#shelves. in nice colours. (dark blues i think)

[istherewifiinhell]

Carpet cleaning! Fucking done. Room cleaning. Almost very nearly done. Think I'm gonna go at the walls and baseboards. And then it's time to. Fucking Reconstruct a Room.

[captainfern]

i’m still thinking of this post about price and you pretending you don’t know each other at a hotel and i’ve given in to the brain worms

part one | part two ->

18+ (no smut in this one but for future parts), fem!reader

un-edited, super lazy writing + formatting sorry

You sat idly at the bar, your finger running up and down the cool, smooth edges of your glass. You had one elbow propped up against the sleek wood, your body half-turned to watch whatever bullshit was playing on the tv above the shelves of expensive alcohol.

The hotel bustled around you, the bar itself busy with patrons moving to and fro. oftentimes, you felt slightly crowded, with bodies packing in beside you, ordering their poison before departing like a wraith. No one seemed to linger near the bar for too long.

“No company tonight?” The bartender asked, a dark-coloured dish towel tossed over her shoulder. She was a kind looking woman, in her late thirties you estimated, with flawless dark skin that seemed to glow beneath the ambiant lighting above.

You shook your head with a rueful smile. “Not tonight. Just enjoying my own company, I suppose.”

The bartender smiled politely. “Well, that’s nice. You here for business or pleasure?”

You took a sip of your drink, the taste of it washing over your tongue and continuing to put your nerves at ease.

“Pleasure, I think. It’s nice to get away from everything for a while, you know?” You said with your lips still brushing the cold glass, and you took another sip.

“I’m really happy for you,” the bartender smiled. Then, after being waved at by a drunken patron at the other end of the bar, added: “Give me a shout when you need a refill.” She then breezed away to continue her job.

You sighed through your nose, looking wistfully around the bar for a moment. When you returned to your drink, you let your eyes admire the kaleidoscope of colours that comprised the wall at the back of the bar— shelves upon shelves of glass bottles of different kinds of alcohol.

As your eyes alighted on a bottle of Bombay, the blue bottle glinting like some sort of diamond beneath the light, someone slotted into the barstool beside you. You didn’t take much notice, but when you caught a whiff of an expensive, masculine cologne, you couldn’t help but twist your head to the side.

A handsome man had settled in beside you. He was probably in his early forties, with neatly trimmed facial hair that perfectly settled between the angles of his face— his cheekbones, his jawline, the pinkish line of his Cupid’s bow. In the overhead lighting, all dim and moody, his eyes were dark, and his hair speckled with just a few grey strands.

He turned to face you the moment you looked his way, offering you a warm smile that made butterflies tickle the edges of your stomach. You smiled back, before taking another sip of your drink in an attempt to steel your nerves.

Signalling the bartender, he ordered his own drink, and the baritone of his voice had your stomach swooping. Deep and melodious, with a distinct hoarseness akin to a smoker of fine cigars. The rumble of it seemed to do wonders to your fraying nerves, acting as some sort of salve to cool the heat pulsing beneath your skin.

The man thanked the bartender when she placed a tumbler of whiskey before him, the single ball of ice clinking against the crystal. Once more, sending another deep swoop to your stomach, he turned to you with those deep, dark eyes and warm smile, raising his glass.

Your eyes traipsed over his fingers, the roughness of them, the calloused skin pressing against sleek glass. You noted the thickness of them, and the way they wrapped around the tumbler. You also noticed the couple of veins leading from his wrist and down his strong, hairy forearm. You swallowed, and hesitantly lifted your own glass.

“Cheers,” he said, smiling. Crow’s feet appeared at the corners of his eyes, three lines chiseled into his skin over the years.

“Cheers,” you echoed, and the two of you took a moment to sip at your drinks. You swallowed yours, still looking at the man beside you.

He placed his tumbler of whiskey against the bartop, and then leaned an arm against the surface, swivelling his entire body around to face you. He made it known that you had his full, undivided attention. It made you nervous almost.

“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your alone time,” he spoke, and his words were honeyed and sweet, warm mollasses falling from his tongue. “Couldn’t help myself, really. A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be left all on her lonesome.”

You smiled shyly, running the tip of your finger along the ring of your glass. “Oh, no, you’re not interrupting anything at all. I… I don’t mind the company, actually.”

The handsome man’s smile only grew, and it was so warm that you wondered if you’d start to melt.

“That’s good to hear,” he said. “I’m John, by the way.”

He stretched his hand out. You introduced yourself, a first name that fell from your lips a bit more seductively than you had intended, and shook his hand. John seemed to beam at your introduction and the acceptance of his handshake, his broad-shouldered body sitting up just a bit straighter in his seat.

His hand was strong in yours. There was a warmth beneath his skin, seeping from his palm like ichor. It made your hand curl instinctively tighter around his, just a subtle squeeze of your fingers. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, and it took everything in you not to gasp.

When you retracted your hand, John reached for his drink to take a sip.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said before he sealed his lips around the edge of the crystal tumbler. You watched the movement, before dragging your eyes downwards in a sudden realisation.

Your eyes locked in on his other hand, resting on his thick, muscular thigh— stretched out beneath a pair of faded jeans, making you feel warm all of a sudden. Again. His hand was bare. No wedding band. You looked back up at him.

“What brings you here?” You asked, cocking your head slightly as he brought his tumbler of whiskey back to the bartop.

John smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a couple of times, tasting the lingering bitterness of his liquor. He ran his tongue over his teeth, too, the potent drink seeping into the grooves of his molars. He wondered briefly whether you’d be able to taste it if you kissed him.

“A weekend break from work,” he replied simply.

“Oh, yeah? What do you do?”

“I’m in the Armed Forces. A captain.”

“Wow,” you said, impressed. “You must be a busy man.”

John chuckled, eyes meeting yours and darting quickly across your face, as if committing parts of you to memory. He replied with a light quirk in his lips. “I am, yeah.”

He then cleared his throat. “What about you? What brings you here?”

You shrugged, nonchalant. “Just needed a little getaway from home, I suppose.”

“Oh, yeah?” It was John’s turn to cock his head, eyes darkening— if that was even possible— beneath the weight of his pupils, expanding as he gazed at you. “Treating yourself?”

“Mhm.”

“Good girl,” he uttered. “I bet you deserve it.”

You smiled, feeling giddy. Your eyes didn’t leave him, and the butterflies wreaking havoc in your stomach didn’t leave either. They continued, and the way he was looking at you wasn’t much of an insecticide. His gaze was intense, all whiskey smooth and molten hot. You squirmed in your seat.

Your knees brushed— his large ones against yours, and you swear you felt sparks. You wanted so desperately to place the flat of your hand along his leg, hold it there, smiling and bartering your eyelashes and mentally insisting he take you back to his room.

Oh my god. You’d never thought like this before! You would never usually want someone to whisk you back to their room, especially not someone from the bar of a fancy hotel.

But if it wasn’t for the way he was staring at you— hunger and a mixed-bag of lustrous emotions— you would’ve felt guilty. But you didn’t.

“Sweetheart,” John began with a voice that could ignite a fire on a damp winters day. It definitely ignited something within you, stoking at the embers of your desire. He smiled, heated and tempting. “I don’t mean to be forward but… if you’d like too, I’d love to take you back to my room.”

You felt a smile creep over your pretty features. “Wow, John, are you always this forward with the girls you meet?”

He laughed. “Never. You’d be the first.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Trust me. You’re the prettiest woman I have ever seen.”

You grabbed hold of your drink and downed the rest of it— just two swallows, and your glass shone empty. You placed it gently back onto the sleek surface of the bar, not taking your eyes off of the handsome man in front of you.

“I’d love to go back to your room, John.”

Something shifted in his facial expression. Something primal, almost, passing over his features. With blown pupils and a rush of pink to his cheeks, he finished the rest of his whiskey in a couple of deep mouthfuls, before slamming the tumbler back onto the bartop.

The sound attracted the bartender, who sidled over with a knowing smile on her face. “Closing your tab, sir?”

“Please,” John said with a polite nod, getting to his feet. He then placed a hand to the small of your back as you clambered off of your barstool as well. “And put this lovely lady’s drinks on my tab as well.”

The bartender gave you a knowing look, but said nothing. And once everything had been sorted for the evening, John escorted you out of the bar and into the luxurious hotel lobby with a large hand still on the small of your back.

Walking, and with the lifts in sight, John pulled you closer to him, close enough that you giggled at the sensation of him pressed up against you. He smiled, leaning down until his facial hair tickled against the soft skin of the side of your face.

“I must say, you look absolutely stunning tonight, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice like heaven in your ear. Then, the hand on the small of your back smoothed around your waist, holding you impossibly closer, fingers bunching at the material of your outfit. “But I can’t wait to take this pretty thing off.”

[themotherofblood]

Let’s Play Dress Up

Vampire!Rhaenyra x Reader x Vampire!Daemon

masterlist | Bloody Baby AU | Vampire AU

synopsis: Ms Blood Bag breaks a rule to play her little game, stumbles onto Rhaenyra’s midnight snack. Rhaenyra punishes Baby to prove to Daemon she isn’t soft with Baby

warnings: DARK! DUBCON (I think) NONCON (to be safe) blood, blood drinking, infantilism, mdlg vibes? mommy mink, sub space? pet play, spanking (paddle), clamps (nipples and clit), vibrators, exhibitionism? butt plugs and bondage. overstimulation!! degradation!! pussy spanks. heel worship. WlW,

A/N: what have I done 😨

Another day of digging through your closet, gowns of pinks, baby blues, sweetheart neck lines, halter tops, sparkly, tulle, high slits—high slit. You happily shuffled out of your sundress for the day, your getting ready playlist blaring through the ceiling speakers. The red dress hugged your body perfectly, the silk so cold it made your nipples perk up and rub against the fabric. You excitedly twirled, damn— you already imagined your best friend hooting at you once she saw you in this. You clicked a picture and sent it to her, nibbling at your thumb and smiling to yourself.

Makeup, because why not, you still had five hours before Rhaenyra made it home. Daemon had left for Braavos the night before, preparing for the charity gala for a deal well struck. You hummed along, rubbing moisturiser into your skin, you had hoped to put on some mascara, maybe a nice bold lip to match the dress— mostly since it would be easy to scrub off in the shower. It was only then you realised from all the lip glosses, oils and sticks. Not a single red, barely darker than a hot pink. You pouted, you knew this was Daemon’s doing, forever infantilising you to his perfect little girl. The frilly socks and the bowl of candy in your room.

You knew who did have beautiful red shades— Rhaenyra! You knew you weren’t supposed to be in their rooms when they weren’t home. Only having been inside the dark scarlet room twice, the night of the party and the second was when they showed you the cabinet full of dragon eggs. You sauntered over, your Versace pumps clicking against the marble floor as you walked across the corridor to the other end of the grand staircase. You rested your hand upon the gold handle for a moment, looking back to your rooms once more— they wouldn’t know — you pushed the handle open.

The strong scent of mahogany and vanilla filled your nostrils, you once more looked to your rooms and the the floor below through the trim railings to check for Mrs Stone before slowly closing the door behind, wincing at the gentle thud as it latched close. You turned, the thick maroon and sheer white curtains pulled, the only glow in the room came from the heated egg chambers. You happily trotted over, squatting down to admire them once more.

“Hello dragons.” You mused, petting the egg from the outside, finger dragging against the warm glass. “Will you hatch? Maybe one crack…” you spoke to the white egg with gold scales “no? Please?”

What pulled you from your adoration gleam upon the dragons was the quiet but very apparent whines echoing in the room. You looked around the living space, finding nothing as you stood in confusion and stood straight. Walking towards your left to Rhaenyra walk-in-closet. The moment you stepped in, the soft vanilla smell of her perfume became more apparent. Her closet far bigger than yours, shelves covered with glass doors and quaint vanity at the end of the room. The centre island filled with jewels, rubies, gold, a very distinct dark metal necklace with rubies laid on a plush velvet holder. Valyrian steel, just like Daemon and Rhaenyra’s signet rings.

You looked at the vanity, eyeing the perfect scarlet to match your skin tone and the dress. You pout your lips to swipe the colour across your lips before looking side to side, a little messy without lip liner but just to mess around? This would have to do, you wiped around the corners of your mouth before making sure everything was placed right back where the belong before leaving.

Again, you were graced with whimpers, you were sure they were there. You should have left, you knew you should have. However your curiosity are at your as you ventured further to their bedroom, and then it was. The source of the whimpers, a tied redheaded woman, heaving with the gag shoved in her mouth. Her hands chained to the brass ringlet mounted to the wall, the second she say you her shoulders slumped as she blinked her tears away. Then she gestured her head to the chains, you gulped - fuck, what the hell had you stumbled into - you walked forward bending to her eyes, worried for the poor thing.

You pulled the tape from her mouth, cries pouring through in relief. She had dried blood running down her neck, chipping against her skin. She sniffled her cries to try and halt them.

“Ho- how long have you been here.” She hiccuped, seeing a glimmer of hope for survival in you

“Two months…” you looked to her chapped lips “do you need water?”

She furiously nodded as you stood up, tiptoeing across to your room to not alert Mrs Stone as your grabbed your pink cup and sprinted back with your skirt hiked up.

You bent by her head again, holding the straw to her lips and letting her drink, her hair was in a messy braid, the stray hairs clinging to her skin and her skin ghostly pale. You pulled two tissues from the tissue box on the side table and wet it with the water from your cup. Gently rubbing away the dried blood.

“We have to leave!” She croaked “why haven’t you run?”

“Run? I live here now, with Daemon and Rhaenyra. This is my home.” You monotonically replied, still wiping away at the blood, your heart mildly thudding. Not for her, she shouldn’t be here.

She was in their room, chained by their bed. You weren’t even allowed in here. Your heart thud louder as you rubbed away “we can never leave.”

“No! You don’t understand, we can run…” she huffs “I counted steps and you— you know this place. Please! Untie me, we can go.” More tears fell from her eyes as she pleaded with you.

You looked back to the door before reaching for her cuffs, that heaviness in your chest returning as you unhooked the bonds for the ringlet and started pulling at the chains.

“What do you think you are doing?” Rhaenyra’s stern voice spoke up from behind you.

Your blood froze as you slowly turned to face, “uh- I— she,” your words began to fail you.

“Get away from her.” Rhaenyra commanded, pointing at the bed for you to go sit on the bed.

A hard glare fixated itself within the purple of her eyes as she swiftly tied up the red haired woman again.

“Was she letting you go, sweetie.” Rhaenyra asked the girl, petting away her hair and you frowned harder. You’re her sweetie. The girl nodded, making Rhaenyra tut before turning to you. Her eyebrows quirk, awaiting an explanation.

You looked at your fiddling finger on your lap, unable to muster up an answer as she came to hold up your jaw. She was disappointed, you could see it in her eyes.

“What was the rule?” Rhaenyra questioned, she should have known your curiosity would kill you soon. Mostly she was worried that you would be terrified of her now.

“Don’t go to your room.” You whispered, still trying to look away.

Hmm

“You just had to play dress up that badly, huh?” she stroked her thumb across your cheek. “Let’s play dress up then.”

You sat on your knees, moving your weight uncomfortably.

“Don’t be scared.” Rhaenyra had whispered, forcing your to look at her, your head went blank for a moment and then your heart wasn’t thudding as hard anymore

All you could here were the placated whimpers from the red-haired girl sitting on Rhaenyra’s lap as she fed on her. Not a drop of blood trickled down as she controlled the flow of the girl’s blood through the carotid. Jealously was burning at your throat as Rhaenyra took her time leisurely feeding on this girl, she only fed like that on you. You were all pouty, however you couldn’t look away if you knew what was best for you.

Rhaenyra had dressed you throughly, after ripping through your red gown, she had pushed a cabinet to open. Pulling out a red collar to wrap around you neck, she had cherry lubed your ass, pushing in a plush red kitten tail butt plug into your hole and then promptly pulling onto it to tease you. Clamps with kitten bells on them had been pinching on your nipples as she sucked them hard before sliding them on. Your horror was when she flicked her tongue against your clit just the way you liked it to have you squirming and then clamped the little bud over the hood. The kitten bell adding just enough weight for it to remain dangling in between your legs.

You wanted to call out to her, beg her to feed from you instead but you couldn’t. You focused so hard on the way her lips’s suckled around the girl’s skin. There were tears rolling down your red hot cheeks.

Rhaenyra pushed the girl off her, she was still conscious but too weak to break her fall as she laid flat with a thud.

“Come here kitty,” she motioned her fingers towards you. “Come to Mommy baby.”

You moved to stand but she stopped you, “Crawl to me.”

You placed your palms flat against the plush rug, crawling over to the space in between Rhaenyra’s legs without giving the barely moving girl’s body laid on the other side of the floor. The bells clamped to you jingled as you inched forward, longing to bury your head in between her thighs.

You stopped in between her thighs, glancing up at her through your lashes, your glossy red lips just begging to be kissed and bitten. You were about to rest your head on her thigh but she pushed you back with her heeled foot.

“Lick my heels, kitty.” she smiled, tapping her other foot on the ground.

You waited for a moment before bending down, your pink tongue poking out and licking a strip through the pencil-thin heel of her red-bottom shoes. You hummed, kissing the heel. Taking your sweet time to show her how sorry you were. She tapped your cheek with her other foot, letting you switch over and lick up the covered foot and then her heel.

Rhaenyra pulled you up by the hair, admiring the lengths you had gone to play your little dress up game before. The red bows in your hair would have Daemon feral and she knew the perfect way to coax her husband back home early. She reached down to pinch both your nipples as she pulled you up to your feet, you yelped, the sting radiating through your tits as you gave her the pouted lips once more.

She stood to push you down where she sat, taking a moment to admire the mess you were soon to be before flicking her middle onto your pouted lips, they wouldn’t work this time. The connectable cuffs laying idle around your wrists and ankles were just waiting to be used as Rhaenyra pulled you to the edge of the bed. You scent of gleaming cunt making her impatient as she hooked each of your ankles to your wrists, forcing you to keep your legs spread open.

“Now— you’ve been bad.” She began, shuffling down to pick up the forgotten flogger in her hands.

“I’m sorry Mommy.” You whimpered the second you saw her stroking through the ropes of the flogger.

“Ah- ah kitties don’t talk baby,” she tutted, reminding you of the plug situated in your asshole as she gently pulled on the plug to stroke the tail. “Use that dumb baby brain of yours and tell me, what do kitties do?”

The humiliations burned through your chest, more tears welling in your eyes but what other alternative did you have?

“Meow?” you asked, hoping to appease her enough to weasel your way out of this predicament.

“Good girl!” She praised before swatting the flogger sharp against your ass. Your help bringing her much joy.

“Let’s see—“ she rubbed the sore skin of your ass “Mommy will strike you ten times, and you will count? You can count kitty? Can’t you?”

You nodded your head, sniffling.

“Good, let’s begin then.”

The first hit landed against your ass, your body stiffened as you whimpered. “O-one.” You stammered.

Another immediate strike radiated through your rear, much harder—a penalty. You made mistake. “Kitties do not talk.” She reiterated.

“Meow.” You sobbed.

The lashes came one after the other, Rhaenyra had enough sympathy in her heart to soothe the sore flesh with her palm as she waited for you to mewl out your kitten count before striking harder than the one before. The last one, you screamed. Legs shuddering from the pain as your cried out the last count. Face covered in mascara tears and snot as you lamented the ache on your ass, the tips of the flogger curling bitterly around you curves to cover the expanse of your skin. Some cruelly being landed right onto your cunt, the fourth one making your squirt from the pain.

Rhaenyra sighed, dropping the flogger and reaching for her phone in her trouser pocket. The sight of your reddened, blue ass was sure to be a ticket home for Daemon.

“Look here baby, pose for mommy.” she cooed, the frame perfectly capturing your tear-soaked face, your sopping cunt and your bruised ass. Even the little red ribbons in your hair leaking from behind made it in, along with the tail hanging over the edge of your bed. Your swollen little clamped nub also waiting to say hello to Daddy. She smiled to herself as she sent the live picture to Daemon before tossing her phone to the armchair.

She was nowhere near done with breaking you apart just yet.

She pulled out a vibrator next, hoping to reward you for taking your spankings like a good little girl. She reached up to the bed to place a pillow under your back to angle you to her liking before shuffling behind you, pulling you snugly between her legs. She unhooked the cuffs, holding onto your ankles as she freed them. You whimpered feeling the cramps in your hips.

“Shhh—you are fine kitten, no more pain for you.” She cooed, letting your legs fall before hooking her calves around them to keep them spread open.

She reached for the oh so yearning bud next, the worst of it all. Toying with the little bell as you yipped and flinched, she gently pulled it off. Letting the bundle of nerves fill but blood again, the filling pain had you crying out. Trying to bury yourself in Rhaenyra hold as she consoled you.

“Oh baby, so swollen look.” She curred, letting the pads of her fingers gently graze over the peaking flesh before pushing the hood behind.

She turned on the vibrator, the setting low as she pressed against your clit. You squirmed against her hold but to no avail. She tapped the vibrator on your bud. You still mewled, rubbing your hips into the cool object.

