#like solid wall to wall negativity

[ssa-dado]

Burgandy Swim Cap

triathlon!Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: meet-a-cute but you're mainly just ogling at Hotch as he swims in a speedo. Summary: You know those encounters that last, like, five seconds where literally nothing happens but still manage to blossom into a full-blown crush? Yeah. That. Partly because you're chronically single. Partly because you’re starved for attention. Mostly because you saw him in a speedo. A tight speedo. A tight, half-metallic speedo. A tight, half-metallic, very low-waisted speedo. So really, it’s not a crush, it’s cause and effect. Also… he’s a dad. Too. Warnings: objectification of the Hotchner body (called out twice for not having an ass, affectionately), implied age gap, sexual jokes and cuss words Word Count: 4.7k Dado's Corner: I genuinely don’t know how to tag the reader... but she’s giving me fleabag energy… so, uhmmm, let’s roll with that. Huge thanks and smooches to @hotchology for developing and proofreading the snippets I dropped in your dms at 11 pm unprompted 🧎‍♀️

masterlist(s)

It’s not your fault you’re staring out the cafeteria window that just so happens to overlook the pool. You’re literally facing it. What else are you supposed to do - dislocate your neck inhumanly to look the other way?

That window was meant for people-watching.

Specifically, for anxious parents to spy on their kids mid-paddle without interrupting the lesson every time little Aiden coughs. It’s not your fault you’re childless and currently repurposing the feature to ogle burgundy-swim-cap guy in lane four.

You’re just… respecting the building’s original design intent.

You needed the distraction. Desperately.

Because beside you, your friend is once again delivering the extended director’s cut of that five-minute interaction with the guy she’s allegedly, absolutely, 100% over.

The conversation happened three months ago.

You know this.

Because she has broken it down line by line for three months.

Every pause. Every blink.

So maybe you are a bad friend. Possibly a terrible person. Because while she unpacks every microscopic detail of his “Oh, I’m sorry I stepped on your toe”, you’re mentally calculating burgundy-swim-cap guy’s exact height.

From twelve feet up. Through water. And glass.

And okay… maybe it’s not just the height.

Maybe it’s also the length of his... arms.

Arms.

His arms.

Long, sinuous things slicing through the water like art. Like poetry. Like that one ballet you pretended to enjoy but secretly napped through.

This is different. This is science. You’re just appreciating form. Physics. Hydrodynamics, anatomy, geometry… all the -ometrics.

You’re not objectifying. You’re observing. A selfless academic pursuit, really.

Especially when he glides under one, two, three lane dividers in a single breath, back muscles shifting and flexing with each kick.

And God… his back. You can’t stop staring at it.

Wide. Solid. Disproportionately large, especially considering the man has absolutely zero ass. None. Negative ass. Just ten uninterrupted feet of legs. Stunning.

But it’s the manners that do it.

Because the moment he reaches the ladder and sees the lady from lane one headed there too?

He pauses. Actually waits. Even though he got there first. Doesn’t try to squeeze past her or pretend he didn’t see - no, he stops.

Gives her space. Gestures her to go. Looks away, even.

Eyes politely drifting up the tiled wall, to the stands below you where the suburban invasion of moms has taken hold, to the bright flags swaying just behind the cafeteria window -

Until he lifts his head a little too high.

Fuck… did he just catch you mid-stare? You can’t tell. The goggles - those hideous, mirrored cheap goggles - reflect everything and nothing at once.

Maybe he sees you.

Maybe he doesn’t.

Maybe your face is just a blurry little ghost in his periphery.

Either way, your entire body goes hot and rigid. You peel your eyes away - casually, discreetly, nod to your friend to pretend you’re still listening to her - but not entirely.

You still watch. You have to.

Because he’s about to rise from the pool. And you need to see it.

For research purposes.

For the sacred cause of scientific accuracy. You have to confirm if your earlier measurements were correct the moment he steps out of the water.

They weren’t.

Because he’s bigger. So much bigger.

You can’t tell exactly by how much, though, because the moment his biceps flex - thick and veiny - as he hauls himself up the ladder, your brain just… packs its bags and leaves.

Bye.

All higher function is instantly rerouted to the way the water clings to him - refuses to let go, even gravity is struggling to move on.

(Honestly? Fair. You wouldn’t want to let go either… you’re actually kind of jealous.)

Jealous of how those droplets trace his body - how most of them drip obediently, following the grooves of his muscles, but some linger. They pool in the thick mat of dark curls across his chest, clinging for dear life.

And why wouldn’t they? He’s covered in them.

A slick, glistening mess of wet hair clings to his pecs - dark curls matted down and glinting under the pool lights, looking so soft and stupidly biteable you could probably get arrested just for thinking about it.

Then the curls start to gather. Real organized.

Forming this tidy relatively thin line that runs straight down the center of his chest, gliding over the elegant suggestion of abs - not shredded, but sculpted. Classy, if that’s even possible.

The line of hair dips past his belly button and practically screams into your long-gone neural functions: lick here.

(And you would. With honor. For science. For the flag.)

Because then the trail spreads at his waistband, curling out along his obliques, a pair of sirens luring you to the main event: his very, very low-waisted speedo.

Duo-chrome. Black and something... metallic. Wicked.

The black half pretends to behave.

It lies to your face, “Look at me, look at me,” it says. “I’m discreet. I’m functional. I’m keeping things tasteful.”

But it’s a filthy little traitor. Because right next to it, the metallic side is doing everything but staying subtle. It wasn’t camouflaging a damn thing.

Topography: fully visible. The contour. The definition. The godforsaken outline.

Traceable. With a pencil.

Or your tongue.

Preferably your tongue.

Preferably slow. Possibly kneeling. Definitely grateful.

Because whatever anatomical miracle is happening beneath that lycra – truly might be the eighth wonder of the world built between two hipbones.

These are sickeningly good dick proportions.

Burgandy Swim Cap guy peels off the ugly goggles.

Be fucking damned. That is a hell of a face.

The suction rings frame his eyes - tender little indents where he clearly strapped those goggles too tight.

He’s a try-hard.

A confirmed overachiever - you can tell. It’s in the way he did those laps earlier - efficient, ruthless, mechanical - and in the speed too. Like every stroke was on a timer. Like there was something at stake.

Is burgundy-swim-cap guy training for something?

Maybe he’s a professional swimmer.

Maybe he’s training for a triathlon. The 2012 Olympics in London. A shot at some world record no one else cares about.

Maybe he’s an eldest son.

Maybe he’s got a dad who never said “I’m proud of you” without a follow-up critique.

Maybe he’s still trying to earn praise that never came.

Maybe it’s daddy issues - maybe it’s mommy issues. Issues… in general.

Maybe he’s spent his whole life needing to be exceptional just to feel enough.

Maybe he’s been through a heartbreak. A divorce. A loss.

Maybe he just has a lot of feelings and refuses to talk about any of them unless he’s actively swimming them to death.

Or maybe he’s just that guy - the kind who doesn’t do anything unless he can do it at 120%, even when no one’s watching. Especially when no one’s watching.

Maybe he holds himself to impossible standards because he doesn’t know how not to. Who swims like this because it’s the one place he can fail in private.

Who knows. Who cares.

He’s just a guy.

A man.

A stranger you’ve never even spoken to.

You don’t know his name, his voice, anything.

And yet, there’s something about him.

Something in the slope of his nose, in the way his flushed cheeks are still chasing the rhythm of his pulse, in the rise and fall of his chest. It’s not bodybuilder-big, not exaggerated - but it feels massive.

Maybe it’s just because it’s him.

Because every breath he takes stretches that hairy chest just a little wider, a little broader, until the space around you feels like it’s shrinking, like there’s not enough air left in the room that isn’t his.

You’re fine. You are totally fine.

You’re also clenching your thighs for absolutely no reason. None.

Until - he removes the burgundy swim cap.

Now you do have a reason.

Because beneath it is this obscene head of raven-black hair.

Thick. Damp. Unruly.

Some of it’s clinging to his forehead, but the rest is sticking out in a thousand different directions like it doesn’t give a single shit about streamlining or aerodynamics.

He looks deliciously messy.

But he doesn’t let it stay.

No, he runs his hand through it almost immediately, slicking it back, a man who cannot stand the chaos of hair across his eyes, he can’t stand being out of place.

Control freak. Freak in general.

That tracks.

Still hot.

Hotter.

And still, he doesn’t play to the crowd.

He could - he should - scan the room, make eye contact, maybe throw in a wink or a casual flex. He could at least give a nod to the fact that half the people on this side of the glass are currently 1,461 words deep into mentally drafting smutty fiction with him as the main character.

But no.

He just looks down, slides into his pathetic little (from where you’re standing… sitting.) pool slippers, and rushes toward the changing rooms like he’s late to something.

A loser. An absolute loser.

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

You’re completely captivated - so much so that, when your friend finally finishes her emotional postmortem and disappears down the corridor toward the pool, you subtly change seats to get a better view of the hallway.

A strategic move, just in case burgundy-swim-cap guy decides he’s earned a post-swim coffee after all that aquatic foreplay you projected onto him from the safety of your horny little imagination.

Well. You’re getting coffee, at least. You deserve a reward. A hot, mildly burnt one.

You’ve been through a lot.

Except it’s possibly the worst line you’ve ever stood in because you had the genius idea to go for caffeine at the exact same time the children’s swim class ended.

Now you’re trapped - shoulder to shoulder with a damp, shrieking mob of underdeveloped humans all demanding hot dogs, pizza, cheeseburgers, and, from the look in one child’s eyes, possibly the cashier’s soul.

You’ve entered a purgatory of sticky fingers and pure indecision, where time slows and the line somehow clogs even more with every passing second.

It’s not their fault - children are absolute demons in Crocs. They don’t know what they want. They pause. They backtrack.

One child is negotiating for “just the cheese from the cheeseburger, but on a hot dog bun,” and you are watching, in real time, the unraveling of Western civilization.

…You hate that you respect the innovation.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You just really, really don’t want to miss Burgundy Swim Cap Guy if he happens to pass by - maybe in jeans, maybe (if there’s any justice left in the universe) grey sweatpants, or a hoodie two sizes too big.

Something casual. Unassuming.

Something that dares to cover everything you now know is under there - and somehow makes it worse.

Something that’s the reason your mouth is dry and you’re stuck in this line, mentally begging for something warm to wrap your lips around and feel vaguely hydrated again.

You’re trying to be patient. You’re trying not to hate the one kid crying because his juice is too red and his dad fumbling with his wallet.

You’re a monster. The worst kind of person.

These kids are innocent.

They’re not responsible for the slow-burn, will-they-won’t-they fantasy you’ve constructed entirely in your touch-starved brain - just to distract yourself from the fact that you haven’t been held in actual, human arms in months, your last situationship ended because they “forgot they weren’t single,” the closest thing you’ve had to intimacy this year was a barista remembering your name – once - and, okay, technically there was also that one time a man with a van asked if you “liked adventure,” but you don’t count that unless you're feeling especially pathe-

“That’ll be $2.50,” says the cashier.

Snaps you instantly back to the cruel reality where the only thing you're taking home tonight is a stupid plastic bracelet that’s already cutting into your wrist and the lingering scent of disinfectant.

(Good luck taking that away.)

You hand him a twenty.

