagia’s crush before the boy did himself, and you can imagine the teasing that took place

🐍🔪 I was gonna say you couldn’t see him to think he’s a girl which gave you bonus points but I feel like it might be in bad taste

🐍🔪 He studies you almost obsessively, attempting to learn some of your professional tricks as a way to boost e-class’s assassination attempts. It’s not creepy, he’s just genuinely amazed by your abilities, and well… you

🐍🔪 No matter what you do Nagisa is always in awe of it (simp), and your relationship (hard as it is to get Nagisa to finally admit to you) is a good one

[mikwrites-archive]

synopsis: you and kuroo tetsurou stopped running from love, but what happens now?

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, also just ilke, talking abt sex a lot HHWJSBDF

bloom masterlist: here!

a/n: kinda nervous considering this is kinda different from other nsfw but i wanted to make it awkward so uhhh i hope u guys like this part HAHAH also it takes place before theyre married and is the only chapter that will be taken place before !! 

“You need to get a life outside of video games; it’s not good for you.” 

Kuroo chides at Kenma, flicking his video game console as they all lounge in Kenma’s living room during their weekly get togethers.

“You need to get laid and relax more.”

Kuroo chokes on his beer, coughing as he sets down the bottle from his lips, drawing surprise from Bokuto, Akaashi, and especially Kenma who furrows his eyebrows.

“Did that strike a chord?” 

“N-No!” Kuroo answers quickly, wiping at his mouth. 

“Liar.” Bokuto grins, propping his chin on his hands curiously. “Have you and Y/N not fucked lately?”

“Can we not talk about this? Kenma, how’s that deal going on at your-” Kuroo falters as he attempts to switch the subject, the squinted gaze he receives cutting him off. “What?”

“Answer the question, Kuroo.” 

“Oh my god.”  Kuroo closes his eyes, covering his face with his hands, voice muffled as he answers. “No. There. Happy? Now can we move on?”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Akaashi reassures contemplatively. “In fact, many relationships struggle with being too busy at times to not have sex.”

“We’ve been fine.” Kuroo groans, tilting back in his chair, feeling the hot flush creep up his neck as he adds on slowly, halting and quiet. “But, it hasn’t, just been, lately.”

A beat passes, and Bokuto holds his hands out in a pause gesture, eyes narrowed, deep in thought.

“Wait, wait,” he starts slowly. “So you guys haven’t for how long?”

“We just, haven’t. In general.” 

The silence is longer this time, and Kuroo gnaws at the inside of his cheek as his front two chair legs thunk back down to the ground, regretting bringing this up.

“You guys have been living together for months, and haven’t done anything?” Akaashi muses curiously, while Kenma snorts around his beer bottle.

“You haven’t gotten laid ever since Kitty’s mom left? Years?” Bokuto bursts out, and Kuroo wishes nothing more than for the ground to split open and swallow him whole. 

“Well, we’ve, y’know, made out a couple of times. But we’ve never actually,” he clears his throat. “Done it. With Kitty, and volleyball, and everything else going on. I mean, it’s not like I’m some sex machine. I don’t need to get laid to live.” 

“Can I ask you just one thing?” 

“This literally can’t get any worse, and I’m pretty sure even if I said no, you’d still ask, so go for it.” Kuroo gazes warily at Bokuto who taps his chin absently. 

“Are you free this weekend? Akaashi and I could take Kitty-” Bokuto exclaims, glancing at Akaashi who shrugs.

“No.” Kuroo shoots down immediately.

“I guess I could take Kitty.” Kenma drones.

“Wait, are you asking me if I’m free to have sex with my girlfriend this weekend?” Kuroo’s head is spinning, and not from the alcohol, he’s sure of it. “Y’know what, don’t answer that. And I’m not answering that, so let’s move on. Please.”

So they do, albeit reluctantly, but Kuroo should have known better as the next week rolled around. 

“Where’d you go?” You mumble as he collapses atop of you, still lounging in bed, accepting the kiss he presses on your cheek apologetically for leaving without any warning. 

“Just dropped Kitty off at Kenma’s. He wanted to film a video with her.” Kuroo sighs, and you hum, running your fingers through his hair.

“Funny. Bokuto just came by on his run asking me if I was free today then left.”

Kuroo freezes, and you peer down at him inquisitively. 

“What?”

“Those bastards.” Kuroo curses, propping himself up with his elbows and you tilt your head at him confusedly.

“I’m missing something here.”

“They want us to fuck.” He groans, and you squint. 

“Our friends... want us to fuck? Like, just for fun? Or...”

Kuroo explains embarrassedly the interaction that occurred the previous week, much to your amusement, and when he finishes, avoiding your gaze, you cup his face gently, forcing him to make eye contact with you.

“If you wanted to have sex we could’ve just talked about it.”

“I know.” Kuroo mumbles. “I just didn’t want you to think that this is something that’s a deal breaker in our relationship y’know? I don’t need sex. Like yeah, I wouldn’t complain if we did, but-”

“Do you want to?”

“Like, now?” Kuroo blinks, and you flush.

“I mean, they did take Kitty.” 