Even in the throb of your ass and the one very evident in your clit, your first orgasm tore through you out of nowhere.

“That’s it, good girl!” Rhaenyra praised as she pressed down the vibrator hard, switching the setting up higher.

Just as the waves of the first one washed over, dread-filled in your belly as Rhaenyra didn’t pull away. You cried harder, the oversensitive tingle in your bud began to knock the air out of your lungs. Clawing at your insides as you cleaned harder around nothing, wanting to beg her to stop, please mommy, you tapped at her thigh but she wouldn’t budge.

Rhaenyra knew you would break, you would speak. She didn’t want to hurt you more for violating another rule, finding the only solution for this and sticking two fingers into your mouth. Using it to gag you as she stroked your slimy tongue, your soft lips curled around her fingers as your muffled wails indicated your next peak.

This time you gushed around the vibrator, screaming from the back of your mouth as Rhaenyra pulled out her fingers to push open your hood further, letting those cruel vibrations focus on your weeping clit. You thrashed, shaking your head as the wave toppled you down, eyes rolling to the back of your head, back arching away from Rhaenyra Your entire body stiffened as the warmth engulfed you once more.

Rhaenyra turned off the toy, dropping it on the bed next to her as she held you through your orgasm. The pads of her fingers rubbing through your folds gently and circling around your throbbing clit. You still sobbed in her arms, unable to speak, you looked up at her. Vision blurred from tears as you cried, Rhaenyra kissed your temple as she pulled off the nipple clamps.

You shrieked as she rubbed them, soothing the pebbled flesh with the cool pads of her thumbs. So bitterly pinched and hardened.

You wept, letting Rhaenyra scoop you up into her lap; your head immediately burying itself into her chest as you wailed, she was rocking you, like a child grazing their knee upon she was soothing you with the rubs on your back.

You look up at her, still hiccuping through your sobs. She knew what you wanted, tracing the trembling bottom lip as she laid a peck on it.

“You can speak, baby.” She purred, her eyes long softened at the broken figure of yours.

“I- I’m sorry Mommy.” You pule, then again hiding your face in her chest.

Rhaenyra might have sat there for hours, rocking your shaking frame in her hands, humming a Valyrian lullaby to soothe your aching.

“Do I not make Daddy and you happy anymore?” You weakly mused, your fingers toying with the gold chain on Rhaenyra’s neck.

She frowned looking down at you before nudging her nose against your forehead to make you look up at her.

“What makes you say that?”

“She gets to stay with you at night,” you referred to the red-haired girl “You like feeding on her.”

“Oh, baby.” she cooed in a sing-song voice “She is just a midnight snack,” Rhaenyra explained. “Just like the candy bags in your room.”

You were still pouting, satiated with the answer but unhappy. You could still see her wrist laying on the floor, you looked away.

There was a longing, you needed to be sure. You lifted your wrist to her lips, looking at her pleadingly.

“You want me to feed on you?” Rhaenyra tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, a burst of triumph flared in her chest. The reasons to compel you into feeding seemed to have been fading.

“Please, Mommy.” You mumbled, shuffling further into her hold.

Rhaenyra took hold of your wrist, just grazing the poking nerve with her fangs as her eyes darkened, the nerves yet again pooling around her eyes, a terrifying sight to most but not to you. She hummed before sinking her fangs into the flesh. Fine caviar amongst the pretenders, she groaned at the sweet coppery taste of your blood. Watching over you as you closed your eyes, dozing in a soft slumber dancing across your eyes.

Phew… here’s another Rhaenyra focused chapter. I’m sorry if this is a bit much compared to my usually vanilla smut (minus the incest)

I’m giggling thinking of Daemon loosing his find over the picture of tied up and weeping Ms Blood Bag

comments and reblogs are appreciated.

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[spidervee]

coming soon! -> the good man's grace • tangerine x fem!reader

summary: tangerine doesn't make mistakes. until he does. and it all starts on the day he walks into the owl's hollow, a pretty little bookshop tucked away in an alley somewhere in london. his theft, a collection of poetry from one of his favourites, should be the end of it, but something (or someone) draws him back between the cluttered shelves. the shopkeeper, his sweet sparrow, who may not know his name, but knows much more than she's willing to let on.

a/n: i cannot stop thinking about this man and how he'd fall in love with the sweetest heart only to be (pleasantly?) surprised that she's more than meets the eye so this is my latest brain worm that just won't go away. dropping within the next couple of days! (before 2023)

warnings: 18+ only; canon-typical violence and gore; cursing (like, so fucking much of it); fem!reader who is also bi!reader; britishisms written by a canadian with zero clue; bookshop!reader has no racial or body type descriptors, other than being shorter than tangerine (and having smaller hands than his); kidnapping; non-con photos and a threat of a*sault (but no actual a*sault); protective!tangerine; protective!lemon; smut (fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, slight dacryphilia, fantasizing about oral sex); angsty!tangerine; semi-graphic descriptions of injury; bird motif; copious amounts of petnames; unnecessary references to bluey because the author loves that show

preview: The more often he visits, the worse it becomes. 

Tangerine contemplates burning your shop to the ground, only after checking that you’re not inside, of course. All he’d have to do is toss the fuckin' match and walk away. You’d collect a nice little insurance payout and he’d have no more excuses to see you. 

But therein lies the problem. Because as much as it makes no bloody sense, his fucked up brain wants to see you. He wants to see you every day in more places than this cozy little shop you've created and in less clothing than those bloody colourful dresses you're always wearing.

And you?

You think you might be developing a crush on moustache, as you've taken to calling him. Which is stupid because you don’t know anything about him aside from the fact that he’s got a mouth like a sailor and hands that look large enough to wrap around your throat and blue eyes that pierce your very being. And a moustache that reminds you of that seventies porno you'd watched years ago with your college girlfriend, just for shits and giggles. This bloke is the shit romance novels are made of—tall, dark, and handsome—and you’d gladly stock a hundred of them if he were on the cover, even though you like to think your shop is a little more refined than that. 

You watch him over the pages of your book as he weaves in and out of the shelves, a few volumes of poetry in his gloved hands, pointer finger tapping a frenetic beat on the hardback covers. He seems less at ease than usual—in fact, he's downright intense. How utterly Byronic of him.

Making up your mind, you set the book down and step out from behind the waist- high counter, floral skirt swishing about your hips.

“Is everything alright?” 

He blinks at you with those cerulean eyes that sit like sapphires upon his face, framed by fine lines of crow's feet. And then, before he can reply, you bite your lip and try a smile.

“Can I make you a cuppa?” 

[ehlnofay]

Efri thinks she’s found the library.

“Woah,” she says, letting the door swing shut behind her. (Loudly. The doors here are so heavy.) Her voice echoes off the stone walls. She feels like she’s stepped into some story, like an exaggerated version of what a mage’s college would be.

It’s not that she’s never heard of a library before or anything. She understands them, conceptually. But the most books she’s ever seen at once was the small set of shelves in Rorik’s manor, and even that blew her away the first time – all the pretty bindings and close-written words. This is –

The College library is something else. It’s a lot bigger than a set of shelves.

Winding, narrow hallways bend and squiggle around like a set of earthworms trying to squish together to make a solid shape with no gaps, and every single wall is lined with books. Each shelf is like a rainbow of covers and colours. Half the spines are thick as at least two fingers put together and written over with words she can’t read. Efri has to bring Sissel here. She’d lose her mind.

“Woah,” she says again, and steps further in to look at the books on the shelves. All the bindings in blacks and blues and browns. One has the title written down the spine in gold lettering that shines. She brings up a hand to touch it.

“What are you doing?” someone demands. Efri stops. She looks.

It’s a grumpy-looking orc man in a bright yellow tunic, glaring at her much fiercer than seems necessary for the crime of looking at books in a library. He looks like he might be old – his hair’s white enough that his beard’s the same colour as his sharp sticking-out teeth, and he’s wrinkly.  Efri wrinkles her nose and tells him, “I’m looking at the books.”

“Wash your hands first,” he barks, turning his much-too-angry glare on Efri’s hovering arms. “You look like the sort of person to have grubby fingers.”

It’s true, but Efri is offended anyway. She wipes her palms hard against her orange wool skirt. (The skirt is grey at the hem from playing in dirty snow. It does not make her any cleaner.)

“Who’re you?” she asks the rude man. “I haven’t met you yet.”

He does not stop scowling. Maybe he’s perpetually angry. Maybe he just has an unfortunate face. But he says, “I’m the Arcaeneum archivist. Urag gro-Shub.”

The Arcaeneum, that’s what the library’s called. Very fancy name. (Sissel will love it. And has Kazari been here yet? They might like it too. She’s pretty sure they can read, though probably not these fiddly little paper books.) “What’s an archivist?”

“I maintain the library.” The archivist Urag gro-Shub might be grumpy and not very nice but at least he didn’t do the thing where he sighed all annoyed at Efri’s question. “I choose when and to whom the books are lent, and I ensure they are not damaged. Hundreds of years have gone into assembling this collection, and it’s going to stay pristine.”

“Is that book hundreds of years old?” Efri asks, pointing to the showy tome with the writing in gold.

Urag barely glances at it, dark eyes flashing in the vague direction of her pointing finger and flashing back again. “No. That’s historical fiction written in 185. That copy was made within these last ten years.”

“You didn’t even look at it,” Efri says.

“Bejewelled Tragedy. Four hundred pages. Horrendously inaccurate. Frankly, it wasn’t worth acquiring in the first place. Feel free to look for yourself.”

Efri will take his word for it.

“This section is for the books that are up for purchase,” he tells her, gesturing. “The worthwhile ones – and the old ones, if those are what you’re looking for – are further in.”

Efri squints down the passages again, their bright lights and cosy winding walls. She can’t tell where this section ends and the next one starts. She feels like if she went any further into the library she’d get lost. She says, “Thanks. I’m Efri, by the way.”

“I know. You’re that kid who showed up.”

“One of,” Efri corrects.

Urag keeps talking, rolling right past like he didn’t hear her. “Don’t know why in the name of all that’s been called holy they let you in. You’d think this would be a step too far, even –” he huffs and snaps his jaw shut, tusks digging into his moustache. He says, “At any rate. You’re here now, and you’re subject to the same rules as everyone else. You treat these books as careful as if they were your own firstborn children, understand? And if there’s something you want to find – or especially take out of the Arcaeneum – you come talk to me.”

Efri nods obediently. What time would it be right now? The lecture Sissel went to was almost two hours, and it’s definitely only been about one. She asks, “Are there any books with pictures?”

She’s not sure if it’s just the shape of his mouth or if he’s sneering. Urag says, “That depends. Are you going to respect the books enough to try to read the words too?”

“That depends,” Efri retorts, nettled. (She gets that he’s protective of the collection, but there’s no need to be rude about it.) “Are your books going to teach me how to read?”

Urag stares.

“You can’t read,” he replies, sounding vaguely offended, as though she, at six years of age, had refused to attend the village school for the express purpose of spiting him four years later.

Efri pulls a book out of the shelf without looking at it, ignoring the way he huffs. There’s nothing embossed on the spine or the cover, but there’s a title scribbled on the first page. “That’s a B,” she says, pointing to the first letter of the first word, and then stops, squinting. Switches her focus to a different word. “That one says off.”

“Of,” Urag corrects over her shoulder.

Efri shrugs. She snaps the book shut and slips it back into its place on the shelf. “I can read a bit,” she says. “I know my letters and that. The books here are just big.”

And given that she’d failed to correctly identify of, even small stories might be a bit beyond her skill level.

Urag is quiet. Efri looks back at him, mostly expecting him to still be looking affronted, as though she’d stolen food out of his mouth and thrown it at a wall – instead he looks oddly, blankly thoughtful.

“We don’t have anything suitable for early readers,” he says, tapping his fingers against his leg. “That might be an oversight.”

Efri really doesn’t think it is. “It’s a big fancy library, right? I think it’s normal to just collect the big fancy books.” All the ones that are hundreds of years old, or about magic or important things, or both.

Urag’s knuckles rap against a buckle on his belt. He says, “No! First misconception. A worthwhile collection archives all the work on its focus possible. The Arcaeneum is a collection of knowledge in every form. Therefore, we have as many books as we can access, on all sorts of topics. Half of them aren’t even good!”

“You sell the bad ones,” Efri says, trying to follow.

“Some of them. If they’re wholly without merit. Mostly I sell duplicates. Or works no-one has ever used. There’s things to be learned from everything – if not now, later. I’ll think on it.”

He looks back at Efri, looking a bit like he might have forgot she was there. “Regardless. Do you need anything, or can I get back to work?”

He’s still all rude and prickly. Efri bristles a bit. “I wasn’t keeping you,” she says, flicking her eyes again over the strange and wandering walls.

Urag sighs again like he’s got any right to be annoyed with her, but then he asks, “Would you like a tour of the Arcaeneum?”

“Do you want to give it?”

“You’ve already distracted me,” he says. Adds less irritably, “And I enjoy a chance to show off the collection. Long as you don’t interrupt me.”

“I’m going to interrupt you,” Efri informs him. She doesn’t like to be told what to do.

She lets him show her the library.

[distant--shadow]

get to know meme

lil thing where I'll give a bit too much detail so it fills its purpose, honoured honestly to be tagged by three of my favourite writers in this space @sharkodactyl, @unicyclehippo , and @astoriacolumnstaircase - anyone reading this should be reading their works instead.

favourite colour: brown(s), like a mid to a dark tone, i like them to have a bit of red involved. like our old-boy chet, I love the wood. my dream home would be all wood-panelled with built in inlayed and set back shelves and nooks a plenty and yeah just full of brik-a-brak. otherwise my favourite colours are navy blue and greens that are more mixed with blue than yellow, teals and emeralds and once again generally around the mid tones. green makes me very happy. moss and outdoors and all that.

currently reading: fic. haha. (suss my recommend reading tag) I did venture out to my (very) local queer bookshop and asked them for something that won't send me on a spiral if I'm already on one/provide some escapism and they reccomended river of teeth by Sarah gailey. anyone I've said about it to seems real enthusiastic about it, I am not well read at all when it comes to published things, tend to just get really into a few fandom authors works and picking them apart (rereading a lot) . still haven't started it but maybe I'll try take it out to the park in the next week or so. I'm dabbling in reading (and unfortunately writing) poetry thanks to @picturesofthegoneworlds and @blorbotomy 's influence, those mini books are fun to keep on you when out and about, poem or two on a tree stump or boulder with a grand vista and a brain that wants eyes on a phone screen.

last song: last song I consciously (not background music) listened to was:

I went on an early lord snow stint the other night because the air smelt crisp and there was a nice chill. they have remained my favourite heavy (as a broad term) band for a decade now.

I used to have music on all of the time, whether that be cd's at home or in my mp3 player (that I still take out with me) but these days I find listening more of an intentional activity and I prefer to have people just nattering when I'm at home and want background noise. think it's where my heads at and I've just got more sensitive to being overstimulated I guess. I was also pretty good at going to a live gig at least once a week before I did my back in, looking forward to getting into that habit again.

last series: I don't watch much stuff outside of critical role, least other than YouTube videos I'll put on whislt I'm drawing. oh wait yeah I ordered 3 seasons of xena on ebay because it's like a couple of quid a season and it is a real good comfort show and fucking amazing. I hadn't seen it since I was pre teen and it was on day time TV and I'd catch it on sick days. the amount of people I've brought it up to these past few months who've been so stoked to be reminded of it/eager to watch it with me is actually hilarious.

last movie: uhhhh God movies I watch even less. I haven't been to a cinema in over 12 years now, just not my thing, and it's funny caus my mum used to work in the film and TV industry and we had shelves and shelves full of VHS growing up (mostly bootlegged) and she can just ramble about pretty much any early era film up to the stuff from the 80s (when she was working on em) for days. never could sit through em, never felt satisfied with how the story went. guess that's why actual play appeals to me. but saying all this I did rewatch Bound for the first time since I was like 15 last month or so, enjoyed it a lot more than I did back then.

sweet/savory/spicy: savory all day. I am a salt fiend. I used to think I'd be fortunate enough to die from my salt intake. I'll put it on anything. cereal, toast, fruit. I think the other day I noted the one thing I wouldn't put it on, but I can't recall that right now honestly. it's gotta be decent salt too, sea salt or rock salt that has some texture and delicious flavour, I'm not fucking with that table salt shit. I carry salt with me in a mini mason jar everywhere I go, saves when you only have access to bland cold supermarket food. one of my earliest memories is when I was like 6 I had had my daily 1 glass allowance of squash/fruit cordial in my white Tom and Jerry printed beaker with the accordion bendy straw and so when I was pouring myself a glass of water from the tap I put salt in it caus I wanted flavour that would not show through the white translucent container. it's all been downhill from there, although I also, luckily I guess caus otherwise I would be really fucked, do drink a lot of water.

currently working on: myself and healing. hah. I never realised how much paperwork and phone calls came with this maintenance shit. I'm still out of work, and my mental health has taken a huge hit from not being able to do the things I usually would. so right now I'm just trying to keep everything together. I can draw again though, so sorry about that.

I never know who to tag in these things caus I don't think everyone wants to do them. so I'll go with this being open invite as always. hope anyone who read this far is having a good week, and sentiment is still there even if you didn't read this (unless you don't deserve my well wishes, then fuck you.)

[sanctificetur]

t1. francis & alayne.

as francis wakes up in the midnight hour, he decided to go shopping. yet first, he went over to the window near his bed to look outside, slender fingers grasping into the light brown curtains shivering in a veiled version of outside.

it’s already light, and the stars ran away with the night.

with it blocking out most of the sunlight. he sees a whole mountainous congestion of buildings below and above, which depresses him a little, while also being in awe that he was in a place where he could travel with ease in his independence. as he continues savouring the wondrous sight with his eyes closed in bliss, the light glows a little deeper yellow behind his eyes. and he opens.

what does he see in the sky? as he lifts his eyes up? and surrounding buildings? white fluffy cloud shapes in blue sky. as he peers closer to the window, the distant sun suddenly pierces his eyes -- red starting to mix in with his subconscious darkening light the whites around the black-blue pupil ; and sunny memory sudden inflects on his conscious.

and he has to lower his eyes briefly from the sudden burst of light. better not look too close, he thinks. just at a distance at my own time and pace. flying into and rising with the sun... above & below cloud sections ; giant cloud shapes surrounding mini drfiting apart cloud tufts shaped like a silver fish. what other shapes of memory does the vision of looking outside reminds me of ... white feathers.

he dresses and walks into the shopping centre, the two part doors sliding open for him as he nears. he was taking a break from his musical studies, as he was feeling quite stressed. the reason he was going here was to browse for new clothes. which clothes. he ponders. he had been feeling confusion on new styles, as he taps his chin thoughtfully while looking at his giant clothes walk in closet. he eventually decides on a black ribbed turtleneck, to protect himself from the slightly chilly atmosphere in terms of a little wind as it was only eighteen degrees sunny and a bit windy ; but not needing to don his faux fur lined tan coat of beautiful flirtation.

as he walks in, a neon orange and black sign glowing on edges jumps at corner of his eye, and he shields eyes momentarily from sudden visual. he had been feeling a spiking onslaught of strange visions of...something. a tree bare branched in the forest... he shakes his head, disliking the accompanying hole pattern surrounding the sign, ‘Stark’s stock’. He thinks, not very nicely, who would choose this colour scheme? i could do so much better... is the world out to get me? poking holes in my subconscious much? like a madman, i sing my laurels... yet what are the true laurels of my soul?

he was the prodigal son, the son his mother catherine loved above all else. he was a prince, future king of France... What?! he shakes his head, that was crazy!! he wasn’t that special… Yet then he thinks again with honouring his right brain — and the memory continues —- Mother had said he had a wild imagination, in a fond tone, patting his gold massy curls with crowned green leaves … when he was a child.

And now, the duties were even more enforced as he was growing into his own person, he was to be sovereign king over this country of France. They weren’t going to be around forever. And France was fickle, enemies everywhere — Scotland was invading — and his duty to protect ; but he had no marriage prospects as of yet? Catherine says, “training to be king and finding a girl to wed and have heirs is paramount into securing a strong future”. But, she says, of course, “you can continue your creative hobbies -- as long as you’re happy.” only on the side ; just for fun…

as he steps in and searches, alayne is arranging stuff on white metal shelving ; the cold metal burns — I’m burning for you — through her dark pink purple sweater : buffed enough to withhold a plethora of items. she is in the stationery aisle, until francis asks her, “hello, ma’am. May I find the glassware section?”

Francis then tosses the gold ribbon in haste into the colouring book stack, “I have to get to my violin lesson to practice the song Sleep Sugar ; it’s nearly two pm ” soft edged exclamation ; the top cover representing a mosaic colourful parrot.

Alayne’s pants depict an infinity symbol on black and white tarot carded window ; none of them facing inside ; yet the infinity symbol? and she wears a ruffled blouse, with a purple flower necklace with M trinket in centre.

