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odoraful · 15 days ago

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𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒

even in their relationship with you, they still have their moments of jealousy every now and again

⟡ content: zayne/sylus/xavier/rafayel x gn!reader; established relationship; luke & kieran appearance in sylus’ scene; new receptionist in zayne's scene; andrew appearance in xavier's scene; a little silly and a lot fluffy; 0.8–1k words per scene

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ZAYNE ⟡

Every situation requires an assessment to determine the most logical course of action. Zayne embodied this statement in his work, and even in parts of his relationship with you. One such part was when it came to jealousy. In all his assessments, 99% of the time, there was no threat, and, therefore, no intervention required. In any case, if a guy were to approach you in such a way, he trusted you entirely as well to not entertain him. However, as he opened his office door to call you from the waiting room, he was confronted by that 1%.

The new receptionist hired to work alongside Yvonne was young, charming, and far too friendly. Especially towards you. You stopped by quite regularly. Sometimes for your scheduled check-in appointments, and oftentimes to simply visit Zayne during his downtime. That was enough for the young man to recognise you, his energy ignited by your presence.

Zayne could only see your side profile as you stood by the receptionist desk, engaged in a conversation with the young man. You appeared to be all smiles with him today. Whatever story he was telling seemed to be so thrilling. Zayne’s face remained calm, aside from the twitch of his jaw when he clenched his teeth. If anybody had been watching, they would have likely jumped at such a sign of vexation by the cardiac surgeon.

Until that point, he thought he had known what jealousy was. He had read it in books and seen it in TV shows, all of which portrayed jealousy leading to several outbursts and stand-offs. However, as he felt something rising from the pit of his stomach and burning in his chest, he understood that the purest kind of it now flared inside him. It was a dangerous emotion that clouded his mind and, before he knew it, his feet had carried him right to your side.

Mr. Chatterbox regarded Zayne with disbelief at his approach, standing up to properly greet him.

“Doc! What a rare sight seeing you personally greet a patient at the desk.”

Zayne paid only a cursory glance and the slightest nod of acknowledgement to him before his attention was narrowed on you.

“If you’d like to come in now, Y/N,” Zayne said, his voice smooth and warm.

You nodded. “Of course.”

As you walked, he placed his hand at the small of your back, pulling you closer to him by just a fraction. He turned his head to the side, enough so the young man could see his sharp eyes. Zayne wasn’t one for outbursts, so he hoped this calculated display was enough of a warning.

Watching Dr. Zayne disappear with you into his office, the receptionist muttered to himself, “Why does it feel chillier in here than before?”

Yvonne, a bystander to everything that just occurred, quietly approached her freshly hired colleague from behind. She delt a swift smack on his head with the edge of her palm. He yelped out in exaggerated pain, rubbing at the spot as if she had just given him a bruise.

“Could you be anymore oblivious…” she sighed, shaking her head. Her gaze then turned fiery as she began to scold, “And how many times have I told you to stop yammering around patients!?”

At the sound of Yvonne’s voice, he immediately redirected his efforts. Not even addressing his colleague’s prior criticism, he clasped his hands together.

“Miss Yvonne! How are you doing on this lovely–”

“Fax this, please,” she interrupted, holding a referral letter up directly to his face.

He gave a mock shiver, taking the paper from Yvonne’s hand. “So cold in this division.”

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“It seemed like you were making good conversation with our new hire,” Zayne commented, closing the door behind him.

You breathed a laugh. “He’s quite chatty. I guess it’s good to have someone so energetic working at the desk.”

That sensation within Zayne turned molten, though, you couldn’t have known with the coolness of his palm. What would be his intervention here? Maybe he needed to have a stern conversation with the young man, or perhaps he had to be more obvious in his affections towards you. He could never match the energy the receptionist had, so it would be impossible to achieve such a feat.

In his momentary stewing, you let out an uncertain hum.

“To be honest, he kept talking about himself... it was a little overwhelming,” you confessed sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand. “I couldn’t be impolite to him, so I just smiled and nodded at whatever he said!”

Instantly, Zayne’s mind cleared. His jealousies dwindled into nothing more than ashes. A part of him even felt silly at how intense he was feeling just a few seconds ago.

Unexpectedly, he rested his head on your shoulder with a sigh. Your eyes widened with confusion before you chuckled.

“Isn’t this a bit unprofessional, doctor?” you teased.

“Feel free to file a complaint to the hospital’s human resource division,” he retorted, not missing a beat.

Your mirth readily turned into concern at the affectionate display.

“But seriously, Zayne, is everything okay?” you asked, poking at his cheek.

Zayne lifted his head. He seemed to be, surprisingly, relieved. Though, you couldn’t figure out what exactly he would be relieved about.

“Yes, everything is perfect now.”

SYLUS ⟡

There was nothing that a deathly glare or a good shove couldn’t do to resolve Sylus’ jealousy. Warding off any unsuspecting parties was his speciality, especially if it involved them getting too close to you. However, the leader of Onychinus was thrown for a loop when his very own henchmen were sparking these feelings.

“You are… going out with Y/N today?” Sylus spoke slowly, as if sounding out syllables to a baby. “Is what I’m hearing correct, Luke?”

Kieran not-so-subtly kicked Luke in the shin. Luke stifled a groan. Rather than be on their way to Linkon (and to you), they were here being confronted by the boss. It was an unfortunate slip-up from Luke as they were about to leave, which caused Sylus to sternly halt their exit.

“Yes, boss.” Luke replied, trying to stand up straighter with only one good shin.

“And for what reason exactly?” Sylus asked.

Luke resignedly sighed.

“They wanted someone to–”

“Help clean their apartment!” Kieran quickly finished.

He turned and started at his twin brother pointedly. You better follow along, it seemed to threaten.

Luke began nodding profusely, “Yep! Gosh, boss, you wouldn’t even believe the mess!”

“This type of menial work was probably too peasantry for you–”

“So, they invited us instead!”

Sylus’ henchmen stood there, looking quite proud of themselves and their innocent display. Sylus rolled his eyes at their dramatics. Luke and Kieran could do any task Sylus asked, no matter how dirty, and yet they were quite terrible at lying. Maybe he needed to teach them some skills in deception later. He dismissed them sharply with a wave of his hand.

“Go. Make sure to return before I leave this evening.”

The henchmen bowed, preparing to scurry away, but before they could, Sylus spoke again,

“Don’t take your eyes off them for even a second, do you understand?”

They turned back to Sylus and nodded, bowing once again.

“And–”

Sylus’ continual interruption of their exit left them in an awkward position right at the threshold of his office.

“–they don’t enjoy mopping, so I trust one of you will play the gentleman and take up that task.”

“You got it, boss.” Luke and Kieran said in unison before finally departing.

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Sylus was planning on sleeping before your date in the evening, but that was completely out of the question now.

Hanging out with Luke and Kieran? To, supposedly, clean? He knew what they had told him was a lie. However, a small, burning part of him was frustrated. If that had been the truth, he naturally would have been the far better partner. With the time you had shared together, surely you had not so quickly found his own company lacklustre in comparison to his henchmen. He could have been in your apartment, with you, cleaning together. Instead, he was in his mansion, alone, and grumpy. Grumpy enough to open his tablet, and switch to his camera feeds connected to Mephisto.

He had asked if his skilled companion could do a bit of reconnaissance at your apartment to confirm what this ragtag trio were doing. As the camera feed loaded, he saw that your home was empty. Internally, he cursed. Mephisto flew down to street level, and, as luck would have it, three familiar people stepped out of the apartment complex. Luke and Kieran were there (wearing face masks and caps that disguised their faces as opposed to their crow masks) along with you.

Sylus sat up in his bed.

He followed this trio as they walked to a nearby clothing store. Unfortunately, it would be considered odd for a crow to be indoors, so all Mephisto could do was perch atop a bench in front of the establishment and watch the three of you retreat inside behind the automatic glass doors.

Tossing the tablet aside onto the silk sheets, Sylus crossed him arms. If the thought of not being able to clean with you had made him grumpy, then seeing that he was not invited to shop for clothes with you truly made his blood boil with jealousy. As he attempted to get some rest, he thought about casual ways to mention on this evening’s date how he could rent out entire department stores for you if you wanted.

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Sylus tapped his dress shoes rhythmically against the floor, awaiting your door to be opened after he had rung the bell. He had arrived at exactly 5 o’clock to pick you up, and although he was always well put together, he put in a little extra effort on his hair this time.

He heard the door unlock, slowly opening to only reveal your head poking out. He cocked his head to the side.

“Sweetie, are you trying to hide from me?”

“Mmm, think of it more like I’m building anticipation,” you explained with a grin on your face.

Sylus laughed fondly. He leaned his own head against the wall beside the doorframe, turning to look at you.

“Consider me sufficiently anticipated,” he replied. “Now, may I see you?”

You gestured for him to move back so you could give a grand reveal.

“I just bought this today.”

The door swung open, and you stepped outside.

“How do I look?”

Very little could surprise Sylus; however, you had utterly blindsided him in this moment. You were wearing a dress that Sylus didn’t recognise from your current wardrobe. He knew then that the outing with Luke and Kieran had been to surprise him with a new dress for your date.

Flowy, ruby fabric draped against your figure, reaching down to your ankles. His eyes followed the heart-shaped neckline that framed the pearl necklace that rested at your collarbones, matching the accessory in your hair. All this prepared just for him.

“You look absolutely radiant,” he breathed.

Closing the distance, he snaked a hand around you, toying with the smooth material under his warm fingertips. Seeing how gorgeous you were almost alleviated his earlier frustrations, until he came to a sour realisation.

“Though, I can’t help but be… annoyed that Luke and Kieran saw this surprise before me.”

You bit your lip. Of course, Sylus had figured out what his henchmen were doing throughout the day. His voice grew deeper as his lips brushed against your ear.

