#my favorite might be the collar one but oh my goodness the bows...THE GLASSES

[writerpeach]

Blind Date

LOONA Choerry X Male Reader

8153 words

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“Oppa, how long has it been since you’ve dated anyone?” Son Hyejoo asked, seemingly out of the blue as she loudly slurped on her milkshake, stirring the leftover contents with her large straw.

“I don’t know, Hyejoo. I don’t keep track of things like that.”

Hyejoo pointed her strawberry milkshake directly at you, unsatisfied with your answer. “Then that means it’s been too long,” she said, her triangle lips forming a pout.

You rubbed your forehead, knowing once she brought something up she wasn’t going to drop it.

“Why do I need to date anyone when I’m lucky enough to rail you every day?” you playfully replied, causing her nearly to choke on her frozen drink.

“Oppa, not so loud!” she said, kicking your shin. “I won’t be around all the time now that I’m starting a new job. And you need some variety in your life. You’re going to get tired of fucking me.”

“That’s impossible.”

You couldn’t say you agreed with her on that. Hyejoo was the perfect friend with benefits, beautiful big tits and perfect thick thighs, the prettiest mouth and the tightest pussy that you spilled yourself inside several times a day, you couldn’t imagine needing anything else.

“I know just the person to set you up with, oppa. She’s single and one of my closest friends, I think you’ll like her.”

“That’s really not necessary-”

Hyejoo wasn’t going to take no for an answer, refusing to back down as she grabbed her phone and swiped through it.

Finding what she was looking for she showed you her screen, an equally gorgeous girl that looked the same age as her with innocent eyes and a sweet smile.

“She’s cute, but you really don’t have to-”

“Nonsense, oppa. It’s time for you to stop being so needy and find a girlfriend,” Hyejoo said.

“Needy? Unless I’m forgetting something you’re the one who loves slobbering on my cock first thing in the morning,” you said.

“Hey! It’s called breakfast, and it’s not my fault you get so hard in the morning.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure it is,” you said, as you were met with another kick to the shins.

“Ow!”

“It’s settled, I’ll set you two up on a blind date.”

“Blind date? But you just showed me her picture,” you said, tilting your head in confusion.

Hyejoo sighed audibly. “You’re hopeless, oppa. Don’t you want to know what she looks like?”

“O-of course, but-”

“No buts, oppa. Except hers, her butt is very nice,” she giggled, finishing up her milkshake.

“Don’t worry, she’s very sweet, I think you’ll get along well. Her name is Yerim and she always puts out.”

✦✦

“You look good, oppa,” Hyejoo said as she fixed the collar of your shirt.

You wiped your sweaty palms on the back of your pants as you took one more look in the mirror

“You smell good too. I told you that cologne was a panty-dropper," she said as her lips curled in a smirk.

You sighed loudly. “Hyejoo, I’m not meeting this girl just to get laid. You wanted me to get a girlfriend, right?”

"No, I'm pretty sure you wanted this, actually-"

Hyejoo pressed a finger against your lips. "Shush, oppa. Are you nervous?”

“Y-yes, it’s been years since I’ve been on a date.”

“Wanna have a quickie before? Burn all that stress all inside me?” Hyejoo jokingly said.

“...Are you serious?”

“Of course not, you can’t be dependent on me anymore, oppa. Plus, you need to save that load for Yerim.”

“Hyejoo!”

She smiled mischievously and patted your bottom, making sure nothing was out of place for your date.

“Have some confidence oppa, you’ll do great. Yerim will love you. Now get going, you don’t want to be late.”

✦✦

It was unusual for Hyejoo to put in this much effort, typically spending her days lazily on the couch checking her phone.

Everything was planned carefully. Hyejoo had picked the restaurant based on your favorite foods, the time, and the day, even showing up to your place an hour before to make sure you looked your best.

Keeping up with the notion of this being mostly a blind date, Hyejoo didn’t tell you much about Yerim. They shared the same age, although Yerim was months younger. They had a similar body type and lighter hair, and if you didn’t know any better you could have mistaken her for a younger sister.

You were still nervous about the date, but trusted Hyejoo’s judgement and hoped you were about to waste this opportunity that you had been given to meet a new girl. You took a deep breath as you stepped out of the taxi and headed into the restaurant, trying to calm your shaky hands.

The restaurant was larger than expected looking from the outside, equipped with a bar and seating area as you scanned around for your date.

“Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?” One of the hostesses asked, but before you had a chance to answer you heard an adorable voice interrupting.

“Over here!”

You were quickly blindsided by a cute girl that matched the picture that Hyejoo had shown you, abruptly wrapping her arms around in a tight hug.

She had a petite frame with brown hair, a tint lighter than Hyejoo and wore a modest black dress and heels with her hair styled perfectly.

“You’re Hyejoo’s friend right?” she asked, the smile on her face brighter than the sun.

“It would be a little awkward if I wasn’t now wouldn’t it?” you teased, gently nodding in response.

“Oh, well if you weren’t then I would just be hugging a cute stranger,” she said. “I’m Yerim.”

Cute? You thought to yourself as you were broadsided by this ball of happiness. “Come on, let’s eat!” she said, grabbing your hand as the hostess led you to your table.

You were both seated at a romantic candle-lit booth, letting Yerim sit down first as you took in the atmosphere of the restaurant. Hyejoo had picked the perfect place.

The waiter handed out menus and filled glasses to the brim with ice water as you looked over the laundry list of food, unsure what you were in the mood for.

“What’s good here?” Yerim asked the waiter, batting her eyelashes as her vocal tone grew higher.

“Our sushi and steak platter is very popular here. We have several different types to try paired with our signature sauces.”

“Steak? I love steak!” Yerim said, her mouth salivating just thinking about it.

“Me too. And sushi,” you said, as Yerim nodded to the waiter.

“I’ll bring it right out then,” the waiter said, scurrying away with a polite bow.

“I can’t wait!” Yerim said, licking her lips as she carefully unfolded and placed her napkin on her lap.

“It’s nice to meet you. Hyejoo has told me a lot about you!” she said, keeping a beautiful smile etched on her lips.

“Oh, has she? That seems a bit unfair, she didn’t tell me much about you. You’re much cuter than the picture she showed me.”

Yerim giggled as she opened her straw, placing it inside her glass and playing around with the ice cubes before taking a small sip, careful not to mess up her lip gloss.

The two girls were quite the contrast to each other. Hyejoo wasn’t one to care about most things, you found it difficult to pry her away from her gaming chair for anything but food and sex. Yerim on the other hand was hanging on your every word, finding any word you said the most interesting thing in the world without a hint of dishonesty.

Quicker than expected the food arrived, and you both dove in without hesitation, armed with chopsticks like a hunter stalking a prey.

The two opposing foods meshed perfectly. Raw sushi made with fish so fresh it might as well have been served directly out of the ocean, complimenting tender meat that literally melted in your mouth, cooked to perfection and seasoned, salted without excess. You swore you heard Yerim moaning out loud as she took her first bite.

Sharing food with a girl so full of energy was a wonderful experience, her company only adding to the delicious flavor. You were so focused on the fresh sushi that you barely had the capacity to register Yerim unapologetically taking the last piece of steak quicker than a deadly samurai and shoving it into her mouth proudly.

“Ah, you really must be Hyejoo’s friend,” you said sarcastically, frowning at her meat thievery.

"Mmm! There's nothing I love more than juicy meat in my mouth," Yerim said, without a hint of subtlety to her words.

She shamelessly went in for another piece of sushi, trying to add another piece of loot to her food heist as you quickly blocked her chopsticks with your own, denying her the satisfaction as you claimed the last spicy tuna roll for your own.

“Hey! That one was my favorite!” she protested, pursing her lips as her cheeks puffed as she watched the claimed prize disappearing into your mouth.

“Mine too! It was delicious,” you boasted, wiping your lips with the cloth napkin before folding it back on your lap. “I’m sorry, it was rude of me not to ask if you wanted the last piece.”

Yerim wasn’t one to stay mad for long, unfolding her arms as the signature brightness returned to her face. “The steak was better anyways,“ she said, giggling and sticking her tongue out.

Time flew by as you learned more about Yerim, hours had felt like minutes as they passed,

ending the meal with the biggest slice of cheesecake you had ever seen.

The waiter came by to drop off the bill as you scooped it up, not bothering to look at the total as the time spent with such an adorable human was priceless.

“Such a gentleman, aren’t you?” Yerim said, and you couldn’t quite tell if she was teasing you or not.

Leaving a generous tip, you walked Yerim outside the restaurant, both of you equally full from both the delicious food company as the temperature had dropped, the cool crisp air blowing every which way.

“Thank you for a fun night, Yerim. I’ll let Hyejoo know she picked well.”

Yerim’s cheeks reddened and tilted her head down shyly. “Ending the night so soon?” Yerim said, the disappointment in her voice clear as the night sky.

“Well, it’s getting late and I wouldn’t want to keep you up.”

“I don’t have a bedtime, silly,” she said, hitting your shoulder as the wind blew through her beautiful hair. The moonlight bouncing off her skin made her look even more gorgeous, illuminating her milky white skin.

Yerim closed the distance little by little until your noses were almost touching, letting you see the color in her beautiful round eyes.

“I had a really fun night too, but it doesn’t have to end here you know...” Yerim said, giving you a quick peck on your cheek.

Yerim was practically throwing herself at you as you gulped, swallowing down saliva nervously.

“Aren’t you going to invite a cute girl back to your place?” she abruptly said, taking charge of the situation.

You snapped out of it and weren’t going to let Hyejoo’s efforts go to waste. “O-of course. Would you like to go back to my place, Miss Yerim?”

“Of course! I thought you would never ask!”

The short taxi ride back to your place was filled with palpable sexual tension, neither of you muttering a word since you both left the restaurant. Yerim opted for her actions to speak for her as she rubbed your thigh the whole time.

You unlocked the door to your apartment and held the door open for Yerim as she stepped inside, swiveling her head as she looked around. She kicked her heels off and rubbed her feet, happy to be freed of them as her bare feet walked on the carpet.

“You have such a nice place. It’s cleaner than I expected.”

You didn’t know what that meant as you got comfortable, slipping your shoes off as you grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine,” she replied, awkwardly standing in the middle of the living room until you gestured for her to take a seat. Yerim sat down excitedly, pulling her dress down and crossed her legs as you sat down next to her.

Yerim turned her body towards you and placed a hand on your knee, her full attention yours for the taking as her bright doe eyes lit up.

“This was the first blind date I’ve been on,” Yerim said, leaning in close enough that you could smell her cherry shampoo.

“Me too. Did you have a good time?”

“Yes! I’m still full from all that steak.”

You felt weak in the knees at Yerim’s beauty, the possibility that such a beautiful girl existed seemed to be good to be true. You hesitated to make the first move, but Yerim had it covered as she mounted your lap, wrapping her legs around your waist.

You felt the electricity in the air as Yerim’s lips brushed against yours, meeting for the first time as the sweet taste of her entered your mouth, reminding you of an unforgettable candy.

“You’re so pretty,” you said, the kiss breaking after just a few seconds, leaving you longing for more after just a tease.

“Keep kissing me and I’ll let you see how pretty the rest of me is,” Yerim said, once again without any subtlety. Your hands snaked around her slim waist as your lips met again, her tongue introducing itself and playing around with your own.

“Not bad,” Yerim said as she came up for air, her eyes drunk on lust already. This close you were able to distinguish all the features of her face, her dead drop gorgeous eyes, her cute nose, her luscious lips, it was all a complete package.

“You’re really pretty, Yerim,” you said, complimenting her again as her face reddened and the pale color of her cheeks faded.

“T-thank you,” Yerim said, running a hand through her hair, trying to calm herself down.

“I wasn’t planning on dating anytime soon, but Hyejoo talked me into it. I even got this new dress for the occasion.”

“It looks really good on you.”

“Thank you! I think it’ll look even better on your floor, though,” Yerim said, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably.

You had no response in return, suddenly rendered speechless but her forwardness.

“It’s my first time. You’ll be gentle, won’t you?” Yerim asked, the innocence in her sparkling eyes shining through.

“W-wait, really?” you asked. Hyejoo didn’t certainly mention something so vital, and Yerim had just dropped this so casually on you that you didn’t know how to react.

“Isn’t it every guy's fantasy to pop a girl’s cherry?” Yerim asked, as she bit the tip of her fingernail.

You scrambled for words to find when Yerim began giggling uncontrollably, trying to save the last of her charade as she placed her hand over her mouth.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” Yerim said, as you felt all the color fading from your face.

“Don’t worry, I’m not actually a virgin. I am a good girl though,” she said, as she started grinding herself on your lap.

“Are you? I don’t think this is what good girls do, Yerim,” you said, grabbing her waist to hold her in place.

“Of course! I’m always a good girl…”

“We’ll see about that.”

Yerim’s expression never changed, her eyes keeping the same innocent look in them as if trying to convince you of her words. You moved her hair out of the way and kissed her neck in several places, diving in and gently sucking on the sensitive skin that you found there, causing Yerim to gasp loudly.

“Take me to the bedroom. I think you’re getting excited,” she teased, as blood had begun flowing to your pants, causing an erection to form that she had felt.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked, her gorgeous face a hair's breadth away as you lose yourself in her eyes.

Yerim nodded without hesitation, cupping both sides of your face and swiping her tongue against your lips, taking one more tender kiss, the taste of her lips lingering.

“Yes, I want it. I want you to fuck me,“ she whispered into your ear, her expression finally changing as her eyes opened wide. The innocence was gone, swallowed up by lust as she dismounted your lap and stretched her arm out as you led her to the bedroom.

“Wow, so this must be where you and Hyejoo have all your fun together?” she said, exploring the large bedroom with her eyes.

“Here, the bathroom, the shower, the couch, the kitchen counter…”

Yerim feigned surprise for a moment, stopping at the foot of the bed. “Where are we going to have fun together?”

“Wherever you would like.”

“We can start here,” Yerim said, closing the distance and went in for another makeout session as her slender fingers unbuttoned your shirt, fingers tracing your chest.

“Hyejoo left the part out about you having such a nice body,” Yerim said as she planted a wet kiss on your chest, slipping your shirt off your body as she tossed it away.

“Can’t let her spoil everything about me can we?” you said, exploring her body with your hands, cupping her backside with both hands and grabbing a handful of cheeks.

“It’s my turn then,” Yerim said, turning away from you and letting you see the backside of her little black dress. “Help a girl out?”

You let out a deep breath as you approached, grabbing the top of her zipper’s dress and pulled it down in one smooth movement, exposing her bare back. Yerim turned back around with the shyest of smiles, slipping the dress off her body as it piled at her feet.

Yerim rested her hands on her wide hips, presenting her tight body that was more mouthwatering than the meal you shared earlier. Underneath her dress she had on a cute purple bra, showing a hint of cleavage with matching underwear as she spun around and let you see her the thin piece of fabric nestled in between her delicious asscheeks.

The curves of her body competed with that of Hyejoo minus a smaller chest, competing where it mattered with delicious succulent thighs that you couldn’t wait to get your hands on.

“Like what you see?”

“I do. Is this what good girls wear?” you asked as you pulled her in close, hands wandering around before finding her backside again, squeezing her ass firmly.

“Y-yes! I’ll show you what a good girl I can be,”

Her eyes were filled with excitement as she kept them on you the entire time as she slowly lowered to her knees, staring at the bulge in your pants now at eye level.

“Can I?” Yerim asked with widened eyes, demonstrating her ability to wait for permission as she patiently waited. You gave the go ahead with a simple nod, and she swiftly undid your pants, yanking them down to your ankles as the bulge in your boxers became more prominent.

Yerim was quick to free your shaft from its constraints, hooking her fingers into the waistband of your boxers as she divested them from your body. Blood had rushed to your throbbing shaft as it was freed, almost smacking Yerim’s adorable face as it was met with the cool air.

“Wow...” Yerim said as your revealed cock met her gaze, hungrily admiring every last inch of it as she couldn’t keep her mouth closed. Her fingers wrapped around it, forming a tight fist and pumped up and down slowly, precum dripping out of your slit already as you throbbed in her hand.

Yerim had no time to waste, giving a few soft kisses on your tip as she flattened her tongue at the base of your cock, painting slow upward strokes with her wet tongue, swirling against your leaking slit and collecting every drop.

“Mmm, yummy!” she said, and without hesitation she parted her lips with your shaft, taking you into the warmth of her mouth, sucking on your swollen sensitive tip.

“Oh... f-fuck,” you moaned out, your toes digging into the carpet as the pleasure took over, shooting up your spine. Yerim’s mouth was nothing but pleasurable, delivering radiating warmth as her puckered lips wrapped around your shaft, feeling like the softest silk as she applied a delicate suction and hollowed her squishy cheeks.

You looked up at the lights for a second, trying to distract yourself from the intense feeling of Yerim’s lips sucking you off. It didn’t help much, especially when you felt her warm mouth unexpectedly move deeper, causing you to moan loudly.

You almost regretted looking down, watching as Yerim bobbed her head up and down as she slurped on your shaft, retreating her mouth back when half of you entered her mouth as her playful tongue ran along the sensitive underside of your cock.

“God, that feels amazing,” you said, placing a hand on the back of her head, both to guide her movements and to give yourself a necessary outlet. Yerim took this as encouragement, swiftly sliding her lips up and down your throbbing shaft, leaving behind a trail of glistening warm saliva in her wake.

Yerim looked up, showing the hunger in her eyes, spitting leftover saliva as she furiously stroked your cock.

“Does that feel good, daddy?” she asked, your cock twitching in her small hand, answering for you. Hyejoo had told her one of your little secrets it seemed.

“Please fuck my face, daddy. Fill my throat with this nice cock,” Yerim pleaded, letting any last remnants of innocence slip away.

It was hard not to be taken aback by her filthy words that didn’t match her cute features, but you’d be lying if the juxtaposition didn’t send your arousal level skyrocketing.

Taking control of your shaft you rubbed your tip on her soft warm lips, pushing yourself back into the intoxicating warmth of her mouth. You guided Yerim deeper by pushing the back of her head down until her lips met the base of your shaft. With minimal effort you entered her throat, hitting the back of it as it tightened around you and caused her to gag loudly. You instinctively began to withdraw, but the look in her eyes suggested otherwise.

You grabbed both sides of her head, moving gently as strands of dark hair wrapped around your fingers as you thrusted in and out of her warm mouth, gradually testing her limits. Yerim kept gagging as your tip stuck the back of her throat, but gave no signal she wanted you to stop, her lustful gaze suggesting the opposite.

It didn’t take long for your self control to vanquish itself, carnal desires taking over as you took pleasure from Yerim, fucking her mouth furiously and slapping your balls against her chin as her round eyes began watering with tears.

“Such a good girl. You like being used like this?” you asked, Yerim unable to answer but smiling with a mouth full of cock, slurping and gagging on every inch of throbbing hard flesh.

You never stopped your rough treatment of Yerim’s pretty mouth, ruining her makeup that was no doubt meticulously put on as she tried to tame her gag reflex to no avail. You could see by her watery eyes how much she was enjoying this, dripping down her thighs as she kept her mouth open for you to encourage your forceful use of her throat.

Yerim’s hands didn’t stay idle as they worked the clasp of her bra, discarding it from her body to free her perky tits, only strengthening your erection. She held on to your thighs to brace herself, slobbering on your shaft as you kept her throat filled, taking every thrust like a champ as messy drool spilled out of her lips and coated her bare chest.

Your senses were overwhelmed as Yerim had been turned into a mess, her beautiful face now stained with tears and drool, hair disheveled and out of place. You couldn’t keep this pace up for much longer or you were liable to finish much sooner than you wanted to, forcing her head down and holding her there for several seconds before mercifully withdrawing your shaft from her messy mouth.

Yerim came up for air with several loud gasps, messy strands of spit connected your glistening wet shaft to her smiling lips.

“You really are a good girl,” you said, using your stiff cock and slapping her face several times with your wet shaft as she continued grinning from ear to ear.

"I wasn't lying…"

“I want you on the bed. I’m still a little hungry.”

"Of course, daddy!"

Yerim was quick to obey as she climbed up and crawled on the bed, lying flat on her back as she spread her legs for you, offering herself up like a scrumptious meal.

"Come taste me, daddy," Yerim beckoned, biting her lip as she rubbed her pussy through her skimpy panties, showing off the wet spot staining the front of her crotch that only grew the more she touched herself.

Yerim's perfect body was almost fully unwrapped for you, and you couldn’t take anymore and needed to see every inch, wanting to get in between those thighs you couldn’t stop staring. You joined her on the bed and peeled her panties off without hesitation down her sexy legs, revealing her bare pussy and the prettiest set of lips that were dripping with arousal.

"Beautiful," you said as you laid flat on your stomach, positioning yourself and spreading her legs wider as Yerim blushed in response.

“T-thank you, daddy.”

You grew tired of staring and wanted to take action, planting several kisses on Yerim’s bare thighs in different places, never putting your lips on the same part of skin twice. She squirmed at your touch as you teased her, placing your mouth dangerously close to her pussy but refusing to touch her center.

"D-daddy, please-"

“What is it, baby? What do you need?” you asked, swiping your tongue against her luscious thighs to taste her creamy skin, lapping up juices that had already spilled out of her core and sampling them.

“Eat my pussy, p-please, daddy.”

“You’re cute when you beg. I’m gonna make you do more of that,” you said, lowering your head in between her open legs and giving one slow swipe of your tongue against her pink dripping slit.

"O-oh f-fuck, daddy," Yerim moaned as you gave several licks repeatedly, exploring her wet tolds with your tongue. You slipped your tongue inside her juicy pussy, gathering her delicious nectar on your tastebuds and gave a few swipes against her cilt before sucking on it.

"Your pussy tastes so fucking good,” you said, slurping on her swollen clit as you felt the warmth of her thighs on either side of your face, wrapping around your head and squeezing. You looked straight into Yerim’s round, lust-filled eyes as you ate her out, watching her bliss overtake her features as you lapped up all her leaking juices, drinking up every drop.

“F-fuck, you’re really good at that,” Yerim cried out, her hips bucking with a mind of their own. You brought a finger inside her dripping wet cunt, then a second short after, thrusting into her tight little hole as you kept your lips secured around her swollen clit, slurping harshly on it.

“That feels so good, o-oh my god, please d-don’t stop, daddy…”

Yerim grew wetter and wetter, your fingers being drenched with her slick as you messily ate her out, her thighs squeezing your head tighter as her breathing became shallow. You kept eye contact as your fingers plunged to the hilt, the warm walls of her cunt squeezing your wet fingers, not letting you go.

“J-ust like that, I’m so c-close, f-fuck!”

You kept firm pressure on her clit as her moans grew stronger and longer, lips suckling harshly on her sensitive nub as you helped her chase what she was desperate for, drinking in her nectar as it filled your mouth.

“D-daddy, I-I’m going to cum!”

Yerim suffocated you with her thighs as you kept your lips on her clit, fucking her with your fingers without mercy as grabbed onto your head, pushing you deeper into her delicious pussy as she couldn’t take it any more.

“O-oh, oh my god, daddy, I’m cumming!”

Yerim’s muscles tensed up as her toes curled, flooding your mouth with her sweet succulent honey. Her hips bucked uncontrollably as you helped her hit her peak, her thighs trembling around your head, smearing her juices all over your lips and chin, drowning you with her pleasure.

It was loud and messy, an unforgettable clmax for Yerim as you helped her come down from it gently, slurping with less force and removing your lips from her sensitive clit. Your fingers however, stayed deep inside her as her thighs lost the power they held around your head.

“I want you to cum again for me,” you ordered, pumping your fingers furiously inside her dripping tight hole, her wetness sucking you in.

“I-I can’t, p-please, daddy, I’m still sensitive…”

“You said you’re a good girl didn’t you? I want you to cum one more time.”

You had no plans of letting up, both fingers buried to the hilt inside Yerim’s pussy, keeping up the stimulation on her body as you felt her cunt pulsating again. The wet squelch of her warm hole filled the room as you never stopped moving, keeping her pussy filled as tears welled up in her sparkling eyes as you demanded another orgasm out of her.

“Cum for me, baby, I know you can do it. One more time, I want to see how wet you can really get.”

“P-please, I-I, f-fuck, o-oh fuck!”

Yerim was a beautiful squirming mess, her thighs covered in her own juices as she let out desperate gasps and moans, the intense stimulation overwhelming her body and all her senses.

“D-daddy, p-please!”

You weren’t planning on stopping until you got what you wanted and what Yerim deserved. Your wrist felt like it was on fire as fingers were kept curled inside her heat, moving frantically with one goal in mind.

Yerim barely had time to register the growing knot in her abdomen, still focused on the intense aftershocks running throughout her body that she quickly came without warning. Her orgasm was much stronger as slick juices gushed out of her sensitive pussy that forced your fingers out of her as she squirted all over you and the bed, staining the sheets and leaving a dark mess on the bed.

Yerim shook uncontrollably as her second consecutive orgasm winded down, you helped her out by caressing her thighs to calm her down, rubbing her pussy with your palm.

“P-please, s-stop, I can’t take anymore, p-please,” she begged, and you had your fill, ceasing any form of contact as her sounds of gasping heightened, her chest uninterruptedly heaving up and down.

“Good girl. Are you okay?” you asked, making a show of cleaning your fingers off with her juices.

“Y-yes, I’m fine, daddy. That was intense, I’ve never had anyone do that before,” she said, struggling to form full syllables.

You patiently waited for Yerim to regain her composure, giving all the time she needed. It took several moments for the trembling in her body to control itself, as the lustful gaze in her eyes returned, and you knew that meant she was ready for the next step.

“Will you fuck me now, daddy?”

“If you insist,” you replied, getting into position as your knees pressed against the still drenched sheets as you maneuvered in between her spread thighs. Yerim pushed her knees up and feet flat on the mattress as the anticipation of what you both desired was at an all-time high.

Gazing into her eyes with your cock in hand, you eagerly lined yourself up with Yerim’s pussy, sliding in between the warm flesh of her drenched pussy lips, stalling your desires to enter her body. You parted her folds, playing with her slippery flesh and refusing to do anything else but tease her entrance.

“P-please, put it inside me, daddy. I’ve been a good girl.”

“You have, but I want you to beg for it. Beg for me to fuck you.”

Yerim whined audibly as your cock loitered around her inviting opening, spreading her juices around and denying her the pleasure she desperately sought. It wasn’t going to be that easy for you to give in.

“P-please, please fuck me, daddy. I’m so wet, I need to feel your cock inside my tight little pussy!”

“I don’t think you really mean it,” you said, watching the desperation in her eyes as you slapped her clit with your cock. Yerim squirmed as you nudged the tip of your cock against her hole, teasing penetration but stopping at the last moment, leaving her unsatisfied and empty.

“P-please! I can’t take it anymore, please fuck me, daddy!”

You felt like you could go on like this forever, but your own self-control was being tested as the more you teased her the more you wanted to be inside her. Yerim continued to plead and beg, reduced to a desperate whiny mess and starving for cock as you looked straight into her eyes and slid inside her in one smooth stroke, parting the wet hungry lips of her cunt.

“O-oh my god.”

Yerim opened her mouth to let out a moan, her eyes struggling to stay open as flesh entered inside her. She tilted her head back as she was finally given what she craved as the tip of your cock disappeared inside her heat. Yerim was overwhelmingly tight, her walls suffocated your cock and you wanted to savor such an unforgettable feeling for as long as you could, lazily moving your hips.

You started out slowly, wanting Yerim to earn every single thrust. Her silky wet walls felt heavenly around your shaft, her warmth so intoxicating as you slid in and out of her pussy at a gingerly pace. She felt so wet, so hot, so tight inside that you couldn’t help but keep your pace slow at first, wanting to drown in all the intense sensations that flooded your body.

“Your pussy feels so amazing,” you said, as Yerim’s body tested your patience as you slid an inch deeper at a time, until you had bottomed her out. Her wetness was so prominent that you were able to move inside her effortlessly, her messy juices lubricating your sluggish thrusts.

“Do you like how tight I am, daddy? I’m much tighter than Hyejoo aren’t I?” Yerim asked as she adjusted to your length, keeping her desperate eyes glued to your own as you began to move more forcefully inside her, fueling your desires to give her everything and more.

“You’re so big, daddy. I want to be pounded senseless, ruin me please!”

“You have such a dirty little mouth don’t you, baby? I’m starting to think you aren’t a good girl after all,” you told her, upping your pace and fucking her harder as you grabbed her warm thighs, slipping into the wet depths of her hot constricting cunt.

Yerim feigned the hint of surprise on her face as she moaned, arms by her side and holding on to your bed sheets as she relaxed into the mattress.

“T-that’s not true, daddy. I’m not a bad girl…”

She struggled to keep her eyes open as pleasure took control of her body, and you felt no need to hold back and began pistoning your hips, pounding her pussy and stuffing her full of cock.

“I don’t think you’re a good girl. But I think you’re a little slut,” you said as you gave her the hardest thrust of the night, making her gasp at how deep your cock fit inside her.

“I-I’m not a slut, I’m a good-ah!”

Yerim’s denial was interrupted as you lifted her luscious legs into the air, draping them over your shoulders. You were able to hit spots you couldn’t before, thrusting carelessly into her pussy as the bed became an orchestra of noisy squeaks and audible moans.

“O-oh fuck, right there! just like that, daddy!”

You had no plans on stopping now that Yerim had unshackled the chains of desire, hugging her legs while your hips went wild as you drove yourself repeatedly into her comfortable warm hole.

It was impossible to concentrate on anything else with how good she felt and the never-ending wetness that smothered your shaft as you established a perfect rhythm and looked directly into Yerim’s eyes as you stretched her out.

“Such a good little slut, taking this cock so well,” you hissed, feeling her pussy clench around your cock at the second use of the word she swore she wasn’t, her body betraying her. Yerim let out wordless gasps and moans as you kept the momentum up with no end in sight.

Yerim’s moans grew and grew as your rhythm sped up, her flushed skin becoming warmer to touch as you kept her filled airtight, her walls pulsating around your drenched shaft.

“You’re going to cum again?”

“Y-yes, I’m so close! Please don’t stop…”

“You can’t. Not until you admit what a slut you are.”

“B-but I’m not...I’m a good girl I promise!” she said, desperately trying to keep up the act.

You slowed down your thrusts at the result of her defiance, practically at a standstill, resting inside her.

“N-no, wait! P-please, I’m so c-close. Let me cum, please, let me cum, daddy.”

You refused until she gave you want you wanted, only thrusting into her body every few seconds, driving her crazy.

“Say it. Tell me and I’ll make you feel better than you ever have before.”

Yerim was left with no other options, frustratedly grabbing on to the sheets as the fire in her abdomen kept burning.

“I’-I’m a slut. I’m a needy little slut that needs to cum!”

“No, you’re a good little slut. Now cum on my cock,” you corrected, reestablishing your pace and driving every inch of hard flesh inside her. Her walls clenched almost painfully tight, her wetness growing as you pounded her into the mattress.

“D-daddy, I-I’m cumming!”

Yerim’s orgasm didn’t dawdle, her toes curling into the sheets as her back arched, taking every inch of flesh into her wet pussy. You fucked her straight through her strongest orgasm of the night, her legs shaking in your hands as she came hard. If your sheets weren’t ruined before she made sure they were.

“Good little slut” you purred, letting her legs drop from your shoulders gently as your pace slowed down, caressing her face as her glazed over eyes could barely stay open.

“D-don’t you need to cum too, daddy?” Yerim asked with several shallow breaths, doing her best to form a sweet smile. You leaned forward and kissed her, tasting the cherries on her lips and watched her chest slowly heaving up and down, almost hypnotizing you.

“Not yet. I’m not done having fun with you.”

Letting her rest for a moment you slowly withdrew from her drenched pussy, watching your shaft glistening with her juices in the lights as you left her body empty, whines escaping her lips. Hands on her hips you nudged her as she turned over, getting on her hands and knees.

Yerim settled into position, displaying the naked curves of her body, ripe for the taking. She granted you all access to her delicious bent over body, her head resting on the mattress and her plump ass raised in the air.

Her pretty pink lips were still splayed open after your treatment of her, but you were just getting started, rubbing your painfully hard shaft between her warm buttcheeks as you prepared yourself to enter her pussy.

Yerim’s skin was so soft as you used her cheeks to massage your throbbing shaft, you couldn’t take much of being outside her. Not wasting time you lined yourself back up with her tight hole, poking against her entrance again with no plans to keep her waiting, needing to find yourself buried in her smothering warmth.

Taking a deep breath you looked at the pleading look in Yerim’s eyes as she patiently looked over her shoulder. You popped your hips and slid in an inch inside her dripping heat before letting the rest sink inside.

Yerim gasped as her pussy swallowed up your cock hungrily and refused to let you go, enveloping you in a familiar warmth and wetness as she lowered her head, fingers wrapped around in your sheets.

“Such a tight little slut, aren’t you? You want daddy to pound this tight pussy?”

“Yes, daddy! Don’t hold back this time, okay? I can take it!”

There wasn’t any reason not to give Yerim just what she asked for as you placed your hands on her supple cheeks, squeezing the soft flesh and kneading it, pressing your fingertips into her warm flushed skin.

“Fuck me!”

Yerim was just every bit demanding as your mutual friend and fuckbuddy Hyejoo, and if she wanted to be treated the same you were going to oblige her. She was all yours and you were going to make the most of it as you started at a rapid pace, finding a harsh rhythm and drove yourself deep inside, making her scramble for a tighter grip on the sheets.

“You’re so fucking wet. Good girls definitely don’t drip all over my cock like this.”

Yerim couldn’t find a response, answering back only in lustful erotic moans as you increased your pace, moving your hands to her wide hips and squeezing her flesh hard enough to bruise in the morning.

“Harder! F-fuck me harder, daddy, please!”

“Since you asked so nicely…”

Yerim so impossibly tight that it almost hurt as you plunged every single inch of flesh in her, making sure your hips smacked against her big ass, causing her plump cheeks to ripple in time with your thrusts as she arched her back high.

“Oh f-fuck, you’re so deep! H-harder, daddy!”

“So needy,” you said, gripping her hips even tighter to pull her back against your cock, slamming into her pussy without mercy and using no wasted movements. You flattened your palm and gave her beautiful tight ass a hard smack that echoed across the room.

Her pussy clenched in response as she let out a loud gasp, and you gave her another slap on the other cheek as her walls tightened around you, threatening to push you out of her body.

“F-fuck!”

“So you’re a slut that loves to be spanked, huh? Hyejoo left out so many things,” you said, smacking her ass repeatedly in the same spot until you left a faint handprint on her pale skin.