Francis and Alayne go to a cafe for lunch. They go to a window seat, the green wild vines ensnaring the window, and a sunflower patterned curtain shivers from the hot breathy fight between the two patrons before them. it involved what meal to order at first. 

Francis rolls his eyes, his light feathered lashes dancing around his eyes,

 “if you’re a bird, I’m a bird. but we are also strange birds.”

 “I do not eat like a bird!” Alayne says in annoyed tone, in response to Francis teasing her.

 They eventually compromise in meal, sparking an initiation of better days to come. She raises her hand to order food, rather steadfast in her gesture ; although still shaking a little from when… he rescued her from drowning in sea in past life… wait, where did that thought come from?? they technically only knew each other for a short time…

Half an hour later … a waitress wearing the name-tag: Athena bustles up to their table, and places a large coloured flower decorated plate : two fluffy clouds of rice bowls for each ; stir fry of scrambled eggs, green veg, light pink salmon… they thanked her, and in the moment of picking up and delving in with their individual chopsticks, with a big public spoon on the dish plate ( to spoon from dish at their own time and pace ; not fall ill from the other’s saliva — heliobacter.

they continue with their conversation, while eating, as well as just admiring the beauty of the world in their surroundings… Separate posts for new scenarios, they say, looking down at the triskelion medallion…

[twobraincellkentwell]

And Here We Go Again

[A Game Called Revenge]

Part Four

Series Masterlist Part One.

Summary: There is two possible ways that this Reaping could go: the way Clio wants it to, or the way she doesn't. And she's been down on her luck the past year.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the nature of content in some of the chapters. I don't think there's any specific chapter warnings this week.

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Hellloooo my hoes As I promised last week, here is the shit getting well and truly real. Once again, if anyone wants to take a guess at my favourite line then please feel free I am all ears. This chapter is also named after some of my favourite lyrics in a song which just screams quarter quell to me!

The morning of the reaping, Clio is awoken by sunlight piercing through the cracks in the curtains and the sounds of the birds chirping outside to signal the start of another beautiful summer morning. It's the first day since the announcement that  she hasn't been rudely awoken by her alarm early in their morning. The first day she hasn't forced herself to eat a rushed, high-protein breakfast before completing a long run followed by hand-to-hand and weapons practice. Her first full night's sleep since her eighteenth birthday. As she lazily pulls the covers back, she sighs and moves to stand by the window, watching the birds sit on the trees surrounding Victor's Village, the gardens bright and bursting with colour that contrasts with the white stone buildings of the district.

She's missed her usual window for breakfast, instead reaching for a protein bar that she keeps stacked neatly in the shelves on her wall. The weather is so stifling and humid that her cold shower doesn't help to cool off which causes her to feel sticky; small beads of sweat forming on her forehead as she sits in front of her open bedroom window to apply her makeup. She blots the skin of her forehead and around her nose as she light-handedly highlights her favourite features and taming her eyebrows with a thick, waterproof gel she runs the excess product through the front of her hair before braiding a waterfall at the back of the dark brown strands.

A quick knock raps against her door, Clio jumping a little at the sound - she's not particularly fond of sounds coming from out of her line of sight, especially not those behind her.

"Come in," she mumbles.

"Are you ready? Xanthe's getting antsy about being late..." Enobaria's voice carries throughout the room, but trails off with a sigh when she realises that Clio hasn't changed into her reaping outfit yet. A faint smile upturns her lips at the sight of her mentor, dressed in dark blue suit trousers with a matching top that boasts a large golden fringe accent.

"Yeah, yeah, I won't be a second." Clio brushes her off, reaching into her wardrobe and removing the dress from the hanger resting on the back of the door; pulling it over her head.

"Clio, is that what I think it is?" Enobaria asks while Clio smoothes down any creases that might have appeared on her dress other night.

"Yeah," Clio shrugs dismissively. The week before the reaping Clio had managed to find the time after her long training days to wash and dye her original reaping dress a deep black colour. It was slightly patchy given that the young girl had never done any sort of haberdashery before last week but the black of the bodice matches the gloomy vibe in which she views the day. She adjusts the spaghetti straps of the dress to remove the twists in the fabric as she ensures that the cross over pattern on the bodice sits nicely against her chest. Running her hands down the waffle knit texture she fiddles nervously with the rope tie which sits above her waist before checking over the delicate lace accents that adorn the hem of the dress which flares out gracefully.

Enobaria beckons the young girl over, tightening a thin gold chain around her head, the front of the chain resting in the centre of her forehead and the strap hidden in part of the waterfall braid whilst Clio toes her shoes on. Taking one more peek out of her window, the two women can see the central population of the district swarming the town square and spilling out of the roped areas which usually house the row of teenagers, many of them exceeding the barriers and being moved out of the aisle and into the surrounding streets. The cheers and chants fill their ears through the thick glazed windows and they take this as their sign to leave Clio's house and wait to be paraded through the district square.

As the victors from a line behind the wrought iron gates they are flanked by peacekeepers to escort them through the streets. Through the gaps in the large stone houses, Clio watches as the District mayor shouts his introductions over the commotion and excitement of the audience in the square. She cranes her neck past the peacekeepers who stand to attention as the usual video retelling of Panem's history is played on the large screens. She can see that the customary festivities present at District Two reapings have been amped up this year. The centre of the city, an area normally abuzz with chatter and excitement is twice as loud this year, speaking enthusiastically amongst themselves about which two of their victors will be given the honour to re-represent their district in the games. The deep red and gold banners that decorate the Justice Building have been updated this year to reflect the nature of the games; a Quarter Quell filled with past winners. An All Stars edition if you will, Clio comments to herself as she reads the banners whilst the video continues to play. Each set of steps leading up to the stage in front of the Justice Building has been decorated with a red carpet, a golden trim along the edges and the walls behind are adorned with the Victory Tour posters of their living victors; each photo large and freshly glossed. Even the bowls on each side of the escort's lectern have been upgraded this year, each bowl a shining crystal standing on solid gold atop crisp white stone.

The peacekeepers simultaneously snapping to face the gates is what breaks Clio from her observations, being made to take three steps forward. She hears the traditional district music blast through the new, high-tech sound systems provided by the Capitol as the mayor leans into his microphone and announces the name of the oldest male victor. Cheers fill the streets as the audience clap wildly for the man whilst he walks slowly down the middle aisle of the square, stopping every few seconds to wave towards the crowds either side. Once the man reaches the steps to the Justice Building, the peacekeepers fall behind and he climbs the stairs to stage on the right side of the lectern in the centre where the other potential male tributes will soon accompany him.

With three steps forward for each name that is called, Clio gets closer to the iron gates and the crowd gets louder as more of the victors parade through the square and join the others on stage. When Enobaria's name is called through the microphone the district erupts in shouts, with comments flooding in about her teeth, her games, her win; none of the factors of her personality that make her who she is. Once the woman has taken her place on the left side of the stage, the district mayor announces Cato over the tannoy and Clio watches, still inside Victor's Village, as he raises his hands above his hand as he walks. Chin tilted upwards in a display of confidence, he waves to the audience in the roped off areas before smiling at his sister and his parents who stand just behind the barricade and slowly climbing the steps on the right hand side of the stage to stand in line.

The mayor's voice crackles through the booming sound system as he calls Clio's name; loud and splintering through the square. The peacekeepers flanking her take a step forward, each nudging harshly at her side to get her to fall in line with their pace before falling a step behind so that they do not obstruct the crowd's view of the girl's small stature. As she turns right out of the avenue of large stone houses, she finds two cameras immediately locked in on her face, each at about chest height on both sides of the aisle. As she takes her first strides into the square, the cameras follow her, moving backwards on a high-tech dolly system and she can see even more cameras in her peripheral vision. There are cameras high in the air, following her every move from above, and another in contact with the stage which she knows is zoomed in to catch her facial expressions. Clio raises her chin, a wide smile plastered on her face as she makes eye contact with the young girls who push at the ropes to get closer to the district's most recent victor. Her eyes do not look towards the adults who cheer her name loudly, their joyous shouts serving no sense of encouragement as she continues her march to the stage. Instead, she listens to the beat of the music which rattles through the large speakers beside the stage as she keeps waving, hands never ceasing until she the peacekeepers still when she has reached the end of the aisle. The cameras keep rolling, each tilting on the dolly to focus on the steps as Clio slowly waves one final time to the crowd, eyes lingering on Cato's family for a second longer than she would've liked before she turns to languidly scale the steps to the stage. The cheers get louder as she reaches her place in line and even louder when the cameras move along the lines. Eleven victors stand atop the stage, their heads held high and backs straight, each of their hands clasped tightly behind their backs.

They stand for a while before the district mayor introduces Xanthe Corvus, District Two's escort and excuses himself from the stage to stand in the wings before the central population. Clio watches as Xanthe flounces on stage in a large, voluminous burgundy wig that frames her round face and a dress with exaggerated golden-orange puff sleeves that flows into a short black balloon-style skirt. Xanthe's heels click on the floor as she bounces over to the microphone, tapping obnoxiously on the grille and making everyone wince at the screeching feedback that shrieks through the square. The woman giggles lightly to herself, quickly voicing her apologies before she smiles at the audience and begins her speech.

"Happy Hunger Games!" She exclaims gleefully, her hands coming together in short claps as the audience shout in excitement.

"I welcome you all to what can only be described as a momentous occasion. Two of our highly decorated champions will have the great honour of representing the district for a second time." More cheers fill the audience, the younger children looking up at the stage in awe of those upon it whilst the adults holler words of pride and honour.

"And in a Quarter Quell no less." When the words Quarter Quell leave Xanthe's mouth, her pitch increases, the inflection portraying sheer excitement at the prospect of getting to host her first quaternary event. The audience volume increases also, and it's so loud that Clio is sure the neighbouring districts must be able to hear it. Good, she thinks. Let them know how ready we are.

"I am sure you're all honoured to be witnessing such a tremendous event for it is highly unlikely that you will get to see a moment of this calibre again in your lifetime. And for the first time in many of your existences, District Two will not have a volunteer."

Angry yells fill the square, adults loudly protesting the notion of being viewed similarly to the weaker, inferior outlier districts, whilst the children are confused. Xanthe is unfazed by the commotion however and it doesn't take long for her to gain the attention of the crowd once more as she shouts, "Fear not!"

"Fear not! Our officials have come to an agreement, unanimous with our victors, that the Quarter Quell provides the district with a phenomenal opportunity to display the strength and depth of our talent that they will leave the choice up to the odds." Agreements ring out through the square while the victors remain still, their heads held high as they look beyond the audience and into the camera at the far end of the square. "And besides, they each wish to be the individual who brings glory and honour to District Two once more. How could we choose just one from each side when they'd all be fighting for the right to volunteer?"

Clio lets out a small laugh at the escort's words, covering it up by clearing her throat quietly when the eyes of several of the other women turn towards her at the sound. We're supposed to be the deadliest career district yet no one is offering themselves up again, she thinks as she finds herself reflecting on the ways in which each person on stage won their games and how different their mindsets are now. She can't blame them really, it's purely a self preservation instinct; something which District Two tributes have lots of. As the crowd continues to cheer, she finds her mind drifting to the possibilities of tributes in the other districts. Her mind drifts to her friends in One, Johanna in Seven, Finnick and Luna in Four, and of course the newly victorious couple in Twelve; and she suddenly, despite considering many of these other victors as her friends, finds herself fancying her chances at bringing home the victory once again.

The square falls into silence when Xanthe taps the microphone grille again and turns to nods at each side of her lectern, "May the odds be ever in your favour. Now, as usual we shall start with our ladies."

Xanthe walks towards the bowl of names to her left, high-heeled feet clacking across the stone stage flooring. Reaching inside the bowl containing only five names, her hand displaces some of the paper as she grabs one piece with her long, blood red fingernails and holds the district in suspense as she slowly unfolds the paper.

Upon hearing her name leave the lips of the escort, no emotion shows on Clio's face as she looks directly into the Capitol's cameras. She can feel the eyes of the entire district on her as she steps forward to the centre of the stage to stand alongside Xanthe. The excited shouts fill her ears and chants of her name cause her mouth to curl upwards in a slight smirk as she is greeted by Xanthe with open arms. The escort kisses her cheek and her thick Capitol accent breathes words of praise, "How wonderful!"

At least I can be the one to do the honours, Clio thinks as Xanthe tries to settle the roar in the town square. The smirk remains firmly planted on her face, so that the identity she must portray in public events is upheld, pushing away any emotions that don't correspond with her deadly persona as she waits for the news of the male tribute who would be joining her this time around. Her eyes flit to the sky for a split second as she silently begs for the name of one of the older victors to be called. Just please don't be Cato, she pleads under her breath. If I've done anything right in my life, let it be anyone but Cato.

Clio watches from her peripheral vision as Xanthe announces it's time for the boys before she slowly steps over to the bowl containing six slips of paper on the right hand side of the stage. She gives them an unnecessary shuffle before finally wrapping her fingers around one and pulling it from the bowl; sealing the  fate of whomever it reads. She can see the men on the other side of the lectern as Xanthe moves back towards the microphone, unfolding the paper as she goes. Time seems to be moving agonisingly slow as she turns her head forward again, staring expressionless into the camera.

"Cato Hadley."

Fuck.

Unlike in the outlier Districts, no one screams in agony. The entire district erupts in shouts and cheers as Cato moves to stand beside Xanthe as she presses a kiss to his cheek and congratulates him. The pair who had trained together their entire lives, building up to going into the Games together. Spared from the decision of which of themselves to kill three years ago but now to be faced with that very choice. This is not how this was supposed to go, Clio thinks. Tears threaten her waterline but she knows she can't cry up on stage so she blinks them back. The games start the second you are reaped; something she told last year's tributes. Plus, she has an image to maintain, one that she can't and won't ruin by showing that this reaping affected her.

Xanthe nudges the two of them forward, forgoing the usual tradition of making the tributes shake hands since it's clear that they're already acquainted with one another. They drink in the enthusiastic shouts for a few moments as the other victors are escorted off of the platform by the peacekeepers as Xanthe paces to the back of the stage and waits. When the noise hasn't died down after a few minutes, the escort begins to return to the bowl in order to wrap up the Reaping ceremony but halts when she sees Cato clasp Clio's hand in his before lifting their intertwined hands into the air as they smile at their district. A ploy to make the other districts fear us when they watch the reaping backs, Clio thinks as her cheeks are starting to ache from the fake mask of satisfaction that has been plastered on her face all afternoon.

When Xanthe asks for final words over the commotion of the crowd, all Cato can bring himself to say is that the pair will bring the crown home to District Two once again; but they both know only one of them will be coming back this time.

"Deadly by ourselves, deadlier together." Clio smirks, inciting cheers once again before the duo are ushered into the Justice Building and the crowd begins to disperse.

Once inside the Justice Building, they're shut in a room to await their family and friends' goodbyes. The two wait, not saying a word, looking into each other's eyes as if they're trying to communicate telepathically. Clio clears her throat, the room has been silent for far too long and it's putting her on edge. With everything that has happened in the past year, the announcement of a barbaric Quarter Quell and the rigorous training she has been exhausting herself with the past few weeks, Clio has hardly had any time to stop and think about anything other than the games. Before she can say anything, peacekeepers march through the back of the Justice Building into the car that awaits them. In what Clio feels is an act of spite, they aren't given time to say their goodbyes to their friends and loved ones like they were last time.

Cato begins to protest, struggling at the peacekeepers who have a tight grip on his arm as they drag them into the train car. Brutus and Enobaria attempt to placate both of  the peacekeepers, the older man removing their gloved hands from Cato's biceps whilst Enobaria stands in front of them to prevent them from pulling forwards.

"My sister." Cato says, "Just let me see my sister."

The peacekeepers look between each other and the boy in front of them, almost as if communicating wordlessly before one gives a curt nod and they both turn on their heels in sync and slam the doors behind them on their way out.

The four are left in the room confused. Brutus and Enobaria look at their two tributes before making their way onto the train car along with Xanthe who shuffles loudly through the room. Clio goes to follow her mentors before Cato's hand grabs her wrist, stopping her in place. "Stay."

"She's your sister Cato," Clio starts, picking at the nails on her left hand. "I shouldn't still be here."

"Stay." Cato repeats as the heavy wooden door is forced open by the returning peacekeepers and Cato's twelve-year-old sister, Aeliana, is forcefully pushed inside the room.

"Two minutes." The peacekeeper announces before slamming the door again.

Aeliana launches herself forward, a small frame crashing into him without a moment's hesitation. Her arms wrap tightly around his waist, head nestled against his chest as she listens to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat to calm herself down and stop her tears from flowing. "Cato..." She sniffles.

"I know..." he responds softly, "It'll be okay Ali."

Clio watches as the two continue to silently embrace for a minute, feeling a twinge of loneliness for a moment before it is tempered by the knowledge of how much love this young girl still holds in her heart when she reluctantly pulls away, eyes meeting her brothers. She sees mirrored expressions in their eyes, sadness clouding both of their icy blues as he brushes a stray tear from her cheek and she turns to face clio.

"Clio..." Aeliana says as she wraps her arms around her. Given that the twelve-year-old has always been on the taller side, she rests her head on the Clio's shoulder.

"Hey..." Clio trails off, waiting for the young blonde to meet her eyes again. "I love you. You've always been my favourite Hadley."

Soft laughs leave the lips of all three in the room at her statement before their moment is interrupted by the doors bashing against the walls as the peacekeepers re-enter the room. They barge past Aeliana, shoving her behind them and in the direction of the stone door as they grab onto Clio and Cato's arms. Neither of them struggle this time as they are dragged towards the awaiting train car. Aeliana watches from her position pressed against the cold, stone wall as her brother and the girl she's considered a sister-in-law since she was seven, vanish from her sight; smiling when she hears a loud 'I love you' echo through the room.

The peacekeepers have to push through a large crowd to get the couple onto the train. In the few minutes they were inside speaking to Aeliana, a swarm of people had filled the train station; reporters flashing the large camera lenses in their faces and people from the district shouting encouragement at them and reaching forward in an attempt to touch them.

Once they step through the doorway of the train, the doors snap closed swiftly behind them and the train immediately begins to move. Clio looks around at the train, everything upgraded and brand new since she was on the train as a mentor last year. Without a word, the couple both know that they should head to the fancy, large bedrooms assigned to them and change before the avoxes bring out their dinner. Inside her room, the drawers were filled with clothes, in beautiful rich fabrics that she has only had the brief luxury of experiencing, all slightly too big given that they provide clothing based on the average size of women from each of the districts but all for her to pick and choose from.

After peeling off her dress and muttering under her breath about how the thing is fucking cursed, Clio showers quickly before changing into some comfier clothes for dinner.

A knock on her door alarmed her to a presence. As she opens it, she is surprised to find Brutus standing in front of her. Her confusion must have transferred onto her features as the man laughs lightly at her expression and begins to explain himself, "Enobaria and I swapped. She can deal with Cato, I wanted to check on you."

"I'm fine." Clio responds, "It's fine."

"I remember us being in a car just like this two years ago." Brutus starts, "The difference is that two years ago you were telling me how excited you were to become the next victor and now you're just fine?"

"I look like an idiot to the whole of Panem. If my name was going to be called anyway then I should've just volunteered to save myself the embarrassment."

"There's no cowardice in not volunteering yourself against other victors." Brutus tells her, making her look at him. "It'll be harder this time around, Clio."

"We'll make it back." she drawls, hating the bored tone her voice takes on, "And when we come back, the district will be proud, and you'll be proud of me. You and Enobaria both."

"No." Brutus says, and Clio almost flinches at how quickly he shuts down her statement and she can't help but wonder if his rebuttal stems from a lack of faith in her to get the job done until he speaks again. "We should have volunteered."

Clio doesn't respond. She doesn't know how to respond to a statement like that and her mind is still toying with the idea that Brutus thinks District Two would have a higher chance of victory if himself and Enobaria had volunteered in her place.

"That is not what I meant, Clio." He assures her, he knows her well enough by now to know that her brain is formulating several explanations for his words. "I don't want you to win for the District. I want you to win for yourself, so you get the chance to live a proper life, one fit for a victor."

His gaze quickly flits between her and the door behind her as he continues, "We're both proud of you Clio, regardless of what happens this time around."

Clio takes a step back, she can't work out why he's acting so solemn, his eyes mirror his statements but she can also see sorrow. She sees pain and regret when the smiles he gives her doesn't reach his eyes. She tilts her head in confusion at his words, "What are you talking about?"

"You've only had one year as a victor, and with last year's games..." he pauses for a second, waiting to gauge her reaction to his mention of the events of the seventy-fourth. "We sacrificed your golden years as a victor so you were ready to help Clove. I'm starting to regret that now that you've been thrown back in."

"You shouldn't," she says, her confidence never faltering as she tries to block out the memories she has of the previous year. "I wanted to mentor just like I want to go back into the games and win again. Nothing will make me happier."

Brutus looks like he doesn't believe her, and he catches the slight hitch in her breath as she looks away from him. "If you're sure." Clio nods, and he continues, "Come on, let's go find Cato and Enobaria and we can discuss our strategy."

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

Part Five. Series masterlist.

