#Self insert writing

[kissingarthurclaus]

First Impressions

The galaxy was in pure chaos. She wasn't one to shy away from a bit of chaos now and then. In fact, some would say she was something of an expert back in her padawan days! This was different, however. Ever since The Battle of Geonosis, everyone from the outer rim to the heart of Coruscant was in a tizzy to say the least. Drawing lines, choosing sides, making plans, and in the middle of it were the Jedi. Once they were the galaxy's humble peacekeepers, now they were expected to fight this war for the citizens they had sworn to protect.

A/N: I suddenly got in the mood to write a little something about the day Kepler was assigned as Brea's padawan because I don't think I've talked very much about how everything started! No warnings for this one, just a short drabble and some dialogue to sort of establish their relationship dynamic at the beginning to set the stage. Maybe I'll add onto it and include their first mission, maybe not, but for now here it is! (Divider cred. @/cafekitsune)

Brea’s foot tapped anxiously against the spotless floor of the temple as she wrote out the report on her last mission, her boots leaving slight scuffs on the pristine marble in the process. She'd developed the nervous habit over time after suddenly finding herself in the position of Commander, less than a week after becoming a Jedi Knight to begin with.

She had no battalion to command. When she was deployed on missions, it was usually either as backup for a Jedi General who'd gotten in a bit over their heads as they attempted to push back Separatist droids with their clones, or she went out solo. Using her skills to scout out potential threats, in which case she was solely responsible for the outcome of such missions…and for all the paperwork. Her least favorite part of the job.

Getting shot at by droves of nasally-voiced droids was somehow preferable to this. Her eyes strained against the walls of text on the datapad before her, a headache beginning to form from blue light exposure. Her focus started to wane as she wondered how a droid could have a nasally voice anyhow? What kind of person would program them with that particular kind of voice box? Was their intention to annoy the Grand Army of the Republic to death?

“Speak with you, may I, Young Callisto?” An unmistakable voice and speech pattern shook her out of her thoughts.

“Oh, Master Yoda! How can I help you?” She said, lowering her datapad to reveal the short, green Jedi before her.

He was not alone, however. A young boy stood awkwardly just a few inches behind him. His small frame was emphasized by his posture, shoulders slightly hunched as he looked nervously between her and the back of Yoda's head. Though his robes were disheveled and seemed to be just a bit too big for him and his signature braid was done rather sloppily, he was obviously a padawan. Seemed the right age, probably between 12 and 13 years old. He wore thick goggles that obscured most of his face, but behind them his brow was furrowed, and he had slight wrinkles under his eyes that he was definitely too young for.

She didn't have to use the Force to know that this was a kid who didn't want to be here. That begged the question, why was he? She looked back towards Yoda for answers.

His large ears twitched as he leaned against his cane, always taking such a long time to say what he was going to say. She tried to remind herself that she was in the presence of someone much older and wiser than her and to not get impatient.

“Young Callisto, a very important task for you, I have. As you know, spread thin across the galaxy are the Jedi. Yes. Very thin.” He started pacing slowly, his cane tapping against the floor as he did so. “As many hands as possible, we will need to win this war.”

Finally, he gestured to the boy. “Introduce yourself, young one.”

He seemed unprepared, as he suddenly snapped upright and his hands fumbled to clumsily grip at his robes. “O-oh, me do it? Ok, uhm…my name is Kepler Quinn, Master Jedi!” He punctuated this with a quick and shallow bow, more akin to a nod than anything else. His small voice had an extremely distinct squeak to it, as though it couldn't decide whether the pitch wanted to settle up or down.

“Well, it's uh, nice to meet you, Kepler!” She smiled invitingly to try and set him more at ease, “Heh, so polite. Thank you, but I'm not a Master.” wait…

Brea began to piece together just what Yoda was suggesting and was stunned into silence for the briefest of moments. Not long ago, Anakin had told her about how a padawan was suddenly sprung onto him without so much as a warning, and in the middle of a battle no less. Sure, she had thought about perhaps someday in the future taking on a padawan learner herself, but she always thought it would be a long time from now and that it would be her own choice. And with the war going on, she just didn't have the time.

“Master Yoda, I- I- don't know…how good of an idea this is. I mean, I've only been a Knight for how long?” She stammered, not wanting to sound like she was just outright rejecting the kid when he was standing within earshot. “Do you really want me to be a master?”

Yoda hummed thoughtfully, stroking his chin “a strange and unusual time this is for us all, Young Callisto. Do things the way we have in the past, we cannot. Learn to adapt, we must. And learn from you this youngling will!” He pointed at her with his cane for emphasis.

“In need of help, General Skywalker and his men are. You and Young Quinn will go to the front lines and assist them. Yes, that is your task.”

Brea perked up just a bit upon hearing this. Ever since seeing Anakin on Geonosis what seemed like only yesterday, the two were as thick as they had been as younglings, but with how the war was going they hardly had any time to spend together. They usually ended up posted in totally separate star systems and always seemed to be running off to a new mission. This would be a good opportunity to catch up with him, once she was done saving his butt, of course.

She breathed in deeply through her nose, and out through her mouth, resting her free hand on her hip. This was classic Yoda. He wasn't allowing her a lot of time to consider it, if Anakin needed her help, then she would never be the one to keep him waiting. “Well, Kep. What do you say?”

“I guess I don't really have a choice, so…” He replied with a hint of bitterness, his eyes not meeting her gaze. This gave her a bit of pause.

“Hmm, decided then, it is.” Yoda glanced up at her knowingly. She hated when he did that, like he had some sort of trick up his sleeve in order to teach her a lesson. “If unsure you still are when you return, another master we will find for the youngling. There is no time to waste. Leave immediately, you must!”

“Yes, Master Yoda.” Brea said in unison with the boy, as they watched the ancient one shuffle down the temple hall and out of sight. There really was no arguing with him in the end, and at least for now, it seemed Brea had a padawan of her own.

—--------------------------

That was how she found herself where she was now. Her ship was roomy enough to comfortably house two people, but she had been so used to riding alone that she couldn't help but feel a sort of…weight in the Force around them. She sat arms crossed in the pilot's seat and watched the lines of blue and white light streak past through the cockpit window. There were few places as good to strike up conversation in than hyperspace.

She looked over at Kepler, who sat stiffly and silently in the co-pilot's seat, as though he was afraid to move even a muscle for some reason.

“So, this is your first time off-world, isn't it? it's exciting, huh?”

“I dunno. I feel more nauseous than anything.”

“Eh, that's normal! It'll go away after a while.” She said with a wave of her hand, a deceptively blasé gesture to hide the fact that she was actually floundering just a bit. She'd been trying to break the ice between them for a little while now, but had only managed to get similarly dry responses from him thus far. She was normally so good with younglings. When she visited the initiates when they had a break from their studies to play in the courtyards, they had lots of fun. But this one was so different. Most children raised in the Jedi Temple never see anything else until they reach padawanship, the little guy should be ecstatic right now!

But she wasn't sensing any sort of joy from him right now. Not a hint of excitement. He sat disgruntled and the slightest bit on edge like he was waiting for something terrible to happen at any moment.

“I hope you're not worried about it being your first mission, too. I promise, it won't be that ba-”

“You don't have to keep trying to talk to me, you know.” He said suddenly, cutting off her train of thought.

She quirked an eyebrow, eyeing him from the side as she idly flipped a switch here and there on the control panel to keep the hyperspace jump running smoothly. “I want to talk to you. It seems like we're gonna be spending quite some time with each other from now on, right?”

“Sure. If you say so…” He said under his breath, but just loud enough that Brea heard it over the hum of the ship's engines.

If she says so? That was more than a little concerning to say the least.

“Well, did anyone say otherwise? Come on, we're in this together now.”

He stayed quiet, retreating into himself both physically and emotionally. That wasn't good, she needed to get him to elaborate more so she could finally figure this kid out. What would her Master have done if she needed her to open up to her…?

“Well, this reminds me of my first mission as a Padawan. My Master Yora Tos was a very powerful Jedi, and she had such a kind soul. But she was also such a chatterbox. There we were, it's my first time entering hyperspace, I'm trying to focus be amazed by it and she just would not stop yammering on and on and on and on and on-”

She heard him heave a rather large sigh. Bingo.

“Alright, I'm sorry, it's just…I don't have. A very good track record with this sort of thing.”

“What, with hyperspace?”

“No, with my Masters.”

Masters…plural? It wasn't necessarily unheard of for a padawan to be reassigned once in a while. Sometimes the matchup just didn't work out for one reason or another. It seemed like what was bothering him ran a little deeper than that, though.

“How many…Masters have you had?” She pried carefully, not wanting him to clam up again. She was worried she'd made a mistake by asking when he didn't reply right away, but after a few moments and another large sigh, he did.

“Three.”

She blinked. Three previous Masters? Ok, now that actually was a little bit unheard of. Now she was starting to understand him a little bit. She only ever had one, so maybe this wasn't a matter she could relate to personally, but she felt that she could at least try to sympathize with him.

“Jeez, that's rough, buddy. Why did you drop them? You didn't like em?”

He turned away from her, leaning against the arm of the seat and resting his chin on his hand. “I didn't. They dropped me. Because I'm, well… I'm not really cut out to be a Jedi.”

Her head swiveled towards him, “Hey, don't say that! I'm sure it's not true.”

“Well, I mean? I kinda tend to fall behind, someone is always having to wait for me to catch up. My saber technique needs work. I can barely move a pebble with the Force. And on top of that I'm always getting sick.” He emphasized this with a wet-sounding sniffle and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his robe. “I'm not exactly a star pupil.”

Brea exhaled through her nose as she pondered this. All of that stuff had always come so easily to her, she couldn't imagine how frustrating it must be to struggle so much with it.

“Well, everybody has stuff they're not so good with. It just takes time. And the right guidance! Who were your previous Masters anyway?”

“Well, there was Master Tiin, and Master Koth, and I guess most recently Master Windu.”

“Whew! Well I can hardly blame you, kid.” She said raucously, “That one definitely wasn't your fault.”

He tilted his head to the side as he turned towards her, suddenly seemingly interested for the first time since they met. “What do you mean?”

“Listen, Master Windu has always been bit of a hardass.” She began, leaning back in her chair. Surprisingly enough, this got what she thought was actually a snort out of him. It was almost laughter. Not quite, but close enough. “Ha, that's probably why he's on the Council now, so I doubt much has changed since I was a youngling. His standards are so high you couldn't reach them if you were at the highest point of Cloud City.”

“Yeah…” He turned away, his expression starting to fall again.

Shoot. She dared to reach over and tried to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch ever so slightly. She retreated a bit, but suddenly it seemed like a new resolve had settled in her mind. Somehow she wasn't convinced that this kid was the problem here.

“Listen…if becoming a Jedi was easy, then everyone would do it, right? If you're here then it means you have every right to be.”

He said nothing, merely humming a noncommittal reply in return before looking ahead through the cockpit window. Her eyes turned in the same direction. The star streaks that had been shooting past them at impossible speeds suddenly slowing until they stopped entirely and returned to their natural shape as points of light in the far distance. The whole ship shook slightly as they were finally dropped out of hyperspace.

Brea sighed and rolled her neck to pop her upper vertebrae before turning her attention to the control panel, switching the ship from autopilot to manual controls again.

“Alright. Let's get down there and save Skywalker's skin!” they began their descent and soon they would be breaking the atmosphere. “In my experience, hands-on learning is way more useful than anything you can learn from silly old books anyway!”

She glanced over at him and saw how his eyes widened as he watched the planet's surface slowly approach them. His lips pulled tightly in a sort of grimace as he was no doubt imagining what sort of scene awaited the both of them there. So, he was a bit nervous about his first mission. In an ideal world, it wouldn't have been under these circumstances, but at least one thing was clear to her. She wasn't gonna let anything happen to him.

“Remember, I got your back out there, kiddo.”

He swallowed harshly and turned, throwing her a thumbs up and some semblance of an awkward smile, revealing that he had a gap between his two front teeth. Something she hadn't noticed before now.

Fear response or not, this was the first smile she'd seen from him this entire time, and as she returned her focus to the ship's steering apparatus and prepared for landing, she smiled back.

[fagcrush]

The Devil you Know (and Desperately Wish You Didn't)

Word count: 1405

Summary: The Corner Curios shop was known just as much for its high quality goods and supreme customer service as it was for its rumors. And one rumor-the tales told of a seeing a devil lurking in the shop at night-is far too true, much to the owner's frustratiom.

Notes: This is set in my au where Reya, the woman that Theil used to work for before she turned them away after they confessed their love, is tadpoled, while Theil becomes a more powerful sorcerer and eventually opens a shop in Baldur's Gate. Raphael really wants this bitch's soul bc of their power, so he lurks in their shop and bothers them regularly lol

There was never truly a “quiet” moment in the Corner Curios shop. Brimming with raw unfiltered magic, the legends that the shop itself was alive were more believable every night. Even into the latest hours, when the city was silent and still, it seemed like the shop was still as lively as it was during the day, if not moreso. Rumors had spread all across Baldur’s Gate of seeing a book fly across to another shelf, or a broom moving on its own. Those more skilled in magic claimed you could see how the weave enveloped every inch of the shop. And with the strange, unspeakably powerful sorcerer behind the shop, any one of these rumors could be true.

Even dealings with devils.

There were days where the shop lights stayed on into the strangest hours, but the doors remained magically locked...

“...And it seems that the words creeping in the city’s deepest shadows, the daggers that shoot through the tongues of the snakes and urchins of the alleyways... is that our little legend has made some dealings with the devil on nights just like tonight, when their innocent establishment is shrouded in the secrets of midnight. I’m sure any devil worthy of their soul is rather dashing, wouldn’t you, Theil?”

Leaning against the doorframe of the storage closet, staring down the loiterer with an irritated grin, was the fabled shopkeep seemingly on everyone’s tongue. The tiefling’s face and general mannerisms were as well known as their outstanding customer service and endless selection, but few saw the true face behind Corner Curios.

“Well then, Raphael, my most loyal loiterer,” they replied with a sneer. “Surely you know one.” They stepped towards the table set in the corner of the shop and sat across from the devil, the tension between the two all but visible in their surroundings. The two held a firm gaze, the unspoken challenge handed out. The game had begun.

The silence is broken with the tiniest thunk as a rather large book was sent hurtling right at the back of Raphael’s head, making Theil break out into a fit of childish laughter that seemed to shake the entire store.

“I see your sense of humor is as refined as ever, dear old shopkeep,” Raphael said dryly, picking up the book to examine it. “Ah, The Beginner’s Guide to the Arts. Don’t you think this is a rather childish simplification of things for someone as studied as The Sorcerer Who Would Become A Bard?” There was a heaviness to the title, one that led the tiefling to flick a small flame in his face as he laughed mockingly.

“That was a working title after a month of no sleep.” Theil hissed, cringing over the dumb joke they made after too much wine and not enough rest. “And it’s still better than any of your little ‘contracts,’ dear devil on my shoulder.” They got up to reach for a bottle of wine left on the counter with two golden glasses, as if prepared for the occasion. Too prepared.

The devil’s in the details.

“The daring shopkeep tried all to make the devil they knew all too well into but a distant memory, a speck on their otherwise undoubtedly flawless reputation free of any crime or harm, but their methods, as sad and as simple as the person behind them, are-”

“So are you going to drink the wine? Because if you’re going to keep going like this I might need both glasses.” Theil’s face remained stone cold, in no way humoring the theatrics that had already far outstayed their welcome.

“Do you truly think you can trick me into-”

“Do you think I’d waste vintage wine gifted to me by the friend of my enemy on trying to kill a fly that found his way through the window?” Theil bit back, huffing and taking a purposefully dramatic sip from their glass.

“Ah yes, that wizard you’ve cozied up to. Quite the choice.” Raphael paused before taking a drink of the wine, then stopped to look at it. “Right, it would be beneath you to sully this with poison. Your tastes are finer than that.” He leaned over the table a bit, grinning at Theil with a spark in his eye. “Still... quite the sordid tragedy you’re setting up for a love lost, isn’t it? I knew you weren’t beneath petty underhandedness, but you’ve set up a whole show for me to enjoy, haven’t you dear?”

“It would have been nice to know sooner that you knew the players, Raphael,” Theil looked out at the shop absentmindedly, reflecting on the “heroes” that had found themself tied up with the greatest villain they had known. Everyone wrapped around Reya as if she weren’t the most miserable, selfish, cretin of a person anyone could know. Theil knew full well she was using them all just as she had used Theil in the past. But they were going to get their revenge, one way or another.

As they gazed away, the bothersome devil laughed, as if amused by their frustration. “Now now, I’m not just another pawn you can set, my meddlesome friend. You know as well as I do that even information comes with a price.” A grin spread across Raphael’s face, his more devilish features starting to show as he leaned in even closer to the unamused sorcerer. “So what do you say? Be a good pawn and-”

Theil erupted into a fit of laughter, one so strong that the shop shook hard enough to knock a few books on the other end of the room. They laughed for only a second before their expression returned to the scowl that was ready to chase the devil himself out with a broom. “Your sales pitch is still as appealing as hag water, devil,” they cut back, rising from their seat and sauntering toward the man in front of them. As they moved, the books on the ground magically found their way back in perfect order on the shelf. “I don’t need your help to set the stage, and I’m still making pretty good use of my soul.” They leaned in close to him, smirking as their faces were just about touching, focusing a bit of energy just to remind him of just how much their soul was worth. Of just how much raw magic they held that made it worth so much. The game couldn’t end now, afterall. The winner wouldn’t be crowned today, or tomorrow, or ever. That was the fun of it.

Raphael, for once, was silent, until Theil pulled away with a victorious smirk. “Checkmate, old friend.” Theil said, secure in their victory for this round. “NIce try though, you almost won there. Maybe next time?” They hummed as they walked away, looking through some scrolls to seem busy. “Now, I’ll have to see you off. The show is about to start, and I doubt you can afford the front row seats.”

“I’m almost hurt. If you start having visitors, you won’t need me to warm your lonely nights anymore.” Raphael tried to wrap an arm around Theil, but found himself instantly shoved back by a gust of wind.

“That’s enough, don't you think? Or does the great devil Raphael not have other appointments?” Theil taunted, their temper finally reaching its limit. They tried to hide from it, but in a way they knew it was true- The Devil they knew all too well was the closest thing they had to genuine company, and likely the closest they would ever have.

“I do have far better things to do than humor your childish games any longer. Good luck with the show though, break a leg out there.” The friendly, familiar tone made Theil ready to attack again, but something stopped them. They almost felt empty, and a strange pain was building in their chest, making them almost feel sick.

“You’re wasting time now, devil,’ they said, voice ice cold. “Just get a move on before someone sees you,”

“Very well, I’ll leave you to your miserable farce.” Raphael took a step with a superior grin. “And, Theil darling? Checkmate.”