“Y-yes! I’m a naughty little slut that loves to be spanked and used!”

Your smacks against her plump ass grew harder, her tender flesh rippling with each flick of your wrist. Yerim’s walls clenched each time you smacked her delicious ass, the mixture of pain and pleasure causing her natural juices to flood down her thighs.

“P-please don’t stop!” Yerim begged, looking back at you with desperation as you saw tears had formed in her eyes. You gave a brief moment of respite, massaging the sore reddened skin until she signaled she was ready for another round.

You struck her cheeks with more force, winding your arm back to deliver slap after slap, making sure you hit the same part of her ass as found the handprints that made such an easy target. Her sensitive skin grew a brighter shade of red with each smack, each harsh slap made her wetter and wetter.

You looked down at your handiwork, your cock disappearing into between bright red buttcheeks that you found it impossible not to want even more out of her body as you pulled her arms behind her, grabbing her dainty wrists with a tight grip.

“I’m really going to fucking ruin you,” you growled, pounding away into Yerim as if it a fire had just been lit inside you, dropping all sense of self control as your animalistic urges took over.

You were anything but gentle, fucking Yerim with the harshest thrusts your body could give. Shortly after sweat began to drip down your forehead, misting over Yerim’s naked back.

“Th-that’s so good, you’re fucking me so well, daddy!”

Yerim could barely keep it together, her pussy dripping like a faucet as she found it hard to think straight, all thoughts ceased except the hard throbbing cock ravaging her cunt without any care.

“F-fuck, d-daddy! You’re gonna make me cum again!”

Your breathing grew as shallow as hers, the loud slap of hot flesh against hot flesh filled your ears alongside Yerim’s lustful moans as your hips smacked her ass, your sweaty bodies clinging together.

“Cum for me. Cum again for me you greedy little slut.”

It only took until your sentence had ended. Yerim was teetering on the edge and your words and actions pushed her over it, unable to control herself any longer she selfishly took her fourth climax of the night. It was the weakest of the bunch but still no less satisfying, toes curling in the mattress as her orgasm jerked her whole body, and had you not had control of her arms it would have been easy for her to fall face first into the mattress.

Her wet hot pussy squeezed your cock so hard that you prepared yourself to follow in her footsteps, giving into the mind-numbing pleasure and released the grip on her wrists. Your hands found their rightful place on her hips as you pounded her pussy as long as you both could stand it.

“I-I’m gonna fucking cum too. Where do you want it?”

“Yay! Cum inside me, daddy! Please, I need my pussy filled so badly, p-please!”

You had just enough time to wait for her response, your body not waiting much longer, finding it harder and harder to breathe and it was impossible to leave the warmth of her silky dripping cunt.

Looking down between your legs, you used all your remaining energy as your cock disappeared in between her cheeks, no longer fighting the urge to hold back anything as the sweat on your bodies increased, as did the harsh sounds of your bodies slapping against one another.

You reached your peak with ease thanks to the vigorous use of Yerim’s body. It was just too much to handle as your pulsating shaft erupted inside her, moaning loudly and sending shot after shot of thick semen into the suffocatingly tight walls of her heavenly wet pussy.

Using all the energy you had left you finished up your final thrusts, slowing down the movement of your hips and ensuring not a drop was left. You were both exhausted, tired gasps and heavy panting filled the room but you couldn’t help but give her backside one more squeeze as your cock rested inside her.

“You came so much...it’s so warm…”

Once your senses had recovered and you withdrew an inch at a time as your depleted cock slipped out of Yerim’s freshly fucked pussy, leaving a stream of thick milky cum leaking out of her that dripped down her thighs, mixing with the already prevalent juices that had ruined your bedsheets.

You had just enough energy to let your tired self plop on the tortured mattress, Yerim crashing on top as your sweaty bodies melded together in a mess of limbs.

“That was amazing…” Yerim managed to mutter out, drained syllables barely leaving her sweet lips in a coherent sentence, her head resting on your chest while you draped an arm over her back, pulling her in tight.

“Do you want to clean up? My shower is big enough for two,” you said, making Yerim drip between her messy thighs again as you fixed strands of sweaty disheveled hair out of place.

“I can barely move,” Yerim giggled, flashing a weak smile.

“Don’t move then. Take all the time you need.”

“This was a wonderful date. Thank you, daddy.”

Yerim quickly fell asleep in your arms, out like a light. You were about to follow her until a buzz on your nightstand interrupted you from doing so.

Hyejoo deserved some credit, and you’d had to thank her in the morning. For now all you could do was drift away to sleep, thankful for the amazing night with Yerim and also that she wasn’t a snorer.

[seriouslysnape]

Picture Perfect

__

Draco Malfoy x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Sexual implications (a lottttt of them)

A/N: I might do a part two to this...

Word Count: 1,635

“Like them? I love them.”

__

You watched with anticipation as Draco popped another one of the Bertie Botts Flavour Beans into his mouth. His sculpted jaw moved up and down as he chewed. His eyes suddenly shut tightly and his face contorted into disgust. You leaned forward a tad, curious to see what mystery flavor he had picked. He swallowed hard and coughed at the foul taste.

“Soap.” He sputtered, reaching for the glass of water on his bedside table.

You bursted into laughter, laughing even harder at the way he brought a hand to his chest as the taste dissipated from his tongue. He grinned at you from over the rim of his glass, taking another sip.

“Your turn.” He said. 

This was a game of sorts that you and Draco liked to play whenever the two of you made a trip to Hogsmeade. Honeydukes Sweets Shop was your absolute favorite place to go and make pleasurable purchases. There were endless rows of candies and other tooth rotting snacks that were your ultimate guilty pleasure. 

You were always sure to snag a new box of Bertie Botts Flavour Beans. You and Draco would sit in his private, prefect room and take turns selecting a bean and seeing which flavor you were bestowed with. You were snug in one of his Quidditch jumpers, your legs wrapped around his waist while the two of you sat on his bed. 

Draco was always less fortunate than you during this game.

You took a bean into your hand, taking a breath when you put it in your mouth. Your tense shoulders relaxed when you started chewing. A delicious, fruity taste flooded your tastebuds, a cheeky grin appearing on your face. Draco threw his head back in exasperation at the sight of you getting yet another good flavor.

“Again?” He asked.

You nodded.

“Cherry.” You smiled, swallowing the small candy.

Draco’s blonde eyebrows raised, a devious look crossing over his face. His hands rested on your thighs that were secured around him, leaning forward.

“Mmm. Do you mind sharing?” He smirked.

You hummed affirmatively, capturing his lips in a hot kiss. His tongue danced with yours, tasting your familiarity and the traces of cherry candy. His hands went to the side of your neck to bring you closer, while you gripped at the collar of his sweater. His kisses muffled your girly giggles, a chuckle vibrating out from his own chest. 

You tapped his shoulder to pause your make out session, a mumble of realization sounding out from your throat. He whined when you stopped kissing him, but based on the bright look on your face, you had something in mind. 

“I have something for you.” You announced in a playful way.

His gray eyes darkened a touch, his fingertips drumming on the skin of your leg. 

“Is that so?” He questioned, making guesses already in his head.

You were giddy with joy as you scrambled from his array of blankets and his comforter. You reached into your backpack, pulling out a solid black book with a red bow on it. It was a rather large book, about the size of his Care of Magical Creatures textbook. Draco felt a quick surge of panic. He was the worst about remembering holidays and birthdays, and he instantly thought that maybe he had forgotten something special.

“Don’t get mad if I have, but...did I miss something?” He asked.

You let out a snicker as you rejoined him on the bed. Ever since he had forgotten your birthday a few months ago, now he was always afraid he was going to miss something else. 

“You haven’t. This is just something I’ve been working on.” You bubbled up gleefully.

You set the book on his lap, watching as his eyes raked over the cover. He felt a warmth in his chest at being given a gift just because you cared. He pushed the bow off of the sides of the book, opening the cover to see a little note you had written for him, signed at the end with your name and everything. The thick pages indicated to him that it was a picture album. 

He turned to the first page, an unmistakable smile of jubilation appeared on his face. The first two pages each had four Polaroid like pictures secured evenly. You were smiling happily in each of the first several photos, wearing different outfits and in different locations. Draco’s heart was beating with exuberance in his chest as he looked through the first couple of pages. 

“Oh, darling. These are great,” He praised; “They’re positively stunning. They-” 

His sentence was cut short when he got about halfway through the pages, his voice getting caught in his throat when the pictures immediately took on a new theme. His smile faded into a shocked, slight jaw drop. The second half of the book was filled with sultry, boudoir style photos. His fingertips trailed over one in particular where you were wearing your school robes, but the only thing you were wearing underneath was one of Draco’s Slytherin uniform ties settled between your breasts. 

In other photos, you were wearing different sets of lingerie. There was one lacy, black colored set that almost made him faint right then and there. 

He was knocked speechless, unable to string together a single sentence. You were beginning to feel a little self conscious, and even a bit embarrassed that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. You had honestly expected him to completely attack you with feverish kisses or fuck you right then and there. The fact that he was completely silent was unsettling.

You fiddled with your hands in your lap, uncertainty in your tone as you spoke up to break the silence.

“I...do you like them?” You wondered, hoping to get a positive reaction.

Draco’s eyes never left the book. He turned to the next page, a rush of arousal flushing over him at one in particular where you were completely naked, stretched out on his bed and giving a look so seductive that it made Draco’s belly flutter. The sight of you naked on his bed...it was hot.

“Oh, baby. Darling, my love...” He breathed out, trying to complete at least one full thought; “Like them? I love them.” He almost growled.

You exhaled a breath of relief, feeling a sense of excitement as he continued to rake over them. He turned to a new set of pictures, a hot blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“You’re so stunning...so sexy.” He purred.

You laughed shyly, a bashful smile washing on your face. You rubbed his knee, your hand feeling like electricity on him. He couldn’t look away from the scandalous photos, each one becoming more dirty than the last. He was riled up and he was already looking forward to having this book at his disposal.

“Who took these?” He pondered, wondering which one of your lucky girl friends had the pleasure of seeing you actually model these outfits and strip down naked.

You just had to take advantage of this moment. You couldn’t help but mess with him just a little bit. You choked down the chuckle that would surely give you away.

“Potter.” You lied.

Draco’s head snapped up so fast and his eyes filled with an indescribable look of hot jealousy. He chest tightened, but relaxed when he realized you were kidding based off of your burst of laughter. He sighed harshly and rubbed his forehead as you laughed at his intense reaction. The thought of you asking Harry Potter to take these photos for you filled him with such a rage, but he even laughed it off when he knew you were joking.

“That’s not funny.” He said pointing a finger at you, and continuing to go through the photos.

Your giggles died off, and you answered him honestly.

“Pansy took them. That’s how I was able to sneak in here when you weren’t here.” You explained.

Draco nodded, his jaw still slightly ajar as he loomed over them. You patiently waited as he finished looking through them, his pupils dilating more and more by the minute. He closed the book once he was finished, his eyes finally flickering up to you. He had grown a very prevalent erection, and his eyes were filled with an intense amount of lust. You knew one thing for sure.

He was going to rock your world tonight.

Over the last year or so of dating you, he tried not to be so aggressive when it came to your sex life. He tried not to pounce on you every time he felt turned on. He knew that sex was supposed to be the ultimate romantic connection, and not always supposed to be rushed. After those pictures though, he wanted you BAD. You could tell he was antsy, waiting (and also praying) for you to give him the okay. 

You leaned in, your lips just barely brushing over his, before you brought your lips to his ear. You purposely let out a wanton moan in his ear, a tantalizing sound to your voice.

“Touch me, Draco. I know you want me.” 

In a millisecond, Draco was on you. He kissed you roughly and pushed you down onto his mattress. He kept your hands pinned above your head, leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck as he intentionally drew the most wonderful sounds out of you. 

“What are the chances of you wearing one of those hot little outfits under this jumper?” He said in a steamy voice.

You squirmed against his hands, but to no avail. You rolled your hips into his, trying to create some friction. You threw him a wink, your response sending him into full fuck mode.

“Why don’t you find out?”

[softspideys]

The Perfect Date

summary: tom makes it his mission to take you on the perfect first date. the only problem is, you have no idea. 

warnings: none

word count: 3.6k

pairings: tom holland x reader

a/n: this was supposed to be a valentine’s day fic but then I forgot about it. oops. plz enjoy anyway

Tom had just started the last lap of Wario’s Gold Mine when he heard Zendaya ask, “Got any plans for Valentine’s Day?”

He tried not to pay attention to your answer, focusing on keeping his lead, but he couldn’t help it. His eyes flickered over to where you were sitting at the kitchen table, absently circling your finger around the rim of your wine glass.

You straightened up at her question, scoffing. “Are you kidding? When’s the last time you saw me date anybody, Z?”

“Hey,” she said, pointing at you accusingly. “Don’t even start with me. I set you up with people all the time, it’s not my fault you’re so picky.”

“It’s called having standards,” you fired back. “Sorry I’m not interested in pretentious jerks who insist on mansplaining Tarantino films to me over their venti-soy-no-foam latte with a triple shot of espresso.”

Zendaya cackled, and though he couldn’t see your face, Tom could tell you were smiling too; your words had no real bite to them.

“Seriously though,” you continued with a sigh. “I think I might just give up dating for a while. Lately it feels like my only options are either crappy blind dates or going through a sleazy hookup app for some mediocre sex. I can’t remember the last time I got properly asked out and went on, like, a nice date.”

As soon as you said that, the gears started turning in Tom’s head. And then he got an idea so good he almost forgot about the race entirely, until Harrison hit him with a red shell and passed him, sailing over the finish line in first place.

“Yes!” Harrison cheered, causing you and Zendaya to look over, startled. “Finally, I won!”

“Wow,” Zendaya said, amused. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever lost in Mario Kart, Holland.”

“Yeah, what’s gotten into you?” you asked teasingly as Harrison got up and did a victory dance.

Tom normally hated losing, but he was too preoccupied at the moment to care. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just . . . a little rusty, I guess.”

You raised your eyebrows, but then Zendaya challenged Harrison to a rematch, and the two of them immediately started a new grand prix while you called dibs on the winner. With the distraction in place, Tom had plenty of time to come up with a plan.

The four of you had been friends for years, but he’d always harbored something of a crush on you. He’d never tried to push the boundaries or pursue you because he liked your relationship as it was already, and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But this would be different. This was harmless. He was simply going to show you how you deserved to be treated, give you a good date to remember among the bad ones.

Nothing else. Right?

* * *

You eyed the huge bouquet of roses your coworker had on her desk and tried not to feel too envious. She’d made a big show of bringing them in this morning and inviting everyone who walked by to smell them, going on and on about how her girlfriend had surprised her for Valentine’s Day yesterday.

So what, you thought to yourself. I can get myself flowers whenever I want; I don’t need a holiday to have an excuse to do it. It really didn’t make you feel better though.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said, making you jump a mile. You looked up. Tom was peering over the wall of your cubicle, which was . . . unexpected. He hardly ever visited you at work.

“Oh, hi,” you said. “I didn’t even see you come in.”

“Yeah, you were totally zoned out,” Tom said. “Good thing I brought caffeine.” He placed a to-go cup from your favorite coffee shop on your desk. You saw the order written on the side; he’d gotten it exactly right.

“Wow,” you said, surprised but grateful. “Thanks.” You’d already had coffee this morning, but clearly it was shaping up to be a two-cup type of day. You took a careful sip and felt better already.

“No problem.” Tom followed your line of vision to your coworker’s desk. “Pretty flowers.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, a little quietly. You cleared your throat. “So, what’s up? Did we have plans today or something?”

“Oh, no,” he said, shifting from foot to foot, “but that’s actually kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” He seemed nervous, which in turn made you nervous.

“Okay,” you said, giving him your full attention.  

“So . . . are you doing anything this Friday night?”

It was only Monday. You thought for a second before shaking your head. “I don’t think so.”

“Would you like to have dinner? With me?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. That was it? “Oh. Sure.”

You could’ve sworn you saw his eyes widen the slightest bit. “Really? I mean, great. Cool.” He scratched his nose. “So, Friday at six o’clock, then? I’ll text you the name of the place?”

“Sounds good,” you said. He seemed excited, though you couldn’t figure out why. You got dinner with him, Harrison, and Zendaya at least once a week.

“Alrighty,” Tom said, swinging his arms a little and nodding. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work. See you Friday.”

“See you,” you said. Did he really come all the way to your office to ask you this in person instead of just texting you like he normally would? Maybe he’d been nearby or something. You watched him leave, mostly confused but also kind of endeared.

“Was that your boyfriend?” your coworker asked, subtly adjusting her flowers again.

You quickly shook your head, turning back to your computer and taking another sip of your coffee. “Oh, no. Just a friend.”

As Tom left your office, he allowed himself to do a small fist-pump. Getting you to agree was the hardest part. Now came the slightly-easier-but-still-hard part: making sure he gave you the best first date ever.

* * *

Something strange was going on with Tom. You first realized it when you brought up the dinner on Friday to Zendaya and she had no clue what you were talking about.

“Tom didn’t invite you?”

“Nope.” She popped the “p.”

“Huh.” You chewed your lip. “That’s . . . weird. Maybe he figured I’d just tell you about it. And I guess you don’t really need an invitation anyway . . . do you think he invited Harrison?”

“I don’t know.” You were on the phone, so you couldn’t see Zendaya’s face, but it kind of sounded like she was trying not to laugh. “Maybe he wants it to be just the two of you.”

“Maybe.” It was rare, but it wasn’t like you never spent time with just Tom or Harrison.  You couldn’t remember the last time you had dinner with either of them one-on-one, though. This seemed . . . different. “But I’m sure he won’t mind if you guys show up,” you said with a shrug.

Now Zendaya did laugh. “No, no, it’s fine,” she said. “I think I’m supposed to babysit my niece and nephew anyway. You guys have fun.”

Then there was Tom himself. You hadn’t seen him in person since Monday, but he’d been texting you random questions all week:

Do you prefer a casual or an elegant ambiance?

How many candles on a table is too many? Or do you think overhead lamps are better?

Oyster bars . . . yes/no?

You answered all of them with increasing bemusement, but any time you asked why he would mysteriously change the subject. You couldn’t help but feel like there was something you were missing here.

Finally, he sent you the name of the restaurant on Friday morning: Soul & Persona.

You’d never heard of it, so you decided to look it up. One glance at their website told you this place wasn’t like the casual restaurant-and-bars you and your friends usually frequented. This was fancy. Clicking over to the menu, you inhaled sharply at the prices written next to the items. Luckily, today was payday.

You arrived at the restaurant shortly before six. Another person was already standing outside, and as you got closer you realized it was Tom. Two things about that were already weird: one, he was normally notoriously late to everything; and two, he was holding a bouquet of roses in one hand that were so big they nearly obstructed his face.

He didn’t notice you approaching, busy frowning at something on his phone. “Hey,” you said at last, making him jump.  

“Oh! Hey!” He cleared his throat, shoving his phone in his pocket. “I mean—good evening.” He did a strange little bow before thrusting the flowers at you. “These are for you.”

“Wow,” you said, taking them carefully. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You look really nice.”

You were glad you researched the restaurant in advance, because the jeans and t-shirt combo you’d originally planned on wearing would definitely not have been appropriate here.

“So do you,” you said. He did: he was wearing slacks and a nice dress shirt under a jacket, his hair neatly combed.

“Thanks. Should we go in?” he asked. You nodded, and he hurried to open the door, ushering you inside. It was crowded, which made you a little worried. How long would the wait time be?

But Tom went right up to the hostess stand. “Hi,” he said, “we have a reservation for two at six; the name is Tom?”

She looked at her book and nodded. “You can follow me right this way.” She led you to a quiet corner of the restaurant and seated you at a table by the window. “Enjoy your meal.”

“Here,” Tom said, pulling your chair out before you could sit down. Again, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

“This place is crazy nice,” you said, looking around as the hostess placed a wine list on the table.

“Yeah,” Tom agreed, a little distractedly. “Um. So. Do you prefer to work in a team or alone?”

You blinked. “What? Where’d that come from?”

He shrugged, fidgeting with his collar like he was nervous. “I—I dunno. Just making conversation.”

“Oo-kay,” you said with a laugh. “Well, I haven’t seen you since you blessed my office with your presence on Monday. How was your week? Didn’t you have to give a presentation yesterday?”

“Yes, and one of the board members literally fell asleep during it,” Tom said, wrinkling his nose.

He seemed to loosen up after that, and the conversation flowed naturally from then on as you talked about your plans for the weekend, your friends, your families, and any other random thoughts that occurred to you.

For dinner you tried a pasta dish while Tom got steak, and you each had the soup of the day for an appetizer. Your knowledge of wine was limited to whatever was cheapest when you went to the liquor store, but Tom had apparently become an expert overnight: he asked the waiter all kinds of questions about their reds vs. their whites before finally ordering a bottle for the two of you to share.

All in all, it was an enjoyable dinner. You always had fun with Tom, of course, but you rarely got to spend time with just him. And though you normally stayed away from expensive places like this one, you had to admit the food was delicious and the ambiance made you feel very sophisticated.

“Can I get either of you some coffee or dessert?” the waiter asked as he cleared your plates. You’d never been one to say no to that, but Tom jumped in before you could open your mouth.

“No thank you,” he said quickly. “Just the check please.” Then he looked at you. “I thought maybe we could walk to that bookstore you like? The one with the bakery in it? We could—we could get dessert there and browse.”

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Cool.” He sounded relieved.

The waiter brought out the bill and Tom grabbed it as soon as he set it on the table. “What are you doing?” you protested. There was normally an agreement among your friends that everyone paid for their own meals when you went out to dinner.

“I’m paying,” he insisted, waving you off as you fruitlessly tried to put your own debit card down.

“At least let me Venmo you for my half.”

“Nope.”

“Tom!”

“Seriously, it’s fine.” He wouldn’t even let you see how much the meal cost.  

You could tell he wasn’t going to budge for whatever reason, so you had no choice but to relent. “If you’re sure,” you said, watching him smugly sign the receipt. You made sure to grab your flowers before you got up and followed him out of the restaurant.

The bookstore you liked was a few blocks away, but you didn’t mind the walk. The air was warm but balmy, refreshing on your face. “That was amazing,” Tom said.

“It was,” you agreed. “I’m convinced they put actual crack in that pasta sauce. It was otherworldly.”

He laughed before he asked, a little hesitantly, “So are you . . . having a nice time?”

You looked over at him questioningly. “Of course I am. But I always have a nice time with you.”

“Good,” he said quietly, nodding. “Good.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” Tom said immediately. “I just wanted to make sure. So, what are some of your pet peeves?”

“What is it with you and these questions?” Thankfully, you arrived at the bookstore and were spared from answering.

One of your favorite things about hanging out with Tom was that you didn’t necessarily need to be attached at the hip or in constant conversation in order to have fun. As soon as you entered he made a beeline for the True Crime section while you went to look at the new releases.

It was nice to just browse on your own for a while, and you ended up buying a book you’d been wanting to read ever since it came out. Tom was still perusing the shelves after you checked out, so you sneakily went up to the bakery counter and bought some dessert.

He found you sitting at a table in the cafe, reading your new book. “What’s this?” He gestured to the two pieces of cake and cups of decaf coffee on the table in front of you. “You should’ve let me pay!”

You’d been anticipating this, so you merely rolled your eyes. “Cry about it. You paid for dinner; it was the least I could do.”

“That’s not how this works,” Tom objected, but he reluctantly sat down and pulled his cake towards him anyway. The two of you discussed your books while you ate, and you tried not to act like you were eyeing his slice the entire time.

He noticed, of course. “You wanna try?”

You nodded sheepishly. You expected him to push the plate towards you, but instead he scooped a piece up onto his fork and held it out. “Here.” A little surprised, you opened your mouth and allowed him to feed it to you. For some reason it felt oddly intimate.

He was watching you expectantly as you chewed. “Good?”

“Yeah,” you managed to say, swallowing. “Really good.”

It was getting late and the store was closing soon, so you left after finishing your coffees. Usually this was when you’d call it a night and go home, but this time you felt no strong desire to. So when Tom started walking along the river instead of heading back towards the restaurant, you didn’t mind at all, falling into step beside him.

The night sky was clear, giving you a breathtaking view of dozens of stars. Hardly anyone else was around, and the river below was quiet and calm. It was like you were suspended in time. You couldn’t remember ever feeling so peaceful.

Tom’s hand bumped yours as you walked. You didn’t think anything of it at first, but then it happened again, and this time he laced his fingers through yours.

For some reason that was what made everything suddenly fall into place, for you to finally put two and two together and realize what was going on.

Oh my God.

“Tom,” you said hesitantly, shattering the comfortable silence between you.

“Yeah?”

“Is this . . . a date?”

He stopped walking, forcing you to do the same. Under the soft glow of the streetlights you could see he was staring at you. “Wait,” he said slowly. “This whole time . . . you didn’t know?”

Now that he’d basically just confirmed it, everything started to make sense: coming all the way to your office just to ask you to dinner, bringing you coffee, making reservations at a fancy restaurant, paying for the meal—

You were on a date and you hadn’t even realized.

“Oh, God,” was all you could say. You almost wanted to laugh, though nothing about this was even remotely funny. It was like you’d been hit over the head with a brick.

How could you not have known? It should’ve been obvious when he paid for the meal; no, when you realized you’d be eating at such a fancy place; no, when he showed up randomly on Monday, brought you coffee, and fucking asked you to dinner.

You both seemed to realize at the same time that you were still holding hands, and he quickly dropped it and stepped back. For the first time since you’d met, the air between the two of you was awkward. “I—I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.”

“I should’ve known,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m so stupid, I just didn’t think—” You didn’t finish your sentence. You honestly couldn’t figure out why you didn’t realize it sooner.

Because he’s your friend, a voice in the back of your head reminded you. He’s your friend and he’s never expressed any interest in you before, not like this.

That was true. You’d always thought Tom was handsome, and maybe early on in your friendship you’d fantasized about him once or twice. But he always treated you normally, never outwardly showing any sign of wanting more.  

“You’re not stupid,” he said immediately. “I should’ve made it more clear.”

“I’m just confused, I guess,” you said carefully. “I mean . . . why now? And why . . . me?”

He exhaled. “I overheard you the other day when you and Z were talking, and you were saying something like . . . you hadn’t been properly asked out and taken on a nice date in a while. So I guess I just wanted to do that for you. Make you happy.”

Your brain felt like it was short-circuiting. You didn’t know what to say to that, but he seemed to take your silence as a cue to keep going.

“That’s why I came to your office, to ask you in person instead of doing it over text or whatever. And I saw you looking at those flowers your coworker had, so I bought you some. And I picked this restaurant because it was nice but also because it was near the bookstore. And I memorized some first-date questions in case our conversation got boring, but I think that probably wasn’t necessary.” He sucked in a deep breath. “And now that I’m saying all of this I realize how weird it sounds. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Oh,” you said dumbly. His previous words were still echoing in your head. I guess I just wanted to do that for you. Make you happy.

He’d taken the time to think about all the things you liked and used that knowledge to plan the Perfect Date. You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done something so kind, so thoughtful, so . . . romantic. Did this mean what you thought it meant?

Of course, the only way you were able to translate all of this was with, “Wow.”

But then he added, “And—and I didn’t do all of this because I thought it would lead to a second date or anything like that. I only—”

“Wait,” you interrupted, your stomach plummeting. This conversation was giving you whiplash. “So you . . . don’t like me?”

“Huh?”

“You did all of this . . . just because? You don’t actually want to go on a date with me?” Now you were more confused than ever, and a little hurt beneath that.

Tom’s eyes widened. “No! Well yes, but . . . no. Wait.” He took a deep breath. Now or never, right? “I do like you, but this was separate from all that. I only meant that I wasn’t expecting anything from this. I just wanted you to have a good time.”

You nodded slowly, exhaling. “Okay. So . . . what if I told you that I did have a good time, that I like you too, and I want go out with you again?”

Tom blinked at you owlishly for a second before his face split into a huge grin, one you were sure your own was mirroring. “Then . . . I’d say . . . same. To all of it.”

“Good,” you said, stepping closer. “In fact, I think this has almost been the perfect first date.”

He paused. “Wait, almost? What would make it perfect?” He furrowed his eyebrows, looking a little panicked. You laughed, reaching up and cupping his jaw.

“It has to end with a good-night kiss, doesn’t it?”

Tom relaxed, his hands finding their way to your waist. “Oh. Yes, you’re absolutely right.”

The two of you were still smiling as you kissed, and Tom lifted one of his hands to do a silent, sneaky fist-pump. 

Mission: success.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Crybaby.

Word Count: 1.5k

Pairing: Yandere!Bakugo/Reader

Synopsis: Your boyfriend has a savior-complex, and while you wouldn’t call yourself ‘sensitive’, you’re certainly not the most confident person around. What could go wrong?

TW: Emotional Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships, and Abuse of Power. 

You always felt like a voyeur, at these kinds of things.

You weren’t new to galas, events, glorified parties stocked with Pro-Heroes that were held for no other reason than to prove how rich and beautiful and charitable they all were. Hell, you’d met Katsuki’s stylist before his parents, and you’d like to think you’d gotten good at navigating the dark, confusing terrain people like him treated like a second home. You were comfortable here, but you were still cautious. You were one of them, but you weren’t. You were surrounded by heroes, suffocated by heroes, but that didn’t make you a hero.

You were a sheep among wolves, a hare in a nest of friendly, smiling vipers. You doubted they would attack, but you still made an effort not to look more edible than you had to.

Currently, you were using a tall glass of something red, cherry flavored, and still partially on fire as an excuse to put a hair’s width of distance between yourself and the rest of the party, eager to get a breath of fresh air before you went back to ingratiating yourself with the professionally elite. You’d barely let yourself relax by the time your small reprieve was cut short, ripped away from you by a pair of arms that easily found their way to your waist and pulled you into a broad chest before releasing you, letting you turn around to face your aggressor on your own. You weren’t surprised to find Katsuki behind you, a grin painted across his lips and his hair attempting to free itself from his attempts to slick it back, but his eagerness caught you off-guard, coming as a shift away from his usual noncommittal disposition. You didn’t mind, though, only laughing as he buried his face in your neck, pinning you between his body and the bar’s counter as if there was no one around to gawk and stare. It was hard not to love him, in moments like that, when he treated you like you were the only other person in the world.

“You got lost,” He explained, as if you hadn’t been there when you made the mistake of wandering off, assuming you’d be able to find Katsuki or, more realistically, he’d be able to find you. It’d taken him a little longer than you’d expected, but if the ferocity of Katsuki’s greeting was a sign, he’d been far more affected by the time apart than you. “I thought I’d have to wait until you washed up in the parking lot before lugging your drunk ass home, again.”

“My ass is tragically sober, I’ll have you know,” You huffed, stringing your arms around his neck, letting him lift you onto the bartop without argument. He didn’t try to pull away, but even if he did, you wouldn’t have let him. You were content to use him as a rock, a means to ground yourself in the ever-swirling room. You weren’t drunk, but you wished you were, if only because an ungodly amount of alcohol might’ve helped you separate yourself from the noise, the heat, the faces you vaguely recognized but failed to put a proper name to, out of costume. It was hard not to let it overwhelm you at the best of times, and although you desperately, desperately wanted to think you’ve gotten used to moving through a world so separate from the one you were used to, no amount of discipline and familiarization would make you any less disoriented. It wouldn’t make you belong here. “Midoriya took care of me,” You said, rather than trying to contemplate your situation in any more depth. “He kept me out of trouble while you got to make it. It’s a crime, really, an injustice. If I didn’t like you so much, I’d be tempted to storm off again.”

He chuckled, straightening his back, but not pulling away. “You look awfully happy for someone who just spent the last two hours dealing with Deku’s bullshit.”

“What can I say?” You shrugged, fighting not to smile. Katsuki’s fingertips drummed against your side curiously, and you went on before you could think better of it. “It’s not every day your favorite hero volunteers to babysit you.”

You realized your mistake the moment the words were off your tongue, the implication of your bais. Reflexively, you pulled away from Katsuki, your hands dropping to the collar of his suit as you moved to correct yourself, but surprisingly, Katsuki’s grin only broadened, his stare sharpening, taking on something other than the bleary affection it’d contained before. “I won’t take it too personally,” He assured you, his tone anything but comforting. “I know how much Deku loves his fans. I didn’t think you like that kinda thing, though.”

Whereas his expression darkened, yours seemed to fade. Not falling away completely, but receding at the slightest hint of information you didn’t want to know, instead. You weren’t sure which response he’d been aiming for. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, it’s nothing you should have to worry your pretty little head over,” He started, in a voice that was more than enough to assure you that this was exactly the kind of thing you would worry your pretty little head over. “He’s just… affectionate, y’know? With civilians - his groupies, especially. I’m surprised you didn’t get the chance to see it for yourself. I figured you’d already been to one of his hide-outs, by now.” He paused, absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair, acting like he didn’t care whether or not you were paying attention. Acting like he didn’t know he was making a threat. “It’s funnier than you’d think. Sometimes, one of us will bring an extra for ‘im. No one special, of course, but Deku’s standards aren’t set too high.”

You felt yourself go still, and abruptly, you were aware of every place Izuku had touched you, every glance out of the corner of his eye, every time he stood a little closer than he had to or let his fingers brush against yours when he could’ve kept his hands to himself. He’d been nothing but polite, nothing but pleasant, but… Katsuki wouldn’t lie, would he? He didn’t have a reason to.

It wasn’t like he wanted to scare you, right?

“It’s a good thing you got yourself away from him,” Katsuki went on, his eyes following the shape of your jaw lazily, eventually settling on your mouth. “I hear he likes the sensitive ones, y’know? I’m sure he would’ve liked you, too, if he knew how much of a…” He trailed off, finally meeting your stare. “Well, I don’t have to say it, do I?”

He didn’t. As soon as he felt silent, something sharp and hot began to prick at your eyes, sparsely at first, but the jabs grew more violent the longer you failed to drive them away. In a second, your head was bowed, and you were conscious of just how crowded the venue was, of just how distant Katsuki had gotten. In two, you were rubbing at your eyes and biting your bottom lip, and in three, you were sobbing, not prettily and not gently and certainly not quietly, your stifled cries and heavy breaths earning a handful of coos and hums from Katsuki, a hand soon cupping the back of your head, encouraging you to bury your face in his chest and hide yourself away from the rest of the party, your reputation be damned. It wasn’t like it mattered, it wasn’t like you mattered.

You could disappear, and no one here would care. 

Katsuki was the only person who’d even notice you were gone.