He looks at you, deadpan, like he’s about to ask if your sad little wallet also holds the answer to the mental math problem he just did in half a second - the kind of calculation only a man with a degree in math or engineering could do, now tragically stuck working in a depressing public pool cafeteria.

Not even a cool street café. No latte art. No jazz music. Just chlorine and despair.

You give him a sheepish half-smile.

The twenty is all you had.

Okay - technically you had 50 cents too.

Maybe.

In loose change that’s probably fused with gum wrappers and lint at the bottom of your bag but explaining that feels like a one-way ticket to having a burnt cappuccino tossed in your face.

It’s 2011. Surely cafeterias still carry change.

…Apparently not.

“Card?” he asks.

You have exactly $1.78 on your card. You know this because you checked this morning, like the responsible adult you pretend to be.

This is bad.

This is humiliating.

This is the exact kind of character-building moment that turns into a core memory your brain will randomly replay at 3 a.m. for the next seven years.

The kids behind you are screaming. (Except one. One child is calmly and confidently negotiating a pizza-inside-a-burger situation with his father, who looks like he lost custody in the divorce and also in this conversation.)

And then there are the dads, too. You can feel them. Judging you.

You don’t even need to turn around.

Which is a shame, really. Because you love dads. You’re hopelessly, helplessly, filthily attracted to dads.

Hot dads? Daddy dads? Men with crow’s feet and deep voices who say things like “I’ll take care of it” and mean it? Slightly emotionally unavailable men with strong forearms, guilt complexes, and unresolved trauma they process exclusively through precision lawn edging and Sunday barbecue duty?

Inject that straight into your bloodstream.

You want them tired. You want them emotionally repressed. You want them to carry patio furniture like it weighs nothing and grunt when they sit down. You want to be a problem.

But these dads?

Their suburban dad disapproval is so potent it might as well be playing on loop over the intercom right between announcements for lost goggles and swim meet fundraisers.

These dads would ask about your five-year plan, nod thoughtfully, then ghost you via a LinkedIn message.

These dads are not for you.

These dads can go.

And so you panic. Sweat. Freeze. Until-

A hand.

A large hand.

Chubby-fingered, hairy, left-handed and wrapped in the crisp white cuff of a very expensive white shirt, peeking out from an even more expensive black suit jacket.

There’s a Rolex on his wrist. A real one.

That same hand, gentle and unbothered, slides a credit card (which looks comically small in those thick fingers, by the way) right into the reader, where $2.50 is already floating on the screen.

“I got it,” says a voice.

Oh.

Oh no.

It’s deep. Unreasonably deep. The kind of voice that should be illegal before noon.

And soft, too, absurdly soft for how deep it is because the vibrations travel straight from your ear to your… there. There, there.

You turn. Slowly.

And there he is.

A man.

(Surprise!)

Not just a man – a Man. Capital M, bolded, underlined, possibly trademarked if your bank account could handle the licensing fee.

He’s in a suit. In a full suit. Black jacket. White shirt. Burgundy tie.

You blink… wait is that- no way.

It’s him.

It’s Burgundy Swim Cap Guy.

Now in Burgundy Tie.

He matched.

Goddamn it. What a loser. What a hot, meticulous loser.

Oh, Burgundy Swim Cap man.

Yeah, let’s get that correction in there. Man.

Because up close, in proper daylight and expensive tailoring, he’s clearly way older than he looked in the pool. Deliciously older kind of old.

… And here you thought he was your age. (You were wrong. Again.)

All the better.

You barely recognize him in this polished version of himself - drenched in a cologne that costs more than your monthly grocery budget and somehow isn’t obnoxious.

It’s that expensive.

It’s not that aquatic bullshit guys in finance wear.

No. It’s warm. Inviting. Woodsy. A little smoky.

Expensive in the way that makes you want to bury your face in his neck and inhale until you black out while pretending you weren’t about to fall in love over his clavicle. (Yeah… too specific?)

And beneath it - just a trace - chlorine.

God help you.

You’re going to die here.

He even has a cowlick. A perfectly smoothed cowlick.

The kind that clearly took time, effort, wrist action, and probably a round brush.

He blow-dries.

He has a routine. A regimen. He has systems.

He’s probably terrifying in the morning. The kind of man who folds things. The kind who knows where his passport is right now.

Now, now.

But now he’s looking at you, brows thick, slightly furrowed.

Do you have something on your face? No. Can’t be.

No, you’ve just been staring at him like a feral raccoon. You still haven’t spoken.

…right.

“…Thank you,” you manage, barely audible - just as his phone starts ringing in his jacket pocket.

Drowned out by technology. Your gratitude swallowed by a default ringtone, who would have ever guessed.

He pulls the phone out, and just before he lifts it to his ear, you catch something - someone’s voice on the other end. A name? His? Yes they’re calling him it must’ve been his. Something clipped, ending in -chh or -shhh.

Josh?

Oh. Huh.

…Kind of disappointing.

You thought his name would be more... posh. Like something that comes with personalized cufflinks and generational trauma

….but Josh? That’s a guy who texts “you up?” at 11:48 PM from his blackberry pearl.

You hoped for more… syllables.

Whatever. What really surprises you is that Burgundy Swim Cap Man-slash-Josh-slash-Posh doesn’t say a word during the call. Not one.

He just holds the phone to his ear and stares - intensely - at a spot inside the glass food display. Not blinking. Not moving.

You’re genuinely concerned for the sandwich he’s glaring at. (It’s about five seconds away from bursting into flames.)

And you - you ache for that stare.

You want it on you. Burn it into your skin. You’d commit actual, punishable crimes for that kind of violent visual attention.

“Garcia, send me the files. We’ll brief the team as soon as I arrive,” he says - voice all business, clipped, calm, so authoritative it almost makes you bite your lip on reflex.

Then the phone disappears back into his pocket like it’s never existed, and without missing a beat: “An Americano, please.”

…Why doesn’t this surprise you? Could he be any more predictably boring? Go on, order a plain bagel and a side of unseasoned guilt while you’re at it.

But his eyes flick to the pastry shelf instead.

Brows furrow, slightly, sexily, offensively; he’s clearly doing some kind of emotional calculus about whether his swim earned him the moral right to a treat.

(He probably didn’t get many growing up.)

“And, uh… can I get the rainbow muffin to go?” he says, pointing with his chubby index finger toward the kids' menu.

You follow it (like an idiot).

And there it is. The muffin. Rainbow-sprinkled. Rainbow dough. Probably tastes like chemical vanilla. Pastel wrapper. Comes with a bubble blower, too.

A muffin. With a toy.

…This man.

You hate him. You want him. You’d marry him on sight.

He picks up the phone again. Dials. Calm. Efficient.

“Hey, can you pass me to Jack?” he says.

The frown - just a flicker ago, all sharp lines and no-nonsense jaw - melts. His face softens like he’s been flipped to a different setting and you actually flinch a little because how is that the same face?

“Hey, buddy.”

Oh. God, his voice. It goes soft. Stupidly soft.

“I’ve gotta be at work a little earlier today,” he murmurs, gently gripping the phone. “But I got you something… did you finish your homework?”

May you be absolutely, irreparably damned.

He’s a dad.

“Good job, buddy. I’m coming home soon, okay? Got you a surprise,” He glances down at the rainbow muffin. A little fond. A little sad, even. “Yes, you can do movie night with Aunt Jessica if I don’t manage to be there tonight…”

You wander how many other movie nights he missed.

“Yes, buddy,” he chuckles (you want to bite through drywall), “No, I didn’t forget the popcorn this time. You can have them with Aunt Jessica, she knows where they are… Yes, with salted caramel too. But don’t eat too much, alright?”

He pauses. Adds, with a soft little dad scold, “Make Aunt Jessica have some too this time. Save a few for Daddy, okay?”

Daddy.

Your knees give out.

No, not literally. You keep standing. But spiritually? Morally? Muscularly? You’ve dropped to the floor.

And then, casually, cruelly, he reaches for his coffee. With his ringless - yes, ringless - hand.

Not that you’re thinking about it. Not that you noticed. Not that you checked. Twice.

“Alright, buddy, I gotta go,” he says. His voice lowers again, not serious, just softer. Like he doesn’t want to hang up but he’s used to having to. “I’ll see you tonight. Be good, okay?” And then he smiles. To his phone. Like his whole face is a love letter.

Dimples. Of course. Of course this man has dimples. A loser dad with dimples.

“Love you too, bud”

And that’s it.

Phone call over.

You should walk away. You want to walk away.

But now you’re locked in that awkward limbo of mutual acknowledgment - the cursed micro-social contract that binds all humans in public spaces: you made eye contact, you must now exchange a minimum of one sentence to confirm shared reality.

He turns to you.

You are sweating. You are visibly short-circuiting.

No one is saying anything.

Fuck.

You shouldn’t have listened to his very personal call to his very personal son.

You shouldn’t have looked.

You shouldn’t have stared so hard you could recite the ingredients list on that muffin.

Fuck.

His shoulders look even broader in the suit.

Not just handsome - no, broad. Imposing.

Too bad the slacks are hiding his massi-

“The bubble blower’s for my kid,” he says, suddenly.

A preemptive strike. A full-grown man in what has to be his mid-40s, clarifying that he is not, in fact, personally invested in aquatic toy acquisition.

Funny, though - he didn’t feel the need to defend the rainbow pastry.

Interesting.

Bad for him.

“The muffin’s for the dad instead?” You nod toward the sad pastel pile in his hand.

(You’re a bit of a mean flirt - not because you’re heartless, but because it’s the only way you know how to hold on to a little power when someone makes your brain turn to mush.)

If you can’t stop yourself from falling for them, at least you can make sure they’re a little off-balance, too.

“If the dad’s lucky, he’ll probably get just a bite,” he replies, deadpan - like, completely expressionless except for the slight raise of his eyebrows at the end. You don’t even know where the voice came from. His mouth barely moved.

…Ventriloquism, probably.

Then he glances down at the linoleum floor. Smiles, almost shy.

“My son has a sweet tooth.”

Fucking hell.

This man is gushing about his kid to a total stranger in a pool cafeteria. No hesitation. No shame.

You are two seconds away from him flipping open his photo gallery and showing you twenty-five nearly identical pictures of a child covered in chocolate frosting, all while holding the phone in those massive hands.

God, his hands.

You really need to stop noticing them.

“Get a muffin for yourself too,” you say, tossing it out like a joke. Half-meaning it. Mostly-meaning it.

He chuckles, raises a hand, shaking his head. “Oh no…”

“Scared of food coloring?”

“No, no,” he laughs again. “Just…” He shrugs. Doesn’t finish. Leaves it there, hanging.

Is it because he doesn’t think he deserves a little treat?

Or because he’s afraid of getting that crisp, probably dry-clean-only shirt stained with rainbow frosting?

“How much is one rainbow muffin?” you ask the cashier.

(You two are best friends in your head now.)

He barely looks up. Dead inside. “One seventy.”

(This friendship might be one-sided.)

You blink.

$1.70 for frozen dough and a toy that doubles as a choking hazard… meanwhile, your cappuccino cost more than a gallon of gas.

Fucked up economy for real.

Then you glance at the cashier’s hands… he’s already typing it in.

Okay. Take it back.