Before the tiefling could fight back, Raphael was gone, and Corner Curios was silent again.

The shop was still.

The stage was set.

Theil took a breath, letting the negative feelings melt away, and smirk at the knock on their door.

“Let the show begin.”

[flys-writing-drabbles]

SOBS. this. this is just gonna be an impulsive little thing. im not too sure what plot im gonna end up with 💔💔💔

The twists and turns in the road were almost enough to lull him to sleep. Key word being almost. He was trying his best to stay awake, trying desperately to savor this moment. The sound of his favorite music coming from the radio, the comfort of being able to lean against one of the men he’s come to know as ‘dad’, and the beautiful starry sky that twinkled down on them, the moon gracing them with its silvery shine, making everything seem to glow.

His gaze drifted out the window, eyes partially lidded and fighting to stay open, trees and roads stretched as far as he could see. Everything was a bit blurry without his glasses, sure, but there was always something special to him about how pretty everything looked at night. The branches dappled in moonlight, the rolling fields covered in shadows, even the occasional car light was a welcome addition to the scenery.

“The greener grass grows where the wild fires fertilize, with ashes of sparrows, peppered moths, and butterflies.”

William perked up a bit. One of many songs he adored from that album. He was listening to it through the speakers of the car without a speck of shame for once, no one made him feel like he was weird for liking this music. Jake and Steven didn’t even put up a fight when he asked if he could hook his phone up to the car and play it. That’s why he loved it here. That’s why he was trying to savor the moment. He felt safe.

His head fell back against his dad, earning a soft chuckle from him. His chest swelled with joy. Despite how tired he felt, he couldn’t help but laugh along. He would kill for everyday to be like this. These gentle moments where he can feel like a kid again.

“Ghosts of trees and termites, bloom in the beanstalk, and if you get light-headed when standing too fast, as if from shaking off the weight of phosphenes and past, salt deposits on warm little rivers that burst from our words.”

His eyes finally shut, the music filling his ears. He could faintly hear his dad humming along to the tune with his ear pressed against him like this, had he been listening to his son’s music taste to get a better understanding? The thought alone brought tears to William’s eyes. The thought that someone would care enough about him to try and get to know the things he likes better.

His breathing eventually slowed, the music dying into the background and his attention focusing on the beating of Steven’s heart and the feel of the road. The occasional bump had him involuntarily jumping out of his seat, but other than that, he was quickly drifting off. It was almost like the car was a cradle, holding him close and gently rocking him to sleep. He was just glad to feel safe and comfortable. He was just glad to have his dads and to have someone who genuinely cared.

[clancykisser]

rating: M (mature) pairing: SuperBoyfriends 🦇👓⚰ cw: angst with a happy ending, implied/mentions of su*cide, hurt/comfort wc: 2k

summary: Axel underestimates how much Clark and Bruce care for him, and the resulting accident makes them all sit together for a quick and reassuring talk.

Superman's arms were around him before he could fall.

Axel had felt the rusted edges of the railings begin to grow close to snapping. He would be lying if he said that he didn't purposefully lean in a little harder when staring across the bridge, admiring the way the sunset shimmered off of the subtle ripples of the river below. Half of him hoped that, when the railing did break, he would be allowed to plummet down into the water.

Would the impact kill him? How hard would he hit the surface?

The loose memories of water tension in science class trickled in Axel's mind. They were soon forgotten as the brittle metal snapped finally beneath him, and he was flung forward. He felt immune to the gasps of terror and shock that surrounded tourists near him.

And then firm arms clung to his torso, blunt nails scraping on the skin under his shirt. Axel inhaled sharply, a gasp leaving his lips as the wind flew from his breath. The whirlwind stopped after a few seconds, enough for him to register the fact that Superman was indeed holding him tight in his arms, concern furrowing his handsome brow as he gazed at him.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, and Axel could hear the attempt at even neutrality as he floated back to the safety of the bridge's concrete surface. Once Axel's feet made contact with the ground, all he did was shake his head no and offer a quiet 'thanks' as he nodded at the other. Superman, hesitant for only a moment, reached outwards. A single brush of a thumb to Axel's cheek was offered as he pursed his lips and leaned in so only they could share in the whispers of safety:

"Call Bruce, Axel. I'll be watching."

"Ominous," Axel snorted with a chuckle, "Okay neighborhood watch."

"I'm serious." Was the final (and stern) warning he was gifted before Superman took off, leaving behind a crowd to rush at Axel's side and ask if everything was okay. What happened. If he needed an ambulance called for him.

After assuring strangers with a polite, plastic smile and an assurance that it was just a metal railing failing, he finally managed to wiggle out of the crowd.

Bruce had already texted by the time Axel pulled his phone out of his pocket and observed the front screen. The rule was 'no do not disturb unless its a movie' nowadays, and the sight of Bruce's small cat icon complete with obnoxious ribbons framing the contact name of 'Bruce <3' was a jarring contrast to his one message:

'Clark told me about just now. I'm coming to pick you up.'

There was no arguing with his lack of emojis this time, so Axel sighed:

'Alright. I'm off the bridge and just waiting near a bench by the riverside.'

No response, but it was read. Bruce was likely speeding down the city infrastructure far too fast to be legal, not that he'd be arrested either. There would be a statement the next day in the paper. He could see it now: 'Bruce Wayne pulls funding for something or another in the city building and puts it towards infrastructure development instead.' Just out of spite for the decaying buildings that might have taken Axel from him.

The sound of tires screaming to a halt startled him out of his thoughts, and sure enough Bruce's sleek designer car was at the curb. Though the windows were tinted, Axel could practically see the glare of frustration he was threatening him with through it. He exhaled and stood up, ignoring the eyes of people driving by. Instead he slid into the passenger's seat and let the automatic door fall shut behind him.

Bruce said nothing. He only waited for Axel to put his seatbelt on before speeding off into the traffic. Axel's stomach lurched at the sudden impact of speed, reaching out to grip the side doors with an iron clad hold. Seeing this out of the corner of his eye, Bruce begrudgingly slowed down to an acceptable speed limit.

"What were you thinking?" Bruce's words were stinging, strained tight in a whispery tone, "If you just moved off- If - you could have just moved. If Clark wasn't there you-"

"Clark was there, though," Axel returned as he leaned his head back on the seat, exhaling softly, "Clark's always there. Why worry?"

"It's self preservation," Bruce returned, equally as soft, "Your relying on him is...losing it."

"You think I had it to begin with. Cute." Axel's words of bitter truth were out of his mouth before he could register that they were even said. A cold chill ran down his spine and he felt his throat go dry. Shifting his eyes, he tried to catch a small glimpse out of the corner to Bruce.

He kept driving, eyes forward on the road. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel but his eyes were....sad. Melancholy. He realized what Bruce was thinking about when empathy swept him up. He had lost a lot of people he cared about. It was...kind of his thing, wasn't it?

"Bruce I'm...sorry." The words ached out of his lips as he shuddered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like-."

"I know." Bruce returned, "I know..."

They drove in silence once more, returning to the manor in a longer amount of time it would have taken than if Bruce had sped up.

There was a sad, guilty sort of silence between the both of them as they entered the Wayne Manor. Alfred's eyes followed both of them with a raise of a worried brow. He did intervene, however, as he watched Bruce shift slightly down one hall and Axel make a move towards their bedroom.

Axel had slipped into the shared space of Bruce's room, sliding under satin black sheets and pulling out his phone as he exhaled and opened one of the at least six video scroll apps he had on it. The sound of idle, nonsensical brain rot soothed him into a spacey lull that quelled the guilty loathing he was drowning in. The type that he melted against. The ones he kept hidden from Bruce because he didn't want to make him angrier. He swallowed down a huffy breath that might have turned into a sob.

Time passed, but there was no clue how long, until a knock on the door echoed. Axel found himself pausing the video and sitting up on his arms, twisting to squint through half bleary eyes at the door. "Y...eah?" He finally called out just loud enough.

The door opened then, and Bruce came slinking into the darkness of the space with a gaze cast at the other. A bowl in his hand, he waited for Axel to sit up before sitting on the edge of the bed and offering the bowl. It was chocolate cereal. It crackled with nostalgia.

He took it and, after a second, brought the spoon to his lips. The crunch of the cereal soothed something in his mind, a good sound that lulled his nerves. The food filled his stomach and eased his nerves as he ate. Bruce watched in silence.

"...I am sorry." Axel finally murmured after a couple final bites of cereal. He put the bowl at the side table, "I didn't mean for it to...I was just having a hard time."

"Then you should talk with me," Bruce whispered, "Or Clark."

A hand touched Axel's thigh, tentative and cold. Goosebumps rushed on his side as he looked down at Bruce's feather grip. Reaching out in return, he put his hand on top of the Batman's and smiled weakly. "I sometimes forget I have you both now. I guess each time I still expect no one to come for me."

"You think that?"

Axel looked up past Bruce, who didn't seem surprised as Clark entered the room, arms crossed at the doorframe with a rather serious expression on his chiseled face. The man of steel had returned to his normal clothes, but he sported no glasses that would disguise him as Clark Kent. He really did rush.

Clark didn't look angry so much as serious. Like this subject was something he took without any joking tones. It wasn't lighthearted, but weighed as heavy as the blackout curtains over the windows.

He took a spot on the other side of the bed, forcing Axel to sit up and cross his legs, leaning on the headboard as he fiddled with the sheets. He rubbed the fabric between his thumb and finger, chewing at the chapped flakes of skin on his lips while the group sat in silence.

"I'm sorry," Axel whispered again, and this time the choked heat of tears warmed the edges of his gaze as he began to sob. The stuttering, stilting choke of air in his throat was painful as he reached up to cover his face in the palm of his hands, hiding his ugly crying face from the two men watching with a softness to their features.

"It's-It's just how I feel. It's always be-been true...And I'm just this...This worthless, singular human in an entire world you need to protect and-."

"Hey."

Bruce reached out now, removing one of his hands gently before holding one of Axel's wet cheek in his palm. His thumb rubbed the side of his face as he leaned into it and winced. Bruce's cool fingers were a godsend on the other's hot skin, and he relished in it before another strong hand gave his thigh a firm squeeze.

Looking over, he saw Clark smile softly at him, reaching out to bring Axel closer to him this time.

The kiss he offered was slow. Gentle. It felt reassuring and warm, liquid honey melting into his mouth and flowing down his throat. Clark drowned him in a string of reassurance that lasted some time before pulling away with a sigh and another brush of his thumb on Axel's cheek.

"I'm sorry people haven't protected you in the past," Clark murmured, "But now is different. Now you have us."

As if to add the conversation, Bruce reached out and gave Axel's arm a loving, firm squeeze.

For a moment he wasn't sure if he believed them. Hell, Clark could say the same thing with Diana's lasso around him and Axel still wouldn't be sure. But then his head turned, and he met Bruce's eyes. They swam with the effort of conveying something he was not good at. Poorer with words than Clark ever was, he only licked his lip for a moment before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Axel's temple, a barely there brush of skin.

"I'd never let anything happen to you." The words were murmured near his ear, a confession meant only for him before Bruce pulled away. Both knew Clark could hear it. It was clear in the way his smile quirked the edge of his lips as he watched the exchange.

So Axel decided to do something he wasn't sure if he had ever really done before.

"Alright," He relented with a shaky exhale, "I...love you both. I'm sorry I'm...like this. I want to try, I really do...I'm just not good at it."

"It takes time," Clark smiled, "And that's okay. We're patient."

"Sometimes." Bruce murmured with what was the closes thing he normally came to amusement as he shot a playful glance at Clark, who huffed indignantly at the implication. The exchange brought a small chuckle to Axel's lips, a sound both superheroes seemed to be proud of as they leaned in and pulled their lover into a hug, their bodies on either side of him. Sandwiched between the warmth's, Axel could hear their dual heart beats surrounding him.

He shut his eyes and reached out, clutching Clark as he let Axel rest his forehead in his chest and sigh. Behind him, Bruce leaned against his back and nuzzled his neck.

Axel hid his smile in Clark, the tears tickling the edges of his eyes not falling but filled with relief.

Maybe he could start trusting them just a bit more.

Maybe they did mean it when they said they loved him.

[eboni-napalm]

WRITING COMMISSIONS: OPEN!

Hey everyone- money's been a little tight lately with me being in between jobs at the moment, and with my top surgery approaching, I will be out of work for a minimum of two weeks for recovery, which means I won't be getting a paycheck at all for that period of time. So to remedy that for the future, I have decided to start offering writing commissions! I’ll be writing Self-Insert or Reader-Insert romance fics for all your self-shipping needs. <3 For the moment, I will only be writing for certain fandoms. As time goes on and if I get enough people interested, I may expand my list later on. Feel free to ask about what fandoms/characters I will and won't do, as well as what elements and can and cannot write as well!

All commissions will have a $5 MINIMUM flat rate deposit that I will require before I start your piece. Base prices are below as follows (subject to change):

Less than 100 words- $5 100-500 words- $10 500-1000 words- $20 1000-2500 words- $25 2500-5000 words- $40 5000-7500 words- $50 7500-10000 words- $70 More than 10000 words- $100

I can and will write NSFW if it is requested, HOWEVER, it will take me longer to implement it depending on the amount of scenes and complexity of them. Because of this, any commission that includes NSFW elements will add an additional price onto your piece (this can range anywhere from $5-$30.)

I will have five slots open for commissions, so if any of you are interested, send me a message!

1- @da-buss : IN PROGRESS 2- OPEN 3- OPEN 4- OPEN 5- OPEN

[dapper-shipping-forever]

I wanted to write a lil thing about my C.araval s/i. Please remember I haven't finished C.araval and my knowledge of the universe isn't like full, but I started thinking of this scene and wanted to write it out. It's basically me exploring her powers and her character; subject to change as I read this series.

---

The young girl was nervous, though Gillian hardly thought she'd done something to earn such fear. Reputations can proceed someone and often become somewhat exaggerated, she knew.

"Why not tell me exactly why you sought me?" She prodded. Gentle and soft, encouraging the girl and trying not to scare her further.

She wasn't meeting Gill's eyes. Her hands fisted in her simple dress's skirt, constantly bunching the light brown fabric. She spoke carefully. "You can tell people if the person they love loves them in return?" She asked her.

Her smile widened: Gill'd already guessed thats why she'd come to her. "That I can. You've fallen in love, it would seem." She leans into the velvet seat, just a spot away from her apparent customer. The theater they met in was empty, not a single performer shinning on stage, a technician creating wonders backstage, or audience member to view them; just two women conversing in the quiet balcony looking high above it all. The Muse was welcome anywhere creativity was praised.

She blushes, her cheeks turning pink; she wasn't adept at masking her thoughts at all. "Yes, I have. I just, I love him a lot and I want to confess, but it terrifies me he may not feel the same as me; if I tell him I love him and he rejects me, he'd probably never want to be around me again." Her voice quickens as the words tumble from her throat, anxiety loosening her hesitant lips.

"And now what you seek is some assurance? Something to eliminate the gamble?" The Muse watches the girl; young and innocent though Gill may seem, may she never be called unaware. She's learned, with awareness behind her eyes more ancient than she appeared, how to view others in a manner to read what they refuse to say. She knew this girl, though this was their first meeting; fretful and shy, but full of sweet love and a hunger for something exciting.

The girl looked at her face for the first time since seeking her assistance and that spark of greed for the knowledge she held, the key to her 'happily ever after', was evident. It's endearing, and she's never been one to turn away someone trying to grasp their passion with all their strength.

"That's the gist of it." She tries to laugh, though it's a bit strained. Her eyes flick around the theater, dancing off ornate walls. The theater is almost eerily quiet with no patrons bringing their own spark. "I know that, that this kind of stuff has a price; I can pay it, whatever you charge."

The Muse settles her cheek on her hand, one leg crossed on the other beneath her flowing dress. "I have a pretty simple price for this service, nothing that would break the bank." She holds aloft one finger, and the girl pales and waits to see the cost of this magic answer. "I ask that you tell me what love feels like for you."

The girl stares blankly back at her, not entirely sure she'd heard right by her dazed expression. "You want to know how love feels to me?"

Gill hums. "Yeah, that's my price. The more details, the better." She scoots forward, like they're gossiping in confidence about their scandalous crushes. 

Now the girl looks unsure again. "Well, I'm not sure where to begin. Being in love feels, nice? It's nice." She tried, shrinking inward as she knows that's not enough to satisfy the Muse and the price she marked. She shifts, sitting straighter, eyes on her scuffed slippers. "It makes me happy. Everytime I see him, it's like there's some warm and bubbling spring overflowing inside my body. I think about excuses to walk by him and get that feeling whenever he's out of sight. I changed the route I use to walk around town just to stop by his house, because he is always outside in the evening and makes time to stop to chat with me. And that makes me feel like I'm special, despite how small a gesture it sounds; it's like I'm sparkling and the affection is going to just spill right out if I'm not watching for it." She's smiling sheepishly, wider the longer she speaks; her shoulders rise around her face as she embodies the look of a beautiful girl in love. "Love is wonderful. I could do almost anything just to see him happy too. The only thing that scares me is saying it outloud, because I couldn't take it back; I'm worried the things we've got right now are as fragile as glass and my confession could either strengthen or shatter them. But, the reward could be everything to me, it could bring us closer than we've been; I want that." She chews at her cheek thoughtfully.

The Muse listens. As she talks about her love, she can hear the soft melody of love increasing into crescendo, an orchestra of devotion. She heaves a longing sigh, nodding to herself when the girl is done talking. "That works, I would say. You've payed, now I can give you that answer. Give me your arm, we shall see if your love is reciprocated." When the girl hesitantly extends her arm, the Muse reaches inside her pocket and pulls out a little ink jar and a, possibly too, ornate pen. She dips the pen into the thick, dark ink and begins to draw on the girl. Holding her forearm in one hand and the pen in the other, she paints an intricate, shockingly for how quick she draws, rose on her. And when it's completed, it is no longer simply realistic. It is real. The girl sucks in a breath, feeling the ink move. The rose blossoms on a sturdy green stem, petals deep cherry red and glistening as it stands tall. Attached to the girl's arm, this rose is nourished by her inspiring tale of passion. "Pluck the petals; the flower can't lie when it tells you if he loves you in return."

The girl breathes in and breathes out, steadying her emotions. Hesitant, perhaps frightened of the flower attached to her forearm, she slowly pinches one petal. She plucks it, then another. "He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not." She plucks each petal, one by one, all accompanied by a statement. "He loves me, he loves me not." Petals litter the area. Finally, there's only a single petal to be plucked. The girl holds the gleaming petal in between her pointer finger and her thumb, staring awestruck at the piece. "He loves me?" She peeks at the Muse.

She smiles back. "He loves you." Gill softly confirms.