You didn’t try to hold yourself back, not from him. You clung to Katsuki the way a shipwrecked sailor might cling to a liferaft, your fists balling around his jacket and wrinkling fabric you’d almost forgot you’d never be able to afford, not on your own. He gave you a moment to pull yourself together, to prove that you didn’t need the stability he provided, and when you failed to, Katsuki sighed, contented. When he spoke, he was nothing short of calming, soothing, tender. Ever the caretaker, albeit a caretaker you shouldn’t need. “It’s alright, baby. That’s why I’m here, yeah? I need to make sure you don’t get in over your head.” He pressed a slow, languid kiss into the top of your head, but the gesture was far from comforting. You had a feeling he wouldn’t try to pacify you, not so soon. “Let’s get you out of here, alright? I think you’ve had enough fun for one night.”

You nodded, weakly, letting Katsuki tug you onto your feet despite your unsteady legs. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, never daring to check if your muffled outburst had done any damage, nor did you try to reassure Katsuki or give any kind of verbal response, not when you already knew you’d be hushed and soothed into submission. You didn’t object, though. You didn’t have the right to.

Not when Katsuki always took such good care of you.

[bunnyywritings]

request for another tsukishima scenario, lets say kiyoko has a little sister who is also a beauty but she is a first year and she become a manager and kei finds himself falling for her hahaha typical request but maybe u can ass ur own twist to it

unintentional distractions

tsukishima kei x shimizu!reader

[a/n:ooh this is an interesting request anon!! this took a little long because I couldn’t quite think of what to write but here it is, pls enjoy! -your truly, bunnyy-`ღ´-]

Starting high school was absolutely terrifying. It was even more daunting when your older sibling was quite the popular third-year. You were awfully aware of how breathtakingly beautiful your sister was and you had always cursed whatever higher power for giving her all the good genes and being stuck as the plain looking little sister but that was before you had a mini “glow-up”, as Yachi put it. Apparently you had drastically changed during the summer, not that you believed it. Another thing that happened during the summer was the pair of glasses that were permanently perched on your nose. The blindness hadn’t skipped a generation like you had so badly wished. Kiyoko had just chuckled softly and patted you on the back as a consolation.

After another failed attempt of getting Yachi to join you, you made your way to the gym. You had turned in your club manager application at the beginning of the year but this was your first time attending a club practice because they had finally gotten a coach. You couldn’t help the nerves that were making your heart race. You had already known the third-years but the thought of meeting new people and having them react with, “You’re Kiyoko’s sister?” in overreaction. Stuck in your thoughts, you tripped on the little steps leading to the gym doors.

“Oh! Are you okay, (y/n)?” Hinata rushed to you, helping you to your feet.

“Yeah, thanks. I was just a little distracted.” You blushed slightly.

“Ehh! YOU?!” the familiar shout made you freeze in the middle of dusting off your uniform, eyes widening when your eyes landed on a certain lanky blonde.

“Tsukishima?! What are you doing here?” you asked, distaste clear in your tone.

“I’m on the volleyball team.” He scoffed cockily. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m the new team manager.” You stuck your tongue out at him childishly. 

The third years watched the interaction in amusement. Kiyoko had informed them of the little feud between you and their middle blocker. Your sister was absolutely enthralled by the feud because you had clearly garnered feelings for the boy. Even if you hadn’t explicitly told her you did, she could just tell. She had finally come out of her thoughts just as you were about to start a fight with Tsukishima. She grabbed the back of your jacket collar and pulled you towards the opposite side of the gym.

“Don’t be rude, introduce yourself.” She scolded softly while playfully flicking your nose. Everyone was confused by the interaction, not the third years of course.

With a sigh, you bowed. “I’m Shimizu (y/n), nice to meet you guys.”

“SHIMIZU?!” Once you stood up straight, you saw the two boys that had been basically drooling over you since you walked in. “You’re Kiyoko’s sister?”

“Mhmm...she’s my older sister.” For emphasis, Kiyoko threw her arm over your shoulder. That’s when everyone saw the resemblance. The both of you were gorgeous. Your glasses were different than her black ones. They were rounder and a bit more circular.

“Are you single?” Nishinoya asked slyly but from behind you, Kiyoko glared at him. He shrunk back, muttering a small apology

From then on, you were there at practice. Always seated beside your sister. You took notes, eyes sharp as you scrutinized each player.

When Yachi eventually joined, Tsukishima found you even more unbearable. You laughed so much more. Your voice echoing throughout the gym, mixing in with the sound of squeaking shoes and volleyballs smacking against the ground. Your smile gleamed in the light, hair falling effortlessly around your face. You were also really good at playing volleyball. Setting and receiving the ball easily whenever they did their practice drills. You realized you had feelings for him when you were in class one morning. You had stayed late at the gym to help Kageyama and Hinata with god knows what, which meant you did homework super late, which means that you hadn’t gotten much sleep. You were at your desk, head laid on your crossed arms.

“You shouldn’t let those two idiots drag you into staying so late.” He grumbled, placing a small carton of strawberry milk and a taiyaki biscuit on your desk. He had come in earlier, saw the bags under your eyes and heard you complain about how you skipped breakfast as you greeted Yamaguchi, he walked back out to the vending machine and bought you something.

It took you a bit to process who said that but when you did and sat up, he was gone but your eyes widened at your favorite treats in front of you. Tsukishima watched as you glanced around before eagerly sticking the straw into the obscenely sweet beverage and took a sip. Blushing when he saw the way your eyes lit up and the smile on your lips while munching away at the biscuit. Yamaguchi noticed the way his friend looked at you and was ecstatic. He instantly figured it out a little bit after you started as a manager but this was the confirmation he needed.

He finally realized his feelings for you when he witnessed Terushima flirting with you while they were at the prelims. He scowled as he watched the captain attempt to charm you, and it seemed to be working since you were blushing at his words.

“So? Whaddya say? Give me your number, maybe we could go on a date or something.”

“Hmm well, as much as I’d like that...I actually have my eye on someone else.” Tsukishima’s eyes widened at your words.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah so uhhm I’m sorry.” You put your hands together and bowed your head and scurried away. He snickered at the bewildered look on Terushima’s stupid face. Oh how he hoped that it was him that you were interested in.

You were in the hot bath with Yachi and KIyoko, relishing in the way your muscled relaxed in the water.

“So, when are you finally gonna confess your feelings for Tsukishima-kun?” Kiyoko’s sudden question made your eyes widen, choking on your own spit. 

“O-Onee-san w-what are you talking a-about?” You tried to play dumb but she wasn’t having it.

“Oh come on (y/n), I know you like him.” She smiled softly, knowing look in her eyes.

“What? No I don’t.” You huffed, lips pouted as you looked away.

“Even I know you do.” Yachi giggled. “And I was wondering the same thing?”

“So Tsukishima? You and (y/n) huh?” Tanaka teased as the blonde came into the room, drying his hair with a towel.

“What are you talking about?” He tried to keep his composure as he continued to look disinterested/

“Don’t pretend! Yamaguchi already told us!” Hinata smirked, finger pointed at the freckled boy.

“Sorry Tsukki!” Tsukishima threw his towel at him in retaliation.

“It was a little obvious that she’s the reason you’re so distracted during practice.” Daichi shrugged, everyone mumbling in agreement.

After your bath, you changed into sweats and a t-shirt before heading over to the guys room. You hesitantly lifter your hand to knock and looked back, both Yachi and Kiyoko were giving you a thumbs up. The mischievous look in their eyes was slightly scary but you knocked anyways.Your eyes widened when Daichi had opened the door.

“Oh (y/n)? Is everything alright?”

“Oh uhm y-yeah, everything's f-fine. I was actually wondering if I-I could talk to Tsukishima...” You fiddled with your hands nervously.

“Sure.” Daichi smiled fondly at you. “I’ll get him.” After a couple of seconds passed and Tsukishima appeared at the threshold.

“What do you want, shrimp?”

“I uh wanted to talk to you? O-outside..if that’s okay?” He was thrown off guard at the question.

“Sure...” He really wanted to reply sarcastically or something but couldn’t think of anything as he followed you outside. He noticed that your hair was wet and soaking through the back of your shirt. Once the two of you were outside, you stood in front of him.

“So I uh- well I-”

“What’s wrong? Cat’s got your tongue?” He teased as he leaned down to your height.

“IshouldntlikeyoucauseyouresorudesometimesbutIcanthelpit!” You rushed, eyes screwed shut.

“I’m sorry...what?”

You took a deep breath, “I shouldn’t like you cause you’re so rude sometimes but I can’t help it...”

“Oh...” You took the awkward silence as him judging you.

“Right so I-I’m just gonna go. You can forget this conversation.” He panicked as you started to walk away so he reached out and grabbed your wrist.

“What if I don’t want to forget it?” Your heart started to beat erratically at his words.

“What-?” You started to turn around before he pulled you to him, your noses inches away from touching.

“I can’t help it that I like you either, even when you can be distracting.” The two of you were getting closer.

“I’m sorry...it’s not like I’m meaning to.” Your voice came out as a soft whisper as he glanced down at your lips.

“Well you’ve gotta make up for it somehow.” He smirked, your lips finally meeting his. It was a little inexperienced but enjoyable nonetheless. Your lips moved against his, the blush on your cheeks darkening as he dropper your wrist and placed his hands on your hips to pull you closer. You steadied yourself by placing your hands against his chest before finally pulling away.

“Hmm I don’t think that was nearly enough.” He quipped.

“You know what I think? I think you just want me to kiss you.”

“Is that so? Well I think you may be right, I might need another just to make sure.” You bit your lip as a sudden courage filled you at his words. You ran your hands up to the back of his neck and pulled him into another kiss. Lips slotted against his in a hungry kiss, he pulled you flush against him. His tongue gave an experimental lick against your bottom lip before you let him in, tongue moving against his.

“I don’t know what you damn kids think you’re doing! Get to bed!” The sound of Ukai shouting made the both of you jump away from each other.

If you were gonna be the distraction at the back of his mind 24/7, he didn’t mind one bit. 

[xfandomwritingsx]

The Sweet of Night – Loki Laufeyson – Part 6

-gif source unknown-

Description: After growing up besides Loki and having a complicated friendship with him, you visit him in his cell at night.  

Warnings/Labels: Sexual tension.

Approx. Word Count: 3,900

Story Masterpost

Why is it all the romance in these is always so tame? is the note he leaves in your latest book when he returns it. He isn’t wrong, necessarily. While you’ve always considered the romance in the novels steamy, you must admit it is in a more subtle fashion. You chew on your lower lip and glance to your bookshelf, thinking about one in particular; the one hidden behind the others in a plain, unmarked cover. It is very… erotic.

You’d purchased it from a little shop outside the village and done so in cloak and shadows. You only read it on nights when you can curl up into your bed completely uninterrupted and preferably if you don’t need to be awake early the next morning. It may not be the most eloquently written piece of literature, but it gets the job done, as the saying goes.

No one else even knows you own such a novel and here you are, actually playing with the idea of sending it to Loki. If he wants untamed romance, it’s sitting right there. But, no. That would be too much, wouldn’t it? Even if it was to just poke fun at his question? No, you couldn’t do it. Something about giving him that book feels too intimate, too brash.

You put his note inside your desk drawer, amongst his others, and return the book to your shelf. You run your fingers along the spines of your other novels, trying to find one that might suit his fancy. He’s already gone through most of your collection. Perhaps a different genre? Would a murder mystery intrigue him or bore him? Loki gives off the impression of being someone to figure out who the killer is within the first few chapters and be bored or irritated the rest of the way through.

As you stand there, contemplating what you’re going to do once you have no more books to share, you find your hand reaching up and ghosting over your shoulder. You’re still so unsure about him. Loki holds tight to the stance that he did not do anything, but you could have sworn you felt his hands upon you. You keep your focus on your uncertainty so that you don’t contemplate the more pressing and more concerning question; why did you want to feel it again?

A knock on your door startles you and you jump back from your bookshelf. Checking yourself in your looking glass quickly, you right the collar of your top before moving to answer your door. A servant stands on the other side, head already bowed and holding out a large clothing box that rests on his forearms.

“Your garments for the feast tonight,” he tells you, snapping you out of your initial confusion. You had honestly forgotten about the feast, mind preoccupied with so many other things.

“Thank you.” You take the box from him and with one more bow, he proceeds down the hall. You wish the servants weren’t so formal with you. It makes you feel strange to have such little interaction with them. As you step back into your room, you make a mental note to perhaps schedule some kind of meal with them.

You put the box on your bed and gently remove the top, looking for the note your mother inevitably put inside. She always insists on you having new robes and gowns for feasts and parties. She claims it’s only proper and when she realized you weren’t going to get new clothes yourself, she started sending them to you instead.

With no note on top, you pick up the garment, shaking it out to full length in front of you. It looks tailored to your build, as always, but the style doesn’t quite fit what your mother usually sends. You are used to golds and silvers, sometimes yellows and reds made of shiny silk and satin; all colors and fabrics she sees fit for a royal to wear.

The dress in your hands is velvet dyed a deep but vibrant green. It’s slim, only flaring out at the bottom towards the ankles with a small slit at the bottom. The sleeves will reach three quarters down your arms, no poofing at the shoulders. The neckline is steeper than you’re used to, but it doesn’t look distasteful. When you turn it around, you notice it has a low cut in back as well. It’s quite striking.

You admire it for another moment before looking back inside the box for the note to explain the change in taste. Instead, you only find the thin, delicate wrapping paper and an empty box. You shake out the dress once more to make such nothing stuck to it and then lay it out on your bed to shake out the box. There is definitely no note.

“Odd,” you say to yourself, squinting at the dress. It’s really unlike your mother to not leave a note. You shrug it off however, seeing as how it’s not the oddest thing your mother has done before. You make sure to hang the dress as to not wrinkle it until this evening.

---

The dress is even more striking on your body than it was on its hanger. You smooth your hands over the bodice of it as you watch yourself in the looking glass. You dare say you look quite lovely in it. You adorn your neck with a silver chain necklace you’d received as a birthday gift a few years ago and do your hair into your favorite style for these occasions. While the low cut back does make you feel quite a bit more exposed than normal, the entire air of the gown gives you a boost of confidence to wear it proudly. Slipping on your shoes, you make your way to the feast.

The grand hall to the formal dining room is filled with people and noise as you enter. Few people turn to look at you as you enter, just one person in a crowd. Your eyes scan the hall as you walk through, looking for a friendly face to approach.

You always hate large gatherings like these simply because it puts pressure on you to find someone to socialize with. Standing on the wall and observing, as you would prefer most days, is unbecoming and sometimes seen as rude. While most of the faces here are familiar, there are few you’d fancy speaking to. This leaves you walking down the middle of the hall, searching for any such person and as you walk through the center of so many people, you feel as though you notice more heads turn your way. You ignore it and continue on your way until you see Thor, Sif, and The Warrior’s Three near the entrance door.

Sif notices you first and she does the smallest double take in the midst of their laughter before giving you a sly look from the corner of her eye that you don’t quite understand. You wear a casual smile as you approach them and make yourself known.

“Evening all,” you greet, turning their eyes to you. “I trust everyone is behaving thus far?” You catch a slight widening of Thor’s eyes as his face freezes in place for no more than half a second.

“Now what fun would that be?” Volstagg bellows, taking a drink from the tankard of mead already in his hand. When his eyes fall upon you, the drink is spluttered back into its cup as he roughly coughs out a formal, “My lady.” Fandral claps him on the back to aid clearing his lungs as they all laugh.

“I believe that was meant to imply he likes your outfit tonight,” Sif teases. You shift uncomfortably and give a shy smile, suddenly unable to ignore that feeling of everyone looking at you. “He’s just not articulate enough to say so.”

“You do look quite lovely tonight,” Hogun confirms in a much softer and kinder tone. Sif swiftly links her arm into yours and pulls you close to her side.

“She looks lovely every night,” she says firmly. “You buffoons just never notice a woman unless a certain amount of skin is showing.” You can’t help the small smile on your lips as all four men start blabbering excuses. “If you’ll excuse us,” she interrupts. “Us women have better things to attend to than you gentlemen.” She pulls you away by your arm and you give a little cheeky wave to the boys as she whisks you away, feeling much more confident and less embarrassed.

“You always know just how to handle them,” you compliment her as she walks you off to a quieter corner.

“You say that as if you haven’t put them in their place yourself before.” She unlinks your arms and swipes some drinks off of a passing server’s tray.

“Never with quite the finesse you use.” You take one of the drinks from her and clink them together before each taking a swallow. “I haven’t been around as much as I used to.”

“You’ve become quite the busy woman,” she agrees. “There’s been some curiosity about who you’ve been spending your time with.” She peers at you from over her drink and your mouth drops open.

“No one!” you protest. Her eyes drop to your gown.

“Are you quite sure?” A coy smile is on her lips when she lowers her drink. “That dress is quite a statement piece.”

“You know my mother always picks out my formalwear,” you chastise her. Sif huffs a laugh.

“That does not look like your mother’s doing.” Before you can argue, there’s a hand on your shoulder and your mother is sweeping into the conversation herself.

“Oh I know, but the shop keeper talked me into it at the last moment,” she explains, slipping her hand down to yours and guiding your arm out to the side to admire you. “It certainly is bold, isn’t it? A little change is good.” She lowers her arm and smiles proudly. “Can’t have you dressing like an old maiden now, can we?”

“Mother, a simple change of wardrobe isn’t going to suddenly marry me off.” She shrugs, brushing off your scolding and smiles at Sif who passes you an apologetic look.

“And you look dashing as always, Lady Sif,” she compliments. Sif nods her head in muted gratitude. “Come now, we must find our seats.” Your mother links her arm in yours and for the second time this evening, you’re pulled away.

---

The meal itself, filled with loud commotion over casual conversation, passes quickly. The food is, as always, plentiful and delicious if not a little extravagant. Drink flows easily among the tables, sometimes a little too literally as clumsy hands spill it across the table cloth. You are among one of the firsts to stand and make your way to slightly less crowded and loud sections of the halls.

You venture out towards the gardens where only a few stray people have wandered to yet. The open back of your dress sends a slight chill down your spine, but the longer you stay outside, the less you feel it. You lean your arms on a fence railing and slowly inhale the aroma of the surrounding flowers.

“My lady,” a timid voice says from behind you. You look over your shoulder to see a lad dressed in formal guard’s wear and looking at you with a young face. “I am Fazil Devereux.” He offers you a bow and your body tenses in preparation for what you expect to be an awkward conversation with whom you assume to be Lord Devereux’s eldest son. “I am hoping to steal away a little of your time this evening.”

“That’s very kind of you,” you say gently and formally. “I am, however, quite tired and should retire for the evening.” He gives you an unexpected smile.

“Your mother told me you may decline at first.” You have a hard time keeping a polite look on your face. “I won’t be dissuaded so easily.” His voice is full of young confidence, the kind that tries too hard to be real. The poor lad is trying to be bold in an effort to be attractive and, unfortunately for him, failing.

“Fazil,” you start, ready to change to a sharper tactic if he doesn’t ease soon. You use his name instead of his title, removing your obligated politeness and formality to the interaction. “I don’t think you-”

“There you are!” Thor’s voice booms, interrupting your rejection. He’s besides you in no more than two steps, a hand gently at your elbow. He makes a show of noticing Fazil in front of you, as if he hadn’t seen him prior. “Apologies for the intrusion my good fellow,” His voice is quite loud and you recognize it as his show voice. “I have things I must discuss with my advisor.” There’s a small mixture of fear in the disappointment in Fazil’s eyes as he bows his head.

“Of course, sire.” He looks back to you. “Another time then perhaps.” You give him a clearly forced smile, though you doubt he notices the difference. Once he’s out of earshot, you turn to Thor.

“Thank you,” you whisper with a slight laugh. He smiles warmly down at you and leans against the railing himself.

“It was not a problem. I know a thing or two about unwanted pressures to find a partner.” You turn and lean back down onto the fence again, sighing.

“Yes, but I’m sure your pressures are greater.” You would never dare to think your woes equal to those of the will-be-king.

“Unwanted advances are unwanted advances,” he says. “Comparisons are not needed.” Your lips tilt up softly. Sometimes you forget how kind and even wise Thor can be. He’s grown quite a lot from the boy he used to be. It’s admirable. “You do look very beautiful tonight,” he tells you carefully. “You drew the eye of many men and women.” You begin to feel your face heat. It was not your intention to draw any eyes at all, but it does fill you with a touch more confidence, if you’re honest. Thor looks at the dress again. “It’s a good color on you, which is ironic,” he laughs, looking out whimsically over the flowers.

“Why is that?” you question. His smile is contagious.

“That is my brother’s signature color.” The smile drops from your face. “I must admit he wore it well, but I do dare to say you wear it better than he ever did.” You stick the smile back onto your face when he turns to look at you, fully entertained by his own musings, but he still sees the unease in your eyes. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” You nod. “I just got a chill is all.” The lie swallows easily and Thor lifts his hand to his neck to unbutton the thick cape he adorns.

“Here.” Ever the gentleman, he sweeps his cape off of his shoulders and onto your own even as you politely protest. He steps closer to fasten the button at the front of your neck carefully before fanning the fabric around your body. His hands land on your shoulders and linger, giving you a short squeeze.

“Thank you.” You must admit that it does help the chill and with your back and the dress now covered, you’re breathing a breath of relief all of a sudden. “I don’t believe I’ll be staying much longer though.” Thor gives your shoulders one more squeeze.

“Then you may return it on another day.” He lets his hands fall from you and steps back, still smiling. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” With one more nod from the both of you and a smile over his shoulder as he departs, Thor leaves you to your thoughts.

You linger for barely a minute before your feet are whisking you away in such a hurry that you don’t notice how the garden has filled with more people.

---

“My Lady,” Decimus greets in surprise. “I was not expecting you tonight with the feast.” He straightens and moves to leave his post. “I will retrieve a chair for you.”

“There’s no need,” you assure him, holding out your hand to stop him before passing by. “I won’t be staying long.” Your feet carry you quite quickly to Loki’s cell.

“Well, well, well,” he hums from his spot on his bed as he sees you round the corner. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Was this you?” you ask hurriedly as you poke your arms out through the edges at the front of the cape, showing the sleeves of the dress.

“Honestly, I didn’t expect to get the pleasure of seeing you in it.” He sits up from where he’s lounging and smiles. “My brother’s cloak does not make a good accessory.” There’s a slight bitterness in his tone and you snap your arms back underneath the shield of the cape.

“How did you manage this?” you ask, your bafflement not having faded. “And why?” He shrugs.

“There are still people out there who owe me favors even when I’m locked away in here.” He stands and starts to walk towards you. “Your mother was very easy to convince, I heard. And as for the why part…” He sighs and shrugs again as he gets to the barrier. “It’s a gift.”

“A gift?” you scoff.

“There’s only so much I can offer from within the confines of my prison.” His words sound genuine, which somehow makes you distrust them. “You’ve given me books and companionship. The least I could do is give you a pretty dress worthy of your beauty.”

“You cannot buy me with pretty things,” you tell him, pushing back the blush from his compliment. His smile widens.

“Ah, but I have no need to buy you. I already have your company on a regular basis. I have nothing to gain from such a gift except for your gratitude, should you give it.” You see his eyes try to peer into the cape, to see the dress, but the large fabric hides it well.

“You get off on manipulation and playing with people,” you counter, refusing to let yourself be fooled with soft words. “You gain pure entertainment and pleasure by slipping me into this gown and me parading around in your signature color.” His eyes shift a shade darker, the smile melting into a smirk.

“Is that what you think?” He brings his forearm above his head and rests it on the barrier. “That I lay here in this cell and bring myself to heights of pleasure to the thought of you wearing my color?” Your mouth snaps shut, having stumbled your way into something you hadn’t meant to. Images you’ll never admit you’ve wondered about before are suddenly filling your head. “I assure you my pleasures would come from slipping you out of the gown, not into it.” Your hands fiddle together beneath the cape, breath caught in your throat. “But if you’re so sure, come now.” His eyes trace down you once with a slight nod. “Let me see it on you.” At this point, you’re not sure if he’s demanding or begging. You feel that rush of confidence and it turns to boldness as you lift your fingers up to the button at your neck.

“A show of gratitude, as you called it,” you rationalize as you enjoy the look of surprise in his eyes, having caught him off guard for once.

He remains silent as you push the cape from your shoulders and let it billow onto the floor. His eyes take their time traveling down every inch of your body and then slowly back up again. His breathing is forcedly slow, but his hand above his head has clenched into a fist. He licks his lips once before he speaks again, his voice a husky silk draping over you.

“Turn for me.”

There’s no hesitation in you as you slowly spin around, careful not to let your feet tangle in the cape as you do so. There’s a hiss from Loki when your back is exposed to him and you pause to look over your shoulder at him. There’s always been flirtation, the tease of something, but the way he’s looking at you now leaves no room for debate between either of you; there’s an attraction here. In this moment, you can’t pretend it’s one-sided either.

“Perfect place for a man to place his hand, isn’t it?” you ask coyly. His fist tightens as his hand hanging by his thigh harshly flexes in contrast. “Is that why you chose this one?” You begin to turn again so you can face him. “So you could imagine your hands on me?” He crooks his finger at you, beckoning you closer. Lifting the hem of the dress to avoid tripping, you approach the barrier.

“Do you wish to know what I imagine?” His voice is low and leans down towards you. “I can show you.”

“Show me?” you ask skeptically. Your hand comes to the barrier and his follows, reaching to touch you if only he could.

“Oh yes,” he chuckles. You see movement behind him and it startles you. You shift away from the barrier and he leans for you to see more clearly.

You’re looking at yourself. He’s projected an image of you standing beside an image of himself. You are facing away, the smooth of your back in full view in your dress. The image of him faces you, his hand teasing your shoulder with his fingertips as he watches your image’s face intently.

“I can show you all sorts of things.” The real Loki draws your attention back to him. “You may not be able to touch me, pet, but that doesn’t mean you can’t see it happen.” You can barely feel your feet on the ground and you know the barrier between you is the only thing stopping you from making a very, very bad decision.

“Is that what you do when you’re feeling lonely?” you ask him teasingly. “Put on a little show for yourself?”

“I wonder which answer it is you’re hoping for,” he teases right back. He has no interest in the illusion behind him and you find yourself unable to look away from the flesh and blood man in front of you too. He raises his hand, traces his finger along the barrier before your cheek. “For a man of illusions, I much prefer the real thing.”

“As do I.” There’s a flicker behind him as your images dissolve, but you pay little attention to it.

“Perhaps one day,” he muses.

“Perhaps.” There’s a slightly somber pause that allows the tension to fade enough for you to release yourself from his pull. “I can’t stay,” you tell him regretfully.

“I’m sure the feast wore you out tonight.” He sighs heavily and allows his hands to drop away and lean back.

“It was quite the event,” you admit. “And now I’m sure I’ll have to avoid prying eyes seeing as how I wore what Thor pointed out to me is your color.” Loki chuckles softly as you back away to gather the cloak and refasten it around your neck.

“I have a feeling the court will be much more interested in you walking around in and leaving the feast in Thor’s cloak.” You scoff at him and his notion.