“Next time, kitten, you should invite me to go with you instead.”

XAVIER ⟡

It took very little to spark Xavier’s jealousy, as much as the man himself would want to deny it. Strangers, colleagues, and acquaintances could cause his unassuming appearance to transform into a hostile front if they got too friendly with you. But today was another ordinary workday, so there would surely be no situation where Xavier should feel such a way.

There had been a string of quiet days at the Hunters Association that meant that Team Alpha could finally make use of their office. Namely you and Xavier, who usually were assigned to field missions. Your neglected chair squeaked under your weight as you stretched your body, lifting your arms high into the air then relaxing. Twirling the pen in your hand, the words on page about recent energy fluctuations seemed to swirl in your vision. Xavier turned from his own desk to observe you.

“I’m going to get a drink from the vending machine.” He stood up, the wheels of his chair clattering against the hard floor. “Do you want one too?”

“Green tea, please,” you replied.

“Warm or cold?”

“Cold,” you decided. You clapped your hands against your face, squishing your cheeks. “I need to shock my system to wake it up.”

Xavier’s face broke into a smile. “Sounds like a good plan.”

Before he could walk away, a voice called out your name.

“Morning Y/N!”

Xavier narrowed his eyes slightly at the approaching man.

He was tall (though not as tall as himself), with ashy hair precisely tousled to reveal his forehead, and friendly eyes. Xavier’s senses heightened in the same way as they would in a battle with a Wanderer. The unfamiliar man had greeted you with such familiarity. Only two words had been spoken, yet it was enough to irk Xavier. If he had called you less kindly, that would have helped to lower his guard.

To his surprise, the man turned his attention towards him.

“Ah, you must be Xavier! I’ve heard much about you.” He extended his hand. “I’m Andrew, head of the Data Analysis sector.”

Xavier stared at Andrew’s hand for a moment—blinking and discerning. Head of Data Analysis… Is this some kind of power move? He gave the hand a brusque shake.

“Excuse me, I need to get some drinks for the two of us,” he said, turning on his heel and walking away to the office’s break room.

Andrew furrowed his brows as he watched Xavier leave.

“Quite elusive, isn’t he?”

You shook your head.

“Maybe when you first meet him. But once you get to know him, you’ll see just how reliable he is.”

The tenderness in your tone came unconsciously to you, but it always happened when you spoke about Xavier to others. Especially towards those who might misinterpret his neutral disposition.

Small talk continued over the next minute between you and Andrew, until he suddenly looked at you with a slight frown.

“There’s an eyelash on your face,” he said, pointing vaguely to the left side of your face.

You used your fingers to swipe across your skin, yet Andrew still shook his head.

“No, no. It’s right here.”

He brought his finger closer to show you exactly where it was.

The dull thud of plastic bottles falling to the ground could be heard a couple of metres beside you. A blinding light zipped through the air, alongside a gust of air that swept your hair back. Before you could even register what had caused this phenomenon, Xavier appeared between you and Andrew. Your wide eyes stared at his hand gripping Andrew’s wrist.

“Xavier?” you called in surprise.

Xavier seemed equally shocked at how instinctually he acted. One moment he had seen Andrew’s hand move closer to your face, and the next he was face-to-face with him.

“I-I don’t know what came over me.” He released Andrew from his iron hold. “I'm really sorry”.

With a small bow, Xavier braced himself, ready to receive the full brunt of anger from the Head of Data Analysis. He shuddered at the thought that this might be reported to Captain Jenna. Instead, Andrew shook his head calmly.

“Don’t worry about it.” He gave an understanding smile, observing your worried expression towards Xavier. “In fact, I do believe this was my bad.”

The abandoned green tea bottles rolled lazily beside the desks, and Andrew picked them up. “I’ll be heading off to my office now, I’ll see you two later.”

Handing the drinks to you and Xavier, you both expressed your thanks. As Andrew left, you turned to Xavier.

“Xavier,” you spoke slowly, “what exactly was that?”

He scratched his head and diverted his eyes from you.

“I saw he was getting too close, and my body moved faster than my head…”

It was hard not to react at how adorably guilty he looked.

What am I going to do with you? You thought, sighing in affectionate amusement.

“I know how it must have looked from afar, but there was just an eyelash on my face that Andrew was trying to point out,” you explained.

Again, you swiped a finger across your face. “I still don’t know where it is though.”

Your movements were halted as Xavier gently grasped your wrist. He leaned in close, examining your face. You felt his light touch against your eyelids as he took off the lash.

“You know, there’s a superstition about this,” he began, handing the lash to you.

“They say if you have a stray eyelash, you can use it to make a wish.”

He cleared his throat, the tips of his ears turning red believing his next words to perhaps sound a little childish.

“So, I wanted to be the one who would give you that wish.”

RAFAYEL ⟡

Rafayel’s jealousy would make itself known to you the moment he felt it. Though he would hide it between clever, teasing remarks, it was cute to see how clingy he got when it happened. And there was no better situation to provoke such feelings than at a gala hosted by Flux Arts. Admittedly, it was difficult to get the artist himself to attend these gatherings that featured one of his own paintings, so Thomas had to devise a convincing reason for him to go. That reason, naturally, being you. If you were his plus one, Rafayel could certainly face any battle.

You stood in front of Rafayel’s painting now as he had left you for the moment to speak with Thomas. Even after being exposed to his work many times (both mid progress and completed) they still managed to instil awe within you.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The voice pulled you back into the room, and you looked over at the stranger beside you. He appeared to be slightly older and was likely a wealthy, enthusiastic patron of the gala.

“Yes, it is,” you agreed. “It’s one of my favourites.”

In truth, you favoured it because you were there when Rafayel painted it. From start to finish, he had you at his side. Though abstract, upon closer inspection, one could extrapolate details of a city with glorious towers and vibrant, thriving coral. It held a special place in your heart.

The man’s eyes were glued to the painting.

“Rafayel truly is an artist you get once in a lifetime.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sincerity in the gentleman’s compliment.

“It’s hypnotising to witness the scenes he creates,” he continued. “He seems to bare his soul in each painting.”

“He is quite an expressive man,” you commented, breathing a small laugh.

From picking out the perfect outfits to the perfect paint materials, passion infused every part of Rafayel’s life, including in his relationship with you. It was one of his greatest traits you adored about him.

The familiarity in your tone was lost on the man, who believed you to only be an admirer of the artist, and not an admirer of a different sort.

The conversation continued, and you discovered the man to be a professor of history. He had discovered Rafayel through his own interest in ancient civilisations such as Lemuria. You couldn’t help but beam with pride listening to the man speak so highly of Rafayel, and the impression his works had left on him. The man soon took his leave, thanking you for entertaining his enthusiastic ramblings.

You were so engrossed that you didn’t notice Rafayel with his arms folding behind you. He graciously gave you a few seconds to detect his presence. Though, his frown grew as you continued to be, supposedly, too starstruck from your earlier conversation with that stranger.

He cleared his throat loudly.

You spun around at the familiar voice.

“Raf! How long have you been standing there for?”

He shrugged with as much nonchalance as he could muster. However, anyone with two eyes could have guessed the annoyance on his face.

“Enough to hear the last bits of your conversation.” He strode to your side, arms still folded tight across his chest. “Found interesting company so soon after I left?”

You closed the gap between the two of you with a step, preparing to explain the true nature of that conversation. Not letting you interrupt his sulking, Rafayel continued,

“I need to be more wary. There are too many people here wanting to whisk you away from me.”

As soon as you walked into the gallery arm-in-arm, people’s eyes were drawn to the two of you. At his mention that you were the centre of attention, you had dismissed it, saying it was him everyone took interest in.

Tilting your head to the side, you placed your hands your hips, almost as if to say: Are you going to let me speak?

Rafayel quickly conceded, spluttering out his next question, “And why were you being so chummy with that stranger, anyway?”

“That stranger said he was a professor of history specialising in ancient cities, and that he’s been an admirer of your works for a long time,” you answered.

Poking at his cheek with your finger, you attempted to remove his pout that remained affixed on his face.

“I was being chummy because he was complimenting your work! It made me happy to hear that people have such high praise for you and your paintings.”

Rafayel’s pout disappeared.

“It just made me think… how proud I am to have you as my partner,” you smiled. “You leave a profound impression on people.”

Your words resonated in his head. He stood motionless, with only the slow blink of his eyes.

His lack of reaction made you flush.

“Ah, that was pretty cheesy, wasn’t it? I’m sorry–”

The apology stopped short in your throat as you were scooped into a tight hug. Rafayel’s arms wrapped around your waist. A few gala attendees looked over at the young couple with admiring gazes, wondering what could have happened that would cause such open affection.

Rafayel nuzzled his forehead into the curve of your neck, mumbling right by your ear, “Jeez, here I was trying to be jealous…”

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just-some-random-blogger · 7 months ago

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Tear In My Heart

Aemond never cared for tourneys, for hunts, nor for any sort of pageantry; he supposed marriage fell in that category. To be frank, he never cared for you either, but then he heard whispers about you and his brother, and then thought, maybe he somehow did.

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader x Aegon Targaryen | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has baratheon feature (dark hair), wife!reader, arranged marriage, jealousy, possessiveness, infidelity, men being men, angst, violence/hunting for sport/death, typos, etc.

A/N: mind the tags! This is part of my graduation celebration 🩷🩷🩷🩷 slayed college. Let's pretend I posted this on schedule lmao. The hotd trailers really brought me to life. Part of this fic is inspired by the 2014 french beauty and the beast film.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa @lxdyred

Brother.

What was he?

The word was a stone, heavy but worthless. Nothing ever came from a brother besides bluntness, brashness, and bludgeoning burdens.