The girl beams, smile unburdened. She looks like she wants to hug the petal. The rose disappears from her arm, leaving it clean. "Thank you, madame Muse ! Now I have the confidence to confess !" She stands in a hurry, hastily bowing to her. "Please, excuse me; I must tell him !" 

Gill waves her hand, the girl rushing out of the theater. She watches her figure leave. The theater is silent.

Petals sit on the floor, red on dark carpet. Gill grabs one, holding it aloft and gazing thoughtfully at it. The girl had payed the price she'd asked, and Gill accepted it. Love, what a unique feeling. Everybody describes it entirely differently, nobody feels it exactly like the others. Unique as a thousand different paintings on a thousand different canvases.

Gill watches the petal in her hand. The petal begins returning to ink, dark droplets flowing in lines along her hand. Droplets drip to the ground with barely a sound, just faint, wet plops as they touch carpet.

The Muse covets love, treasures tales of the emotion. Love is one of the greatest sources of inspiration, feeding epic stories and gorgeous artistic creations always. She's devoured those creations with great frenzy. Those stories, seeing those who are in love, makes her eyes fill with light and longing.

She wonders, while those two, the boy and the girl, are currently mutually in love, how it may be shaped. If their love would stay. Would he perhaps stop loving her? Would she chase him, desire him, stop at nothing to fulfill her desire as all with great passion strive for? Would her love prove false, her love song turning into soured notes, if she stopped loving the boy? But the love holds strong now.

Something twists, a bitter feeling. Roiling jealousy inside of her.

The melodies of love ring in her ear. She eyes the pristine piano sitting offstage. She always asks the same price. She only wants to compose the symphonies of love from those who come asking to know about the object of their feelings. Because then she can take them, play those soaring notes and for the briefest of songs imagine she feels their love as her own. But she isn't. She can't feel it. Not like humans, not now. And it burns her in scorching madness.

To be incapable of feeling the thing she longs for, it is enough to drive somebody mad. Those pretty little songs may be the closest she can reach to feeling it. The Fallen Star was cruel that way.

She eyes the decorations on the walls on the sides of the stage. The large replicas of the familiar theater masks watch the auditorium like guardians. The masks sit, and she watches them. The smiling one seems to mock her inability to feel the emotion that skillfully evades her grip.

She sighs, putting frustration now aside. She wipes her hands quickly together, just smearing ink on both palms. Standing, she starts walking out of the space. Her hands glides on the golden banister, trailing ink behind her on each step.

[nyandereneko]

Snowflake

Word Count: 600 Summary: “Eyes forged from the same gold as the sun found solace in the dark depths of his feline companion’s midnight gaze, and the retired Adeptus promptly enveloped his partner in the confines of his needy embrace.” Author’s Note: Switching gears a little because I just got back from a con and also things are really bad brain wise right now, but that latter point has nothing to do with why I swapped prompt lists. So, I found this other yume event on twit and I figure I should post in both places, so new prompt list for the next 12 days it is! Thank you for reading as always!

*****

The freshly formed flakes that heralded the first snow of the season flitted down from the dense sea of clouds eclipsing the rich blue expanse of day. It was a tranquil, crystalline display that never failed to steal one’s breath away. Nova was no exception as she watched the brisk breeze whisk a few puffs of her frigid exhales away in its current. Her star-flecked ears twitched in delight as some of the lingering bouts of fog drifted through the air, their haze punctured by the twirling, swirling crystals that continued cascading down from the frozen, heavenly expanse above. 

“If you’re not careful you’ll catch a chill out here,” Zhongli greeted as he joined his partner on the porch of their humble countryside abode, settling one of his lined and layered coats around her slight, shivering shoulders. “Enjoying the view?”

“Of course I am!” she enthusiastically replied, pulling the lapels closed over her chest. “Even more so now that you’re here,” she added, bumping her head against his arm and nuzzling the sleeve as she guided the appendage into her hold.

The ex-Archon took pause and blinked deliberately at her words, finding himself simultaneously amused yet stricken by them. A wave of self-conscious warmth seeped up his neck and bled into his porcelain cheeks like ink dyeing parchment, and the woman found herself enchanted, mesmerized, incapable of tearing her eyes from the riveting sight before her. Zhongli was a masterpiece, her masterpiece, the light and love of her life that she longed to spoil and cherish with every ounce of her being.

If she could have assimilated him into herself, perhaps she would have. And if he could have been assimilated into her, well, perhaps he would have eagerly submitted himself to such impulsive whims.

Soft, steady fingers traced the curve of her ear before diving into the swimming strands of her radiant locks, rolling and wrapping and running them through his smooth, lithe grasp. Nova sighed contently and relaxed against her partner, nuzzling his sure, love tinged touch as a low, distinct purr rumbled in her throat. She snaked her tail around one of his legs, allowing the fluffy tip to tap and twitch freely against the silky fabric of his pants.

The Exuvia extended his free hand, offering it to the wintry winds as he captured some of the finicky, fleeing flakes in his waiting palm. Melting in the warmth of his touch, the fresh liquid soaked into the thin cloth of his steaming glove. Eyes forged from the same gold as the sun found solace in the dark depths of his feline companion’s midnight gaze, and the retired Adeptus promptly enveloped his partner in the confines of his needy embrace.

“Shall we move our viewing party back inside?” Nova suggested through shaky breaths as the gilded man’s lips brushed the back of her ear, trailing down until he transitioned from fur to skin. She could feel the prick of his fangs poking playfully at her nape, and the stinging heat that bloomed in her cheeks only made her want to hide away. But there was nothing she needed to hide, not where Zhongli was concerned. “If you’re still worried about catching a chill and all…”

“Well, I do have a fire and some warm tea waiting in the parlor, if you’re feeling so inclined,” he replied as the warmth and fluffiness of his own feral features tickled her cheek. 

“That sounds wonderful,” she agreed as she slipped one of her hands into his own, pressing a kiss to his soft ear before leading them both back inside.

[gaunt-and-hungry]

Set Fire to the Sea

F/O x Reader - Proposal Reader's F/O proposes to them. GN Reader and F/O No Content Warnings.

You are tense in the shoulders, a quaking apprehension as your F/O has both hands upon you. It's a loose gesture, their hands running a worrying thumb down and up the sides of your arms just below the peaks of your shoulders. It's sturdy here like a relief of a wax seal. Wretched cold has sunken pits into your body, your jaw clenched in effort to cease the chattering of your teeth. Wind picks up off and on like applause as if you are part of a grander scheme that is observed by something beyond you. You know, deep down, what this is. You know that pained look of trepidation in another's eye. You've watched it from afar and are no fool to the cascading ripples that knot your belly and strain your diaphragm with hopeful panic. You worry you have misinterpreted what is happening between the two of you, chewing the doubts that have arisen for certainly this cannot possibly be what is unfurling before you. Certainly not. You are not the sort of person that these things happen to. "You do." Your F/O's voice quivers with strain held tight in their throat. You can see the threat of glistening upon their eyes. It catches your breath in your own throat. "You do make me happy. So, so very happy. And," There's that croaking wheeze as they temporarily look over your figure as if searching for something else to anchor themself to. You know then and there that you unmoor them, casting rational thought adrift into the open sea with no compass to guide their helm. They look back to you after you grasp back. Goodness your fingers are frigid to the marrow. Your grasp tethers your F/O back to you but only for a moment. They look at the crisp and snow flecked earth twixt the two of you as if it would hide the translucent droplet that slips down their cheek and into the frozen soil. Your F/O is graceful despite the ache you know they might feel in their own bones. Your F/O is graceful like a well practised move. The idea that it has been rehearsed crosses your mind but is whisked away by another harsh breeze that tousles your hair and messes it in a tangle of wind. When you shake it from your cheeks and eyes your F/O has something small grasped between half gloved fingers and is offering it. Their movements are fluid and yet stiff as if fearful of it being struck from their hands. They hold it like it is something living and breathing. You imagine that it is how you imagine your F/O would hold a hatchling robin, freshly fallen from its nest, afraid and cold. The comparison reflects your F/O in that moment. Cold. Afraid. Vulnerable. Naked. Exposed. "If you would have me, I would love to make you as happy as you make me." The words escape with quivering lips. Their jaw clenches afterwards, a poise ready for backlash. The hand you extend is trembling. You are trembling. The leaves are trembling. The frozen grass is tremble. "Oh. Oh. Yes. Yes." You are sobbing. You cannot feel them on your cheeks but your vision turns into a blurring haze so quickly that it makes you think a little of drowning. "God, yes. Yes, please. I would have you. I would have you if you would have me." And you can feel it more than see it. Your hand feels so paltry by comparison of the warmth and blossoming fruit that erupts like a spring day inside your body. The metal had been warmed by their hands and slips perfectly into place. Your F/O is shedding just as many tears as you, a strained laughter slipping past their lips. You hear the hushed and warm tones of "I love you," escape between the both of you, unabashed and adoring.

You knew they stood but are struggling to make out anything but the blur of their shape, navy blues and accents of gold as they have both your hands and pull you close to the bulwark of their body. You prefer to shut your eyes to give your tears the press of your eyelids and clear away the saltwater. The kiss is enough to set fire to the sea.

[milkiclouds]

hello☁️

she/her, 28

before u follow // fandoms

[sinnamonn]

First chap of the bsd isekai fic is done!!!!! Dazai has experienced abjection!!!!

[sillydevilbunny]

Strugglin...

Fic writing fa friends in particular is a different type of challenge, especially with new friends you don't know very well....cool mutual made magnificent art of themselves & a certain sexy edgy skeleton, I loved it and decided to make a small one-shot about it, and I'm now tryin am best ta make it not sound generic or corny LOLZ

[total-fandom-tr45h]

Ghosti's Plexverse

Aria: Enter stage left

"Starting tomorrow, your duties will be to man the register in the gift shop, restock the shop, and whenever the daycare attendant requests help, you are to temporarily close the gift shop and go help, unless it's drop-off or pick-up time, that's when parent buy things from the shop the most. Got it?" The employee told the new hire, who was looking around in awe. 

"O-oh, yes, got it! Mainly run the gift shop, restock the shop, and help the daycare attendant when requested except during drop-off and pick-up." The girl said, looking at the employee showing her around. 

The employee nodded in satisfaction, then handed the girl a slip of paper. "Now, before you leave, go get your personal security badge so you can get into the storage rooms and such. You'll need to go to the main security office to get one made, and this paper will help you get there, just show it to a security guard and they'll help you. That's all I've got for you, so see ya." With that, the employee walked away, leaving the girl on her own. 

Looking at the slip of paper, she used her open hand to twist some hair around her finger, holding it there as she left the daycare to find the security office. After a while of wandering and asking around, she finally made it, breathing a sigh of relief as she showed the security guard the slip of paper. 

The guard let her into the office, where another employee was waiting. "Name?" They asked without looking up. 

"Aria." The employee typed the girl's response into the computer, then hit a few more buttons. After a few moments, a security pass plopped out of the machine onto the desk, which the employee grabbed and handed to Aria. 

"There ya go. Buy yourself a lanyard, you'll need it." And with that, they returned to what they had been previously doing, gesturing for the girl to leave the office. 

Aria looked down at the security badge with her name on it, and smiled. "Alright, it's time for a new start! Let's just hope it goes well..." 

The next day Aria arrived to work early, eager to begin her new job. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress and fixed the star hairpin she decided to wear after seeing the posters around the daycare of a sun and moon character. She started to single out a strand of hair when she heard someone approach from behind, startling her. Turning around, it turned out to be a security guard, who looked at her quizzically. 

"Aren't you going in?" They asked, gesturing towards the daycare. 

"Oh um, This is my first day, I didn't know if I had to wait or..." Aria replied awkwardly, and the guard laughed. 

"You've got a badge, don't you? You're allowed to go in whenever, as long as you're not late for your shift." The guard laughed warmly. The girl nodded and smiled in embarrassment. 

"Oh, right... thanks. I guess I'll go in then." She said before quickly heading into the daycare, fighting the strong urge to slide down the slide.

 She opened the gate of the gift shop, the lights inside the small room turning on as she entered. Clutching onto her star pendant, she walked behind the counter and checked out the register, making mental notes on where things were. Aria checked the time, surprised to see it was almost time to open. Stuffing her bag under the counter, she headed out to the displays and checked everything over, glad to see someone had stocked for her. 

Soon she heard the tell-tale sounds of excited children as the daycare opened, and she stood behind the register with a smile. A few parents bought stuffies and other toys for their kids before they left, and once there were no more parents coming in, Aria went about her other duties, restocking the shelves. 

After about an hour of trying to keep herself busy, Aria heard a new voice call out from the children's play area. "Excuse me, new friend! Could I ask for some help?" She dropped the hair she had in her hand, her eyes lighting up in excitement. 

"Of course, I'll be right there!" She replied as she stood up from where she had been sitting, then headed over to the large set of doors leading into the play area. 

She stood there for a moment, trying to figure out how she was going to open such heavy doors, when one of them opened a little. "Quickly, before any of the little ones try to leave!" The strange voice said, to which Aria complied and squeezed inside as the door closed behind her. There were children running around the large play area, laughing and screaming wildly. "Alright! First, what's your name, new friend?" The voice asked from next to Aria, and she looked to see who it was that had called her. 

To her surprise, she had to look up, as the figure next to her was taller than the average human. In fact, it wasn't human at all, but in fact an animatronic. This animatronic looked like a caricature of a sun, but dressed in a jester-like outfit, complete with frills and even bells on the wrists. 

"Aria. I-I'm Aria." She stuttered, feeling a bit intimidated by the height of the animatronic. It noticed, because it crouched down slightly as it grinned, and Aria could finally see its features better. It had a state-of-the-art face system, allowing it to make different expressions. 

"Well, Aria, it's great to meet you! I'm the daycare attendant here, but you can just call me Sun!" It said joyfully, bells jingling as it held out a hand. Aria shook Sun's hand, enthused by the bells like a child. 

"It's nice to meet you too, Sun... So, what did you need my help with?" She asked as they let go of each other's hands, Aria bringing hers to her head to fiddle with her hair. 

"Oh! It's time for arts and crafts, but I'm out of a few things and the young ones are being very rambunctious, as you can see." Sun said, gesturing around the daycare. "Would you mind helping and getting me a few things so I can settle them down?" Aria smiled, shaking her head as she knew all too well the struggle of taking care of rowdy little kids all too well. 

"I don’t mind one bit! What do you need? I'll go grab it from the storage room, I know I saw tons of art supplies there." Sun beamed, clapping their hands together. 

"Oh goody! Well, we're going to need a new box of crayons, a glue stick, more red and pink glitter glue, and some popsicle sticks." They rattled off, and Aria scribbled the items on her hand with the pen she had pulled out of the waistband of her apron. 

"Alright, I'll be right back!" She said with an excited smile before struggling to go through the door. 

A short while later she returned to the play area, a box of the requested art supplies in tow. Aria noticed that it was a bit quieter as she squeezed through the door. Sun suddenly appeared next to her, causing her to let out a small shriek and clutch her chest, dropping the box of art supplies. "Oh Jesus, you scared me." She panted, trying to calm her heart rate as Sun frowned. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you! Please, follow me with the art supplies, the kids are waiting!" They said as they gestured for Aria to follow. She picked up the box and followed the animatronic, who led her to some tables that had been set up where all the children were gathered. 

"Kids, this is Miss Aria, and she's going to do some arts and crafts with us today!" Sun said cheerfully, opening his arms like a person presenting a piece of artwork would, causing a few kids to giggle. "You need to listen to her, and can ask her for help if you need it. Now, let's get to it!" They said as they took the box from Aria, setting the supplies on the table in front of them as kids rushed forward to grab stuff. 

Like a child herself, Aria grabbed a sheet of paper and went to one of the tables with the kids, sitting next to them.

She grabbed a crayon and began coloring, making sure to keep an eye on the kids at the same time. After a while, Aria felt a tap on her shoulder, and she looked up to see a little kid holding a pair of safety scissors and construction paper.

 "Miss Aria, can you help me? I can't cut this out..." The child held out the paper, which had a drawing of what seemed to be a cat.

"Of course I can. But first, what's the magic word?" She asked, smiling softly. The kid looked puzzled for a moment before realizing what she meant. 

"Please?" Aria nodded and patted the child on the head with a proud smile. 

"Good job! Now let me have the paper and scissors and I'll cut it out." They handed the things to Aria, and she carefully cut out the cat, handing the cut out drawing, scissors, and scrap of paper back to the child. "There you go. Let me know if you need more help!" With a smile, the child nodded before walking back to the table they came from. 

Not long after, Aria heard a frustrated yell from somewhere near her, and she looked over to see a little girl getting angry at something. Aria got up and walked over, kneeling down next to the girl. "What's the matter?" She asked, and the girl grumbled. 

"The crayons keep breaking- see?!" The crayon the girl had in her hand snapped, and she threw it onto the table angrily.

"Woah, calm down, it happens, okay? It's no big deal." Aria said, making sure the crayon didn't go towards another kid. The girl picked up a new crayon, gripping it tightly in her fist. Noticing this, Aria reached her hand over to gently touch the girl's hand. 

"Don't hold it so tight, that's why they keep breaking." The little girl looked up at Aria then back down at her drawing, loosening the grip on the crayon before starting to color. After a few moments, the girl looked at Aria again and smiled. 

"Thank you!" She said before going back to coloring. 

After arts and crafts was over, Aria helped get the kids cleaned up and ready for snack time. Some of the children weren't cooperating with Sun, so Aria went over to help. When her kinder attempt at getting their attention didn't work, she sighed, then straightened herself up and cleared her throat. 

"Kids, it's time to get cleaned up, not play around. You will not get a snack if you don't wash your hands." She said in a firm tone of voice but not yelling, which got the kid's attention and they quickly went and washed their hands. 

"Wow, how'd you do that?" Sun asked Aria as she checked their hands when they were done, making sure they actually washed them. Aria laughed softly, looking up at them. 

"Oh, I work with kids quite often. That was what I like to call my 'Mom voice.' It always gets the kiddo's attention." She replied, smiling proudly before checking over the group of kids, whom were all waiting for their snack. 

Aria quickly went and grabbed the snacks, making sure the allergy friendly snacks were apart from the regular ones. Once all the kids got their snacks and started eating, Aria sat down. She was genuinely happy, as she loved working with kids, and it showed on her face as she smiled lovingly at the little ones. She began to fiddle with her hair, pulling out a strand every so often as she watched, making sure nobody choked or anything. 

A dozen pulled hairs later snack time was over, and Aria made sure the kids picked up the trash after themselves. The messy kids had to wash their hands again before going to play, and Sun came up next to Aria as she made sure the last few kids took care of their trash. "Usually they just run off and I have to clean up the trash." They commented, causing Aria to look up at them and cross her arms, seemingly disappointed. 

"Every child has to learn to clean up after themselves, otherwise they'll become lazy bums." She said as though it was obvious. 