“Okay.” Kuroo swallows, and you want to laugh at how awkward the situation is but instead you tug at the hem of his t-shirt gently with a teasing grin.

“I think this probably should be taken off.”

Kuroo laughs, albeit sounding a bit stifled in bashfulness, and he has to wonder why he seems so self-conscious as he tugs his shirt off, tossing it aside. 

“Same should be done for you.” 

You’re both laughing with mortification and for no reason at all, feeling like teenagers during their first time as your clothes are discarded to the floor, leaving you both in your underwear. They’re easily forgotten as you’re swept up in the kisses Kuroo peppers along your collarbone.

“I kind of wish it was planned between us.” You laugh softly, holding onto his shoulders, biting back a gasp as he nips at your skin. “Would’ve shaved.” 

“Hair or no hair, I still think you’re sexy as hell.” Kuroo winks up at you, hands gripping your thighs, and you snort a laugh.

One hand dips closer to where you need him most, tugging your panties down your legs, and he gives you a questioning look for assurance, waiting for your breathlessly quick nod before continuing, lithe fingers slipping into you.

He pumps slowly, and you’re torn between wanting him to go faster and drawing it out, savouring the warm bliss that starts to flood your senses as you dig your fingertips into his shoulders. 

His eyes are trained on your features, focused intently on bringing you to your high, basking in the hushed moans that fall past your lips like a reverent melody.

You’re embarrassed at how fast you reach the peak of ecstasy, but Kuroo seems satisfied, sliding his fingers into his mouth, cleaning them off, and you flush at the sight.

“Condom?” 

“Yeah.” You nod, breathless as Kuroo begins to rummage in the bedside drawer, unable to hold back your smile as he curses under his breath while he searches impatiently. 

He rolls it on, situating and aligning himself between your legs, but makes no movement much to your confusion.

“What... what are you waiting for?” Your cheeks burn at your question, and Kuroo grins.

“You gotta give me consent, baby.”

“Tetsurou.” You deadpan, and he raises an eyebrow. “I am literally naked in our bed.” 

“Consent is important!”

“I’m not saying it isn’t, but I swear to god-”

“What’s the magic word?” He murmurs, pressing a trail of kisses down your neck, and you sigh.

“Please.” 

With that, he slowly enters, burying his face in the juncture of your shoulder and neck as he clenches his jaw, breath hitching.

“You okay?” You gasp, licking your lips as you swallow.

“Yeah. It’s... been a while.” Kuroo breathes, and when you run your hands up his back, he shudders. 

Every touch, feeling, makes his head spin, his senses riding into overdrive as he tries to breathe deeply, focusing on making this last.

“Take your time.” You assure, and he stares at you through lidded lashes, hints of hazel peering through before his lips meet yours slowly.

His hands gently move your arms to rest against the mattress, fingers interlacing loosely with yours by your head, as he finally begins to move.  

Your hands squeeze his as you whimper, pleasure sparking through your body; his mouth clashing against yours feverishly as he shallowly thrusts, groaning. 

“Tetsurou.” You gasp, as he adjusts slightly, and he keens at your panted utterance of his name.

“I love you. I love you so much.” He slurs, repeating the words until they have no more meaning, and can only be conveyed through the way he moves against you, where your bodies are joined, and the sloppy kisses he presses upon your skin and lips. 

Euphoria blooms to the tips of your fingers, blossoming behind your squeezed shut eyes as you reach your high, crying out, and Kuroo follows soon after, cursing.

When he pulls out, you don’t notice him maneuvering around the room, tossing out the condom, grabbing a towel, focused on calming down. 

You start to laugh when he returns, lying next to you silently, and Kuroo blinks at you concernedly, yet unable to hold back his own crooked grin, running a hand through his hair as he props himself up on his side. 

“That was good.” You giggle when you regain your breath, and Kuroo furrows his eyebrows.

“I’d hope so.” 

You roll so you’ve turned to face him, smiling.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“You did not just quote Star Wars to me after we fucked.”

“I prefer the term ‘making love’.” 

“I hate you.”

It’s Kuroo’s turn to laugh at your disgruntled expression, tugging you close as you roll your eyes at his antics. 

“Feeling’s mutual.” He murmurs, yelping as you pinch him.

You both know it’s not true; not in the slightest. 

Kuroo knows it the most, for the small velvet box that lies in the back of his sock drawer says otherwise.

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[writeyouin]

Tfa request #1: what is the thoughts of bumblebee/jet twins/ blurr/ sari ( when she’s a teen! ) who has a crush on a dorky yet kind hearted person and what is thier reaction of when they kiss s/o, she fainted or got a nosebleed...( this happened to me but I fainted =u=|| )

TFA X Reader Inserts – Blowing a Gasket

A/N – Hey anon, hope you had a good birthday. Here is a gift for you.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Bumblebee

“YEAH,” Bumblebee cheered, punching the air victoriously. He was the only one who had opted out of the nature walk that Prowl had planned, and without Sari who was with her father for the day, he was left alone with the video game console.

You had dropped by only a little earlier to see everyone and had opted to read your book until they all came back. Normally, you would have played something with Bumblebee, but he seemed to be enjoying the single player game so you had left him to it.