“No one would believe Thor and I are anything of an item.” You readjust yourself and ready to bid him goodnight.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

~~~

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It has been probably my favorite to write. Let me know you liked it by liking, commenting, reblogging, or if you’re really feeling generous, buy me a coffee! 

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And Then I Left You

(Thomas Hunt x OC*Amanda) in a what if to the And Then I Met You

A/N The Hollywood group throw a farewell party for Amanda. She and Thomas continue to struggle with remaining silent about their feelings for one another.

@krsnlove ​ @my-heart-beats-for-ya ​ @aworldoffandoms ​ @flyawayboo ​  @trappedinfanfiction ​ @everythingmarvelsherlockspn ​  @sophxwithers ​ @kate-mckenzie ​ ​ @twinkleallnight ​ ​ 

Song they dance to: I'm in the Mood for Love

Masterlist

Chapter 3 In the Mood

12 weeks in Hollywood...

Thomas straightened his bowtie and studied his reflection. Smoothing his hair on the sides, he allowed his typical frown to disappear, replacing it with one of sadness.

This is it. She's really leaving.

After tonight, he would only have one more week to spend with Amanda. Seven more days of quiet mornings spent together over coffee and tea. Six evenings spent discussing whatever topic came to mind. Six more nights being tempted to tell her what was in his heart.

As he walked downstairs, he wondered if Addison's insistence that Amanda get ready for the party at Ryan's was not meant to teach him some type of lesson. It certainly was not farfetched that she would try and show him how life would be without his duchess around.

His footsteps paused in the living room.

The silence in his house was oppressive.

There was no muffled sounds of typing. No familiar sounds of laughter. No smile being flashed his way. No footsteps hurrying to join him. No suggestions for how they should spend the evening together.

This would be his chance to return to how his life was before she arrived.

Thomas already despised it.

When he got into the waiting town car, he glanced at the empty spot next to him.

She truly has done a number on me.

**************

Ryan's Mansion in Malibu...

"You went to too much trouble." Amanda looked about at all her new friends had done.

Each room opened for the party was decorated for a specific decade. Addison had insisted they do so and dress as they did in the movies for that time period. Holly had been in charge of assigning each guest a particular decade.

Ryan had supplied the residence and made certain for this to be the party to top all Hollywood parties.

Addison was beyond thrilled that everything had gone as planned. Her excitement at seeing Amanda happy caused her bouncing to make her bow fall off her head.

With her blonde hair in a ponytail and dressed in a poodle skirt, she looked like she had just stepped out of the movie, Grease.

Holly joined them, pushing her colored lens glasses up. Her short, psychedelic dress and white go-go boots matched the sixties era room perfectly.

"This wasn't any trouble." She replied.

"Ready to see what I made?" Addison gripped Amanda's hand and pulled her up the stairs. "I designed a dress specifically for one of your favorite decades!"

While the two disappeared down the upstairs hall, Ryan stepped out of his room.

He smiled at them while flipping his brown leather jacket's collar up. "Well?" He spun around. What do you think?"

"You look like you are one of the fighter pilots from Top Gun." Amanda replied.

"Holly must have known I like to take the ladies' breaths away." He winked at them.

"I can't believe you used that movie's love song for your own sex appeal." Addison rolled her eyes with a giggle.

"It was too good to let pass." Ryan quipped. "Sorry ladies, but I feel the need, the need to host a party." He slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses and told them he would see them downstairs.

The two laughed and hurried into one of the guest bedrooms. Amanda stopped when she saw a strange man in there.

"This is Craig." Addison quickly did the introductions. "He's the most talented stylist I've ever met."

He grinned bashfully.

"I told him your hair needed to resemble the fashion of the late thirties, early forties to match your costume." Addison explained.

Amanda touched her long hair, while a smile slowly formed. "Craig, how do you feel about cutting some of this?"

Addison's eyes widened. "You don't have to. We can find a way to put it in an appropriate style without any cutting. Can't we Craig?"

"I want to." Amanda decided before the stylist could answer. "I've been thinking of changing how I look for a while now."

Craig opened up his case and showed her all the hairstyling tools he had brought, choosing a pair of scissors.

"I can't watch." Addison covered her eyes when the first lock was cut above her shoulders. "Don't cut too much!"

"Keep going, Craig." Amanda encouraged.

Within minutes, her long wavy hair was now a bunch of curls, brushing her neck and jaw line.

Addison lowered her hands and gasped.

"Your eyes are even bigger than before!"

Amanda critically studied her reflection.

"I love it!" She thanked Craig, then sat back and let him part it, and fluff it out to match some of the photographs of classic film stars.

Addison retrieved a shimmering evening gown she had designed after watching a few of Amanda's favorite classic movies.

"It's like a mixture of Judy Garland's and Myrna Loy's hairstyle." Addison added once she saw the end result. "And this dress is perfect for it."

Once Craig left, Addison helped Amanda into her costume.

"What decade did Holly give Thomas?" Amanda asked.

"The same as yours." Addison grinned at the blush on the duchess' cheeks. "Don't worry, there are other guests given that era too."

"Oh." Amanda turned from side to side to see how the dress hung. "I can't believe my figure allowed me to wear something so elegant!" She hugged Addison. "Thank you."

Addison hugged her tight then ordered her to hurry downstairs when she was ready.

**************

Thomas nodded and spoke a few greetings as he walked inside. He scanned the rooms filling up with people. Just when he was about to check outside to see if Amanda was mingling there, Ryan clapped him on the back.

"About time you arrived." Ryan stepped back and studied him. "I'm getting a definite Cary Grant vibe from you."

Thomas merely grunted. "And you are trying to be Tom Cruise."

Ryan laughed while gesturing to his back patio. "In case you were wondering, your duchess was last seen going outside."

With his signature, charming smile firmly in place, he left to mingle with a group over by the bar.

Thomas squared his shoulders and made his way outside.

****************

"Want me to freshen your drink?" Chris asked.

Amanda shook her head. "No, thank you." She had no intention of a repeat performance of her girls' night out.

She still wasn't clear on what happened the night she came home drunk. Waking up wearing Thomas's shirt had caused her to panic. She didn't know how she could ask him, let alone face him.

But she had to know.

When he knocked on her bedroom door, her immediate reaction was to jerk the covers up to her chin. Taking a deep breath, she called out for him to enter.

Thomas walked in with a breakfast tray.

"What's all this?" She asked, sitting up in surprise, thus forgetting to hide she had his shirt on.

"Something to hopefully help get you through your hangover." He replied.

She bit her lip as he prepared her a cup of tea. "That's very thoughtful of you."

Taking a sip and closing her eyes in appreciation, she forced herself to ask how badly she had behaved. She knew from the couple of times she had experienced tipsiness that her friends said she was a little more daring than usual. She didn't have her usual doubt and fear keeping her from experiences.

She eyed him closely as a slight smile formed on his lips.

"You were," Thomas lifted his eyes to meet her steady gaze, "not too much trouble. You were tired and I helped you upstairs."

Her brow furrowed. "How did I get in your t-shirt?"

Her worry grew when she noticed a slight flush to his skin.

"You went swimming to cool off." He coughed and lifted a lid off some toast he had made. "When it came time to change your clothes, you asked for one of my shirts to sleep in."

Amanda leaned forward. "That's it? I didn't do anything else, did I? Anything I should apologize over?" She closed her eyes in embarrassment. "I mean, I do apologize. I can't imagine having your houseguest come in drunk and demanding clothing."

He reached over and took her hand, gently squeezing it to get her to look at him. "You have nothing to apologize for. You," he swallowed as he glanced at the spot he had slept with her in his arms, "You went right to sleep once your head hit the pillow."

She gave him a grateful smile while turning her attention to buttering a piece of toast. "Thank you for putting up with me."

A thought that there was more to the story kept coming to mind, but she decided she didn't want to know. She already had enough to deal with over secretly loving him.

What if I let it slip?!

"I, Thomas," she rambled nervously, "I didn't, I mean I hope there was nothing," she paused, "Did I say anything that I should know about?"

Thomas stilled. "What do you mean?"

"Um," she picked at the toast on her plate, "You know, anything like something I would have said to you that might have caught you off guard?"

He refilled her teacup while debating on what all he should reveal. "You said I smelled nice."

A burst of surprised laughter escaped her lips. "Well, that is something I can say is true while sober."

He chuckled at that. "Thank you."

Her smile slowly fell. "Was there anything else I might have said?"

"You told me you danced." He stood up and motioned toward the food he had prepared. "Eat what you think you can stomach, then join me downstairs." He slipped his hands in his pockets. "We'll take it easy today."

"Didn't you want to go out to dinner tonight?" Amanda's question had him stopping in her doorway.

"Only if you feel well enough." His frown eased as he looked back at her. "Eat, while it is still warm."

"Earth to Amanda." Holly waved her hand in front of her face.

"Sorry." Amanda set her barely touched drink on a table. "Lost in thought."

"I'm always lost in thought." Shannon confessed. "Or sleep deprivation. I don't think our daughter will ever let us sleep again."

While the couple shared stories of being new parents, Amanda searched the patio and beach area for Thomas.

Shannon gripped her arm, taking her once more from her thoughts that she was always hoping to see him.

"Look who's coming over!" She whispered.

Amanda felt her lips part at an extremely popular, and extremely handsome, actor dressed in a WWII uniform.

"Chris." He shook the actor's hand before kissing Shannon's cheek. "Shannon. I haven't seen you two in ages."

He smiled at Amanda and Holly.

"Patrick, I don't think you've had a chance to meet Amanda before." Shannon made the introductions.

"Cordonia." His eyes narrowed in thought. "I don't think I've ever heard of that country."

"Few have." Amanda replied.

His smile reminded her of Ryan's along with that twinkle in his eye. He seemed of a similar height. His voice was not too deep so he would be perfect for the role she had in mind.

"Mr. Fields? Have you heard of The Earl's Undoing?" Amanda asked.

"That's all anyone has talked about since I got home." He replied. "And please call me, Patrick."

"I think you would be perfect to play Lord Carlisle, Lord Arthur's younger brother." She explained.

Chris stepped back and critically studied Patrick. He noticed Ryan walk outside and called for him to come over. "Stand by Patrick." He ordered.

Ryan and Patrick stood side by side.

"I don't believe it!" Shannon breathed. "How come we never noticed this before?"

Holly removed her glasses and stepped closer to them. "It's incredible."

Ryan and Patrick both quirked the same eyebrow while a similar smirk settled on their lips.

"I knew we were both handsome," Patrick teased.

"But not this jaw droppingly handsome." Ryan finished with a wink.

Thomas quietly joined them and looked curiously around at the group.

"We've found Carlisle!" Holly exclaimed, gesturing toward Patrick.

He narrowed his eyes in study.

Amanda slipped over beside him. "They even finish each other's thoughts."

He slowly nodded as he glanced at her. Then he did a double take. He reached up and gently tugged on a lock of her hair.

"What are you doing?" She asked, trying not to laugh at his strange reaction to her hair.

"Is this a wig?" He asked.

"No." She laughed then shook her head to prove that it was her own. "What do you think?"

"You cut your hair?" He muttered, his expression of one of complete disbelief.

Her smile disappeared. "Yes, I did." Her eyes searched his. "Do I look that horrible?"

"No." He cleared his throat and forced himself to focus on Patrick. 

"Would you like to read a few lines with Ryan?" Thomas asked. "He has a copy of the script, if you are interested in joining the production."

"Are you kidding?" Patrick couldn’t believe he was being given a chance. "Just give me a second to read over it and I will audition whenever you want."

Ryan led him away, telling Thomas to come upstairs to the game room when he was ready to see the audition.

"Now all we need is Marija cast." Holly announced. "Keep an eye out."

She and Shannon excused themselves when they noticed some of their former classmates they hadn’t talked to in a while.

Amanda kept her gaze averted from Thomas. She was determined not to let him see how much his actions toward her haircut stung.

Thomas tried not to stare at her. He slipped his hands into his pockets so he wouldn't be tempted to brush the windblown curls back. He couldn't help but notice the change it wrought. Her eyes that he already found difficult to not get lost in, were even more vivid. His gaze dropped to the curls that had been styled to draw the eye to her lips.

He swallowed and looked around for a distraction.

A song from the 1940's began.

"May I have this dance?" Thomas asked.

"Of course." She mumbled, placing her hand in his. "We are dressed for it."

He led her to the dance floor that Ryan had constructed on his private beach. He took Amanda in his arms and began to do a slow box step.

The romantic lyrics drifted through the night air, causing each to think how appropriate the words were when they were near each other.

I'm in the mood for love

Simply because you're near me.

Funny, but when you're near me

I'm in the mood for love.

Thomas raised his hand he had placed on the small of her back to brush her hair out of her eyes. His lips curved when she looked up at him curiously.

"This hairstyle is lovely on you." He let the back of his fingers brush down her cheek as he tucked some of the wayward locks behind her ear.

She smiled at him. "Truly?" At his nod, she relaxed in his arms. "Thank you."

Heaven is in your eyes

Bright as the stars we're under

Oh is it any wonder

That I'm in the mood for love?

Their eyes remained fixated upon one another as the song continued.

Amanda felt the overwhelming urge to tell Thomas why she had to return to Cordonia. The words were on the tip of her tongue, more than ready to tell him that though she had to participate in Liam's social season that she only wanted to be with him...that Thomas was the only man who held her heart.

She had never been so tempted to do so. The thought that when he discovered the reason for her leaving, he would simply assume she preferred Liam and the crown to anyone else. It was eating her up inside. She hoped when she confessed that he would state that he too felt something for her that wasn't mere friendship.

Why stop to think of whether

This little dream might fade?

We've put our hearts together

Now we are one, I'm not afraid!

What did she have to lose? The words were nearly bursting from her lips. The way he was looking at her as they danced...the moonlight...the romantic song...all seemed designed for such a heartfelt confession.

If there's a cloud up above

If it should rain we'll let it

But for tonight, forget it!

'Cause I'm in the mood for love.

I'm in the mood for love

"Thomas, I have to tell you that--"

He twitched then reached in his coat pocket.

His cell was vibrating.

"It's Ryan." He explained while answering. "We'll be right up." He ended the call and took her hand. "Patrick is ready for us."

She couldn't quite keep her disappointment hidden. "Then we shouldn't keep him waiting."

He tucked her hand into the bend of his arm. "What were you about to say when we were interrupted?"

"Nothing." She replied. "Nothing at all."

*****************

Patrick's audition was a success. Thomas was impressed by not only his performance with so little time with the script but also the playful almost brotherly affection already between him and Ryan.

Amanda barely paid attention to any of it. She couldn't believe that she had been so willing to not only break her promise to Liam but to also forget her pride and admit to feelings that might not be returned. She believed she wasn't brave enough to take such a risk.

I'm taking too many chances, she thought to herself. Thomas is becoming far too tempting to remain here. I have to do what I don't want to. I can't risk losing him nor ruining what we have. I can't tell Thomas that I'm in love. How could I possibly face him again once he tells me he can't return my affection?

Excusing herself from them, she went to one of Ryan's bathrooms on the second floor. She locked the door and sent a quick text to one man she knew she could count on to help her.

Barely a minute went by before her phone rang.

"Hey, Drake." She kept her voice low. "I need you to call me in five minutes and ignore how I respond."

"Okay." She could hear the curiosity in his tone. "What am I supposed to be calling about?"

Eyeing the closed door when she heard footsteps go by, she lowered her voice to barely above a whisper.

"That I have to come home immediately." She bit down on her lip over her decision. "It's time to leave Hollywood."

[testingtwns]

I finished the really really long original stuck sneeze story at last

HEY LOOK I DID IT !

Sorry this took so long. I made two posts before this to say it was coming soon, which was in order to garner interest and hopefully drum up my own interest in the process. Well, it totally backfired, and I intimidated myself into not writing at all. So, thank you for your patience with me!

Considering that this is a 13k-word stuck sneeze story, it’s like 98% build-up, so instead of being posted in parts, it’s all here. Not gonna leave anyone hangin’ without the part where sneezing actually happens. Since that’s why we’re all here I mean duh

Well... enjoy I guess ! 

It started at noon on a calm summer day. The royal family ate in the solarium, as they always did at mealtime, with the head of the table taken by Queen Cveta, heir apparent Arkady to her left, and the rest of the princes and princesses continuing in birth order down the line, all except for Vjera. Each window of the glass room was so perfectly clear as to be nearly invisible, giving a great view of the flourishing garden and all the curious creatures that it attracted. Hummingbirds and dragonflies and honeybees and swallowtails dipped and dove among the fauna, making for a very theatrical view, as it so often did. In the fall, there were deer; in the winter, ptarmigans and cardinals; and in the spring the deer came back, bringing with them their knobby fawns. Zlata and Pedja were hoping to see a set of those soft brown ears peering above the heather today, but the eldest siblings ate rather quietly, somewhat subdued. They knew they were supposed to be happy, but it was hard to say goodbye to one of their own.

Svetlana scooted boiled cabbage around her plate with her fork, and Dmitar leaned one elbow on the table and slouched a bit, totally forgetting his manners. As the eldest sibling, Arkady could not allow his sadness to be so easily observed, especially in front of the kitchen attendants bringing sweetbreads to and from the table. It would not do well for the next-in-line to seem disappointed about his sister's betrothal to the prince of a neighboring kingdom. But soon that was no longer the thought at the forefront of Arkady’s mind.

He had just filled his mouth with a sip of cold honey tea when a desire to sneeze hit him with startling urgency. Arkady's eyes widened before clamping shut, and he hastened to swallow before the squirming tickle at the roof of his mouth could win out. He had been groomed to have the best of manners, to keep from sneezing during meals, but this tickle was unusually urgent, and it wasn’t going to let him have a say. Arkady acted fast. One hand sloppily placed the glass back down, the other ushered his napkin to his face as he turned away from the table. He inhaled loudly once, twice, three times, and held the cloth tightly to his nose, sure whatever was coming would be impressive…

“Hhhtt-!”

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

For a moment, his whole body seemed to stall. Then, just as quickly as it came on, the sneeze disappeared, leaving nothing but the burning embers of an itch that hadn’t been soothed. Arkady sniffed, hoping to either fan the little flame or blow it out, but it wouldn’t be tempted in either direction. He could only blink in puzzlement, and at the tears that had started in the corners of his eyes, formed by unrealized desire.

When he lowered his hands, his whole family was staring at him from their individual places at the table, spoons or forks halfway to their mouths.

“Uh,” Arkady began, mildly sheepish as he returned the unused napkin to his lap, “I thought I was going to sneeze.”

“We all did,” said Zlata. “Why didn’t you?”

“It would have been good luck,” Pedja piped up.

“I was trying to,” Arkady insisted, almost defensively. “I would have liked to.” He kneaded the side of his nose hard with one knuckle. “It still feels as if I might.” Indeed, as those words left him, his mouth began to quiver open when the faint sensation twitched back to life. Both hands secured the napkin around his nose, and his eyelids squeezed together, and his insides felt like they were buzzing with anticipation, and—no. It still wasn’t to be. Arkady came down from the sneeze with a long sigh and blew his nose, which didn’t help much. His eyelashes were already damp from the tickle alone.

His brothers and sisters were staring at him again, strangely but clearly also fascinated for the conclusion to this little breakfast drama. It was Svetlana who glanced fervidly around the table in search of a solution. “Maybe there’s something spicy around here you can eat. Or something strong you can smell.”

“Hold on, now. Don’t provoke it.” It was their mother, Queen Cveta, who spoke now. “This could be Ilari’s doing.”

Arkady’s eyebrows slouched. “Or maybe I just have to sneeze, and I can’t d… do ihht…” The tickle struck a third time in as many minutes, and Arkady couldn’t pay attention to anything else. Cloth napkin around his face again, his family became colorful blurs before his eyes. They were all watching unabashedly… Embarrassed, he ducked into the cloth to hide. Gasp… gasp… Huff. No.

He raised his head blearily and narrowed his gaze. “Could you all at least have the courtesy not to stare at me?”

“Why?” said Pedja innocently. Staring was among his favorite hobbies.

“Because it’s impolite,” Arkady said. When Pedja only continued to gaze at him, he added flatly, “And if you stare for too long, your eyes will dry up and fall out of your head, and birds will come and eat them.”

“Wow,” said Pedja.

“That’s enough of that. This may be serious,” Queen Cveta continued calmly. “Sneezing is a sign of good health and good fortune, and protection from the gods. It is usual to be able to sneeze—the opposite is not. This could be a message.” There was only slight worry in her steady look, but she was adamant when she told him, “Go to Jaga, and ask her what it might mean. She will be able to tell you.”

Arkady looked at his plate of rolls and boiled potato salad and pork aspic, which was only halfway finished. “I’d sort of rather try my luck with some spicy food,” he said.

“Go to Jaga,” Queen Cveta repeated.

It was a lost cause. Even if he was next in line for the throne, she was the Queen, and the Queen’s word was second only to the gods’. Sighing, Arkady stood to leave, but his sigh turned into a sharp snaggle of breath, and another, and another, and another, and as Arkady gripped the top of his chair desperately for support, the whole morning seemed to go silent waiting for his sneeze... but still it eluded him. Arkady’s brothers and sisters made a collective sound of discouragement on his behalf.

“If you think it’s annoying for you,” he said, touchy and a little flushed, “just think of how annoying it is for me!”

He exited directly into the garden, following the stepping stones towards the footbridges that connected each of the Peaks, like their own mountainous islands. Each individual peak hosted its own type of building: guesthouses, greenhouses, the royal family’s grounds, and the outbuildings, such as the one where Jaga lived. Each member of the royal entourage lived within the sanctuary walls; they were like family to Arkady, and they loved him as much as he loved them. He loved that they too could be protected by the same archers and guardsmen that kept his family from harm. But Arkady had heard it was different outside of his kingdom of Gornoye. In Dolina and Vodopad, the palace attendants were considered servants and could not look the king and queen in the eyes without punishment. They had to bow their heads and say “I beg your pardon” every time they entered a room. Would it be so in Derevo too?

Like a sense of dread, Arkady's sneeze came creeping back to tug his thoughts away from the matter of his sister's betrothal and towards this impossible itch. Oh, how it itched. Arkady stumbled to the wood railing of the bridge with clouding eyes, hoping that if the gods really had anything to do with this, they'd let him sn– “Huh-hhhh...” sneeze already– “Ehhthehheh... Hah! Utchtt-!” His breath stuttered: it was right there, right in the place that should have his voice bursting out of him like an announcement, and yet...

It didn't.

But it did keep his eyes shut tight, holding him in a place of such utter discomfort that he had to shake his head hard against it. If it wasn't going to happen, would it at least leave him alone? When he had enough control back to rub his nose, he did so, hoping to squash the inner tickle from the outside. It was barely a solution. Eventually he was able to open his eyes, but even then his vision was skewed by more stinging tears than he knew what to do with. One even went down his cheek.

"Brother! What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Arkady turned muzzily to his left. He had immediately recognized the voice as Vjera's, which was good, because the tears obscured her face to the point where she looked scarcely recognizable. He pulled the heels of his hands over his sleeves to dry the water in his eyes.

"I must look as if I'm crying," he said, sniffling hard, sure his nose was some shade of red. He laughed a bit to show he wasn't sad, though the situation hardly felt funny at all. "I almost wish I was. It would be better than what's really happening."

Vjera was wearing a simple black pinafore dress, and her soft, dark hair hung down without any sort of style. She was likely holding off as long as she could from preparing for Prince Ivar's arrival. She and her siblings often dressed formally for company, so any break from the layers of high-collared shirts and embroidered coats was a welcome one. She reached out and touched the sleeve of his loose, soft tunic now. "What's really happening? Are you going to throw up?"

"Uh, no," Arkady said, with a slight chuckle at her bluntness. "No... Augh." He scrubbed hard at the fire in his snout. He turned away slightly as he did so; it was embarrassing to make those silly, hesitant faces in front of anyone. “It's my nose. I've got to sneeze, but I can't. I just keep gasping and then nothing happens. Mother thinks Ilari has something to do with it. She thinks it might be a sign of some sort. I don't know what it is, but I hope Jaga has a solution, because I can hardly stand it another second."

Vjera flashed a keen little grin. "What a pain. I would scare it out of you if I could."

"You always were a bit too good at curing my hiccups," Arkady said, remembering in their youth how, after complaining of the ailment, she would wait until he had been hiccuping for a good five minutes, then reach out from underneath his bed or under his study table and grab his ankles as tightly as she could. It had never failed to make him yelp.

Even such a simple memory inspired nostalgia. His eyes saddened. "You're really leaving tomorrow."

"I really am," Vjera sighed. She became gentle, lightly touching the railing and gazing into the Sheerwater River below. "I told you I was ready, and I thought I meant it. But today I feel less sure. I am going to miss watching the girls and little Pedja grow into adults, and I'll miss Dmitar's singing, his jokes. But it’s you I’m going to miss most of all. What am I going to do without my best friend?”

Arkady gazed into the gorge too. "I wish I knew the answer. I've been asking myself the same question." And I’ve been asking the gods, too, he thought, but decided not to admit it. Such trivialities were not exactly meant for gods’ ears.

The siblings smiled at each other, bittersweet, and embraced for what was sure not to be the last time that day. They understood each other like no one else could. They had endured many of the same lessons in etiquette and politics while they grew up, as Vjera would be second in line for the throne until Arkady himself had children. Because of those lessons, they both had understood all their lives that they would not marry for love so much as for political reasoning. It was part of why they had turned to each other so desperately for friendship, each acting as an anchor in a life full of acquaintances and kowtowers and even those who meant well but could never fathom the burdens of the crown.

The running water below filled the silence—at least until Arkady began, again, gathering unsteady breaths. He pulled away from his sister's shoulder, held a hand in front of his face, praying it would soon be catching the results of a truly satisfying sneeze. Twenty-five years of etiquette lessons had been engrained in him, and usually the idea of sneezing without a cloth ready seemed preposterous. But this tickle was even more preposterous, so etiquette was long forgotten. All that mattered was the sneeze.

He tried his damnedest to make it happen. His tongue cupped itself and pressed to the bottom of his mouth. "Hhhuuhhhth... Shehh..." he begged. Then he found himself doing something he had seen others do when they were about to sneeze, which was use a hand to fan in front of his face. Arkady had no idea how such an action would serve him, but they said necessity was the mother of invention. And it seemed... to be... helping... a l-little...!

"Ehh...! Ehsh-!... … hyew..."

A weird, finite little noise escaped him then. Arkady blinked largely in surprise. He had not sneezed, but he had spoken a sneeze-like sound nonetheless, and he hadn't even meant to. It was as if he had wanted it so badly, even feigning the act was better than nothing.

But oh, how much nothing it had done.

Vjera seemed just as confused by this. "Was that... a sneeze?"

"No!" Arkady growled. He coughed and rubbed at his face. "No... Sorry for snapping. I'm not angry at you. I'm angry with my nose. I'd rip it off and throw it into the gorge if I could. Anything to escape this torture."

When there was no response to that, Arkady glanced up from tending to his nose to look at his sister. Her mouth was a hard line, and her eyes sparkled at him.

Arkady frowned. “It’s not funny!”

Vjera held her pointer finger and thumb apart. “It’s a little funny.”

“If this were happening to you, you wouldn’t be so amused,” Arkady said.

“But it isn’t happening to me,” Vjera said.

“So that means it’s funny?”

“It does,” Vjera nodded.

At her brother’s frustrated expression and further badgering of his nose, Vjera finally took pity on him and patted his shoulder. “I’m sure Jaga will take good care of you. I was just there myself, anyway, and I’m feeling a bit better.”

Arkady was alert at once. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing to fret about. I just feel nauseous,” Vjera admitted. “I wanted to eat with you all this morning, and just now, but even the idea of food is too much. I think my stomach is more upset about this betrothal than I am.” She paused. “I-I mean… no, not upset. I just meant…”

He knew what she meant: If anyone sees me looking miserable on the day I’m going to meet my future husband, it’s won’t send the right message to our people.

A herd of low mountain clouds had been passing through them for a while. “No one can see us right now, Ra. Will you be honest with me at least?”

Vjera chewed her lip. Her nickname seemed to undo something in her heart for a moment, but she hid it fast, as future queens did. “I’m not being dishonest. I’ve made my peace with it. And even though I’m nervous, I’m also excited, really. It’s just a lot of newness at once. It’s overwhelming.”

Arkady wanted to coax more of the truth out of her, but something was overwhelming him too. “Gods, not again… Suh-Sorry…” he breathed, his hands going up to his face guiltily, but he couldn’t think or speak when he was like this. The tickle was like a teething puppy, nipping and nuzzling in the back of his nose. He pinched it hard, asking it to stop. Two, three, four gasps later, the urge delivered a final, aching burn, and he was back to feeling unrelieved and unable to sneeze.

Arkady blinked hard and smudged at his eyes. “Ugh… I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Vjera shook her head, “and go to Jaga now. Keeping you here any longer would be cruel.”

“You aren’t keeping me,” Arkady said. He couldn’t stop touching at his nose though.

“I am, and I won’t anymore,” she insisted. She gently nudged him in the direction she’d come from. “Please go have something done about your poor nose.”

"I sure hope something is done," Arkady sighed. "I'd love to have this over with at last. I promise I'll make for better conversation after I finally sneeze."

"Good luck," Vjera wished him before he continued his short journey to the herbalist’s abode.

The steeply-sloped, pentagonal building Jaga conducted her work in was just over the bridge that connected the main plateau to one of the many surrounding peaks. Jaga spent most of her time preparing medicines and tending to her plants, plants that she named and talked to as if they were children. Though half of the building was designed like a greenhouse, her workspace had but one window, so she lived like a cave-dweller when she wasn’t out culling flora, and wore a wild mane to match her wild lifestyle. Due to her many eccentricities, it was easy to forget that she was a genius of an herbalist.

Jaga had just two years ago taken over the late Rosa's position. Where Rosa had been a gentle presence with a sagely bedside manner, Jaga was overzealous when it came to healing. A person with an ailment was certainly more interesting to her than a person without one. Because of that, Arkady felt a little reluctant to let her know what was going on with him. But if she could cure this itch, it was well worth any fuss.

And the moment Arkady walked into her keep, that accursed itch returned with a vengeance. “Um, good day, J-Jagahh...” he trailed off almost immediately, bringing a hand to his mouth, eyes closing just before he noticed the tousled witch looking up from her mortar and pestle. “I'm... um... hh...” I’m unable to talk just yet because I’m trying to sneeze. He sensed her at his side, even as he struggled and pleaded for the sensation to free itself. He turned a bit, not exactly enthusiastic for her to see his face in this state, yet unable to care too terribly much at this point. “Hhhh... HhHH-!”

He waited. Jaga waited. They both waited.

Aaand nothing. Again.

Arkady gulped at the air and fervidly blinked away the stars in his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. "Hhh... Sorry… I’m-”

"You can't sneeze," Jaga said simply. Though at least a decade older than the prince, she was eight inches shorter, and yet somehow she seemed to be right in his face, staring up the length of her own nose at his unmanageable one. She appeared very interested in him.

"Um," Arkady felt himself flushing again, "yes." He sniffled, rubbed at his upper lip. "I just want to do away with whatever’s causing this," he admitted, "but Queen Cveta is worried it might mean something.”

"And she should be," Jaga said. "Ilari is trying to send you a message."

Arkady slumped his shoulders. "You think so too?"

"How do you feel right now?" Jaga ignored his question to field her own. "Does your nose still tickle? Do you feel that you could sneeze any moment? Or is it more of an itch you can't scratch?"

"I-I don't know," Arkady panted, "but the more you tuh... talk about it, the more I want... tuhhhh... Hh, h, heh, nh-!" His mounting breaths hit an octave that seemed to promise results, but all too soon he was sighing out the air he'd swallowed, unfulfilled. Arkady cupped a hand over his poor abused nose. "Ugh... the more I want to sneeze."

Jaga's eyes were glittering like camel jasper. "How interesting," she said. "You really need it, don't you? But you still can't manage to do it?"

Throwing the truth back in his face kind of stung. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact," he huffed.

Jaga put her hands on her hips, staring off into space thoughtfully. She did this for long enough that Arkady felt the tickle in him stirring again, a demanding little niggle, yet it would not be satisfied. He went to touch his nose, to relieve it even just a tiny bit, and was surprised to feel a hand upon his wrist stopping him.

"H-Hey. Don't." It was a lame argument, but the current pulse of the distant sneeze had left him in a trance-like state where all he could think about was relief.

“I know it's bothering you," Jaga said with a smirk, "and I don't blame you for wanting to scratch. But listen. If I learned anything from Rosa, it's that the ailments of the royal family are never to be ignored. And even you know well enough that sneezing is considered a direct message from the gods.”

"But I'm not sneezing." Arkady hoped the slight whine in his voice would inspire sympathy. "Isn't that the opposite of a sign?"

Jaga shook her head. "Without a doubt, it’s a sign," she said. She went back to her table and returned with a nearly-empty clay mug. "The leaves told me all I needed to know. Something important is going to happen today. And your sneezing—or not-sneezing, rather—might just be connected to it."

"We already know what the important thing is," Arkady grumbled. "Prince Ivar and his entourage are coming."

"Perhaps that is the important thing," Jaga said as she circled the rim of the mug with her finger, "perhaps it isn't. But in order for the gods' sign to arrive when it needs to arrive, you must leave your nose alone. If you try to make the sneeze come too soon or late, you may never receive the message they are sending you. The fact that you can't sneeze, that you try and fail? This is all part of their plan. Be patient, and trust their judgment."

Arkady's fingers grasped uselessly at the air before his face. "At this point, I'd... rather s... s-sneez- ha-haH…!"

Jaga waited with him in the pregnant silence that followed. She tsked any time his fingers went too close to his nostrils, desperate to rub or aid in any way possible. The self-consciousness over the faces he was pulling was disappearing fast: every time his breathing snagged, all he could hope was that the sneeze was coming at last and that he'd be free of this strange torment. And it held him just above his breaking point for so long, when the sneeze did finally disappear, Arkady snarled at the ceiling, "There’d better be a good reason for this, damn it!"

Old Rosa might have gasped at that, but Jaga was made of different stuff. "Don't brush the gods off so quickly," she said with a light laugh. "You've done nothing to anger them—well, aside from the aforementioned damning. Right?”

Arkady paused. “I can’t think of anything.”

Jaga nodded. “You have the blood of Ilari, whose sneeze saved us from the floods. It's possible that your sneeze could even save you. So let it come in its own good time."

“There is nothing good about the time it’s taking.” Arkady sniffed hard. All these tears were turning his sinuses to liquid. “Do you have anything I can use for a handkerchief?”

For a moment, Arkady was afraid she wouldn’t let him blow his nose, but she found him a cloth, and he accepted it gratefully. Using it helped him feel a bit more clear-headed, but now the tickle was merely a dry one instead of wet, which was just as bad. He snuffled around in the kerchief until Jaga commanded, “That’s enough. Leave it be. Leave it!” She swatted at his wrist. “Am I going to have to follow you all day to make sure you don’t scratch?”

The prince reluctantly removed his hands, scowling. “No.”

“Good,” Jaga said. “And you promise me, as soon as you sneeze, you tell me about where you were, what was happening, what you were thinking—everything. Come back if it hasn’t happened in a few more hours.”

“A few more hours?” Arkady stared at her, jaw dropping. “You think it might last that long?!”

“It could,” was the unfortunate response. “If it does last that long than the message is likely to be an important one.”

Arkady was silent, staring down at the kerchief as he folded it into a neat triangle.

Jaga had returned to her pestle and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I know a look of doubt when I see one,” she said with a slyness. “I’ll follow you all day if I have to, Prince. Don’t you meddle with that sneeze. If Ilari hadn’t sneezed at the time and place he did, Gornoye wouldn’t exist, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, would we? So you let it alone.”

“All right, all right, I won’t bother it,” Arkady lied. He put the kerchief in his pocket and folded his arms. “Well, then… If the best herbalist in Gornoye has no cure for me, than I suppose I had better go get ready for the Derevo entourage.”

He was being grouchy, he knew, and it only seemed to delight Jaga even more. “Farewell, Prince Arkady. And remember to have patience.”

“Have patience,” he muttered under his breath once he was outside. He knuckled his nose. Who in the world could exercise patience when they felt like he did? Sneezes stopped and started three times in just the short walk from Jaga’s workspace back to the main palace and solarium. It was insanity.

Arkady snorted after the third bout of hitching breaths. Yes, of course he knew about the significance of Ilari’s sneeze; he’d been rocked to sleep with the story many a night, just like every child of the Ossian faith. It went that the great god Ossia, disgusted that the world of his making had been burnt and torn and destroyed by centuries of war, decided to flood the land with a rainstorm. And all the people of the world would have drowned, if the great dragon Ilari had not spontaneously sneezed a hole in the storm clouds, sparing one single mountainside of humanity. Those people had Ilari's blessing. Those people also, allegedly, were Arkady's ancestors.

In earnest, Arkady figured the chances of that were slim. His was not the only mountain town that believed they were the one saved by Ilari’s sneeze. The ancient texts told the story but never specified the location of the spared mountain. For him to be the true prince whose veins flowed with Ilari’s divinity was what he’d been told all his life, and something he’d doubted for just as long.

Though he debated the legitimacy of his birthright, Arkady did believe that the gods played some role in his fate. He also, however, hoped that the gods would have more efficient means of sending him a message than... this. "Hh! Hh-shhuh... hh..." The sneeze only stirred faintly this time before backing down. Arkady scrubbed and scrubbed his nose. Sometimes the tickle was an icicle point, a sharp stimulus, while at most times a puddle, a tingly sensation spread out over his entire nose but overall not near enough of a disturbance to make his breath catch. He wasn't sure which was worse. When the urge crested, the end seemed so tantalizingly close, and to have it taken away was crushing. When it was no more than a faint humming, it made him feel prickly and unsettled. It was ridiculous to go on doing nothing at all. Thus, Arkady had no intention of following Jaga’s advice. He was going to rid himself of this sneeze.

The method to do so was in itself a problem that needed solving. Arkady knew that some sneezed from the fur of animals or certain flowers or a musty room, but those things had never much bothered him. He tried to think of a time he had sneezed from something other than a spontaneous tickle or seasonal cold, and couldn't conjure a memory. And despite Svetlana's suggestion that he try spicy food, Arkady had never been so adversely affected by it. What options did that leave him?

Arkady thought back to the legend of Ilari. In some tellings of the story, it was said that the dragon god had sneezed when a bird had flown too close to their nose or even into their nose. Maybe, Arkady reasoned, he needed some external stimulus in order to get things moving too. He certainly wasn’t interested in waiting for the tickle to sort itself out.

A bird was small for a dragon, but for him a feather would work all the same. As he made his way to his family’s living quarters, Arkady tried to remember if there was a quill in his room. When had he last written a letter? “Hh…” It might have been the congratulations to Prince Feofan on the birth of his firstborn… “Hhehf…” Or the prayers to burn for the Vernal Equinox… “Huuffh!” He had to stop walking when the building sneeze temporarily blinded him, making his eyes clamp tight and squeeze out water. Gods, how he wanted it… If a feather couldn’t bring on this—“Huhh…”—stubborn thing, what could?

Arkady massaged the end of his nose to soothe the sharper stings the marauding itch left in its warpath. When he looked up, he realized the two guards that manned the entrance to the plateau’s inner wall were watching him. He stiffened, self-conscious. Did everyone feel the need to stare at a sneezing person?

As Arkady continued through the entrance, one managed, shakily, “A-Are you all right, Prince?”

“No,” Arkady grumbled, slouching past them. He had given up on looking put-together.

“Uh… is Ilari with you?” the second guard asked. She had at least recognized it was a sneeze that had stalled him. What she wasn’t sure of was if it had come out or not, for if she were certain it had, her words wouldn’t have been a question.

“Would that he could be,” was the monotone reply thrown over his shoulder. He heard a confused, “What do you mean, Prince?” follow behind him that he chose not to heed.

Arkady proceeded up the stairs of the verandah to the sleeping chambers. Beneath the porch’s long overhang was a series of doors leading to the individual bedrooms. Each royal child had their own bedroom, complete with bath and antechamber, and as he passed by, he could hear muffled conversation between his siblings and an attendant beyond the walls as they spruced up for their most important guests. Arkady knew he should be calling on Wolfert to help him with his wardrobe as soon as possible, but… all in good time. Getting rid of this sneeze was his top priority right now.

When Arkady opened the door to his own quarters, he was surprised to see his mother in the antechamber, seated on one of four hand-painted benches overflowing with decorative pillows. His heart sunk immediately; he’d have to talk with her before he could try his hand at tempting this sneeze, and he could barely put up with it for another second.