Before Aria could say another word her eyes went wide when she looked at the play structures. "No, get down from there, that's not safe!" She shouted, running over to one of the slides where a child was climbing on top of it. 

Sun chased after her, reaching over her head to pluck the child off the slide and set them on the ground. Aria put her hands on her hips, frowning. "That was incredibly dangerous, you could have fallen off and gotten hurt! Don't ever do that again, got it?" She scolded, and the child dropped their head in shame and nodded. 

"Yes Miss Aria." They muttered, and Aria patted them on the head. 

"Alright. If you've learned your lesson, you may go play again." She said, and the child ran off to another part of the play area. She let out a sigh of relief, putting a hand on her chest before looking up at Sun. "Thanks for getting them down, there's no way my short as- butt could've gotten them down. Sun simply nodded, waving their hand dismissively. 

"I deal with that all the time, I'm used to it." Aria shook her head before laughing. 

"You almost NEED a team of a human and an animatronic to take care of kids. That or a really tall human." She snorted then covered her nose and mouth, holding in her laughter, embarrassed. Sun cocked their head. 

"Did you snort?" Before Aria could answer, a kid piped in from inside the play structure. 

"Miss Aria snorted!! She snorted like a piggy!!" A bunch of other kids started making snorting noises, giggling like madmen as Aria's face turned bright red and she hid it in her hands. 

"Don't make fun of Miss Aria, it's not nice!" Sun said as they put a hand on Aria's shoulder causing her to look up at them, her face as red as a tomato from embarrassment. "Are you okay?" They asked, and she nodded in response, taking a few deep breaths.

Soon it was lunch time, and Aria had to run and open the gift shop as some parents came to pick their children up, leaving Sun alone with the kids. "Where'd Miss Aria go?" One of the children asked Sun while eating lunch. 

"Miss Aria had something to do, she'll come back after lunch." The kid pouted, frowning at their pizza. 

"Okay..." Sun chuckled. 

"You really like her, don't you?" The kid looked up at Sun and nodded. 

"Yeah! She's really nice, and she helped me today!" The kid said before taking a bite of their pizza. 

Once lunch was over, Sun convinced the kids to clean up after themselves by promising that Miss Aria would read them a story for naptime, which got most of the kids to listen. The few who didn't want to listen were told that Aria would be mad if they didn't clean up before nap time, and that got them to hustle and clean up. 

Sun began getting out the blankets for naptime when Aria returned, squeezing through the doors. She hurried over and took some of the blankets from Sun, helping to distribute them to the kids. Once all the kids were settled in, one of them looked up at Aria excitedly. 

"Now will you tell us a story?" Puzzled, Aria looked at Sun, who shrugged with a chuckle. 

"I told them you'd read them a story if they cleaned up after themselves, that's it." With a sigh, Aria found herself a cushion and sat down, then began telling the children a story from memory, the last child falling asleep about halfway through the story. 

Sun had almost drifted off to sleep themself, but startled awake as they spotted Aria by the light switch. They scrambled to stand up, hoping to stop her, but it was too late. Aria flipped the light switch, turning off the lights in the daycare as she hummed softly to herself. Sun backed out of her view as she returned to the children, looking around to try and find them. 

"Sun? Where are you?" She whisper-yelled before being grabbed by the waist and hoisted into the air, causing her to let out a squeak of surprise and fright. She looked down to see a pair of arms that looked almost identical to Sun's, aside from the fact they had different colors on them. She squirmed and whoever was holding her laughed in an unfamiliar voice. 

"Don't squirm unless you want to fall." They said, causing Aria to stop moving. "Good girl." The voice cooed, and Aria tried to see who it was holding her. 

"Who are you? Wh-why am I in the air?" She stuttered, gripping onto the arms holding her. The voice chuckled again, and they began to move in the air. 

"The name's Moon, and I've been dying to meet you." They said, flipping Aria around to face them. She had squeezed her eyes shut as she was turned, and as soon as she could she wrapped her arms around this 'Moon', holding on for dear life. "I'm not going to drop you, calm down." They said, using the cable to make a sort of hanging chair thing.

They sat there with Aria clung onto them, finding it funny that she was so scared. "Hey, c'mon. Open your eyes." They said, and Aria slowly lifted her head and opened her eyes. The face she was met with looked similar to Sun, but grey and black, with red eyes and a blue nightcap with stars on their head instead of rays like Sun. 

Moon gestured outwards, grinning. "Look out." Aria slowly shifted, still holding tightly to Moon as she looked out. From where they were, the two could see the whole daycare, including all the kids that were asleep. 

"O-Okay, this is cool, but could you please put me down now?? This is freaking me out." Aria said, shaking slightly. 

"Aww, alright. But I'll be up here if you need me." Moon said before undoing their seat, lowering down and setting Aria down before rising toward the ceiling again. 

Aria breathed a sigh of relief and smoothed her dress, fixing her hairpin before going to sit next to the children. Once naptime was over, Aria turned on the lights and woke up the kids, still wondering about that curious Moon character when Sun approached her from behind, tapping her on the shoulder and causing her to startle, letting out a squeak. 

"Oh, it's you Sun. I've got a question for you." She said as she folded a blanket neatly, setting it on the growing pile. "Who is Moon?" 

Sun froze when she asked the question, and they hesitated before responding. "You... weren't supposed to meet Moon. I forgot to tell you the number one rule here; Keep the lights on." Aria blinked in confusion before frowning, hanging her head. 

"Sorry, I had no idea... I mean, it is my first day after all..." Sun grabbed the blanket Aria had stalled on, folding it the rest of the way. 

"It's alright, just keep that in mind from now on, alright?" Aria nodded silently and she and Sun finished folding the blankets. She went and put them away as Sun got the kids together for their afternoon lesson. 

The rest of the day went by without anything else interesting going on, a couple of the kids didn't want Aria to leave when she had to go get the shop ready for pick-up time. "Noooo, don't goooooo!!" One child said, holding onto Aria's hand as she tried to leave. She chuckled and patted the kid on the head. 

"I'll be here tomorrow, I promise. Okay?" She said as the kid looked up at her and nodded, letting go of her leg. 

"Okay... but you better keep your promise!" They said and stomped their feet, and Aria laughed. 

"I will keep my promise. Now, see you tomorrow, alright?" The child nodded and Aria left the play area, heading to the gift shop and restocking the shelves before the parents came in to pick up their children. 

A few parents stopped in the gift shop with kids in tow, and all of the kids smiled at Aria and waved before leaving the shop. Once all the kids had been picked up and parents had all left, Aria restocked the shelves again before closing the shop, yawning as she looked at the time. She stuck her head into the play area, looking around for Sun before just calling out. 

"See you tomorrow, Sun!" Aria said before clocking out and leaving, completing her first day of work.

[understandingtheworld101]

C-PTSD here!

When someone's yelling your ears automatically do the ring thing or the "thunder" noises. You may also slip into a trauma flashback

You can't sit down or relax. You constantly have to keep moving, cleaning, school work, cooking, taking care of kids. Working, yard work. There is no time to wind down

Not being able to sleep because its the only time to be yourself so you stay up doing things you love. (Reading, writing, drawing, nothing that takes up too much space)

Speaking of space you try to take as little space as possible, even in your own room. You'll likely have necessities and maybe a couple books and a couple notebooks. Drawings are stuffed under the bed or hidden under your clothes basket.

Throwing something away means hiding what you threw away. Going into the trash can and putting it as deep as you can under as much as you can without causing too much noise.

Often dissociating around friends and in public spaces cause even though you're away from the trauma its still there and affects you

Not being able to make a single decision in your life because you were never allowed to growing up. Whether that's food, when you eat, when you shower, ECT

You are likely in an emotionally inc*st relationship with one or both of your parents. They'll look to you for advice and consoling even though YOU are the child and THEY are the adult.

Your siblings are your top priority. Failing school? Fine. Can't keep up on chores and you're getting beat? Fine, as long as you're siblings are safe.

Feeling like a coparent as a second oldest with the oldest.

Working odd jobs to afford dinner for a couple nights out of the week

Feeling like you're a burden because your parents throw it in your face that the feed, clothe, and house you despite those things being the bare minimum.

Realizing the "good" parent was as bad if not worse then the "bad" parent for not stepping in and stopping the abuse.

Getting really good at lying on the fly and keeping secrets.

Being guilt tripped by the adults in your life because they raised you and had a rough upbringing despite them putting you in the same or worse upbringing

Oldest child rage, middle glass children, and youngest kids who fight back

Turning to drugs and alcohol at a young age because it's the only way you've seen your parents calm down and you hope it works for you as well. It doesn't. You keep going. You have an addiction. It still doesn't help in the long run.

Being the child to enforce discipline on your younger siblings and being told you're abusing them despite the fact that that's how you were diciplined

Getting thrown out at a young age and then being gaslit being told that you were never thrown out and you could've came back at any point in time. (it is illegal to throw children younger then 18 out of your home and even at 18 you need to give them an eviction notice and at least 30 days)

Constantly getting in abusive relationships throughout your life because the abuse is familiar and the healthy relationships get "boring" and make you feel alienated

Constantly moving around because your parents can never afford where they move to or getting evicted for not following the rules.

This is definitely a self insert and I can go in for days but these are the main focuses before this gets any longer

things people do after having a nightmare that isn’t crying

struggle to catch their breath

grab onto whatever’s close enough to ground themselves in reality

become nauseous / vomit

shake uncontrollably

sweat buckets

get a headache

things people do to combat having nightmares if they occur commonly

sleep near other people so they can hear the idle sounds of them completing tasks

move to a different sleeping spot than where they had the nightmare

leave tvs / radios / phones on with noise

just not sleep (if you want to go the insomnia route)

sleep during the day in bright rooms

things people with insomnia do

first, obviously, their ability to remember things and their coordination will go out the window

its likely they’ll become irritable or overly emotional

their body will start to ache, shake, and weaken

hallucinate if it’s been long enough

it becomes incredibly easy for them to get sick (and they probably will)

add your own in reblogs/comments!

[incognit0slut]

Champagne Kisses

A night involving champagne gives you the perfect excuse to end up naked after weeks of harmless flirting. Spencer thinks one night isn’t enough.

category: smut, fluff word count: around 8k content: softdom!spencer, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v (but no creampie he’s testing his pull-out game), alcohol consumption, food play (more like drink play), and i wanna say spit kink but they’re using champagne instead so does that count? a/n: merry 2025 please tell me you remember me or else i might actually cry

You’re doing it again.

You’ve been clawing at his face for the past hour, stealing fleeting glances and looking away just as quickly, because every time you do, you find the same thing.

Brown eyes. Chocolate, marbled in hazel with tiny golden speckles. Pinning you in place. Dismantling you layer by layer. And somewhere in the quiet heat behind them, in the barely-there twitch of his jaw, you’re pretty sure he’s already mapping out the fastest way to get you out of your clothes.

It’s nerve-racking. Smart Spencer you can handle, awkward Spencer you can charm. But flirtatious Spencer? Flirtatious Spencer is dangerous.

Even more so when you’re squashed between Penelope and Luke at the overcrowded booth of O'Keefe's, who are mid-argument over something you can’t even muster the energy to care. Not when long legs stretch in front of you, and strips of neon lights slice across the table in a glow that crosses his form, curving around handsome features that make him look far too inviting.

Because that’s what your mind keeps drifting to. Taking him back to your place, where the only thing glowing would be the dim light of your bedroom.

Or maybe the pale light from the hallway.

Perhaps the soft flicker of the lamp in your living room.

Either way, your mind is already drawing images of him doing whatever it is he’s picturing in his own head. The location doesn’t matter.

“Don’t you agree?”

Your gaze fall over him once more before you force yourself to look away, catching Penelope staring at you expectantly. “Agree to what?”

“That margaritas are objectively the most fun drink and clearly better than boring beer.”

This is the argument they’ve been debating for the last five minutes?

Luke scoffs from your left. He doesn’t look angry though, his expression is more amused than irritated, lips formed in a cheeky smirk. “I can tolerate margaritas if we’re on a beach. But beers are solid all year round, pop a cap and you're good to go."

“You’re such a guy."

“I'm telling you, you don't need fancy ingredients or a blender. No little umbrellas."

“Literally proving my point. Beer has no personality.”

“Are you saying I have no personality?”

Bright pink-framed glasses shift as Penelope tips her head. “If the shoe fits.”

You’re at the point where you’re no longer surprised by their arguments. Loud and pointless, is how you'd describe them. You suspect Luke does it to get a reaction, and normally you’d add fuel to the fire, because Penelope is a pretty fire-cracker when her nostrils flare in absolute indignation. But your attention is elsewhere tonight.

Knees brushing yours under the table. A small smile curled at the corner of his lips. Deep set of eyes dragging over your face, your neck, the spot between your collarbone and shoulder where the pulse of your heartbeat seems to echo louder each second.

You slide with your back against the chair, thighs clamping shut. 

You feel him imprinted on you, heated gaze traveling beneath your skin. You wonder if he realizes what he’s doing, if he’s even aware of the effect all the time his eyes fall on you. Since the moment he walked in the room, since he took that seat directly across from you, and if you’re being completely honest, that glint in his eyes has been there probably for weeks now. The when of it all is a bit fuzzy.

Tonight feels adamantly different though, and you feel like you might just need a little extra something to quiet the nervous hum beneath your ribs.

But you’re not entirely sure whether it’s nerves or something far more indulgent that has your mind secretly leading you to a very unholy place. A place where you wonder if the rough, scruffy drag of his jaw feels the same below his navel.

You’re a hundred percent certain that it does.

“You know what’s a better drink?” your voice cracks, desperately needing that extra little something. “Champagne.”

Penelope’s head whips toward you. “Champagne? Here?”

You glance around the bar and raise a hand, trying to flag down the bartender.

The wood-paneled walls are covered with vintage beer advertisements, and the sticky floor is dotted with peanut shells from the complimentary bowls on every table. It’s the kind of place where the closest thing to champagne is probably prosecco poured into a plastic flute for a wedding after-party.

“What’s wrong with champagne? It’s a classic drink, great for celebration.” You order a bottle and four tall glasses before fixing her with a look. “It’s the New Year.”

She snorts. “We’re already halfway through January.”

“Penelope, we had to work on Christmas and New Year’s. We finally have this night to breathe, let me have this.”

There’s a beat of silence before she sighs dramatically. “Fine. But it still feels weird drinking champagne in a bar where the most sophisticated cocktail is a rum and coke.”

“Which is exactly why we’re elevating the night,” you reply, watching as the bartender sets the bottle down with (thank god) proper crystal flutes. You pour the first glass, the golden bubbles racing upward like tiny fireworks as you pass it to her.

Luke accepts the next glass without the same hesitation, but when you offer one to Spencer, the curly-haired man shakes his head.

“Right. I forgot you don’t really drink alcohol.”

The faintest smile tugs at his lips. “I don’t have anything against alcohol, just not in large amounts.” His gaze shifts to the bottle on the table. “I also happen not to like champagne.”

Penelope looks mildly offended. “Why not?”

“Because the carbonation overpowers the flavor. It’s hard to enjoy a drink when it’s constantly popping on your tongue.” You stifle a laugh before you can stop yourself. He looks at you. “What?”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” you reply with a grin. “Here, maybe this will change your mind.”

You pour him a glass and nudge it toward him. He simply looks from the glass to you.

“Come on,” you coax. “We’re celebrating the New Year.”

“Seventeen days late."

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

"Do not ruin the fun. We’re still celebrating, and you can’t toast with water. That’s practically begging for bad luck.”

He exhales sharply, lips twitching in what might be defeat or mild amusement, before reaching across the table. Everyone raises their glasses. The instant the bubbles hit his tongue, his nose scrunches in subtle distaste, and the sound of your laughter flies through the small space.

“It’s not that bad,” you insist.

“I still don’t understand the appeal.”

Champagne isn’t exactly your first choice either. You’ve always been more of a wine person. A good wine. A rich Burgundy that makes you close your eyes on the first sip to taste the faint of autumn in a glass. But champagne feels right for the occasion.

This taste blooms on your tongue, crisp and bright with hints of green apple and citrus and that faint yeasty richness at back of your throat. They dance across your palate, leaving a lingering sweetness through your veins that doesn’t soothe your nerves so much as ignite something beneath them, something warmer, deeper, curling into your bloodstream.

It makes you very bold.

Bold enough to hold his gaze without flinching. Bold enough to let your tongue flick across your lips. Bold enough to let your foot glide slowly up the length of his long, long leg.

You’ll have him taste his own medicine.

You, too, can play with fire.

“Maybe you’re drinking it wrong,” you hum, feeling him tense for the briefest, tiniest moment before he relaxes. “There’s another way to make champagne better.”

He grips the stem of his glass. “Something tells me you have a suggestion.”

“I do.”

He tilts his head. The din of conversation around you slowly fades into a muffled hum, the clinking of glasses and Penelope’s laughter barely registering as you notice the curve of his smile, the question lingering in his eyes.

Will you show me?

And that’s how you find yourself naked between his thighs two hours later.

It started innocently enough—or at least that’s the lie you fed yourself when you watched Penelope and Luke stumble their way to the dance floor, giggling as they poured yet another round of sparkling wine. But the champagne didn’t keep your attention for long. A few more stolen glances later, you found your hand wrapping around his arm, the other clutching a half-full bottle of champagne like some reckless lifeline.

It is reckless. Even you can’t deny that. You’ve always been cautious when it comes to bringing a man home. But this isn’t just anyone. This is Spencer. Someone who already knows too many pieces of you, someone who doesn’t need to be deciphered or explained.

And maybe that’s why you couldn’t stop yourself from dragging him out of the bar.

The ride in the stuffy cab felt like an eternity and a blink at the same time that the moment your apartment door clicked shut behind you, his mouth was already on yours. You barely had time to process how surprisingly good he tasted before your clothes started to disappear.

It’s a dizzying rush of hands and heat, and you’re now standing over him, knees brushing his as he sinks into your couch.

Yes, your couch. The soft, slate-blue one you’ve spent countless evenings curled up on, legs tucked under a blanket, flipping through books or half-watching shows you never finish. But now it cradles a completely different weight—the heavy heat of him radiating with tension-laced curiosity and a barely contained lust that seems to bleed right into the fabric.

“I can’t believe I’m kissing you,” he mutters dazedly, trailing his lips along your jaw with a hand resting on your naked back.

“I can’t believe you can unhook my bra that fast.”

He catches the sheer black fabric now hanging haphazardly over your lamp where he’d tossed it aside moments ago. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Should I be concerned about how much practice you’ve had?”

“Not really. I’m a fast learner.”

That, you believe. But you’re not entirely sure if it’s his innate skill or the way your body seems to respond to him so effortlessly that leaves your lungs feeling like they’ve forgotten how to work. Breathing is no longer instinctive now. It’s a function you have to remind yourself to do as his tongue dances along the curve of your breast, and by the time he takes the achingly hard tip into his mouth, your chest tightens.