[chqnified]

Nutmeg!

Nutmeg -> how’s you room/home decorated? Do you have a specific theme or style going on?

I don't think there's much of a theme. Blue is the main colour going on (with dark grey and white). I love the colour blue. The shelves i do attempt some colour coordination, ones more pastel themed, one is blue and silver (above my desk) and the other is idk think skz all in or itzy in the morning themed. I for some reason love glass ornaments and mirror things (i have 2 mirror jewelry boxes, they just look pretty).

Tiny things, I don't know what to call them, tiny cat (when i mean tiny i mean about 3cm), tiny bear, tiny pokémon etc on a corner of ine shelf together so that they have company. Isla's snakes are there too.

A draw under the bed with cuddlies. I only have 3 on the bed, saves having to take them off every 4 days to change the bedding.

I have 5 house plants (if an avocado tree counts as a house plant), if anything happened to them, I'd go into full mourning. Just like when i found out basil plants only lived for a year and mine died last year....

I do want a baby chilli plant. I saw them in Waitrose and they looked adorable. Basically plants are the reason I'm still alive, metaphorically and scientifically.

I have a desk. I keep my pens in a tiny tiny shopping basket, colour coordinated row if highlighters because yes, and my skz desk calendar. Also Milo the bear sits on the desk too. He was given to me by my manager on one of my first days at work. Mum likes to keep a giant flipping printer on it and I've been fighting to get it out of my bedroom, alas I've failed for the past 2 years (it was only meant to be a temporary thing whilst the lounge was being redecorated....). I have a poster frame next to the desk with the in life grey poster in it. Problem is, the poster is horizontal, but the frame can only be put vertically. Which means i can only see the poster in the correct direction when i wake up on my side in the morning....

I have 2 lamps, one is a small lava lamp (it kind of looks like the oan flag) and the other idk how to describe, it's a dim light and makes a nice noise in my opinion. When you turn it on, it blows beads up a clear tube and then they go down a slide? That coils around the tube? If that makes sense??

I have medals from when i used to be an athlete on my curtain drawback hook (yes i removed the drawback and replaced it with that. Logic!). Pride flag and bp calender on the door and that's that really.

Oh. But my favourite bit is the shelf unit where i stuck glow in the dark stars. As a child I'd always wanted them, so oneday i went and bought them because tbh even at the age i am now, glow in the dark stars are very appealing. They're nice to look at and calming when insomnia hits or nightmares.

[robinegreenwood]

V - 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢

[oc x sirius black]

｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆

Breakfast had taken less time than Eden had supposed, and for the most part it had been quite uneventful. The only memorable thing that had occurred was the arrival of another member of the friend group that she had been hanging around. A young man named Peter Pettigrew had made an entrance and had been welcomed back by his friends. He gave no reason for being a day late, and made no mention of his summer, instead he directed the conversation towards the others, and to Eden. Eden had found his appearance rather strange. He was blonde, with a thin face and rather large ears to match, and he always seemed to have a lost sort of look in his eyes. Setting his oddness aside, he had been nothing but kind to her, and he hadn't asked her too many questions, thankfully he seemed to be a quiet sort of fellow. Eden greatly appreciated that. She figured that she would do best with people who either talked enough for both of them, or little enough that they wouldn't overwhelm her with constant questions.

Thanks to Lily's punctuality, Eden found herself on the way to the potions classroom 20 minutes before the class was to start. Navigating their way down to the classroom was confusing enough, but she felt that she would be able to get used to it. This specific classroom was located in one of the large dungeons in the castle; someone had told her that it was also on the same level as the Slytherin common room. This knowledge made her even more grateful that she hadn't been put in the Slytherin class; she couldn't imagine having to live in the cold dark again.

"Are you excited for your first class of the day?" Lily asked cheerfully.

Eden took in a steady breath, "I think so."

Lily laughed, linking her arm through Eden's as they continued to the classroom. Immediately Eden's body tensed, her arm became rigid and she removed her arm from Lily's as discreetly as possible; turning Lily's attention away by asking a question about the potion's professor.

"Oh yes," Lily smiled, "He's quite nice, but sometimes he can be, well, sort of different I suppose."

Eden merely nodded her head, not exactly remembering what it was that she had asked.

Camilla, who walked with the two girls, began to laugh at Lily's statement.

"Sort of different?" Camilla shook her head, "Slughorn can go like completely crazy, I'm not even joking. I seriously think sometimes that he's been drinking some babbling beverage."

Lily rolled her eyes at her friend's words before she came to a halt. They had reached the potions classroom.

Entering inside was like nothing Eden had ever experienced before. It was completely different than walking into the Great Hall for the first time but it was no less remarkable. The room itself was largely open in the middle, splitting off on the sides into separate domed shaped areas. There were groups of oak tables and stools, and at each table sat numerous cauldrons, books, and other sorts of materials. Turning her head Eden was drawn to the faint sound of bubbling. In one of the dome areas was a table holding various cauldrons, each full with a lively coloured substance. The glow of the potions cast bright shades of purples, greens, and blues into the air around her. Camilla caught Eden's eye, a grin was spread across her face. Motioning with her hands, Camilla beckoned Eden to come her way. Eden followed Camilla as they entered another one of the areas, this one specifically was full of ingredients. Lining rounded wooden shelves were jars upon jars of various substances. Eden took a closer look and silently read off some of the labels, Gryphon Claw, Gillyweed, Gnat Heads, Gurdyroot. When she looked at all the ingredients all she saw were endless opportunities of potions and draughts that could be created. She felt inspired. Camilla's voice broke her out of her haze.

"The Marauders especially love potions class, they can make all sorts of things that can blow up, and ya know, wreak general havoc on everyone."

Eden looked at Camilla confused, "I'm sorry, who?"

"Oh, no I'm sorry," Camila grinned, "The Marauders are just the group of James, Sirius, Remus and Peter, I'm honestly not sure why they gave themselves a name."

Eden smiled along with her, nodding her head to signal her understanding.

"And sorry, you're just fitting in so well it feels like I've known you for forever, I honestly forgot that you literally came yesterday."

Eden let herself feel a bit of pride at Camilla's remark, she was glad to know she had at least one person believing her to be normal.

"Oi! Lily! Camilla! Lets get good seats before the snakes come and steal them." James peaked his head around the corner. "Oh hey Eden, why don't you join our prestigious table group."

James's words were more of a statement than a question, and so not feeling like she was overstepping, Eden made her way back towards the main room with the rest of them.

When they had gotten back they found Remus and Sirius already seated, Sirius was talking to another girl in Gryffindor and Remus was flipping through one of the potions books.

"Ay Remus, can you not be reading the potions manual before class even starts? Your intelligence is making me sick." Camilla fake gagged.

"Keep talking like that, you're gonna lose your tutor." Sirius winked at Camilla, turning away from his conversation with the girl.

"Not sure it will even matter," Camilla rubbed her temples, "There's no bloody way I'll be able to make it though N.E.W.T.S, with or without Remus's help."

"Have faith dear Camilla," James jokingly rubbed her back.

"AHem," a voice spoke.

The group turned their attention towards the man who had spoken. He was a shorter fellow, with a kind, round face and light brown hair that was receding on his head. He wore a plaid suit and matching plaid robe, this very thing gave away that he must be the professor. Eden didn't think any one of the students would be caught dead in his wardrobe.

"Everyone," he smiled, reaching out his hands, "Welcome to a new term, please kindly find a seat. Two to a table." he instructed.

Eden's mind immediately went into overdrive.

Two to a table, two to a table.

Looking around her she noticed that a different group of students had joined the Gryffindors. Surrounding her was a sea of green, a sea of Slytherins, and she had been so focused on her conversation with the others that she hadn't even noticed. She hated herself for that.

Eden was saved from the ever growing worries of her mind as she was tapped on the shoulder.

"If you don't have someone already to sit with, would you sit with me?"

Eden turned to see Remus Lupin standing in front of her. From what she could tell she liked him, he seemed quiet and she noted the way the others teased him about intellect. Intellect was good.

"Yes of course, thank you." Eden offered a sincere smile.

Softly smiling back at her he led her to an unaccompanied table, just one spot behind where they had all been previously gathered. Ahead of them sat Sirius and James, she could've called that pairing, and to their right were Lily and Camilla. The only one who seemed to be missing was Peter, the one whom she had met that morning at breakfast. She was curious, but she thought it might be odd for her to ask Remus about someone she had barely just met. Thankfully, James seemed to be sharing her same thoughts as he turned around and asked Remus himself.

"Do you know where Peter's at?"

Remus stole a look around the room, he began to shake his head before his gaze landed on their friend.

"He's over there," Remus inclined his head, "Over with, no that can't be right, is he sitting with Alecto Carrow?"

James looked over to where Remus had motioned, not so subtle craning his neck to see over the rows of people.

"Bloody hell." James said in disbelief.

Sirius copied James's movements, his face turning into a frown when his eyes landed on his friend, seated with a Slytherin. And not just any Slytherin, a pure-blooded bully of a Slytherin.

"What's he doing with him?" James asked no one in particular.

"I don't know." Remus answered quietly.

Before their conversation could get any further they were once again interrupted by the professor named Slughorn.

"Good morning everyone, I am, if you didn't already know, Professor Slughorn. Each lucky one of you will have me until the term is over, so I suggest staying in my good books," The professor sent a very unsubtle look towards where James and Sirius sat.

"Anyways, as you have probably noticed already I have prepared a potion for us today," Slughorn wheeled out a cart holding a black cauldron full of a simmering, maroon coloured liquid, "Does anyone have an idea what this is?"

The room remained quiet.

"Any one at all?" Slughorn inquired.

Out of the corner of her eye, Eden watched as a Gryffindor's hand shot into the air.

"Yes, Mr…?"

"Gudgeon, Davey Gudgeon."

"Well come get a better look Mr. Gudgeon." Slughorn motioned for him to get up.

Davey was shorter, with a small build and blonde hair that was perfectly and precisely trimmed, he appeared quite harmless to Eden. She watched as he carefully made his way over to the still simmering potion, and leaned over to get a better view of it.

"Well," he said in a supercilious manner, "This is most obviously veritaserum sir."

Slughorn nodded his head, "Very good. Does anyone know what ingredients are used in the making of veritaserum?"

Again, Davey's hand shot straight into the air. Slughorn looked around the room for a different student to call on, but no one else dared to raise their hand.

Slugorn let out a sigh, "Yes Mr. Gudgeon?"

For what felt like an eternity Davey went on explaining all the different parts of veritaserum, including who invented it and all of its known side-effects. Gazing about, Eden noticed rather bored reactions painted clearly on the faces of those around her. A group of Slytherins had taken to mocking poor Davey while James and Sirius were pretending to have fallen asleep. Taking into consideration the overall atmosphere in the room, Eden mentally made note to act the exact opposite of Davey in the way he was eager to answer questions. As pitiful as it was to watch, his actions made it easier for her to see what was acceptable and expected of her by her fellow classmates.

After five minutes of explaining his knowledge, Davey was finally interrupted by the loud snoring sounds of James and Sirius. Looking at them with complete irritation Davey shook his head in disapproval. Slughorn, however, saw this interruption as a godsend and thanked Davey while simultaneously motioning for him to go sit down. Davey begrudgingly took a seat, glaring daggers at the two boys who had caused the class to break out into a loud ruckus.

"Well," Slugorn smiled," Since you now all have more than enough background knowledge on Veristatim, brewing it should be simple. You'll find the instructions on page 11 of your textbook, please get started. And this is an independent assignment."

Eden noticed the Professor eyeing Sirius and James as he spoke, it was becoming quite clear to her that they had set a reputation for themselves.

Turning her attention to her Advanced Potion-Making textbook, Eden flipped through to page 11. Veritaserum. It was something that she had brewed before, at request of her parents of course. They had been adamant that she learn the skills of potion-brewing, especially when it came to brewing potions of a dangerous sort. Polyjuice potion, Draught of Living Death, Drink of Despair and Veritaserum were all poisons that she had been forced to master; and in many cases she herself had been the test subject. She shut those memories out of her head as she busied herself with finding supplies.

Having wandered back to the dome Camilla had shown her, Eden had almost finished gathering the ingredients, Jobberknoll feathers being the last on her list. Following the alphabetically organised shelves, Eden walked until she reached the letter J. There it was, the jar of Jobberknoll feathers, all the way up on the fourth shelf and definitely out of reach. Sighing in annoyance, Eden reached down to get her wand from her pocket, but before she could she was interrupted by a voice from behind her.

"Need some help?"

Turning around, Eden's eyes landed on Sirius Black. His black hair fell in front of his eyes with a casual elegance and, like herself, he had a collection of ingredients held under his arm.

"Sorry, pardon me?" Eden asked.

"With the Jobberknoll feathers, can I help you reach the jar?" he repeated, his features spreading into a relaxed grin.

"Oh" Eden nodded, moving out of his way, "Yah, if you don't mind."

"If you'll hold these for me?" Sirius gestured to the ingredients he was holding.

Eden simply nodded and carefully took his collection into her arms, being careful to not let her fingertips brush over his skin.

Sirius was not a great amount taller than she was, but his extra inches aided him in swiftly reaching the jar off the shelf. Pulling out a feather for each of them, Sirius gingerly returned the jar to its rightful place.

"Good thing we got here when we did," Sirius handed her a feather, "Looks like we got the last ones."

"Perfect, thank you," Eden said genuinely as she handed him back his ingredients.

As he was about to respond, a sing songy voice broke out behind them, "Oh Siriuuss."

Eden watched a sense of recognition appear on Sirius's face, his eyes became alight with an emotion she did not know.

"Marlene,"

Marlene continued walking straight for Sirius, her arms open as she embraced him in a tight hug.

"I've missed you, oh how I've missed you." Marlene murmured loudly enough for Eden to hear.

Highly uncomfortable, Eden began to make her way around the two, but before she could escape, Sirius breaking out of the hug, called out to her.

"Eden, wait, have you met Marlene yet?"

Forcing a smile onto her face Eden turned to face the pair, "Yes I met her last night, nice to see you again Marlene,"

Marlene, ignoring her greeting, proceeded to look her up and down, "Is that a jobberknoll feather in your hand?"

Eden nodded slowly, feeling a small sense of confusion, after all it seemed rather suspicious that a person would inquire after a feather.

A dark smile broke out across Marlene's porcelain complexion, "How perfect, that's just what I came looking for."

Eden, catching on to what Marlene was wanting, decided to play stupid, "Um, ya me too."

Marlene continued to stare at Eden expectantly, and Sirius, rather amused with the situation, said nothing.

"Well?" Marlene held out her hand in annoyance.

With fake confusion plastered on her face, Eden looked at Sirius as if she had no idea what Marlene was meaning.

"Marlene, why don't you go ask Slughorn for a feather, come on Eden you don't wanna get behind on your first day," Sirius shook his head smiling as he walked past Marlene.

Keeping her face clear of emotion but internally smiling, Eden allowed herself to be led by Sirius back to her table. Maybe playing stupid would be something worth practising.

"Sorry about that, Marlene can be, well she can be a bit demanding sometimes, but it's only because of her parents, let's just say she's used to getting what she wants."

"Oh, that's quite understandable," Eden lied, "We're all a little spoiled."

Sirius smiled appreciatively at her before turning back to his table.

Eden quickly began to immerse herself in creating the potion, trying her hardest to ignore the burning glare she could feel on her back.

It had only taken Eden half an hour after her encounter with Marlene and Sirius to finish the Veritasium potion. Working alongside Remus had been beyond comfortable as they both seemed to appreciate the value of silence. He hadn't once tried to make conversation, and knowing that it wasn't out of spite, Eden did not mind one bit.

Glancing around the room, she noticed that everyone around her was still busy completing the potion, some were only one third done. Now very conscious of just how quickly she had worked, Eden began to worry. She had worked just as she had always done, quickly yet meticulously so that her potions master would be pleased, always motivated by the consequences of what would happen if she messed up. But here her expeditiousness was not justifiable by fear, and she didn't have an excuse to give anyone who may ask how she was already done. And so, casting a quick look around, Eden whisked her potion off of the table and made her way to the disposal to get rid of it, but before she could reach it, she bumped into Remus Lupin.

"Oh, oh no I'm sorry," Remus, clearly flustered, steadied himself and looked at Eden, his brown eyes wide in surprise.

Eden waved him off as she sidestepped him, "It was my fault, sorry."

Remus, having composed himself, reached out after her, "Hey, is your potion finished already?"

Eden turned back around, "No, I messed up on a step, I need to restart."

"Are you sure?" Remus raised a quizzical brow, "It looks perfect to me."

Frustration filled Eden's body and she bit her tongue to keep from saying something snarky.

Taking a deep breath she held out her full cauldron to Remus, "Are you sure? I just don't want to give the professor a bad first impression of me."

Remus leaned closer and peered at the still bubbling, colourless liquid, his face brightened the longer he looked.

"Woah," he murmured, "I practised making this during the summer and I've never gotten it this good, and in so little time, merlin's beard"

Eden's face burned from the unprecedented praise, and she found herself quietly thanking him.

Slightly shaking her head she stopped herself from getting distracted by the admiration and quickly she thought up a lie.

"I, um," she faked nervousness, "I didn't want people to think of me as dweebish, ya know? I'd rather not be labelled as a nerd on my first day"

Remus nodded earnestly, as if he knew exactly what it was that Eden spoke of, and Eden felt a twinge of guilt.

"I completely understand, if you want you could wait to show Slughorn yours when I've finished mine?" he suggested kindly.

Eden agreed, and she found her body relaxed, having had stiffened with her stress. Remus Lupin was turning out to be very thoughtful indeed, and maybe even she could consider him a friend, but she wasn't overly certain how that worked, having not had a true friend in her entire life.

By the time evening came around Eden was feeling absolutely and utterly tired. It was a simple enough word but it managed to fully encompass how she felt. The potions class had finished well enough, Slughorn's rather thrilled reaction to her potion had made her glad that the class had been too busy trying to enhance their own potions to notice his reaction. As she had been leaving the class he had pulled her, along with a few others including Lily and Remus, aside and invited them to join his 'club' of sorts. Because of Lily she hadn't had a chance to decline, and so in a week she would be eating dinner with the teachers' favourites. Eden wasn't exactly ecstatic, but she couldn't deny that it did feel nice to be appreciated, and the fact that it wasn't a one on one thing made her slightly comfortable with the situation. She told herself she'd be fine no matter what, but she couldn't seem to believe the words she thought.

The rest of the day consisted of even more classes in which Lily and Camilla made sure she was sat next to them, all except muggle studies. Muggle studies, the thought made her laugh, she couldn't imagine what her parents would do to her if they knew she had enrolled in it. She didn't even know what made her choose the class, most likely some subconscious desire to spite her parents, but whatever the reason she was glad she did. It was a small class and even though she didn't previously know anyone in it, at least the professor seemed nice. Besides the classes, she had managed to eat both dinner and lunch without anyone asking her about her past school or friends which was refreshing, she had only needed to speak on how she had enjoyed her first day. She was genuinely surprised when she did not have to lie when she told the group that she had actually liked it. And now, as she lay awake in bed, she willingly accepted that for the most part, she had enjoyed herself and the thought of tomorrow seemed slightly less daunting. But as she closed her eyes, and allowed her thoughts to fade, fear began to fester in her mind. Slowly, but ever growing, the fear began to twist its way into her innermost emotions, completely invading her senses until the darkness overwhelmed her and she was taken by sleep.

3601 Words

[cazimagines]

Perfectly Exasperating - Chapter 3

Synopsis: While you have been unknowingly kidnapped Zemo is determined to make the time he spends with you the best that he can

Word count: 5.4k

Author’s note: Hey all! This is sorta a one-month celebration of my account and for all the love you guys have shown this series and my other series 'A Freudian Slip' I can't thank you enough! My editing program decided to screw me over though so if you can see a difference grammatically in the first half and the second half that's why

Masterlist

(Please check out my master list to see what I will be writing next and if requests are open or closed)

Cross-posted to ao3 under the same username

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Your eyes slowly flutter open as the warmth from the sun shining through the curtains touching your skin waking you up. Yawning and stretching, feeling the soft duvet move on top of you, you sighed in content, closing your eyes again as you embraced the happiness which had been foreign to you for so long. You reach out to seize the end of the duvet and gradually slide out of the bed; you feel the slight chill of the morning breeze brush against your exposed legs. Crossing over to the wardrobe your hand reaches out to flick through the many dresses, shirts, trousers that hung in there, all belonging to shops such as Gucci, Prada, Valentino. There were clothes appropriate for any event, but today you choose comfortably as you pull out a maroon knitted sweater and dark blue jeans. Though appearing to be rather cheap clothes, you knew Zemo would never have spent less than $100 on them.

When Zemo said he would take care of you, he meant it in every aspect. It was a culture shock going from the relatively poor life you lived, surviving off the small amount of money they paid you for being an Avenger to being treated like royalty by Zemo. Not that you were complaining. It was a guilty pleasure of yours enjoying this luxury, a part of you hoping it would never end. If you had told yourself just a few weeks ago, you would have enjoyed living with Zemo you would have laughed in your face but that man had certainly turned on the charm and you couldn’t help but feel the slightest big thankful for him for everything he has done for you.