“Oh, hello,” he said, in a tone that he hoped did not sound any bit annoyed.

The Queen sat up taller at his arrival, even though she had been sitting with near-perfect posture. “Ah, there you are. That took a while. Did Jaga say you’re all right?”

Arkady blinked and recognized an opportunity. “I met Vjera along the way. We talked for a bit. That’s why I took so long,” he began. He coughed. “Uh, in any case, Jaga says she doesn’t think anything is wrong.”

Queen Cveta looked uncertain. “She doesn’t?”

“She doesn’t.” Arkady sniffed. “In fact, I sneezed while I was there.” That was the hardest lie to tell, for how much he wished it were the truth. “She doesn’t think the gods have anything to do with it. Sh-She thinks I must just be having a reaction to something in the garden.” He sniffed again.

Queen Cveta shook her head at once. “That can’t be right. We have tea with honey from our bees every day. You’d have surely built up a tolerance to anything growing there. Jaga of all people should know that.”

Uh-oh. “She thinks something different might be growing there,” he corrected quickly. “Some new, foreign thing… It was the only explanation she could thiiiink ah… of.” It’s the only explanation I can think of, anyway. “I-It’s still k-k-ki-hind of bothering me,” he was forced to say next, because the sneeze was starting up again and there was no way he could pretend it wasn’t. He pulled out the handkerchief Jaga gave him and rubbed his nose with it.

Queen Cveta observed him a moment longer. “All right,” she said at last, standing to her slippered feet. “If that’s what Jaga says… I suppose we had better find out what that plant could be, when we have the time. Will you be fine getting ready for our guests?”

“Hhhhhh… Hh!... heh… fyew. I, uh, sh-should be,” Arkady stuttered, lowering the handkerchief pathetically when the sneeze backed off. It was getting harder and harder to recover from the dizziness of the tickle. “They—snf!—should be arriving in around two hours, correct?”

The Queen nodded. “Yes, I think so. I’ve got to make sure all the preparations are in order, so I should leave now. Goodbye.”

“Oh. Goodbye,” he repeated, surprised but not disappointed by her suddenly taking leave. No sooner had she shut the door behind her that Arkady was moving out of the antechamber into his own bedroom, more than ready to find that quill.

His room was finely decorated in jeweled chests and embossed dressers and a beautifully-carved set of drawers with a shrine on top for water offerings, all wonderful gifts from visitors and royal families from far and wide. He didn’t treat them with the respect they deserved as he pawed through their contents, with his mind on one thing only. “Where is it… Where is it…” he started mumbling under his breath after his desk had been thoroughly searched, his bedside table emptied of all its candles and books. “It has to be here…” There were sure to be quills in the study, but that was in the main palace, and he didn’t want to risk his mother or Jaga sighting him. Plus, he wanted relief now.

The room had been turned upside-down. There was no quill in sight. The search had taken twenty minutes, a good portion of that time dedicated to waiting for his non-sneeze to dissipate enough that he could get back to said fruitless searching. Arkady's frustration mixed with the tickle had brought him near to tears. He flopped onto the bed, clawing his hair with both hands and chewing his lip. If he didn't do something about this now, he was going to lose it.

And that was when he remembered it. His pillows were feather pillows. There were thousands of them there the whole time, and now they were right under his head! But the only way to get to them was to rip through the hemstitched tussah silk.

Was he that desperate? He was.

But not so desperate that he was going to tear the innocent pillow apart like a barbarian. Arkady used his hip dagger to cut a delicate slit in the material, something that could hopefully be mended quite easily, but he shed any remaining trepidation when the pillow’s bounty was spilled. Innocent down, ashen gray and white, immediately bled from the wound, sticking up in tufts. The littlest bits of feathers floated into the air around his face, which had his eyes rolling back into his skull immediately.

“Heh-hh! Hh! H! H! H!” His gasps were so quick and light, they were almost silent. The tendrils he was sure he’d inhaled were having a horrible effect on him. This tickle was different, not a puppy’s nip but the playful grapple of a dog’s maw, so much more powerful but still not something to be taken seriously. Hitching and huffing against the minuscule plumes, he was eventually driven so mad that he had to pinch his nose with his entire hand; he couldn’t for the life of him wait another second for that sensation to mature into a sneeze, even if, by some miracle, that was the solution. When the worst of the sting faded, he loosened his grip and snorted hard to launch any feathery debris out. He wanted to sneeze, after all, not torture himself.

The feathers inside the pillow were much smaller than he had anticipated them being. The longest ones were scarcely more than an inch, and he had to dig around for quite a while to find one that he could actually hold the stem of without also holding the entire feather. His decided tool was still rather disheartening. A writing quill would have been far more dangerous, with its tapered point and great length. He hoped that the fluffiness of the down would make up for that.

The introduction of the feather’s rounded tip to the inside of his nostril initially seemed promising. The gentle barbs coaxed at the sneeze when they twitched against fragile pink skin, and Arkady’s heart soared at the thought that the end was nigh. But after half a minute of tickling, the sneeze only seemed further away. Eyebrows lowering, Arkady dug the feather deeper. Again, the sneeze receded, and he chased it like a hound after a burrowing rabbit. But soon he encountered the same problem that many dogs did: the prey was farther back in its hole than fangs could reach. The barbs of the feather were not long enough to graze the back of his nose.

Arkady pushed so that the beds of his fingernails were right against the opening of his nostril, the feather stretched to its limits. It still wasn’t enough; the sneeze danced merrily out of reach, arching its back and teasing him horribly but not allowing him the relief he longed for like anything. How ridiculous could this get? He had never known of anyone trying this hard to sneeze with such little success. Sure, he’d had a sneeze disappear on him before, but normally that only meant a moment of disappointment, a little throb that fast went away. His sneezes were usually utterly unremarkable. They came and went, in ones, twos, and rarely threes, if he were sick or if the urge had been especially strong, and after a brief shake of his head and a sniffle, Arkady would go on with his day. This sneeze was a bully. This sneeze felt alive. And as the hound could think of nothing but the death of its prey when it was so close, so too was Arkady determined.

He pushed that feather as far as it would reach. And somehow, some way, he felt its single longest follicle graze the back of his nose.

Arkady’s chest stuttered. Success. He swelled with pride. He couldn’t stop now. He scratched and swiped the feather against the sensitive skin, against the sneeze which had nowhere left to run. He starting inhaling fittishly and didn’t stop.

“Hhh, hh, hh, hh, hh! Hh! Hh-!”

His lungs felt enormous. His nose burned. The sneeze seemed real, close, about to break out of him. “Huh! Huhhhh! Hhhhhhhh…!” Arkady could take in air no more. All he needed was one more swipe of the feather… One more touch and then, surely… Surely…

It was at this crucial moment that Arkady found his hand unable to move. Possessed by the sheer power of this urge, he could devote himself to no other function. But that would be his undoing.

“H? Hh?? H-hhh???”

The possibility was fading fast, and Arkady briefly panicked, swirling the small feather wherever it could easily reach. But he was losing the breaths he’d gathered, and he knew it was over even before he felt an arm pulling his hand away from his face and an ever-jocular voice admonishing, “Now, Prince, I told you not to meddle with it, didn’t I?”

It took a while for his eyes to open, and even longer for his breathing to even out, so then for some time he could only stare at Jaga and Queen Cveta looking down at him, the witch smiling in amusement and his mother looking none-too-pleased.

“I hoped it wasn’t true, but I had a feeling I was being lied to,” Queen Cveta began. “Jaga has confirmed it. Why did you not tell me the truth?”

Arkady took a few more deep breaths. His diaphragm had been through a lot today. “I’m sorry,” he said to the Queen, when he was at last able to speak, “but I can’t tell you how badly I want to sneeze.” Then to Jaga, he said, “‘Meddling’ doesn’t do me any good, it still won’t happen. This isn’t a normal sneeze. The gods are punishing me, and I don’t know what for, but I have to find out and make it up to them as soon as possible.”

To his surprise and Queen Cveta’s, Jaga began to laugh. “Prince, Prince, Prince,” she shook her head, “what reason would the gods have to punish you?”

Arkady shook his head back. “As I said, I don’t know why. Of all days too; today should be about Vjera.”

Vjera… At her name, something dawned on him. “I know why,” he sighed, looking at his lap. “I’ve asked the gods every day for the past month if they could find Prince Ivar a different queen. But it was a selfish wish, and this is how they’re letting me know.”

“Arkady! Why would you pray for such a thing?” Queen Cveta stood tall. “This marriage will allow your sister to rule in a way she could not if she were to stay here. It isn’t right for you to use your influence over the gods in such a manner. This is a shameful thing for my successor to do.”

“I know,” Arkady answered evenly. “I see that now.” He looked up. “I could apologize for my actions, but then I will have lied to you twice in one day.”

The Queen temporarily maintained her ferocity, but her face soon softened into one of a mother. “I understand your sadness,” she said. She closed her eyes and became a queen again. “But that is the way of our world. Whatever kindnesses we offer ourselves often means we are taking something away from our people. And instead of praying for Gornoye’s continued protection and peace, you chose to ask for this. I almost find the gods’ punishment too light… but they know better than I do what is deserved.”

Arkady wanted to tell the Queen that this ‘punishment’ was, in fact, not something he would wish even on an enemy, but he was too busy dealing with said punishment to say so. The tickle was bubbling to the surface with as many empty promises as ever. “Feh,” he gasped anyway, weakly pleading with the sneeze for mercy, despite everything it had put him through today. It bothered and wheedled away, digging deeper than a feather or a breath could pry it out of, no matter how much he called to it. “Hh, heh! Heh, sheh! Ht-tz-! … … …shyew…”

It wasn’t a sneeze. Just like earlier with Vjera on the bridge, he’d made some kind of approximate noise in place of the sneeze, as if that would do him any good. Arkady tearily knuckled at his nose while Jaga and Queen Cveta exchanged glances.

“Was that… a sneeze?” the Queen finally asked.

Arkady gave a big snuffle. “No.”

“Hmmmmm,” hummed Jaga, rubbing her chin and looking as suspiciously amused as ever. After a thoughtful moment, she grinned. “Well, Prince Arkady, I suppose you’ll just have to wait it out. If the gods don’t want you to sneeze yet, it certainly isn’t going to happen.”

“Ugh.” Arkady massaged where his nose, eyes, and forehead met. “I’m not going to make for much of a host when I’m like this,” he grumbled, “but there’s not a lot of time left before Prince Ivar’s arrival. I just have to put up with it then?”

“Afraid so,” Jaga shrugged with her arms out to the sides. She then raised one hand up, swiveling her wrist to gesture somewhat lazily at the ceiling. “The gods will do as they will. But, sneezing or not, you have a job to do. It’s time we got back to readying for the entourage.”

“Right, right… Only two and a half hours to go.” Arkady stood up, going to ring the bell that would signal the attendant who helped him prepare and dress. Before he did, he called again to the Queen’s retreating back, “I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”

She stopped and did not look at him, but said back with soft reservation, “Arkady… I thought by now you understood the way of things.”

“I thought I did too,” Arkady said. “I guess I still have a lot to learn.”

The Queen did not respond to that or look at him, but she did not seem angry either. Only Jaga responded, with a sparkly-eyed look that the prince wasn’t quite sure how to decipher, before she too left the room.

__________________________________________________

Arkady did not advise trying to sneeze while someone was washing your hair. It was, unfortunately, now advice he could give based on personal experience. Wolfert was still apologizing as he brushed the deep brown strands, as sorry about his mistake as Arkady should have been for abusing his influence over the gods.

“I’m so, so sorry. I should have noticed,” Wolfert fretted for the sixth or seventh time.

“Ih-hih-hhhit’s fine-hUH! … This is g-going tooooh… k-k-keep happening, so, huh…” Arkady pinched his nose tight, massaging it in his fist. “Ugh… I may as well get used to… w-warning people about it.”

Arkady was trying to be reassuring, but now his nose itched and his sinuses felt singed. He’d had to sneeze in the middle of the bath, a possession which had hit him a hundredfold, almost as badly as when he’d had the feather in his nose. He’d had no time to warn Wolfert of the gathering urge before it had him yawning wide, nose scrunched back. And then, splash. A bucketful of water had cascaded over his soapy head, entering his lungs and making him choke and snort like a bull.

Since then, the tickle had escalated, no longer just a phantom urge. It felt like something was actually physically inside his nose, like a piece of dust or a hair, but no amount of snorting or nose blowing would resolve it. Arkady never imagined that water could cause such a response. All he knew was that it had made everything worse. Now there were no breaks from the huffing and fluttery talk. It was a feeling that constantly waxed and waned and brought him to the edge of the shore, only to drag him back out like a wicked undertow.

Everyone seemed to know about his predicament now too. No doubt his siblings had been gossiping with their attendants. Zlata, Pedja, and Svetlana each came into his bedchamber at one point, fully outfitted, to find out if he’d sneezed yet. They all lingered a bit after learning he hadn’t, too, as if wanting to be present when the dam finally burst. To them, his frantic breathing must sound as if he was very close to success, but by now Arkady knew better.

Wolfert was pinning up his hair (not the easiest task with a constantly fidgeting subject) when Vjera took her own turn in his room. “Dmitar told me you still haven’t sneezed! You poor thing!” she fretted, wringing her hands in front of her. “Are you going to be all right at dinner?”

Arkady struggled to smile, to reassure her. He could feel how very lopsided it was. “Prah… Probably not,” he managed. He rubbed his nose, which did almost nothing to help him speak. “I stih-stih-still-! Intend to b-be there-! No matter, hhhh…! Whuh-What.” He gave a hard sniffle, which caused his head to jerk, the comb to tug too hard, and the tickle to respond with absolute panic. Instantly, he was a mess of fits and starts, barely able to hear Wolfert’s “Sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!” in the background. How was he going to make it through dinner without causing a scene? The answer was, he wasn’t. Usually Arkady would have taken absence from a formal meal under circumstances such as these, but Vjera was leaving tomorrow, and he wasn’t going to sacrifice any of the short time he had left with her.

It took a lot of pawing and nudging against a very upset nose, but Arkady finally managed to compose himself enough that he could somewhat speak again. “I-I’m going to try… not to be too obvious.” It was hard enough to say that with only a hint of a struggle. “I may not make f-f-fah, for a… a g-great host, but snf! I’ll at l-heast be… present.” At his sister’s pitying look, he hung his head and sighed, “Th-This is honestly the b… best I can do.”

“I know it is. That’s why I feel so sorry for you,” Vjera said. “It doesn’t bother me, I just feel awful is all. I don’t know why the gods would do this to you now of all times.”

Arkady wanted to explain, but it wouldn’t be right to say so in front of Wolfert. “I’m sure th… they have their-!” With a sudden, sharp inhale, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. It took a whole ten seconds for him to regain control. When he was able to see again, both Wolfert and Vjera were gazing down at him sadly. The suspense seemed to be killing everybody. Arkady could only finish lamely, “… Their reasons.”

When the Queen and all six of her progeny had been made to look their best, they began their procession to the outer courtyard with a small pack of guards in tow. It wasn’t long before Queen Cveta decided that Arkady wasn’t in the best of minds to navigate the stone steps leading down the mountain, and instructed him to meet them in the solarium for dinner instead. It was evening now, and their guests would surely want to sup as soon as they made it to the Plateau. Arkady had wanted to talk with Vjera on the way down, but he had to admit it just couldn’t be. Jaga looped her arm through his to help guide him back up the short distance he’d descended.

“How are you feeling, Prince?” she began by asking, a smile very present in her voice.

“Hehhh!” was all Arkady could manage at that particular moment.

Jaga cackled but tightened her grip on her swaying charge. “I’m glad I got a chance to chat with you privately. This may be very unorthodox of me to say, but I thought you ought to know: I don’t think Queen Cveta is correct. I stand by my original point. I think the gods are trying to protect you from something.”

Arkady brought his handkerchief up to his face. He couldn’t open his eyes or keep pace so well. “Ahhah… O-Oh-kah-kay…!”

“Are you going to sneeze?” Jaga sounded as curious as a she-cat.

Arkady shook his head rapidly, sure he looked to all the world like a person about to absolutely collapse sneezing. He had stopped hoping that the sneeze was about to come, because that only lead to discouragement. “D-Do me a favor,” he gasped after coming down from the tickle’s latest crest. “Don’t ask me if I’m about to sneeze. I’m not.”

“Very well,” Jaga said, almost soothingly, or at least it was coming from her. “It does seem to be worse than earlier, though, doesn’t it? Perhaps the moment is soon to arrive.”

“Don’t try to lift my hopes,” Arkady sighed as they approached the doors of the main palace and went inside. “And I have no idea what a sneeze could protect me from. It really f-feels… It f-fuh… It… It feels lihihi…” Arkady shut one eye tight, the other half-open, trying to talk past the tickle since it kept insisting on interrupting him. “Feels mah-more… like a… p… HA!” His enormous gasp filled the vaulted ceiling and echoed down around them. It was so spontaneously loud and poignant that for one bright moment, Arkady thought, Oh gods it really is here this time, and swung his head back to accept it. But he should have known better. It was just another fluke, set up seemingly to break his spirit.

“This is agony,” he groaned. “This whole day. It shouldn’t have been about this—” His hand gestured a circle in the air before his nose “—it should have been about saying goodbye to Vjera. I have no idea when I’ll see her again. And she needed my support, but I was too busy to offer it properly.” Arkady paused. “She doesn’t want to go, Jaga. You know that. When she came to you with the stomachache this morning, you knew that, too.” Jaga’s eyes were somewhat downcast. “And she wouldn’t open up to you either, would she? It’s all because of the way things are. The way they have to be for kings and queens and princes and princesses. You learn to keep everything inside, so that your people never have to see it, but then when do you let it go? When does Vjera let it go? It can’t keep building up forever, it can’t stay inside forever. But has it ever for her? If she won’t even tell me how she feels, who will she tell? Eventually, the truth has to come out. Doesn’t it? And maybe I could have convinced Vjera to tell me it, if I only I didn’t have this stupid…” Arkady trailed off.

The whole hall went quiet. Jaga reached out to him. “Prince–”

Arkady placed his hand on her shoulder unsteadily, breath chuffing. “Jaga, I’m going to sneeze…”

“Oh? Are you?” The witch rooted herself in place to better support him. “Isn’t that curious...”

Like a tidal wave, his sneeze seemed at last to be gathering itself for something momentous. Arkady felt blind and helpless beneath it; he was blind and helpless beneath it. His eyes were closed so tightly that a thousand tiny suns seemed to be exploding against his lids, but he couldn’t pay them any mind due to the reason his eyes were closed in the first place. Oh gods, the tickle. It was surely divine. It felt larger than him, larger than anything his body could have concocted or handled on its own, and he was at its mercy. It occurred to him, with sudden dread, that it was too much for him to handle, that, though it seemed to lick every sensitive part of his sinuses at once with fiery tongues, a sneeze could not possibly be born from such overpowering stimulation. His lungs pushed his chest out to its farthest as they took in every bit of air they could hold. He couldn’t move. He was absolutely frozen with the desire to sneeze.

Seconds ticked by, ten aching, unreal seconds of miserable itching. And at the end of it, still Arkady didn’t sneeze.

He wasn’t going to sneeze. Not yet. It was as if the gods were saying, Trust us. We know what we’re doing.

Arkady gasped as his lungs seemed to remember how to work. His eyes popped open wide, his senses returning to him. He turned slowly to look down at Jaga; her eyes were wide too. He realized then how much he must have been relying on her to keep on his feet. He swallowed, wrinkled his nose, and then wrinkled it even more when he realized just how badly his nostrils wanted a good rub for all their trouble.

Jaga didn’t chuckle at this display. “This is serious,” she said quietly. He had never heard her so sobered.

Arkady smudged the heel of his hand under his nose vigorously. “I think you’re right, but I also can’t imagine how or why it could be serious.”

“Allow me to join you at dinner tonight,” Jaga went on as if she didn’t hear him. “The moment you sneeze is going to be meaningful, I can tell. I should be with you when it happens, so I can assess what caused it.”

“Gods, I hope it happens at dinner,” Arkady had just finished saying when the doors to the main hall opened, and in poured the Derevo entourage.

The man that Vjera was arm-in-arm with must have been Prince Ivar. He was tall and handsome and brown-haired and his eyes were large, inviting. He was laughing and smiling down at Arkady’s sister warmly. He wore a green coat covered in black and gold embroidery, and there was a sash around his waist that held a sheathed knife to his middle. Vjera smiled at her betrothed too. They were still twenty feet away, so Arkady couldn’t be sure, but he hoped the grin on her face was a genuine one.

Jaga released Arkady so that he could bow and kneel before their guest. “Prince Ivar, w-welcome. I hope your travels went well. I am sorry that I was unable to, hh… meet you at the entrance.”

“Stand, please! I’m not used to these formalities from other royals, and I understand you are feeling under the weather.” Prince Ivar’s voice was like a newly-minted coin. “Where I come from, it is the servants and guardsmen who bow when royalty passes them by.”

Upon hearing that, Jaga, a bit confused but wanting to show a good impression, sunk down on one knee.

Arkady stood then, deciding too it was best not to say anything, but secretly wondering If he is my family’s guest, why would Jaga bow to him?

He shook the other prince’s hand, but immediately after felt his face begin to quirk in the same way it had all day. Vjera swiftly took the attention off her brother. “You and your entourage must be hungry after your travels. Why don’t we have your belongings delivered to your lodgings while we have dinner?”

Prince Ivar responded with approval, but Arkady could scarcely pay attention to his words, because his nose was going absolutely wild, and Jaga was once again tasked to keep him from toppling over.

“Hh-! Hh-ha! Jahh, Jagahh… HEH! Do yah, you h-h-have… Hhhh… A k-kerchief I could… Hhhh…” His nose was running in some far-back place, and it was hindering far more than it was helping.

“Easy, easy,” she said, as his breathing returned to some approximation of control, and handed him the cloth. Arkady blew into it. It helped a bit, but not at all to the degree he would have liked. “Prince, do I have your permission to join you in the solarium? I won’t take a place at the table. I merely want to observe.”

Arkady nodded with his eyes closed. His voice would not be reliable until he got the sneeze out—whenever that would be. As he continued to touch at his nose, Jaga guided him forward.

The dining table was long enough to host thirty people at once, which was useful considering the size of Prince Ivar’s party. Ivar sat directly opposite Queen Cveta, at the other end of the table, with Vjera to his left to keep him company. Arkady was torn, wanting to sit to Prince Ivar’s right in order to get to know him better, but also not wanting to spend formalities dithering with this sneeze. Seeing as he was already dithering with a sneeze, though, Jaga was in charge of directing him and decided he should sit with his mother and two youngest siblings at their end. He supposed it was for the best that Prince Ivar didn’t have to hear him wheezing. It worked out well for Zlata and Pedja, anyway, who were significantly more interested in witnessing their brother’s sneeze than making heads or tails of adult small talk.

“You still didn’t sneeze, right? I didn’t miss it?” Zlata asked in an excited whisper as her eldest brother sat next to her.

“Your deepest and most sincere condolences are more appreciated than you will ever know,” Arkady said.

Zlata looked away quickly and looked back. “Wellll… you didn’t, right?”

As another exhale stuttered out of him, Arkady gave her watery look that hopefully said, Gee, do you think?

Jaga was standing against the wall behind him, arms folded politely behind her back. He could feel her eyes on him too. How badly everyone wanted to be there for the eventual arrival of this sneeze. How badly they must think that, with each poignant, biting gasp, he was about to succumb to this almighty irritation. Arkady no longer let himself believe the torment was about to end. If he did, he would break his own spirit a hundred times over. He did, however, begin to accept its presence. Whether there to help or hinder, it was the doing of the gods that he feel this way. He would just have to trust their judgment.

It wasn’t until the fish dumpling soup was brought out that Arkady recognized just how hungry he was. He realized, too, how tricky the task of eating becomes when needing to sneeze as badly as he did. Even if he didn’t believe the sneeze was really coming yet, it felt dangerous to have a hot mouthful of broth when his body so vehemently wanted him to be working out this tickle. He shook his head against it and grimaced long enough that some of the guests were starting to notice one of their hosts was pulling the strangest faces imaginable, duck his chin though he might.

“Are you all right, Prince Arkady?” called the voice of a stranger.

Arkady could only wave in the direction of the speaker. He put his napkin around his face to hide his latest grimace. This was embarrassing…

“He’s all right, he just can’t sneeze,” Arkady heard Zlata explain in his stead. He looked at her weakly out of his peripherals. He didn’t feel all right: he felt like he wanted to fall asleep and wake up completely sneezeless.

“Hmm. That sounds like Ilari’s doing,” came another response from the Derevo entourage.

“Huh-!” Arkady couldn’t help gasping audibly, earning some chuckles from around the room.

“I’m sorry for you, friend,” Prince Ivar called next. “I want to say ‘Ilari is with you’ but it seems more likely that he’s somewhere else entirely.”

More laughter. Arkady tried to laugh too, which wasn’t the most difficult when his breathing already sounded a bit like that. A smile was hard to hold though, and he found himself tucking back into his napkin for whatever privacy he could salvage.

The voice that came next was sterner. “Prince Ivar is right. Ilari is not with this young man anymore. He must have done something to deserve punishment.”

That comment seemed to make the air a bit cold. Prince Ivar was the one to restore the happy atmosphere. “Says the old bat who skipped prayer this morning to catch a few extra winks! Cheer up, Sacha, have more wine. Which reminds me—I brought plenty of wine from our vineyards, too. They say there’s no other like it in all Vyshtopa, after all. Sacha, why don’t you go fetch it? I’m sure one of the guards would be happy to direct you to where they’re keeping our carts.”

Sacha was quiet for a moment. Then he stood carefully to his feet. “… Certainly. Apologies for my outburst, Queen Cveta.”

Arkady wasn’t sure how his mother handled the situation, because he was then overcome by a tickle of such proportions that none in the solarium could ignore his desperate, “Hh-huhhuh, htz, hdT-! HEHT-! … … … shiew…”

At that noise, all dialogue paused, until Prince Ivar had to ask, “Was that… a sneeze?”

“No,” Arkady choked out, and the air was full of collective groans of sympathy or mild laughter. Arkady mopped at his eyes with his napkin. He didn’t really like being the center of attention over anything, let alone this, and tried to focus on why he was even forcing himself to be at dinner in the first place. He glanced over at Vjera to see her conversing with her future husband. She caught his eye a moment later, looked at him with mild worry. Arkady wanted to smile, to assuage her, but a newly budding sneeze was already turning his mouth into a deep, harsh frown. He blew his nose and tried not to think about how much he wanted to leave. Building up to a sneeze this much was starting to tire him out…

“There we are! Thank you, Sacha.” Next thing he knew, the wine had been delivered, Prince Ivar himself pouring the dark liquid. “The first glass should go to Prince Arkady, I do believe. It’s strong stuff. It might just knock that wicked sneeze out of you!”

That was a nice idea. Arkady had his doubts it would be the case. Still, he gratefully accepted the beverage when it was delivered to him, wanting very much to show his guests that he was made for more than entertainment.

The wine was like liquid velvet. Its color was akin to the darkest blood. Asking his nose to quiet down and behave for just a moment, Arkady brought his lips to the rim of the glass…

Immediately, like a live thing, the tickle fought him.

It was like a hornet’s nest crashing to the earth and the entire swarm billowing up at once. That was the only way to describe the way in which the sneeze was now treating him. His head jerked away from the glass instinctively, snatching a huge breath through his nose. There was nothing coy about this feeling. It wasn’t the dipping, darting butterfly of a sneeze that had been flitting about his sinuses all day, but a dagger, poised to strike. A dagger hovering right over his heart. But a dagger was harmless until it pierced flesh…

Arkady opened his eyes, his vision swirling with tears. The wine could have been blood. Could it be a dagger?

Again he brought his lips to the glass. His nose touched the opposite rim.

And that’s when he knew he was going to sneeze.

The lessons of a prince were deeply ingrained. On any normal day, Arkady would have stopped this sneeze by rubbing his tongue against his front teeth until its tang lessened. Even if it were strong, he would have fought it off with all his might, because that was what you did when you were royalty. But that didn’t matter anymore. There was no way Arkady was going to let it get away from him now. All day, he had been putting up with this. All day, he had begged and pleaded for something to happen. If his body was really allowing this long-awaited event to happen, no force in the world could hold him back. This sneeze might as well be the strongest force in the world.

And suddenly, in Arkady’s mind, there was no world. There was only the sneeze.

“Hhh!”

It was right there.

“Hah-!”

It was right there.

“HhhHA-AH!”

It was right there, right on the edge, bristling like a mad thing-

“KUH-HUHHT! HAAAHH-AA! … … … AAAATTSSCCCHHHIIIUUU!!”

And then, it was out. At last, it was out.

Oh, sweet relief.

One would not be enough. As soon as the first was free, its entourage came right after, bringing with them just as much relief as their prince. “AHHHht’SHAO! K’SHOO! Huh-SHKSH! K’SH-! SHOO! H’ehshESH! K’kehsh! H’ehsh…! … SHOO!”

Ten would not be enough. Each sneeze was like a balm to the raw insides his nose had become. Never had he known such a persistent itch, and finally it was being scratched, scratched, scratched, from the back to the front with sneezes like raking fingers. “AhppSHOO! Hh-huSHOO! -shIEW! Ekk-shoo!ksh’ksh’ksh-SHOO! EPSH! H’hek’SHH! Ah’KSH! Hh! Hut-TCHOO! Hyet-! … tsCHOO! A’chshoo! Snf! Huh! H’kt’tschoo! K’TSCHOO! K-K’SCH! K-k-Keh!HETCH! Ah..! AHPSH! H’psh! Kuh-huh! H’ktshoo-h-hh’tsh!TSH!TSH!”

Thirty would not be enough. Arkady was more than happy to let his senses take over and, sneeze after sneeze, loosen the shackles of his misery. At some point, he had remembered his napkin (or maybe someone had pressed it into his hands—he was completely oblivious to the rest of the world now) and sneezing into that felt even better. He buried his nose into the folds, and it ached wonderfully. “Hehh… Hehhh… Phew…” This time the sneezes weren’t sticking so much as they were giving him a chance to breathe. His nose wouldn’t keep him from reprieve for longer than it needed to. “Heh’et-SHAhh! Het’sha! Het-t-t-SHOO! Kuh’hehSHOO! HehSHOO! H’shoo! H’sh, h’sh, h’sh, h’sh, huh-! hhhH! HUT-SHHHKKSH! SH’KSH! Hef’SHAH! Nnnn’SHEH! Neh’sheh! NnnnSHEH! Hehchh! HehhCHhuh! H-hHeh! Shhhehtch-tch-tch-tch-tch!TCHOO!”

Fifty would not be enough. His nose would not be satisfied until it had thoroughly banished this itch forever. They kept coming, one after another after another after another, feeling so necessary yet indulgent all at once. He gave into them completely, even as he started losing steam. “Shoo! K’shoo! Heh… hehh… hehtnnNn-!…SHOO! Huh-shoo! Huhsh-shoo…! Huhhsh…. Shhoo… Shoo, sh-sh-shoo… Snf! K’shh’nghshh… Huh… Snf… Heh! Snf, snf! Shhuhhuh… Shhuhhehuh…! Hehhhuhhhuhhhh…!”

There was one more floaty bit of something ever-so-carefully teasing him at the very back of his nose. Arkady snuffled against it, trying to spark a reaction. It was only a little one… Surely he could muster one more little one… Then he could be done with this itch for good. Sleepily pleading with his nose to grant him a final sneeze, just one small snortish huff to bluster out that last bit of tickling, that floaty feeling seemed to fluff up and fill the whole of his head with an absolutely merciless itch.

Without meaning to, without feeling any sort of control over himself, Arkady rocked on his chair’s hind legs, threw back his head, and crowed out a very finalizing, “AhhHHHH! Ha-AH!…HET’HAHT-KSHAHHH!”

And then dizzily, drowsily, Arkady’s shoulders drooped, and he sighed a long sigh. His nose was finally, finally at peace. Tired, running a bit, and even a little sore, but at peace.

He must have sneezed for about ten minutes. During the entire hypnotic event, Arkady had heard nothing but his own voice, and now that it was absent, it donned on him just how… oddly the voices around him were pitched. It sounded like arguing. How peculiar… now that his brain was coming back to him, Arkady realized that laughter or silence was a more explicable response. Just what was going on?

He opened his eyes. Desperate tears immediately spilled out, and he had to wipe them on the unused part of his napkin for quite a bit. Once that was finished, Arkady got his first good look of the dining room…

… A majority of which was obscured by a bevy of royal guards, swords drawn and poised in a semicircle around his chair.

Arkady turned side to side rapidly. Queen Cveta was gone from her place at the the table, and so was Pedja, who had been sitting across from him. To his left began the guards, and directly behind him was Jaga, a hand on his chair, smiling wanly down at him.

“Well, well. Seems Ilari is with you after all. Feeling better, Prince Arkady?” she asked, in a taut voice barely hinted with her patented humor.

Arkady still had the napkin around his nose. “Um,” he said from behind it, “what’s going on?”

Jaga gave a single bitter laugh. “The tea never lies,” she said. “Something important did happen today, Prince, and it wasn’t your sister’s betrothal. There was an attempt on your life.”

That was the last thing he had expected. Arkady’s eyes widened. “Wait… Then Mother… Pedja—”

“Are fine,” Jaga filled in quickly. “And so are you, thanks to the gods.” She held up a wine glass, which Arkady realized had been his own. “This,” she said, “is poisoned. I took it from you as soon as you started sneezing. You’re only alive because you couldn’t drink it.” She studied the red liquid. “You’re only alive,” she said distantly, “because the gods willed it so.”

__________________________________________________

An entire week passed before Vjera saw her brother again. Queen Cveta had ordered that he spend that entire time praying: three days fasting, the following four without, but no visitors to interrupt. Vjera and the rest of her family were required to pray too, but not as intensely. Arkady was, according to their mother, currently in the gods’ highest favor, and therefore it was especially necessary that he thank them profusely for his life and ask that Gornoye find a way to reach peace with Derevo.

Queen Cveta left the prayers to her children; she had always been more engaged in the political side of her job, though technically the guard was meant to be in charge of such decisions. Vjera spent her days trying to find out what she could about Prince Ivar: if he had orchestrated the attack on her brother, or if only that angry fellow Sacha had been behind it. Either way, the betrothal was off. Vjera couldn’t say that part exactly disappointed her.

The poison in the wine Arkady had almost drank was slow-acting and difficult to detect. Jaga would not have suspected poison at all, if the sneezing hadn’t alerted her to trouble. It was only after Jaga voiced her suspicions that Queen Cveta asked Sacha to drink; and when he refused, everything had seemed to erupt. Jaga had been working most of the week to even determine what Sacha had used as a toxin. Vjera wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the ways in which the poison would have hurt Arkady. The thought of how close her brother had been to death made her heart pound enough as it was.

At the end of his week of prayers, Vjera was there to greet Arkady outside his bedroom. It was early, and the sky was pink. When he saw her, he looked relieved; for both of them, it seemed seeing was believing, and it was nice to finally have proof the other was all right. They embraced, and then immediately began talking as they walked down the verandah steps.

“You weren’t hurt, were you? You were so close to Ivar. He didn’t try anything, did he?”

“Me? Nothing happened to me; it’s you who was threatened.”

“I don’t really feel like I was,” Arkady admitted. His face looked thinner from the three-day fast. “I suppose that still hasn’t really sunk in. I thanked the gods over and over, but I’m not sure how sincere I sounded. I don’t even know what would have happened if they hadn’t intervened.”

“You would have died,” Vjera said. “And maybe we would have never known why.”

“Then you would have been the heir apparent, and Prince Ivar would have had a good reason to merge the kingdoms,” Arkady said, as if he were reciting it. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot these days.”

“I’ve been thinking about that too much these days,” Vjera sighed. “We may go to war with Derevo over this. For a moment, I want to stop worrying and just be grateful you’re alive…” Her voice broke off at the end.

Arkady paused, put a hand on her shoulder. “I haven’t gone anywhere, Vjera. And neither have you. We have our family. We’re going to be all right.”

She leaned into his hug again, but it was cut short when she felt him try to pull away only seconds later. There was something curiously familiar about the action… and sure enough, when Arkady was far enough away to see his face clearly, his expression was a snarled mask not unlike the one he’d modeled only seven days ago.

“Hhuhhh… hhehhthh…”

He wavered there, his head bobbing once, twice, before snapping down with a modest, “Hef’SHOO!”

Once it was out, his shoulders drooped considerably, and he rubbed a hand across his face. “Oh, thank goodness… For a second, I was worried all that was about to start up again…”

Vjera couldn’t help laughing a bit. “Even after it saved your life?”

“Hey,” Arkady defended with a smirk, “if you knew what it felt like, you wouldn’t want it to happen again either.”

Vjera shook her head. They kept walking. “How did it feel to finally sneeze after all that time, anyway?” she asked, needing a little levity.

Arkady winced, frowning. It was as if he were reliving the ordeal. “It felt like I had been tied in a knot all day and I’d finally been loosened. Or like there had been something unbalanced inside of me and it was balancing again. It wasn’t exactly a good feeling… but it also felt absolutely amazing… Am I making any sense?”

Vjera raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying it was worth the wait?”

Arkady snorted a laugh. “It had to be worth the wait,” he said, “because if it hadn’t been, I would have just gone and downed that whole glass of wine.”

[fleckcmscott]

The Find

Summary: Arthur and Y/N tidy up their wardrobe. What he comes across surprises him.

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

Words: 3,664

A/N: This request comes from Karen - it’s the first one I ever got! Thanks to @sweet-nothings04​ for beta-ing and helping me improve this piece by sharing her thoughts!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

If you’ve sent me a request and I haven’t responded, it’s because I am working on it and will answer once it’s posted!

Instead of allowing a lazy Sunday, Y/N decided they needed to do a project together. She had too many clothes, she claimed. And Arthur could use some new ones. Though he disagreed with her assertion, never having owned much, he went along with it. Such suggestions were part of having a girlfriend, he'd learned. Sorting through the bedroom closet would be a couply activity, anyway.

It turned out to be nice, better than when he'd kept house alone. Her smile was infectious as they rearranged everything, and it grew each time they inadvertently bumped into each other. He succeeded in talking her out of donating a sheer blouse, insisting it looked good on her. She replaced the dry cleaner bags on his Carnival costume with zippered nylon ones. Then she retrieved a wooden box from the top shelf, sat on the edge of the bed, and patted the spot next to her.

Floral patterns were carved in its top and sides, and the center held a purple and yellow pansy, pressed under smooth glass. It was quite old, the corners worn, the front closure tarnished. The hinges released a quiet squeak as she lifted the lid. "These are my most important keepsakes," she said. Her degree was in there, the Christmas ornament her sister had made, and her divorce papers. The rose he'd brought when he'd come for dinner was now dried and delicate. And she'd held onto the cork from their first bottle of wine. The letter he'd written her after Murray was sealed in a clasp envelope to protect it.

Arthur's chest swelled. The small container resting on her lap was something she'd had long before they'd met, perhaps since she was a kid. It was astonishing he took up so much space in it. Maybe she'd like to keep one of the payment slips for the ring he was planning to give her. (They were currently tucked safely in his journal.) He wrapped an arm around her back and squeezed her to his side.

The bleating of the phone interrupted them, right when he was planting a kiss to her shoulder. "Wait for me," Y/N said. "I'll tell them to call back later." He watched as she left the room, admiring the slight swivel of her hips. After a minute, "Mabel, what's going on?" drifted in from the kitchen. Ah, her sister. That would take a while. Sighing, he stood and continued alone, hopping on the step stool and humming as he went.

The shelf was dusty. The old law books were likely from when she went to college. He flipped through a photo album and set it aside to go through with her later. In the back corner, there was a red, paper gift bag, its top neatly folded closed. When he retrieved it, the weight surprised him, and he studied it with a curious expression. She probably wouldn't be perturbed if he opened it - she'd shown him her mementos, after all. Gingerly, he took a peek.

A carton was in there, a foot long. Pictures of women in athletic gear were on the side. They were holding a white object to their elbow, their calf, their lower back. He read the sentences on the packaging carefully. "Helps relax muscles." "Relieves tension." "Soothing vibrations."

Oh. Oh. Arthur crumpled the top of the bag quickly as he giggled, his cheeks on fire.

On her radio show, Dr. Sally had said the massaging wand was revolutionary. That it helped educate women about their own bodies, learn what they liked. Y/N hadn't mentioned owning one. It would have troubled him a few months ago. His insecurities would have told him it meant he wasn't very good. That he wasn't enough for her and never would be. But because of his ongoing treatment and comfort with her, those concerns were minor today. And he was intrigued.

The women he'd pasted into his journal were often touching themselves, ecstasy clear on their faces. Even though he still found those pictures arousing, he wasn't stupid and knew they were staged. Experience had stripped away the illusion. But the thought of Y/N pleasuring herself made him shiver and lean against the closet's door frame. His mind filled with images of her sprawled on the bed, on the sofa, on the floor. The scenarios he'd pictured since they'd met were numerous. His mouth at the apex of her thighs while she tried to type papers for work. Her going down on him in the dressing room at Pogo's. Or his favorite, the one he'd gone back to most, joining with her completely as she fell apart, because of him and only him. If he asked, would she be willing to-

Upon hearing Y/N hang up, Arthur haphazardly tossed the bag back in its spot. He busied himself with the sweaters and shirts in the "keep" pile, folding and hanging them as needed. She started telling him about the call as soon as she came in. Caught between his natural bashfulness and the urge to blurt out what he found, listening was difficult.

She must have sensed something was off, because she stepped next to him and said, "You look warm."

He ducked away as she tried to feel his forehead. "I'm okay." That was only half true. It was going to take awhile for him to figure out how to express what he wanted. But he shot her a grin. "It's just a little hot in here, that's all."