No kindness befell Aemond from his brother Aegon. Likewise, Aegon long knew to expect nothing but vexation from Aemond.

Yet even the most broken of bonds are bound back under the great unifier— Death.

Never before had the brothers worked towards a common goal so fast, so easily, and all without needing to utter a word. Together, they carry their game back to their camp, equally ignoring the burn of their arms.

Aemond loathed hunting expeditions. He loathed it then, he wholeheartedly abhorred it now. He regrets forcing himself into this godforsaken trip. He should have let you go on it alone, like always.

He regrets letting his slimy older brother getting under his skin. He regrets listening to all the rumors about Aegon and you. But in his defense—

"I MAY BE BLIND IN ONE EYE," Aemond snaps, causing you to flinch. He had never raised his voice at you like this before. He despises how shocked you look, how your bright eyes accused that he was wrong. It makes him fume, "but I see clearer than most."

Aemond is further irritated when your eyes began to water.

You, who was otherwise so well-kept and pristine, were falling apart in front of him. The wayward strands of dark hair framing your face irked him. The momentary thought of his children inheriting this trait added fuel to his anger. If, that is, whatever child you'd bear was even his to begin with.

"You are whoring yourself to my bovine brother!"

Your chest heaves heavily beneath your nightgown, "you would happily believe any slander to my name."

He scoffs when tears begin to fall from your cheeks. He paces towards the bed, unbothered if the issue is left unresolved. He'd rather sleep than watch you sob. The latter left a rather bitter taste in his mouth.

"What have I been but docile and serving?"

"Serving?" Aemond turns back, one eye narrowed, "to whom? Your greed and lust?"

"TO YOU!"

Aemond slightly pulls his head back, not expecting you to scream. He watches a spirit take over you. It was similar to that of the one that sometimes causes him to stare at you from across the room.

You suck in a breath, "do you not complain about Aegon day in and day out?" You blink rapidly and point harshly, "do you not wish him away and want him out of your hair, husband?"

"Don't you twist the truth for your-"

"I played his keeper so that you wouldn't have to," you motion, "I kept him in check so that you could do your errands, help your grandfather, go on your dragon rides, and yet you say you see clearer than most?"

"I saw you," he hisses, grabbing your shoulders.

You gasp and go rigid.

"I saw you embrace him in the cloak of night, in the corner of the gardens, where you thought no one could see."

You catch betrayal in his words, but it only causes you to chuckle dryly, "had you not lurked in the darkness, you'd have known he vomited on my shoulder and nearly passed out. Perhaps you would have felt compelled to help me drag him to his chambers."

Aemond clenches his jaw. He does not believe you.

You swat his hands away. You shake your head, "you're just a man. You're bored of what you have and want what you cannot."

"Ha. You are delusional if you think I want you."

You cannot help the sound that leaves your lips. You cannot help how you slap a hand to your mouth.

In that split second, Aemond spots the hurt on your face before you walk past him to your side of the bed.

You pull the covers down, "worry not. I've long accepted you will never want me."

"Oh," he growls, grabbing your arm before you can sit down, "and is that why you turn to my brother? Or why you leap at every chance to leave?'"

You wince as you turn to him.

"Now that I think about it, why is it you're invited to hunting expeditions so often?" Aemond demands under an angered breath, "d'you seek refuge in the-"

"I RUN INTO THE FOREST!" you hiss, shoving him away. His grip left a sting on your flesh and you rub it as you continue to burstp, "I run into the forest and let my instincts take over! I let myself shift into a beast and I run wild like a deer, begging to be shot down."

Aemond expression sours at your reaction.

"I live my curse as a Baratheon woman and morph into a doe, bullied by stags and dragons alike," you shudder, tears running down your face.

"Don't you play the victim here," he rebuts, "your family offered you to mine for power."

"Then why is it that I am so powerless, husband?"

Aemond doesn't bother watching you walk away, slamming the door shut on your way out.

Aggravation spills from his mouth through screams when silence drowns him. There is an ache in his chest that intensifies. It doesn't take long for him to question why he felt so hurt when what he was is angry, angry at you.

He then finds himself imagining you throwing yourself at Aegon, weeping on his lap. He imagines Aegon brushing your dark tresses back and drying your tears. It infuriates him more.

And as he convinced himself whilst in fumes that the reason why he hated your leave was how rudely you left, parts of his nightmares where coming true.

Aegon saw you storming down the hall in nothing but a nightgown, a cloak, and tears. He was too drunk to actually ascertain if you had no shoes on, but he was partially sure that there were truly tears running down your neck.

He was shocked by how shocked you were when he grabbed you by the arms and stopped you in your tracks. He knew you to have eyes that could spot a needle in a haystack, or real jewels from fake ones ten paces away. How could you not have noticed him when he wasn't even trying to hide how he staggered down the halls on his way back to his room?

"Spooked, kitty cat?" Aegon furrows his brows.

Your skin definitely had a damp sheen to it. Your gaze upon him somehow always hurt his thorax but it was amplified now with how puffy and red your eyes were.

"Where 'r'you storming off to?" he slurs.

You push him away, but even then you managed to offer consideration, as it was clear he was one shove away from dropping. You say, "unhand me, Aegon. I have no time for you tonight."

He pouts, blinking slowly, "and here I thought we were friends now."

You laugh. Your laugh has always had the power to make his spine tingle, but it was different this time. You shake your head, "the enemy of my enemy is not my friend."

Aegon slowly releases you. He clenches his jaw and sighs, "so it's Aemond who did this."

You scoff as you break away from him, "oh, spare me."

He watches you walk away from him. He feels hurt by your coldness. How quickly Aemond reaps your warmth. He calls out, "from what?"

You stop and snap from over your shoulder, "from whatever it is you think you can do!"

He was sober now, and his throat was dry at that.

"My burden is mine. I am his wife."

"And am to be king," he whispers, taking a step forward. He watches as you heave. He's long wondered what it would feel like to hear it as you did so beneath him.

"But you are not king," you reply, stepping back to maintain the space between you, "and you have your sister wife."

"Who would deny me?" he peers his face closer to you, "even a fool would deny me nothing."

"I would," you rebut.

He freezes.

"I am prize to you," you muffle out. Your manage an even voice even as hurt baptizes your cheeks, "meat between your teeth. You and him are cut from the same cloth."

"I AM NOT MY BROTHER, " Aegon snaps.

You flinch, just as you did Aegon. You shake your head and force a smile, "of course not, your grace."

The next moment, Aegon realizes he may not have been as sober as he thought, considering how quickly you fled him and how delayed his reaction to it was.

But then again, it was probably just you and your effect on him. After all, he managed to evade the incoming attack from behind, albeit momentarily; Aemond's senses were far shaper than Aegon's.

He grabs his older brother by the collar and shoves him against the wall. "All my life, I watched you be spoon-fed your desires, yet still you covet my bride," the younger Targaryen rages.

Aegon grins in challenge. He chuckles, "as it appears, you covet your own wife from me, brother."

Without warning, the first born is hurtled to the ground. He lets out an undignified grunt after he collides with the stone. He gasps when Aemond lunges at him.

It was only at this moment, he realized his brother without his eye patch. Dare he say that the sight of the sapphire added to the madness in is functioning eye.

Aemond produces a dagger and presses it to Aegon's neck. The former seethes, "I have every right to demand satisfaction from you."

Aegon groans when the cold steel kisses his skin too tenderly.

"You wouldn't last a second against me," the prince spits with venom, "brother."

"Do it then," Aegon screws his eyes shut, "and watch your marriage crumble before your very eyes."

Aemond throws his dagger to the side and slams Aegon once, "DO NOT TRY TO TRICK ME! I saw her reel from your touch."

"Oh," he utters through pain, "just as she reels from you, I bet."

Aemond releases him with a growl and heaves while looking down at him. He paces around; Aegon props himself up on his elbows, slowly coming to a stand.

Before Aegon can goad him on any further, Aemond grabs his dagger and pushes past him.

Both of them anxiously await your return that night. Aegon falls asleep whilst waiting for word from a servant, Aemond fights sleep whilst waiting for you to return to bed.

Yes, in Aemond's defense, the rumors about you and his brother was enough reason to pick a fight. In his defense, it was his right.

And for the first time, when you received invite for that hunting expedition with your cousin, no longer did he send you off on your own. He was keen to keep you at his side at all times, especially because Aegon weaseled his way into joining.

Aemond did not know why your cousin was so against the idea of hunting a stag. He was, in fact, offended by the Baratheon's adamant decline. The lesser lord dared even imply such a beast was beyond his caliber. He wasn't surprised you sided with your him, imploring Aemond to try his hand another season. What spurred him on was how Aegon agreed with you and how you looked at him when he smiled your way.

Yet, the spite he bore for his brother was the same thing that led to cooperation with him.

That night, when you thought he was sleeping, Aemond followed you outside. When you were nowhere to be seen when he got out of your shared tent, he stormed to his brother's, sure to catch you in the act.

All he got was a startled brother, cuddling up to a pillow when he ripped his blanket off, a naked one at that.

And after a bit of arguing, Aemond saw a shadow of a deer passing outside the tent. That was how the brothers ended up in the forest. Aemond was intent to hunt that stag and Aegon was intent to watch him fail.

Again, in his defense, it was dark. In his defense, of course he wouldn't believe Aegon when he said that they were stalking a doe and not a stag.

Aemond was satisfied with his shot when he heard the beast cry out in pain. Aegon was satisfied when they found the writhing deer to be, in fact a doe.

It was common knowledge not to hunt the female of a species, yet the two debated whether or not they should let the injured animal go free or put it out of its misery. They thought they received the answer when the animal dropped in agony, but instead they received horror that would last them lifetimes upon witnessing the beast morph into a bride.