“Nice job,” You said, looking up at the screen and seeing that he had finally gotten the golden relic he was after.

“Nice job?” Bumblebee repeated cockily. “I think you mean that I’m the king of ALL videogames.”

You snickered, “That is so precious. You want to talk to me about being the best player, then come back when you’ve got a platinum relic.”

Bumblebee tutted, “Those are impossible. Nobody can win one.”

“Move over amateur,” You said, taking the controller from Bumblebee and moving the small bandicoot on screen onto a level you knew well.

Starting the time trial, you caused the character to jump, spin, crush boxes, and generally beat the score Bumblebee had set. By the end of the level, you were the proud owner of a platinum relic.

“NO WAY!” Bumblebee goggled at the screen. “HOW DID YOU DO THAT?”

You stretched victoriously, “Years of practice. You know, if you play the second game and jump on the head of the polar bear in warp room two ten times-”

Bumblebee tried to look as if he was hanging onto your every word while internally, he was freaking out. How had he never noticed how cute you were before? It was so obvious. Maybe you had a crush on him too? Wait- A CRUSH! Colour rose to Bumblebee’s face plates.

‘Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no. What if (s)he doesn’t feel the same? I need to know, right now. Why is (s)he still talking about the game? Can’t (s)he see what’s going on here?’

Unable to be patient and wait for an opportune moment wherein Bumblebee might learn if you had feelings for him, he dove at you, pressing his lips against yours, making you let out a muffled yelp.

Pulling away, Bumblebee stared at you, waiting for you to say something. Blood rushed to your face, turning it beet-red. You squeaked as blood started trickling from your nose.

“Primus!” Bumblebee screeched, jumping back.

“It’s okay,” You tried to explain, cupping your nose to catch the blood.

“HOW IS THIS OKAY? YOU’VE BLOWN A GASKET!”

Bumblebee practically drove off to get Ratchet, forgetting his comm-link in his panic. You meanwhile, were left to mop up your bloody nose and search for an explanation by the time Bumblebee came back; all in all, it wasn’t the smoothest first kiss.

The Jet Twins

Jetfire and Jetstorm were listening intently as you talked about the movies you were going to show them back at the base. You had a feeling they would like your old favourites as much as you did. The twins both loved that you took the time to teach them about Earth media and its origins. You were like a walking dictionary of what was cool and what wasn’t, yet if they liked a character or plot that you didn’t, you welcomed the new opinion.

The three of you came to a busy crossing where you had to wait for the traffic lights to change. As you chattered away, the twins gave a small nod to each other, indicating that it was time for something they had been planning since Megatron’s defeat.

Bending down to your height, they simultaneously kissed your cheeks. Afterwards, your head swivelled from Jetfire to Jetstorm, who were both grinning triumphantly.

“I- I- Uh-” You opened your mouth to say something more, but nothing came out. Instead, in a rush of nerves, you crumpled to the floor in a faint.

Jetstorm picked you up, watching you curiously, “Brother, I think she may have-”

“-overheated, yes it seems to being that way,” Jetfire finished his brother’s statement.

“Do you think her cooling fans are to be working?”

“I am thinking that human fans may be slower than ours, brother.”

“Let us be carrying her home then.

“Yes, lets.”

With that, the twins took turns to carry you home, each eager to hear what you thought of their kiss once your heating systems returned to optimal condition.

Blurr zipped back and forth in front of your house, waiting for you to come home. He had repeatedly run this one stretch of path for four hours; he’d been at it so long that the path was a mess of tire marks and scraped concrete. Far too anxious to stop for even one second, Blurr remained a prisoner of his thoughts, running to keep a hold of his sanity.

During the war, Blurr was only consumed with thoughts about the Decepticons. Now that those dark times were behind him, Blurr had time to think about other things… mainly you. He’d always known that he had liked you as a friend. You were one of the few people that could keep up with his fast mind and faster mouth after all. However, he had only realised that very day that he liked you.

Blurr hated the anxiety of wondering what you would think of him romantically. It made him erratic, like there was a swarm of scraplets living in his brain, threatening to tear him open from the inside out. There was really only one solution and that was to tell you how he felt; whether you accepted or rejected his affections, Blurr would at least have an answer and that would be enough.

Finally, Blurr saw you coming around the corner of your street. He rushed forward to you and started jabbering.

“(Y/N),IhaveromanticfeelingsforyouandIthinkyoumayreturnthemifyoujustgivemeachance.Itdoesn’tmatterthatwe’refromtwodifferentspeciesifwedon’tletitmatter,therehavebeenweirdercouplesinthepast.Whati’mtryingtosayiswillyougooutwithme?”

You stared blankly at Blurr. Usually, you were able to keep pace with his fast talking but there was no way to understand the fast-paced speech he had just given you.

“Excuse me, what?” You asked, dumbfounded.

Panicked by the prospect of repeating himself over such a delicate manner, Blurr pressed his lips quickly against yours, pulling away just as fast to stare at you.