~~~~~

Y/N's seamed stockings finally sent him over the edge three days later. He'd noticed them when she put on her heels at the door, and ogled her as she strode down the hallway after their longer-than-usual kiss goodbye. It was possible she simply wished to be pretty (which she always was, no matter what she had on), to be professional, to make herself feel good. Still. She knew those nylons turned him on, and he chose to believe she wore them for him.

He made a quick call to her at lunch and said he was looking forward to tonight. There was strain lurking beneath her kind tone when she asked, "Why? What's tonight?" Nothing, he clarified, rubbing the back of his neck. He just missed her. She sighed, told him her day had gone sideways, that she needed to go. But she couldn't wait to see him later and loved him.

Both to relieve his own nerves and to cheer her, he resolved to make everything perfect for her to come home to. That's why, rather than cooking together, he was stirring minestrone and adding pasta. Why he'd already set the table and put the bunch of pink carnations (her favorite) from the grocery store in the middle. Why the wine was open and ready to serve. The kitchen radio had been switched to the sixties and seventies music she preferred. He swayed along to it, even as he hoped one or two slower songs would play so they could dance.

He'd been trying to find the right way to broach the subject all afternoon. Stuttering through his request wasn't his preference. It'd be fun to be playful - if he could gather his courage. God, it would be absurd if he couldn't. Shouldn’t courage come naturally if he hoped to spend the rest of his life with this woman? "Y/N, I was wondering if you could-" Cocking his head, he tried anew. "I love you, Y/N, and I wanted to know if-" Rolling his eyes, he retrieved bowls from the cupboard. "It's your fault I can't think straight." He took a breath, stretched his arms, and tried to focus. Nothing felt right. He'd have to improvise.

The unlocking of the door and the thudding of her bag to the floor alerted him to her presence. He laughed lightly as he tested the soup, enjoying the thrill of anticipation. She approached in his peripheral vision. "Arthur, you didn't have to do all this," she murmured.

The gladness in her words made it worth the effort. He poured a glass of wine for them both. "You were having a busy day."

She took a sip and braced herself on the counter. "I had to run back and forth from the office to the courthouse. We were missing copies of motions for tomorrow's hearing. My typewriter's ribbon ran out and we didn't have any replacements." A puff escaped her before she turned to him. "But every thing’s lovely now. Come here.” She pulled him in for a kiss.

Arthur tried to pay attention while they ate; he disliked missing a moment of her. But she was already driving him to distraction. The way her lips pursed as she blew on the food before taking a bite. Her caresses to the petals of the flowers. How she kept touching his sleeve. When she untied the bow at the collar of her burgundy blouse, opened the neck to reveal the start of her clavicle, his stomach flipped. "I wanted to- to ask you a question," he said softly.

"I knew something was going on." She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. "You haven't said much besides 'yeah' and 'mhm.'"

Damn. He'd tried to be normal. "Sorry." A sheepish smile crossed his face and he smoothed back his hair. "I'm a little nervous."

"You don't have to be." There was excitement in her voice, barely contained, and she scooted her chair closer. "I'm sure I'll say yes."

He quirked a brow at her. "Um, okay." A sharp exhale as he sat straighter. "I've been thinking about this a lot." His gaze darted to hers, seeing it sparkling and filled with affection, before falling to his lap. He fiddled with his spoon as he forced himself to speak. "I found something. When we were cleaning."

A pause. "What did you find?"

The wine was sharp on his tongue when he sipped it. "The massaging wand?"

The blush on her cheeks traveled to the rest of her face and she hid behind her palm. "Oh my god," she laughed.

Having the advantage wasn't usual for him in these situations. It was refreshing. Luckily, she didn't seem upset, so he continued. "Dr. Sally recommended it on her show. You're beautiful. We both might like it. I mean, I know I would, but... Would you show me?" Her quiet nagged at him, so he changed his approach. "You turn on the light every time we make love," he teased. "Don't you remember when you came home and surprised me?"

She peeked at him, the corner of her lip lifted. "It's never even occurred to me. I can't believe it occurred to you." After a few moments, she cleared her throat. "I won't lie - it's...an arousing idea. And all this," she gestured at the table as she spoke, "has made me pretty hot and bothered." Her hand went to his inner thigh, fiddling with the seam. "Though I have to admit, I was expecting you to ask something else."

His eyelids fluttered at her caress. "What?"