That’s the real sign of late-stage capitalism: rainbow muffin doesn’t even require your consent to be rung up… but hey, at least you can afford it.

You’ve never been happier to be $1.70 poorer in your entire adult life.

You pull out your card.

He notices.

He pulls his, too.

Two cards. One slit. (Now this reminds you of your browser history from last night-)

“No, please, I got it,” he says - again.

Oh no, a damsel mustn’t pay for herself. (You hate him. You want to climb him like a tree.)

Watch her do it anyway. With confidence and $1.78 in her account.

You both arrive at the card reader at the exact same time.

Hands bump. Wrists brush. The tension is… stupid.

It’s awkward. It’s ridiculous. It’s… romantic?

Maybe.

Or maybe you’re just touch-starved.

Still-

You win.

Swipe clean. Transaction approved.

Victory, feminism, and low blood sugar all in one swipe.

“Enjoy the bubbles,” you say, smiling as you hand him the pastry and the overpriced soapy water.

He takes it, eyes flicking between you and the muffin, and for a second he gives you that look.

That slightly tired, slightly amused look men give right before they tell you you’ve done something reckless. Or charming. Or both.

He looks like he’s about to scold you. Fatherly. Disgustingly (hot).

He doesn’t.

“Sure,” he says, deadpan. “I’ll cherish them.” (Who even uses ‘cherish’ in the 21st century?!) And then, at the very end of it, a smile. Small. Real.

He opens his mouth again, “I-”

A breath.

“I have to go.”

One last smile. Quick. Tight.

And he’s already turning. Already halfway to the exit.

You stare.

Helpless.

Unwell.

For a second, you hope this modern-day Cinderella in a suit might drop one of his wildly expensive Italian leather dress shoes so you’ll have something to hunt him down with across D.C.

Track him by scent and shoe size.

But no. The shoe stays on.

He probably triple-knots them like the terrifying overachiever he is.

He does stop, though - just for a second - to check the time on his very expensive Rolex.

Hot. Unforgivably hot.

This brief, chaotic muffin-flavored detour has probably set him back exactly one minute and twenty-one seconds, and you know he’s internally recalculating his entire schedule down to the microsecond.

And yes, the panic is subtle. But it’s there.

In the clench of his jaw. The twitch of his temple. That microscopic furrow in his brow that says: How dare I entertain myself with flirtatious nonsense when I have 7,000 emails to check by 5 P.M.

Incredible. You’ve rattled a man with a watch that costs more than your rent. You’ve won.

You are going to be insufferable about this when your friend finishes her class.

Forget “stepped on your toe” guy. That man is dead to the narrative.

This dad is going to be the main character of every single conversation you have for the next four months.

You will tell her everything. Every glance. Every gesture. The muffin. The bubble blower. The nonexistent ass. From the moment you first locked eyes with this burgundy-swim-cap man named-

“…Aaron,” the cashier mutters.

You blink. “What?”

“That’s his name,” he says flatly. “Aaron. He comes here a lot.”

The cashier really doesn’t get paid enough for this.

Aaron.

Wow.

Two syllables.

“FBI,” he even adds casually, like it’s no big deal, as he hands a slice of pizza tucked inside a cheeseburger to a damp-haired five-year-old.

So.

Aaron owns a pair of handcuffs.

Government-issued. Handcuffs.

That tracks.

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[wonjns]

discourse — j.ww

⌗ pairing. . . jeon wonwoo x male reader

⌗ genre. . . smut

⌗ summary. . . when you and wonwoo argue, you have sex. it just works. but everybody knows thats not the best method for a couple to find resolve. you want to try doing things the healthy way for once. its just so hard.

⌗ includes. . . established relationship, bttm!reader, mentions of angry sex, marking, slight choking, dry humping, rimming/oral, size kink, bigdick!wonu, unprotected sex (be safe irl!!), these two wanna do the right thing but are just so horny

⌗ wc. 5.7k (...)

°A/N. . . hiya you guys!! this one acc wasn't requested but based off a dream i had lol. this is my first seventeen fic in a while (which is funny bc my first ever fic was about wonwoo) so i hope you guys like it :'-)

being wonwoo’s boyfriend meant passion and dedication were the new central traits of your life.

if there was one thing jeong wonwoo did, it was love deeply. he also held himself to high standards and had extensive expectations - as any self respecting individual would. however, holding you to those same standards as his lover did have a tendency to be overbearing from time to time. long story short, it inevitably lead to arguments becoming less than foreign within your relationship.

he was constantly trying to be his best for you, and expected 200% from you in return. it wasn't unreasonable whatsoever, but it became pretty clear that each of your views on just how putting forth that much effort looked were different, leading to inevitable frustration bubbling inside both of you.

and of course, in some semi-toxic way, that very frustration lead to fucking.

the last thing wonwoo could ever bring himself to do was hurt you, neither physically or verbally, despite how upset he would get. same could be said for you - so it was only natural when the flames of anger that ignited in you were transformed into embers of pure, raw sex in heated attempts to release the tension.

it quickly became your go to method.

countless times has wonwoo come home in the middle of week old arguments, and you don’t even speak as much as a word to one another before his lips are on yours. not much has to be said before those ridiculously soft lips of his are passionately sucking the life- and any fight you had left- out of you. both of your frustrations were palpable in the way you’d bite his lips, the way his enormous hands would bruise your hips— the way he'd tossed you around like you deserved the dull pain that came with being slammed against the wall or folded over a solid surface.

at some point, you had come to terms that this was not the proper way to settle your disagreements; realizing you were both just bottling up the negativity that would surely explode one day. but shit, it was hard to change your ways when your boyfriend was so fucking hot and dealt with you in a way that left you so physically satisfied.

you’d be lying if you said the thought of wonwoo’s indignant demeanor didn’t make your cheeks warm, his tongue always putting in extra effort to turn your mind into mush. you know he'd never harm you, but you actually liked when he made it hurt a little during sex - as if you were being punished.

something you would never admit is that there were a few times you had pissed him off on purpose, just so he would strip you down and have his way with you right then and there. there was one time where his unnaturally talented mouth toyed with you damn near all day by denying your climax, despite pushing you to the edge several times. cloud 9 was hardly an accurate description of how you felt when wonwoo finally let you release in his mouth, or over his naked chest, or even in his big hands— you get the point.

but, it was time for change. healthy change.

you were pleasantly surprised when wonwoo joined you in your research of couple therapy-esque exercises to practice. you were dedicated to finding a way to help two of you actually resolve things and understand each other instead of just fucking them away. you could have actually attended a couple's therapist, but who seriously had the time for that when you could find all of the tips they’d tell you online for free anyways?

after a few days of web browsing, you came across a method that seemed reasonable and had a decently high success rate. all it entailed was simply having a quick, 10-minute discussion whenever one of you came home for the day. the trendy blogger who posted the article coined this routine as the "at home unwind". the key of the conversation was to offer both of you time to decompress and actually hear about the other's day and emotions before discussing anything negative... or doing anything physical.

the cyber therapist explicitly mentioned that was the most important thing to avoid.

oddly enough, it reassured you that this issue was common enough for others to experience, feeling like this method of practice nailed you and wonwoo’s biggest issue directly on the head. however, as pitiful as it sounded, you weren’t sure how confident you were in either of your abilities to talk for 10 minutes straight while keeping your hands to yourself.

these days, it felt like arguing and fucking were the only channels of communication for you two. it was terrible, you know, but wonwoo had a slick mouth and a huge cock - pair those with your stubborn attitude and the equation practically works itself out. during especially argumentative days, it was only a matter of time before one of you pounced on the other. still, wonwoo was fully on board to take on this new challenge and you were thankful for that.

the first four or so sessions went magnificently. you had actually begun to talk to wonwoo every evening and started to get a better look on his daily work life, and the kinds of things he dealt with and how certain things lifted his mood or took a toll on him. it made you remember how much you loved talking to your boyfriend. he was deep, sentimental, and had some of the most intriguing insight you’ve ever heard from anybody.

maybe the internet wasn't always full of shit, since this diy therapy was clearly helping steer your relationship towards a better place. you were starting to get a really good feeling about this whole thing.

and then the next argument came.

god, you could hardly remember what even sparked the fight this time. perhaps it was something about house chores, or you staying out too late with your friends – all you could confidently remember was getting pissed off from the accusatory tone in his voice.

before you knew it, you were exchanging petty back and forths throughout the day, and slamming doors just a little too loudly. admittedly, you did want to fuck him as you fell back into your old habits. hearing wonwoo's rude remarks would make your ears steam with annoyance, but you also recognized the familiar look in his eyes that would only show face when he wanted to stuff you full with that fat cock of his until you were whimpering apologies for being an asshole. deep down, you wanted him to make you.

but alas, you kept to yourselves. you tried to rely on your new little therapeutic routine, but even those talks would end in exasperation and headaches. within a day or two, you started to ween off the unwinding technique, cutting the conversation short as soon as one of you caught an attitude. something inside you couldn't have cared in the slightest, and you were sure he didn't either. it wasn't until things escalated a bit further than they usually did one night that caused wonwoo to worry.

the screaming match was your fault, knowing full well that you were the hypocrite for fussing at him the minute he came home from a late night out with his buddies. you were the usual culprit when it came to staying out well into the hours of the night without so much as a text to wonwoo. but you were already irritated and irrational, so you decided to take it out on him.

"you're a fucking asshole, y/n." was the last thing wonwoo had muttered before going into your shared room and forcing the door shut, the wooden echo sounding throughout the apartment.

you barely managed a half-hearted "fuck you" in return, feeling a pang of guilt in your stomach from the aggravation you heard in his voice. still, you stubbornly held your ground, taking to sleep on the couch that night.

you were still asleep, sprawled on the cushions as wonwoo went to work the next morning. he had glanced at your sleeping figure on the way out, debating whether to wake you up or not. he ultimately decided against it as he wordlessly left and let his bitchy boyfriend sleep.

when you did awake, you had resulted to brooding under the blankets all day. you sighed, annoyed at your heavy conscious stirring within you as you knew it should you who apologizes first.

as thick skulled as you were, you did manage to pick up your phone in order to text wonwoo. but before you got the chance to get typing, you were met with a familiar ping.

wonu 🐈‍⬛: make sure you're home when i get off. we haven't done our 10 in a couple days.

you knew he was talking about the at home unwind, which you two had been skipping due to the heat of the atmosphere in said home.

despite how it may seem through your eyes, wonwoo couldn't stand arguing with you - especially to this extent. all he could think about during his busy workday was how you were most definitely sulking at home, alone.

and of course, he was right. he was always right when it came to you. you never reached out to others when you were frustrated, not even him, which only bothered him more. on the other hand, he also couldn't shake the image of you bundled up in his clothes.

you always loved to borrow and wear his things, no matter how mad at him you got, with those gut-wrenchingly attractive lips of yours plumped up into a pout. the things he wanted that mouth of yours, so attitudinal but so supple, to do him during times like this.

wonwoo released a hushed, deep groan as he pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing he was straining his office pants.

you sighed, reading the text over once more but not bothering to respond. everything you had to say you might as well save for the exercise.

you felt wonwoo's presence before you heard it. he walked through the door quietly, causing your head to peak around the corner from your room as he shrugged off his jacket and set his things down.

he had went to the gym after work, as he usually does, his attire changed from his plain button up and slacks to loose sweats and that one white tee that tightly hugged his chiseled torso.

one look up to you had your breath catching in your throat, his eye contact intense as he held it while slipping his shoes off. you had no clue what to say when his long legs carried himself over to the couch you had spent most of the day grumbling to yourself on. taking a seat, wonwoo spread his legs comfortably while patting his thigh, keeping his gaze downcast.

you felt small, as if you were a child being beckoned over. nonetheless you obeyed, walking over to him and shyly climbing into his lap.

the air was stiff as you awkwardly tried to get comfortable, wonwoo's hands taking over to shift your legs so that you straddled him. you avoided looking at his gorgeous, clearly vexed face as your knees caged around his waist. you sat like that in silence for what felt like eternity, the warmth of his body taking over yours as you watched his buff chest rise and fall under the constraints of his t-shirt. you were suddenly painfully aware of how long it had been since you'd been this close within his proximity.

on the days you didn't fight, you were always all over your massive boyfriend. you were addicted to the feeling of his larger form and smooth skin against yours. even now, despite the tension in the air, you could physically feel yourself relaxing from being atop of him like this.