Your bare body laid before them, stomach pierced with an arrow. No traces of a doe was left, there was only pain and you. Tremors took over your body. Yolur tears flowed as steady as the blood from your gaping wound.

Aemond fell to your side, eye wide as he reached out to you. He thought a touch of your trembling flesh wake him from this nightmare, but it didn't. His mind raced, but he had a moment of clarity when he felt your blood dampen his knees.

He took off his shirt and covered you. You screamed in pain when he tried to carry you by himself, and he glared at his brother when he tried to help.

Aemond does not stop him however, thus, the brothers carried your body back to camp.

When you were laid on your shared bed, Aemond ordered Aegon to wake everyone and ready a carriage back to the city. His brother runs off to do just that.

"This will hurt," Aemond tells you, "but I must cut part of the arrow and bind your wound."

Before he can do so, you wet his face with the blood on your hand as you whine, "why do you weep for me?"

Aemond's brows furrow.

You swipe your thumb on his cheek with great difficulty. "Soon you will have the freedom you desire," you mumble, eyes slowly closing, "as will I."

The pain that courses through you when your husband breaks off part of your arrow prevents you from passing out.

As an extra precaution, Aemond taps your cheek, "keep your eyes fixed on me."

Your sad eyes open. Your tears gush down like rain.

"Is this why you're invited to hunt so often?" he cups your cheek, shaking you slightly, "does your cousin, himself, turn into a stag?"

Your reply does not come easy. You speak between your breaths, "it is a curse from my father... for hunting so many of them..."

There is commotion from outside your tent.

Aemond has the mind to grab some fabric to press on your wound. You cry out again because of this.

"Why didn't you tell me of your affliction?" he speak in panic.

Stabbing pain cuts off the laugh you meant to laugh. Your breath shortens, yet you manage a response, "would you have listened?"

He must admit, all the prayers he ever prayed were only uttered to please his mother, but as Aemond held half your body in the carriage back to King's Landing, as he watched Aegon's tears fall onto you while he held your other half, he prayed as earnestly as any pious man would. He claimed he would be better, he would even share you, if that is what it took to keep you.

And just as easily as Death unified the Targaryen brothers, she collected your soul the same night.

#aemond fanfic #aegon fanfic #aemond angst #aegon angst #aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen #aemond Targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfic #aemond x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aemond fanfiction #house of the dragon #aegon fanfiction #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader

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yuorumi · 6 months ago

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─ when annoyances turn to comprehension

dr. ratio's vexation in being friends with a fool in love.

note. gender neutral reader & inspired by @/genshinarchives. be warned that I have not yet caught up with the quest so they might be a little ooc but if it works it works. unedited.

dr. ratio's just about had it with you.

no, you weren't one of ailing students who couldn't comprehend his brilliant and meticulous lectures on things many couldn't decipher heads or tails of unless they've had his guidance. and even then, the amount of students who would reluctantly approach him after class is a number far greater than he'd like for there to be.

you were not a coworker either, getting on his last nerves just as he was about to retire for the night and soak up a long needed bath (aeon knows just how much he's depending on that just to make it through the next day) and asking him questions that make him ponder why they were even a teacher at all.

no, dr. ratio's never even met you.

however, from the stories he's heard about you from the insane gambler, he's had just about enough information to write an entire encyclopedia about every single detail in your life and over. things like your usual routine, what you like for breakfast, what snacks you pick up from the store and the adorable habits you seem to have when you're just sitting around breathing.

for once, the luminous genius finds himself cursing his ability to remember things down to the last detail and growing overly concerned over the fact his eyes might actually roll to the back of his head from doing it so many times. the number of migraines you induce on him when he doesn't even know what you look like is a figure he doesn't bother to keep count of anymore.

ratio swears that when he's in the presence of the blond there's a guarantee he's going to hear your name from his lips at least thrice. anything and everything can remind aventurine of you, apparently.

they could be talking about chalk or the most complicated mathematics to mankind and he'd still hear your name.

"... fools I tell you! I've given everything they need to solve such a simple problem and they still can't even begin to comprehend it! "

"speaking of problems, I wonder if [name]'s managed to find a way to get their computer fixed yet..." cue yet another eye roll.

by now he's sure that you and aventurine had to be dating, there's just no other explanation for his infatuation and his need to bring your presence everywhere with him. but when he found out that you two weren't, he was left momentarily stumped.

"tell me, should I go this shade of green or this purple? "

"I don't know why you're asking me such a question when you already have a lover to answer them for you."

"... we aren't dating, doctor."

"... what? "

ratio's never been more confused in his entire life than in that moment.

and when aventurine finally has the gal to introduce you to him, he finds that perhaps the information he has about you stored somewhere within in vast brain might come in handy after all.

#(🌙 abyss works)#veritas ratio x reader #dr ratio x reader #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #x reader #hsr imagines

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harmonysanreads · 7 months ago

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Hello !!! I hope you’re doing fine and enjoyed last patch quest! I really really love your writing, and especially like the way you write Ratio,,,,, that yandere Drabble you posted a while ago with Ratio and Aventurine sharing reader has been haunting me in the best ways <33

Since your request are open, could I ask for a one-shot of yandere Ratio and Aventurine? If it’s fine I’ll ask for reader to be shy/introverted but otherwise I’ll leave it up to your inspiration! Maybe about life at home, or visit in Penacony? Maybe they’re tormenting Reader through strip-poker? Maybe Ratio was inspired by the shrinking device and now they’re having fun with their pocket-sized darling? Anything you fancy I’m not difficult, I only ask you have fun!! <3

(I assumed your no-sequel rule only applied to one-shot, I deeply apologise if I was wrong fjekjdksjd)

Inure

yandere!aventurine x reader x yandere!dr ratio

cw(s) : yandere, forced proximity, slight dehumanization (but everything is sauteed in humor so bon appetit ✨)

wc : 1k

hi nonnie!! thank you so much for your sweet words<3 tbh every idea you presented was very enticing and i'll definitely keep them in consideration for later. for now though, i really wanted to write something soft for these two, i hope you don't mind :>

Inconveniences come in many forms.

Some more candid than most, while others lurk in the shadows of carelessness like hyenas ; ready to pounce on the unsuspecting prey at the opportune time. Trouble and tribulation eclipse the course of human life, masquerading as two sides of the same coin. What they are, in truth, a pair of mischievous twins who are always watching, evaluating and trapping their victims in elation-filled jumpscares. It is also true that woes differ based on the individual, some even see fit to opine that the source of misery is the individual themselves.

Your vexations however, are dictated by two idiosyncratic persons with interests as farther apart as two solar systems. Which isn't a lot if one considers the magnificence of the universe, but distanced enough to be the tillable land of your miseries. Said inconveniences usually arrive dressed as revoked privileges, confiscation of entertainment items and... movie nights.

A night where you're supposed to be enjoying a film as a group shouldn't have been such an adversity if the aforementioned individuals respected the bare minimum of being normal. On usual occasions, who you end up accompanying is maintained through a strict schedule as opposed to the much friskier notion of rolling-dices that was favored by a certain blonde (in which he always emerged victorious and was thus declared irrationally imbalanced by Veritas) — but, an unforseen lapse of management and chaos was bred.

In matters that concern you, it seemed as though even the most seamless co-operations failed to reach a simple consensus. So when the erudite Dr Ratio expressed eagerness to spend a ‘relaxing afternoon’ with your person, it clashed quite clamorously with Aventurine's desire to have you participate in one of his many adrenaline-high games. And because of the decrease in release of dopamine that came from being a frequent observer of their arguments, you ended up suggesting this dreadful activity ; Ratio's silent perusal by your left and Aventurine's equally quiet phone browsing by your right are all that remains of the earlier fiasco.

You consider it a shame, because unbeknownst to them, you actually were plotting ways to watch this particular film. But, when at approximately fifteen minutes into the story you realized you were the only one among you three that was paying it any attention at all — you felt, quite blatantly, deflated. Surprisingly though, that was not the main source of your current misery at all, no, no ; what was causing you distress was the deplorable portion of space that they alloted to you from the couch.

At least Ratio has the habit of crossing his legs subconsciously, making your life just a miniscule easier. Unlike Aventurine whose default setting is to be attached to any patch of your skin anytime you're within his radius and when he brings that to the cauldron of being compressed between him and Ratio — it perfectly justifies why you're dancing between the provocative lines of mild annoyance and a meltdown. You'd believe they forgot about your existence altogether if not for Ratio's definitely-not-intentional shifting and the without context headpats from Aventurine.

Their treatment, although (probably) not deliberate, suggest you to be the equivalent of the pampered housecat and if one was to generously point out the expression on your face at present, that allegation would be right.

You stifle a sigh that transitions into a yawn with your only friend in this dreadful world, your plush pillow. The dialogues exchanged by the actors in the movie gradually become unintelligible as your vision morphs into a kaleidoscope of black dots and patterns. You draw your knees closer until they become parallel to your chin, musing a scenario where you lean so into the couch that it swallows your form and hurls you into a wonderland free of covetous hands or hearts. Where you could roam without eyes attached to every move you make and most importantly, where the notion of inconveniences would cease to exist.

You've seen it happen in shows a younger you indulged in and a passing thought makes you smile sardonically ; the world is so bizarre that you've effortlessly found yourself in a situation as complex as your current one but, not bizarre enough to make fantasies such as these a reality. The noises from the screen, Ratio's nonchalant page turning and the fragrance of Aventurine's cologne make your lucidity sway, until darkness cradles you close.

That night, you found yourself having a rather tender dream. In your dream, the blonde promptly busied himself in positioning you more comfortably on his lap upon feeling your slumbering head hit his shoulder. You felt succinctly amused upon the ‘place the pillow under their head, moron!’ that left a certain virtuoso's lips. Said virtuoso, shifted the rest of your body to be rested on his lap with a gentleness that baffled even Aventurine. Some say that dreams are manifestations of the desires that stay stagnant within the crevices of our minds. If that theory holds even a fraction of credence, then the percipience of what your subconscious desires, leaves you feeling as solemn as sated.