Grasping the tie at the front of his pants, she finished her drink. "Never mind. I'm sure you'll ask me later."

~~~~

This was happening. It wasn't his imagination. Y/N was taking a fantasy of his, one that belonged in dirty magazines, and turning it into a demonstration of her love for him. Was it weird to be moved by something this lewd? He should be ashamed to have asked her. But he wasn't. And when he felt her smile as they lay in bed, his throat tightened. Their breaths were harsh as the pearlescent buttons of her blouse opened halfway under his ministrations. A soft moan left her when he cupped her breast, tweaked its taut tip through her bra, and she yanked at his shirt until he pulled it off.

She ground against his clothed hard-on and hastily unzipped her black skirt to slip it down. He swallowed thickly, following her movements, huffing at the sight of her dark red garter belt and matching panties. It wasn't often she donned those, preferring more practical undergarments. Had she, by some means, known what he was thinking when she'd gotten dressed that morning? The notion was silly but warmed him anyway. Relieved, he groaned and reclaimed her lips.

The dance of her fingers across the lean muscles of his chest caused him to suck in air, which he held while she skimmed past his ribs to his stomach. "I haven't done this in front of anyone before," she said, a little uncertain.

Arthur chuckled, letting her take his hand and guide it between her thighs. "I hadn't, either." He pushed the cotton to the side and fondled her slit, reveling in how she bucked into his touch. It was almost enough to get him to forget the show, to forget about his plan, to sheathe himself inside her without a moment's pause.

But she grabbed the vibrator off the stand and switched it on. Its buzzing was louder than he'd presumed, like a hornet's nest. Amusement must have shown on his face, because Y/N smirked and turned the wand to a lower setting. "Remind me to plug the clock back in when we're done," she said, shedding her underwear and kicking it off her foot. He settled next to her hips, boosting himself on his elbow to see her. Shyly at first, then growing bolder, she swiped and pulled at her outer lips. They drew back as they swelled and she giggled, running the pads of her fingers over herself. "You're the only one who could persuade me to do this."

He grazed her inner thigh, the straps holding her stockings in place, and pressed a kiss to her leg, observing as she lay the massager's rounded end to her core. Even as her pelvis arched slightly to meet it, she kept it in one spot - he'd thought she would have moved it around. The heat flaring in his groin was, thankfully, lowering his inhibitions, and he found he could ask, without anxiety, "Did you do it a lot?"

"I did this more after we met." He laughed happily, realizing he'd been the cause of her increased desire. A whimper fell from her as she moved towards the vibrator again, her frame trembling. Her brows pinched with every increasing undulation of her hips. "It's been awhile. I'd forgotten-," she gasped, "-how intense this feels."

When she began writhing, he watched the sway of her breasts, straining against her bra. Her stomach was quivering with every shallow breath, and he felt his own ardor heighten with hers. He leaned forward to get a better look at her folds. But, upon finding the toy covered her completely, he furrowed his brow. And it registered that he didn't need a prop involved; he just needed her.

Gently, he caught it, waiting until she met his gaze to turn it off and put it on the bed. "You're enough," he said quietly. "If that's okay." She nodded lightly. One of her legs spread to the side, the other bent at the knee. He shuddered as she held herself open, fingers drifting over her sensitive nub. "Are you - Are you thinking about me?" Say yes. Please.

Her explorations went lower, tracing the edges of her entrance, open and waiting for him, then dipping below to gather slick on her fingertips. "Yes," she hissed, tapping her bud repeatedly. She jerked towards her hand as she bit her lip. It was enchanting, watching her play herself like a well-tuned instrument. She seemed to know exactly how to touch her own body. What pressure to apply. How fast to go...

Her breast spilled out when she pulled down the cup of her bra, her head falling back into the pillow. Her thumb teased her areola and she keened. "You're all the way inside me." Another tug to her pebbled nipple, and the hand at her vulva hastened. "Your cock feels so good, Arthur. You fill me so well."

"Y/N, god." He hadn't expected pornography to spill from her mouth. Groaning, he pushed his briefs away and gripped his erection, running his thumb along the tip as he glanced from her face to her center.

The glistening of her arousal was spreading, a spot forming on the blanket beneath her. Her cries were becoming frequent, her body tensing. Her eyes opened and went to his length. "Get in me."

That took him aback. "What?"

"Get in me. Please." He scrambled out of his underwear and knelt between her legs, positioning himself so her thighs rested on his, and he held the soft skin of her upper leg. After a couple of quick pumps, he sank into her entirely, grunting at the sight of her reddened, desperate sex welcoming him. She stroked herself, first pulling at the clitoral hood, then circling it, more frenzied with every rut.

This was far superior to any photograph, any adult film he may have caught a glimpse of. Because it was personal. She was devoted to him, and he to her. And she was repeating his name, the syllables strung together and becoming unintelligible. Soon she wailed sharply and stiffened, her pulses gripping his cock. "Fuck me harder," she whined.

His movements stilled. While he wanted to give in, he feared harming her - he was stronger than his skinniness suggested. But she begged for him again, and he couldn't resist pressing her wrists into the bed on either side of the pillow. Their kisses turned hard while she brought her trembling legs about him and he plunged into her. A wanton cry escaped with each inch she moved up the mattress, with every pound of his hips. The sear of her surrounding him was intoxicating, and he took her nipple in his mouth, laving and sucking at it. Her body grew rigid and bent into him and she moaned, her muscles clamping around him a second time.

Their intimacy had traversed the scale from slow to fast, loving to urgent. But Arthur had only been unrelenting with her once. Her enjoyment hadn't been a consideration; she’d been a means to an end that night. And the guilt he'd felt afterward had prompted him to promise himself to not be rough without her explicit permission. Seeing her trust in him in action, feeling it in the embrace of her body, pushed him forward to give into what they both craved.

He threw his head back and fucked her, up on his knees, slipping his grasp from her wrist to entwine her fingers. He held her neck and the side of her face as he mashed their lips together, losing himself in her as he increased the punishing pace of his thrusts. His motions stammered, seeking his climax, going deeper and deeper still.

With one final shove he came, emptying into her with each throb as they clung to each other. His brain was foggy with pleasure, breath ragged and panting. Vaguely, he was aware of her tight hold on his ass, as if she coveted every drop of him. As he came down from his high, the last tendrils of pleasure fading, he squeezed her hand. The kiss he gave her was tender, soft. A stark contrast from how they'd joined moments ago.

Y/N was giving him that dazed grin, the one she usually had after lovemaking. But he felt the need to check. "Did I hurt you?" Averting his eyes, he brushed his knuckles over her collarbone.

She pecked his nose and raked her nails through his hair, her look full of adoration. "You could never hurt me." A giggle bubbled up. "I do need a minute to recover, though." He stayed inside her while he softened, nestling in the crook of her neck. "I'm proud of you," she said.

His eyelids shut and a toothy grin appeared as his heart clenched. "Why?"

"You weren't afraid to ask me. Well, even if you were, you did it, anyway." Her arms wrapped about his torso and she palmed his back. "And you trusted yourself to let go."

He dragged his thumb along the faint stretch marks at her areola. While what she said was accurate, he usually liked it softer. During the periods in which his anger or despondency nearly consumed him, when he thought he might erupt, he was afraid he would lose the ability to be gentle. So far, her love and support had helped bring that tenderness back, even if it took a couple of days. He ached for that to continue. "You know, when I- when I see things that aren't there... I always say the right thing. I'm funny. I know how to do good." He took her hand and placed a kiss to the back of it. "But with you it's real."

Guiding him out and off her, she turned on her side. "Because that's who you are, Mr. Fleck. Don’t forget that. I won’t." She nuzzled his nose. "How else could you have broken through my shield enough to have this ridiculous pillow talk?" He chuckled as she tugged on a curl. "I lost that part of myself for a long time," she sighed. "I'd hate to lose it again."

"I won't let that happen." He pulled her closer, caressing the edge of her garter belt. "Especially if you keep wearing these," he said lowly.

Leaning forward, she pressed her breasts flush to him. "Let's be ridiculous until we're old and gray."

"Mhm." Tears prickled but he blinked them away, managing a wide smile. It was one of her hints that she wanted to be with him forever. He prayed she would accept his proposal next week. "Only if you promise to laugh at my jokes."

Y/N traced his jawline and kissed his dark brows, her gaze shining as she gave her response. "Arthur, I'll laugh with you for the rest of my life."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @howdylilflower​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @fallenstarsabyss​ @gruffle1​ @octopus-plasma​ @tsukiakarinobara​, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​

[becumsh]

détentewonderful @thiswaycomessomethingwicked  tagged me in the First Line game, which is going to be fun!

Rules are: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

Good thing I’m not a ficwriter, so I don’t have a lot of works lmao.

ultima ratio

The Carmelite convent of the Saint-Jacques faubourg was a quiet, sombre place. The daughters of Saint Teresa only opened their mouths to sing holy hymns, and all flesh there, except for the time of prayer, kept silence before the Lord. An uninterrupted life went by unhurriedly, unperturbed by disturbances of the outside world.

Here Be Sleeping Dragons

“During their last term fifth-year students will practice Vanishing Spells, that can be applied to small animals; and I think that the introduction of lectures dedicated to basic mathematical formulae of Conjuring Spells for those who are planning on taking Transfiguration in the sixth year—”

“Wait”, there was a sound of lazy voice somewhere to his right. “Don’t you think that writing out all these formulae is a little bit… Muggle-like approach to magic?”

‘Dear Merlin, do you really give a toss about it, you snake bastard?’ Treville thought.

being alive can be so lonely sometimes (but i'm glad to have met you)

Five minutes before the alarm rings.

He squeezes his eyes shut before pressing the balls of his hands against the eyelids, feeling the deep-seated exhaustion in his bones, and gives himself exactly sixty seconds before getting up.

the promise

“Maybe I should write to my brother,” the Queen said uncertainly.

Treville did not want to be there. He did not want to discuss Richelieu’s future with his almost victim.

He wanted the make-shift council, Richelieu’s reckless and ludicrous plot to murder the Queen, he wanted all of it not to happen.

if you listen hard you will hear my breath

They came to him the next day asking to come back to Court.

"Cardinal..." Anne hesitated.

Richelieu looked at the window. He could bargain anything from her. The Queen had never been so weak and defeated. Powerless.

our disembodied state

He wakes up heaving for breath, his throat dry and raw.

“Here,” someone presses a glass to his chapped lips, and he drinks gratefully. “Oh, my dear Uncle, you gave us such a scare!”

The voice breaks and Richelieu opens his eyes.

détente

The rumours of the Queen Mother’s rapidly rising favourite had spread like wildfire, but Anne’s first meeting with him was purely accidental – she was walking with her ladies-in-waiting down a corridor of the Louvre and Concini and this Bishop stood in their way. Concini merely gave Anne and her consort a careless nod and walked round, but the cleric stopped, and bowed with a trick that took most courtiers years of practice: being quite tall he managed to look up.

no peace to the sword

In the Ninth Circle of Hell lie the traitors who betrayed those they held the closest, frozen in a lake of ice known as Cocytus. The icy hell of betrayal is the final result of consent to sin, the stage of being incapable of repentance.

night vale au

He returns in the early morning. Even though he’s never been here before. The town greets him with breezy wind and a salty drizzle of water down the collar of his jacket.

I like the one from ultima ratio the most, but I think it’s mostly because this fic is literally a lifetime project for me and I think so much about every line I write.

I might be wrong (and if anyone’s even remotely interested in this post, lmao, let me know). But when I say when I’m not a ficwriter, I’m like... I mean it? My main output are fanvideos, so I work with visuals and audio. 

So I feel like my first lines are very visual, setting up a scene like a first frame of a movie or something? And I also care about how the sentences sound, so when you read them inside your head there’s still a cadence to them. But I might be completely bullshitting this, because I feel like it, but it’s not necessarily how my fics are perceived.

Also I’m incapable of writing short sentences or anything short in general, but I attribute that to Russian being my first language and me being traumatised by Leo Tolstoy in high school.

@hobfilm @heyholmesletsgo - yas let’s go (only if ya want) bc thiswaycomessomethingwicked tagged all my writer friends too! coz we are all friends!

I have followers & mutuals who may be writers and I’m unaware of it so if you want to do it please consider yourselves tagged!

[hateswifi]

Rising from the Ashes: Of the Past and Nightmares

So this is Part Eleven here is to my Master List and Part Ten.

------------------------------------------------------

"So how'd you get to Gotham from Paris?" Jason asks, plopping down on the couch in the living room.

"Oh easy the glasses, it's called a miraculous, this one is the horse miraculous that grants the power of teleportation," Marinette said, tapping her glasses. "I have a kwami named, Kaalki. The kwami that transforms me into Ladybug is Tikki the goddess of creation. My partner, Chat Noir, has the god of destruction, Plagg. We are balanced."

"Your partner, Chat Noir, is Adrien. Kagami is Ryuko. Luka is Viperon. Chloe is Queen Bee. I'm assuming at least, you don't seem like the type to pick people you don't trust," Damian asked. "But if Chat Noir is your balance does that not make you soulmates?"

"Yes and no. We're not the soulmates you might be thinking of. We are best friends platonic soulmates if you will. We are meant to be in each other's lives and we can’t live without each other," Marinette explained. 

"That makes sense, but who is Tikki and Kaalki?" Jason asks. 

Marinette lifts her hair and they fly out. "Meet Tikki and Kaalki. I have other kwamis as the guardian, but they are in the miracle box at the moment," Marinette explains, holding out their favorite food.

"Hi, guys!" Tikki chirps, landing on her head.

"Oh my gosh! They're adorable! They're so small and precious!" Dick cooed, standing up to move closer to them. 

"I can bring other ones out at different times. Kaalki is just the one I had out due to her transportation powers. I would show you Plagg, but they don't show up on camera," She explains, petting Kaalki's head.

"Miss Marinette, do you have the miraculous of the peacock? I wish to catch up with Duusuu," Alfred asks.

"You had Duusuu before she was taken?" Marinette asks, shocked.

"Ahh yes, is she alright?" Alfred asks.

"She was in the hands of an evil miraculous holder recently, Hawkmoth's partner Mayura, but I think seeing a previous holder would help. Tikki, is that true?" Marinette asks.

"That is correct Mari, it would help wit the cleansing," Tikki said. "Could you also take out Wayzz?"

"Of course I would be able to," Marinette said, standing up leaving Damian's embrace. She opens her bag and takes out the miracle box she takes out the turtle and peacock miraculous after she put the horse miraculous away. "Alfred, would you be able to wear the brooch? I wore all of them once and passed out afterward. Master Fu advised against wearing more than three. I'll need it back after."

"Of course, Miss Marinette," Alfred said, taking the brooch and pinned it to her jacket. Marinette puts on the turtle miraculous. 

"Hello Master Marinette, it's good to see you again," Wayzz greets, bowing.

"Wayzz, please call me Marinette," she answers.

"Wayzz I must speak with you," Tikki says, flying off. Alfred had already walked off to catch up with Duusuu.

"So those are some of the kwamis," Marinette said, snuggling into Damian's embrace.

"What do you mean you passed out after wearing all the miraculi?" Damian asks, kissing her head.

"During the akuma called Kwamibuster, every time Chat or I got hit we would lose our transformation. I went to Master Fu and asked to take all the miraculous so I wouldn't have to reveal my identity. I came up with this brilliantly over the top plan that worked. I'll show you the video Alya took some time. The miraculi are only supposed to be worn one at a time because of the power it holds," Marinette said.

Wayzz flew into the room saying. "But Marinette is the best guardian and holder of Tikki's miraculous that we've had and she somehow was able to pull it off."

"Diana's mother was a Ladybug," Alfred informed them, reentering the parlor.

"That's why she feels familiar," Tikki realizes, landing on Marinette's head. They all chat together, taking turns to ask questions to the kwamis. At the end of the night, Damian decides it's too late for her to go home. Damian leads Marinette to a guest room beside his room. They're standing by the door when he decides to give her the present he bought her.

"Angel, can you face the door for a moment," Damian asks. She turns away from him. He opens a small bow and takes out a necklace, a white gold infinity heart. "Can you look at me now?" She turns back around. "Beautiful," he breathed.

"The necklace?" Marinette asks her bluebell eyes sparkling.

"No, you," he leans down and kisses her softly.

"Prince, you're too nice," she said, breathlessly breaking the kiss. "Goodnight," She says, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. She then entered the room and closed the door quietly behind her. She falls onto the bed lovestruck. Damina places his head on the door and happily sighs before walking to his room. She changed into her pajamas which is a Jagged Stone hoodie and leggings.

Not long after she fell asleep she woke up screaming from a nightmare. Damian rushes into the room as she is sitting up out of breath. "Angel are you ok?" he asks, sitting beside her rubbing her back.

"Ya it was just a nightmare," she whispers, into his shoulder.

"How often do you wake up to nightmares?" he asks, kissing her head.

"More often than I would like to admit," she whispers. "It has been worse since the fire."

"Want me to stay with you?" he asks.

"Please?" she asks looking up at him and blushes. "Umm... Damian, why are you shirtless?'

His face goes completely red looking down at himself. "I... I heard you scream, Ummm... kinda just ran into here, and normally I sleep shirtless," he explains. "Do you want me to grab a shirt?"

"No, please don't leave me," she says, yawning. He lays down and wraps an arm around her. She looks at his arm.

"What happened there?" she asks, tracing a scar.

"When I first moved in with my father, my mother got captured by my grandfather's successor. While father put mother into the Lazarus pool I chased after him, we got into a fight. At one point he put swords into both my arms to stop me from fighting," Damian explains, holding her closer. "Now go to sleep."

They fall asleep with her partly on top of him one hand in his hair the other over his heart. He has one arm around her, and the other hand was on top of hers. Damian didn't normally like touching but sleeping like this with Marinette. 

 "Oh my gosh!" Dick whispered to Jason, peeking in the room. 

"Come on leave them alone, remember privacy?" Tim whispered, pulling both of them away from the door by their collars. "If you wake Damian wake up, he will murder you. He won't care about Father's rule." 

Damian woke up to them talking, but couldn't move to murder them due to his Angel still peacefully sleeping on him. He fell back asleep waiting for her to wake up. After an hour or two, he's woken up by Marinette moving on top of him, she was trying to get out of bed without waking him up.

"No, Angel, please don't leave," he groaned, pulling her back into his embrace.

"Dami-- Damian," she stutters, trying to wiggle out of his strong embrace. "Alfred just called us for breakfast." She finishes trying to sit up again.

"Fine, but next time we're going to stay a bit longer," he says, into her ear, his chin on her shoulder. "I... I mean if there is a next time."

She kisses his cheek. "I would love that. Maybe watching a movie of your choice next time," she smiles, getting out of bed. He quickly follows. They take a seat on stools at the island where plates of waffles sat on the counter. 

"So you wanna tell me what woke you up last night?" Damian said, pouring him and her a glass of orange juice. 

"Well I have constant nightmares over the last standoff against Hawkmoth," she explains, taking a sip of OJ.

"What about the last battle?" he asks, sitting down beside her after he put the OJ back in the fridge.

"You know how Jon saw a healing stab wound?" Marinette asks he nodded in response. "Well, I took that stab wound trying to save Adrien from falling off the Eiffel Tower, he was grabbing Kagami. While I was trying to pull them up I got stabbed, Luka then knocked into Hakwmoth knocking him off the Tower. When he was falling he somehow made it on to a lower platform and ran back to his liar near the end of his transformation," Marinette sighed, taking another bite. "My nightmare was me trying to catch you, but I couldn't catch you, then everything she had said about me was becoming true." she hisses at the mention of 

"Who is she? What could she say to make you react like this?" Damian asks, taking her hand.

"Oh... Ummm... her name is Lila Rossi but it... it.. it isn't important," she stammered, wiping a quick tear that was threatening to fall.

"Marinette, Angel, she must have hurt you in some way if you're reacting this way to here," Damian said, wiping the stray tears.

"She turned all my friends against me with her lying ways. Adrien knew the truth but couldn't truly help me in any way due to his father's overbearing nature. After he found me crying on a roof during one of our patrols, he drew the line there and helped me with Lila's antics," Marinette explained.

"What did she lie about?" Damian asks, pulling her into a hug.

"What didn't she lie about is the real question," Marinette snickers into his still shirtless chest. "She always lying about connections, she is still currently ruining my ex-classmates' lives. She fell down the stairs and said I pushed her, I got suspended. She faked a couple of different disabilities to gain the sympathy of others. She stuck the answer key to a test in my bag and framed me for cheating. Gabriel the retired Hawkmoth, has admitted to Lila willingly let herself be akumatized multiple times. She threatened me and told me she would separate me from my friends until I was all alone." He is silent, but she can feel his heart rate speed up. She looks up at him, fury was spread across his face. "Prince, please say something," she whispered, placing a hand on his cheek.

He takes her hand and  kisses her palm and says, "Angel, no one plans homicide out loud."

"You can't kill her, sadly," she said whispering the last part. "Also one more thing you should know about, apparently you adore her and you guys have had an on and off relationship from childhood," she smirks, her bluebell eyes sparkling with mischief as he gags. They finish eating breakfast together and after cleaning up Damian escorts her home. 

When she arrives home she unpacks and washes her clothes, then starts Scarlette's bridal shower outfit. She makes a cornflower blue button-up blouse and a white high skirt with white sheer fabric on the top of the solid underskirt. She sent a picture to Scarlette and let her know she could pick it up on Sunday. She also recommended pairing it with a pair of pastel pink high heels and clutch. 

Life went on, she started building a name for herself with the help of Diana under the name of Nette. She told Diana that Marinette knows that she is Wonder Woman and that she is Ladybug. Diana laughed it off saying that she knew Marinette had Tikki from the moment she entered the store, part of the reason Diana hired her so quickly. She was intrigued by the holder of creation. Damian and Marinette continued to go on dates. Damian came home with Marinette for Chinese New Year, he also wore a disguised just in case. In March, Damian asked Marinette if she would move into the manor with him, she declined because she has a year contract on her apartment and she doesn't want to mooch off of him.

-----------------------------------------

Tag list (Open):

@northernbluetongue @melhuney @ladysblackcat @sturchling @otaku4312 @g-arya @smolplantmum @bluefyoto94 @echpr @moonlightstar64 @thesunanditsangel @cutechip @heaven428 @elmokingkong @kass-is-weird @niza13149 @urbanpineapplefarmer @ginamarie1512 @chocolatecatstheron @iggy-of-fans @crazylittlemunchkin @komatsuna-yuki @weird-pale-blonde-person @ellerahs @sinnamonroill @daminett4life @queenmj10 @indecisive-mess-named-me @reyna-avila-ramirez-alreanaldo @lizziejay @etheralentity @sassakitty

[ronoken]

Fic Snippit

So, I read tow lovely comments this week and saw someone was kind enough to give me a shout out on Tumblr. So... A quick epilouge piece?

A quick epilouge piece! Comment on this, dammit.

*** 

In the really, really far future... 

Caline M. Bourgeois, age 13, stood in the wings of the Francois Dupont auditorium and wrung her hands as the act in front of her finished up. Olive was twirling the crap out of that baton and the blacklight admittedly looked awesome, but she was winding down and that meant Caline was next.

‘Fuck,’ she thought to herself.

She was in a white dress with some (but not too much) frill, accented with two bows holding her sandy blonde hair back in a ponytail. One bow was red, the other yellow. She didn’t want two bows, but her mother insisted this was the best way to keep the peace.

Caline glanced into the audience from where she was hiding, and sure enough, the whole Goddamn family was there. Grandpa, all three Grammas, dad with his phone ready to go, Aunt Emilie, Aunt Camille…

And an empty seat.

Caline frowned and felt her stomach start to knot up. Olive was bowing as the audience politely clapped. Behind her, two stagehands were wheeling out the beat-up school piano for Caline’s performance.

“She didn’t come,” Caline said.

She felt something rustle in the frills on her shoulder.

“Aw shucks, girly,” a voice with a thick, southern drawl said. “Y’all just need ta have some faith. Yer mama may be a bit flighty, but that dere woman ain’t one ta miss her own kin’s recital. No ma’am. She’ll be here. Y’all see.”

Caline smiled and patted the tiny lump hiding in her frills. “Thanks, Ziggy. But,” She looked again at the empty chair. “She’s not here.”

Ziggy popped his head out and patted Caline on the shoulder. “She will be. Jus’ give her time.”

“But I’m going on now!” Caline said, slightly panicked. Out on stage, Ms. Beauréal was going on ad nauseam about how hard the students had worked for the talent show this year, and how excited she was to introduce the next performer. “Ziggy, what do I do?”

“Ya get out there and ya play fer everyone, of course. Yall gonna let yer dad and yer grammas and grampa down?”

Caline bit her lip. Of course the whole family was there. Of course dad was recording. Of course this had to happen today.

“She knew this was important to me, Ziggs. She knew.” Caline muttered as she walked on stage. From the audience, she heard two voices cheering for her.

“Go Caline!” The first one cheered.

“You’re gonna do great! Gramma loves you!” The second one chimed in.

“I love you more!” The first voice said.

“I love you most!” The second one screamed.

There were sounds of a scuffle. Caline ignored them and turned to face the audience. Her eyes drifted to the empty chair…

And sitting there was a woman with short, light brown hair and glasses. She had her phone out to film, and she was waving.

Caline’s eyes went wide. “Mom?” She asked under her breath.

Beside her mom, Caline’s father looked practically spooked. At least one of her Grandmas was frowning and had her arms crossed while her Grandpa was busy laughing into his shoulder. He was doing his best to cover it with a cough.

Caline smiled.

“Toldja,” her shoulder whispered.

***

Out in the audience, Caline’s mom grinned as she watched her daughter being playing Nocturne No. 2 by Chopin. Caline had worked for two months with her Grandpa on the piece, and the dedication had paid off.

It didn’t hurt that Adrien was a good teacher.

“Where were you?” Marinette quietly hissed beside her daughter.

“Work,” Gina whispered back. Her eyes never left Caline as she played.

“You were almost late,” Marinette growled. “How can you of all people be late?”

“But I wasn’t,” Gina rebuffed. “And she saw me. You think I’d miss today?”

Gina didn’t have to turn her head to see the glare her mother was shooting her. She could feel it.

Gina felt a hand squeeze her shoulder. She glanced back to see Aunt Chloé smiling at her. “Ignore your mother. She’s just mad because she lost a bet.”

At that, Gina did look to her mother. “You bet I wouldn’t be here?”

Marinette blushed and crossed her arms. She turned her attention to her granddaughter on stage. “When they closed the doors, I might have been overly upset.”

Gina nudged her. “Hey, it’s me.”

“I know,” Marinette sighed.

“Shh!” Sabrina shushed them both from behind. “I’m trying to enjoy my granddaughter’s performance!”

They shut up.

Caline had barely finished up when Marinette and Chloé both rocketed to their feet, cheering and applauding wildly. Caline visibly recoiled on stage from the outpouring she was receiving from her grandmothers, but she was still smiling. Mainly because beside Gramma Marinette, her mother was also standing and applauding louder than everyone else put together. She was cheering and whistling and making a scene, and Caline was 100% loving it.

Afterwards, once the other nineteen acts were done (Aurore refused to cut any students that wanted to be on stage. Something about it not being right to deny a student their moment in the spotlight), The family group headed out for a walk by the Seine to grab some dinner and gush about the performance. All three grandmothers had argued over where to eat, but André settled things quickly by loudly asking Caline what she wanted.

So, chilidogs it was.

“Hey,” Gina said as she took a large bite. “You did great up there, sweetie. I am so, so proud of you, you don’t even know.”

Caline blushed and grinned. “Thanks. Um, hey. So, like, where were you? I didn’t think you were coming.” Her eyes drifted to Gina’s green blouse. “Um, there’s some blood on your collar.”

Gina’s smile fell a bit. “Work was a bit much tonight. Sorry about that, but I was doing my best to make sure of things. I, um, I panicked and got the time slightly wrong. Otherwise I would have been in my seat sooner. Sorry.”

Marinette’s eyebrow went up at that. “What things, exactly? Is everything okay?”

Gina nodded. “Everything is fine. Nothing interrupted the recital, and nothing is going to interrupt our dinner. We all get a nice, normal, uneventful evening to ourselves.”

Marinette was the first to catch on. “How many times did you have to go back?” She asked.

“Seven,” Gina fired right back. “It took me over four hours to figure everything out. There were gonna be two akumas tonight, and don’t get me started on the werewolf.”

“Werewolf?” Caline asked.

“There wolf,” Gina quickly replied. “Seriously, how does Aunt Alix do this?”

The group went quiet.

Gina quickly read the room. “Sorry. I know that’s a sore… Look, I know it’s weird, but I’ve honestly seen more of her since she died than I ever did before. It’s nuts in the Burrow. She was super active with monitoring time. In fact, I’m pretty sure she lived in there. Like, right before I got to the school, I ran into her.”

Adrien bit his hip. “Is she okay? Was she okay? Geez, I don’t know what the best wording is for this.”

“She was good. She was in her PJ’s and brushing her teeth. I think she’d been sleeping in a side portal again. Oh,” Gina turned to Marinette. “She also told me to tell you not to worry about your appointment next week and that it’s just a clump of fat cells. You’re okay.”

Chloé laughed a little while Marinette blushed and smirked. “That sounds like her,” the bluenette said. “But did you have to say that in front of everyone?”

Gina shrugged. “You wanna drag me for my punctuality in front of my daughter again?”

Marinette glanced at her daughter. “Touché.”

“I’m just glad you came,” Caline said. “It meant so much.”

Gina smiled and kissed her daughter on the head. “I know, sweetie.” She glanced to her husband and smiled. “I wouldn’t miss tonight for the world.”

***

Later that night, after Caline had been put to bed, Gina snuck out to the patio for a moment and slipped into a waiting portal.

“Sup, kiddo.” Alix called out from the center of the Burrow. She was transformed and kicked back in a recliner. Even though her hair had long since gone from pink to red to silver, she looked as feisty as ever. She was slurping down a smoothie and swiping through floating ovals, each showing a different moment in time. “You make it on time?”

“Would you please explain to me how the wall clock in the center of time itself is six minutes slow?” Gina huffed. She gestured to a clock floating in the void. “Seriously! I was almost late!”

“But you weren’t,” Alix pointed out. “Look, changing it means going all the way over there and taking it down and fiddling with it, and that’s just a lot of work. I’ve just gotten used to the difference, you know? And if I did it now, then that would completely mess me up going forward. I mean, I’d look at it and be off by six minutes. Screw that.” She slurped her drink.

Gina shook her head and sighed. “You were more tolerable before you died.”

“Which time?” Alix asked with a grin. “Thank you again, by the way. You’re really not supposed to redo things that often, but I do prefer being alive to dead, so no complaints.”

Gina smirked as she stood beside her favorite aunt and watched the portals with her.

“Thanks for your help tonight,” Alix said casually.

“It’s my job,” Gina replied. “You know I won’t say no.”

Alix glanced to her. “You ever get upset that I, um, that you got drafted into all this?”

Gina didn’t answer for a moment. She crossed her arms and settled in place as she thought.

“I used to think being Ladybug was the hardest of our jobs,” Gina said. She glanced to Alix. “I was so wrong.”

“Well, regardless? I’m proud of you, Gina. I always have been.” She considered Gina for a moment. “Hey, I’ve got tonight, okay? Go spend some time with your family.”

“Oh, did you see the recital?” Gina asked.

Alix smiled and swiped the portal in front of her. An image of Caline appeared as she sat at the piano. “You think I’d miss it?”

Gina smiled at her aunt and patted her on the shoulder. “Try not to stay up too late, okay?” She leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Love you, Aunt Alix. Please get some rest. Please?”

“Psssh,” Alix said as she waved her off. “Get out of here. I’ll give you a holler if anything pops up. Promise.”

Gina smiled and turned to leave. Someday, she’d have to tell this version of Alix that her version, the one that had… That wasn’t here anymore, preferred electric blue slushies, not cherry. Still, it was sweet of her to keep popping in and pretending.

Gina wasn’t sure what timeline this Alix was even from, but it didn’t matter. They were all her Aunt, after all.

Gina stopped at the entrance to her portal and glanced back to the woman who was casually kicked back in the recliner, a familiar ghost that if Gina squinted, was enough to help her to forget for a while.

“Good night, Bunnyx,” Gina called out.

“G’night, Time Bandit,” Alix called back. She toasted her with the half-finished slushie.

Smiling, Gina slipped through the portal, and back to home.

[ikenbar]

Mr. Love: Ike’s Choice CH5 PT2

Warnings: Some swearing but like Ike is having a hard day so give her a break, talk of strippers and bikinis but it is literally just talk, some angst, the tiniest pinch of fluff, anger, hate, disputes between sisters, near death experiences and cLiFfHaNgErS!!!! :D

Also! This part is dedicated to one of my favorite teachers ever. Hats off to you Senior Olson... you got featured in a fanfiction... I know this must be the most riveting part of your entire teaching career...

(Chapter Five (Kiro and Youran) Prologue and part one can be found here~)

((Please read the author’s note (and the beginning of the story) on chapter one part one if you’re new here :D))

Chapter Five:

Part two:

I ran up the steps to the school in aggravation. My driver and I had been sitting in traffic for twenty minutes, killing all my time and patience slowly and painfully. I threw open the doors to the school and immediately locked eyes with Adri, who was slouching in one of the chairs just outside of Mr. Olson’s office. She sat up quickly in her chair.

“Oh thank goodness they called you!” She smiled, “I was afraid they’d call-”

“Zip it!” I snapped, taking Adri aback, “Need I remind you that you’ve been suspended?! Just because Bart or Maria didn’t pick you up, doesn't mean you have gotten off scot-free, lady.” Adri’s once excited face grew pale. Someone opened the door to the principal's office. 

Out stepped a tall man in his late sixties. With his back arched and his cane in his hand, he walked with a limp that screamed intimidation. His hair was receding and graying but most of the grey was centered on the bushy beard he brandished like a Norse god. Mr. Olson was a man that showed his years, but his eyes were still lit with the same fire that his younger self held. Even if they were hidden behind his thick, oval glasses.

“I thought I heard you out here.” Mr. Olson smiled at me, “It’s good to see you again Ike.”

“Sir.” Though I spoke impatiently, I still bowed with respect, “Listen, I would love to sit and talk but I’m running late for a shoot for a show. Is there any way we can speed this up?”

“Oof.” Mr. Olson chuckled and turned to Adri, “You chose the wrong day to be suspended.” Mr. Olson looked back at me and gestured into his office, “I just need you to sign some papers for me. Then I can send you on your merry way.” I nodded and followed him into the office, grabbing Adri and pulling her by the collar to follow us. I was handed a small packet of paper by a smiling receptionist as Mr. Olson pulled Adri aside.

My phone buzzed from my pocket. Without looking at the ID, I answered.

 “Speaking.”

“I have a bone to pick with you.” 

It was Bart.

“What?” I moaned as I flipped through the pages of the packet.

“You know the filming studio we rented for the day?”

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you tell me we had changed the location?”

I froze. 

“...what?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“The studio stopped me from going in and said we didn’t have the studio today! Then, when I told him who I was, he told me that we had cancelled our time there! I called the crew and they told me that they got an email that we had changed to a different location! So now, I look like a fool! Why didn’t you tell me we switched studios!?”

“Because I didn’t!” I signed the papers quickly and handed the receptionist the packet, “I have no recollection about sending an email! What studio do we have now?”

“The FASL Studio. On the other side of town. It’s a good thing I decided to come early! The donuts ended up being cold though.”

“OTHER SIDE OF TOWN?!” I roared, despite my calm surroundings, “I’m at the school! I’m going to be late!”

“The school?” Bart asked, suddenly sounding worried, “Why? What happened?!”

“Your new daughter reenacted a scene from a 80s highschool sitcom.” I huffed, holding the bridge of my nose, “Does the cast know about the change?”

“Yeah. They are already here. What do you mean by-”

“I’ll tell you when I get there. I gotta go. Bye.” I quickly hung up and grabbed Adri’s arm. “Sorry, Sir.” I said hurriedly. “I gotta go. I’ll be sure to make sure Adri is doing her work and feeling guilty about what she has done. Goodbye.” I hurried out of the principal’s office. 

>

Mr Olson shook his head as the girls left. “Still the same Ike.” He said, turning back into his office.

>

I pulled Adri into the car and gave the driver the new address of the studio. “And try to find a way around that traffic.” I huffed, “I’m going to be late as it is.”

“I’m not going home?” Adri asked, stupidly.

“No.” I kept my eyes glued on my phone as I pulled up my email, “We are going to the studio. But you aren’t going to be doing anything but work. Did Mr. Olson give you a packet to work on?”

“Yeah.” Adri hesitated, showing me the large packet in her hand, “It’s just busy work. They don’t even grade me for it.”

“I don’t care.” I stretched my jaw, “You’re doing it.” Adri opened her mouth to protest but closed it as I cursed. In my sent emails was the email Bart was talking about. It talked about moving locations for the day and how I was sorry for the inconvenience it might bring. 

Except I didn’t write it. 

I would have called Bart to tell him. I would have even told the crew in person if I had the chance. 

There was no way I had sent that email. 

I scrolled down to look at the email's information. 

But before I could read it, my phone screen glitched. I growled and hit it. A high pitched noise radiated from my speakers, causing me to yelp and hold the phone away from me as Adri covered her ears.

“Turn it off!!” She called.

“I don’t know how!!” I screamed, jamming the volume down button on the side of the phone. The ringing stopped and the phone’s screen turned white. A cursive black text gradually appeared on the screen.

“Brought to you by your friend, Key”

 Then, the screen went black. Adri and I stared at the phone, trying to process what had just happened. I tried turning the phone back on. 

Nothing. 

I tried holding the power button down.

 Still nothing.

“Oh come ON!” I boomed, pressing the button repeatedly, “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’ve only had this phone for a week! Victor told me it was the best they had! What the hell?!” I growled and threw my phone into my lap. I rested my elbows on my knees and threw my head in my hands. An awkward silence washed over the car.

“... would it help if I said I feel really bad for what I did?” Adri asked timidly.

>>>

I pulled Adri by the wrist as I ran into the studio. We were only a few minutes late thanks to a shortcut past the traffic but I wasn’t taking any chances. I flashed the guard my id card and pushed open the door. People were bustling around the large studio carrying various tools, set pieces, and props. I pushed through the crowd and searched the faces. I spotted Bart speaking to someone by the snack table. He was a young man with beautiful blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a stunning smile.

“Ho thank goodness.” I breathed deeply, “Kiro made it.”

“WHAT!?!” Adri exclaimed from next to me, “KIRO’S-” I tugged at her wrist, quieting her. 

“No.” I hissed, “Not for children who don’t respect the few who don’t get paid nearly enough to deal with their bull.” I flagged down a crew member, “Excuse me. Where are the dressing rooms?” The employee gestured to a wall with multiple doors on it. I thanked him and pulled Adri with me as I walked to them. I opened one and pushed her inside. “Now you’re going to sit in here and work on your packet.” I pointed angrily to her. 

“What?!” Adri scoffed, “I am literally within spitting distance with my idol, and you won’t even let me see him?!”

“No.”

“Why?!”

“You know why!!” I barked, “You started a riot in the middle of class!! I had to be pulled away from an important breakfast to pick you up!”

“What, with the friend you met a week ago?” Adri snapped, “The little producer that is so small even I can-”

“Shut your mouth.” I spoke menacingly through my teeth. The air in the room became tense and strangely cold. Adri stopped talking, “You say anything insulting or degrading about that woman and I swear you'll regret the very second you met me, do I make myself clear?” Adri seemed at the verge of saying something but, in fear of her life, she kept her smart mouth shut. “Now I’m going to go do my work and you’re going to do yours. And you'll do it in this room and silently. End of discussion.” I turned and headed out the door.

“Worst sister ever.” Adri said under her breath.

“Deal with it, princess. This is what happens when you break the rules.” I slammed the door shut with those last words. The entire studio went silent as the bang of the door echoed through the hall. I took a moment to catch my breath. Never had I ever lost my temper like that. Sure, it has been a stressful day but… the moment she brought up Youran… Something in me snapped. Like it was my job to- I shook my head, Now was not the time to be thinking about this kind of thing. I've got shit to do.

I cleared my throat and looked around. My eyes landed on a security guard nearby. “You!” I called, pointing at him. He jumped and came to attention. I pointed to the ground next to me. He quickly walked over to me.

“Yes, mam?” He asked.

“I want you to stand at this door and not let anyone in or out without letting me know first. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mam.” The guard assumed his position at the door. I looked around the still silent studio. “Young!” I walked briskly over to the director, “Fill me in. And make it quick.”

>

“Oh no.” Bart hissed as Young took Ikamara around the studio, “Ike’s in a bad mood.” 

“Ike?” Kiro asked, watching them as well, “Is that the Ike you were talking about? Your other producer?”

“Yup.” Bart sighed, “I was hoping you would catch her on a better day. She is a very kind person, really, but she can sometime be-”

“Why is this not done?!” Ike’s harsh voice carried over the quiet studio, “I’m late once and you guys think it’s time to slack off?!”

Bart leaned close to Kiro and whispered softly to him, “... I know you asked for her specifically, but I would be more than happy to spend the day showing you around if you’d prefer it.”

“Don’t worry.” Kiro smiled sweetly, “I think I can handle it.”

>

I shoved the clipboard back into Young’s arms, “Too much needs to get done in too little time.” I growled, “Quit lollygagging and do your job. I don’t pay you to sit back and do nothing!” Young skulked off, clearly embarrassed. 

“Man!” A familiar voice spoke from next to me, “You really tore into him!” I turned and saw Minor walking to me. He wore a pleasant smile but that vanished when he saw my face. “Something wrong boss?”

“'Something wrong?'” My tone dripped with anger, “You’re twenty minutes late, Minor! I’ve fired for less!”

“S-sorry, boss!” Minor’s tone quickly changed, “I-I went to the wrong location! I didn’t know we had changed studios! Th-then I couldn’t get a hold of you and got stuck in traffic... I promise it won’t happen again!” I glared at Minor. He gulped and bowed deeply. After a moment, I loosened my jaw.

“Don’t worry about it.” I grumbled, rubbing the bridge of my nose to steam my growing headache, “I was late for the same reason. Sorry for snapping. It’s… been a long day.” Minor relaxed and stood up straight again.

“No problem.” He smiled kindly, “It happens! Maybe it’s just in the air. I was told an email went out about the location change? But I didn’t get one. Maybe we were both meant to have a bad day.”

“Right.” I said slowly, “... you have a thing for conspiracies, right, Minor?” 

“Yeah.” Minor chuckled, "You can say that."

“What about hackers? You know anything about them?” 

“Of course!”

“What can you tell me about a hacker named, Key?”

“Key??” Minor asked excitedly, “Man, what don’t I know about them?? Let’s see, well, to start off, they are a white hat hacker. Meaning that what they do what they do ethically.” I huffed and folded my arms. Ethically?? What is so ethical about sending my company on a wild goose chase and killing my phone?! 

Someone tapped my shoulder. I whipped my head around with a glare, only to drop it as my eyes met a familiar ocean of blue.

“Hi!” Kiro smiled kindly, “I’m Kiro. I think you’re the person that’s assigned to help me around the studio today.” I froze and examined his face up close for the first time in weeks.

“... You’re supposed to be in makeup.” I growled, “Where is Gina? Gina!”

“I’ll let you be.” Minor chuckled nervously, backing away from my once again rising, wrothful mood.

I dragged Kiro around the studio, preparing him with makeup and costumes and scripts, giving neither of us a break from the hustle. “Young.” I stopped the stage director and pointed to Kiro, “Get him ready for the first scene.” Young nodded and gestured for Kiro to follow him. I turned and began to walk away

“Give me a second.” Kiro grabbed my arm and held a finger up to the director. He pulled me aside, “Can I ask you a quick question?”

“Is it about the shoot?” I asked seriously.

“...No?” Kiro answered slowly. I opened my mouth to protest, “It’ll be super fast!” Kiro begged, clapping his hands together, “I promise!” I looked at him with an arched eyebrow. He clutched his hands together and brought them up to his mouth, smiling sweetly. I sighed.

“Fine.” I placed the clipboard down and gave him my full attention, “What is it?”

“It’s about the girl that gave you my information.” Kiro asked excitedly, “When will she get here? She said we would be working together today.” 

I froze, my heart sinking to my feet.

Didn’t he recognize my voice? We’ve talked a fair few times. Maybe he forgot what I sounded like… or maybe I had scared him that day with how awful I was treating everyone. Maybe he thought Super Stranger wouldn’t be so hard on her employees. Maybe he didn’t want it to be someone like me… maybe he didn’t want it to be me.

I cleared my throat, “She called and canceled. Something about having something important come up... Sorry.” Kiro’s face fell slightly.

“Oh.” He nodded, still holding a soft smile, “Ok. Thanks!” Kiro forced a larger smile on his face as he walked away from me. I sighed, fighting the lump in my throat. This is why you never meet your idols. 

>>>

Kiro stood on stage for his first scene. I stood next to the camera man, correcting his poor angle. “Ike?” I looked over my shoulder and spotted the costume designer walking over to me with one of the extras dressed as a motorcyclist. “The clasp is stuck on his helmet. I think It’s jammed. Bart said I should go to you?” I took off my blazer and motioned for the extra to come closer to me as the lights in the room dimmed.

“Playback!” Young called through her mega phone, “And… ACTION!” Keeping most of my attention on the extra, I glanced at the stage. Kiro was sitting in a chair by a large desk. He was leaning back, carelessly kicking his feet up onto the table. There was a knocking sound. 

“Come in.” Kiro said, nonchalantly. Even though Kiro was normally so bright, the character he played wasn’t. We had written him to be someone no one would like. Though I was scared Kiro wouldn’t be able to play the character well, his acting was as amazing as ever, stifling any doubt I had. Kiro had this in the bag.

“Dexter Stackman?” The female actor asked as she entered on cue, “The Private investigator?”

“Is that what it says on the door?” Kiro asked.

“Yes?”

“Then you’ve obviously got the wrong person. Try the next room over.”

The crew stifled their laughter. I finally got the clasp undone and helped the extra take the helmet off. “I’ll keep it with me.” I assured the costume designer as she reached to take the helmet, “I think I know how to stop it from doing it again.” She nodded and backed off. I looked at the clasp as I continued to listen to the scene.

“So you're Dexter.” The actress pouted, “I need your help.”

“What help could I give? I’m just some dude sitting at the wrong desk, apparently.”

A creaking noise came from the stage. I looked up. 

“Please, sir. You’re the only one who will listen!”

“Obviously not. Goodbye now!”

I searched the stage carefully with my eyes. Where was that creaking coming from? That’s going to mess with the audio!

“But this case is one you’d be interested in!”

“Does it involve strippers that have had their bikinis stolen?”

“No?”

“Then you’re wrong.”

I huffed and looked up. My breath hitched in my throat. A light swung tediously above the stage. It was rocking unnaturally, almost as if it was about to fall.

I looked straight down from the light. Right under it sat the nonchalant, quipping, boneheaded Dexter, completely unaware of the predicament he was in. 

I threw on the helmet.

“But I-”

“Listen lady,” Kiro stood from his seat and pointed at the actress, “I’ve already told you, I’m not-”

There was a loud snap. Kiro looked above him in time to see the light come hurtling towards his head. I dove into the scene, leaping over the desk and ramming myself into Kiro’s chest, sending us both flying off of the stage. We hit the ground hard as a crash came from behind us. I propped myself up hurriedly to look at Kiro.

“Are you ok?” I asked quickly, inspecting Kiro for any obvious injuries. Nothing was strange except for the rising smile on his face