"you know you really pissed me off last night."

of course that's the first thing that comes out of his mouth. you felt your blood spike immediately, eyes shooting up to him as he stared at you with such a lack of expression it seemed almost smug.

"but you-" you started, ready to fire back, but caught yourself. "forget it. i thought you wanted to do the unwind."

"i do." he responded calmly, slowly sliding his hands up your thighs and meeting behind your back. you ignored the motion, sporting that exact pout that he loved so fucking much.

"then we need to follow the steps." you chided back, trying to remember the order of the prompts. the first one was simple. "so... how was work? anything weigh you down at all?"

it was awkward trying to ask the questions with a genuine tone, knowing how pissed you both still were.

"honestly, i couldn't stop thinking about how much i wanted to fuck you all day."

your gasp was involuntary, eyes shooting back to his in disbelief. this time that signature smirk of his stretched loosely on his face, signaling that you gave him the exact reaction he was looking for. before you could interject he kept going, that deep voice of his dropping an octave.

"had me thinking about how much of a bitch you were last night, and how i should've just stayed home today to make sure i knocked it right out of you." you felt his grip on your ass tighten with his words.

"w-wonwoo..." you tried to speak up, your fidgeting giving away your growing nerves. "whatever you're doing-"

"god, you had me bricked up in the middle of a fucking meeting, y/n. you like doing that to me don't you? you just have to go and get me so riled up so that the only thing i can think about the next few days is feeling you shaking under me, hm?"

there were very few times you've been rendered speechless, yet this was undoubtedly one of them. your skin had managed to catch on fire in the matter of seconds from the way he was speaking to you alone, your body instinctually reacting to him. you now understood in full wonwoo's aforementioned struggle of straining his pants at work, since you were feeling the very same thing happen to your boxers now.

your own erection started to grow while you envisioned wonwoo's words, and you suddenly felt a twitch under you. a quiet moan escaped you when you looked down to see wonwoo's familiar bulge for yourself, proudly prodding through his sweats.

his smirk had grown even wider when you looked back up to him, lust pooling in your eyes as he ran his tongue lazily over his pristine teeth. that grin was so teasing that you didn't know if you wanted to punch or kiss it off.

you decided on the latter.

everything moved so quickly as your frustration boiled past your breaking point, causing you to lurch forward and claim wonwoo's mouth against your own. you held back a mewl feeling his plush lips against yours for the first time in what felt like years. it had only been a couple days, but with wonwoo sometimes hours felt like a lifetime.

you allow your head to grow fuzzy as your boyfriend presses deeper against you, scooting your body further up his thighs so that he can taste even more of you in one go. this time a pathetic moan did fall from you as wonwoo's hot tongue slipped into your mouth, and he eagerly swallowed the sound. your hands grew a mind of their own as they tangled in his soft, jet black strands.

wonwoo greedily ground your hips against his, making sure you felt his hardened length glide against yours before he sat you directly on top of it, causing you to instinctively clench around nothing. the sound of wonwoo's plump lips smacking against yours caused him to groan, a chilling shock shooting down your spine once he started sucking on your tongue.

when you were running out of air, wonwoo pulled away to hear you whimper aloud while his hungry lips attached to your jaw, slowly kissing his way down your neck.

"wonu," you groaned, grabbing onto his wide shoulders while bucking your hips forwards again. you swore you could feel his abs through his shirt. you called his name a second time, trying to stabilize your voice to get his attention.

he hummed in acknowledgment without stopping his ministrations, sucking leisurely just above your weak spot. you whimpered once more and reluctantly push against his shoulders to detach him from your neck, breathing heavily as his blown out eyes assessed you.

you felt like prey under his narrow glare, desire and anger somehow coexisting his dark eyes. you wanted nothing more than to let him devour you, but you could hear that faint voice of reason in the back of your head telling you not to resort to your old ways. you wanted to listen while you could at least still recognize it.

"the exercise..." you sighed, "we have to finish."

your hands wander all over each other as you try to pace your breathing and calm down, the tension in the room palpable. wonwoo nods at your suggestion, closing his eyes to stretch his neck side to side. something only jeon wonwoo could make look that sexy.

"okay, so how was your day?" he mutters before leaning back in, lips gently pressing directly on your neck's soft spot. its a much gentler kiss, him showing attention to each patch of skin he came across.

you allow your eyes to flutter shut and let out a breath as you felt him pamper you, tenderly running his large hands up and down your back.

"it was- good... i mean, it was okay." you concentrated on speaking, twirling a bit of wonwoo's hair betwixt your fingers.

"just okay?" wonwoo spoke against your neck, knowing how you loved the vibration of his voice.

"well... i spent most of it moping." you sunk a bit further down on his lap at the admission.

"really? what's got you down, no plans today?" he feigned curiosity between kisses, knowing good and well exactly why you spent all day upset.

"no i— oh my god," you trailed off, feeling wonwoo's tongue drag flatly along your collarbone. when did his hands find their way under your shirt?

when you felt a mark forming at the base of your throat your head tilted back, sending a moan into the open air as you wrapped your arms around wonwoo's shoulders.

"w-wonu, the exercise..." the words carried no authority coming from you, but wonwoo relented and pulled away from your neck.

"right, right." he responded. he blinked a few times while caressing your hips, visibly trying to snap out of the trance he'd fallen into.

"i just feel bad about last night..." you went on. "its kind of all i've been thinking about."

wonwoo sighed, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as he studied you.

"i feel like shit too, baby. as soon you went to bed i regretted everything. i shouldn't have reacted to you that way when i'd just stepped through the door."

you felt the smallest flurry of butterflies from his softened demeanor, his original lustful gaze of fire sizzling for just a moment as he stared directly in your eyes with a gentleness you could tell was genuine. the pang of love that you felt conjure out of no where you was impossible to ignore, but so was the hint of desire that came along with it as he kept speaking.

"i've been wrong about a lot without even realizing it, which only makes things worse when we're frustrated."

the look of shy longing that now overtook his eyes felt incomprehensibly magnetic, and while the aggravation of the other day still burned underneath your skin, you suddenly found yourself wanting to do anything in order to make wonwoo feel better.

you couldn't remember a time where wonwoo had taken responsibility like this before, admitting fault without a hint of backlash. even though he knew you were both in the wrong a majority of the time, he was humbling himself to make amends with you– and you couldn't believe how much it was turning you on.

"i don't like going to bed angry at you," wonwoo continued his rambling, stuttering only a bit when you decided it was your turn to start kissing down his neck.

as terrible as it was, his words were starting to fade into background noise as you glide your lips along his supple skin, embracing his warm and brawny scent. you started feeling up his biceps, gently squeezing the muscle in your palms. you let yourself bask in how even more defined they felt from his gym session, which you were left to assume was less than an hour ago.

"i..." he slightly trembled, clearly losing himself to your actions. "i think theres a lot more that we could do to help fix us... you know what i mean?" he spoke in a low tone, and you caught on to how his sentences started slurring into groans when you suckled just below his sharp jaw.

much like he did earlier, you only offered wonwoo a hum of acknowledgment and nothing more.

in hindsight, you should be fully attentive to everything he's saying. especially because this was a rare moment where he was actively trying to solve things. but you just couldn't help yourself - the gentle and guilty tone of his voice was causing your mind to melt, let alone how good his body felt under yours again after so long. what was really sealing your coffin was the taste of his skin as you nipped at it, causing you to stir downstairs.

"are you even listening to me, y/n?" wonwoo asked, a large hand tugging the back of your neck so he could look into your eyes. your glossed over, lovestruck eyes. "all i'm trying to say is i'm sor-"

wonwoo's apology didn't even get to leave his lips in entirety before you were pressing them against yours, trapping the unfinished sentence back into the void. your boyfriend's eyes widened slightly at the desperation in the act, before slowly closing them and allowing you to take over.

you moaned quietly, the kiss immediately picking up intensity while you had your way in absolutely ravaging wonwoo, your thighs tightening around his waist as you tasted him more. you could feel wonwoo's resolve melting the longer you played with his hair, keeping his head firmly in place to keep feeding him the long winded kiss. he pulled away right before you could drain him of his very last drop of sanity, groaning at how your teeth latched on to his bottom lip for just a second longer.

"shouldn't we be talking, babe? you were the one who wanted to do the therapy..." wonwoo spoke, his words opposing his actions as he dragged your hips over his.

"i know, i know... just, fuck... later, please." you exhaled out, feeling overcome with pure want as one of your hands instinctively dropped down to palm your bulge.

wonwoo didn't bother hiding his smirk as he peered between your bodies at your shameless action, feeling overwhelmingly smug that he could get you acting this way with such little effort. he knew exactly how fervidly your body reacted to him, and it only inflated his ego more.

he couldn't deny your adorable pleading voice, the usual spiteful tone of yours completely replaced by begs for him. wonwoo could see how you wanted nothing more than to just feel him on top of you, overwhelming you, and he was losing his self control much faster than he'd like to admit.

fuck it, you guys could figure out the sappy stuff later.

there was no hesitation when wonwoo's long fingers encased your face and pulled you back to him, completely taking over your mouth with a searing kiss. you pitifully attempted to match his pace while you processed the heat of the moment. less than a beat later your hips were back to bucking at the feeling of that tongue of his forcing its way past your lips, slipping into your cavern and running dauntlessly over your teeth before pressing flat against your own wet muscle.

your hands were clinging to his shirt, bunching it up near his chest before you realized how in the way it was of you having true access to all of him. you started tugging at the hems of his shirt, whimpering when wonwoo's relentless tongue traced patterns on the roof of your mouth.

he immediately got the hint, pulling away to chuckle against your face while helping you yank the snug material over his head. you released a deep sigh of relief you once his body was revealed, hands shaky as you finally danced them across his perfect skin.

wonwoo was so built so fucking disrespectfully.

his chiseled muscles and bare chest were on full display to your hungry eyes. those same proportions that drove you crazy just from looking at him in fitted clothes now had your mind racing faster than you could comprehend.

his exposed, broad shoulders grew wider each time you saw them, and those perked nipples and sculpted abs stared directly back at you - you had no idea if you could ever get used to him.

he pulled your mouth back to his immediately, gifting you the sloppiest open mouth kisses imaginable as all of the words you had planned to say melted into moans. you couldn’t stop yourself from grinding into him again through all the layers of your shorts, your quickly throbbing erection deliciously dragging along his much larger one. you dared break apart from wonwoo’s addictive lips just to glance down at the enormous tent in his pants, wanting to watch yourself drag your clothed cock against his again.

wonwoo chuckled, knowing you were slipping into that headspace that caused you to act like a starved maniac - you were his favorite when you acted like this.

before you knew it, you were being tossed, your back molding with the couch cushions. you looked up to see wonwoo smirking down at you, looking nothing short of divine from above you. a blush rose to your cheeks from how the soft light of your living room was cast agains the grooves of his physique.