Only a few seconds later, blood started dripping down your nose. Blurr was sure he had hurt you, and cursed himself for his behaviour, starting a rant about human fragility, though you only caught snippets.

“BLURR!” You shouted exasperatedly, surprised that the usually confident bot was so nervous now. “I’m fine, it’s just a little nosebleed. I- I like you too.”

Blurr, somewhat exhausted from the override of emotions flopped onto the floor. After cleaning your nose up, you laid down next to him and the two of you relished a few minutes of calm, each momentarily lost for words.

Sari

You and Sari walked through the park on the way to meet the Autobots for a game of improvised baseball. As you talked, you noticed how subdued Sari was. She hadn’t been herself all day; clearly something was on her mind.

“A penny for your thoughts?” You asked, drawing her attention back to you.

Sari sighed, then forced a smile, “It’s nothing (Y/N), don’t worry about it. I guess I’m just distracted.”

“C’mon Sari, something’s bugging you. You may as well talk about it. I won’t judge, whatever it is.”

“I know you won’t. It’s just… I was thinking about by dad.” That first sentence seemed to unlock a flood-gate as Sari began spilling her guts, “I just worry that one day Megatron might want him back. What if he decides to take him again? My dad is totally defenceless, and he could end up building something way worse than a space-bridge. I get that it’s not likely, but I still worry, y’know?”

“Hey,” You said, grabbing Sari’s hand reassuringly. “It’s all gonna be okay. No more bad stuff is gonna happen to you, but if it did, then you’ll have the Autobots to help out, and me as well, even if I can’t punch Megadork through a wall.”

Sari giggled, and smiled at you. You always knew what to say. She only wished she had a way to show you how much you meant to her. Blushing at the idea that just crossed her mind, Sari kissed you before she could lose her nerve.

As soon as her lips left yours, you let out a nervous croak, fainting soon after. Sari stood over you for a minute.

“Hmm.” She prodded you a few times in a small attempt at waking you up. “That didn’t go exactly how I planned.”

She called the Autobots to let them know that she would be late to the baseball game due to an ‘unexpected delay,’ and then she laid down on the grass next to you, awaiting the moment you would regain consciousness.

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[lexilucacia]

Hi, can you write something where Chase is in a stable and healthy relationship with a girl/guy from outside of work and one day they make him lunch with cute notes inside and house finds it and then mocks him before the team ( original or the rest) and Chase goes I'm happy and that's what matters and then he goes home and proposes because he knows his partner is all he wants in life. Pls pls pls i just want him to be happy.

This prompt really spoke to me, so I’m sooooo sorry to everyone else’s I haven’t written yet, but when inspiration strikes, it just does!

Title: Little notes For Chase

Words: 3031

Tags: Marriage Proposal ×Weddings ×Fluff ×House Being House ×Secret Relationship ×Love Letters ×(or notes really) ×love notes ×thats not a tag ×Love Confessions ×Cross-Posted on Tumblr ×Tumblr Prompt ×Teasing ×Happy Ending ×Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts ×Author Is Sleep Deprived ×I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping ×POV Robert Chase ×

Pairings: Robert Chase/OMC

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29378082

Chase smiled again at the little note that his partner had slipped inside his lunch bag. They never failed to make him smile from the ones that had long extravagant messages to the small ‘I love u!’s that often made an appearance on a busy morning. He can’t really remember how it started, he thinks it must have been a late night where Chase was a bit too tired to pack his own bag (and that made him sound like a school kid). So, Felix had packed food for him, sending him off to work with a kiss and a ‘I love you’. 

He had seen the yellow postie flutter to the ground, catching in his grip recognising it as one of his partner’s lucky posties with ducks in the corners. The little message had caught him off guard, he’d expected his boyfriend’s weird rambles that he left around the house accidentally packed in his bag, but instead it was a little smiley face and a love heart. The note read, ‘don’t forget that you are loved (especially by me)’ with little hat drawn onto the printed cartoon duck.

He clutched the note to his chest, pinning it up in his locker once his lunch break was over. They didn’t speak of it, but at night, after Chase had thought Felix was asleep he pressed a soft kiss to his nape, and squeezed him a little tighter. 

The notes had become a constant in his life, he was used to finding one sitting one behind the toothpaste holder, one in the cabinet next to a new box of his favourite cereal and occasionally in his textbooks when he was studying for requalifications. He still found notes in his lunchbox, his favourite sitting next to a picture of him and his beloved. This one in particular read ‘I know I don’t have to woo you my love, you’d never leave me. But if you did, let’s just say I know an abandoned warehouse, you’re with me for the long haul.’ 

Chase had almost cried at that one and had wanted to pull out the wedding ring he’d put in the back of his cupboard a few months prior, that very night. Felix’s warped, wacky and weird sense of humour was the reason Chase loved him so much. He nevertheless stopped himself, unable to forgive himself if Felix didn’t get the proposal he deserved, goddamnit. 

They’d talked about marriage a lot, but neither had popped the question and Chase wanted to make the day that he did perfect (if Felix didn’t beat him to it at this rate). He was falling more in love with the man and his endearing notes, not that he’d thought it was possible and most days he thought his heart might burst with love. He’d be concerned if he wasn’t a doctor and working at a hospital.