“Super Stranger!” He threw his arms up in triumph, “I thought you were-” Something clicked on the floor below us. Kiro and I froze. Suddenly, the ground we were laying on flipped backwards, sending Kiro and me into the hole it created. Kiro quickly grabbed onto me tightly as we were launched into darkness.

(Next)

[noveltea-lolita]

Winter King {RusCan}

@aphrarepairweek2020

This is a little gift for @bogbees! They’ve drawn so much fanart for my ongoing fanfic The Witch and the Prophecy that I wanted to thank them by writing them a little drabble! I hope you like it, and thank you so much for all of your support on my story, @bogbees! 

This takes place in the not-so-distant future of TWATP. It’s basically a sneak peak of the second part of the series. I think you can still enjoy this if you haven’t read the parent story. All you need to know is: Matthew is a crippled Seer (has the ability to see the future), and he and a group of characters (the ones mentioned here are Feliciano, Gilbert, Ludwig, and Kiku) are on a journey to save their continent Esmya from the evil king of Avalon.

Warnings: barely mentioned omegaverse. 

Day 7: Magic

Voronsk, capital of the Imperial Kingdom of Glaceria

Matthew thought he knew the meaning of cold, having grown up in the steppes of Glaceria near their shared, northern border with Avalon, and then traveling through Avalon on foot in the winter with minimal items to keep him and his friends warm, but nothing could compare to the freezing temperatures in Glaceria’s capital of Voronsk.

However, the skin piercing cold was bearable, manageable, compared to the horrific crowd in the ballroom of the imperial palace he was in the midst of fleeing from. With every step he took, the base of his oak staff clicked against the slated pavement winding through the dense, evergreen filled royal garden. He stopped, and let out a long, visible breath when he deemed himself safe from the hungry eyed dvoryanstvo- Glacerian nobility- that were so desperate to speak with him.

“What sort of magic does a Seer possess?” “A long lost prince of Avalon… How extraordinary!” “But you are a beta, what kind of power could you possess in court?”

Matthew’s skin prickled beneath his heavy blue coat as he thought of the many words thrown his way before he had been able to slip away, head down the grand staircase, and flee via the royal garden. The guards lined against the door didn’t try to stop him, probably since he and his friends were here as personal guests of His Majesty, though it was nerve racking walking past them.

But he was out of the amber ballroom, glistening with brightly lit sconces and jewel dripping dvoryanstvo. Deeming it safe, Matthew stopped beside a stone bench in front of a small lake and took a seat, allowing his twisted, ruined left knee a well-deserved rest. He ran a black gloved hand over his face and forced himself to count to ten. Slowly, he began to calm down.

He took one more deep breath before opening his eyes in order to take a proper look at his surroundings. The palace garden must be larger than he originally imagined considering there was an inky lake in front of him, surface filled with the millions of stars twinkling in the black sky above. Scattered throughout the garden were evergreen trees, shrubs, and bushes, but not much else. That was no surprise; Glaceria was a land of everlasting winter. There wasn’t much of anything that grew. Piles of snow rested around garden though servants had swept it away from the slated path; it glistened from the dark green trees and dripped from holly berries. Matthew preferred the sight over the dancing bodies and jewelry from the ballroom.

Here, it was quiet. Only the sound of his own breathing and faint music from the palace drifted through the air on soundwaves. There was an eerie stillness surrounding the garden, but Matthew didn’t mind it. It just reminded him he was alone right now, and that’s what he wanted more than anything.

He turned his head to the side in order to look at the mighty palace he had just fled from. From the outside, the palace seemed almost simple with white and pale turquoise walls. It was interior that told everyone just how grand it actually was. Mosaics, and gold, and amber. Beauty was etched in every corner of it. From his seat in the garden, he could see the white balcony leading from the ballroom, his vision only slightly obscured by the trees.

Inside the ballroom, his friends were dancing or eating or talking the night away. His heart twisted within his chest as he thought of them, and how stressed, and tired, and on edge they had all been since their departure from Avalon weeks ago, but tonight they had seemed happy. Dressed in extravagant clothes tailored by the very best in Glaceria, they were each treated as personal guests just as he was.  Even Feliciano and Kiku, whose thoughts had been with their children left behind with the rebellion, had been bouncing in excitement- or rather, Feliciano had been bouncing while Kiku smiled and allowed his friend to talk his ear off. They were all having fun together.

But Matthew didn’t… belong with them. He looked away from the balcony and stared at his thighs. Like the others, he too wore an outfit made specifically for him. Tight black pants and knee high boots threaded by blue laces with a golden belt looped around his waist. His shirt was completely covered by his blue jacket- it was the kind of jacket that was longer in the back, but he knew next to nothing about fashion so the specific name of the style was lost to him. Stitched around the jacket’s collar, arm cuffs, and the tops of his boots were fluffy white puffs that looked like clouds. It was buttoned together by actual gold, and the exterior lining looked like threaded gold. His hair was tied back in the tiniest ponytail, allowing only a few curly strands to fall against his powdered face.

Apparently, make-up wasn’t something only omegas wore in Glaceria. He should be lucky he wasn’t stuffed into a corset like Feliciano and Gilbert. He drew the white handkerchief from his pocket after removing his glasses, and pressed it against his face. He pushed against his flesh, trying to scrub every last drop of make-up from his skim. When he dropped the now stained cloth back to his lap, his face still felt sticky but not nearly as heavy.

Matthew blinked at the lake with a heavy chest. He couldn’t be happy like his friends, not when destruction was on the horizon. Not when his heart was so twisted and confused. Not when he couldn’t even master the magic thought to be in his veins. He tilted his head back to the stars, twinkling dimly beneath a sheen layer of clouds.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispered, hoping someone, anyone, was listening. “Now would be a great time for another vision. Something, anything, that lets me know we’re doing the right thing.”

But the stars, and the gods, and the ones who walked Esmya before him were silent. As usual. He lowered his head with a wry smile. “Guess not.”

“I thought I might find you out here, Matovyy.” Matthew shivered without meaning to, but the deeply accented voice that said his name always sent unwanted chills down his spine. Without looking up, he made to stand, but the voice stopped him. “No need to bow, we are past that stage, yes?”

“I, I suppose we are.” Slowly, Matthew turned his head to face the alpha approaching him. Tall and large, bigger than Ludwig and Herakles even, was the King of Glaceria, Ivan. For a king, his clothes weren’t nearly as exquisite as the nobles in his palace. He wore black pants, pale brown boots, and a long dark purple coat with platinum buttons. The collar of the jacket was folded against his chest, allowing his signature scarf to make home around his neck. The scarf didn’t match the rest of his outfit, or the diamond encrusted crown atop his head, but it matched him, Ivan Braginski.

And Matthew wasn’t entirely sure how he felt knowing what did and didn’t match the Winter King’s personality.

Unsure of what to do, he patted the space beside him but Ivan shook his head. Instead of sitting, he walked closer to the bench and stood beside it, drowning out Matthew’s presence. He tried not to stare at the alpha, but it was hard not to. Ivan was very… something. Something Matthew had never seen before, and, try as he may, he could not ignore the invisible force pushing him toward the man.

“Are you allowed to be out here?” Matthew asked without really thinking. His eyes widened. “I-I meant, should you be out here? Of course you’re allowed to be, since you’re the king, but won’t your people miss you?”

He still wasn’t sure how to talk to Ivan.

Ivan grunted. “Crowds are not my favorite.” His words were just a bit awkward in the common tongue. Matthew offered to speak in the Glacerian language when they first met, but Ivan refused, claiming he needed more practice with the common tongue of Esmya. “I much prefer the garden. My sisters can… entertain the guests.”

“Oh.” Matthew finally looked back at his lap, and his heart stuttered when he took in the handkerchief shining against his legs. He snatched it back up and shakily stuffed it in his pocket before Ivan could say anything. Gods, he hoped the other hadn’t seen it!

“I do not think you need it either,” Ivan said. “Powder. You are very beautiful without it.”

Matthew nearly choked on the icy air as an extra wave of embarrassment crashed into him. “Oh.” He cleared his throat before it could crack. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Ivan was ridiculously blunt. He didn’t blush and flail as he complimented Matthew, like… someone else had. The breath caught in his throat at the thought of that someone. He abruptly stood, gripping his staff for dear life. “Well. I, uh, will leave you to your solitude. I think Ludwig wanted to dance- I mean, not Ludwig, he wouldn’t want to do that. Feliciano is who I meant. Good night-”

“Matovyy.” Matthew froze as a large, ungloved, freezing cold hand rested against his own. It was so cold, he could feel it through the fabric of his own glove. “Stay. And dance with me.”

Ivan’s bright purple eyes were unflinching as they bore into his own. He should say no, claim he was tired or that his friends would be worried about him, but that invisible force shoved him harder and he found himself murmuring, “Okay.”

Ivan smiled. “We will make a magic lesson of it, yes?”

Since they arrived in Voronsk one week ago, Ivan had been giving Matthew magic lessons.

“Our magic is similar,” Ivan had said during their first lesson. “I am a druid and a Ledyanoy, you are a witch and a Seer. We must use spells in order to draw the magic from our veins. It cannot just appear from sheer will alone, like a Fae, shapeshifter, or Elementalist.”

The success rate is debatable.

But a magic lesson meant Matthew could hide behind that. There didn’t have to be any… any sort of romance involved. No, what was he thinking of? Dancing didn’t mean romance! He’s danced with Feliciano before and that wasn’t romantic! It was just a friendly waltz. That’s all this would be. He hoped… did he hope for that?

Matthew nodded. Ivan let go of his hand and removed his diamond crown, placing it on the bench. Then he pried the staff from Matthew’s other hand and let it lean against the bench, right beside the crown. There was a faint, barely there, golden glow inside the etched out runes across the staff, but they were ignored for now as Ivan led Matthew across the snowy garden until they were right in front of the lake.

“The first kind of magic I taught you is the magic of ice,” Ivan said quietly, his deep voice unusually soft. “It is difficult to master, but it is the easiest to create in my home.”

Ivan closed his eyes and whispered the words of the spell in the rough Glacerian language. Nothing visibly happened until he took a step onto the lake and ice appeared beneath him, keeping him above the surface. He kicked his foot back as if he were ice skating and glided further across the unfrozen water. Matthew tried not to gasp as Ivan continued gliding against the lake, leaving a small trail of ice behind that melted after a few seconds. The top of the lake was so dark, it looked like Ivan was floating through the air. His hands stayed behind his back, folded against the small of it. He was beautiful.

He drew to a stop in front of Matthew and held out a hand. “You will stay afloat like this while holding on to me.”

Matthew’s eyes widened. Oh, dear. “I- I don’t think I’m skilled enough to do this just yet. Besides, my knee isn’t strong enough to…” He trailed off because he knew, no matter what excuses he gave, Ivan wouldn’t let him walk away. He was a very strict teacher. With a small sigh, he said, “I’m not sure if I can forgive you if you let me fall in.”

Surprisingly, Ivan made a sound that could have been a laugh. “I will catch you, Matovyy.”

He believed those words. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to remember all there was to creating magic such as this. Druids and witches could only use natural magic, like ice, water, and lightning. They could never be as powerful as Elves, Fae, or Elementalists, but it was powerful enough that the humans in Avalon feared them. Whispering the spell and focusing every bit of attention to his feet, Matthew took a step toward the surface of the lake.

And stayed afloat. He blinked in shock. There was ice spreading from the bottoms of his feet! He was doing it! Then he gasped as his balance began to wobble, and he slumped forward, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for the water to consume him, but it didn’t. He fell into an impossibly hard chest that was, perhaps, a mixture of fat and muscle, and stayed afloat. An arm wrapped itself around his waist and drew him even closer as an extra layer of ice spread beneath his left foot. He blinked up at his savior, one of the few people he actually had to look up to properly look into their eyes.

Ivan was smiling. “We will work on it.”

Matthew was too breathless to speak. He gasped as Ivan started moving backwards, pushing against the gentle flow of the water. He gripped Ivan’s jacket as he tried keeping the ice against his feet, as he tried not to think about the cold plunge that could be seconds away. Instead he tried to think about the heatless body he was clinging to, and the graceful movements he was trying to fall into sync with.

“You are not looking,” Ivan said with, what sounded like, a smile on his face. “You cannot see much with your face in my chest.”

Matthew didn’t look up. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“You are smart enough to concentrate while looking at your surroundings.” Still, he didn’t. “If you cannot believe in yourself then believe in me. I will not let you fall. I give you a King’s promise.”

Matthew couldn’t help his small smile. “What does that mean?”

Ivan’s cool breath misted against his ear. “It means if I break it, I will step down as King.”

The background music completely faded as Matthew’s grip against the velvet jacket loosened. “You have that much faith in yourself?”

“No. I have that much faith in you.”

It was like Ivan’s words were a spell. Slowly, the ball of nerves raging within his stomach smoldered as he picked his head up and stared at the one looking down at him, the stars and evergreens a backdrop behind him. There were flecks of frost in his purple eyes. Matthew wanted to count them. Ivan smiled softly. “There. It is not so scary, you see?”

It wasn’t, but there was something inside of him that still trembled and wanted to look away from the eyes staring into his own. Was it curiosity or magic that burned his soul and caused his body to tremble? The invisible force was relentless as it continued to guide him toward the alpha before him, and he decided to let it take him somewhere new, and different, and… and… and…

Ivan pressed a hand to his cheek as they continued to move against the lake. He smiled and they drew to a halt, his hand still against Matthew’s cheek. He pressed his thumb against the bone, sending a bolt of icy electricity through his body. He said nothing as he leant down and pressed his cold lips to Matthew’s while the only noise Matthew gave was a surprised, ‘mmf’. Deep inside his mind, something was trying to compare this kiss to the one before it, the kiss between himself and another, but he pushed it down. Maybe it was against his better judgement, but he shoved it back into the crevice of his mind as he wrapped his arms around Ivan’s neck and kissed him back with fervor.

He wasn’t entirely sure what this kiss meant, or where it would lead, but he wanted to find out. He wanted to experience something new and passionate like this… just like this…

Behind one of the evergreens, the White Wolf stared at the figures magically standing on top of the unfrozen lake with their arms around each other and their lips connected. He turned away and headed back to the palace, and pretended not to notice the rupture in his chest.  

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Rescue, Part One: Danny

For those of you wondering what happened to make Nate start planning a murder... this is the first part of the Rescue story, from Danny’s POV. The second half is from Nate’s POV and is upcoming.

CW: Oh, I have a bunch. Pretty clearly implied/obvious noncon (not graphic!), noncon touching and kissing on top of the already, again, real obvious noncon. Self-victim-blaming, suicidal ideation (of the “I wish I was dead” variation, but please be safe), muzzling, violent abuse, and yes, you finally get to see Abraham Denner real, real angry.

Tagging my people: @finder-of-rings @special-spicy-chicken @bleeding-demon-teeth @spiffythespook

What he would tell Ryan about, later - when he could tell him anything at all, when his voice stopped locking up because he had to be good, he was good, he was trying so hard, when he’d seen Dr. Rosa for long enough to feel like he could talk about it - was his birthday.

It was the day he fucked up again, really fucked up, and Nate got really, really mad.

But that was so long ago, Ryan said, when he started to tell him. It took so long to be able to say it, so much work sitting on the floor of Dr. Rosa’s office picking at the healing scars on his face. Eventually, though sitting up late one night with Nate sleeping in the other room and two glasses of whiskey and coke between them, it all started to tumble out. That was half a year before you showed up at that police station.

Danny shrugged, curled on the floor next to where Ryan sat on the couch, just a few inches away from touching his leg. It was as close as he could stand to get. He stayed mad, this time. I was really bad.

Mad enough to spend six months planning a murder?

Danny had looked at the liquor in his glass, and slowly nodded.

He didn't tell Ryan everything, though. His little brother wanted to know, but he shouldn’t know some things, and so Danny didn’t mention that it had started, as so much of Danny’s personal hell did, in Abraham’s bed.

By then, there were more days in Abraham’s bed than out of it, even if he didn’t get to sleep there all that often, and Danny had given up feeling anything but dulled to it. Easier and safer to accept it, easier and safer not to fight. There were knives, in the bed, but that was still better than the barbed wire and the smokehouse and the cellar and the traps - so he didn’t mind the knives that much.

You have to give parts of yourself away when your body isn’t yours anymore, and Danny was an expert at finding some remaining uncovered piece of his identity to hand over to Abraham in exchange for one fewer scar that might otherwise be layered over all the others.

He did everything Abraham wanted, even if it hurt... or worse, didn't - but he kept his eyes on Nate, and it was Nate who did what he could to make it easier on him. When he felt sick, and ashamed, it was Nate who whispered, it's oh-okay, I’m h-h-holding you, I’m g-g-going to make this feel b-better for you.

We’re going to be oh-okay, Red, and sometimes Danny even believed him.

It wasn’t that Ryan didn’t know what Abraham did to him - he had a general idea, the medical records probably told him all he wanted to know and more, and it was unraveling every day in court, wasn’t it? Abraham talked about what he did to him, and Nate talked about what Abraham did, and Danny had had to talk about it to the lawyers in the little room, watching their faces turn grim even as their voices had carefully crafted compassion.

He didn't tell Ryan how it started, that day, because… because by then Danny didn’t even try to fight back. He let himself like it, he let himself go away and buried his thoughts. He was more scared of what Abraham would do if he did fight than what he was about to do when he didn't - and besides, he was good, he had to be good, he wanted to be good.

He just didn’t want to tell his little brother that he gave up. The last time he tried to fight, Abraham had cut his already-scarred hands up so badly he couldn’t use them for more than a week. Nate had had to do his chores, had been punished for Danny’s defiance with Abraham’s knives. Danny had forced himself back to work as fast as he could to get Abraham to stop hurting Nate, and all his chores had hurt like a bitch until the cuts scarred over and healed.

After that, he did what he was told.

He spent his days dreading the nights in bed, and his nights lying awake, mostly on his little mat by the couch, dreading what would come when the sun rose.

The day Nate got angry - and stayed angry, for the first and only time - was Danny’s birthday. He knew that only because Abraham told him, whispered what day it was into his ear over and over until they no longer seemed like words at all, until the pure hate in his heart burned as much as the ropes around his wrists and the pain in his back and the hollow screaming emptiness Abraham had left where Daniel Michaelson used to be.

The cold of Abraham and the warmth of Nate made Daniel feel like he was feverish, burning and freezing at once. He needed a shower, now that they were done, lying on the bed with Danny between them. He needed ten showers. A hundred. Abraham ran a hand through his hair, and Danny held himself still even as rage raced straight through him, rage he had to bury under three and a half years of training to be good.

“Happy birthday, little Red,” Abraham murmured, sliding his cold fingers along the edge of the collar around his neck. The leather, scratchy and rough when it had first gone on, was softened with time and wearing, so comfortable now he barely noticed it was on him except for the feel of the little padlock on the back sometimes bouncing against his neck. Danny curled himself up as much as he could, closing his eyes, hands curled into fists against his stomach, trying to breathe, to stay calm.

He couldn’t turn off his brain.

Do you think that was a fucking gift, you piece of shit? What you just did to me? What you had me do with my friend? Do you think that was a goddamn present? Wrap me up with a fucking bow on my head, give me to me?

I’m sorry I want to be good, I want to be good, I’m so good for you

Do you think I'm fucking grateful for the way you’ve damaged me?

Shut up shut up I’m sorry I’m so sorry

Do you think I love you for it, you fucking psychopath?

Please, please, be good, you have to be good

I used to be a fucking person

No, stop, do better you have to try harder, you have to do better

There used to be no wrong thoughts

Sssshhh, be good be good, he can hear you thinking

"Th-thank you, Abraham, for being so good to me.” His voice was soft, a little sweet, hardly above a whisper. He knew how to speak by now, how to tilt his head back into the touch of Abraham’s cold fingers, to shift back until his shoulder blades pressed against Abraham’s chest. He knew how to swallow down the disgust until it didn’t show at all. “How…" Danny swallowed, wincing at the bitter taste in his mouth. I hate myself. He caught himself before he broke the rule. “Can I ask a question, Abraham?”

“Go ahead,” Abraham murmured behind him, his tone one of someone who felt he was being very generous indeed. Danny’s nails dug into his palms at the sound.

"What birthday is this? I, um, I can't remember."

There was nothing Abraham couldn’t take from him. He’d taken his skin and his body and so much of his mind, his memories. He’d carved a whole new person out of him, bled everything he used to be out and what was left was only what Abraham wanted him to be.

He didn't look back at Abraham, cold fingers that petted through his hair, ice pressed against his back. Instead, he watched Nate get out of the bed on the other side of him. The older man’s muscles shifted a little, the scarring across his torso and the soft pinkish circles around his neck evidence that even being Abraham’s favorite wasn’t exactly an easy or safe position to hold. Nate didn’t quite look at either of them as he left the room.

I’m s-s-so sorry, R-Red, I’m so s-sorry, it’s going to be oh-okay, wh-what do you w-w-want me to do?

J-Just, please, please, make it hurt less, please

Sssshhh, I’ve g-g-got you, I’ve got y-you, here, I can h-help - here? Would here feel g-g-good?

Please, please, please-... there, yes, please

Danny’s face burned with the shame of everything he had done and was doing and would never stop having to do, until Abraham got bored of him and burned him in the fire just like the body that had owned the cabin before they came here.

"Twenty-sixth," Abraham said, hand in his hair, letting his fingers run through the wavy red, over and over, like petting a dog. Danny closed his eyes at the gentle, comforting touch, felt some of the disgust and shame in him fade.

It was okay. He was only ashamed because he kept thinking about things he wasn't supposed to, anyway. The wrong thoughts were the problem. Abraham hurt him, but he loved them, too, and sometimes it was hard not to just let it all run together, let himself slide away.

Stop it. Stop it stop it stop it. This isn’t how people think. You have to stop thinking the way he wants you to. You have to remember you’re a person.

He doesn’t love you.

How could anyone love you like this?

"I don't feel twenty-six," Danny murmured, as the hand moved to stroke the side of his neck, gently, around the collar. "I barely feel twenty-two." Abraham’s hand slid down his side and over his hip and Danny turned his head, fighting back tears as he pushed his head into the pillow.

Please stop touching me

Nate came back, three opened beers in his good hand hanging by the necks and clinking together, and sat down at the edge of the bed. Abraham took his and briefly pressed the cold bottle to the back of Danny’s neck with a mischievous grin, laughing when he jumped at the sudden chill, a nervous smile flashing across his face and then gone.

I hate you so fucking much

Ssshhh no puppies love their owners, stop it, he’ll hear you, think good dog thoughts

I hate myself so fucking much

"C-can I…?" He had one hand out towards his beer, then pulled it back, looking to Abraham first.

"Kiss me first," Abraham commanded, but it was teasing, like he thought this was real flirting. Danny had had a boyfriend or two do something like that, in the life he wasn’t supposed to remember. Danny swallowed back his disgust and obeyed, twisting around to press his lips briefly to Abraham’s, barely a brush before he pulled back, face burning under the knowledge that Nate was watching him, and worse - Nate understood exactly how it felt.

It would have been easier if the asshole weren't such a good fucking kisser.

"That's my good boy. You were good, today." Abraham's voice was smug. He was always smug now. “Now what do we say, puppy?”

"Thank you for letting me have a beer, Abraham," Danny said quickly, voice flat and empty. “Thank you for bringing me a beer, Nate.” He took a drink of the ice-cold IPA when Nate handed it to him. Danny had always hated IPAs and light beer, had always been the one to order endless Guinness at the bar, but Abraham only bought IPAs. Daniel hadn't had a dark beer since before (don't think about before, Abraham doesn't like that, there is no life before Abraham) - and really, IPAs were fine, he liked them now, he'd learned to like them.

It was fine. It was all fine, because it was forever, and Abraham's hand was still on him, still-

I feel so fucking sick

Twenty-six years old and he'd spent nearly four of them trapped here. He was never going to leave. No one would want him now, Abraham said it all the time. No one wants a fucked-up slut with a face full of scar tissue, no one. He made him say it, made him say it on his back and on his knees and in the kitchen cooking dinner and sweeping and dusting and cleaning the bathroom and walking traps and hunting and and and

(no one’s going to love you ever again but me, me and my Nate)

Inhale.

No one’s going to love me ever again

(but me and my Nate)

Hold for five.

Exhale.

The things I’ve done make me unlovable

(look at you pretending you don’t like it)

“I-I need a sh-shower," Danny said, voice shaking, the thoughts circling round and round and round. Down the drain with the rest of him, whatever was left, down the drain in the shower while Abraham watched.

What was left?

"But I like it when you smell like us," Abraham said with a barking laugh, and Danny didn’t flinch, because he never flinched any longer. Instead, he laid still and choked back the curses that had never left his mind, wishing he had superpowers or magic or something so he could kill him with those curses.

I wish you were dead, I wish I was dead, I wish this could just be fucking over

"L-l-let him sh-shower, Bram," Nate said, and there was something firm and strong in his voice that was almost never there. Something surprising enough that even Abraham stilled behind him, and Danny caught the flash of white-blonde hair in the corner of his eye as Abraham looked up.

“What did you say, baby?”

Nate and Abraham’s eyes met, and Danny’s mouth opened, just a little, in surprise as he didn’t see Nate fade away like he always, always did when Abraham looked right at him. Instead, Nate’s jaw settled into a grimly straight line. “You sh-sh-should let him take a sh, shower,” Nate said, quietly, taking a sip of his beer. “Please.”

There was a pause, and Danny felt his muscles all tensed so tight they might snap. Then Abraham shifted behind him, pushing himself up to sitting, and said, “Fine.”

Danny looked up at Nate, so fucking grateful he could choke on it. With a sigh, Abraham took his hands from Danny’s body and Danny scrambled away, nearly falling off the bed he moved so fast.

He wasn’t chained up - not today. The chain got in the way and besides, Danny had stopped trying to run away a long time ago.

"After his shower, he opens his presents, though,” Abraham said, smiling, reaching out one hand. Nate shifted into the bed automatically as Danny left it. He could see, as he moved, Nate tilting his head the way Abraham liked, looking at him from behind his shaggy, overgrown black hair.

But Nate’s eyes were cold, and clear, and cool.

They were entirely his own.

Danny stepped out into the living room, already feeling better just getting some distance, taking a deep breath of cool, clean air. He could hear them behind him, still speaking in low voices. Soft and sweet and loving with each other. Abraham cut Nate with love in his eyes, real love, the blade slipping through Nate’s skin as a kiss.

With Danny he was never so gentle.

What he told Ryan, later, was that it was his twenty-sixth birthday, and he'd walked out of the bedroom to take a shower. 

When he got out into the living room, he’d stopped and stared up at the small stuffed white raven that perched on a tree branch Abraham had set against a wooden plaque and hung above the kitchen doorway. Abraham had brought it home one day when winter was just starting to turn to spring, done all the taxidermy himself, set in the little pink glass eyes.

A white raven is a good luck charm for something like me, Abraham had told Danny, very seriously, as he climbed up the ladder. Danny had watched him from his place sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands folded in his lap. They bring us god-favors if we kill them the right way. Do you know what this means, little Red?

N-No, Abraham, I’m sorry. I don’t know what that means.

It means my sister will come back to me one day, puppy. I only have to wait. That is the message the raven brings - I put the coins on her eyes, the ones we saved, and her debt will be paid. My sister will find me, when she wakes, and we’ll be a family again. Abraham’s eyes had shone, glimmered with real tears, and Danny recoiled from the sight. Ashley and I and my Nate, and the puppy. Abraham had looked at Danny over his shoulder, smiling. She’s going to love you, little Red.

The raven’s wings were out like it would take flight any moment, beak slightly open, and its head twisted so it looked right down at him.

Danny hated the fucking raven. It watched him while he slept, he was sure of it. He knew that meant he was probably losing his mind, but it didn’t matter. He still felt those little glass eyes follow him at night.

On his twenty-sixth birthday, he’d looked up at the raven - those pink eyes and white feathers - and felt with absolute certainty, not for the first time, that he would die in this cabin. He was just the dog in a heartwarming domestic story, the pet in Abraham Denner’s happily ever after.

What he didn't tell Ryan was that he swore, he swore, he wasn’t crazy he fucking heard it - the raven had said in a croaking avian voice, you will die the puppy, the scarred up slut, the whore, and no one will miss you when you are gone.

He didn't tell Ryan about the way he had felt something in him crack apart with three and a half years of shame and rage and he was so fucking dirty now.

All he said to his brother was that he looked at the raven, and he was just fucking done.

He threw his full beer bottle as hard as he could, watching the liquid and foam spray in an arc into the air, and hit the stupid fucking thing right in its stupid fucking face.  There was a shatter of glass when the bottle fell and hit the ground, and a half-second later the plaque with the raven fell, too, slamming into the ground with a heavy thunk.

A wing snapped out, the head cracked, a little glass eye popped out and rolled across the floor until it bumped, just a little, into Danny’s big toe on his left foot. It stopped staring straight up at him. No one will miss you when you are gone.

Daniel stared, eyes wide, aware that he had just done something he could not escape punishment for. Fucking whore, the raven said, or maybe that was his own mind. Scarred up worthless body. You're nothing but what he made you, who would want you? Who could stand those scars but Abraham? Who would ever kiss them but Nate?

Look at you, look at your face, look at how little is left of you. Go back in there and do the only thing you're fucking good for now.

(that’s better, see, you were trying to hold back but you never hold those sounds back for long - god I love the blood on your face)

Later, he'd hear from Nate that he had screamed - he didn't remember, the static in his head was too loud, the beat of blood rushing through his veins drowned out everything but the raven's voice hissing he is pleased, he is pleased, what a perfect offering.

Abraham and Nate ran out of the bedroom to find Daniel bashing the plaque into the floor to destroy the raven further, white feathers strewn everywhere, the stuffing scattered across the floor.

"I'm not a fucking dog!"

Nate told him later that he was screaming the words, and crying. "I'm not a pet, I'm not a whore, I’m not the puppy, I'm a goddamn fucking person and I used to have a name!"

He didn't tell Ryan that part, either, about the crying.

Nate pulled him back and he was struggling and fighting to get away, not even aware any longer of where he was or who had grabbed him and all he felt was an arm gripping his wrist, and he didn’t want that, he didn’t want to be touched any longer he was so fucking tired of hands that never stopped touching him.

He spun around and punched Nate as hard as he could across the jaw, sending him stumbling back away from him.

It all crashed back in, all at once, and Danny gasped as he looked at the only person who was kind to him. He had hurt the only thing he had left, the only person who could love what he'd turned into - who kissed his scars and told him they didn't matter.

"I'm sorry," Daniel whispered, but it was too late. "I'm so sorry, Nate, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Abraham’s voice was a growl, and his ice-blue eyes glowed so brightly they lit up the skin around them nearly white. Light lined the edges of his skin, but it was the way sun glints off ice, blinding and without warmth. “How dare you hurt him. How dare you, you piece of shit little dog. How dare you break the god-raven!”

Daniel slowly looked down to where the man who had ruined his life was kneeling next to the ruins of the stuffed bird, and felt all the blood inside of him freeze at the deep well of glacial rage in the icy eyes when they met his.

When the things moved underneath Abraham’s eyes, they were dark and the lake was deep, and the things inside of Abraham were angry.

Nate’s face had gone white, pale as snow, and he rubbed at the spot Daniel had punched. "Abraham, calm d-down, okay? He's just h-h-having a h-hard t-t-time-"

"Get the fucking muzzle," Abraham said in a very soft, quiet voice.

"Please no," Danny said, but it wasn't even really a voice, just air that wheezed out of him. “I-I’m sorry, Abraham, I’m so sorry, please no, don’t put it back on me, I w-won’t… I’m so sorry, I-I stopped trying but I can do better, I'll be good…” He couldn’t do it again. Not again, he couldn’t wear it again. He’d been so good for months and months, he hadn’t even seen it since the last time.

"Abraham, d-d-don't," Nate pleaded, and Daniel simply collapsed backwards onto the floor, not even feeling himself hit the hardwood, as his chest caved in with fear, breathing in gasps. "He's- we can d-do something e-e-else, he's j-just-"

"I said, get the goddamn muzzle. He hurt you and you're going to put it on him."

"I… no. I’m not." Nate swallowed, and stepped forward. “It didn’t h-hurt me, Abraham. He was just sc-scared. He’s just scared.” His voice was stronger, and Daniel, sitting on the floor, leaned slowly against his leg, still staring in terror at Abraham’s glowing white eyes. “He’s, he’s going to have b-bad days, we talked about this, everyone h-h-has bad d-days-”

“He’s a dog that doesn’t know its place,” Abraham said, deadly soft. In the dim light of the cabin his glowing eyes were mesmerizing and terrible. “I am going to teach the puppy his place, Nate, and you are going to help me do it.”

He had fucked up, he told Ryan later. He'd fucked up so badly and he deserved it, really, deserved to be punished for it (oh my god, no you didn’t, Daniel you have to stop talking about it like that, you didn't deserve to be punished for not wanting to be raped anymore) - but Nate hadn't thought so.

Something had started to change in Nate’s eyes on Daniel’s birthday, something… changed inside of him, but Danny hadn't known what it was, then. Only that when Nate spoke again, his eyes and his voice stayed strong.

"I can't." Nate shook his head, putting a hand on top of Daniel's hair, and Danny leaned hard against his leg, like he could hide behind him. Like a puppy trying to hide from a larger angrier dog. "I can't be the one who does that to him!"

"You can and you will." Abraham got back to his feet, glaring Nate down until the other man’s eyes dropped under the intensity of his anger. "Then he goes in the fucking cellar."

"What? No!” Nate’s eyes went wide, and Danny curled himself into a smaller ball, but he knew Nate couldn’t protect him. Not from Abraham. "You know he’s scared of the cellar! Bram, he just broke a stupid stuffed-"

“How dare you. That raven was a gift from our god, and he should fucking repent. He’s going in the cellar.”

All alone in the dark, all alone, the things in the dark, there are things in the dark

“Bram, wh-... what are you going to do to him?” Nate’s voice went weak, nearly a whisper, and Danny choked back at sob as his heart felt like it would beat right out of his chest. Nate could not protect him. No one could protect him.

No one is looking

No one will miss you

"Make him regret his poor goddamn choices, is what."

Nate wasn't stammering, not even a little. He didn't seem to notice, but Daniel noticed, and Abraham did, too. He stepped up as well, reaching down to grab Daniel by one arm, yanking him to his feet and away from Nate with a strength Danny - whose ribs stood out, whose hipbones were sharp enough that Abraham sometimes joked that they’d bruise him - couldn’t match.

"Abraham-" Nate put out a hand like he’d grab Danny back, until the look on Abraham's face stopped him cold. "Don't. Don't hurt him."

"Go. Get. The fucking. Muzzle."

"I said no."

“Here’s what I think of your goddamn no.” Abraham, looking right into Nate's narrowed green eyes, snapped Daniel's arm like it was a stick. He might have screamed again, he didn't know. He remembered curling over himself, but that was all.

A lot of this was gone, later, when he tried to remember it. It was like looking through a bunch of tiny circles and seeing only parts of memories.

They'd argued some more - and Nate had never argued so long for him, so angrily - but in the end he did what Abraham wanted, he always did, he finally fell into the cold blue eyes.

Danny begged.

He begged, and pleaded, and apologized, and promised to be so good, but none of it moved Abraham in the slightest, it only seemed to make him brighter. Abraham shone while he watched Danny cry for him, and beg not to wear it, and promise anything he could ever ask him to do, promise obedience and sweetness and whatever Abraham wanted - anything he wanted, just please don’t lock him up without a voice again.

Abraham glowed, and he only twisted Danny’s arm harder when he tried to pull away, until he fell to his knees from the pain. Until he sobbed hoarsely, listening to the sound of Nate rummaging through the bedroom closet until he found the muzzle in its special hand-carved black box, set with red velvet.

Sometime between seeing the metal and leather in Nate’s hands as he came out of the bedroom - sometime between that and when Nate, his green eyes blazing but his body moving without him, fitted it right back in place (sparks of pain as the little sharp bits cut hard into his skin, lines of red already bleeding before it even made it over his jaw and his nose) and pulled the strap tight behind his head and closed the little lock that hung off the back - Daniel felt his voice fade from crying to whispering to the welcome way everything began to fade away, distant and impersonal.

Until he found the spot inside his head where what was left of Daniel Michaelson could hide.

He didn't fight when Abraham pulled him along, even though it hurt his arm, or when he shoved him to get him to stay walking towards the kitchen and the door outside. He moved with shuffling feet and his head hanging down, whining in the back of his throat, but he barely felt the vibration and he didn’t even really hear the noise.

Nate had to tell him about the whining later, too.

It was okay, really, he told Ryan, the two of them curled up in the living room in the middle of the night. It felt like it was happening to someone else.

It's not okay, Ryan insisted, nearly vibrating with the urge to hug him, his own honeyed eyes glittering with tears, glinting in the dim light from the streetlight outside until they seemed to glow, too. None of it was okay, Danny!

The name still didn't feel like his, but Ryan refused to call him Red, and he’d been feeling better and it didn’t scare him so much to hear it today. So he just smiled at Ryan and shrugged. I'm sorry. It’s what happened.

This is horrible! Danny, what he did to you… over just breaking some stuffed animal he had some sick obsession with, I just. Fuck. Danny, I can’t… this is so fucking terrible.

Danny had thought that Ryan didn’t know the half of it, and he hoped he never would.

It wasn't, he said, soft and comforting. I promise it wasn't. It was… it was happening to someone else.

Someone else couldn't open his mouth any longer and struggled, in his panic and with a nose stuffed-up still from crying, to get enough air to breathe by hissing it in and out through his teeth.

Someone else was making low half-animal whining sounds in his throat as Abraham dragged him outside, Nate staring after them with that odd cold look in his eyes that Daniel had never seen before.

Someone else felt the heat sweltering outside, the crunch of dry grass in the yard. Someone else heard birds singing, caught one last glimpse of the trees and the clear blue sky.

Someone else watched with dull eyes as the cellar door was pulled open, the new one with no little bits of space between the wooden slats to let even the slightest bit of light in.

Someone else went down the creaking wooden stairs into the dark. Someone else smelled the cellar-smell, of overturned soil and stone, musty and wet all at once. Someone else was pushed so he fell onto his side.

Someone else could not scream when someone else landed on Danny’s broken arm, but that someone else tried so hard, pulling against the metal that held Danny’s jaw closed until the pain in his face shrieked inside of him nearly as loudly as the pain in his arm.

Until the dark things crept out from the shadows and into his head to claim him.

Someone else stared at the dog kennel in the corner, the ever-present threat since the second year that was never spoken of and he’d never been put in before, that Abraham opened and gestured to.

“Get in, puppy,” Abraham said. “Or I’ll put you in there.”

Someone else nodded and crawled in, curled into a ball, and watched the wire door - that looked so much like the muzzle on his face - close, watched Abraham lock it with a giant lock like the one on the smokehouse.

Someone else's nose and cheeks and jaw were already raw and bleeding and stinging by the next day, when Abraham came down the stairs with a glass of something and a straw. In his own testimony, Abraham would one day laugh while describing the way he’d come down and found Danny with his face pressed against the cage, trying to rub his muzzle against it, a rhythmic scraping that was the only sound in the cellar besides a constant, faded drip of water. Look you, naked and fucked up, just like your kind should be.

Abraham fed someone else some kind of smoothie thing through a straw that he stuck through the cage. Someone else leaned forward, and managed to get it through the grid over his face so he could close Danny’s lips around it, the liquid having to be sucked back through teeth that couldn’t open, cold down his throat, and he shivered even in the summer. Nate thinks you’ll starve down here, so I’m going to be nice enough to feed you.

Someone else stayed in the kennel for weeks. It was large enough that if someone else put Danny’s back against the grid at the back, he could stretch his legs all the way out, but he couldn’t lay down. He slept like that, slumped over sitting, until Abraham came back the next day to feed him again.

Abraham came down twice a day, to feed him through the cage and then drag him out to be punished and put him aching and bleeding and crying back again, but all that pain was done to someone else.

He couldn’t punish Danny any longer, because Danny was gone.

He lost some time when he was in the cellar, in the kennel, in the dark, all alone.

A lot of time.

What happened after that? Ryan asked in a way that made it clear he wasn't sure he wanted to know. His voice was low and shocked and angry. What did he do, after you were locked up down there in that… in that fucking dog cage?

Ask Nate when he gets up, Danny said, shaking his head.

Ryan didn't like that Nate slept here with him, in the same bed, but he couldn't sleep without him any longer. It was- it felt normal to have Nate there, and besides, Nate wanted to be there. And- they were free now, and Danny wanted to give Nate everything he wanted, for what he’d done. He wanted one day to be safe enough to say he loved him, and to see if maybe Nate could love him back.

I mean, I will, but… why do I have to ask him? It happened to you. You were the one in the cage for five months.

Someone else stayed in the cage for two months.

So what happened after you came out of the cage?

I don’t know… I don’t really remember much until I woke up smelling fire.

[harry-leroy]

for the AU/tropes meme: I saw bodyguard AU and immediately thought of Henry/Margaret! Obviously, Margaret is the bodyguard ;) Tropes to choose from: 11, 14, 18, 35, 52, 53 and/or 54.

Ooh thank you for this, Lisa! I went with some mutual pining because I felt like it matched well with these two, and my favorite number is 18. This was so fun to write and honestly, I feel like I want to do more with this AU after writing this little fic. (Also wrote this kind of in the 80s AU because that is all I’ve been thinking about for the past week :’) ). Enjoy! - p.s. @princess-of-france This might have accidentally started something very 2H5-esque😂 (We stan our French queens).

“Your majesty,” Margaret made an effort to bow with her stiff and aching knees.

“Ah, Margaret,” Henry flashed a smile. It was far from handsome, but it was certainly charming. “There you are,”

He was tossing a cricket ball up and down in his left hand, watching it carefully as he toyed with it. It was his uncle’s suggestion to try sport in order to get the young man outside more. Margaret couldn’t blame him, though Henry was terrible at it. Henry turned his eye away from the ball and towards Margaret, and nearly dropped it.

“Wait,” he said, suddenly becoming shy. “You look quite pretty today. No. That came out wrong. Your dress. I like it. Oh, God,”

He turned away, painfully embarrassed. His face was most certainly a deep red by now, so he dare not look back at her. Margaret always looks pretty, you idiot.

“One must look their best for these occasions, sir,” she said.

To Henry’s credit, the dress she was wearing was lovely. It was a deep red gown with gold embroidery, the best her wealthy French family could send. It wasn’t easy going undercover in the king’s household as a bodyguard when she was truly a French princess.

“Occasions?” Henry turned around, suddenly worried. “What occasions?”

“The state banquet, sir,” Margaret said. “With the French ambassadors?”

“Oh, good lord!” Henry dropped the cricket ball on his toe, flinched in pain, but it was quickly succeeded by the urgency of his remembrance. “You’re jolly right. How could I have missed that?”

“I believe that might not be entirely your fault, sir,” Margaret said.

“It’s my household staff, isn’t it?” Henry was restless.

“No, sir,” Margaret suppressed a giggle. Despite his panic, Henry was quite handsome, especially today. His usual pale skin was freckled and sun kissed. His hair looked brighter than normal, the typical dark ginger had bits of blonde in it. He looked healthier than he had been in months.

“I believe that the Duke of York may be attempting to take more control than he should for his station, sir,” Margaret ventured. She hated the man more than Henry did, they both knew.

“York?” Henry scratched his head. “Well, what do we do about it?”

“I suggest appointing him to positions not nearly as central as the ones that he takes now,” she said. “The movement should be gradual, but eventually effective. But on the shorter term, he ought to be chastised,”

“Fair point,” Henry said. “I’ll get Humphrey to do it first thing,”

Without thinking, he suddenly took hold of Margaret’s shoulders. It was gentle, and kind, not forceful.

“Oh, Margaret. I could kiss you!” he said, laughing. Reality hit all too quickly. As soon as he saw her beautiful eyes, waiting, he let go. “But I won’t. Because that wouldn’t be appropriate, would it? How silly of me. Could you forgive me?”

Margaret felt herself blush as well. It wouldn’t be appropriate in her current position, no. There was something in her heart, however, that told her to tell him right out. I’m a princess. My uncle is the King of France. Don’t worry about it. She kept it in, and instead looked to the floor. It wasn’t exactly what she imagined her first real romance to be like. Kissing a clueless boy in white trousers and smudged glasses. Kissing the King of England. It was funny that they were one and the same.

“Of course, your majesty,” Margaret said. She had the urge to pull him by the collar and kiss him right then and there, with absolutely no care for her esteemed position in the French court, or the English one for that matter. But she didn’t. York could be anywhere, and so could cameras.

“Good,” he muttered, then daring to glance back again, he caught sight of something more alarming. “Oh dear. You’re hurt,”

It was a bruise on the collarbone. Henry felt a fool for not noticing it before, especially given how awful it looked. It was all blue and black and just thinking about it how much it must have hurt made Henry dizzy.

“Oh, no, sir,” Margaret self-consciously put a hand over it. “It’s nothing,”

“How did that happen?” He asked, his voice ten times gentler than before, if that were even possible.

“Just some protestors, sir,” she said. “Really, I am fine. I had a doctor look at it,”

“And nothing’s broken?” Henry asked, swallowing his own queasiness.

“No, sir,” Margaret said, nearly teasing him for worrying so much about her. She knew the risks of the job, and the bruise was the least of her worries. The day it happened, she thought for sure that she had broken something. She nearly cried when it happened, even though she couldn’t quite remember how. There were too many people. But she had to be strong, for her uncle and for France.

“You know, Margaret, I do worry about you,” Henry said. “I feel like... I’m responsible, in some way.”

“Don’t, your majesty,” she said, hushing his fear with a glance. She had heard her uncle lose his patience talking of Henry, of the king too nice and sweet to take leadership of anything. Un partisan. It was, in many regards, true. However, he was also incredibly caring. His heart was in a better place than any of the rest of his council. She would have to force the charm away, but she feared that she might not be able to.

“Well then,” Henry said. “Thank you,”

“For what, sir?” Margaret asked.

“Being here,” Henry smiled, knelt down to pick up his dropped ball, and walked away.