You finally leave the confines of your room, something you had only been allowed to do a few times until today. You convinced Zemo yesterday that you weren’t concussed from when John had hit you with the shield and that you would be fine getting up and walking around. He was still hesitant but knew he couldn’t keep you confined in your bed forever.

You close your eyes as you inhale the sweet smell of cooking pancakes, making your stomach grumble greedily. Following the scent, you work your way down through the interior design living room into the lavish kitchen where Zemo currently had his back turned to you as he attempted to flip the pancake he had in the frying pan. His purple turtleneck sleeves were pulled up, exposing his forearms as they tensed, trying to get the timing right to flip the pancake. He does so with perfect accuracy, the golden brownness of the pancake soaring up into the air and landing back down in the frying pan, sizzling.

Zemo giggles to himself, celebrating his minor achievement as he waves the frying pan, his body swaying along slightly with it.

“That smells heavenly,”

Zemo whips around at hearing your voice pierce the air. “Ah y/n! Please, take a seat while I make breakfast,”

His eyes follow you as you take a seat down at the table he had prepared for this morning, then focus back on the breakfast at hand. You pour out some orange juice Zemo had left on the table, then your gaze flickers back to him as he finishes cooking. He stacks the pancakes onto two plates and grabs some sugar, maple syrup, and lemons out of the shelves, giving you a choice of toppings.

You scoff as he turns around, seeing on the apron he had tied around himself the words ‘kiss the chef’ on it.

“Really?” you ask, raising the glass to your lips as you watch him glance down to his apron and then back up to you offended.

“You don’t like?”

“It’s embarrassing to look at!” you exclaim as he places the plates down on the table and sits down opposite you.

Zemo’s eyebrows twitch as he scoffs back at you, “I think it suits me, plus a kiss is expected after I worked so hard on breakfast” he says, tapping his cheek with his finger.

You raise an eyebrow, letting a breath out as you laugh, “Yeah, in your dreams,”

You two settle into a comfortable silence as you readily eat the breakfast he made. The pancakes were soft but delicious, sickeningly sweet but you have always had a sweet tooth and so it seems, does Zemo.

“I thought you would have one of your staff make breakfast, you never struck me as the person to do something yourself when you can make others do it,” you say breaking the silence as you finish the last of your pancakes.

Zemo glances up to you, tilting his head, “Why do you think that? Because I grew up rich?”

You nod, not attempting to make yourself sound nicer, “Yes. It’s common knowledge the rich are always spoilt”

His lips twitch up into a smile at your bluntness. He sighs, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs as he addresses you.

“You’re right. Even though Sokovia was a rather small country, I grew up with more riches than most people could dream of. But at least I acknowledge my privilege. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

“Depending on what you use your privilege for. Blowing up the UN isn’t exactly putting it to good use now stop avoiding my original question,”

Zemo bites the inside of his mouth as you see through his attempts at trying to dodge the question. His admiration for you however outweighed any annoyance he might have felt at being called out for it. Leaning forward again to rest his arms on the table he says,

“It’s only me, you and my Butler who occasionally comes in. After I was arrested, there was no work for my staff so they all left and I can’t exactly hire anyone else,”

You nod, satisfied, then dab the napkin that Zemo has set out beside you, on your lips to get rid of any leftover sugar. You place your hands on the table and push yourself up from it.

“Well, thank you for breakfast, and thank you for looking after me this last week… that was nice of you, but I better be going. Do you know where my phone is?”

Zemo’s eyes furrow and he immediately stands up as you walk away from the table. He rushes past you, stepping in front of you to stop you from walking.

“You can’t leave y/n,”

Your head jilts back in confusion, “Why not?”

“We ruined Karli’s plans, so she is trying to find us. That’s why Sam and James are out hiding and why we must remain here,”

“I can handle Karli,” you tell Zemo, trying to step past him, but his hand reaches out and grasps your arm firmly.

“Not a super-soldier y/n. It’s too dangerous, especially after your recovery. James and Sam will reach out to me once it is clear to leave, but for now, we stay.”

You huff in frustration, shaking Zemo’s hand off your arm as you cross them. “Well, at least get me a phone so I can keep in contact with them too,”

“I’m afraid I can’t get you a phone currently, but you are welcomed to use mine. Alas, James and Sam have my number but I don’t have theirs’s so unless you remember their numbers we have to wait till they message first to reach out to them,”

You let out a melodramatic sigh, rolling your head looking to the side of the room then back to Zemo.

“So what the hell am I to do to keep occupied?”

Zemo tilts his head, his eyes flicker to the side in thought as he opens his mouth wordlessly and his eyes move back to yours, his eyebrows raising as he frowns thinking over the idea that has just entered his head.

-

With his fingers, Zemo, gazing at you eagerly, beckoned you down the corridor, towards a giant door that was at the end.

“I’m not a dog Zemo” you complain as you follow him

“Have you ever heard of dramatic effect?”

Zemo had taken off his apron and replaced it with that coat he loved to wear so much. You firmly believed it gave him a power complex. He strutted to the end of the hallway and placed his hands on the door. His face turns to you smirking, enjoying this dramatic pause as you roll your eyes at him. He pushes the door open and stands to the side, sweeping his arm across the space to let you in.

You walk past him and your eyes widen in amazement as you walk into the most magnificent library you had ever seen. The room itself stretched out almost further than you could see, seeming to go on and on. The shelves looked like they reached up to the sky, each one stacked with thousands of beautiful hardback books. The design of it looked like you had just stepped into heaven, with white and gold being the main colour scheme. On the ceiling was a painted sky with the gods on, looking down at you. On the pillars separating the shelves were little cherubs, their bows positioned to pierce your heart. Everything about this library was beautiful. It felt like a library that should belong to a museum not kept in this private mansion.

“You see why the dramatic effect was necessary?” Zemo says stepping up beside you, looking out at the shelves before you.

“Zemo this is… this is beautiful,”

His eyes flicker to you then back to the library, a smile appearing on his lips, “Yes, I suppose it is. When I was younger, I had always taken things like this for granted, but after my time in prison I believe it’s made me more humble,”

You walk over to the nearest bookshelf, letting your fingers brush over the colourful hardbacks. You pull one book out, stroking the golden platted side. “You must have every practically every book in existence here”

“I have more books than I could ever get round to reading. You can find anything you want to read here,”

After ten minutes you had gathered a rather sizable book pile you were determined to read, full of fictional and non-fictional books, some of your favorites and some you had never read before.

Zemo chuckled as you tried to hold all of them in your grasp. As you picked one up, the book on the very top of your pile slipped and fell to the floor. Panic surged in you, worried you would damage something so expensive, but Zemo’s hand appears and catches it before it could hit the ground.

Straightening up, he gave you an amused smile, “Maybe you should let me help carry them”

Accepting his help, he takes half the book pile off you and guides you over to a place deep in the library where you two could read. There were two light green armchairs facing each other, with a fireplace just behind them. To the side of the chairs were small tables which contained bookmarks, a goblet, and an ashtray, and to the side of one chair was a globe which could be opened, and inside it held a decanter full of whiskey.

Zemo places the books in his arms on the table then walks over to one shelf, browsing till he finally finds the book he was looking for. He returns to find you getting comfortable in your chair, opening the first book.

“Whisky?” he asks, opening up the globe beside him.

A few days ago you would have said ‘no, no way,’ but today you smile and nod your head, reaching out with the glass beside you to gracefully accept the drink.

-

The next couple of days were spent similarly with you and Zemo spending much of your time reading in the library together. Occasionally you two would even read to each other as he had first done with you when you had woken up here. Though you would never admit it to him, his smokey voice made you very comfortable. If he tried, he could lull you to sleep with that accent of his.

You couldn’t help but try to separate the Zemo you know now as the one you used to hate. Yes, he had torn apart your family, but he had all the reason for what happened to Sokovia, what happened to his family. Plus, this Zemo seemed to try hard to make it up to you. Almost too hard. He was trying everything to keep you entertained while you were stuck here, make your life as comfortable as he could. It was nice.

You strolled into the kitchen hearing the quiet buzz of the radio playing the latest top hits and the sound of someone humming along to the music. In there you find Zemo by the counter, fixated on the bowl he held in his arm and the spoon in his hand as he delicately tries to put the mixture into the cupcake trays before him. You had offered to make food, feeling like he always did too much for you but every day he insisted he would, even on days where it Butler would come around.

“Need help?” you ask, walking over to stand beside him.

He glances at you, then back to the tray he has laid out before him. “I’ve got a handle on this,” he replies just as he spills some mixtures onto the counter, making him swear under his breath.

“Uh-huh, sure,” you say, looking down at the spilled mixture. You turn to face him, letting out a chuff as you place a hand on his arm, “Zemo stop being so prideful and let me help”

As soon as your hand comes in contact with his arm, he freezes. He glances down at the ground, swallowing then his eyes flicker to yours and he smiles gently, his usual arrogance disappearing. “Okay,”

You grab a spoon from the draw and help Zemo scrap off what he puts into his spoon into the cake tray with accuracy. You two stand together, your shoulders brushing up against each other till you finish and put it into the oven.

“We have 30 minutes until we need to get them out. Why don’t you read for a bit while I clean up,”

“I can help clean up,” You tell him already going over to the sink to turn the water on, “You’re not my servant Zemo,”

“Helmut” he suddenly says

You turn back to look at him, confused at the seriousness of his face, “Please y/n, call me Helmut,”

Your mouth moves wordlessly for a moment, then you say, “Helmut,” trying the name out on your tongue. You were so used to calling him Zemo, you had forgotten that that wasn’t his first name.

“Thank you” he whispers, glancing away from you bashfully.

He takes a towel off the side of the rail and dries up everything you washed as you two settled into a peculiar silence.

Attempting to liven the atmosphere again, you put a cup just at the right angle of the running tap that the water splashed into Zemo’s coat. He steps back shocked, glancing down at his coat then back to you. He lets out a laugh, his mouth open in surprise that you would do that. “Oh, if that is how it is”

Zemo quickly grabs a mug, running it under the following water. Realizing what he was going to do you let out a squeal and rush for the door but you don’t get far enough till you feel the water hit your back, soaking your t-shirt.

“Helmut!” you gasp as he chuckles at you. You run forward to grab the nearest thing in front of you to chuck it at him, a piece of bread in this case but he ducks as it flies over him. He fills the cup up again and runs towards you but you get to the table and hide on the other side till you were both poised opposite each other waiting for one of you to make the first move.

“This isn’t fair!” you whine, feeling the coldness of your t-shirt cling to your back. “Who said anything about fairness!” Zemo shouted back, grinning at you.

Eventually, you two called a truce when the oven chimes letting you two know the cupcakes were finished baking. After that day, Zemo always asked if you wanted to help him make meals.

-

“Is the popcorn ready?” you shout as you jump up from the floor where you were placing the DVD into the DVD player.

“Almost done” Zemo calls out.

While waiting, you settle yourself down on the middle of the red sofa, twisting your back to get that perfect spot as you stared up at the giant screen in front of you.

Zemo emerges from the kitchen holding the popcorn and places the bowl onto the table in front of you. He settles down beside you, instantly positioning his arms on the top of the sofa, resting behind your head.

He leans forward to pick up some of the popcorn, tossing it in his mouth as he asks you what you have chosen to watch tonight.

“Beauty and the Beast,” you say excitingly and Zemo coughs, leaning forward as he accidentally inhaled the popcorn in his mouth.

He wipes the tear from his eye as he leans back and you give him a confused look, “Do you not like the film?”

“No-no, it’s not that. W-why do you want to watch the film?”

“It’s my favorite Disney film,”

He nods his head slightly looking down at the popcorn, “I see…” he then glances back to you, looking you in the eyes, “Why is it your favorite Disney film?”

You lean back sighing as you think the movie over, “Well, I’ve loved it since I was a kid. I always wanted to be like Bell and I found the beast so sweet and gentle”

“Even though he imprisoned her?”

“He let her go in the end, and she came back to him”

Zemo opened his mouth wanting to say more, but you sushed him as the movie started, wanting to concentrate only on it.

Zemo turned down the lights to make the experience feel as cinematic as he could of you. Grabbing the bowel he offered you some of the popcorn and you smiled at him in thanks. He tried to enjoy the movie, but his eyes kept wandering back to you, watching your expressions as you watched the movie. His heart skipped a beat every time you laughed at it when that gorgeous smile would grace your face, even in the sad moments where it looked like you were about to cry. He loved seeing how you reacted to everything. There were so many things he had taken for granted, and it felt like he was discovering them all over again with you. It fascinated him to find out the beauty and the beast was your favorite film. It was almost ironic given your current situation, one of which you remained painfully unaware of. He knew he couldn’t keep you in the dark forever. Sam and James were bound to discover where you two were eventually, which is why he wanted to enjoy every moment he had with you to the fullest before it was over.

As the movie went on, Zemo could feel your body moving closer and closer to him. The heat that radiated from your body made him want to wrap his arms around you, but he didn’t know if that would go too far. Roughly by the end of the movie, your head rested against his chest, moving slightly up and down as he breathed. He could tell by your shallow breathing you had entered the realm of dreams.

Looking down at you, he couldn’t help but admire how peaceful you looked. When on the mission with Sam and James you had always appeared tense, prepared to fight your way out of a situation as soon as possible, but at this moment you were relaxed and it made his heart flutter. He could look at you forever like this and never tire of it.

He had found himself in the past comparing you to his wife. He felt conflicted feeling this way about another woman, but how he felt about you differed from how he felt about his wife. It was new, exciting, addicting. Slowly raising his hand, he brushes a piece of hair that had fallen over your face while you slept. Your skin was smooth against his fingers and so soft. His fingers lingered on your skin before finally, he let his arm rest around your body, holding you close as you slept against his chest.

-

Your arms were raised, feeling the walls on either side of you as you tried to figure out if you were going and if you were about to bump into anything while Zemo’s hands were clasped around your eyes tightly.

“Don’t you trust me y/n” he whispers in your year, snickering.

“Do you want a pleasant lie or the harsh truth?” you ask, turning your head slightly but Zemo tuts and moves your head back with his hands

“Not long now, just a few more steps,”

“Till what!” you whine

“Be patient y/n!”

Zemo lifts one hand of your eyes telling you to keep them close and you hear the creak of a door open ahead of you. His hand returns to your face and with slightly pushing his body against yours, he urges you forward into this new room.

“Can I finally look now?”

Zemo removes his hands and steps back from you, “Okay y/n, open your eyes”

Opening them you gasped in shock seeing what was before you. On a stand was a replica of Belle’s dress in Beauty and the Beast. Its honey yellow colour shone out, the top of it tightly clung to the mannequin it was on while the bottom poofed out, it hung with no shoulder straps and came with yellow gloves. Everything about it was perfect.

“Helmut I- I’m, stunned,”

“You like it?” he asks anxiously

You turn to him grinning, “Of course I do!”

You hug him tightly, ecstatic, then rushed over to the dress, brushing your fingers along it. “It’s beautiful” you whisper.

“I think I got the sizes right,” Zemo says coming up beside you, a pink tinge to his cheeks, “There’s only one way to know for you,” he adds on, turning to you giving you a gentle smile

He helps you take the dress off and chuckles as he watches you rush off with it to get changed, then leaves to get changed himself.

The dress fitted perfectly on you. Everything from the bust down to the waist. Even the gloves fitted perfectly. When you entered the bathroom, you found Zemo had even found some make-up in case you wanted to use any. He thought of everything.

Finally looking at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face. You truly felt like a Disney princess. Slowly you walked back down the stairs and enter the room Zemo had to lead you in, to begin with. As you walked in, let out a merry laugh as you saw Zemo, dressed up in a blue jacket, embroidered with yellow roses on the sleeves, just like the beast. He was standing by a record player, putting a disk in as you walked in. He turns to look at you, his mouth opening in wonder.

“Y/n… you look glorious,”

His sincere comment makes your cheeks heat up and you hold your arms out to him, squeezing your hands letting him know you want to hold his hands.

He turns the record on and your favorite song from Beauty and the Beast floats out, making your cells light up with excitement.

“Helmut” you start to say as he walks over to you, holding his hand out, “Why are you doing this?”

He gently takes your gloved hand, bending over to kiss it. “I know it isn’t easy being stuck in here all the time and you said you loved ‘Beauty and the Beast’ so I thought it would make a pleasant treat,”

His arms hesitantly touch your waist as he looks into your eyes as if asking it was okay. You nod and step closer to him, taking his hand in yours holding it up. Getting into the waltz position you two start to move along the dance floor, swaying to the music.

You two slide along the ballroom floor, picking up speed. As you look up to him, he breathes out smiling back down at you happily. His hand on his waist spins your around as your dress flutters out. You squeal in delight as you grasp back onto his hand as you felt dizzy.

You two turn around the floor looking each other deep in the eyes. You could feel his breath on your face as you two were barely inches apart from each other. Zemo pulls you in even closer as your arm goes around his neck, your body pulled into his. He dips you as you cling to him tightly for dear life as the music fades.

He holds you into that position, panting as he looks at you, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. You could feel that pull towards him, your eyes starting to flutter shut. He leans towards you but suddenly you feel your fingers slip and you almost let go of him. His other hand quickly wraps around making sure you don’t fall to the floor.

He helps you back on your feet and you two steps apart. You look away feeling your cheeks burn up again.

“Helmut, thank you. Thank you so much” you tell him earnestly

He looks deep into your eyes, smiling in bliss, “Anything for you y/n”

-

“Y/n, are you awake?”

You groan as you hear Zemo whisper beside you, waking you from your sleep.

“Ugh, Helmut what time is it,” you moan turning over with your eyes are closed.

“It’s 8, time to wake up”

“Nooooo” you whine screwing up your eyelids.

You hear him chuckle and then you feel something push against your lips. You open your eyes confused to see Zemo beside you, holding a strawberry to your lips.

You smile and take a bite out of it, moaning in delight as you taste its sweetness as you sit up. He sits up beside you and holds out some melted chocolate for you to dip the strawberry in.

“Helmut, you spoil me”

“Not enough,” he whispers back as he puts the chocolate-covered strawberry to your lips letting you take another bite.

“I’m not even surprised anymore to see you in my bed when I wake up,” you tell him

“Technically this is my bed”

“You know what I mean!”

He chuckles as he pushes his head back into the headboard, “I thought it would be a nice way for you to wake up,”

“Consider me impressed,” you tell him, looking over at him smiling. He glances back to you, his lips twitching up. You lean into his side, not caring at the moment you were in a simple nightdress. You close your eyes inhaling his cologne and picking up a strawberry to feed to him.

“I could get used to this,” you whisper to him

-

You scan the piano music book before looking back down to the notes before you. It had been a while since you had last played so you thought you might as well pick it up while you were stuck in Zemo’s mansion.

You press the notes but every time you tried to play one of the chords you always missed one. You were trying to play your favorite song 'Comptine d'un autre été' but to no avail.

“You need to flow with the music and not worry about hitting the right notes”

You turn around and smile as you see Zemo approach you from behind. “Isn’t the whole point of music to play the right notes?” you say sarcastically

Zemo lets out a huff chuckling, “Well yes but you’ll hit the notes when you stop trying so hard. Now try again”

You turn back around and attempt the music again but hit the wrong notes making you slam the piano in annoyance.

“Don’t damage the piano”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, “I should give up,”

“No don’t do that” Zemo says, brushing his fingers over your waist, “Here let me help you”

He puts his hands on top of yours guiding them, “Let’s try again,”

You look to the music then back down to your hands which had Zemo’s resting on and attempt to start playing again. His hands moved in time with yours as they guided along with the piano, pressing down on your fingers when you needed to. You got every note. Well, Zemo got every note.

“See, easy,” he says as he pulls back from you. “Now try again”

You attempt to play again but feeling his eyes stare into your back you couldn’t concentrate and messed up the notes again.

“We just went through this!”

“It’s hard to concentrate with you staring at me!” you exclaim turning around to him. Your eyes widen as what you just said as he tilts his head, a smug smile appearing on his lips.

“Oh, I make it hard for you to concentrate do I?”

You groan at his cockiness, looking away from him so he doesn’t see your glistening red cheeks.

He walks up behind you again, his fingers grazing your jawline, stopping at your chin as he raises your head to look up at him. Seeing him look down at you made a knot in your stomach tighten.

“You are awfully red y/n”

“Shut up”

He chuckles and leans down, placing a kiss on your forehead, “I like it when you blush”

The breath gets caught in your lungs as you feel his lips on your forehead, their softness cooling your burning skin.

For the first time in your life, you were rendered speechless, by Helmut Zemo no less.

His teeth flash in his smile as he looks down at you, “Come let’s practice this again” he says, leaning over as his back pressed into yours, putting his hands back on top of yours.

-

“Zemo do you mind if I borrow your phone briefly to see if that new video has been released?” you call out picking up Zemo’s phone that he had left on your seat.