"you want me?" he teased.

the words were caught in your throat, but you didn't even need them as wonwoo was quick to pull your own shirt clean off, covering your body with his own frame. your coo's of approval made wonwoo's dick twitch again, knowing how much you loved feeling the delicious pressure of his weight on you.

your fingertips roamed the vast expanse of wonwoo's back as he starting kissing you dizzy again, your hands just as hungry as your mouth was to feel him.

your eyes remained closed as he started kissing down your body, making sure to leave a teasing kitten lick to an exposed nipple on his way down. you shuddered at the sensation, a hand flying back to his hair as you felt his hands smooth both your shorts and underwear down your legs all in one go.

neither of you could handle much teasing when you were worked up like this. however, your back still arched against the cushions when wonwoo placed a chaste kiss to your cock, groaning as he felt streaks of precum that managed to leak through and decorate your member. he did you a quick favor, greedily licking at the underside of your cock and loving how you tugged at his hair.

wonwoo said nothing as he ventured lower, allowing his eager tongue to lap a stripe around your hole, rimming you to his content. you gasped loudly, a string of curses and disorganized begs falling from your lips while he used both palms to hold you still.

you felt tears begin to prickle at your eyes, both from desperation and satisfaction although he'd barely done anything yet. it wasn't until you felt his pink tongue finally push into entrance that a tear cascaded down your cheek, feeling the vibrations of his moans reverberate through your entire body.

it felt like as soon as wonwoo got started he had finished, withdrawing from playing with your ass as if he had only wanted a quick taste.

"so good for me, baby. not feeling like a bitch anymore, are we?" he taunted as he settled himself back over you, his cockiness making you try to avoid ogling over the sight of his chain dangling above his burly chest.

you don't bother tossing a sarcastic comment back, instead choosing to yank his neck down to sink your teeth into it. you felt a rush of pleasure from the sound that you pulled out of him, taking your time to lave your tongue over the same spot to soothe it.

wonwoo allows himself to enjoy your rough actions for a second before bringing a hand up to wrap around your neck, forcing your head back down against the couch. he makes direct eye contact with you, noting how your eyes are darkened with the same aura that swirled within his, his signature smirk stretching back across his face as he tightened his grip.

your eyes roll to the back of your head, wonwoo's long fingers keeping any sound you could have made from escaping. you bring your hands around his forearm and hike your legs back around his slender waist, obsessed with feeling as much of him at once as you can. your mind was just about to go fully blank, reaching that dangerous zone of euphoria right as wonwoo stole yet another tantalizing kiss from you, completely overriding your senses.

and you just let him have it all, whatever he wanted. it felt so good letting him take it like this however he saw fit.

he ground his hips against yours, letting you feel your bare bottom half rub against the soft material of his sweats - just to push you that extra step further into desperation. eventually, you could tell wonwoo was proud enough of himself to move on, seeing as he'd gotten you to the peak of submission that he aimed for.

he released your neck and freed your lips for just a moment as he leaned up to his knees, urgently dragging his pants down. he locked eyes with you just to watch the expression on your face when your gaze dropped down to his cock, stood at full attention and throbbing with the need of friction. no matter how many times you'd seen and taken his cock, his girth would shock you every single time.

"still not used to it, are you, baby boy?" wonwoo teased, reaching out to leave a gentle but degrading flick against your own cock.

he often made jokes about the drastic difference your sizes to piss you off, and while you did get defensive it was impossible to deny the truth to the statements - he was packing a monster under those slacks, and you wanted it more than ever right now.

the ever-so-attentive boyfriend that he was, wonwoo read your mind. with a speed that you were eternally grateful for, the now naked man grabbed a bottle of lube conveniently from the drawer beside the couch. he made sure to lathe your fluttering hole in however much he felt necessary before finally giving you his torso's warmth once more, leaning over you while hiking your leg up and over his shoulder.

you moaned feeling the stretch in your leg combined with wonwoo's dick prodding against your hole, his lips smothering your face with wet kisses as a warning before he began pushing into you.

bliss always came so quickly with wonwoo, especially when the atmosphere was heated with the pretense of aggravated lust as it was now. the deep rolls of his hips had you clamping your hand over your mouth to keep any obnoxious mewls in, although the action was practically useless with how they were slipping out anyways. not that wonwoo minded, his head just growing bigger with how good he knew he was fucking you.

"oh my god, i think i'm already close, wonu-" you groaned, holding onto his goosebumped skin like a vice.

"already?" he teased, leaning down to nibble along your collarbone. "you must've really fucking missed me, i knew you did."

you simply dug your blunt nails into his shoulder blade in response, him returning the favor by gripping your thigh with bruising strength. the grinding of his hips doubled in speed, bottoming out in you repeatedly until beads of sweat began tracing both of your foreheads.

wonwoo sucked one more mark onto your chest for good measure, and left another loud smooch on your cheek before dipping his tongue back into your whiny mouth. the barrage of sensations was enough for you to be hurdled towards your climax. you couldn't get a singular word out as white overtook your vision, ejaculating all over wonwoo's perfect porcelain chest.

he groaned loudly in pleasure. the feeling of your arousal dripping down to his abs caused his hips to stutter before he sheathed fully inside you, shooting his cum into you as well.

both of your hips slowed into a rhythmic pace, still chasing the highs of your orgasms until all limbs went weak and wonwoo was pulling out. you simply laid still in the sticky bliss, running your hands along his glistening skin while he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

"i love you," is what he muttered while basking in your scent.

"i love you too, woo."

your mouth remained ajar to speak more on your predicament, but refrained. if you were being honest, you knew that neither of you gave a damn right now. you could just start over tomorrow.

so, you hadn't quite listened to the therapist's advice... your body was buzzing with thanks that you didn't.

© 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐧𝐬 — all rights reserved

[runaarinn]

✦ 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

› i feel like sero is definitely the type of person to want to take you on a first date that is super interactive. movies are a little awkward because the two of you aren’t talking that much for a solid two hours, and a dinner date would be way too much talking.

› at the arcade it’s a mix of the both, and at least if the two of you are awkward at starting up conversation — you can chat about the games you two are playing.

› nobody can convince me that this man isn’t a tryhard when it comes to the basketball court. like you guys would be there for at least twenty minutes minimum and he’s just trying to show off and impress you a little bit — and also to get a lot of tickets so he could win you a teddy bear because he’s such cutie patootie.

› before you guys leave the arcade, I feel like he would definitely be the person to ask if the two do you could take some pictures in a photo booth. 2 of the pictures would be the two of you being super goofy and silly, 1 of them would be of the two of you actually locking in and look really cute, and the last one would be of him gently grabbing you face and planting a kiss on your cheek

› sero absolutely loves so loudly, nobody can convince me otherwise. and he absolutely would keep that little photo strip in his wallet until you guys take another picture to replace it. when the old one comes out, I feel like he would definitely hang it up on the wall at home, or definitely somewhere at his desk in UA

› i also feel like he’s such a big foodie. like if you think your back is big, times that by 10 and it’s sero [with love and compassion xoxo].

› he would literally know every single underground place and the food is always bomb, and so yummy. like there has yet to be a place where he has gone and can genuinely have a negative critique of it.

› he’s also the type of person to walk you all the way to the door, and linger for a little bit. like fingers brushing against one another, yearning and lingering looks; and maybe even the first kiss if he’s lucky enough. he did get his kiss

› overall, the two of you would have an amazing date with little to no hiccups xoxo

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[psformybss]

could you maybe do a fic with some small snippets throughout drew and secret fiancé’s relationship abt pregnancy scares they had? like the first time it happened and their reactions compared to the most recent time it happened. i totally get if it’s nit ur style but i love your series and your work x

Whenever It Happens

series masterlist

warnings: pregnancy scares, emotional conversations, long distance relationship, anxiety, soft domesticity

an: stop i love you, thank you for reading 🫶🏼

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

The first time she thought she might be pregnant, she was nineteen and terrified.

Her dorm room barely qualified as a living space—just four cinderblock walls, a twin bed with a paper-thin mattress, and a flickering overhead light that made her feel like she was constantly under interrogation. The rain outside was relentless, smacking against the window like it wanted in, echoing the storm inside her chest.

Her hands shook as she fumbled with the box, nails biting into cardboard, the instructions already soft and wrinkled from how tightly she’d clutched them. The room was too quiet, too still, except for the buzzing of her phone against the counter.

Drew: Are you okay?

He was five hours away—somewhere between an English lecture and a caffeine-fueled study session. His schedule was a mess, just like hers. But his text came through anyway, like it always did in these moments when the world felt like it was slipping sideways and he was the only thing still tethering her to solid ground.

She stared at his message. Then at the test.

You: No. I can’t even breathe.

Her phone rang almost instantly, and she didn’t even hesitate. She pressed it to her ear like it was a lifeline.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless, like he’d been running. “You’re okay. Just breathe, baby. Talk to me.”

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice already breaking. “I’m so scared, Drew. I’m so scared.”

She slid to the floor, her back against the bathroom door, the cold tile biting through her leggings like the world wanted her to feel it all.

“I can’t even afford groceries this week,” she admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I haven’t eaten real food in two days. What if… what if it’s positive? What the hell do we do?”

“I’ll come to you,” he said immediately. “Tonight. I’ll skip class, I don’t care. I’ll figure it out. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“You have midterms.”

“I have you. That’s all that matters.”

She choked on a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “God, this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. We’re just kids. We’re not ready. We don’t have anything.”

“We have each other.”

He said it so softly, like he didn’t mean for it to land as hard as it did.

She glanced at the test. The little window was still blank. Waiting. Like her.

“It’s been two minutes,” she whispered.

Silence on the other end. A breath. A swallow. She could hear the fear in him now, even through the calm. It matched her own.

“I can’t look,” she said.

“I’ll be right here. Just breathe” he murmured.

So she did. Barely. Just enough to survive those last few seconds before the timer went off.

The beep startled her.

She reached out with shaking fingers and turned the test over.

Negative.

For a beat, she said nothing. Couldn’t. Her body was holding so much—fear, adrenaline, heartbreak, something she didn’t have words for yet.

“It’s negative,” she said finally, her voice small and far away.

Drew exhaled so quietly she almost didn’t hear it. “Okay. Okay. You’re okay.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “It felt so close. Like we were on the edge of losing everything.”

“We didn’t,” he said, soft but steady. “We’re still here. You and me.”

She wanted to believe that. Wanted to take comfort in his certainty.

And maybe she did. A little.

⸻

The second time, they were sitting side by side on the bathroom floor of their Atlanta apartment, backs against the cabinets, legs stretched out until their knees bumped. The morning light filtered through the tiny window above the shower, soft and pale, but the silence between them was heavy.