You suck in a desperate need of oxygen while he sucks the last thread of composure from you.

“Sweet.”

“Huh?”

“You—” He pulls back just enough to let his teeth graze the delicate skin before soothing it with a slow drag of his tongue, “taste sweet.”

Your hand slides to the back of his neck with a sigh. “You’re exaggerating.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bodies don’t taste like anything, it’s skin.”

Spencer shakes his head as he cups the weight of your other breast with the same care you’ve come to expect from him. Taut nipple rolls under his thumb. “How do you explain this then?”

You don’t respond. Not with words, anyway. Your body speaks first as you arch into his touch, chasing the warmth of his hands before you can form any thoughts.

“How do you explain,” he continues, his lips trailing down the slope of your stomach, “why I can’t get enough of how sweet you taste?”

Your mind finally catches up, and the words settle over you like honey itself.

“You think so?”

“It’s not a thought, it’s a fact.” He presses a kiss to the soft skin just below your navel. “I don’t know how you can taste better than this.”

Your laugh is breathless, barely steady enough to be called one. “You’re laying it on thick now.”

“I’m just being honest.”

It’s cute how he says it with such conviction, like it’s the simplest truth in the world and not a line that’s turning your legs to liquid. Your knees threaten to buckle as you step away, reaching for the half-empty champagne bottle perched on the coffee table. The glass feels cool against your overheated skin as you twist the cork free.

“What are you doing?”

“Considering your words.” You hold up the bottle, the champagne fizzing invitingly at its neck. “What do you say we make this even sweeter?”

His eyes light up with interest. “Is this where you show me the right way to drink champagne?”

You nod and sink back between his thighs. “I know you’re not big on sharing food, but I think you’re gonna like this.”

“You do realize I’ll share anything with you.”

Your lips curl into a soft smile. You’ve already learned that kissing Spencer feels deliciously messy. It’s sloppy in the way passion tends to be when control is the last thing on either of your minds, with tongues and teeth colliding in an unpolished rhythm that’s as raw as it is consuming. Adding champagne to the equation doesn’t feel like much of a stretch.

You step forward at the same time his hands fall to your hips. “There’s a trick to drinking champagne.”

“I’m listening.”

The bottle’s rim grazes your lips as you take in his appearance. His shirt is wrinkled, hanging just a little more loosely around his chest with two buttons undone. He’s the very definition of disheveled that’s entirely your doing. He looks absolutely irresistible.

“You need to linger on the taste,” you start, your voice dipping into something softer as your eyes meet his again. “Be patient. Let it sit and overwhelm your senses before you swallow.”

“You mean marinate it in my mouth?”

A giggle burst out of you. “Exactly. The longer you let it linger, the more it softens, and the sweeter it gets.”

You tilt the bottle to your lips. The sweetness starts to bloom on your tongue, subtle at first, but then richer, fuller against the roof of your mouth. There's a flicker of recognition in his eyes when you pull him closer by the nape of his neck, the exact moment he realizes what you’re about to do.

Your lips meld seamlessly with his as the Champagne slips from your mouth.

His lashes flutter briefly. There’s a soft flush spreading across his pale cheeks, and you feel the faint hum of pleasure, vibrating against the delicate curve of his skin as a liquid thread drips down your chin.

And then you’re kissing him. Or he’s kissing you. It’s hard to tell who moved first, but it doesn’t matter. His lips part further, and you swear you can taste every nuance of the champagne in a way you've never experienced before. Sharp citrus, a whisper of honeyed sweetness, and beneath it all, something clean and cool that reminds you of first snowfalls.

His lips are swollen and wet and perfectly shiny when you finally pull back.

“What do you think?”

“I think we should drink champagne every day.”

Your hand drifts to the side of his neck with a smile, thumb brushing lightly against his pulse. “Even when we’re working?”

“Especially when we’re working,” he counters, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, tasting what’s left of you. His gaze flickers to the bottle in your hand. “Can I try it?”

You pass it to him, your eyes fixed on the way he tilts it to his mouth. You’re sure the bubbles in your system aren’t the reason your pulse races as he sets the bottle aside and rises to his feet. You’re also sure that no amount of champagne is responsible for the way your lips part eagerly when his hands cradle your cheeks.

There it is again—that sweetness. It hits you the moment his mouth captures yours, but it fully overwhelms you when he tilts his head and gently coaxes the champagne from his lips to yours.

You’re not surprised at how quickly he picks this up. It’s common knowledge that he’s a very diligent person, but it’s still a bit astonishing how he’s taken to playing with a drink he supposedly doesn’t even like. This is nothing like solving cases or flexing his impossibly sharp brain, nor the crosswords you’re used to seeing him hunched over at his desk at lunch.

This requires a different kind of finesse that involves his lips and tongue rather than a pen and paper.

It also seems like he might be enjoying this even more. He leans back just enough to let his tongue sweep across the seam of your lips, collecting the last trace of sweetness clinging to you.

A thumb swipes over the wet trail under chin. “I could get used to this.”

“Champagne or me?”

“Both.”

Satisfied with his answer, your fingers trail down to undo the last few buttons of his shirt. “Do you wanna try something else?”

He quirks an eyebrow as you push down the fabric down his shoulders. You don’t say anything all the while you start to unbuckle his belt, peeling every layer of his clothing until you’ve stripped him completely bare—and would you look at that? The faint trail of hair down his belly matches the scruff shadowing his jaw.

There’s a brief pause as your eyes travel down his body, lingering on his surprisingly impressive size, and a comment sits at the edge of your tongue. You decide to let your actions speak for you.

Your delicate fingers wrap around his delicious thickness. You swipe the first signs of precum glistening over his tip with your thumb, and a low sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest.

“Is this what you had in mind?”

He sounds like he’s in pain, and you shake your head with a playful smile curling at your lips. “Sit back on the couch.”

Spencer sinks into the cushion.

“This might get a little messy.”

His brow furrows slightly, and for a moment, he looks genuinely intrigued. What he doesn’t expect is the way you slowly pour the remaining liquid down your chest. His mouth parts in surprise, and then his gaze follows every single drop like it’s gravity itself pulling him in.

You’re mesmerizing. Always have been, actually. There is no doubt in Spencer’s mind that you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met in his life. Your mind is brilliant. Your heart is kind. But watching the champagne mix with the sheen of sweat on your skin, you’re something else entirely. You look lethal. A different kind of captivating.

He’s already pulling you by the waist, and you’re a mass of giggles as you twist out of his grip to set the bottle safely aside. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Can you blame me?”

Honestly, you can’t. If the roles were reversed, you’d probably look at him the same way.

When his hands finally find your hips again, there’s no point in pretending you don’t want to be caught. You bend your knees and shift on the couch. He helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap.

Desperate is a good enough word to depict for him because as soon as you're close enough, he’s tasting you all over again. His tongue drags slow over the curve of your shoulder, across the hollow of your throat, and down to the soft swell of your breasts. Goosebumps ripple across your skin with every pass, every flick of his tongue, his touch leaving a trail of heat that you swear you can feel seeping into your bones.

You don’t even realize when you start to move until you feel the slow, unintentional rock of your hips into him. His cock fits snugly between your folds that you start grinding as the words fall from your lips without much thought, “What do you think of sex without a condom?”

His pupils dilated, lips parting, but no sound comes out right away.

"Spence?"

His gaze flickers to where your wet bodies are pressed together. Damp moisture from his tip smeared erotically between puffy lips, clear liquid coating his hard length.

“I think… it’s very intimate."

“Too intimate?”

"No." His fingers trail along your skin before his thumb settles just under your breast, in the delicate curve where your rib meets, and finally looks at you. "Is that what you want?"

You're bobbing your head up and down.

“Then I'd really, really like that.”

You shift your weight on your knees. “So you trust me?"

"More than anyone."

“I trust you too,” you say, your voice dipping low as your fingers wrap around his cock, guiding him to your entrance. “Can I request something, though?"

"Anything."

You pause just long enough for your words to land. “I don’t want you to come inside me.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “That can be arranged.”

His answer makes your lips twitch, but as you start to sink down, your body seems to have other ideas. There’s a resistance you didn’t expect, a sudden tautness that refuses to give.

Your eyes widen in surprise.

Oh my.

“What’s wrong?”

When you first wrapped your hand around him and took in the full reality of his size, you’d been impressed. Now you wonder if maybe you underestimated just how much he has to offer.

You bite the insides of your cheeks and try again.

“It’s been a while,” you confess quietly. You can’t even recall the last time you were this intimate with someone that the hesitation feels foreign, like a hiccup in a moment you’ve been eagerly anticipating.

And you are eager. Maybe a little too much. It feels almost ironic, considering how much you’ve thought about this, how your imagination has filled in the blanks a hundred times over. Now that it’s real, your body seems to be having second thoughts your mind absolutely isn’t entertaining.

You shift your hips, determination flaring as you take a slow breath. Left, right, up, down. But then a sharp sting shoots through you. Your face quickly twists into a grimace.

"Hey,” he calls gently, thumbs brushing gentle circles against your hip. “We can stop. You don’t have to push yourself.”

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You want him to push past whatever invisible barrier your body is putting up. The idea of stopping now feels more unbearable than the sting itself.

Your lips press into a stubborn frown. “No,” you say firmly. “We are not stopping.”

"Are you sure?"

"Mhm. I think my body's just being weird. I'm sorry."

His brows knits together almost immediately. “I should be the one apologizing.”

Frustration suddenly wells up in your chest, and this time your teeth sinks into your lip, unsure whether it’s the tension in the muscles between your legs or the ache of wanting him that feels stronger.

And you want him. So fucking bad.

“You need to relax,” he soothes, running his hands up your waist, past your ribs, across your back.

“I am relaxed,” you huff.

“I don’t think you’re relaxed enough.”

Before you can respond, he carefully lifts you from his lap and settles you back onto the couch. The cushions dips under your weight, and you barely have time to process the change before he gracefully drops to the floor.

“Should we move to your bed?”

He grips one of your ankles, his thumb brushing along the soft curve of your bone before he leans down, pressing warm lips to the skin above it.

“After this,” you reply, glancing at the sticky champagne trail still glistening faintly on your skin. “Don’t want my sheets getting sticky.”

There’s a flicker of amusement on his handsome face. “After this?”

“Did you think we’d be stopping after one round?”

His laughter vibrates against your calf. “How many times are we talking then?”

“Until I can’t feel my legs.”

The smile he gives you is slow and warm. It curves one corner of his mouth first, almost shy, before spreading fully, lighting up his face in a way that steals the breath right from your lungs.

“You’d let me have my way with you all night?”

“I’d probably let you have me anytime you want.”

His grin is almost blinding that you can’t help but give him a pleased smile of your own.

“Let’s focus on tonight first.” He moves to your other the leg. Delicate bone and tendon brushes against his lips. “I need to get you ready for me. Would you let me do that?"

Words fail you as his mouth moves closer, and the heat of his breath against your skin makes your entire body tense in anticipation. He presses another open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"You're still tense."

Kiss. Kiss.

“Really need you to relax.”

You try, but then again, it's impossible when his lips are so close, yet still not where you need them the most.

His name slips in a desperate whisper.

"Hm?"

"Stop teasing."

His lips quirk in response, but he doesn't argue.

He dips his head and finally— finally! —drags his tongue along your achingly wet folds. Your eyes almost roll to the back of your head.

"Better?"

The question is entirely rhetorical.

You don’t bother answering. Words seem sparse when his actions are spelling out everything you need to know in bold, underlined strokes. His touch is distinctly different from the playful, champagne-dampened kisses he had gifted your skin.

Now he’s utterly focused. He’s researching, and it appears his diligence isn’t confined to his academic when the same focus he applies to his studies is translated so flawlessly into reading your body like a favorite book. One he’s intent on memorizing every line of, delighting in every pause and whisper between the chapters of your sighs.

It’s this thought that tickles the back of your mind when he slips a finger in. He’s always been about comprehensive understanding, and well, you’re all about empirical evidence. Right now is proof of a hypothesis you’re too pleased to confirm that Spencer Reid might just be a genius in more ways than one.

Especially in how his steady thrust of his finger syncs perfectly with the hot, wet pull of his mouth, scratching such a carnal itch that it resonates deep in your brain. You sigh in pleasure when he adds another finger, and he lifts his head then, lips shiny and pink from his ministration.

"Do you think you can take a third?"

Your heart gives a few extra thuds in your chest cavity. “Please, please.”

Look at you, reducing yourself into begging, but really, how could you resist? Who could withstand the intensity of his gaze, the way his voice dips low like velvet wrapping around your senses?

Your head tips back against the couch, a soft whimper lashing out as he adds that third finger. The stretch is almost overwhelming but oh so good.

"Does it hurt?"

You let out a loud exhale. "No."

"Tell me if it hurts."

"Feels good." Your legs fall apart even further. "Don't stop."

He smiles, and then he's doing things to your body that have you questioning how you're even still breathing. The wet, sticky slosh of your arousal fills the room, a sound so explicit it should mortify you. But then three knuckles press deeper, stroking against that rougher patch of nerves and all rational thought dissolves.

A sound you didn't even know you could make escapes your throat. You're gasping, moaning, a little bit squealing as his free hand slides up your plush thigh before finding your puffy clit. And dear god, you’re choking on the breath that lodges in your throat. You're so close it's almost unbearable. A hand shoots out, and you’re gripping his forearm with a desperation you can't even pretend to hide.

You need him inside you.

“I'm ready," you gasp harshly, your lips parting in quick, desperate puffs. "I'm ready. I’m ready.”

He has the audacity to shake his head.

"I'll decide when you're ready."

Your breath stutters even more.

Why does that sound so hot? Why does that simple, infuriatingly calm statement make your thighs clench, your pulse race, and a fresh wave of heat roll through your body?

Before you know it, he’s coaxing your orgasm from you with just the right pressure, and every movement feels like it’s designed to bring you right to the edge. You’re not surprised by how wet you are, you’ve been dripping for what feels like hours. But what does surprise you is just how much your body can take. The intensity that doesn’t wane, that keeps pushing you higher, drawing out gasp after gasp until hot syrup gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his fingers, down to the couch.

It’s endless, relentless, and you can’t even tell where one orgasm ends and the next begins. Your hand claw at his wrist.

“Spencer,” you whine, your voice breaking on the syllables. “Sensitive.”

He stops immediately, his fingers still inside you, his other hand slipping from your clit to rest on your thigh. “Too much?”

“A little,” you smile breathlessly. “C’mere.”

He crawls towards you as you lay on your back, relaxing your thighs.

His eyes trail over you, scanning your sweat-slicked skin, lingering on your perky breasts, moving down to where your legs are fallen apart, waiting for him. The sight is so overwhelmingly enticing that he finds himself wrapping a hand around his cock, muttering a low praise under his breath, “I don’t think I’ve told you how beautiful you are.”

Your eyes flick downward, and a spark of confidence—or maybe pure desperation—pushes your reply out without hesitation.

“Tell me again while you fuck me.”

You’re so blunt and shameless that a part of you might have blushed if you weren’t so far gone. Spencer doesn’t seem fazed, though. If anything, his eyes flash with a knowing sparkle that only deepens as he presses his bulbous head right at the shy of your entrance.

“I think I’m going to enjoy telling you,” he muses.

And Spencer is one to keep his promises.

He thinks you’re devastatingly pretty when he’s sinking into you. There’s a dazed look in your glossy eyes, and the sweetest sound coming from your lips as he stretches you in a way that leaves no part of you untouched.

He sings praises under his breath when the heavy weight of him finally settles deep inside your body. He patiently waits as your walls flutter around him, all the while his lips brushes the delicate curve of your collarbone, between low, broken whispers of how perfect you are.

Although perfection might not even capture the essence of what he sees in you at this moment. You’re a breathtaking array of contradictions. Powerful and vulnerable, fierce yet tender. You’re nothing short of divine as he gives another smooth, long thrust that pulls a sound from your lips that he knows will echo in his mind long after.

The heat of you surrounds him completely, and he swears he feels every pulse of your body welcoming him deeper. You’re slathering his entire cock with your slippery slick, and the dampness imprinting against his pelvis only seems to spur him on. He moves in steady, languid strokes, and your toes curl at the sensation burning in your belly.

He’s hitting you so good your ankles find themselves running down his back.

“Spence,” your voice is raspy and wet. “Fuck me harder.”

His quiet groan harmonizes with the rhythm of your heart. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t—”

You stop, and he looks through the mist of bliss you've shrouded him in. Your face twists, eyes going wide, lips parted to take in sharp breaths. He panics for a moment.

“You’re in pain,” he decides, reading the way your brows knit together, the way your breath stutters in your chest. It seems the most logical conclusion—until he realizes how wrong he is.

Because you’re writhing under his weight when he pushes in deeper, and your mouth trembles, not with discomfort, but with something devastatingly good.

“Oh,” he exhales. His smile is uncharacteristically smug. “It’s not pain, is it?”

You shake your head.

“You want it rough.”

It’s more of a statement than it is a question, but you’re nodding vigorously.

His restraint snaps like a frayed thread.

The next thrust is sharper, it pounds into you with enough force to shift your body slightly back against the cushions. Your lips mouth around another shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

Still. Not. Enough.

“Harder,” you slur against his tongue.

What’s a hot-blooded man to do when asked so sweetly? He answers in the only way he can.

A hand curls around the back of your knee to pull you open just enough for him to drive deeper. The angle makes you feel impossibly full, how the folds of your vulva hugs around his shaft greedily, letting him claim all the space you didn’t even know existed. You can even feel the wet drag of his cock against your swollen clit with each hard thrust, a sensation so piercing it rips a gasp from your throat and a plethora of groans wailing from the couch.

“Like this?”

The relentless thwack-thwack-thwack of skins colliding is making you delirious.

“Yes,” you cry out. “Fuck—Yes. Yes.”

Your vision blurs as you blink, and—god, you think you might actually cry. And honestly, with how full you feel, with how every nerve is sparking to life under his loud rhythm, it wouldn’t even surprise you.

Your lashes feel wet as you squeeze your eyes shut, but you force them back open, unwilling to miss the way he looks above you. Jaw tight, sweat beading at his temples, eyes locked on you like nothing else exists.

Nothing probably does, not when he moves with a rhythm that feels both gentle and crude, like he’s savoring every second so sweetly while simultaneously chasing the most carnal kind of pleasure known to mankind.

Pleasure that has you melting, pleasure that has your body fully acclimating to his size. And now you’re teetering on the edge of another intense orgasm that begins its ascent from the tips of your toes and fingertips, spiraling a tingling rush up through your legs and arms, gathering force at the pit of your stomach, and exploding into the point where you’re intimately connected.

It happens all at once.

You’re trembling.

You’re shattering.

You’re pathetically whining.