Felix always seemed to know what to say. Reminders of love and worth came on days where he couldn’t his dad’s words out of his head, notes of memories and date nights came when Chase was feeling nostalgic, and his favourite every day the assurance of love. He never knew how to repay Felix, what to do for him, so he settled on small things, things that often would come up in the notes.

He’d notice that Felix was running out of clean socks and the next day all of Felix’s socks would be lined up, folded and washed (even if he’d had a night shift), prompting the drawing of tiny socks on his next note. Or Chase unloading the dishwasher, or putting Felix’s books away when he fell asleep with them on his chest. 

Both of them savoured these small things, tokens of their love, their bliss and domesticity. It all seemed to be going well, until one day Chase was careless. His boss House had all but ordered a team lunch, so there was no way out with his dignity (or secrets as it may be). 

Lunch started out normal, or normal as it could be with House and his nosey (pining in one case) colleagues, Cameron and Foreman, so he should have expected this. Chase pulled out his lunch bag, ignoring the snickering from House about how gay it looked and set to work digging through to see what food Felix had packed today. Inside it held a vegemite sandwich, a few pieces of chopped up fruit, juice box and a small lamington they’d purchased earlier in the week.

It honestly looked like a school lunch, House teasing him as such as he ignored his definitely flaming cheeks and certainly beet red ears. He was almost (not really) pleased to see the lack of a note perching in his bag, until something yellow fluttered past his eye, reminding him of the first day. Before he could smile goofily at the memory and snatch up his note, a loud sound rang out in the cafeteria.

The yellow disappeared under a familiar stump of wood, that Chase was used to hearing click down the halls of PPTH. The man had surprisingly quick reflexes (only when it embarrassed Chase of course) and the paper made a loud sound as it slid along the floor to House’s foot. The thrum of his heart beat and the scraping of the paper was all he could hear as the cafeteria noise was muffled around him. 

The older man picked up the note, capturing the attention of a few tables around them and the new people sitting at their table. House scrunched his eyes at the note, crinkling his nose in distaste at contents and reading it disdainfully.

“3 years i’ve put up with your ugly mug and you still haven’t learnt to fold shirts properly. Date night doesn’t sound so fun now.” The note had a crudely, pencil drawn shirt on the duck, making Chase smile as he looked over House’s shoulder.

Ho honestly didn’t know whether to sob or laugh, settling for a strange mixture of both, smile wide and tears running down his face, so that the rest of the cafeteria was staring at him, if they hadn’t been before.

It was their 3 year anniversary, Felix had remembered the conversation they’d had on their first date, he had never been more in love with the man. He must have zoned back, because when he finally snapped back to snatch the note from a gaping House’s hand, he was being barraged with questions.

“3 years?”

“Why didn’t we know?”

“Who is she?”

“What’s the crying for?”

“How could you have kept this a secret?”

“Is she hot?”

“I thought you slept with everyone?”

“What about the nurses?”

Chase was already getting a headache, not in the mood for this and wanting to sneak off and call Felix, just to rant about his day or blubber about his love, whatever came out first. He put a hand out, effectively silencing everyone. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “What do you want to know?”

Before they could all start shouting again he sighed. “One at a time.”

“Who is she? Why didn’t we know? How long Chase?” Chase had to coach his face into a neutral expression not to blow up at Cameron, the woman had made it no secret of her crush on him.

He simply raised an eyebrow, on an otherwise poker face. “His name is Felix. 3 years and I am under no obligation to share my personal life. There is a reason it’s my private life.” He glared.

Cameron looked shocked, before apologising for being rude and Chase felt a little guilty, but not enough to apologise in front of hundreds of prying eyes. He turned to Foreman who looked like he was bursting for a question.

“He?” Was all Foreman could get out, voice squeaky.

“He is the love of my life. Any more questions?”

“Knew you were too pretty to be straight.” House smirked, taking a bite into the younger man’s sandwich before spitting it out. 

“Did you try to poison me?” He shrieked.

It was Chase’s turn to smirk, picking up the offending sandwich and taking a large bite out of the other side. “I hope my boyfriend wasn’t trying to do so, it would have been me.” He exclaimed with mock horror.

He munched on the sandwich ignoring the taunts coming his way from House and walked back to his locker to put away his lunch bag and postie. Unfortunately House, Foreman and Cameron had deigned it necessary to walk him to his locker. After failed attempts to get them to walk away he opened his locker, smiling at the bright yellow notes and pictures of the two of them.

The photos detailed their story, their first date and Chase could almost feel it, smell it, taste it. Their hands damp with nervous sweat, uncomfortable suits and awkward conversation at a fancy Italian restaurant that had ended with them shucking off their ties, undoing their top buttons, kicking off their shoes and running in the rain. There was a cute, but blurry before and after photo of their date that Chase had insisted on printing for their anniversary. 

The rest of the images showed dates at DisneyLand, kisses under the mistletoe, birthdays and anniversaries spent together, hell there was even a picture of a half asleep Felix, shirtless and covered by a white sheet, Chase had taken one morning when the sun was just right and he looked like an angel in disguise. 