“Go ahead! Just don’t check anything else on there” he yells back

“Worried I will find your nudes?” you call out as you unlock the phone. Pressing onto the youtube app you sigh in annoyance seeing no new video and so you were about to put the phone back down when a message appeared from a contact simply labeled ‘S’

It read, ‘S: Look just tell us where you have taken her. Whatever you are doing with her it isn’t worth it”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion at what the hell could that message mean. You click onto the message stream just to see a ton of messages from this ‘S’ contact but with no reply from Zemo.

You hesitate for a moment, knowing Zemo wouldn’t want you to do what you were about to do, but your curiosity got the best of you and you pressed the call button.

It rang for a few seconds and then the line picked up.

“Zemo” Sam’s voice rang out through the phone

“Sam?” you ask back

“W-what, YN/!? Are you okay? Where are you?”

“Woah Woah Sam, calm down, I’m fine! I’m with Helmut-Sam what is going on?”

“What has he done to you?”

“What do you mean he's done nothing, Sam I thought me and Helmut were hiding out here till Karli was done with her plan?”

You hear a sigh down the phone and then the muffled voices of what you could make out as Bucky and Sharon down the line.

Sam picked the phone back up and spoke directly, “Y/n you need to get out of there now. Zemo, he's kidnapped you”

The phone slips from your hand and lands on the floor with a loud crash.

Tag list: @sinister-sleep @cable-kenobi @faustlyaccused @chipster-21 @icarusinstatic @yallgotkik @montypythonsholysnail @bunniwritesx @checkurwindow @huntheimpossible @jayxkelsi @avgravy @prestigious-tea @aloyssiac @hannahbal-the-fannibal @alainabooks143 @jokerprettyprincess @plumsandkiwis @latenightartist-author @e-barba @flutterskies @loonylunalovegood77 @lieutenantn @wonderwoman292 @there-goes-thefighter @multiyfandomgirl40 @freyjasamael @ineffablebean @arianalilyblack @mandowhatnow @scullys-alienpussy @felicityofbakerstreet @babayaga67 @spookycereal-s

[clarissalance]

Hints of something more

Albedo x fem!reader

Warning: Slight suggestive language at the end. 

Word count: 2k7

Summary: Apparently, visiting Albedo in Dragonspine has somehow opened a new door to your vague, no-label relationship. And Kaeya won’t stop teasing you about it.  

Before leaving for Dragonspine two days ago, Albedo told you to bring him some canvas, a few pencils and a paint set of watercolour. However, he failed to mention which brand and type of watercolour he wants you to bring. Is it a set of 24 colours? 48 colours or the 12 colours set? Furrow your eyebrows, you stared questioningly at the shelves, hesitating to pick one up. Knowing how picky Albedo is if it is not up to his standard. The man would refuse to touch the paint. 

What would he choose usually? You can’t seem to recall his watercolour preference. Funny how it is, he usually encourages you to follow your instinct. Human instinct is the best to study. He would say something like this out of nowhere. Sometimes they make a really questionable decision that I can’t decipher. Definitely one of his catch-on phrase. 

 Drilling holes on the shelves for too long is not the solution, so you finally choose the most expensive set of 48 watercolours in the store. You cross your fingers and hope that he doesn’t question your choice. There it goes for half of my salary. Far away, you can faintly see the outline of the money fairy waving at you, flying toward Celestia. I hope he will like this one. 

 Packing up the last few things inside your backpack, you prepare for the adventure to the Dragonspine to meet with the chalk prince. The bright sun on the blue canvas is almost halfway to the top. The weather would be lovely for a small picnic, too good to waste over climbing to Dragonspine. Dragging your body toward the front gate, you lazily hope to hitch someone carriage. It would be best to start early than arriving at the lab late.  

 The journey takes an hour by feet to walk from the city to the foot of Dragonspine and then takes another 2 hours to walk to Albedo’s lab on the mountain. It would be much faster if you can actually have combat fighting skill to head-on with the cryo mitachurl, but life is much a sadder reality. You don’t have a vision nor a combat skill to solo a whole camp of hilichurl. However, with your brain and your gifted survival (escaping) instinct, dodging a few camps and distracting a few of them isn’t very hard. 

 The weather in Dragonspine is much better than what you anticipated. The sky deep and clear, the veil of fog has thinned enough. The air is crisp, mist rises and slowly dissipates after each exhales. The sheer cold is as brutal and sharp knife-like as usual. You can’t understand how Albedo loves the weather in this place enough to set up a lab in here. A summer person like you refuses to set foot in this area unless for commissions and Albedo’s related purpose. Hnng, you are starting to regret coming here.  

There are a few more camps of hilichurl than usual on your way to the mountain, so you decide to take the longer route. At least meeting with a few Fatui is much more comforting than getting hit by an ice mitachurl shield. 

 By the time you get to the camp, the sun is standing proudly on the top. You get here an hour late, and much to your dismay, Albedo wasn’t in his lab. He is going out to look for more sample again. Heaving exhaustingly, you drop the heavy backpack thud on the ground. Scampering over the fire, you let out a satisfying at the charing fire. A pyro vision would be convenient to have in this weather. 

 With the sound of wood cracking under the desiring heat, the frost bearing breeze slowly finds its way into the camp, cooling the scorching radiation from the glowing fire. Warmth slowly crawls and sinks in on your dry skin, soothing the icy air. Exhausted, your eyelids slowly pull themselves over, threaten to extinguish your consciousness. A nap wouldn’t hurt anyone, right? You let out a long yawn, curl into a fetal position and use the bag as a pillow. Darkness comes within a second. 

 _____________________________________________________________

 You are woken up by the warmth on the hand caressing your cheek, running through your hair. The familiar smooth hand resting on your face doesn’t know you have woken up, the thumb fiddling with your soft skin. Nuzzle lovingly at the palm, you let out sigh contentment. The hand is big enough, gently and carefully tracing your face outline like it’s treasuring a gift. This familiar feeling tickles you like a feather. 

 Groggily, you peel your eyes open and greet with a stunning sight. Albedo is sitting next to you, the fluffy blond hair softly falls on the cheek, some being tucked under his ears. The teal eyes focus intently on the notebook in front of him, glimmering with interest and dedication, his long lashes fluttering like a butterfly wing on a flower petal. The golden diamond on his neck glimmers faintly under the flicker of light, stand out on his creamy white skin. His warm slender fingers still lightly touch your hair soothingly make you feel so relaxing. Letting out a satisfying purr, you press your plump lips on his wrist, successfully gets Albedo attention. 

 “ How long have you been up?” His soothing voice has never failed to calm your nerve. You yearn up a little bit, trying to peek at the notebook on his lap. It’s so far away, you can’t catch a glimpse from here. 

 “ A while.” You hum. “ Long enough to get drunken at your handsome features.” 

 His eyes widen a little bit, not expecting that coming out from your mouth. 

 At the corner of his eyes, he catches your cheeky grin. Beaming widely at him, you internally cringing at your cheesy remark. You don’t even know what gives you the courage to slip the embarrassing words. 

 Albedo smirks at your blatant flirt, his reaction opposite what you look for. He returns his attention back to the notebook. His eyes still remains a hint of amusement. You want to dig a hole and jump in it. 

Slowly rise up, you rub your eyes tiredly, and notice Albedo’s coat on your body. Did he put it on you? You glance at him curiously, trying to seek an explanation, but he remains quiet, focuses on the piece of paper. The sound of pencil rustling on the parchment eases you somehow, like waking up in a small cottage with your loved one. 

 “ What time is it? ” You let out a big yawn, voice thicks with sleep. His light coat somehow is warm. Maybe you should ask him where he got this. 

 “ It’s around 3.” Albedo mindlessly points out. “ You can sleep more. Put my coat on if you're cold.” He reminds.  

 “ I shouldn’t be sleeping longer. Let me help with your work so I can get back to Mondstadt on time.” You scratch your head, your body is numbing over the sheer cold. Throw on Albedo coat, you hope the thin layer can keep you warm a little bit longer. His coat smells like frost and Cecilia. Inside the pocket, you find a heating pack. Maybe this is what kept you warm when you were sleeping.  

  “ M almost finished.” The sound of paper rustling each time he turns a page. “I can accompany you back to the city.” 

 “ But I haven’t done anything?” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, hands folding at your chest, trying to saviour some warmth. “You’re sure you finished?” 

 “ Yes, just a few more retouches, then we can go back.” Albedo nods, his eyes still glued on the piece of paper. Abruptly, he stops and looks up at you, waving his hand, signalling you to get closer. Obediently, you walk toward him. When you are an arm-length from him, the man gestures at the chair put closely next to him. He wants you to sit down?

 You sit down quietly, trying to take a look at the drawing he is working on. Hmm, is that you? Did he draw your sleeping form? On the paper is the portrait of you curl like a fetal, your long hair splaying on the floor. Each stroke of pencil depicts the gentleness you have in your face when you are sleeping. The drawing is mundane somehow, you feel comfortable and relax when looking at the piece. 

 Suddenly, you felt a warm hand slotting in your palm, elbow nudging yours. His slender digits are weaving tightly with your fingers, warmth tingling on the tips of your fingers. . Look up from the drawing, you see a tint of pink on his ears. So he can also get embarrassed. 

 “ You look cold.” He mumbles, eyes avoiding yours, his cheek flush furiously. “Sit closer.” You gladly shift closer, your hand and shoulder touching his. Albedo picks up the pencil and returns to his drawing. This time he turns to a new page, start to draw another specimen. Looking at the sketch, you guess he is trying to sketch the abandoned ruins. The comfortable silence envelopes the two of you. 

 Being so close to him, you can make out the whiff of fresh Cecilia and pine. Engulf by his coat and, now next sitting next to him, you are bathing under his signature scent. It would be nice if I could feel him more. Blushing at the thought, you try to push away those not-so-innocent thoughts. Obviously, he is trying to be a gentleman. You should be grateful, if not because of him, you're going to freeze to death.

 Albedo is much warmer than you, his body radiating heat like a furnace after a while. Silently, you pick up a book you left here last time on the table. Most of his books are either textbooks or ancient language book about the alchemist, which you think you are qualified enough to read. Waiting for him in silence is a form of torture if you don’t do something. Your attention removes from his body and to the novel on your hand. 

 After what feels like two hours, Albedo finally puts down his pencil and stretches. His long limb knocks your hand a few times, your knees bump with his. He let out a tired yawn, cracking his knuckles. 

 “Finished?” Your eyes still glue on the thick book. You hear him let out a hum, his hand remove to clean up the mess on the table. 

 “ What are you having for dinner?” Albedo casually asks, hand dusting the enormous amount of eraser dust on the paper before dumping them in the trash. His voice wavers a little, but you aren't sure why. 

 “Hash brown and cream stew. I have a brownie for dessert.” You notice Albedo never makes small conversation like this. He is the type who would get straight to the point or request. Perc up from the book, you are faced with his back at you. He is arranging the bookshelves.

 “Do… you want to join me for dinner? ” After it felt like a while, you finally break the silence, your voice laces with uncertainty. If you read the atmosphere wrong, it can cost you quite severely.  

 “Sure.” He shrugs nonchalantly, continues sorting the stacks of books on the ground. Somehow you can feel the tension in the air is lifted, and he seems more relaxed than before. 

 “These are some observations and speculations I made in the last few days in here.” The chief alchemist hands you a folder. 

 You flip through the files, they are mostly pictures and drawing of large camps of hilichurl. At the end of the file is a map marked with their locations. The Abyss Order's activity has increased rapidly in this month. Commissions have been sent out continuously, yet many of them haven’t been sorted out properly yet. It seems like the sheer cold of Dragonspine can't prevent their enthusiasm. On your ways here, you have met 4 more camps, hence the reason why you choose to be acquainted with the Fatui instead.

 “I will give this to the Adventurer Guild. Thank you for this.” You exhale, fingers rubbing your eyes tiredly. The next few days are going to be very busy. 

 “If you are done, then pack up. We are going back.” He announces, returns his attention to pile on the ground. Fold the corner of the page, close the book, prepare the pack-up for the leave. You can’t wait to leave this devastating sheer cold and return back to the realm of fog and wind. Shuffling through your backpack, you put the art supplies Albedo asked you to buy on the table neatly. You didn't take anything out, so no need for packing. Basically, you are done. 

 “ Let’s go back.” 

 _____________________________________________________________

On the way back, you both walk in silence. Most of the camps are cleared, barrels and boxes shatter into tiny pieces scatter on the ground. Seem like our dear traveller has their job quite well. The place is almost spotless, even with the Fatui camp. You are impressed with their productivity.  

 It takes less than 2 hours walking back from Dragonspine, now that your bag is lighter. Walking comfortably next to Albedo, your hands grazing past each other a few times. You watch the sunset etches widely on the blushing hues orange sky in Dragonspine can be so romantic. 

 Suddenly feeling so motivated, you gently slip your index into his palm. Albedo freezes but still complies, his fingers caught your hand, slowly interlocking yours. Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, heating creeping up your cheek. Shutting your eyes, you mumble incoherently something about how unfair life is. 

 He let out a breathy snicker, with your fingers interlock, sharing the heat in the harsh weather. Look up the fading orange, slowly disappear behind the layer of thick snow, you blow out warm air, fog gathers and dissipates in the air. Sunset in Dragonspine can be arguably one of the best scenes in Mondstadt. 

    “I’m going back to my office to put this away.” When you arrive at the gate, Albedo decides to head to the HQ of the Knight of Favonius. He motions at the package in his hand. 

 “ See you later at dinner.” Nonchalantly, he plants a kiss on your cheek, hand ruffles your hair a little bit before head off in the opposite direction. 

 You stand there, still trying to comprehend what just happened a few seconds ago. The peck on your cheek is too short, too light, like feather brushes. He can’t do this to you. Your cheek is blazing with fire, and if not careful, a spark can ignite an explosion right here. You turn your head sideways, trying to saviour and recall the feeling of his lips. 

 “ Tch tch.” The sound is coming from the nearby alley, the click-clack of boots coming closer. You whirl your head toward that direction, just to realize the source of the sound is all-mighty Calvary Captain of the Knight of Favonius. 

 “ Love is really in the air.” He comments sarcastic, hand waving around to shoo away those imaginable ‘love’. 

 “ Living this long, I have never thought I would be able to see our Alchemist Chief giving someone a goodbye kiss.” Kaeya smugs at you, his deep blue eyes gleaming with mischief. Oh, you really can't wait to wipe his shit-eating grin off his face. 

 “Stop being a drama queen, Kaeya.” You shot back. “ He gave Klee one too, don’t treat this as such an abnormal supernatural act.” Internally, you have to say that Albedo giving affection is kind of a supernatural incident too. Kaeya eyes at you like you grow another head, shaking his head.  

 “ You know what I meant.” The captain shrugs, his voice ringing with a hint of smugness. 

 The man suddenly walks closer, his gloved hand pats your shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Must have been really cold in Dragonspine for him to give you his coat.” He winks at you, his eyes slowly drag down your figure. You cautiously look down. Shit, you totally forget this. 

 “We have a meeting at 8 tomorrow at the HQ. Please tell him to not stay up too late.” The cryo user whistles teasingly, heading toward Angel Share, his hand waving in the air. Your face flushes furiously, smoke almost come off your burning face. Now you realize why people have been giving your pointed gazes when you first enter the gate. Damn it, Kaeya, it is not what you think it is.  

[definitelynotsuzumi]

Zapped to Another World

Genshin Impact x Fem!Reader

I wrote this in my spare time when I was working back in November and thought that I should share this ^-^ 

Depending on the comments/notes and if I have spare time, I may be updating this. 

[Masterlist]

The rain poured down your umbrella. The clouds coloured the sky a dark grey as you ran for the bus. You sighed as you reached the traffic light. Yup, you were definitely not going to be able to catch it now.

School had ended for the year, which meant more free time for you and the new game you had recently gotten into. Genshin Impact.

You could not help but smile at the thought of it. With school out of the picture, you could finally focus on the game completely. There was so many things to do. Farming for artifacts, completing your daily commissions…

You sloshed your way over as the lights turned green. While you love that school is out, you honestly hated the wet weather that came with the winter break and the feeling of wet socks on your feet. After safely crossing the road, you winced as a white truck rushed by, soaking your clothes through as the giant puddle you have been trying to avoid poured onto your skirt and legs.

You let out a sigh as you quickly took shelter under a tree nearby to try and wring out the remaining water when it happened.

“Just my luck…”You muttered as you clumsily balanced your umbrella, “Can it get any worse?”

Just as those words left your lips, it happened. A white flash lit the sky for a brief second. But it was too late. Thousands of volts came cascading upon your body and everything turned white.

“This is your fault.” You heard a voice. It sounded like a young, sulky boy.

“How is this my fault? You’re the one who lashed out when I put down that +4 card down.”

“THAT AIN’T FAIR STILL! I WAS SO CLOSE TO WINNING AND YOU BLEW IT!”

“Uh…What’s going on?” You blinked as your vision settled. You sat in what looked like a library of sorts, with several shelves lining the walls and a long white and gold marble table in the centre of it all. A girl with long, platinum hair glared down at her male counterpart, who huffed in annoyance.

“How about you explain it to her, Artem.”

“Sorry, but I don’t speak to cheaters.”

“Oh for gods sake- fine. We apologize for uhm…Killing you. Truly, a thousand apologies. If only someone can control their temper for once in their life-“ The girl shot a dirty look at Artem.

“LIKE YOU ARE ONE TO TALK! SOLARIA, YOU SINGED MY EYEBROWS OVER KILLING YOU IN AMONG US!”

“Well excuse you! My anger was perfectly justified! You voted me out even when I told you the truth and that I was innocent!”

“DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT WAS TO EMBROIDER AND GROOM THEM BACK TO NORMAL AGAIN?”

“Could you guys please stop fighting for 10 seconds?” You yelled over the noise. The girl and boy finally stopped, leaving you to rub at your ringing ears.

You sighed. Kids were always a handful back in your home. You had to take care of your cousins whenever your aunt was over, and it often resulted with your ears ringing and your head pounding.

“What’s done is done. I’m…well, dead and I seriously have no idea where I am.” You said, trying to stay composed.

“Well…In your human terms, this is kind of like the After Life.” The boy, Artem explained, sighing as he put down his Uno cards.

“Or well, it shouldn’t since…You were supposed to live for like, another 50 to 60 years. But someone messed it up.” The girl, Solaria, summoned a book from a shelf. You blinked as a weathered leather book with gilded, golden pages floated down onto the table.

“Shut up. I said that I was sorry, didn’t I?” Artem groaned.

“Sir Artem, are you losing your braincells? I was the one who apologized. You still owe the human an apology.” Solaria bit back icily.  

With a wave of her hand, the pages of the book flipped and she studied it carefully for a minute before looking back up.

“Well, as a soul now, you have an option. You can go into Elysium or be reincarnated.” Solaria sighed as Artem huffed again.

“Huh. What do you know? Elysium sounds real good right about now-“You thought out loud as Artem’s eyes turned wide with fear.

“Please don’t go into Elysium!” Artem yelled. The books shook in the shelves as his voice echoed.

“Ow, inside voice please? Hasn’t your mother taught you better?” You winced in pain. It seems that immortals had a throat of steel, judging from the way they could shout infinitely.

“I’m really sorry, but if Dad finds out I brought in another human because I accidentally killed them…He’s going to banish me…To Earth…” Artem looked down onto the table.

He was unable to meet your eyes as you stared at him with bemusement.

“Yeah, as much as I hate to say it, please…Reconsider on our offer to reincarnate. He is on thin ice with Father and if he is banished, I’d have to take on his duties as well. I’m pretty exhausted with the workload as it is.” Solaria sighed.

“As long as it’s not Earth, I’m cool with it.” You looked up at the ceiling, which took your breath away. The entire solar system was on it. With it, was the familiar sphere of white, green and blue.

“Hm, that is easy enough. I could reincarnate you into my world.” Artem brightened up.

Solaria sighed with relief.

“And to make up for it, I could buff you up with a couple of blessings here and there-“

“Within reason.” Solaria cut in, with a sharp look at Artem.

“Psssh, as if it’s hard to make a Gnosis.” Artem had considerably relaxed after hearing your statement.

“Are you serious? Don’t you even know the situation down at Teyvat?!” Your eyes widened. Were they talking about what you were thinking of?

Artem rose to his feet, the ivory wings on his lower back flaring. His eyes gleamed gold as he stared down his sister.

“It’s my world. I do what I like with it. If you don’t like it, get a world of your own.”

“You only got your world because Mother took pity on you. Don’t act all big when you have killed so many humans.”  Solaria hummed, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll only grant this human the bare minimum. Anything more, and I’ll let Father know of your deeds thus far, even if it means more work for me.” Solaria glared back. Her eyes gleamed silver as she did so. You felt a shiver run down your spine. 

“That’s all that I’ll need then. Work on your blessings and gifts. I’ll work on mine.” Artem turned away from his sister. The siblings set to work, the atmosphere of ice cold professionalism now in the air.

Solaria rose from her place on the table. With a flick of a finger, the Uno cards vanished with a burst of gold sparkles. The leather book floated beside her as she constantly referred to its pages while flying around the room.