Euphoria floods every inch of your body until you’re drowning in it. A liquid fire in your veins. Your cunt clenches around him, so tight you swear you feel every ridge and vein of his cock as keeps pressing you into the couch. Again and again and again, until you’re nothing but an incoherent mess, your words blabbered in a breathless rush of pleasure-induced nonsense.

One heartbeat stretches into two, then the muscles in his arms flexes as his pace falters. He’s shaking now, his pelvis moving in hurried, shallow thrusts as though he’s chasing something he can’t quite reach before the heat of him presses into you one last time.

He abruptly pulls out, his cock visibly pulsing in his hand and strokes himself with a stuttering groan as thick, pearly ropes splutters across your stomach. His fingers dig deeper into the back of your thigh while he continues to paint your skin in messy streaks, and you watch in fascination the moment his head tilts back in pure, unfiltered pleasure.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him quite this beautiful.

His brows pinches in concentration for a few more seconds before his gaze slowly meets yours again, and a faint, blissful pink colors his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, looking a little out of breath. Devastatingly handsome and sweaty. Flustered in the best way.

You brush the damp hair sticking to his skin with a small, satisfied smile. “Are you kidding? That was extremely hot.”

His laughter fills every corner in the room. Then his hand drift down a comforting path down your thigh as he leans to capture the giggle tumbling from your lips with his own. It’s then you realize that kissing Spencer isn’t just enjoyable, it’s downright addictive.

You’re beginning to think he’s just as addicted to you too, because when he pulls away, it’s reluctant, his lips leaving yours with a faint, wet sound that lingers as sweetly as the kiss itself.

“Will you really let me have my way with you all night?” he asks gently, and you can’t help but wonder why he even feels the need to ask.

“Was I not obvious enough?”

You feel his smile before you see it. “Bedroom now?”

To tangle your naked limbs with his again sounds pretty close to heaven. Absolute, indulgent heaven, except for the distinct stickiness of champagne, sweat, and a cocktail of other body fluids clinging to your skin. The thought of sinking into cool clean sheets in this state makes your nose scrunch.

“We need to make a stop to the bathroom first,” you say, running a hand up his arm to squeeze his bicep. “Have you ever tried shower sex?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he admits truthfully.

You make a sound of disapproval.

“We definitely need to change that.”

-

Spencer realizes a lot of things can change in one night.

He also discovers how much he’s capable of learning in such a short period of time. Granted, he’s always been a quick study, but this is different. The hours between midnight and sunrise completely upend his understanding of things he’d only ever read about—sex, intimacy, the intricacies of how touch can feel as much like a language as words.

But beyond the newfound knowledge (and let’s face it, an entirely new appreciation for his muscles), there’s something else. Something that surprises him even more.

He likes waking up with another warm body beside him. More than likes it. There’s a strange kind of peace in the way your leg drapes over his, your hair a tousled mess against the pillow. Peace that makes him wonder if this, too, is something he could get used to.

Even if you’re hogging the blanket. He can feel the cool air on his back while you’re wrapped in most of the covers, leaving him to soak up whatever body heat he can steal by staying pressed against you. Not that he’s complaining. He’d happily stay like this for hours, but the sun is already creeping higher through your window, and your phone has been vibrating nonstop ever since he opened his eyes.

The sheets rustle as he shifts closer, mouth puffing warmly on your cheek with a breath of your name folding into your skin. You blink through heavy eyelids, and Spencer thinks you look adorable all wrapped up like a cocoon in the tangled linens.

“Hey," you croak, then clear your throat. “Morning.”

The soft rasp of your voice is even as endearing as the sight of you.

“I think we’ve already passed morning,” he says, slipping a hand under the covers, finding the goosebumps prickling on your upper arm.

“We slept in?”

“My guess is it’s almost noon.” There’s another buzz vibrating from the bedside table that stops him from pressing you against his chest. “Someone keeps calling you.”

He wonders if you can sense the slight annoyance in his voice. He wonders if he even has the right to be annoyed. It's Saturday. You clearly have plans—or at least someone thinks you do based on how persistent they've been.

If you catch the flicker of irritation in his voice, you don’t acknowledge it. You stretch lazily for your phone instead, and his attention is momentarily snagged by the way the sheet slips down your shoulder, revealing the constellation of freckles and moles he’s spent the entire night memorizing with his lips.

"Nobody’s calling.” Your thumb scrolls through the notifications. "Penelope just doesn't understand the concept of personal space when she texts."

Spencer feels the tightness in his shoulders ease, though he doesn't miss the way your eyes narrow into sleepy slits at the screen.

"Oh."

That one syllable is enough to set his mind buzzing.

"What?"

"Um."

It’s the subtle crack in your voice that hooks him. He’s never been good at sitting with unanswered questions, especially not when your expression shifts just enough to make him wonder what could possibly warrant that little noise.

He finally curls an arm around your waist, and the faint trace of your scent fills his lungs as he gently draws you back against his chest. A relentless stream of messages glares up at him over your shoulder.

Penelope [Sent 23:37]: Where are you?? Penelope [Sent 23:45]: Is reid with you? Penelope [Sent 00:05]: Did you leave? WITH HIM?? Penelope [Sent 00:17]: You did, didn't you? Penelope [Sent 00:33]: You can’t just vanish like this, you know I have questions!!!

Spencer barely registers the way his hand drifts down to rest against your stomach. He pulls you in unconsciously as his eyes scan over the flood of texts that started piling up this morning.

Penelope [Sent 09:19]: Good morning. Penelope [Sent 09:25]: Answer me. Penelope [Sent 10:24]: Seriously, are you alive? Penelope [Sent 10:39]: YOU OWE ME DETAILS. Penelope [Sent 10:48]: Last chance. Calling you in ten.

"I think she's onto us."

It’s not so much a matter of thought as it is a fact. Your words are less a theory and more a confirmation of reality, as undeniable as the relentless stream of texts lighting up your phone.

"What should I tell her?"

Spencer leans in closer. The soft scent of your shampoo drifts up, clean and faintly sweet, wrapping itself around him in a way that makes his chest ache, though he’s not sure why. He’s inhaling everything—your warmth, the curve of your shoulder brushing his chest, the way your voice carries an edge of hesitation that feels so out of place for someone like you.

And that’s what truly catches him off guard. Not the fact that Penelope is practically banging on a metaphorical door with her texts, but that you’re hesitating. You, who rarely second-guess yourself, now unsure about sharing the details of last night with one of closest people in your life.

Or maybe the surprise lies closer to home. How easily the words form in his own mind, bypassing the overthinking that usually rules him.

He has ten minutes to think before Penelope supposedly calls, but he doesn’t need ten minutes, or even ten seconds, because the answer is already there, so obvious it practically tumbles out of him.

"The truth," he hums against the crown of your hair. "You should tell her the truth."

You’re quiet for a while.

“Are you sure?"

For someone who invited him into your home, who let him press you into the couch cushions, spread you out on the cool tiles of the bathroom, and pull every sound he wanted from you on the soft give of your mattress—on your back, your front, even sideways—you seem awfully uncertain now. Very out of character.

So what’s changed this morning? Is it the stale morning breath he’s sure he hasn’t fixed yet? The mess of his curls sticking up in every direction from a night spent pressed into your pillows?

Or is it something much deeper that he hasn’t quite put his finger on?

The thought clings to him as his thumb brushes your stomach. "I’m sure," he says. "Are you?"

You hesitate for a beat too long, and that tiny pause lands heavy on his chest.

"This is going to change everything," you finally say, sounding somewhat like a warning.

He frowns. "Didn’t you want it to?"

"I did. I do." You pull in a breath that shakes on the way out. "Maybe we should discuss this before we say anything to anyone."

Your phone slips quietly onto the bed as you twist in his arms. Face to face.

"Do you like me?"

What kind of question is that?

"Did I seem not to like you last night?"

"No, Spencer, I need to hear it. Do you like me?"

He studies the delicate fold between your brows. He watches the quiver on your parted lips. And your eyes—watery and glossy and wide. Soft lashes framing the quiet expanse of irises that shimmer like glass.

He knows what you need. Spencer has spent most of his entire life reading people, pulling truths out of their silences and decoding what they can’t (or won’t) say. And even though he hates applying that skill to you, he knows this isn’t just about reassurance. You’re not only questioning what happened between you last night. You’re questioning what comes next.

The time glares from your phone over your shoulder: six minutes. That’s all he has to convince you that his feelings go far beyond fleeting lust or the heady haze of alcohol. Six minutes before Penelope inevitably interrupts.

But he’s not the greatest with words, is he?

Sure, he’s read more books than most people will touch in a lifetime. He can recite Edgar Allan Poe by heart and dissect layers of meaning in Dostoevsky’s prose like it’s second nature. But his own feelings don’t come wrapped in poetic declarations. That’s not who he is.

What he can do, though, is tell you the truth.

“You know how you told me I could have you anytime I want?”

A strand of hair brushes against your cheek as you nod.

“You’ve already had me from the very beginning.”

Your gaze softens, then you sigh sweetly, and he knows without a doubt that the truth is exactly what you need. “Before all the sex?”

“Before we even kissed.”

The distance between you slowly becomes nonexistent. You slot your knee between his thighs, a lick of smile curling at the corner of your lips.

“So… when I ran my foot up your leg?”

His lopsided smile is no different from yours. “No.”

“Last week when I wore your cardigan because the AC got too cold?”

“You looked really pretty in it, but no.”

“Last month?”

“Even before that.”

You click your tongue. “Give me a clue. A hint.”

But you don’t need clues. Clues are for puzzles, for cases that demand solving. This has never been a mystery. He’s known it for longer than he cares to admit, and he wonders if you’re asking because you genuinely don’t see it or because you just want to hear him say it.

Either way, he’ll happily say the truth as plainly as it exists in his mind.

“From the moment you joined the team.” You pause for just a heartbeat, and he reaches out to brush away the stray of hair slipping down into your eyes. “You probably didn't notice, but I couldn't stop staring at you.”

“You’re lying,” you accuse softly.

“I’m a terrible liar.”

He watches as you mull over his words. He knows you’re trying to decide whether to believe him, though he doesn’t think it’s really a question of if. You already know he’s telling the truth.

Your voice is awfully quiet that he has to perk his ears for it.

“What took you so long then?”

Because while he’s a terrible liar, he’s always been painfully good at keeping his heart to himself. Years of compartmentalizing, of burying emotions under layers of logic and detachment, have made it almost second nature. And maybe that’s why it took him so long.

That, and bad timing.

Countless abductions.

A never-ending chase after unsubs.

Death of a team mate.

And prison.

God, prison.

He wonders if these are valid reasons or just excuses. Had there ever been a perfect moment? Or had he let his fears and the chaotic nature of his job push his personal happiness to the sidelines too often?

The words knot in his throat, and in the end, all he can muster is an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

For waiting so long.

For not saying this sooner.

For only finding the courage to make a move under the guise of flirtation and champagne.

He’s selfish. He is. Because he's reaching for you based on his time, his terms, waiting until he was ready to fit you neatly into his schedule. But you simply shake your head. Because that's what you are, isn't it?

You’re selfless, and so profoundly lovely that you offered yourself to him last night without reservation. And now you’re even more radiant, wrapped in the soft light of vulnerability, tinged with doubt, yet always so giving. Pulling him closer to your chest with a hand on his back. Fingers splay across his skin, nails dragging idly along his spine.

“Don’t be,” you reply, feeling his body expand and deflate under your palm when he breathes. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

See? Selfless. The least he can do now is give you back the words you need to hear, the assurance you deserve to hear. Your foreheads press together, and he reverently lays his hand on your cheek, spreading lean fingers into your hair.

“If you must know, I do like you.”

But the word feels so inadequate for what he’s finally trying to tell you. Like doesn't even scratch the surface of how much space you take up in his mind.

"I more than like you,” he decides to add.

It doesn’t take long before you kiss him. Soft petals bloom warmly against his mouth, puffing humid breath he tastes on his tongue. A blissful moan he swallows greedily, lets it settle deep in his chest, his bones, his veins, filling every corner of him with the sweetest weight of you.

A flutter of lashes skims against his cheekbone when you tilt your head, pulling back by the barest inch. “You’ve made a huge mistake, by the way.”

The pad of his fingers presses gently on your scalp. “Why?”

“You’re never getting rid of me now.”

His thumb moves against your hairline as he takes in your words. For a moment, all he can do is absorb them, replay them, savor them. Then his eyes soften, the corners crinkling with genuine delight, and he lets out a soft huff of laughter that melts right into the narrow space between you.

He scoots impossibly closer, hoping your skin will somehow mold with his. Because after all the surprisingly creative positions he discovered with you last night, it’s the only conclusion he can come to: you fit into him. Perfectly. Soft curves finding their place against the lines of his frame, every piece of you adhering like glue to his skin.

Chest to chest, nose to nose, and lips so maddeningly close to yours that he can still taste the warmth of your breath, sweet and intoxicating in its nearness. It’s enough to drive him a little insane, though he’d argue he’s always been slightly off-center where you’re concerned.

His fingers twitch, ready to close that infinitesimal gap when the sharp buzz of your phone suddenly slices through the moment.

Six minutes.

That’s all the time the universe has granted him, and it’s woefully too short.

"Might need to block her number," you mutter under your breath as you shift slightly to reach for your phone. He watches the way your fingers fly over the screen rapidly before placing the device back on the side table.

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth." Then you drop on him like a dead weight, limbs tangling in the most inconvenient ways until your head is tucked in the crook of his neck. "Also sent her an eggplant and water emoji.”

A crease forms between his brows. “What does that mean?”

You fail to keep in your laughter. “You don’t want to know.”

He’s fairly certain he does want to know. In fact, he’s starting to realize he wants to know everything about you now that you’ve given him the chance. Beyond the pull of bodies and the way they slot together so seamlessly, beyond the electricity of skin against skin.

Though he can’t deny his curiosity at one precise moment, the way you’d slightly gasped when his fingers accidentally brush around the base of your throat. He wouldn’t mind knowing what that meant for you, and, surprisingly, what that even implied for himself.

But as intriguing as that is, it’s not what lingers the most. It’s the subtleties he wants to unravel, the pieces of you he hadn’t even realized he’d been aching to explore.

Your wit, your thoughts, your mind—that lovely, intricate thing he’s admired for so long. Full of nuances and depths he hadn’t even realized he’d only been skimming the surface of. He’s sure there’s something far greater than even his endless mind could have imagined that ties to the beautiful shape of you.

And you’re so beautiful. He’s known that for years, but mere hours ago, he learned it in an entirely new language. Even when he understands seven different ways the world chooses to communicate and speaks four fluently, yours is his favorite.

Yours doesn’t need words or perfect pronunciation. It’s instinctive and warm, written in every sigh, every glance, every unspoken verse that linger in the subtle shift of your body. In every nuance of your taste.

God, your taste.

He knows you’re right, skin can’t be sweet. The dichotomy isn’t lost in him. Yet it doesn’t matter, because not even the crisp, effervescent bite of champagne compares to the warmth of you. Not even sugar, and he basically lives on sugar. In chocolate-sprinkled donuts that he grabs on the way to work, in the endless cups of coffee that fuel his day.

You’re something else entirely, beyond comprehension.

And if one night was enough to saccharine his senses with you, he can only imagine what forever could do.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Fitness Trainer

A/N: I blended some french terms of endearment with English don't come for me. But is Antoine really French, or is he feigning this way to get closer to you? (Had a fem idea for this too)

Synopsis: Another day at the gym, your personalized trainer is helping you out a lot more intimately than he would with most clients.

TW: Creep gym trainer, yandere themes, mentions of future stalking/imagined groping, sensual content

And up... and down, just like that."

The squeeze on your hips kept you stable, even with your fingers shaking, mouth agape as hot breath was sucked in, and out. 

"One more, you can do one more for me."

"I can't..." you huffed, thighs quaking as the barbell on your shoulders made you ache. 

"Yes you can. C'mon sweetheart, we'll do it together."

He gripped the barbell beside where your sweating hands were, chest flush against your back as his feet entrapped the outside of your own. 

“Do it with me now,” He pulled the weight lower, forcing you to squat despite the agony in your ankles and tailbone. “Push through it, baby.”

The sweet name just slipped out, breathy against your ear as his hot exhales slowed compared to your huffs. It almost made you slip.

You could feel the muscles in your wrists shaking, vision going blurry as sweat drips into your eyes. One of his hands leaves the barbell to grip your hip, forcing you back into a standing position as your knees nearly give out. 

You rise slowly back up with the barbell in your hands, nearly groaning in pain at the strain. You finally lift your arms to your chest, finishing the rep with a strained frown as your personal trainer forces the weight off of your arms. His taller stature makes it easy to put the barbell back on the rack in front of you. 

You feel as if you could collapse, an hour and a half of intense training brought upon by your own determination leaving you exhausted and a little discouraged. You thought you could do more, push yourself harder-- but at the end of the day, the amount of reps your body would let you do, was it. You’d crack if you tried to go even further, end up tearing something or worse. 

Your trainer could tell; the way you sweat, your eyebrows furrowed as you kept that hard, strained look with each motion he made you do. 

“I hate to say it, but you’re done for today.” 

You look up at him from your place on the ground, water bottle hanging from your grip as you try to catch your breath. 

Antoine had only worked with you for a couple weeks now, what started as once a week now thrice, if you had the time after work of course. But somehow, he always enticed you to come back. 

His body, which should’ve been motivation, was more or less disheartening-- rippling muscles and bulging quads peeking beneath his tight ‘TRAINER’ black tee and athletic shorts as the perfect ensemble. 

He was so sweet, so encouraging and upsettingly positive. Always filling up your water bottle, saying how he’s always admiring the growth of muscle definition in your back, giving you light touches to show which area of your body that a machine might work out. He even offered post-exercise massages to make sure you didn’t get sore after each session, free of cost as a perk of joining the gym’s ‘premium membership’, an idea he sold you on. That, along with the complementary protein shakes made that were hi “specialty.”

You knew it was his job to hook you in, but who could say no to that sweet meathead’s face? Which is why you were here, on a late saturday afternoon, in this nearly empty gym with him that he convinced you to love. 

You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, even if he was the one persuading you, offering to use his time off to come in and help train you.

“Feelin’ sore?” Antoine bends down next to you, offering a small towel from his pocket. The twinge of accent in his speech makes him sound funny, dry lips parted as he looks you over. “You went harder than usual today.” 

“Yeah,” You let out after a gulp of water. “Definitely gonna feel this later tonight; ha, maybe I’ll actually take you up on one of those massages.” 

You point with your water bottle, grinning tiredly as Antoine’s eyes seem to shine. He licks his lips to hide a giddy grin. 

“Of course-- definitely, I’d be more than happy to. These hands can work magic you wouldn’t believe.”

Antoine shuffles behind you, pulling at your shoulders to make you sit up straight. 