The post it notes took up all his locker door, some half hanging off, some stuck with blue tac, others with sticky tape and the special ones hung on a piece of string with some old pegs. It was truly an altar for his love, his life and he couldn’t be happier. Tucked behind it was an old picture of a shirtless blonde, teen, smiling widely on the beach, arm around a similar looking but younger girl, also grinning. They were holding matching surfboards and both were dripping wet from the surf, clutching ice blocks. 

Chase treasured the photo of him and his sister, but Felix took up the most space, like he did in Chase’s life. He’d bounded in and never left, from the day he’d run into him on a train and spilt coffee on him (what a cliche), while running late for one of House’s crazy ideas. Felix had filled the hole in his life that Chase hadn’t realised he’d had, life always filled with colour and joy and weirdness, with love and a warmth he’d never felt before. For once he was content, no matter what he could hear the others muttering behind him.

Foreman didn’t leave him alone the rest of the day, every time they went to do lab samples, nudging him and asking about his sex life. Cameron was more discreet but she too wanted to know everything, it wasn’t unusual behaviour for either, but it had never really been directed at him, making it disconcerting. 

House however, was acting much the same, always having teased him about the nurses, only changing the pronouns he used and adding more gay jabs than usual. It didn’t bother Chase for some reason today, maybe it was because he was too excited to see Felix, see what they were for their 3rd year anniversary, Felix had said he’d wanted to plan it this year.

As he was leaving the hospital, he was met with wolf whistles and an eyebrow raise from Cuddy (of course House had gone to her). Wilson also gave him a soft smile as he left, wishing him the next of luck Chase supposed, while House had pelted him with comments about his sex life and ‘taking it up the arse’ as he left. He didn’t care, he was floating on a cloud.

He had to stop himself from speeding home, knowing it was dangerous and Felix would definitely scold him for it, besides he didn’t want to go back to PPTH tonight. After what felt like forever he pulled up outside his house and didn’t bother waiting before he grabbed his bag, rushing up the stairs. What he saw when he entered was not what he expected, but endeared him regardless. 

Felix seemed to be juggling six pots, pans and bowls, food spilled on the counter and the faint smell of burning was what greeted him at the door. “Felix, my love?”

He called as he walked in, hanging up his coat and shucking off his shoes, going up behind his boyfriend and wrapping his hands around the smaller man’s waist. “What is this?”

Felix set everything down on the counter, turning around to give Chase a kiss and looking severely put out. 

“Robbie,” he whined. “It was supposed to be a surprise, and good, and be fantastic and awesome and it didn’t happen.”

He was pouting and giving Robbie puppy dog eyes and it felt so good to come home and be Robbie, himself, not Chase, like his father. He hummed at his partner, swaying with him and ignoring the half-hearted flails and whines to go back to the cooking.

“How about we get some take out and we’ll clean this up in the morning?” He asked, distracting the man with kisses along his freckles and pulling him impossibly closer, flushed to his hips.

Felix looked like he wanted to argue before moaning into the kiss and pulling Robbie closer. “Okay.”

They made their way over to the couch, Felix lying in Robbie’s arms while they argued over what to watch and whether Hannibal or Will was cuter. All in all it felt domestic, it felt like home. He was warm and comfortable, his brain to mouth filter had gone by now. A few too many drinks and shared thoughts about getting railed by Hannibal ensured it, but even he didn’t think he’d be this stupid.

He opened his mouth and without thinking too much about it he asked, “Will you marry me Felix?”

Felix bolted upright, jostling a sleepy Robbie who had Felix lying on top of him and was running his fingers through the smaller man’s hair, the key word being was.

“Are you serious?” Felix asked, wide eyed. He looked on the verge of tears, but the smile on his face betrayed his emotions in a second.

It took a moment for Chase to realise what he’d said, jerking himself awake. “Yeah.” He finally breathed out, suddenly breaking into a grin.

“Yeah.” Before either of them can stop it, they’re breaking out into hysterical laughter, is this what being in love is like? Chase has never felt anything as close, he wants to feel it for the rest of his life. 

“Yeah?” Chase smiles, jumping up and running to their room. He runs back out in record time, narrowly missing the coffee table and getting down on one knee just in time to see Felix sprint out of the kitchen. He opens the box up, showing the reasonable sized rock he’d gotten Felix, hoping to god that he’d like it. Felix took one look at the ring before bursting out into tears. 

“Will you be my husband?” Chase asked, smiling sheepishly. “I know it’s not a grand proposal and we just had take out and it’s on our-”

Felix shut him up with a kiss which definitely distracted Chase, then opened his own box. “As long as you’ll be mine.”

The ring Felix has chosen is beautiful, there’s no other way to describe it. It is so perfectly them. On the inside the engraving reads ‘for my silly duck’, the outside a rose gold and encrusted with tiny diamonds. Chase let out a wet sob, sliding Felix’s ring onto his hand. The inscription on his reads ‘for my post-it note hero’ and he cannot wait to spend the rest of his life with this man.