The test lay face-down in front of them. Still untouched. Still waiting. Just like them.

She picked at the hem of her sleep shirt, heart knocking hard against her ribs. The first time it happened—back in college, in two different cities, two different lives—they had panicked. Separately. Over the phone. That version of them had barely known how to breathe through the fear.

But this time, Drew was next to her.

Their apartment smelled like coffee grounds and lavender detergent. One of her design portfolios was spread open on the dining table down the hall, and Drew’s audition sides were still marked up with highlighter on the counter. They were trying to make something of themselves. Finally. After years of being broke and tired and wondering if it would ever be enough, things were starting to move.

She’d landed two new clients that week. Drew had wrapped a project that could actually lead to something. The idea of a baby right now felt like throwing a wrench into a clock that had only just started ticking again.

“I keep thinking about how we’d make it work,” she said quietly, staring down at her knees. “Even though I don’t think I’m ready. Not really.”

Drew didn’t look at her, just nodded slowly. “Me too.”

She turned to him. “Does that make us awful?”

“No.” His voice was firm. Gentle. “It makes us honest.”

A breath passed between them.

“I thought I’d be more sure by now,” she whispered.

He let out a low sigh, rubbing his hands over his face before dropping them in his lap. “Same. We’ve got jobs now. A routine. We know how to be us without all the chaos. But… this? It’s big.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch. Just leaned back, his temple resting against hers.

“I want kids one day,” she said softly. “I want them with you.”

“I do too.”

“Just not yet.”

The timer buzzed.

Her breath caught.

Drew reached for the test, hand brushing against hers where it rested on the floor. He turned it over slowly.

Negative.

She exhaled like she’d been holding it in for days.

Not quite relief. Not quite sadness. Just a quiet ache that settled in the space between her ribs. Something wordless and gray.

She closed her eyes. “I thought part of me would be more okay with it. If it was.”

He turned toward her. “We will be. When it’s time.”

She opened her eyes, met his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Whenever it happens, we’ll figure it out. We’ll be okay.”

She nodded and reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. He squeezed back, grounding her.

They sat there for a while, shoulder to shoulder, legs tangled, letting the weight of what didn’t happen settle. Letting the future breathe.

And maybe next time, she thought, pressing her cheek to his shoulder, maybe she’d feel ready.

But for now, this was enough.

⸻

The third time, she wasn’t scared.

She was hopeful.

She’d told Drew she was thinking about taking a test. Had even said it out loud a few nights ago, lying in bed with her head on his chest, tracing the lines of his collarbone while their dog snored at their feet. He’d looked at her with soft eyes and kissed the top of her head, murmuring, “Whenever you’re ready.”

But she didn’t tell him when that would be.

Because this time felt different, quieter. She wanted to hold the hope a little longer. Sit with it before it shattered or bloomed. The idea of telling him yes felt too precious to risk saying out loud before she was sure.

So she took it alone.

It was a Sunday morning. Rain tapped lightly against the windows, the house still and warm. Drew had gone out with Teddy for a walk, probably grabbing coffee on the way home, and she was wrapped in his hoodie, barefoot on the cold tile of their bathroom floor.

She didn’t pace. Didn’t stare at the clock. Just sat and waited, her heart thudding a little harder than she expected.

She’d felt it this time, the difference. Her body softer, slower, more tired. There had been a flicker of something low in her stomach all week. Not quite certainty, but close.

She turned the test over with trembling fingers.

Negative.

Again.

The ache came fast, deep, and familiar, pressing into her chest in the quiet kind of way grief sometimes does. No tears, not yet. Just the slow, sinking realization that she’d let herself believe. And it still wasn’t time.

She curled onto the couch in the hoodie she hadn’t taken off, the test shoved deep into the bathroom trash. Rain still fell steady outside, streaking the windows. The house felt smaller somehow, like the silence had teeth.

When Drew walked in twenty minutes later, coffee in one hand and Teddy’s leash in the other, he took one look at her and set everything down without a word.

He sat beside her. Reached for her hand. Waited.

“I took it,” she said, eyes still on the window.

His grip on her hand tightened. “And?”

She looked down. “Negative.”

He exhaled, slow and quiet, then pulled her into his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“I really thought this was it,” she whispered. “I don’t even know why. We weren’t planning it, not really. But it felt like maybe…”

His fingers traced the length of her spine, steady and familiar. “Because it’s what we want.”

She nodded. “I pictured it again. The nursery. The quiet mornings. You with a baby strapped to your chest, making pancakes.”

He let out a soft laugh, but it was laced with something heavier. “That image lives rent-free in my head too.”

“I know we said we’d let it happen when it happens,” she murmured. “But I think I’m done pretending I don’t want it.”

He leaned back just enough to see her face, cupping her cheek. “Then let’s want it out loud. Let’s stop being scared of hoping.”

Her throat tightened. “Even if it takes a while?”

“Even then,” he said. “We’ll try. Really try.”

She searched his eyes, finding nothing but certainty there. Not fear. Not doubt. Just love and the quiet kind of bravery that comes from choosing someone again and again.

“Okay,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Let’s try.”

Outside, the rain kept falling.

But inside, something steady took root— hope—this time, not quiet or tentative, but shared. Something they could carry together.

[kaayyyys]

Daryl Dixon X reader

You're his soft spot ❤️

Daryl's world is brutal, and he's built walls to survive. But for you, he'd lower those walls and become your fiercest protector. He'd always be aware of your surroundings, scanning for threats, and positioning himself between you and any danger. He wouldn't just protect you physically; he'd shield your spirit too, deflecting negativity and bolstering your courage.

Daryl isn't one for grand gestures or flowery words. His love is expressed in actions. He'd watch you carefully, learning your habits, your fears, and your secret joys. He'd notice the little things – a shift in your mood, a flicker of sadness in your eyes – and he'd respond accordingly, offering a comforting presence or a silent act of service. His understanding of you would be profound, built on observation and genuine care.

Forget candlelight dinners and romantic getaways. Daryl's romance is found in the everyday. He'd bring you a freshly caught rabbit, not as a provider, but as a gift. He'd share his meager rations of coffee with you in the morning, a silent offering of warmth. He'd sit beside you by the campfire, the crackling flames the only music you need, his presence a solid anchor in a chaotic world.

Trust is hard-earned in the apocalypse, but with you, Daryl would offer it freely. He'd confide in you about his past, his fears, and his hopes – things he'd never share with anyone else. He'd trust your judgment, seek your advice, and rely on you to be his sounding board. In return, he'd be fiercely loyal and unwavering in his support of you.

The world outside is filled with walkers and constant threats, but in Daryl's arms, you'd find a safe haven. His embrace would be strong and protective, a silent promise that he'll always be there for you. He might not say "I love you" often, but you'd feel it in the way he holds you, the way he buries his face in your hair, the way he makes you feel like you're the only person in the world that matters.

Daryl knows what it's like to be broken. He'd approach you with patience and understanding, never pushing you to share more than you're ready to. He'd accept you for who you are, flaws and all, and he'd help you heal from the wounds of the past. He wouldn't try to fix you, but he'd stand beside you as you fix yourself.

While he can be serious, Daryl also has a dry wit. He'd tease you gently, a playful way of showing affection. He might call you "darlin'" or some other simple term of endearment, a sign that you've broken through his tough exterior. These small moments of levity would be precious reminders of the love you share, even amidst the darkness.

You both have scars, both physical and emotional. Daryl wouldn't shy away from them; he'd acknowledge them, understand them, and help you carry them. Together, you'd find strength in your shared experiences, becoming each other's rock in a world that's constantly trying to break you down.

Even though he’s protective, Daryl wouldn't try to control you. He'd respect your independence and your ability to take care of yourself. He knows you're strong, and he wouldn't want to stifle your spirit. He'd simply want to be there to support you, to offer a helping hand when you need it, and to celebrate your victories, big or small.

[slytherin-pen]

In the Wake of Chaos

pairing: Cassian x Reader

word count: 2k

warnings: canon typical violence, negative self-talk, attempted r*pe

The training ring was empty save for the faint whisper of wind through the mountains and the dull thud of your fists against the punching bag. Your knuckles, already raw and bleeding, screamed in protest, but you didn’t care. You’d been at it for hours, the pain a distant echo compared to the churning turmoil inside you.

The memory was still fresh—too fresh. The alleyway, the bitter touch of the male’s hands, the terror that had gripped you when you realized how easily he could overpower you. You’d managed to escape, but the fear hadn’t left you. It had settled deep in your bones, gnawing at you until the only thing you could do was fight. Fight until the fear turned into something else, something you could control.

You were beyond drunk, your body filled with a heat only alcohol could provide. The music and chatter inside Rita’s blended into an incomprehensible hum as you walked to the exit. It had been hours since you arrived with the intention of forgetting your latest failures. The only mission you’ve accomplished as of late. You swayed on your feet, hands gripping the stair rail as your breaths turned into a cloud before you. It was freezing out, but thanks to your alcohol-induced internal warmth, you didn’t even think to regret not bringing a coat. As you rounded the corner, a slimy hand covered your mouth—muffled your scream.

“Don’t worry, doll. The quicker you behave, the sooner it’ll be over,” your attacker said. His voice was raspy like he had been inhaling smoke recently. Blonde hair receding towards the back of his head and with eyes so dark they looked black as they ogled your struggling form. The brick wall behind you bit into your exposed shoulders, and your thrashing only accentuated the pain.

You were too drunk for this. Your thoughts were hazy and everything felt as if it was in slow-motion, though you knew it wasn’t. The male did not take his time lifting your dress and putting a leg between your thighs as he ground into you. His hand found your throat and the lack of oxygen to your brain only served to disorient you further.

What do you do? What do you do? Everything was dark and cold, and your vision was fading as you struggled to breathe in air. You had cut off the bond hours ago, not wanting Cassian to feel your self-loathing as you drank away your sorrows. That meant he wouldn’t feel you now. The panic, the pain. You thought of what he would think about all of this. Disappointment, most likely. For getting yourself into this situation in the first place, for freezing rather than fighting like he had taught you so many times. You tried to remove your arms from his grip, but he was twice your size. His belly protruded out from under his shirt and rubbed against yours, your eyes barely reaching his chest.

How would this end? Would Cassian wake in the morning to find you still not home? Would he scour Velaris looking for you only to find your body in some alley next to a bar? No. You wouldn’t do that to him. You were the mate to the General of the Night Court. Imagine the jokes people would make if they found out your life ended because of your stupid mistake, because of your failing.

As the male stepped back to undo his pants, hunching over to fiddle with the buckle, you reared your head back and slammed it into his. Not the smartest move, as you were now seeing stars in your vision, but it was enough to make the oaf of a male stumble backward. You bolted. The world was spinning, and you grazed your hand over every solid surface you could find to keep your balance. You nearly broke an ankle every couple of steps and after a glance behind you to ensure the male wasn’t on your tail, you yanked them off. Gravel stones engrained themselves in the soles of your feet, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t stop until enough air had found its way into your lungs and the dizziness subsided, then you winnowed.