By the hour you gain awareness of the waking world again, there is but silence surrounding the living room. Your first blink is followed by a series of more and your sense of feeling works faster before your sense of sight, it sticks quite insistently just above your knees and atop your head. You roll a bit and realize they are in fact the hands of Ratio and Aventurine respectively, holding you away from kissing the floor and cracking your nose. As your vision gains more clarity, you notice the purple-head, supported by the palm of his left hand and the arm of the couch. You rise up and notice Aventurine mirroring Ratio's position, you conclude them both to be asleep judging by their collective inertia despite your movements.

Your eyes shift downwards towards the pillow on which you rested moments before and seeing it positioned exactly atop Aventurine's lap, confirm your suspicions that the scene you witnessed in your sleep had, in fact, happened in reality. Perhaps the universe heard your hopeless plea and bargained it with this speck of generosity.

They really didn't move an inch — but the bubbling warmth was soon pushed down by — as if I was a cat they didn't want to disturb!

being treated like a cat by two of the most cat-like characters in hsr lol

#requests: batch two #answered #yandere #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere aventurine #yandere aventurine x reader #yandere dr ratio #yandere dr ratio x reader #yandere veritas ratio #yandere veritas ratio x reader #aventurine x reader #dr ratio x reader #veritas ratio x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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kattythingz · 2 months ago

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Golden Snake Boy, racer edition!!! You KNOW Mei!Ed would adore racing just as much as Mei does, if not more. He had that suit personally commissioned. His bike is his baby. RIP Ling for wrecking it lmao

Speaking of Ling. Promised scene/context under the cut! :D

Basic episode context: There’s a city-wide race event and Mei’s super excited about it; she’s been practicing for it for months. MK joins the race too out of MC-typical overconfidence, and, tl;dr, his inexperience causes him and Mei to crash and Mei gets rightfully pissed at him.

NOW! I don’t think Ling would join for the same reasons; he’d be more than happy to just watch Ed from the sidelines. But he hears that Envy (DBK) is joining the race in disguise, and Ling just knows Ed will ditch enjoying the race in favor of handling Envy. Which Ling doesn’t want him to do. Ed deserves this happiness!

No, Ling will join the race himself to handle Envy, and Ed will hopefully be none the wiser.

He’s off to a bad start already when Ed asks him annoyedly what he’s doing in the runner-ups, and Ling lies about wanting to try his hand at racing. Ed grows increasingly more annoyed as Ling keeps picking beef with some “random” racer that causes chaos all around them on the track, until it all leads to Ed and Ling crashing.

Ling emerges from the ruins of the vehicles, immediately worried about Ed first. He’s relieved when Ed bursts out of the wreckage with a loud curse, and thankfully unharmed.

He’s not so relieved when Ed whirls on him next in a rage.

Ed explodes, demanding why Ling pulled this shit and of all the stupid fucking things he’d expected from Ling, this—bullshit, wasn’t it! What was he thinking, getting in Ed’s way like that? Doesn’t he—?

Ed falters.

Doesn’t he know how much this race means to him?

Ling is devastated, at the genuine hurt that laces Ed’s expression and tone.

He hastens to explain himself, that he joined to stop Envy and keep them out of Ed’s way, because he wanted Ed to enjoy the race without needing to deal with them!

Ed snaps that he can fucking multi-task, and Ling splutters back that, yes, he knows that, but Ed shouldn’t need to every time! He already does so much for Ling and protects him so often. He just... wanted to return the favor, for once.

Figures he’s not very good at it, though. Just like with his powers that he can’t control.

At those words, finally—Ed softens.¹

“I’m sorry, Ed,” Ling says thickly, kicking stray metal chips from the wreckage of Ed’s bike. Each clink of the pieces bouncing away chips at his growing shame. He swallows. “I know it won’t fix your bike. Or your months of hard work. But I—I truly didn’t—”

“You idiot.”

He stops at the unexpectedly soft words from Ed.

“Ed?” Ling looks up hopefully.

His heart skips a beat when his best friend’s gaze finds him kindly. And this… this, too, like Ed’s earlier anger is familiar. Achingly so.

“Of all the things I might’ve wanted you to repay…” Ed sighs. “You couldn’t get this worked up about paying back all the food bills you’ve dropped on me or something?”

“What?”

Ling jolts when Ed’s eyes steel spontaneously, and he’s stepping into Ling’s space. “I don’t protect you for favors, dumbass.” Ed jabs a flesh finger at Ling’s chest. “I protect you because I want to, because you’re my best friend! That isn’t something I ever need you to repay! Honestly!”

Oh, Ling thinks—because he really oughtn’t be surprised by this.

And yet, still, again: Oh.

“And since when have I ever needed protecting, anyway?” Ed continues, exasperated. “You know I can kick your ass any day of the week if I want. That green freak is nothing in comparison.”

“I still wanted to try,” Ling mumbles, and Ed rolls his eyes.

“And I appreciate it”—and how awful it is that Ling knows Ed means that, vexation aside—“but, seriously, Yao. You know what you’re good at, and it’s not racing.”

Ling will never stop wondering, at times like this: how effortlessly Ed lifts the entire atmosphere whenever he pleases.

This is a losing battle, isn’t it?

He can’t help his endeared laugh, further warmed by Ed’s current expression.

“You’re right,” Ling says with a smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I was thinking either, in hindsight.”

Ed smiles too, at that.² “Sounds like you weren’t at all.”

“That’s about right,” Ling laughs.

This au has a fic! :D

#don't be deceived by the lack of art for this au! it still very much rots my brain :D #fullmetal alchemist #fma #monkie kid #lmk #edward elric #ling yao #edling #tail of two #fanart #my art

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dbmars · 5 months ago

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December – New Orleans, 2015

Will had thought that his uniform would stand out amid the splendor of the gala, but as he waded through the glitterati, brushing past old money debutantes in shimmery dresses and NFL players in their tuxedos, nobody paid him any mind. There were plenty of off-duty cops here working security, some of whom he knew and nodded to as he passed. Gotta earn some extra cash for the holidays.

The ballroom was decorated in white and gold, the walls covered with cascading lengths of Christmas lights softened by gauzy wall hangings. A brass band played jazzy Christmas fare and couples danced on the shining wooden floor, while other guests socialized at cafe tables or small gathering areas with chairs and sofas. The banquet table supported a massive spread, its centerpiece an ice sculpture depicting a stylized ocean wave dyed green, symbolizing Tulane’s mascot.

Will scanned the crowd with a policeman’s focus, his eyes trained by many nights on the Quarter or working Mardi Gras. He wasn’t out on patrol much anymore. It’d been at least four years, in fact, but he was surprised how quickly the old instincts returned.

He would have thought it difficult to locate one man in a tuxedo in a crowd where everyone was wearing the same black tie, but it wasn’t. Hannibal stood at a cafe table, champagne in hand, surrounded by five or six hangers-on fixated on every word coming out of his mouth. The most besotted of the groupies was Hannibal’s research assistant, Randall Tier, who gazed up at him with shining eyes that caught the holiday lights, the reflections making physical the shining adoration they exuded. The others were potential donors to the neuroscience program and Hannibal had them eating out of his hand as he described their most recent research study.

“Survival requires the selection of appropriate behavior in response to threats. When given the choice between fight, flight, freeze, and fawn, one’s chances are improved by the brain selecting the response with the highest chance of success, and quickly, too. Dysregulated defensive reactions are associated with psychiatric illnesses – PTSD, panic disorders. Threat-induced behaviors are controlled by neuronal circuits in the central amygdala. However, the source of neuronal excitation is unknown, and so our team set out to discover the source.”

“All right, Doctor Lecter, in English, please!” one of the men in the circle laughed, the others joining in.

“If we can isolate the origin for these brain signals that insist there is a lion in the room when there is no lion, we can more effectively treat post-traumatic stress disorder and those who suffer from anxiety and panic attacks,” Hannibal clarified, setting down his empty champagne flute. Randall scurried off to get him another. “And that, my friends, is the essence of the work we do.”

“I just think that is so important, y’know?” a woman with shoulder pads and a blonde bouffant hairdo said, laying a long-nailed hand on Hannibal’s forearm. “My cousin Arlene, she gets these awful panic attacks every time the lawn company comes to mow the yard at her house, or the pool guy comes by…”

“Dr. Lecter.” All eyes turned to Will as he broke into the circle, gazes traveling over his uniform and the gun strapped to his belt.

Hannibal’s face shifted, a crack formed in his finely crafted mask of charm, betraying a hint of resentful vexation. It only lasted a moment before smoothing into something mild and blank, as if they were acquaintances only and the light of friendship wouldn’t reach them for a million years, much less the solar flare of passion. “Detective Graham. How unexpected to see you here. Allow me to introduce you – this is Fred Moncus and his wife Terri…”

Will suffered through the round of introductions, forcing himself to make eye contact, smiling, even. He was familiar with many of the names – part of the job, knowing who the power players were in New Orleans and state at large. He was surprised to see Lydia Antoine out tonight, considering her brother had been arrested three days ago for the attempted murder of a sex worker. Jed Antoine had lost an eye to a stiletto heel in the altercation, which Will felt was deserved, to say the least. Of course, he’d never comment on an active investigation.

And he needed to be on his best behavior. Hannibal wasn’t happy with him at the moment, and there was no reason to fuck things up further by being a rude little gremlin. Showing up in uniform was bad enough.

“So, Officer Graham.” The state senator who addressed him had a drawl that teased out his name, gray-yam. “How do you know our good Dr. Lecter here?”