“Hmm…Not much of a combatant, I see. Polearms and swords will probably be hard for you. Perhaps…A catalyst?” She pulled out a bright blue book adorned in gold, with feathers sticking out.

Blowing off any dust from the beautiful book, she casually tossed it over her shoulder and onto you. You instinctively brought your arms up to protect your face but as the book hit your arms, it disappeared into a burst of gold.

“Huh?” You blinked as you saw the book reappear beside you, its pages flipping.

Solaria returned with a satchel and a bag of gold coins. Looking satisfied as she noticed the book beside you, she inserted the bag of coins into the satchel before sliding it over your shoulder. Solaria hummed to herself before smiling again.

Reaching behind her neck, Solaria detached a shimmering teardrop necklace before slipping it around yours.

“There’s nothing special about it, apart from it glowing. I thought it would be a nice touch.” Solaria winked at you. 

Tilting your chin up, you froze with shock as she pressed her lips against yours.

“WHAT WAS THAT FOR?” You felt heat rush to your cheeks.

“Oh, please. Don’t be flustered. That was merely a blessing of mine. It will help you when you need to speak with the natives of the land.” Solaria coolly said as she wiped her mouth.  

You were still reeling in shock. Your throat seemed to tighten as you coughed. 

“..Thank you, for agreeing with us on our selfish request. To be forcibly stripped of our powers can be the worst pain and humiliation a god or goddess can bear.” Solaria murmured to you as she hurried to the end of the room, where she knelt and seemed to draw symbols in gold.

You held back your tongue. ‘What about me? I got zapped to death here.’ You thought to yourself.

“It is done. Please step into that summoning circle there.” Artem held a floating, golden cylinder in his hands. Solaria rose from her place on the floor, gesturing for you to come over.

It was a Gnosis! You were quick to obey as you hurried to Solaria’s side.

Stepping into the centre, you turned to face Artem and Solaria, who stood side by side. They flared their wings as you sensed an energy swirl around you.

“I, Artem, God of the Moon, grant you passage and dominion over my world, Teyvat. Do you accept, (Y/N) (L/N)?” Artem’s voice echoed in your ears.

“I accept.” As the words left your lips, the Gnosis within his hands flew into your chest. You gasped as it did so, a heat spreading rapidly across your chest.

“Be safe on your travels, (Y/N) (L/N).” Solaria flashed a warm smile as you coughed.

“Resigno!”

The gold summoning circle glowed bright blue and you found yourself falling through the blue skies.

You screeched ungracefully as you fell from the sky headfirst. The green grass was coming up way too fast. 

‘Am I going to die again?’ You thought as you held out your arms to break your fall, only for a huge gust of wind to cushion your fall. 

“Huh?” You blinked in surprise as a person clad in green floated beside you. 

It was a young boy with 2 braids, which gleamed blue in the light. His eyes were a beautiful mix of green and blue. 

‘Venti?’ You gaped as he grabbed your hands and guided you back onto the ground. 

“Never thought I’d have an audience during my practice session. Are you okay?” Venti grinned at you. 

“Never...Never better. Thank you...”You gave a thumbs up as you got air back into your lungs again. 

His deft fingers plucked at his harp as he sat down on the soft grass. 

“It’s no problem. But what brings you here anyways? Not many people know of this spot.” Venti tilted his head. It seemed as though you uncovered his secret place. 

“I- uh well...Accidents happen. I’m not a mad fan or a stalker, I swear. Well, maybe I am a fan but still.” You rambled but you forced yourself to stop talking and to breath. Venti is real and he is in front of me. Venti is real and he is in front of me. 

Your heart was beating fast. 

‘I should say something smart, introduce myself or something.’ You thought to yourself as you composed yourself. 

You wanted to at least tell him your name but the words are out faster than you can stop them. 

“Wanna grab a drink?”  

[peralta-guaranteed]

hc of jake and amy hand holding before dating (i’m convinced they did a few times before they ever dated) and also in the beginning of their relationship + getting teased by the squad 🥰

(this has definitely turned out far more emotional than you’d probably thought, anon, but I don’t make the rules when it comes to fic inspiration)

Amy Santiago is sitting in a booth at Shaw’s, laughing at something one of her friends has said, and she feels a warm hand slip into hers under the table. Jake Peralta is laughing next to her, too, but then he’s also smiling at her only, and his hand wrapped around hers squeezes three times. It hits her like a brick to the face, those three little squeezes. She finally understands them.

-*-

He’s lying in a hospital bed, and Amy thinks she’s never seen something more unsettling than a quiet Jake Peralta. The only sound in the room is the beeping of some monitors he’s hooked up to, and the only movement is his chest rising slow and steady. Something it didn’t do about two hours ago, when she was kneeling over him in some alley and screaming while the medics finally arrived and brought him back. It was a fairly ‘minor’ injury in the end, one bullet wound that the doctor’s had to close up, but it had hit some sort of vein that was important and that lost a lot of blood and that stopped his heart for the few moments she remembers stretching like hours in her mind. She doesn’t remember much else, especially not the medic’s or doctor’s explanations. They’d taken her along in the ambulance, because she was his partner, and she was allowed to sit in the hospital room he was recovering in now, because she was his emergency contact, too. She could’ve been nothing after today. Because the bullet from that gun wasn’t aimed at Jake before he pushed her to the side.

Amy looks down at her hands, folded in her lap, pinching each other to remind her she’s awake, she’s here, and so is Jake. Not awake, but here. Still here. They’re squeaky clean, her hands, because she’s spent a good fifteen minutes in the hospital public toilets scrubbing them free of his blood after he was rushed into surgery and she was left behind, alone in the waiting room, her sensible grey pantsuit coloured red all over her arms. She had a list of things to do in her head - contact Captain McGintley to follow the chain of command, and Terry so something would actually get done. Figure out how and who can transport Peralta home and take care of him, if he gets to go home. (He will. He has to. She will take him.) Call Rosa to find out if they booked the perp properly, and that they add assault with a deadly weapon to his rep sheet (not murder, although that’s what he did, that’s what happened). But she couldn’t do any of that, because she was still shaking, her heart was still racing, and all she could see was his blood on her hands, warm and sticky and dark and drying into a rotten brown shade already. So she washed them clean, and then scrubbed some more, and some more, until she felt as red and raw as the wound in his chest had looked in the ambulance when they got his shirt off. (The jacket of her suit is rotting away in the toilet trashcan now, and she’s shivering ever so slightly in only her short-sleeved blouse, but it is clean and there is not a hint of Jake’s injury anywhere anymore, except in his gaunt cheekbones and the pale colour of his face, and the silence of the room.) His hand twitches while she’s staring at her own, and if it’s instinct or reflex of whatever that makes her reach out and grab it immediately, she doesn’t care. His hand is warm under hers, and it twitches again and then wraps its fingers around her and holds her, steady and calm. He blinks awake, a little disoriented, but then he focuses on her and - smiles.

“You’re okay.” He says, and that’s what breaks her in the end.

She doesn’t outright sob or anything, but she does let her head drop so her hair is hiding her face, hiding the tears he doesn’t need to see first thing after waking up from literal death. She feels his hand pull on her to make her look at him, though, and she can’t deny him, even if her tear-streaked face is probably not a good view.

“Hey, no- don’t-” He rasps, his voice still coming back, “I’m okay too.”

She laughs through her tears, a short little snort, but it helps calm her down - and him too, it seems, because he smiles again.

“You’re far more than just okay, Peralta.” She smiles back, and feels his hand tighten around hers, three little, but distinct squeezes.

-*-

She shouldn’t feel this nervous. She’s a cop, a detective. A good one. She’s done this before, and it’s never been nice, but it’s always something she’s gotten through.

But she fears tomorrow’s court date more than anything else in her life right now, which is why she’s trying to drown the thought of it at Shaw’s. The hangover will probably not be helpful with her witness statement that could possibly make or break this ruling, but her panic demands more alcohol. However, the next beer she orders at the bar is intercepted by a larger, more calloused hand than hers.

“Alright, Santiago, that last one was your sixth, and I really don’t need to deal with Seven Drink Amy tonight.” Jake says as he settles down next to her, hands the beer over to Rosa, who leaves them alone at the bar before Amy can whine and complain.

“I need that drink, Jake. It’s my only friend right now.” 

“We both know that’s just Six Drink Sadmy speaking.” He pats her arm as she spreads out over the slightly sticky bartop and whines some more.

“You’re worried about tomorrow.” He continues, reading her thoughts like he sometimes does, which is such an annoying thing he can do. His hand is still on her arm. “You don’t have to be.”

“That girl’s entire life is at stake. And the gang boss is going to kill me and her if he gets off-”

“He’s not going to get off. Not if you tell them exactly what you told the lawyers taking your written statement.”

“Says you.”

“Says Sofia.” There’s a weight to those words that hits her stomach, and it’s only partially the fact that a damn defense attorney is on her side. The other part of why those words from the woman Jake started dating just recently hurt her, she doesn’t want to think about. “Look, I’m gonna drive you home, you’re gonna take a hot shower to detox, then you’re gonna get your perfect 8 hours of sleep, show up at court tomorrow in your best, darkest pant suit, and rock this like you rock everything else.” His hand has wandered down her arm to her hand, now, flips it over to hold it, and it’s pure coincidence that their fingers spread and interlock, surely. “Okay?” He asks one more time, and she sighs.

“Teddy can pick me up-”

“Teddy’s at that conference, remember.”

Oh, right. Something that had been lost to memory between drink three and four, the fact that her boyfriend had booked himself into a seminar the week the court date was announced. It’s a really good one, he’d said, if she wasn’t already busy he would’ve asked her to join, too. Already busy. Regular Amy doesn’t get punchy a lot, and maybe it’s her closeness to Seven Drink Amy right now that makes her want to knock him out for that, but she felt that way when she helped him pack his luggage two days ago too, and she was stonecold sober then.

“Okay.” She nods and tries to get off of the barstool, wobbles quite heavily. “Take me home, Peralta.”

He snorts a laugh and obviously swallows down some sort of joke as he pulls her into a standing position, their hands still locked together. She thinks she imagines it at first, but even after she’s sobered up the next day, she remembers those three short, tight, almost painful squeezes before he let go and steered her to his car.

She doesn’t have much time to think about it, or about how she basically held hands with her best friend while both of their partners were out of town, either. Or how he helped her into her apartment and waited until she was showered and had downed some water and aspirin before tucking her into bed. She can’t think about any of that, because she has to get ready for court.

And when she sits down in the witness’ chair, the gang boss on the bench before her staring her down with murder in his eyes, she notices a set of dress blues in the otherwise thin crowd of people who were allowed in to watch the trial. Three rows down, Jake gives her a silent thumbs up when their eyes meet, and she feels the phantom of his hand again, squeezing hers three times before she begins to speak.

-*-

They’re gonna die. She’s certain. They’re gonna die in here, in this cramped little closet, wedged between some industrial shelving and a broken down sink.

Jake had pulled her in and locked the door behind him, squished her against the wall and himself against the door, and killed the radio on her shoulder as well as his own. The last thing they’d heard crackling through it was “four officers down”. Someone had fallen behind her when she ran for safety, and for a second she thought it had been Jake. That he was standing here now, almost pressed against her in the tight space she would usually panic in, that she could feel his erratic breath on her ear, his racing heart under her hands, was pretty much the only comfort she had left.

She wonders how long it’ll last.

The mission had been an absolute bust. They had expected a gang. They had not expected a well-armed mafia. And now officers were wounded, or dead, and they couldn’t use their radio to find out anything, for fear of being discovered. She can hear gunshots and shouts from further away, and it’s only her paranoia that make them sound as if they're getting closer, but Jake is listening just as intently. Amy thinks of Rosa and Charles, who were on the other side of the building. She thinks of Terry, who’s probably trying to reach any of them by radio from his station in the surveillance van. She thinks of Holt, and can’t see where he might be right now, still next to Terry or commanding whatever backup might be coming in or-

She feels Jake’s hand wrap around hers, still pressed against his chest, and realises that she’s been hyperventilating. If she gets any louder, she’ll give away their position. His forehead against hers is cold, colder than he usually is, clammy with sweat, but the simple pressure of it helps her focus. She can hear him breathe deep, slow, exaggerated, and understands that he’s doing it for her. He probably thinks she’s having a panic attack because of her claustrophobia, or maybe all things at the moment combined. He’s not that far off. She breathes with him, feels the air from their exhales swirl between the few spaces were they don’t connect. There aren’t many. If she looks up, she could kiss him. She’s not quite that sure that she’s going to die in here anymore, but she would definitely hate herself if she did and never found out what that felt like, or if her last kiss on Earth was really from Teddy the night before they broke up. But when she moves her head, she meets his eyes instead, pupils blown wide in the darkness around them. He looks scared and terrified, and his heart under their combined hands is still racing, and the last thing he needs is for Amy to confuse him before they go out in a hail of bullets, action-movie-style, which he’d probably love if it wasn’t so real right now. She wants to say something, anything to calm him down, but she can’t speak, and not just because there are footsteps approaching outside their door.

She feels his hand tighten around hers, three times, faster than before. And then he pulls her into a close hug when the door behind his back opens to reveal blinding light, and she realises he’s shielding her, has been ever since he pushed her first into this storage space. He only lets go when they both hear Terry’s voice, and the Captain’s, the first telling them they are safe, the second immediately trying to update them on the situation with the SWAT team. He holds her hand a second longer than the rest of her, and the three squeezes that follow are far softer and slower than the ones before.

-*-

Amy Santiago and Jake Peralta are sitting in a booth at Shaw’s, laughing at something one of their friends has said, and she feels his hand slip into hers under the table. For only a split second, she’s tempted to pull her hand away. It’s still so new and shaky and unsure, their whole thing, yet at the same time it isn’t. It’s been growing for so long, between them and around them, it feels like it’s always been there. But the rest of the squad is still pulling excited faces whenever they get a little closer, Charles still squeals at every mention of their ‘evenings together’, and Rosa has rolled her eyes so hard she almost strained a muscle the first time she heard Amy refer to Jake as ‘babe’ in front of her. It’s all a little bit embarrassing, and sometimes she wishes they’d stuck to just one of their rules, of not telling anyone until they figure it out. But then she wonders, what was there left to figure out? She was with Jake, and she wanted to be with Jake, and deep down, she could see none of that change at any point in time. Forever, possibly.

Charles is still talking, riding the wave of getting their laugh, but then Jake’s smiling at her only, and his hand wrapped around hers squeezes three times. It hits her like a brick to the face, those three little squeezes. She finally understands them. She remembers them from before, from tense moments and situations of fear, from where he’s been there for her at the worst parts. Holding on tight and feeling the three little bursts of pressure, only wondering a long time later if he did it on purpose, or if it was some sort of reflex.

She feels it again now, and she can finally hear it.

I. Squeeze. Love. Squeeze. You. Squeeze.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 26

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: none

A/N: no smut this time, just bucky meeting the family

NEXT CHAPTER

Her mother pulled Bucky into the house. She lived exactly where he’d expect her to live in, a dark academia sort of environment in shades of green, burgundy and dark browns. The walls were filled with shelves containing seas and seas of books and little memorabilia. There were photos of the family on the walls and Bucky noticed the little one right by the staircase of a young girl in a periwinkle dress sat on the beach with a bright smile whom he was absolutely certain was his Y/N. The woman continued to lead them until what he guessed was the living room where the fireplace was on and two kids were running around.

Bucky stood behind with Y/N as her mother made haste towards the drinks’ trolley where Y/N was almost sure the same watered down bottle her brother Anthony had constantly stolen from as a teenager still stood. They were lucky enough not to still have been noticed, her family having an weirdly tradition of not allowing anyone in the living area until they had a drink in hand. Of course she knew why, her family made so many questions both appropriate and inappropriate you’d have to be positively inebriated to deal with it. 

     - Everyone... - Lucy, Y/N’s mother, handed Bucky a burgundy coloured liquid before pulling him inside the living room. - Don’t be shy, Bucky. Everyone, this is Bucky, he’s Y/N’s boyfriend. 

     - I thought he’d be smaller. - a man got up from the dark burgundy couch, walking up to Bucky with an extended hand towards him. Bucky looked at his hand then at his own, before switching to shake it with his flesh arm rather than the metal aberration he’d covered with a glove. - Had a nice flight? Little bean here said she booked first flight tickets even though I told her it’s ...

    - A waste of money, I know dad. - Y/N interrupted. 

    - It was nicer than I expected, sir. - Bucky said yet Y/N could see that little smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. - Your daughter made it all the better.

    - Hope she didn’t bother you with leitmotifs. - another man who looked just around Y/N’s age piped up.

     - Colin, don’t even say that word, it might get her started. - a girl, blonde hair dressed in a baby blue dress added. - Oh wow, you’re athletic.

     - C’mon El, you promised to help me tease Y/N about her first serious boyfriend. - Colin wrapped his arms around Y/N but she merely playfully slapped his chest. - Look at you, the last Y/L/N sibling to introduce someone to the family. We were gonna buy you a cake but mum said no.

    - Colin Y/L/N, leave your sister be. - Lucy slapped her son’s head. - We are very happy that Y/N and Bucky are here. 

   - She’s happy there’s a chance you might give her grandchildren. - Colin whispered before adopting that grin that as children made Y/N want to throw a pillow at him.

   - Colin, I said to leave your sister be. - Lucy wrapped her arms around her eldest daughter. - That is not the reason I’m happy you’re dating. Me and your father were just afraid that you would be a bit lonely in New York.

   - Because you have no friends. - Eloise added.

   - Eloise, leave your sister be. She has plenty of friends. - their father added, not moving from his chair where he had returned to read the paper. 

   - Where is your sister? She should be here to meet Bucky.

   - Claire is busy with her husband convincing my husband to get me to have a rat-like creature they call a baby. - Eloise sat down on the other couch, legs crossed over each other. - Do you want a baby, Bucky?

   - Eloise! - Y/N yelled out of shame. Now she understood why her mother looked so dead whenever she had to go shopping with 4 children at 10 AM. She was clearly wrong to think her siblings would act like regular human beings in front of a guest, they barely acted like regular human beings on a regular basis. - We should go put the bags in my bedroom.

   - No, wait, beanie. CLAIRE! CLAIRE COME SAY HI TO YOUR SISTER AND BUCKY! - Y/N’s mother rushed to the kitchen, yelling out whom he guessed was the name of Y/N’s last sibling. Out of the kitchen and into the living room came a girl dressed in the same dress as Eloise except it was purple, holding a bundle of blankets against her chest. 

  - Aw, let me hold Sophie. - Y/N dropped her bags to meet her sister who handled her the baby. Bucky inspected the scene, watching as her embarrassed facade quickly changed into one of wonder as she looked at her niece. - Look at you, you’re so cute, Miss Sophie, yes you are. 

  - Claire, say hi to Bucky.

  - Why is he so tall? - she shook his hand. - I thought you’d be smaller with that nickname.

Is this was Steve felt like after the serum? Bucky had never stopped to consider that maybe his nickname sounded like a name you’d give a short guy, to be honest, he doesn’t even remember how it came to be, he just remembered his mum calling it and it sticking. However, he did have to admit that he enjoyed seeing everyone’s confused look once they met him as if he was the tallest man alive when he was barely taller than Y/N’s brother. 

    - Conor, Jack come meet Bucky too. - Y/N’s mum held two men by the arm who looked as lost in the family reunion as Bucky did. - Conor’s Eloise’s husband and Jack’s Claire’s. 

    - Okay. - Y/N interrupted before anyone else told her boyfriend he was too tall. Handing Sophie back to her sister, she held Bucky’s hand. - We are going to put the bags upstairs and take the coats off and we’ll return. 

Y/N knew her family way too well. She had been here when Claire brought Jack home for the first time and her father questioned him about a notorious case followed by Colin asking him if he needed earbuds for Claire’s snoring. She had also been there when Conor and all of Colin’s girlfriends so she knew when it was time to run away with Bucky from her very devoted and very curious family who had already decided to have the baby conversation with him before she had even mention it.

Bucky looked at the photos that were scattered on the staircases’ wall. He could always pinpoint where Y/N was, normally in the front with those beautiful, shining eyes. He noticed one particular photo of Y/N alone against a dark blue background in her graduation gown holding her diploma, posing like a beauty queen. He made a note to sneak a photo of it once she wasn’t looking.

She led him into her bedroom. It was a rather small one in tones of white and beige with a double bed. The walls were clean rather than one with a bookcase of dark wood filled with books, trophies and little frames of photos of her as a kid. Her bed had a small white lamb laying on it with some heart shaped pillows and a knitted beige blanket. 

     - Is that you? - Bucky rushed to the shelf to grab a photo of Y/N as a toddler dressed as a ballerina holding a golden medal.

    - Yeah. My grandmother was a prima ballerina so she made all of us do ballet which came quite in handy when I was in Phantom. - she put her coat on the hook on the door. - Sorry about my mum, and my dad and my siblings. I should already apologise for their husbands and the toddlers you haven’t met yet since they’re out with Grandma Louis who I’m also sorry for. 