You hadn’t told anyone about the attack. What was there to say? That you, thanks to your decision to go out alone and distracted, had been easy prey? That despite all your training and all your effort, you were still vulnerable? You had winnowed to the Townhouse first last night. As you worked to calm your racing heart lest Cassian catch on to something being wrong the minute you’re in the same room as him, you found Mor’s makeup bag that she kept in her old room. You covered up the bruise around your neck and threw a sweater on over your dress to hide the angry, bleeding skin on your back. Once you arrived at the House of Wind, you thanked the Mother for Cassian sleeping like a rock. He couldn’t ask any questions if he wasn’t awake. After changing into long-sleeved pajamas and crawling into bed next to him, you stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night listening to your mate snore peacefully next to you.

You cursed under your breath as your punch landed wrong, sending a fresh wave of pain up your arm. You were exhausted, muscles trembling with the effort to keep going, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

“Enough.”

The word cut through the air like a whip, and you froze, your fist hovering in mid-air. Cassian stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed over his broad chest, wings flaring slightly behind him. His hazel eyes crinkled with concern as he took in your state; sweat-soaked, bruised, and bleeding. You managed to avoid him this morning, feigning sleep as he woke with the sun like every other morning. You waited for him to leave to check on the Illyrian camps before setting off for training of your own.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low, edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Training,” you snapped, dropping your fist and turning away, wiping sweat from your brow with a trembling hand.

“This isn’t training,” he countered, stepping into the ring. “This is self-destruction.”

You felt a flash of anger, but the guilt and shame that had been festering since last night quickly swallowed it. “It’s nothing, Cass.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, his tone gentle but firm as he moved closer. “Tell me what happened.”

The blood drained from your face. “Nothing happened,” you said, a little too high-pitched. “It’s just been an off week. You have those yourself now and then.”

His eyes narrowed as he watched you shift on your feet. You looked like a startled deer, frozen in place and staring at him with wide eyes. “Sweetheart,” he said more firmly this time. “I know when something is up with you. We’ve all had our off weeks, but I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Like what? I’m training a little harder, Cass. It’s not a big deal, just drop it.” As you turned back to the punching bag, a hand found your wrist. You forgot where you were, flashbacks of last night assaulting your mind. A gasp left your lips as you snatched your hand away and stumbled backward.

“I-” Cassian started. His eyes were shimmering with worry, glancing at you and then back at his still outstretched hand. “You need to tell me what happened. I’m not asking anymore, sweetheart.”

You clenched your fists, willing yourself to keep it together, but the exhaustion and fear finally shattered your resolve. Not to mention, you couldn’t lie to your mate. “Last night, outside Rita’s,” you began, your voice cracking with barely contained emotion. “I was trying to leave… and some male… he grabbed me. I got away, but—” You shook your head, unable to finish the sentence as the memories threatened to overwhelm you. You were hyperventilating now, stuck between the present and the memories.

Cassian’s expression shifted from concern to something darker, his jaw tightening as he took slow steps toward you. “He hurt you?”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Not really. I just… I can’t stop thinking about how easily he could have.” You met Cassian’s eyes, finally letting him see the fear and shame you’d been carrying. “I didn’t fight hard enough. I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, and it’s my own fault, I—”

“Stop,” Cassian interrupted, his voice hard and commanding. He closed the distance between you in a few strides, placing a gentle but firm hand on your shoulder. “You got away. That’s what matters. And it is not your fault that some male tried to take advantage of you.”

You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened just enough to keep you there, grounding you. “It is my fault,” you whispered. “I was drunk and alone. I should have known better.”

“Look at me,” he demanded, waiting until you lifted your gaze to his. “It is not your fault. You are allowed to get drunk, you are allowed to go off on your own, and you are allowed to do whatever you damn well please. What is not okay is males attacking females in the street.”

His words chipped away at the walls you’d built around yourself, and you felt tears prick at your eyes. “But what if it happens again?” you asked, your voice small, betraying the fear you hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

Cassian’s expression softened, his thumb brushing gently over your shoulder. “It won’t,” he said, his voice steady. “Because we’re going to make sure you’re ready for anything. We’ll run through every scenario you can think of until you’re so confident you could take down anyone, no matter their size.”

You bit your lip, feeling the tears slip down your cheeks despite your best efforts. “Cassian, I…”

He pulled you into a hug, his muscular arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace that made you feel safe for the first time since the attack. “But first,” he murmured into your hair, “you need to rest. You won't be any good to yourself if you keep going like this.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue, your body sagging against him as the adrenaline drained away, leaving you feeling utterly exhausted. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you finally let go of the need to be strong, if only for a little while.

Cassian guided you over to the bench at the side of the training ring, sitting you down and grabbing a first aid kit from one of the nearby shelves. “Let me see your hands,” he said tenderly, kneeling in front of you.

You hesitated, but the look in his eyes was so filled with worry and care that you found yourself obeying, holding out your bruised and bloodied knuckles. Cassian winced as he saw the damage you’d done to yourself, but he said nothing, just started carefully cleaning the wounds with a soft cloth and applying a healing salve.

“I don’t blame you for going out,” he murmured as he worked, his touch gentle but efficient. “But why didn’t you come home? I thought you had still been on your mission when I went to bed. If I had known you were in trouble—” he shook his head before looking up at you, “I would have been there.”

You released a heavy sigh. “I didn’t want you to know I was back yet. I closed off the bond because I didn’t want you to feel my emotions. The mission went to shit, thanks to me making a mistake. Seems to be a common theme for me.”

That earned a glare from Cassian before he resumed wrapping a bandage around your hand. “You’re too hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, including me, Rhys, and even Az.” He tucked the bandage in before grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You cannot beat yourself up about it, only learn from it. You want to go to bar and drink until you’re numb, fine, but don’t shut me out. Ever. I’d rather be sitting next to you, offering whatever support I can, than find out later that my mate needed me and I wasn’t there. Understood?”

You nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry.”

He stood up and kissed your forehead before sitting next to you and bringing you into his arms. “You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you feel this way about yourself, but we’re just going to add that to the list of things to work on, because you deserve to know how amazing you are.”

A tear ran down your cheek and he swiped it away with his thumb. “Thank you,” you whispered, feeling more vulnerable than ever, but also safe—truly safe—with your mate by your side.

He smiled, a soft, reassuring smile that made you feel like everything might actually be okay. “Anytime,” he said, his voice full of warmth and sincerity. “You’re not alone in this, remember that. We’re a team, and we’re going to get through this together.”

After sitting there for a of couple minutes relaxing in Cassian’s arms as you watched the clouds move across the sky he spoke again. “Let’s get you cleaned up and some food in you. After that, we’ll figure out our next steps.”

You nodded, allowing him to help you up, his arm around your shoulders as he guided you inside the house. For the first time since that male grabbed you, you felt like you could breathe again, like the weight you’d been carrying was finally lifting.

And if Cassian showed up at the dinner table later that evening with bruised knuckles after hunting that male down, you were none-the-wiser.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Vaggie: “Charlie. You know I love you, right?”

Charlie: “….”

Charlie: “…before I answer, can I ask YOU a question?”

Vaggie: “Sure, babe. Fire away.”

Charlie: “Okay.”

Charlie: “Is this about the singing cannibal quartet love song turned massacre in the hotel lobby?”

Vaggie: “No.”

Charlie: “Is it about the supposedly non-man eating flowers that tried eating Angel Dust, which Niffty won’t let us get rid of now because she wants to train them to hunt cockroaches with her?”

Vaggie: “No.”

Charlie: “Is it about the alleged cookies Husk is still in bed recovering from taste testing?”

Vaggie: “Those were cookies?”

Charlie: “Allegedly. In a previous life maybe.”

Vaggie: “Huh. They weren’t bad.”

Charlie: “They- Vaggie, you didn’t actually EAT-”

Vaggie: “After wrestling Angel Dust out of the third flower in a row? I was hungry. The kitchen was on fire earlier so I knew you’d made something. And they were sitting in a common area, unclaimed and unlabeled.”

Charlie: “I put CAUTION TAPE around them!!”

Vaggie: “We don’t have anyone staying here named Caution or Hazardous Waste. Not yet, anyway.”

Charlie: “ARE YOU FEELING OKAY!?”

Vaggie: “Fine. This isn’t about the uh, ‘alleged cookies’.”

Charlie: “Well then what is it about? Am I forgetting something else?”

Vaggie: “Maybe. Are you gonna answer my question now?”

Charlie: “Of course I know you love me, Vaggie. Absolutely."

Vaggie: "Then-"

Charlie: "A dangerous amount, even- you sure you’re feeling alright? Those cookies... poor Husk…”

Vaggie: “Husk is on average 40% alcohol and not used to solid foods. This was a good learning experience for him, trust me.”

Charlie: “I do! I do I do, I just, also really hope Angel Dust knows how to BE an actual bedside nurse as well as DRESS like one. A. Sexy one.”

Vaggie: “We’ll save Husk from medical malpractice in a minute. Right now though…”

Vaggie: (smooch the tol gf)

Charlie: “?”

Vaggie: “You don’t have to do extra things like this, sweetie.”

Charlie: “Oh.”

Vaggie: “Not that I didn’t love the thought behind it.”

Charlie: “There were no thoughts. Just, wow I love my girlfriend, wow I really hope she knows I love her.”

Vaggie: “I do. You’re amazing, and doing normal hotel crisis things with you is already amazing enough.”

Charlie: (droops) “I know, I know…”

Vaggie: “So?”

Charlie: “Well that’s the THING though! We’ve only been doing hotel stuff!”

Vaggie: “It’s a pretty wide range of activities you gotta admit.”

Charlie: “Oh sure right, sooo varied- stop a murder, fight to stop a murder, try not to do a murder, replace THIS fix THAT organize another group talk and go into red alert whenever the things get suspiciously quiet- go collect the bodies, probably reassemble them, pay the bills, supervised arts and crafts and Cherri still makes a BOMB somehow-”

Vaggie: “Everyone getting together to blow it up outside was kinda sweet.”

Charlie: “And that’s great! We’re doing great, things are going good, it’s just- WE don’t do anything that’s just for US.”

Vaggie: “That what’s bothering you?”

Charlie: “Bothering me? BOTHERING ME?? Vaggie our last outing together was dragging you back up to HEAVEN where the people who left you in hell also BLAKMAILED YOU!"

Vaggie: "Could've been worse."

Charlie: "IT WAS HORRIBLE! A NEGATIVE TIME TOGTHER! I’m gonna explode- I haven’t taken you on an actual date in MONTHS!!!”

Vaggie: “So let’s go then.”

Charlie: “I know we can’t just leave the hotel, but that doesn’t stop-”

Charlie: “…”

Charlie: “Huh?”

Vaggie: “Let’s go. We can take the rest of the night off.”

Charlie: “….can we?”

Vaggie: “Sure. Niffty’s busy with her new murder plant buddies, Husk’s busy being sick, Angel Dust’s busy with Husk, and Cherri Bomb… well. If the singing cannibal duo wants to keep playing exploding volleyball with her out back then that’s their problem, not ours.”

Charlie: “It’ll be our problem REAL quick if anyone spikes the bomb at the hotel!”

Vaggie: “It’ll be just another Tuesday, another hole in the wall, and a chance for Cherri to learn about the wonders of vacuum cleaners and wall plaster.”

Charlie: “Which you won’t be able to sleep knowing about until you’ve redone the whole thing yourself.”