They don’t do much for the rest of the night, as the excitement and nervous energy runs down they sit examining their rings, half watching the tv and both fall asleep on the couch. They both wake up a little too late, but Felix doesn’t have to go into work until midday so he packs Chase’s lunch and sends him off to work with a kiss and a goodbye to his fiance. 

God it still made them both giddy. The team noticed as Chase walked in, earlier than usual with a spring in his step, Foreman making a crude comment about getting laid and Cameron just smiling awkwardly, obviously agreeing with Foreman’s assessment but unable to say it.

“So who asked?” House asked, walking in the room and glancing at Chase's inconspicuously hidden hand, that neither fellow had noticed. 

“It was a joint effort.” He smiled giddily just thinking of the night before as House made gagging sounds and the other two congratulated him. He got a thump on the back from Foreman, an awkward hug from Cameron, an even more awkward bout of advice from Wilson and a happy congratulations from Cuddy. Word spread around the hospital like wildfire, but he didn’t care.

He was getting married. He had a fiance.

He pulled out his lunch, sitting alone at a table, wanting to see what Felix had packed him. As expected a little note flew out of the bag and landed on the table in front of him, it all seemed to be going his way. 

‘To my duckling, my darling fiance’, it read, Chase’s heart skipped a beat at the word, ‘I love you with all my butt. I would say my heart, but it is just not as big.’ 

He laughed at his boyfriend’s crude sense of humor and big gluteus maximus Felix had given the duck in pencil, placing the note in his locker right next to the photo of their first date. The next photo to go up would be a photo of them at town hall, too excited to wait, along with a photo from their first dance and the traditional cake fight. 

He couldn’t be happier, with what Felix called them his ‘Little Notes For Robbie’.

[themissinggenius]

Part 2/2

Another conversation was coming, but it was avoided for the time being. Clarice showered in the guest bathroom; earlier, she had tried peering around the house—still mad but a bit embarrassed by the outburst. The door had been put back into place since she showered, and the water had been cleaned off of the floor. Hannibal was nowhere to be found. I really did it this time, she thought. Her body relaxed, and her face softened. She didn’t think it was appropriate to laugh, but the thought still surfaced, prompting a sad smile. I pushed around the violent centerpiece of the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list. And he just cried. Shithouse mouse. The smirk dissipated as she ruminated further... She had hit him. Being a domestic abuser wasn’t just rude; it was boringly common. 

She moved the thoughts about violence to the side and shifted her attention to the cause of the scuffle. I don’t know what he expected. Hannibal knows the depth of my old relationship with Jack, as much as he hated him. He told me to say goodbye to my father, so why not Jack?

Your daddy and Jackie Boy aren’t the same, she reminded herself. At this moment, she was both grateful and resentful that her internal voice of reason was that of her husband. At least it was helping her see his view. Okay, so the relationship isn’t necessarily comparable. But why would he think I wouldn’t come home? Did he really read my intentions so incorrectly?

Clarice laid awake in the guest bedroom for hours.

~~

Hannibal Lecter relies on his intuition; it may just be his most famous attribute. On rare occasion, though, his cunning will fail him. On the day that Jack Crawford died, it most certainly did.

However, he doesn’t know that yet. Instead, he is reclined in repose at the seat of his harpsichord which he does not play. As he is off in one of the ill-visited quarters of the home, Clarice would be unable to hear the notes carrying from her position in the guest room; even so, he does not play. Hannibal gleaned a look of disgust and frustration from her earlier, and thus, he was certain his Starling would take flight by the morning for reasons known but difficult to accept. There is no reason for him to play.

Poised on the bench, he disappeared to his memory palace without struggle. The difficulty came when he walked down the halls, closing each door that had belonged to her. Hannibal contemplated as he walked: There is a certain symmetry to this—an appreciable one. Clarice’s hotheadedness had been a defining feature of hers, whereas he relied on coolness. He chastised himself for his own emotional outburst; it was unlike him to breakdown, and though he had allowed himself to become vulnerable to his wife, with her likely departure, he had to withdraw from all this fragility. He had to shut down. He had to be the ice to meet her violent fire. 

Thus, he closed her doors, sealing the emotional ties within each.

~~

Hannibal emerged at the sound of her voice. He had not heard her approaching in nor had he smelled her. 

A few paces away from the harpsichord, Clarice stood. Hannibal had been contemplating whether to address her as Clarice (Perhaps too informal at this point...), Agent Starling (But even when she goes back, she won’t be an agent...), or Miss Starling (Ummmm, I don’t like this one very much...) when she interrupted.

“Hannibal,” she started. 

“Ah.” He paused but spoke again before she could continue. “I see you’ve finally decided to join me. Had enough tossing and turning up there, or did you come down to use me as your personal punching bag again?”

“No, no. I just think-”

He cut her off again. “You know what I think, Ex-Special Agent Starling?” Oooh. That works, he thought. “Well, actually I wonder. I wonder if that was how Daddy took care o’ Mommy when she wouldn’t shut ‘er yap.” His imitation of her accent—which she had long abandoned—made her flinch. “If Ma didn’t have dinner on the table at five-o-clock, yes siree, she’d be in some kinda trouble. And boy, does Clarice still wanna be like her Daddy! No matter what,” he emphasized with a drawl, “she’s gonna stand by him. It sure do seem that way tuh me!” Hannibal smirked, and his face betrayed no warmth.