     - That’s fine. I think they don’t hate me much.

    - It’s better than when Colin introduced Kate, mum was so upset she didn’t speak to her. I would say they love you. 

     - So which one is the oldest? Is there an hierarchy I should know about?

     - I’m the oldest then Colin, Claire and finally Eloise. Eloise got married first and then Claire and Colin is living la vie boheme. 

     - And you? - he wrapped his arms around her waist

    - I’m the actress. Once Aunt Petunia or Grandma Louis gets here you’ll listen to the “the debate team champion becomes an actress kissing all those men and she’s still single” discussion. I also apologise for that in advance. 

    - Well but you are not single anymore. - Bucky leaned down to kiss her. - And I will allow you to parade me as your boyfriend. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. 

    - Ah yes, my three time three-time boxing champion boyfriend. 

    - You’re not gonna drop that, aren’t you?

    - What? It’s very alluring, gets me going.

    - Is that why you gave me an handjob at the airport, princess? - he leaned down to whisper against her ear. She felt goosebumps raise up her skin, mouth drying up as she tried to find the words. - You better have thick walls, princess. 

   - Beanie ... - her mother knocked on the door, pushing the door slightly open and sticking her head in. - We were wondering if Bucky ate meat. We bought this meat that’s not really meat and it’s vegan. I asked some of my colleagues at work to help me cook it and we made some but we can make more if Bucky wants some.

    - No, Mrs. I’m okay with anything, it’s fine. 

    - Non sense. Y/N tell Bucky he can pick what to eat. You’re American right? I’m making some chicken nuggets for the kids and Colin, I could make you some if you’d like. 

    - Mum, that’s stereotypical. 

   - Nonsense, beanie. What do you want to eat, Bucky?

   - I’ll eat whatever Y/N does, m’am. - he tried to hide the little grin as Y/N stood by his side still processing what Bucky had just said to her. - It’s fine, m’am, really. I don’t want to be a bother, I’m so grateful you and your family are okay with having me for Christmas. 

Lucy merely smiled at him as a way of saying it was no problem. Y/N knew her family, they adored to embarrass their children in front of their partners, lovers, and friends but they would adore whoever their children adored as if they belonged to the family since the dawning of time. The actress rose her head to look at her boyfriend, staring at the door like a fading vision on the desert, relaxed muscles and expression. Her hold on his hand strengthened as her head laid against his shoulder, laying a small kiss on the fabric of his shirt.

     - Do you want to go downstairs? We can stay here for a few minutes before dinner. 

     - Yeah, princess. - he snapped himself out of his state, smiling down at his caring girlfriend before following her down the stairs.

Her family had a lot of photos, some on big frames on the wall and other small ones in coffee tables and other surfaces. He couldn’t help but look at them, watching Y/N through the ages and wondering how she was. She always had that look, that inner shyness and bright eyed appearance. Most photos were school photos with that dark blue background followed by a few backstage photos of her in elaborate stage makeup and costumes. Bucky wanted a photo of her, any photo of her, to have in his wallet. Not that he would forget what she looked like, he could never forget it but he wanted to. He wanted to look at her face whenever he paid for his coffee, show people when they asked about her, he guessed he wanted to have the same pride in showing his girlfriend his father had about showing his mother. He wanted a suburban existence, no more Winter Soldier, no more Avengers, just James Barnes. Yet, he also knew he did not deserve that. No, he had taken that structure from so many people he didn’t deserve it. 

Once in the living room, there were more people, notably two kids running around the Christmas tree and two women sat by the beautifully placed table. He felt shy, not knowing exactly what to say, barely knowing these people. 

    - Ah, let me look at you. - one of the woman from the table got up and walked towards them. Bucky thought none of it, thinking it to be directed towards Y/N until the woman took him by surprise by cupping his face. - You’re just gorgeous. Nice eyes, strong features. 

     - Aunt Petunia! - Y/N took her aunt’s hands away from Bucky’s face. - Please. 

     - You know what they say about men with strong features, great lovers, great breeders.

     - Oh my god. - that’s it, she was no longer going to have a boyfriend once she got back to New York. - Bucky, this is my aunt Petunia. 

     - Nice to meet you m’am. - Bucky extended his hand to her but the woman merely pushed him towards the table.

     - I thought she was kidding when she said she was bringing someone home yet here you are. - she led both of them to side by side seats on the table. - So, Bucky have you meet Grandma Louis?

    - I’m afraid not. 

    - Look ma, Y/N brought a boyfriend home. 

   - Can we please not treat this like a world limited event?

   - Nope. - Colin sat next to Y/N. - I had a bet with Eloise you’d date a 50 year old librarian and I lost which is unfair because 100 year old soldier is almost the same. 

   - It’s not and you know it. - Eloise argued from the other side of the table. - How’s the movie, Y/N? 

   - It’s ... good. - she forced a smile, not wanting to show the same family who always wondered why unlike every of her siblings she, the debate captain and champion, had turned down the option to do Law and instead pursued an acting career. Did acting made her happy? Yes. Did the movie made her happy? No. 

   - She’s the best actress I have ever met and seen. - Bucky drew invisible circles over her palm. - Everyone’s always speechless during her takes. 

   - That’s my beanie, always the best at whatever she does. - Y/N’s father added. - Besides, one of us has to not be a lawyer. We’re starting to be known as the lawyer family. 

   - So Bucky, are you enjoying London? Have you ever been? - Claire asked while putting the bibs on her two toddlers who were still happily playing with toy cars on the table.

   - Long time ago, it’s a bit different now. 

   - Y/N should take you to see the tree in Trafalgar, it’s absolutely stunning. - Lucy added. - It’s where her father purposed. 

   - It’s where everyone purposed in this family. We need a new tradition. - Colin rolled his eyes. 

   - If it were up to you, you’d purpose in a McDonalds after coming from the pub. 

   - Shut up, Eloise. 

Bucky merely kept to himself during the dinner, replying to the questions that were thrown his way and laughing at the jokes. There was the odd questions every once and then which Y/N would normally reply to followed by telling him she was sorry which he found adorable. Normally it was him who was defensive over her, too defensive even and to see her take on the role warmed his heart. The dinner ran smoothly and soon everyone was sat on the couch by the fireplace. She was by his side, head on his shoulder as a It’s a Wonderful Life played on the television. 

The night kept going in and in until everyone decided to climb up to their respective bedrooms. Y/N turned on the heating the moment she came in, stripping onto her own cozy red pyjamas while Bucky kept inspecting her room. She had a bunch of books and programs from various West End musicals as well as a few bits of Star Wars memorabilia scattered on the shelves and a Phantom of the Opera music box on her desk. What caught his attention was the tiny miniature of a white picked fence house on her bedside table. Had she been an avid miniature collector and he didn’t know about it?

    - Hey, what’s this? - he pointed at the little house.

    - Oh ... that.

    - Is it a sore topic? I’m sorry princess, I didn’t mean to ...

    - It’s okay, Bucky. - she smiled. - It’s just a silly thing from when I was a kid. I told my mum I wanted to marry Luke Skywalker and move into a white picket fence home and she bought me it. Then I just wanted the house as I grew up but hey I live in SoHo, the best I can do is get another one of those

   - You want a white picket fence house?

   - It’s silly. - she hide her head as a familiar heat climbed up to her cheeks. Bucky placed the miniature back where it was, walking up to her. 

   - It’s not silly. I like picket white fence houses too, princess.

   - You do?

   - Yeah. One of my cousins had one when I was a kid and I always envisioned one for myself. 

  - Did you? 

  - Yeah and then I met you and I thought screw the home, as long as I get to come home everyday to you we could be living in a cardboard home but if you want a white picked fence house than I’ll give you one.

  - Buck ...

  - I’m not kidding. - he smiled at her. - We’ll live wherever you’d like and every single day we’ll come back home to each other and I will pretend I’m not tired so I can stay up and look at you smiling at those TV show reruns you like so much.

  - You like them too. - she added. 

  - Maybe but until then ... - he walked up to his bag removing an worn out big navy blue box. - You can have this. 

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[guardianofrivendell]

The Way to a Hobbit’s Heart

Thorin Oakenshield x Bilbo Baggins (Bagginshield)

Requested: Yes and no! This piece is part of “The Hobbit Discord Server’s Holiday Gift Exchange 2020″ and is my gift to @misfit-with-a-pen​ 💖

Warnings: oh my goodness, all the fluff! I can’t! Also Sassy Bilbo because it’s still me who wrote this :) 

Summary: When Bilbo enjoys a nice afternoon walk in the Shire, he notices a smell... A rather foul smell, if he was honest. When he comes closer to his home, the smell seems to intensify. It couldn't come from his house now, could it? Because Thorin was home.... Alone. Oh dear!

A/N: This story couldn’t exist without the help of @xxbyimm​! She is such an amazing and fantastic person and always ready to listen to me rant about ideas, complaining about everything and gave me TONS of advice on top of that. How wonderful is that?

Bilbo always favored late afternoon walks over morning strolls.

Though he knew most of his neighbors wouldn’t agree with him and probably would think of him as even more peculiar than they already did if they knew, he just couldn’t help himself. 

You see, it was the way the sun hung low in the sky, giving everything it shone upon a warm golden glow. Furthermore, as most of the hobbit community was too occupied prepping the most important meals of the day, the town was practically deserted.

This meant Bilbo could enjoy the beautiful sceneries in peace without having to get involved in friendly banter and polite greetings. And finally - the temperature was nor too warm or too cold, which was just perfect. 

But there was nothing better than an afternoon walk in early spring. Birds were building their nest, flying past his head with twigs in their little beaks. 

It reminded him of that one time a thrush had landed on Lobelia’s straw hat and had absolutely wrecked the damn thing. It took her a while to notice and Bilbo had had the greatest difficulty in keeping a straight face. She went running through the Shire afterwards, screaming about a vicious bird attack. Since that day he couldn’t help but snicker every time he saw a thrush.

Yes, Bilbo loved his walks indeed. But he loved his home just as much.

It wouldn’t be long before any respectable Hobbit started working in their garden again after the winter break and every yard and patio would get overflowed with a soft and subtly sweet flowery scent. It wasn’t any different in his garden. 

The flower buds of the early bloomers were starting to show, some of them already in their lovely, bright colours. Just a few more days and he could bury his nose in the daffodils, tulips or primroses, taking in their flowery scent.  It was a moment Bilbo looked forward to every single year, but now he could finally share it with his husband Thorin. 

To everyone’s surprise, this grumpy dwarf had warmed up to the art of gardening. Under Bilbo’s patient supervision, they were able to turn their neglected patch of land into the beautiful garden it was today.  

Bilbo smiled to himself at the thought of his husband. He came a long way to get here... Both of them did. Literally and figuratively. 

Thorin had been under a lot of stress for a long time without barely any chance to breathe: the rebuilding of Erebor, restoring trade agreements, bringing his people back to the mountain, … It never stopped and he was close to getting a burn-out.

Bilbo had seen it coming from miles away and had raised the alarm on Thorin’s health. Bilbo’s home in the Shire proved to be the perfect place to get a much needed break from ruling a Kingdom.  

The mountain was in good hands with Fíli and Kíli as his advisor - Balin was still there to keep an eye on them - and the peace and quiet of the Shire was wearing off on Thorin. He was finally able to relax and enjoy the time with Bilbo.Even so, they couldn’t stay away forever and they’d made plans to return to the mountain before the annual Durin’s Day celebration.  

That didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy the time that was still left.

Bilbo continued his way on the path that would eventually lead him back to his home, he stopped when he smelled something odd. He sniffed a few times, tilting his head sideways. What in the…?  

Bilbo couldn’t tell what the smell reminded him of, and yet it somehow seemed familiar. Was Lobelia trying to burn down her house again with another attempt at copying his famous rabbit stew? 

The closer he got to his home, the stronger the scent became. It couldn’t come from his house now, could it? Thorin was home so nothing serious could have happened.

Bilbo’s eyes widened.  

Thorin was home… alone.  

“Oh dear,” he murmured.

Thorin was not yet entirely used to living like a hobbit, still adjusting to life in the Shire. The more delicate, joie-de-vivre way of life that suited the hobbits didn’t always go well with the sturdy, rather head-on approach and maybe a tad brute way of the Dwarrows. He definitely wasn’t the domestic type. Yet.

Bilbo hurried up the lane to his front yard, struggled to open the gate in his haste and made his way inside. When the door closed behind him, it felt like someone had slapped him in the face.

Oh yeah, the smell definitely came out of his house. He coughed a few times, and his eyes started to water. He completely missed the leftover trails of smoke near the ceiling, and that was maybe for the better. 

“Thorin?” he squeaked between coughs. “Love?”

No answer. Was he even here? And what was that pungent smell? It almost smelled like an onion died a painful death and was left to rot! But with added spices. Now he almost wished it was Lobelia’s cooking instead... 

He left the entrance hall and stepped further into their home, making his way to the study. If Thorin was home, he would probably be there. Bilbo hoped to find his other half hunched over a book, or too focused on writing a letter to his nephews to hear his calls. Not that he didn’t trust Thorin to find his way back home on his own… okay fine, maybe he didn’t.  

Before he reached the study, his eye fell on the pantry. A rare curse escaped his mouth.

Empty jars, most of them tipped over, crumbs and pieces of vegetables on the ground together with a puddle of liquid that Bilbo wasn’t too keen on investigating further. 

He stood frozen in the round doorway. What had happened? 

Flashbacks of that one fateful night when the company had barged in - uninvited might he add - and raided his kitchen and pantry flooded his mind.

Could they...?

No, he shook his head. It was too quiet for the company to be here. Plus Thorin would have mentioned it. There were no secrets between them. Not anymore.  

He crossed the hallway and entered his kitchen. Or rather, what was left of it.

If he thought his pantry was raided, it was nothing in comparison to his kitchen. There were dirty pots and pans all over the place, as if the dishes hadn’t been done in weeks. Most of the cabinets were opened, the contents of the shelves in disarray or scattered over the counter. A lot of food made it to the floor as well, and it seemed like someone had tried to clean it up by shoving it to one side of the kitchen.  

It looked like Thorin had tried to make something for dinner. Or a snack maybe? At least, he hoped it was Thorin who wrecked the kitchen. Because there wasn’t a single hair on his feet that would even consider cleaning this up himself! 

“Thorin, I really do love you but you got to learn to clean up after yourself,” Bilbo muttered in frustration when he picked up a dirty kitchen rag from the floor. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” a low voice sounded behind him.  

Bilbo swirled around and he forgot to breathe for a second.

There, in the doorway of the dining room, stood Thorin in just his dark blue tunic and black breeches, barefoot and an apron tied around his hips. A towel carelessly thrown over his shoulder and a casserole in his hands made it look like he belonged in a kitchen. But Bilbo knew better. 

The dwarf himself looked like a complete snack. If it wasn’t for the state of the kitchen and the foul smell still filling his nostrils, he would’ve jumped him without a second thought.

No, scratch the snack! His husband was a full five course meal. Bilbo took a deep breath. And by Durin’s beard, was he hungry... 

Thorin lifted the pot a little. Bilbo stepped out of the way so he could pass.

“It just needs a little more time on the fire.”

It didn’t. It really, really didn’t. 

That became abundantly clear when Thorin lifted the lid so he could stir in what looked like stew, and Bilbo had to grab the counter to steady himself.

Oh, well, at least now I know where that smell comes from, he thought. Breathe through your mouth, that’s the key! 

“You know, if you didn’t like my cooking, you could’ve just told me,” Bilbo joked while he took the pot off the fire again in an effort to save what could be saved, but not before he put the lid back on. “I think this is done, love.”

“Are you sure?” Thorin chuckled. The sound reverberated in his chest and it made Bilbo’s stomach flip. It was one of his favourite sounds and it still did something to him every time he heard it. 

“I wanted to repay you for taking such good care of me,” he said. “So I made us dinner.”

“You did?” Bilbo asked, endeared by the gesture but honestly, also a little afraid for his life by now. “Marvellous!”

“Go and take a seat at the table, I’ll be right there,” Thorin hummed and he gestured towards the dining room.  

Thorin came out of the kitchen and placed the pot in the middle of the table and wiped his hands on the apron. His eyes fell on Bilbo who still stood a bit to the side.  

When he entered the dining room Bilbo froze, stunned by what he saw. 

Thorin had set the table beautifully and had paid extra attention to details, the way Bilbo liked. Freshly picked flowers from their garden stood proudly in a white porcelain vase, napkins neatly folded on the right side of the plate and he had used Bilbo’s mother’s pottery. He really went out of his way for this. 

“Is it not to your liking?” Thorin asked, a slight tremble in his voice. “If it’s about the mess in the kitchen, I promise I’ll clean it up later.”

He was nervous, Bilbo realised when he looked at Thorin. The King under the Mountain who could face multiple armies with only twelve companions without a second thought or hint of fear was almost shaking with nerves because he had made dinner for his lover. It was adorable.  

“It’s lovely, Thorin. Really, it is,” he assured him, while Thorin pulled a chair from under the table so Bilbo could sit down. “I didn’t expect it, that’s all.” 

Thorin quickly made his way to the other side of the table and filled the mugs with ale and the glasses with wine. Bilbo however, eyed the food on the table cautiously. 

To be fair, from a distance it looked decent. There were carrots, mashed potatoes, other vegetables that he couldn’t quite name at first sight but seemed okay, bread,… And the pot of stew. On the corner of the table stood a bowl of what he suspected was some kind of gravy, but the chunks in it made him doubtful. 

He took some of everything on his plate and tried to keep it together when the aroma of the stew filled his nostrils once more.

Thorin looked at him expectantly. 

The things one does for the one they love, Bilbo thought while he took a deep breath and tried the stew. Oh dear, it tasted exactly like it smelled!

He tried to swallow it as fast as he could without a lot of chewing. His hand flew to his glass of wine and with a large gulp of the red substance his food finally went down.  

“Is there something wrong?”

“No! No, it’s… well, it’s a little hot,” he explained. That wasn’t exactly a lie. 

He tried to find the correct words to let him know cooking maybe wasn’t his strong point, but decided to change the subject instead. “Have you heard from Fíli yet?”

Thorin shook his head.  “I did not. It hasn’t been that long since I sent my last letter. Give him some time.”

He took a sip from his glass of wine. “But tell me about your afternoon, did you enjoy your walk?” 

Bilbo was relieved he could talk for a while - and avoid taking another bite - and told Thorin about his walk and how he was planning on asking old master Worrywort what he did to his wood poppies to get them so big and bright.

While he was listening intently, Thorin took a first bite of his homemade stew.

The minute he closed his mouth, his eyes widened and he almost choked on the meat. He let his fork drop on the plate with a loud clatter, a fist against his lips while he tried really hard to swallow the food.

Bilbo didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sorry for him. He decided on a neutral expression, like it was the most normal thing in the world for a person to choke on a spoonful of stew.  

Thorin brought the napkin to his mouth and wiped the tears out of his eyes, still panting from the effort.

“Mahal, why didn’t you say anything?” he groaned.

Bilbo eyed him carefully, not wanting to hurt Thorin’s feelings. He worked so hard to prepare all this, well, you couldn’t exactly call it food…

“About what?” he tried, gathering his courage and taking another spoonful. 

“The food! I saw you eat it!” Thorin murmured, his face distorting in absolute horror as he watched his husband trying his best to process another bite.

“Please don’t. I can’t believe you want to take another bite!” 

“You made this for me, of course I’m going to eat it,” Bilbo said, smiling at him. Please don’t make me eat it again, Bilbo pleaded internally. 

“To be honest, I don’t even think Bombur would touch this,” Bilbo added.

“That bad, huh?” he laughed. “Who am I kidding, of course it is, I tasted it. I still taste it!”

He took his mug of ale and chugged it down in one go. When he placed it on the table again with a thud, his expression had changed into defeat.

“I know you love your meals and this isn’t…” he rose from his chair. “This is not a meal worthy of any hobbit, let alone Bilbo Baggins.”

With the majesty only a true dwarven king can muster, Thorin strode from the dining room towards the kitchen. Bilbo shuffled in his seat, pondering what had happened before hurrying behind his One.

The sight that greeted him made his heart clench. Thorin had started cleaning up the mess, his back to the door, head low and shoulders slumped. Bilbo could see he was distraught and clearly wounded in his pride. 

In a few strides Bilbo stood behind his husband and threw his arms around him, giving a little squeeze.

”Don’t you ever think what you do isn’t enough. The fact that you went through all this trouble for me, means more to me than you’ll ever know,” Bilbo mumbled into Thorin’s neck before he placed a featherlight kiss there, which elicited a groan out of the King’s chest.

Thorin turned around and wanted to return the favor, but Bilbo stopped him. 

“No, no, no, Thorin. First we need to clean up this mess. I’ll help you.”

After an hour of cleaning, they sat on a spotless kitchen floor, looking over their work proudly.

“We make a great team, you and me,” Thorin said.

Bilbo rested his head on Thorin’s shoulder and sighed contentedly.

“Can you promise me one thing though?”

“What’s that?” Thorin wondered.

“Please leave the cooking to me?”

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