“Detective,” Will corrected coolly.

“We met during the Adams murder case last year,” Hannibal supplied, quickly enough, Will thought, so that he didn’t get a chance to say anything.

“Oh, that whole business was just awful,” Arlene’s cousin said with an emphatic shake of her bouffant and another touch of Hannibal’s arm. “I’m so glad you were able to help catch him.”

“Detective Graham solved it. I merely assisted.”

“Oh, you’re that guy!” the senator exclaimed. “Hold on, hey!” he shouted to one of the event’s roving photographers. “Can I get a picture with you?” he asked Will.

“I need to speak with Dr. Lecter,” Will insisted, adopting his cop voice.

The senator looked like he wanted to protest, but Hannibal interjected, cutting through the circle. “This way, Detective,” he suggested, indicating a small side hallway where caterers marched in and out of the kitchen with loaded or empty trays.

Will kept quiet, pausing only when Hannibal was trapped into shaking someone’s hand or saying a few words, lassoed by politeness. Even as he smiled and danced the dance of social grace, Will’s empathy pulse told him that Hannibal was displeased. Angry, even. Will tried to prepare for the conversation they’d have once they were alone, but he kept getting distracted by the shocking difference in the way Hannibal’s tuxedo fit him compared to the men who hadn’t worn theirs in so long they no longer fit, or who had rented one for the night. Hannibal looked at home in a tux, like James Bond or some shit. Elegant, but with a license to kill. A license Will gave him, anyhow.

Distracting, how his ass looked in the bespoke trousers, the way the cummerbund circled his waist, drawing the fabric tight against his middle, emphasizing the T of his shoulders and the sexy, meaty curves of his pecs that often popped the button on his dress shirts if he moved too much or too quickly. Will had seen that happen in a variety of contexts and it delighted him every time.

At last, they disentangled from the glamorous crowd, and passed into the utilitarian hallway, where the sound of clanking plates and cooks and servers yelling at each other replaced the jazz rendition of “O Christmas Tree.” Around a corner was the door to a utility room with a sign that said employees only, along with a staff bathroom and water fountain, and a custodial closet. At the moment, it was deserted.

Will paused to radio in, then turned down the volume almost entirely to cut the chatter in the quiet space. Then, he faced the wrath of Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

“May I ask why you’ve come?” These six words, so polite and benign, were wrapped in razor wire coming from those princely lips.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Will snarked, a reflex. He knew he was in the wrong, but it still made him defensive.

“Left your patrol to wish me a happy holiday, then?” Hannibal cocked his head, eyes maroon murder, voice like ice-brittle velvet. “Surely the force is short-staffed. Some bad math with you, Detective Graham.”

“I didn’t like how things ended between us this morning.”

“Our discussion?”

“Yeah,” Will said, biting the inside of his cheek.

“It wasn’t a discussion. It was you informing me that you’d volunteered for a patrol shift that wasn’t assigned to you and is beneath your rank, despite our previous agreement to attend this event.”

“And I told you why,” Will returned, trying to keep his voice even. “I don’t like being paraded around in front of rich assholes hoping that they’ll donate to Tulane just because you worked with me to catch a murderer. Much more, ah, exciting, isn’t it, to talk about working a murder case, than, ah… complicated neuroscience? Easier for the yachts-and-botox crowd to understand, anyway.”

“But you’d agreed a month ago to attend.”

“Manelli called in sick, Bernard and O’Toole pulled a double yesterday, and Williams got his ex to let him have his son for the weekend,” Will revealed. “And I… wanted to help.”

“How convenient.”

“It was,” Will admitted, rubbing his hand over his face and wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow. Hot back here by the kitchen.

And hot under his uniform. The way Hannibal stood, perfectly still, his cheekbones casting dagger shadows in the unadorned lighting, like he was a hair’s breadth away from violence, was… fucking sexy. It felt like the breathless moment right before a leopard struck, the creature going preternaturally motionless in the tall grass before leaping upon its unsuspecting prey. Will realized he didn’t have the good sense to feel mortal fear.

“And yet, here you are,” Hannibal said, just above a whisper. “Barging in with your uniform and your gun.”

Despite his instincts of self-preservation, Will took a step closer. His right hand was of two minds – unsnap the holster of his gun and feel the reassuring bulk of deadly metal or touch his lover’s face. Indecision left it hanging at his side. “You,” he said, breath a sultry hiss, “are… so fucking beautiful like this.”

The short silence after his confession could have easily been followed by having his throat slashed, but Will’s luck held out. Hannibal’s lips curled gently at the corners; a prince pleased with a peasant’s pluck.

Both of them glanced down the hall at the busy kitchen door. Will stepped over to the wall and tried the handle of the custodial closet. Not locked. The space was small of course, lined with shelves of products, but the floor was clear, with a concrete sink built right into the wall for rinsing mops.

He’d planned to step back out and say something to Hannibal, to coax him inside, but didn’t get the chance. Hannibal took him by the collar of his uniform shirt and his thick black duty rig and pushed him into the small space, closing the door behind them. Will’s first instinct was to resist, but he wrestled it back and let Hannibal manhandle him, pushing him against the back of the door to kiss him, knocking his hat to the ground and pulling his hair. Will groped along the fine fabric of his tuxedo, slipping his hands along the silky cummerbund and relishing the feel of his waist encased within, then helped himself to a handful of ass.

“That was, ah… our f-first fight,” Will panted as Hannibal tongued along his throat.

“Won’t be the last,” Hannibal growled in his ear.

“I’m sorry,” Will breathed, taking Hannibal’s face between his hands to arrest his devouring, at least for the moment. “I came here to say I’m sorry.”

“By all means.”

Will’s mouth curved up in a mischievous smirk. “Actions speak louder than words.”

“Certainly.”

Will switched their positions, quickly enough that Hannibal’s back rattled the door on its hinges. “Don’t move.”

“Who am I to resist arrest?” The coiled pressure of Hannibal’s anger was still woven in his words, beneath layers of gentility and clinical mildness. He reached over and flipped on the light switch, bringing a dim bulb in the ceiling to life.

Will undid his rig and draped the black belt full of danger and authority on a shelf of toilet paper rolls, unclipping his radio from his shoulder. Hannibal yanked him forward by his shirt again for a kiss, capturing his lower lip between his teeth and drawing it out slowly when he was finished with it. “Just how contrite are you?” Hannibal whispered against his swollen mouth.

“Very.” Will slowly knelt, dragging his hands along Hannibal’s body as he went, then pushed up his cummerbund enough to open his trousers.

Hannibal caught his chin and tilted his head up to meet his gaze, dark eyes glittering in the dirty light thrown by the old bulb. “Beg.”

Will slipped his hand between Hannibal’s legs, testing his outline, thumb making lazy circles over his growing bulge. “Please, Hannibal… I need you to forgive me.”

Now a genuine smile, showing the hint of fang-shaped teeth. Will took that as an invitation to keep going, and slipped the trousers down, revealing a little pair of black silk shorts that hugged Hannibal’s anatomy seamlessly, curving just right over the contours of his thighs. Will made an unconscious sound of delight and leaned in, nuzzling against the silk, running his nose and mouth along the silhouette of Hannibal’s cock, breathing in his heady, intimate scent. He mouthed it through the fabric, teasing the length, delighting in the shift in Hannibal’s breathing and the hand that found its way into his hair.

“You’re forgiven.”

Will chuckled, nuzzling in again. “I haven’t even started yet.” He tucked Hannibal’s shirttails up under the cummerbund to get them out of his way and breathed on the outline, licking the shaft through the silk.

“Tease,” Hannibal accused, though lovingly, leaning his head back against the closet door behind him.

The radio on Will’s rig chirped, even at the low setting, and Will sighed, stroking his shaft through the layer of silk with more intent now. As tempting as it was to draw this out, he better get a move on before he was missed. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of the undergarment and slid it down as well, greeted by Hannibal’s straining erection and well-groomed body hair. Will took him in hand and slid back his foreskin, flicking his tongue against the exposed tip to gather the pearly drops that already leaked free. He kept his eyes locked on Hannibal’s, a deliberate connection. Will wasn’t fond of eye contact, but he’d learned to cope as a cop, and with Hannibal, it was easy. Always had been.

Hannibal’s breath hitched softly, and Will watched him let himself go, closing his eyes and leaning his head back again, clearly savoring the sensations as Will continued teasing the head of his cock with his tongue. His hips tilted forward as if by instinct, seeking more. As much as Will wanted to flip the script and hear him beg, he was the one in the wrong here. Wrapping his hands around Hannibal’s broad, swim-sculpted ass, Will opened his mouth and drew him inside, relishing the groan of relief that came from that aristocratic mouth. “Shh,” Will said after a few solid sucks. “Someone might hear us.”

“High risk, high reward,” Hannibal breathed as Will went deeper, deploying his finest skills, switching up the pressure and suction, holding the base of his shaft at a pleasure point to work him to euphoria. Hannibal’s fingers tightened in his hair, and Will relaxed his throat, which he was getting better and better at – Dr. Lecter did love a good face fuck. Will squeezed his ass encouragingly and let him go to town. When he sensed the change in muscle tension that signaled the upcoming orgasm, he looked up at Hannibal again, doing his best to convey his contrition through his eyes and the desperate way he groped and caressed up his chest and down the backs of his thighs.

Hannibal’s legs trembled as he climaxed, hand still tangled in Will’s hair, the small space filling with the resonant moan of bliss. Will sputtered a bit on cum, distracted by the way the doctor came undone for him, but cleaned him up with his mouth dutifully after.

“So, you forgive me?” he asked earnestly, easing Hannibal’s underwear back up gently over his softening cock, giving his ass a lingering caress.