The room had felt colder to Clarice when she had walked in. She had expected him to be upset, but she hadn’t expected this. The woman paused and considered the implications: her musings were correct. He really did misread her, and now he was trying to drive her away. Well fuck that. 

In their years of marriage, the couple had picked up on a few of each other’s traits. For one, Clarice was not going to allow a bit of intimidation break her. He came close to doing so in Baltimore, but he would not again. She steeled herself, adopting a bit of his icy demeanor.

“No, Hannibal. My father did not hit my mother. I think I would’ve told you by now, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away; rather, he just pursed his lips and smiled. 

Then, he began: “As you know, I don’t try to predict you because it often proves fruitless.” He looked off before setting his gaze squarely on her. “However, considering these... outbursts of yours and the contempt plain on your face, I have bought you a ticket back to Arlington in time for dear Mr. Crawford’s funeral. For my safety, I will also be leaving, but not to Virginia. I know how much you must miss Jackie; please, give him my regards when you go. Maybe if you scream and pound on his grave hard enough, someone will hear and they’ll finally find you... Three years after you were reported as a missing person.” Lecter’s eyebrows shot up, and he shrugged. “Though I doubt you’ll be reinstated, as you haven’t kept your resume up to date. It will be no problem for you, though, Clarice.” He gave her a kind, patronizing look. “You’re a very smart girl. When you rediscover that the FBI has no use for your intelligence, try showing off your trophies from the firing range. Maybe even tell them about your skills in hand-to-hand combat... I could write you a glowing reference!”

Hannibal was perfectly still in his seat with his wife just beyond him. He waited patiently for her to break. He wanted no end to be left untied when she left. Your turn.

“I see you still try and lick tears after you’ve tired of tasting your own.” Clarice took a slow step toward him. She needed to crack his facade quickly. “Fortunately or unfortunately, I have no intention of moving back to the States. I find that I’m quite happy right here.”

Only she could have noticed the slight twitch of the doctor’s right eye upon this admission. And she did.

Starling inched closer. “Now, about this ‘contempt plain on my face’...” She mirrored his voice and flat expression; her imitation was even better than his had been. “Did ya happen to consider that it’s because you just tried to tear me apart—unsuccessfully, I might add? Let me tell you what I know, Doctor.” She hammed up the formality in her tone. “I know you’re not comfortable feeling worried about another person. I know that you felt vulnerable when I was gone, and I know you didn’t like that.” 

She paused, remaining collected. She raised her voice a tad for this last bit. “Lastly, I know that you ASSUMED. And if there is one—just one!—good thing that goddamned Jack Crawford taught me over the years,” she laughed, “it’s that, when you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME. Trust me, baby, you did just that. And despite what your intuition told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

She did it. The true stoic’s face had broken, and Hannibal the Cannibal sat, dumbfounded. He opened his mouth and then closed it. She continued.

“I’m sorry that you misread my motivations. I spent yesterday reflecting on how I had gotten to this point, and I had come home feeling glad. I was planning on going upstairs to find you, drawing a bath for the both of us, and then dancing later on in the evening. Your assumption got us a bit sidetracked, though.” Looking down at her watch, it was 2am. Holy crap. She focused back on him and noted that he was still unmoving but appeared less rigid than before. The room felt like it had finally warmed up.

Clarice took a last step towards her husband. Now above him, looking down, she said, “I am sincerely sorry for hitting you, Hannibal.”

Finally, he stirred. “Clarice, I have not once so much as laid a finger on you in anger...”

“I know. Ironic, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

His wife smirked at that, and he returned the favor. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. Anyway, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. You know what else won’t happen again?” She held his chin and spoke softly. “You doubting us. I’m with you for the long haul. Where the hell did you even think I was going?”

“Ummmm. To be candid, I’m unsure of what I thought your plan was. I assumeddddd,” he looked up at her teasingly, “that you were leaving because of a change in heart.”

“My, Dr. Lecter, you didn’t have every one of my steps planned out before I could even think of them? What have I done to you?”

“I can now definitively say that you bring out the worst in me.”

Clarice laughed and sat down next to him. “Crying? And worrying?” She was feeling more relaxed, placing her hand on his leg as she started laughing harder. “Why am I not surprised that you consider that to be Hannibal Lecter at his worst?”

Her husband just smiled back at her. She saw his cheeks blush almost imperceptibly, which then prompted a further fit. It wasn’t long before they were both laughing.

“You had better... go back... into that memory palace of yours... and open up my doors ASAP,” Clarice ordered while catching her breath.

“And how did you—?”

“You were sitting on that bench for quite a while before I called out to ya. Try not to forget about me so soon, huh?”

“I wouldn’t even think of it.” Never again, he added silently. “But I must ask... Would I be incorrect in assuming you still want to dance?”

Clarice smiled widely. Hannibal shifted in his seat and began to play.