“Wha- you mean right now? I’m all, sticky.” 

“Now’s the best time, your muscles are just coming down from the effort they’ve exerted. Best to prevent any aches and pains as soon as possible rather than waiting.” 

He begins gentle rubs against the base of your neck; vast, warm fingers grace your collar with a softness you hadn’t expected. Usually when people try to massage your shoulders they’re too harsh, too grippy; but Antoine was rhythmic, pushing into your back with his palms as he made his way down to your shoulder blades. 

“But considering you’ve pushed so hard, I don’t want to see you back here for a couple of days.” Antoine insisted.

“Awe, you want me outa here that badly?” You joked, laying your head forward as Antoine’s fingers made their way to the back of your neck, running pressed thumbs down from your hairline. “I see how it is, prefer your other clients over me.” 

It felt sort of weird, having him massage you so deeply on the gym floor out in the open. But the only person here in the middle of the afternoon was an older woman, paying more attention to her cellphone on the treadmill than anything you two were doing. 

Antoine shook your shoulders. 

“Don’t say that, now!” He leaned his head over next to yours from behind, getting so close your nose almost brushed against his cheek. “It’s not funny; I hope you don’t see me that way.”

“It’s just a joke,” You titter, running your handtowel down the front of your shirt.

“I never understand your jokes.” He sighs, hands moving down to your tailbone. He lifts the bottom of your shirt sticking to your skin, digging his hands against the soft flesh. 

“Woah, hey,” You turn to look at him, but his head is down, looking at his fingers. 

“I have to get to your hips, you can’t do so many squats without release. And at the rate you were going to day… well, you see what I mean.”

The bottom of your tanktop covers his knuckles as he pulls and kneads the skin of your lower back. 

“O-okay.. I guess..” 

He’s not usually so insistent, but he seems so genuine about it-- and, he’s the trainer, shouldn’t they know best? 

He begins with little strokes to your skin, almost caressing. You grow anxious until his thumbs push deep lines into your flesh. 

“Does that feel a little better, Mon cœur? Less pain?” He asks up close, staring at your heated and perspiring cheeks. 

You’re awed by how good it actually feels, the tension melting away with each push of his knuckles into your skin, and grip of his hands around your waist as each of his thumbs digs into your sides. 

“Yeah… feels a lot better..” 

“You can rest your head on my shoulder, don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, arching your back with your head against his shoulder. He had easier access into your back, working his hands up beneath your shirt to reach your mid abdomen.

The deeper Antoine kneaded, the farther he grew up your back, the more… audible, his groans became. Each dip was another breathy moan into your ear. It was fine at first, just the sounds of his work; and then, it became almost, uncomfortably sensual. 

“Just like that...” He mumbled, giving a deep hum.

With your neck so close, his nose dips against your jaw to sneak a sharp inhale of your scent. It was heightened from your hour of strenuous work, a smell he couldn’t get enough of. 

But you jumped forward before he could nuzzle as deep against you as he wished. 

“Uh! Thanks, I feel a lot better now. Really… got all the kinks out.” 

You clutch your towel, facing your trainer to prevent him from working his “magic fingers” again. 

“Of course. And that’s just a taste, a fully body massage would leave the workout you just completed to drain away, as if it was just a dream.” He wiggles his hands with a sheepish grin, one so simple and sincere your guard fell again.

Sure, guys at the gym could be creeps, but he was your trainer, eyes kind and a little foreignly clueless, who only wanted to see you thrive; he’d never try something with you, his client. 

“Yeah, maybe next time. But now, I need to shower and get this stink off of me.” You bring yourself to your feet, all wobbly and achy-galore. Even with Antoine’s work on your shoulders, you can feel your back beginning to seize up. It’s gonna be hard to bend down for a while. 

Offering a hand to Antoine still on the rubbery gym floor, he takes it with a slight ease. He doesn’t use the weight in his hand to get up, knowing he’d just drag you back down to the floor if he did. 

“Thanks again-- I mean, I know it’s your job but--” 

“Don’t thank me; it’s always a treat to have you here, my cherie. I’d train you for free, you know!” 

You laugh, flattered at the idea. If you were a bit more forward, you’d ask him for that little perk. Hey, paying for his service certainly wasn’t cheap!

Making your way to the bathroom, you thank your lucky stars the hard part’s over. Too bad you can’t look at Antoine’s pretty face anymore, though. 

Antoine on the other hand, follows your stumbling body with his eyes, watching as you disappear behind the water fountain and bathroom door. 

His eyes jut back and forth between the machines and front door for witnesses, seeing none before snatching up your forgotten towel. How’d you never notice they didn’t just give these things out? 

He’d brought the cute handkerchief from home, wanting to appear the most of a gentleman. And, in the hopes that you’d use it every and anywhere. 

Oh, he thrived off that scent, pushing the white damp cloth heavy against his nose. It smelled even more potent of you, moreso than the few inches away of sniffs he usually got. 

His tongue just barely brushed against it, writhing in ecstasy from how it still held the stickiness of your sweat. You didn’t know how intoxicating it was to him, watching each bead of sweat leave your neck, the dip of your back when he got the chance to help hold that barbell with you… it was almost maddening, how strictly he had to restrain himself from lapping at your hot skin and running his hands beneath your gymwear. 

 No, he had to save this for later. What would his manager think if he saw him acting so ferally? 

Besides, there were more important matters to attend to. Such as, taking out the bathroom trash, a simple excuse to slide his manager for the opportunity to watch you shower. 

Who knew working here would have such great advantages in getting close to you. 

[dapper-shipping-forever]

Royalty au, princess Gill. Chapter 1.

The princess seeks a new personal bodyguard amongst her royal knights, the glowing recommendation from her captain of the guard leads her to summon sir Vash.

Reblogs are appreciated 🌸

💜💜💜

It's almost a tradition of his. Lyric is summoned to the chambers of the princess, and he stopped before the ornate double doors separating him and her. He fixed his uniform, checking that it is all perfect in every conceivable fashion, before knocking upon the wood surface.

"Come in, Lyric." Her sweet voice drifts to him.

He opens a door, stepping into her room. He immediately drops to his knee before her, a hand to his broad chest and his head lowered in a deep, formal bow. "You called, my princess?"

Princess Gillian sits in the sun, the beams of light filtering in to caress her form. She closes the sketchbook in her hands, setting it beside her on the cushion of her high backed chair. "When can I convince you to stop being this formal with me, Lyric?" She smiles at him as he raises his head.

"Your highness, you know I respect you more than anything; I couldn't possibly treat you with anything less than the highest honor possible." He says.

There's the smallest hint of a frown transforming her face for a second, but just as quickly it's as if it was a trick of the light instead. "Please, Lyric, rise. I wanted to ask you something."

Lyric dutifully gets to his feet again. He stands before the princess, back straight as the sword at his hip. "Of course, anything."

She adjusts her posture in her chair, hands folded in her lap, while she looks upward at Lyric. “Who do you consider your most promising subordinates?"

Lyric pauses. “Your highness?”

“Humor me.” She smiles, and Lyric cannot withstand that look at all.

He hums deep in his throat. "Sir Boris, Lady Amelia, lady Kate, sir Caleb, lady Zavia, sir Diarmaid are all renowned warriors."

"They are nobility, correct? What about those of your subordinates who are not?" She clarifies.

“Well, if I must select a few.” He thinks, gaze cast to the ceiling and a hand draped on his sword. “Of my subordinates, those who show the most skill are sir Nai, sir Nicholas, and sir Vash."

“Based on skill alone?” She watches Lyric nod in affirmation. “And what of the character of these men?”

He sighs. “Sir Nai’s skills rival none, it’s as if the swords he wields is an extension of himself, and with his magic that is not far from the truth, but he isn’t an agreeable man; most of the other knights report a deplorable attitude, though he is wise enough to respect his superiors, begrudgingly I can guess. Sir Nicholas is a brutal and relentless fighter, his style is often dirty and unfitting of a royal knight and his awful manners are a testament to that. Sir Vash,” he considers his words. “He is efficient, he has excellent form and never draws out a fight, when he chooses to draw his sword, I should say; I have had to reprimand him many times for refusal to wield his blade properly, he has a strange habit of fighting with his hilt and sheath instead of the actual blade for some absurd reason.” He shakes his head. “He is a fool, and rather clumsy as well, with an absurdly carefree disposition.” He clicks his tongue and finishes his report to her. He feels somewhat ashamed he must report such badly mannered knights to her highness, but they are the most skilled warriors amongst the royal knights below him.

Princess Gill thinks. “How intriguing.” She smiles to herself, turning her head to the side. She's silent for a long minute, and Lyric patiently awaits her to continue. I have made my decision !” She brightly proclaims, whipping her head back to Lyric in a flurry of bouncy, blonde hair around her.

Lyric frowns, confused. “What decision, my princess?”

“I want you to summon sir Vash that way I may meet him, please. I would like to see if he would make a fitting addition to my personal guard along with you.” She seems pleased with this.

Lyric is shocked into silence. Not as much as breathing for a number of seconds, he looks like a statue. “Your majesty?” He croaks out. He blinks several times like he’s trying not to just collapse. “Have I done something to make you doubt my abilities?”

“What? No, of course not. Why would you assume that?” She’s furrowed her brows, genuinely confused now.

“Why do you desire another personal guard when I have been your sole bodyguard for years? I must have done something to disappoint you.” Desperately he hurriedly drops to a knee again, gazing at her with a pleading face. “Your highness, please whatever slight I have made to you, I beg of you to give me but a single chance to rectify my terrible error. Tell me what I’ve done to prove myself unworthy of your service, my princess; I would do anything to prove myself.”

Gill scooches to the edge of her seat, holding out a hand to try and beseech him to slow his waterfall of desperation falling from his lips. “Lyric, please, calm yourself. You have not done anything to dishonor yourself.”

He leans forward, that pleading look not leaving him. “Then why, your highness? Why add another guard?”

“It’s because I believe it would be best for you to have a partner. I know you work incredibly hard, no person of any sense could possibly deny you are an excellent bodyguard and an excellent captain of the guard. I see how dedicated you are and the effort you apply to your every task, and that is exactly why I would like to relieve some of your load. For years, you have been my sole bodyguard, and between that and your duties as captain of the guard, I hardly ever see you giving yourself proper breaks. In adding another guard to my personal watch, I shall ensure that you can rely on another of your comrades to not have to be worrying about my protection every second. They would support you however is needed." She attempts to explain her thought process.

He purses his lips, bobbing his head. "And you have chosen sir Vash based on my recommendation." He sounds like he's trying to swallow his revulsion with each syllable.

"In part, yes." She says. "I do keep myself updated on certain aspects of the royal guard when I can, and I have seen all these men you've described; they've performed well since arriving here. But if their skill managed to impress you of all people, then that's doubly remarkable. And what matters to me as well is their character, which is why I inquired about it. I'm interested in sir Vash by how you've described him. I think he could be a nice fit for the role."

Lyric blinks. "The clumsy fool who refuses drawing his sword?"

"He sounds gentle." She smiles thoughtfully.

"Your highness, I'm not sure 'gentle' is the trait to search for in a bodyguard." He says.

"Be nice, Lyric." Gill lightly admonishes. "I think it's a good trait to have in someone charged with protection."

Lyric bites back his argument; fighting the princess would be too improper, but he can't mask his disapproval. "And I assume I cannot dissuade you on this idea?"

"No, you cannot." She leans back, hands in her lap. Lyric could already tell how set she was on this whole endeavor in her own mind.

He sighs, not pleased but having no choice now. "Alright then." He rises, bowing at the waist. "I shall summon sir Vash and tell him you would like to speak to him about this reassignment. I shall return to you shortly, my princess."

"Thank you, Lyric; I appreciate you." She says.

The praise is enough to, slightly, curb the sting to his pride he feels. A wound deeper than pride itself. He spins, and strides from her chambers, long legs carrying him swiftly out.

—

Sir Vash sat at the rough wooden table of the dinning hall, tearing a piece of meat and popping it in his mouth. His brother, Nai, sat across from him, steadily eating his own lunch. The low din of chatter echoed all around the enclosed room.

It was mostly other guards who sat around them, all enjoying their own meals. Some had pages scurrying about, fetching new mugs and such for them; though, most of the gathered knights weren't those of high enough status to have a page. Afternoon sunlight came in the open windows to illuminate the stone room and carried in the sounds of training in the grounds below them.

"How'd your sparring go today?" Vash asks his brother.

Nai shrugs, not looking away from his food. "As expected."

"You won?" Vash chuckles.

"Every match." Nai tears a chunk from his roll.

"As expected." Vash echoes with a smile. Often the knights all train together, but there's plenty of days where they draw those with and without magic into separate training. Nai with his formidable powers, and Vash with none, find themselves split on those days. But he is proud to hear his brother did well.

Nai finally raises his eyes to settle a look at Vash, one eyebrow raised. "What of you? Did you get knocked on your ass again?"

"Hey, only a few times." Vash scratches the back of his head. "I did pretty good, I think. I won."

"Look at you, getting better everyday." Nai says sarcastically.

Vash pouts. "Come on, must you always be a jerk?"

Nai smiles. "I'm the nicest guy here."

Vash just tears another piece of food and stuffs it in his mouth. However it's the door opening that makes him stop mid bite as the captain of the guard, sir Lyric, prowls in. All conversations hush, the presence of their superior making every knight straighten their backs where they sit.

That response is completely average. What's unusual is seeing captain Lyric in the dining room at all; mostly he prefers taking his meals alone in his office or with the princess instead. 

Though Vash realized two things immediately. First, he had no food with him. Second, his gaze has looked directly on Vash with an intensity to crack stone and is walking right to him. 

Vash quickly yanks his hand from his mouth, swallowing the half of a piece of food he'd bitten. He stands, back rigid, to greet the captain. "Captain Lyric." He subtly tosses the other half of the piece of food back onto his plate before bowing.

Lyric certainly notices that, but his eyes stay on Vash's as he raises his head. "Sir Vash." He says. "I'm here to tell you your presence has been requested by her highness, princess Gillian."

Vash jolts in place, eyes widening staring at Lyric. The princess? Summoned him? He can feel the eyes of his brother burning into him as he keeps his head straight. The other knights and paiges in the room now make the atmosphere feel heavy in their silence. "The princess?" He voices his confusion. "May I ask what she wants me for, sir?"

Lyric's face is already cold, but Vash swears his frown etches somehow deeper. "The princess is entertaining the notion of making you a member of her personal bodyguard." Lyric sounds like he's somewhat forcing each word to come out, heavy on his tongue and sticking to his throat as they do.

The room alights with the energy of barely contained talking, each person in the room desperately wanting to turn to their table mates and gossip. Vash guarantees that stunned as they are, no one is more shocked than himself. "Me, sir?" He manages to eek out of his mouth. 

“Yes, you. Do you find yourself hard of hearing?” Captain Lyric stares deep into Vash’s body.

“Ah, no, no sir. I heard you.” He squares his shoulders. “I understand, sir.” He takes a breath. “I am deeply, deeply, honored by this.”

Lyric gives him a look, something he cannot quite read, and after just a long minute responds. “Excellent, good sir. I shall allow you to finish your meal,” he gestures at Vash’s food. “And afterwards you are to come and find me that I might introduce you to the princess.”

Vash bows. “Of course, captain Lyric.”

Lyric continues the same unreadable expression. He half turns. “Try not to make her highness wait.” And with that, he exits the small dining room.

Right away, the dining hall fills with eager whispers as the present knights cast glances to Vash. He looses a long, deep breath as he lets his tense shoulder droop. Self conscious but too full of thoughts to pay the stares as much attention as he otherwise would be, he sits back at the table. He slumps forward, an arm propped on the wood, as if that interaction winded him. “I am being considered for the princess’s personal guard.” He quietly says aloud as if ensuring he heard it correctly.

The whispers are all around him, but he understands why they would be. Captain Lyric has not only been the princess's sole personal guard for years, but the role of a personal bodyguard itself is coveted. Normally, it's somewhat of a gift to skilled nobles, it's an honor to be appointed as the bodyguard of a member of royalty. And Vash has never been noble. He's a commoner from a small town, essentially nobody as far as that's concerned. He's made somewhat of a name for himself since he was knighted, but that's different. For him to be chosen above those born into nobility amongst the knights? It's crazy. He can feel the unconcealed glaring from the higher born knights within the room.

Nai was silent, eyes narrowed at Vash. "The princess requested you specifically?" 

Vash lifted his head higher. "That's what captain Lyric said." He says.

Nai looks like he's chewing on his words, suspicion in his light eyes. "What do you think she wants with you?"

"Nai, I can see what you're thinking." Vash says. "It sounds like she wants another bodyguard for herself. Why? I'm not sure. But I doubt there's anything more going on. The princess is nice."

"Have you talked with her?" Nai asks.

"Well, I mean no. But it's what they say. And we've been in the same room as her; she just has that kind sort of demeanor around her." Her smile is said to make everyone drop to one knee around her, and honestly, Vash gets it. "Besides, technically I do owe her." He lifts his prosthetic arm and flicks the open palm with his other, his nail clicking on it's hard surface.

Years ago, some nobles had attempted largely scaling back on the system that allowed knights who had limbs severed to get quality magical prosthetics. The princess had not kept her disapproval silent, and was outspoken about it until the nobles bowed under the pressure and dropped the whole idea. Vash himself had, and continues to, benefited from that choice. 

The flower princess, fairy of Crystallo, gem of the land. The princess was well known and well spoken of all around for acts such as that and her powerful magic. Though his brother was suspicious, Vash had a feeling he could trust the princess.

"You're too naive, Vash, you've always been like this." He sighs, arms crossed on the table. "Just be careful." The look in his eyes stays rather dark as he looks at him. He gets the feeling Nai isn't going to drop this soon. He's never trusted royalty; Vash knows Nai wouldn't be a royal knight in the palace if it weren't for him.

"I am, promise." He says. "Besides, he said she's only considering me; I may not actually get the assignment." Vash realizes how long they've been talking. If he takes too long then he definitely won't get it. "I should hurry. Who keeps a princess waiting?" He scrambles and grabs his roll, shoveling food into his mouth.

"You want to go out there looking like a pig, brother? Calm yourself." Nai leans forward and swats Vash on the forehead. Vash scowls at him around a mouthful of food.

As soon as Vash finished his rushed meal, he scoured the halls of the palace, searching for captain Lyric. He figured he'd have to check a few places before he found him, and quickly moves between the twisted halls.

He hears a voice before he sees who's around the corner, but he recognizes it. The deep tones of captain Lyric drift around to him, and he knows he's found him. Hopefully he won't be interrupting anything, but the captain did tell him to find him as soon as he could.

First, rounding the corner of the hall, captain Lyric is revealed. He'd expected him, of course. But then he sees who he's talking to. Second, the princess Gillian is revealed.