Hannibal was still panting softly as he looked down at Will with a mixture of exhaustion and adoration. He offered Will a hand, helping him to stand. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said, cupping his face to bring him closer for a kiss.

It ended when Will’s radio chirped again. He answered it in a hurry, checking in as he strapped his rig back on. “I gotta go,” he said, putting on his hat.

“Of course.” Hannibal carefully adjusted his shirt, buttoned his trousers, and returned the cummerbund to its appropriate position.

“I get off at midnight,” Will told him, smoothing Hannibal’s hair back into place for him. “Then it’s back to homicide. But, ah… I got someone to cover so… I don’t have to go back until Thursday. If you want…”

Hannibal put a warm hand on his neck, touching his Adam's apple with the pad of his thumb. “Yes, Will.”

Will smiled and kissed him again. “I’ll go first so it’s not as obvious.”

“Be safe,” Hannibal said by way of goodbye. Will fled the closet and the gala, heading back out to patrol.

Hello there, intrepid reader of Hannigram! If you would like to read the second part of this story, where Will gets off work and gets a surprise from everybody’s favorite New Orleans serial killer – the Pontchartrain Ripper – it’s only available on my patreon. Sorry for doing the whole paywall thing. I do sort of hate myself, but here’s the thing – I have a podcast called The Feast is Life, and need patron cash to cover expenses such as the software, microphones, and the hosting site for the podcast itself, as well as tickets to fannibal events that we can cover for the show. If you haven’t checked out the show yet, the free episodes are available everywhere you find fine and wondrous podcasts, and our patreon at patreon.com/thefeastislife. There, you can make fic requests as well as get your hands on the end of this patron fic, as well as a 12k X-Files AU I wrote that will not be appearing on Ao3. AND you get a whole second show called Table Scraps. It’s only 5$ a month. Five dollars and you get EVERYTHING. We have one and only one tier, and that’s it. Okay, two. We have Randall Tier, but he’s currently chilling in a time out for biting people and humping Hannibal’s leg. Anyway, head on over to our patreon and sign up to grab this fic. You can always cancel after a month if you’re not feeling it, and still get the rest of this story.

#hannigram #hannibal #fannibals #hannibal nbc #fannibal family #murder husbands #will graham #hannibal lecter #hannibal fanart #hannibal fanfiction #thefeastislife #podcast

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alrightbuckaroo · 9 months ago

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Work is Published Wednesday

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! I'm telepathically sending you all little candy hearts that say (Be You)tiful. Thanks for the tags @heartstringsduet, @thisbuildinghasfeelings, @sznofthesticks, @strandnreyes and @paperstorm for the tags! Going to fudge the lines and share something from the Carlos character study, tender eyes that shine, that's up on ao3 now!

Dr. Ortiz notices, well, Carlos thinks she notices just about everything; but in that moment, she notices the flex of his fist, and the way he’s trying to maintain a facade of control. “You’re angry.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Yes, I would,” Dr. Ortiz answers, honestly. Carlos knows he should stop looking for validation for how he feels, but he can’t deny that it feels nice. Anger isn’t a place that’s a room built for one, instead, it’s a space for all to inhabit. “That said, I would also be sad.”

Dr. Ortiz cocks her head slightly, examining Carlos and waiting until the breach in his armor is made more apparent. Her eyes clock the way his fist starts to unfurl just slightly and says, “And you should be sad. You should allow yourself to be sad, Carlos.”

Carlos knows that Dr. Ortiz is right. He’s been attending sessions with her for too long to know she’s right, even if he doesn't want to hear it. He knows that deep down, everything she’s saying makes sense. Carlos has always been known for his rationale; his logical approach to things. He’s methodical, meticulous and he’s always been known to keep his composure.

Until now, when an unprecedented tragedy has warped his very being.

Now, all sense of composure is being unwound, and things that make sense suddenly seem like nothing more than a cork meant to bottle up his rage. Well, a cork can only contain so much pressure before it eventually has to pop.

“You know it wasn’t just me that lost someone, right?” Carlos asks Dr. Ortiz, his words acidic and drenched in scathing vexation. “My sisters lost their dad, my mom,” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “My mom lost her husband. Why are you trying to make this about me?”

“Because you aren’t,” Dr. Ortiz answers and if this was chess, Dr. Ortiz has just proclaimed, ‘check’.

no pressure tagging: @reyesstrand, @carlos-in-glasses, @carlos-tk, @theghostofashton, @thebumblecee, @orchidscript, @three-drink-amy, @lightningboltreader, @freneticfloetry, @ambiguouspenny, @bonheur-cafe, @basilsunrise, @whatsintheboxmh, @welcometololaland, @rmd-writes, @louis-ii-reyes-strand, @never-blooms, @sanjuwrites, @your-catfish-friend, @lemonlyman-dotcom, and @herefortarlos :)

#for anyone that's read it all thanks and love to you <3 <3 #going to reply to comments v soon these last few days have just been all over the place LOL #fic: tender eyes that shine #work is published wednesday

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legolasbadass · 1 year ago

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Office Hours, Part 30

Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague…

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 3.2k

Rating: T

“I have some news,” I announce to Beatrice on the phone the next day as I stand in my living room, sorting through my books to try and get rid of a few. Richard and I agreed that we both needed to do so; otherwise, the house would turn into a maze of books. So far, however, I have only managed to part with three novels, despite the hundreds of tomes in my flat.

“You’re engaged!” Beatrice practically shouts.

“What? No!” I reply with an incredulous laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why would that be ridiculous? You and Richard are perfect for each other.”

Despite the ridiculousness of her hypothesis, I smile, then say, “Richard and I are going to live together.”

Beatrice’s squeal is so loud I have to pull away from my phone. “Oh my God—really? This is so exciting! When did this happen?”

“He asked me last night,” I reply, still smiling.

“Just like that?”

“Well, no, not exactly…” My smile fades away, and I take a deep breath, trying to dislodge the knot in my chest. “It turns out what Richard was hiding from me is that he received an offer for a visiting research post … at Harvard.”

“What? So, wait—I’m confused—he’s moving to Boston?”

“In September. For around eight months.”

“Oh, Lor, I’m so sorry….”

I shrug, though my voice falters as I say, “It’s okay—I mean, I’m really going to miss him, but we’ll make it work.”

“If anyone can survive long distance it’s you two.” She pauses, then sighs in annoyance. “But damn, I can’t believe he didn’t tell you sooner!”

Despite my vexation, I hasten to defend him. “He only got the official offer yesterday, and he said he didn’t know how to tell me because he was afraid he would lose me.”

“That man is so precious,” Beatrice replies with a hint of longing, causing me to chuckle.

“Of course, I would have liked for him to tell me sooner, but I can’t be mad at him,” I go on, absentmindedly running my fingers over the spines of the books before me. “Or should I be mad? I don’t know … I’ve been asking him for weeks if he was alright and for news about his work with Dr Griffin, and he would just shrug it off—or lie! But he didn’t want to keep it from me—he just didn’t want to hurt me. And how could I be mad at him for that?”

“Just because you’re not mad at him doesn’t mean that you’re okay with the fact he didn’t tell you.”

“Yeah … I just want to be as understanding as he was with me when we first started dating, you know?”

“And I think that’s so great of you! Really, I don’t think I would have handled that as well as you,” Beatrice says with a chuckle.

“Well, I did cry like a baby, too, so…”

“Oh, honey,” she coos. “I’m sure he understood.”

Recalling his soft kisses and tight hugs, I nod to myself. “Yeah. He’s really upset, too, and torn—he’s not sure what he wants to do. But I told him he has to take this opportunity, otherwise, he’ll regret it. And I reassured him that we would find a way to make it work and we’d savour every moment we have together until then. That’s when he asked me to move in.”

“So when are you moving in?” Beatrice asks excitedly, knowing just what to say to make me feel better.

“Probably right after the spring term. We only have three weeks until the term starts, which doesn’t give me enough time to sublet my flat, pack, and get settled there earlier.”

“You can count on my help on your moving day.”

“That’s sweet of you, but you really don’t have to! You’re moving yourself so you’ll already be super busy—”

“Nonsense, I’ll be there to help and there’s nothing you can say to change my mind,” she replies emphatically, causing me to smile.

“You really are the best, you know?” A sudden knock on the door surprises me. “Hold on—someone’s at the door.”

“We can talk later. I’ve actually got some chores to do and I should get up my butt before it becomes flatter than a pancake.”

I laugh, then say, “Alright, move that butt and we’ll talk later.”

My heart is considerably lighter as I hang up and make my way toward the door. After fiddling with the old lock for a moment, I open the door, only to find my parents waiting for me on the other side with wide smiles.

“Oh—hi!” I exclaim in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Do we need a formal invitation to visit our daughter now?” Mum asks with a chuckle as she shakes off the rain from her plaid coat. Dad merely continues to smile at me as he squeezes my arm.

“Of course not,” I reply, choosing to ignore the edge in her tone. “Come in! What brings you here?”

As I close the door behind them, Dad says, “We were visiting a friend of your mum’s not too far from here, and we thought we haven’t seen Lorelei in a while—so here we are!”

“And I’m glad you are!” I say with a smile, though I realize I have to tell them I will be moving in with Richard, and my stomach twists itself into knots in anticipation of their reactions. I thought I would have more time to prepare for this conversation. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Dad opens his mouth to reply as he shakes off his coat, but then his eyes land on the open boxes in the living room. “What’s with the boxes?”

There goes my plan to soften him with a beer.

“Are you moving?” Mum immediately follows up.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” I take a deep breath and cross my arms over my chest as if to shield my heart from their judgment. “Richard asked me to move in with him. And I said yes.”

“Really?” Mum says as she watches me intently.

“Yes.” Neither of them speaks for a little while, so I add, “Is that a good ‘really’ or a bad ‘really’?”

“I’m just surprised! I mean … it’s fast, isn’t it?”

I gulp. “The thing is … Richard was offered a visiting researcher post at Harvard. He’ll be moving there in September for a little under a year.”

My parents exchange a confused look, then turn back to me. “So, he’s moving away … but you’re also moving in with him?”

“Yes. I mean, he’s not moving away forever. That’s temporary.”

“Still, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Dad asks.

I open my mouth to respond, but Mum interjects, “I think what your dad is trying to say is that … long-distance relationships can be difficult. I know you both love each other very much, but that might not be enough once he’s miles away on another continent. We wouldn’t want you to rush into this and end up heartbroken and homeless if it doesn’t work out.”

“Don’t worry—I know this is a big, and I know long-distance relationships aren’t easy. But Richard and I have discussed it and we really want this. It really makes it easier to accept he’ll be moving away when we’re taking this important step together. Besides, when you know something is right, what’s the point in taking things slow?” When neither of them objects, I say, “Dad, you told me once that it took you just a few months of knowing Mum to realize you wanted to marry her. I feel the same way about Richard.”

Dad looks at me for a few moments before taking a deep breath.“Richard is a good man,” he says, and those simple words warm my heart.

Mum softens, and she glances at Dad before replying, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I think it’s wonderful—but I’m your mum and I can’t help but fret.” For a moment, none of us speaks, but then Mum sighs, and a look passes over her face as if she is just now digesting the news. “You’re really okay with him moving to America?”

“It doesn’t matter whether or not I’m okay with it. It’s not my decision to make. I’m heartbroken but I really am happy for him—he deserves this opportunity!” Mum steps toward me and tentatively reaches out to squeeze my arm, but when a trembling sigh escapes me, she pulls me into her arms and squeezes me tight, comforting me in a way only a mother can. “I love Richard so much. It might not last—you’re right—but I owe it to him and to myself to believe that it will. At times, it scares me—I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love him. And I’ve never lived with a partner before—I have no idea what to expect! But Richard isn’t afraid. He’s in one hundred percent, and I have to meet him halfway. I want to meet him halfway, even if it means I’m not following my plan,” I say, my heart hammering uncontrollably in my chest.

I have never liked uncertainty. I have always liked to know where I am headed—to follow a well-laid path free of surprises—but now, my life is a web of unpredictability. Can Richard and I weather the distance and remain as close as we are now? Or will the novelty of this new chapter fade, leaving us with the bitter reality of separation? Part of me selfishly wishes Richard had never been in contact with Dr. Griffin and received this offer from Harvard so that everything would remain as it is. I wish he could stay here in Oxford with me. Everything would be simpler. But I know life does not work that way. Life is like a tangled ball of wool, ensnared in knots and loops, and sometimes, in order to untangle it, it has to become even messier first. I can only hope that the thread I am now following will lead me to the right place.

Worry still clouds Mum’s eyes, but eventually, she offers me a soft smile. “As long as you’re certain this is what you want and you’re happy, then I support your decision, darling.” Then she turns to Dad and says, “Can you believe this? Our little girl is moving in with her boyfriend.”

“I’m not a little girl—I’m turning 30 soon!”

“Don’t remind us!” Dad exclaims with a groan, causing me to laugh. “I think I’ll have that drink now.”

***

The house is quiet when I slip inside, a box full of books in my arms. The smell of garlic and tomatoes fills the air, awakening my already rumbling stomach, but the kitchen is dark and quiet. I frown. Richard always listens to music when he cooks.

“Hey—I’m back!” I exclaim as I kick off my loafers, then make my way further into the house.

To my surprise, I find Richard in the living room, stretched out on the sofa as he stares up at the ceiling. He seems lost in his thoughts, and the deep frown wrinkling his forehead tells me they are not pleasant thoughts. When he notices my presence, he offers me a soft smile, but it does not reach his eyes. “Hi, sweetheart.”

I frown and set the box on the coffee table. “Are you alright?”

He nods but avoids my gaze, and when I reach out to caress his arm, he says, “You really think I should accept the offer?”

Surprised by the vulnerability and uncertainty with which he speaks these words, it takes me a moment to answer. “Well, it’s not my decision to make, but … yes, I do think you should accept. I saw how excited you are about the project when we talked about it last night.” When he does not respond, I sit on the coffee table so as to face him. “Darling, talk to me.”

With a sigh, he slowly rises and looks deep into my eyes, his large hands coming to rest on my thighs. I suddenly realize just how tired and stressed he seems; the low light accentuates the dark circles under his eyes, and his tousled hair bears the evidence of his restless hands.

“I’m sorry for putting you through this…”

“Don’t be,” I hasten to say, swallowing heavily. “This is such an exciting opportunity.”

“I just … I’m worried you’ll resent me for it.”

“Why would I?” I respond with an incredulous chuckle, confused but also devastated by the fear that overshadows his usually bright eyes.

“Because … because I’d be choosing my career over you—”

“What? No—you’re not choosing your career over me,” I reassure him as I reach for one of his hands and intertwine our fingers. “This is just something you need to do.” When he does not respond, I squeeze his hand and ask, “Where is this coming from?”

It takes Richard a while to gather his thoughts, and when, at last, he opens up to me, his voice is laced with a level of insecurity I have never seen in him before. “Did I ever tell you about my ex—Rebecca?”

“I think you mentioned her once or twice,” I reply with a shrug, slightly confused.

“We’d been together for three years when I received an offer to come work here in Oxford.” He gulps heavily, and I caress his hand with my thumb, hoping the soothing gesture will offer him the reassurance he needs to go on. “I didn’t expect her to uproot her whole life for me, of course—and I didn’t ask her to, but … she told me I had to choose. She told me it wouldn’t work between us if I accepted the offer and moved to Oxford. But how was I supposed to reject an offer like that?

“I chose to come to Oxford because I knew it was the opportunity I had waited for my whole life, but then I spent years wondering if I had perhaps made the wrong decision. I thought I was going to marry her and—and have kids with her … but I ruined it all.”

I swallow back the ache in my heart and shake my head. “You didn’t ruin anything. Your career means a lot to you and if she couldn’t understand how important this opportunity was for you and didn’t even want to try and make it work, then it simply wasn’t meant to be. Sorry—I know that’s a shitty thing to say,” I add with a nervous chuckle. “What I mean is … the right person won’t make you choose between them and your career. Trust me—I was once afraid of dating a colleague I was crazy about because I worried I’d be jeopardizing my career, but he showed me that I didn’t have to choose between the two.”

Richard chuckles, his lips curling into a soft, irresistible smile before he pulls me onto his lap. Wrapping his arms around me, he holds me tight and rests his head on my chest, and as I caress his hair, I feel his heartbeat slow down to match mine.

“Look, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sad,” I say in a quiet voice as my fears tighten their hold on my throat once more. “I wish you didn’t have to go. But I would hate myself if you rejected this offer because of me, and I think you would, too.”

“I could never hate you,” he replies, his voice even deeper than usual as he reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind my ear, his hand lingering on the curve of my jaw.

“Yes, you would! And you’d hate yourself, too, for messing up this opportunity. I know you want to work on this project—”

“I do.”

“Then go for it!” I say with a smile that I hope feels sincere despite the tears clouding my eyes. “It won’t be easy—I know that—but I meant everything I said last night. We can get through this. I promise I won’t run away this time.”

Unable to hold back my tears any longer, I bury my face in the crook of his neck, not wanting to make this any harder than it already is for him. His skin is warm against my cheek, and his familiar scent is as comforting as the large hand that now traces circles on my back as he presses a lingering kiss atop my head.

“Promise me you’ll come visit as often as you can?”

“Only if you promise to come back home as often as you can,” I reply into his neck.

With one hand on my chin, Richard gently coaxes me to look up at him, and my heart flutters like it did when we first began dating as the deep and unwavering love shining in his azure gaze caresses me.

“Yes—I promise I’ll come back to you as often as possible,” he replies, causing me to smile as he leans in to nuzzle my nose before capturing my lips in a slow, teasing kiss that fills my whole body with yearning. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull him deeper into the kiss and press myself against him until no space remains between us. One kiss becomes two, then three, until we are forced to pull apart for air, our lips swollen and our breathing uneven. With gentle hands, Richard wipes away the tears staining my skin, then presses a series of soft kisses over my puffy cheeks, not stopping until I return his smile. It is even darker in the room now, but the softness in his gaze is clearer to me than ever before.

“What’s with the box?” he asks after a long moment of comfortable silence.

“Hm? Oh—just some books I’m not sure if I should keep or not. I thought I could use your expertise.”

“Well, a sensible person would tell you you don’t need twenty editions of The Lord of the Rings, but I would never tell you that,” he says with a grin. “Besides, I have as many Shakespeare editions, so I think we might be doomed.”

“Why do you have so many Shakespeare anthologies anyway? I mean, it’s the same plays in nearly all of them.”

“But the footnotes and editorial comments are different!” he exclaims.

“I don’t know if I should be concerned or if I love you even more for that,” I say playfully, my heart already considerably lighter than it was moments before.

Richard grins. “Oh, I think you know.” I am still giggling when he kisses me, his lips soft and wet as his beard scratches my cheeks in that irresistible way.

“As lovely as this is,” I begin as I slow the kiss down to a few soft pecks, “I am starving, and something smells divine.”

“I know how much you like mushrooms, so I made a mushroom rosé sauce. I just need to cook some pasta.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?” I say with a smile, kissing him again before dragging him into the kitchen, where we share countless more reassuring hugs and soft kisses as we eat.

Tag list: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @laurfilijames @swoopswishsward @quiall321 @dianakc @sazzlep @albionscastle

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#richard armitage #richard armitage fanfic #richard armitage x oc #richard armitage x reader #richard armitage x you #professor au #office hours

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