Her dress is a delicate purple, hugging her body to drape in gossamer ruffles in a flowing curtain off her hips. Her shoulders are exposed by the sleeves, merely two loops around her upper arm, and her slender arms are adorned by a few sparkling bracelets, a ring on one hand. Sunlight hair softer than the clouds curls from her head to her hips. The light reflecting on it gives the appearance she's got a subtle shimmer around her. A necklace of three star shine shaped amethysts hugs her throat and sits between her collar.

The fairy moniker is appropriate; there's something almost inhuman in the light she offers. It's been a while since Vash has been around the princess; he almost stumbles on the smooth stone he walks on.

He feels somewhat like time has slowed watching her eyes, depthless and blue enough to burn him like coldest ice if he dared try and hold their stare, blink and drift from captain Lyric to the side at Vash. It returns to normal when she smiles, and the look hits him square between the eyes.

Lyric looks at him seeing the princess acknowledge him. His expression had been rather placid, but it becomes stern seeing Vash. This isn't unusual; he pretty much always looks this way. Though, his eyes might hold a colder flame than usual?

Vash hurries to stand by Lyric, facing the princess. His throat bobs.

"Sir Vash." She greets, smile curling around each word.

"Your highness." He bows deep, staying bent at the waist in veneration.

"It's a pleasure to meet you finally, my knight." She says.

He raises his head to look at her, smiling sheepishly at her. "I promise that the pleasure is all mine, your highness."

She giggles, like fairy bells. One hand covers her mouth with just her slender fingers. "Rise, please; there's no need for that." She motions with her hand for him to stop bowing. When he does, she continues talking. "I've heard about your prowess, and I thank you for your hard work guarding my home. I know Lyric already told you why I wanted to speak to you. I must ask, are you open to the role? If you aren't wanting to accept, then I won't force you; I won't make you tell me your reasons or make you invent any excuses. It's entirely your choice if you're open to hearing me out for this."

"Your highness, it is any knight’s honor to be as much as considered for this role; he would be a fool to deny you." Lyric interrupted, voice clipped.

The princess raises a hand to Lyric, looking at him. "Lyric, please; I wouldn't want to have a bodyguard who hates the job. If he has any reason to not want it, I want to respect it and not make him." She looks back to Vash. "Sir Vash, please, answer me truthfully

Vash feels a lot of emotions within himself currently. Nervousness, being permitted for the first time to speak this way to the princess. Excitement, being considered for this role. Fear, that he won’t be accepted. Acceptance, that he probably won’t be given just himself. Awe, at the princess’s visage. Sweaty, he shouldn’t have run around looking for captain Lyric just before. Of them, there is also admiration for the generosity presented here and now. None of those emotions guide him to step away from the chance he’s been given and the princess standing here. “Your highness, what captain Lyric has said is true; it is a great honor to be considered for this role. I,” he emphasizes. “Am honored you are considering me for this role. I, happily, am open to this.” He tells her.

Genuine glee alights her face. She clasps her hands low in front of herself, swaying her shoulders. “Good ! I’m glad to hear it.” Again, she turns back to Lyric, gesturing at him with her clasped hands. “Lyric, you may attend to any duties you need to right now; I am going to have a conversation with sir Vash alone.”

Lyric looks like he was physically struck. “Alone? My princess, you should not be alone with him. It would be,” he stammers. “Utterly improper.”

“Improper?” She asks. “He is a royal knight, and one I am considering as part of my own circle, if he is not to be trusted then who might be? If he is chosen to join my personal guard, then I would often find myself alone with him.” She seems rather nonchalant.

Lyric isn’t pacified. “Your highness, I of course wouldn’t insinuate that any of our knights are untrustworthy, but he is not yet a member of your personal watch. I suggest that you allow me to accompany you two.” His eyes dart from the princess to Vash, where they briefly lock, and then back.

The princess’s smile turns sympathetic and kind. “Lyric, I understand; you are always watching out for me. I know it seems strange to you to trust my safety with someone else, but you have nothing to fear. Trust in me. Go, do your tasks without any worry, I insist.” She holds out an open hand along the hall, nicely dismissing him from the conversation.

Lyric’s jaw squares briefly, but he bows. “As my princess wishes.” He starts to turn, lingering by Vash. “I do trust that nothing shall happen to her in my absence.” And thus he sets off, walking deeper into the opulent hall.

The princess turns her full attention to Vash. “Please do excuse Captain Lyric; he is a passionate man, just and true, and he has always taken his task of guarding me seriously. I commend him greatly. I do realize how he can come off as rather,” she pauses. “Intense to others.”

Vash is quick to speak. “No, no, your highness, it’s alright. I would expect captain Lyric to be no less than the definition of dedicated to you. I have seen first hand his ferocity when it comes to his duties; he’s truly a role model to the knights.” Vash right now primarily is preoccupied by how he just can not process that he is alone with the princess and this is the first time he’s been this close. Most times he’s seen her she’s been across the way or walking by at a distance. Now she’s directly before him, he has a flash of fear that he’s standing too close but another worry that stepping back could be seen as rude. She’s small. Obviously he could plainly see that upon a glance before, but it isn’t until standing directly before her that he feels how small she truly is. She is just at chest height to him. Perhaps a strange thing to focus on right now, but somehow it makes him feel more protective of her already, he subconsciously realizes.

He’s glad to see her silent approval of that in the gleam of her eye. "Thank you for saying that; captain Lyric is incredibly dear to me. It makes me happy to know his fellow knights respect him too." She takes a step to pivot to the side. "Now then, care to accompany me for a walk?"

"Yes, your highness." Vash bows.

The princess leads the way, Vash following a few steps behind her to give her space. They quickly reach a door, Vash scrambling forward to open it for her, and step outside into an open courtyard. The palace gardens spread out before them. They surround the whole palace, canvases of brightly colored various flowers decorate the grounds. They say flowers began appearing on their own the hour the princess had been born, as if they'd been summoned by her. What had been a limited selection has since been cultivated by expert gardeners, and rumor has it the magic of the princess, into this display. Vines flowering with colorful petals crawl along the walls, bushes with delicate flowers line the gardens, flowering trees sway in the wind, color and beauty is inescapable in the floral palace; it amazes Vash each time he lays eyes on it all.

He keeps his respectable distance as he walks with her. She seems like she's a natural and essential part of the scene painted by the flowers, like he's the intruder within a master artist's magnum opus.

"How do you enjoy working as a royal knight here, sir Vash?" She asks, walking forward.

"I like it quite a bit, your highness." He says. "It's an honor to protect this kingdom, and the people here have been good to us. Obviously it's quite the beautiful place to be, and the generosity of your family is apparent. The food here is also great."

"The food?" She laughs, caught slightly off guard. "Yes, I like the food here as well. Quite the amicable answer. What made you want to be a royal knight?"

He bites the inside of his cheek. "That's quite the question."

"Do you have an answer?" She asks.

"I do. It's just, kind of simple but hard to explain? I come from a pretty small village, somewhere pretty remote. Giving as the king and queen are, it's difficult to make every corner prosperous. I saw people who would be hurt, and I've simply always felt the desire to protect them. I figure if I have the ability to do that, then I need to do it. My mother has a strong love for this world, and she's taught me to value every life within it, big or small." He tries his best to explain.

She hums, looking to him with a gentle smile. "She sounds kind."

Vash smiles. "She's the best."

She goes into her next query. "You've been at the palace for about a year now, yes?"

"Yes, your highness." He blinks. "You've done research." 

She chuckles. "Of course. I haven't chosen you on a whim. I had reports brought to me on all the royal knights before approaching Lyric to ask his opinions. Your name was in my mind before he spoke it. Amongst others, sure, but you interested me."

"That's a lot of knights to look into. Surely you could have had someone else do it." He says.

"I wanted to form my own opinions; having someone else do it would add their bias. No one but myself could quite see the specific requirements I had for one of my personal bodyguards. Here, let's walk this way." She quickly guides him off the main path and onto a smaller walkway, made of gravel rather than white stone. He worries about her tripping.

"Huh? Ah, alright?" His steps had continued carrying him on the main path and he has to hop back to follow her. "And then you asked captain Lyric's opinion?"

"Yes; as I said, he's important to me, as well as being captain of the guard. I knew that he would know the strength of his knights well, and as a man who's tricky to impress, anybody who does stand out to him must be truly quite skilled. As well as, if he must work alongside and trust my safety in this person, it should be someone he acknowledges as such."

He looks to the gravel, taking in her words. Rumors abound when someone is in the public. While most rumors about the princess are flattering, beautiful, brave, and just, and some are scathing, naive, flighty, and weak, all are just words moved between people whom most have never interacted with her in a significant capacity. In this short conversation, Vash has started forming his own opinions. She is smart. She is considerate. "And out of everyone you chose me?"

She hums in affirmation. Her head turns, and she's walking off the path onto grass. "Yes; out of everyone, I thought you fit the requirements best." She merrily walks along through soft grass, turning her head back to Vash. "Come along." She looks as if she's aiming to walk under some hanging willow branches.

This is quite the unique journey she's taking him on; he'd thought this would be a straight forward stroll along the path, but she seems to know where she wants to go. "Ah, yes, of course." He follows her. He knows that certain areas of the gardens are encouraged to be enjoyed by picnics and promenades, but it feels sort of scandalous to trample a lawn that's manicured finely as this. "Are we going some place specific?" He asks.

"No, not anywhere particularly. I saw some lovely pink flowers ahead and that reminded me of a tree that has some in similar shade this direction and I want to see it." She says cheerfully. "You'd love them, let's go there." And she confidently walks along a path unseen to him.

He's quietly surprised as all these sudden turns had him believing she'd had some path in mind. He shakes the feeling off though and keeps walking along with her. "I'm sure I'm going to." He says. Hesitantly, he decides to prod as they move further along the field. "You mentioned you had these requirements, may I ask what they are?"

"I had a few things I'm searching for. Of course, combat skills are necessary and someone trustworthy since they'd be guarding me."

"Of course." He says. He notices they're coming to a dip in the garden; their section of the garden drops off to the next, a short gap dropping off a small wall. It's only about mid calf height, but Vash uses long steps to reach it before the princess, stepping onto the lower field and extending a hand to help her.

"But equally as important to me is the character. Of which, there were a few traits I wanted." She smiles at him as she takes his hand, small and soft in his. Their eyes are briefly equal as they meet, before she steps from the ledge. "Kind," she lists, releasing his hand. Ears pink, he tucks his hands behind his back. He let's her lead onward. "Generous, resourceful, honest, virtuous, and gentle. That's a few." 

Vash feels how warm his hand is. He worries if that was improper, but the princess hasn't commented on it, which must mean she hasn't taken offense. He's kind of glad he'd used his non prosthetic hand to feel the full warmth of his between the material of their gloves. Though somewhat reassured, his blush hasn't diminished. "Gee, that's some lofty compliments coming from you, your highness." He scratches at his undercut shyly.

She glances to him and chuckles. "Humble is a fine trait too. All those and more are important to me. I heard you avoid drawing your blade whenever you're able?"

Vash glances to the side, a little hesitant. Most people look unfavorably on that. "Yes, your highness. I know it is my duty to protect the kingdom and its residents, I would never falter in that job. It's just I'm not a fan of harming people."

He waits for the objection. "Neither am I." She says, pushing the soft willow's branches out of her path.

It takes him a few seconds to process that. She hadn't called him a fool. Whether or not that inherently means she approves of his methods he can't presume to make assumptions. Distracted in thought, he follows her beyond the branches.

The princess smiles. "There she is." 

A small tree stands before them, an infant among its kind basically. A few little pink flowers polka dot the green leaves. 

"This is the tree you wanted to come see?" Vash asks.

"Indeed. Isn't she lovely?" The princess stoops in front of it, caressing a flower with her hand. "She's been growing well; it's the first year she's produced flowers. It makes me glad." She smiles at the tree, fondness beaming from her body in waves. It's like she's proud of the tree itself for doing this well.

"It is lovely." Vash says. "I'm sure she's going to grow into a grand tree."

"I know she is too." She turns her head to look at Vash. "Do you enjoy flowers as well?" She asks.

"Yes, I do." He answers. "Red geraniums are my favorite." He smiles.

She straightens, smile cast at the tree. "Is that true? We happen to have some of those, you've likely seen them. You can accompany me to look at them soon."

"Ah, thank you." He stops, processing what she said. "I can?" He asks, eyes wide.

"Yes, of course." She turns fully to him. "I would be pleased to officially offer you the position of my personal knight." 

Vash forgets to breathe. He knew she was considering it, a princess wouldn't waste her time frolicking with a low ranking knight if she wasn't actually considering it, of course. He hadn't expected to hear her acceptance, though. He had been sure she'd thank him gently for his time and smile apologetically as she dismissed him in favor of another knight. He'd been certain someone more worthy would be chosen. He wasn't the strongest knight, not the bravest, not the smartest, there were many knights above him and he was alright with the knowledge. Hearing the offer be true had subconsciously not been in his mind. "You want me?" He dumbly asks. He swallows. Perhaps he should bow out, let the more worthy knight be given this role. The princess would be safer with practically anyone but him. But, he has always wanted to protect, to serve, and here is an opportunity to protect a symbol of his home. And more, this short walk has made him curious. The princess has a draw to her, and if he could help someone like her who has treated him this well then maybe he could best fulfill that duty this way, repay her and the people this way. Opportunities such as this, he can practically see the chance to grasp it. Deeply, he bows. "Your highness, it is my honor to accept this kind offer. I swear, I'm going to protect you with everything I have; no harm shall come to you as long as I can help it. You have my sword, my body, and my word." He promises.

He can't see her expression, but in his mind sees her smile. "Rise, sir Vash, my knight." She waves her hand for him to straighten. He does as she asks him. Her smile is there, and the flowers turn to it like the sun shine. "The honor belongs to me. I'm delighted to hear you say that. I promise as well to do my best to meet your expectations and be someone you're happy to serve. Thank you, sir Vash; from now on, I am in your care." Then, she bows briefly to him.

His shoulders tense in surprise; to have a princess bow to him, not just her head in acknowledgment, but at the waist in a full show of respect. "Thank you, your highness." 

They stand there for a few long seconds in the soothing breeze, the floral scent of the gardens surrounding them both. The princess shifts and looks out at her kingdom. "Come, let's continue our walk before making our way back." Her eyes alight on something else. "Look at those darlings across the way; their petals are magnificent !" And she rushes towards them.

Vash is realizing another thing about the princess, she is distractible. But it's charming to see her excitement. That's a fitting description too. She is excitable. His eyebrows upturn as his smile takes a softer form; he's excited too, to learn more about the princess. A royal bodyguard, the thought is strange but tantalizing.

He starts after her. "Yes, your highness, I'm coming." He calls.

—

Gill leads sir Vash towards Lyric's office, where she knocks on the door. "Lyric !" She says loud enough to be heard.

Rushing footsteps soon swing open the door, and Lyric stands above her. "My princess." He says. He glances just briefly at Vash, and she knows him well enough that he's not entirely pleased he's there. He's such a sweetheart, always worrying. "How did your walks go?" He asks. One hands holds the door's edge.

"It was good." She says, shoulders bouncing. "Sir Vash has officially accepted the role and shall effective immediately be your partner in protecting me." Gill looks towards Vash. "Lyric is going to show you the ropes of the job, and he can explain the details to you such as your schedule, pay increase, and new quarters."

"New quarters?" Vash tilts his head like a cute puppy.

"Yes; if you're alright with that, it's ideal for your quarters to be closer to mine." She furrows her brow, apologetic. "Should I have mentioned that earlier? Is that alright?" She asks.

He waves his hands rapidly. "No, no it's perfectly alright. Nai's going to be jealous I get my own room for once." He laughs.

She smiles at him. "Good; the room should be to your liking. We won't be neighbors exactly but it's just a minute's walk from mine."

There's a sharp crack in the hallway that makes her and Vash both jump in surprise. Turning, she sees Lyric holding some shards from his door and a new indent in the wood. "Excuse me." He says. "It appears the quality of this door was weak indeed."

It looked sturdy to her, but he must be right. "Dear, I shall send someone to replace it immediately." She refocuses on Lyric, looking upward at his face. "While you wait, could you please start with sir Vash's training as my new personal bodyguard? You're the expert." She chirps.

He tosses the wood chips aside into a bin, brushing his hand on his coat. "Of course, your highness, anything you ask." His narrowed eyes find sir Vash. "Walk with me." He orders. He steps out, bows to Gill, and begins to walk off. Sir Vash gives her a lopsided grin and a quick but clumsy bow before following.

"Thank you both, I shall be in my chambers." Her eyes briefly meet Vash's as he turns. "Until next time."

Gill starts towards her bedroom. She's glad it hadn't taken her long to choose. For weeks she'd been reading reports on the guards to assess each one. She'd felt bad for not filling Lyric in, but she'd known he'd object and insist he could guard her on his own forever. She knows he could use help, though. Sir Vash certainly had interested her. His rumored pacifism and kindness hadn't stopped him from gaining reputation as a brilliant fighter. No magic associated with his name, but the raw strength to fill in that blank. A fairly new knight, his training hadn't started as young as many others, but it couldn't be seen in a simple test of their skill. She'd been happy when sir Lyric had said his name, because that simply confirmed she must meet him.

The reports hadn't mentioned anything about those brilliant baby blue eyes he has. She blushes in the light from the windows, looking out it across the garden below. She leans a shoulder onto the side of the wall before it. When he'd given her that first dopey smile from a bow, she'd felt her stomach flutter.

Silly, perhaps, but it's true. He's quite charming, in looks and in speech.

In a palace, it can be hard to tell when someone is being polite to tell someone merely what they want to hear, or if it's genuine. From sir Vash, she felt nothing but a genuine honesty from him the entire walk. It truthfully was incredibly refreshing. That's part of why she gave him the role. Part of her had simply known as soon as she laid eyes on his report that he was the one.

And the walk only proved it. He had all the traits she'd wanted within a personal bodyguard and more. And anyone who loves flowers as she does earns points in her mind.

She thinks of the way he looked walking in the garden with her. The sun had glinted off his golden hair and made those baby blues sparkle and the handsome planes of his face perfectly highlighted by the gentle light, like a gilded statue carved by the gods themselves.

His looks, much as she can't stop thinking of them, played no part in her decision. They may call her frivolous for frolicking in the flowers, but she is not stupid enough to choose a personal bodyguard on a mere whim. Sir Vash is the right choice, for his skills and the love for life he holds. She knows he is going to make her proud as her knight.

She watches the flowers and leaves sway in the breeze below her. Perhaps she should grow some more red flowers soon; red geraniums certainly are a lovely sight. A good addition to a garden.

Her cheek feels the cool texture of the stone wall, and her arms cross delicately before herself. She's excited to learn more about sir Vash and to take more walks together. Maybe he'd hold her hand again too, for that brief second of warmth felt.