Vaggie: “That’s still just another Tuesday.”

Charlie: “What about Husk being sick? AND suffering under Angel Dust’s dubiously sexy medical care?”

Vaggie: “If they’re bothering each other they can’t be getting into trouble with anyone else. Win-win.”

Charlie: “Niffty is building an army.”

Vaggie: “Good for her.”

Charlie: “She might be planning on wiping out all life in the hotel???”

Vaggie: “Hell forbid the cleaning ladies do anything.”

Charlie: “Why are you suddenly so okay with mess and chaos? You HATE messes and chaos! You patrol the hotel just to check everyone’s doing what you thought they’d be doing, based on all the little schedules you keep making on them!”

Vaggie: “Which they didn’t need to hear you yelling about but sure.”

Charlie: “You refold all my laundry so the creases line up just right! Why- oh no.”

Charlie: (gasp) “Vaggie, don’t panic, but I think the evil fail cookies are affecting you-”

Vaggie: “Charlie-” (laughing) “-no, they’re not. Maybe I’m fine with a little extra mess and chaos, if it means spending time with you.”

Charlie: “….”

Charlie: “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Vaggie: “Triangle. Wanna go on a date with me?”

Charlie: “YE- wait, you’re sure though?”

Vaggie: “I’m sure.”

Charlie: “Really sure?”

Vaggie: “Very.”

Charlie: “It’s not a fun date if it makes you super stressed afterwards.”

Vaggie: “I’m always stressed. It’d be nice if I could at least get some uninterrupted ‘stare at my beautiful girlfriend’ time while I’m at it.”

Charlie: “The hotel’s gonna be in RUINS when we get back. Our friends might be on fire by then.”

Vaggie: “C’mon, they’re not our kids. They’re all responsible adults….”

Chaggie: “…..”

Vaggie: “….they’re all adults…”

Charlie: “Who we’re kinda responsible for…?”

Vaggie: “Not for tonight.”

Charlie: (sighing) “That WOULD be nice.”

Vaggie: “So let’s make it happen. Date night?”

Charlie: “-ES YES YES YES YES-”

Vaggie: “That a yes?”

Charlie: “YES!!! I- Hold on, wait wait, I’ve got-”

Charlie: (pulls out several papers covered in writing and diagrams)

Charlie: “…I’ve got, let’s see here-”

Vaggie: “Notes?”

Charlie: “-seven quick pick up date ideas that don’t need ANY preparation-”

Vaggie: “You made plans for dates you didn’t even think we’d go on?”

Charlie: “Well it never hurts to dream about something, right? That way you get to have fun either way, and you’ll be ready if it does happen!”

Vaggie: “I love you.”

Charlie: (grinning) “You love that you’ve infected me with note cards and organizing thoughts and things~”

Vaggie: “That too.”

Charlie: “Well according to my wonderful notes, the least stressful date option is…. Cannibal Town!”

Vaggie: “They have that dress code don’t they.”

Charlie: “Unless you wanna get your cute butt chased for all the wrong reasons, yep! They do!”

Vaggie: “Is this you wanting to see me in a fancy-ass dress?”

Charlie: “And to stroll down the nicely kept streets arm-in-arm with you, enjoyed the quiet atmosphere not filled with random agonized screams, stopping to admire the beautiful and very well composted flower beds…”

Vaggie: “I’d stroll with you anywhere, so count me in.”

Charlie: “YES! Oh I already LOVE THIS- and Vaggie?”

Vaggie: “Yeah?”

Charlie: “I love you too.”

Vaggie: “Wow really. Had no idea.”

Charlie: “Heheh.”

Vaggie: “Honestly there’ve been like, zero hints about that all day.”

Charlie: “I promise I really was trying to be subtle.”

Vaggie: “There’s a lot of words for you, but subtle’s probably not one of them.”

Charlie: “I tried. I tried for youuuuuuu~ For the sake of my girlfriend, I was willing to go against my baser and more dramatic nature!”

Vaggie: “What’s more dramatic than man eating flowers, that’s what I’d like to know.”

Charlie: “A garden.”

Vaggie: “A g- a whole garden?”

Charlie: (shrug) “We’ve got plenty of empty rooms…”

Vaggie: “A garden, sweetie.”

Charlie: “I was thinking of putting a lot of trees and bushes in. Lots of stuff to hide behind.”

Vaggie: “Our own little patch of private picnic paradise, huh?”

Charlie: “Hm-hmm! Or for makeouts. Or both?”

Vaggie: (chuckling) “Not to spoil the mood but… speaking of plants and compost, on our date, should we bring the other half of the cannibal quartet over to Rosie’s while we’re headed there? Or, what’s left of them?”

Charlie: “Mmmmm NAAAH. I wanna have all hands free on the way over.”

Vaggie: “Hands free for what?”

Charlie: “Nothing~”

Vaggie: “Your hands are already on my ass, Charlie.”

Charlie: “Oh whoops!”

Vaggie: “I didn’t say you could move them.”

Charlie: “That’s why I’m not~”

Vaggie: “You’re in a mood tonight, aren’t you.” (muttering) “I’m not even the one off playing with carnivorous plants, so why's it suddenly feel like I’m in danger...”

Charlie: “Beecaaaause you look dangerously cute in a fancy dress.”

Vaggie: “Says the woman walking around in THAT suit.”

Charlie: “I have to dress sharp! I need to match with my girlfriend!”

Vaggie: “You’ve been wearing that exact same kind of suit since long before you even met me.”

Charlie: “Only through YEARS of unfulfilled potential!”

Vaggie: “Uh huh.”

Charlie: “Tragic, wasted beauty!”

Vaggie: “Hardly wasted with you in it.”

Charlie: “But it was! A jacket crying out for the one woman who’ll finally borrow and wear it the way it was always meant to be worn!”

Vaggie: “With the sleeves falling over my hands?”

Charlie: “With that adorable little blush when you snuggle down into it… Also, the way it falls to almost mid-thigh on you, and how you like wearing it with nothing el-”

Vaggie: “Is this a date night or a do not disturb night?”

Charlie: “Date night!”

Vaggie: “Then stop biting your lip at me.”

Charlie: “Aww.”

Vaggie: “And come help me pick out a fancy dress.”

Charlie: “!!! THE ONE FROM THE COMMERCIAL MAYBE???”

Vaggie: “Oh you liked that look, huh?” (snickering) “Aw babe- is THAT why you stay up replaying the commercial some nights?”

Charlie: “That’s… public image analysis…”

Vaggie: “Whatever you say. Now you now know how I feel every day.”

Charlie: (muttering) “lucky you.”

Vaggie: “You wanna switch things up for the date, or keep the suit?”

Charlie: “Keep, probably..? You like me in the suit~”

Vaggie: “I like you in a lot of things.”

Charlie: “R-right.”

Vaggie: “And nothing.”

Charlie: “I- same.” (horns start popping out) “Um.” (pushes them back in) “Could we also. Wear matching hats?”

Vaggie: “Of course we’re wearing matching hats. This is supposed to be a fancy date right?”

Charlie: “Very. Very fancy.”

Vaggie: “Well nothing’s fancier than hats."

Charlie: "WHEEE! With flowers on them, yeah!?"

Vaggie: "Have I ever let you down?”

Charlie: “Never.”

Vaggie: “And do you promise not to bring me anymore demonic flowers or singing quartets?”

Charlie: “… I’ll do my best.”

Vaggie: “Perfect.”

Vaggie: “…”

Vaggie: “I wouldn’t say no to a few more of those cookies though-”

Charlie: “NO.”

Vaggie: “Sweetie, they were good.”

Charlie: “No. Absolutely no, I am NOT poisoning you on purpose. Not even if you ask me nicely and pout about it like that.”

Vaggie: “You deny the cookies?”

Charlie: “Don’t even start-”

Vaggie: “Girlfriend abuse. Toxic relationship alert.”

Charlie: “Those 'cookies' were the MOST TOXIC THING that our relationship has EVER seen!”

Vaggie: “They were made with love.”

Charlie: “And likely heavy metals? The fact that you willingly ate them is maybe the most WORRYING thing our relationship has ever seen…”

Vaggie: “Cough exorcist lie cough cough.”

Charlie: “Totally different. That didn’t put you in active danger-”

Niffty: “SPEAKING OF DANGER!”

Chaggie: (screaming)

Niffty: “My murder plant babies are in danger.”

Vaggie: “HOW can- how can those things BE in danger?”

Charlie: “NIFFTY PLEASE! The knocking?? The not dropping from air vents???”

Niffty: “Only in emergencies, I remember! This is an emergency. Husk is feeding himself to my murder plan babies.”

Vaggie: “Why.”

Niffty: “Escaping nurse Angel Dust and unnecessary CPR.”

Charlie: “Oh for-”

Vaggie: “Let him. They won’t kill him. Permanently, anyway.”

Charlie: “…. Hm.”

Niffty: “What if my murder babies get food poisoning from second hand bad cookies?”

Vaggie: “Seek revenge for them or something?”

Niffty: “OoooOOOH!”

Niffty: (scuttles away cackling)

Charlie: “Oh noooo, you’ve given her an idea-”

Vaggie: “Too late to stop her now. C’mon.” (grabbing charlie’s hand) “Make a break for our room before anyone else-”

Cherri Bomb: “Hey girls! Uh, you were planning on making a pit for a hotel swimming pool, right? Like, one already kinda full of blood? Right out back? Right???”

Chaggie: “….”

Charlie: “… Hello~! Charlie and Vaggie can’t be reached at the moment!”

Vaggie: “We’ll be out all night.”

Cherri Bomb: “And the pool of blood-?”

Charlie: “So please leave a message at the sound of the beep!”

Vaggie: “Beeeeep.” (at charlie) “Run.”  

Charlie: (scooping up vaggie) “My legs are longer-”

Vaggie: “Brilliant thinking sweetie now GO GO GO!!!”

Chaggie: (flees)

Cherri Bomb: “…..”

Cherri Bomb: “They take the u-haul thing seriously, huh.”

-their room-

Charlie: “….Vaggie.”

Vaggie: “Yeah?”

Charlie: “Stop it.”

Vaggie: “Stop what?”

Charlie: “Vaggie.”

Vaggie: “Mmm?”

Charlie: “…..”

Charlie: “…..fine, FINE!” (groaning) “I’ll see about salvaging the burnt remains of the evil cursed cookie recipe when we get back. Now will you PLEASE stop messing with your flawless hair and put the dress on? Or anything!? Anything being put on would be good now too!”

Vaggie: (smiling) “No idea what you mean babe, but alright.” (quietly to herself) “Mission success.”

Charlie: “I heard that.”

-exiting hotel-

Vaggie: “Almost there.”

Charlie: “Oh please my dad who’s probably in a pile of duckies, please just let us make it out the d-”

(horrific screaming from deeper inside hotel)

Charlie: “…..”

Vaggie: “….”

Charlie: “We didn’t hear that.”

Vaggie: “We kinda already did, sweetie.”

Charlie: “No.” (pouting) “No. We can hear it when we get back.”

Vaggie: “Fine by me.”

Charlie: (SIGHING) “Even though we’re gonna hear allllll about not hearing it when we get back...”

Vaggie: “Worth it.”

Charlie: (grinning) “Think so?”

Vaggie: “Do you?”

Charlie: (already tugging them out the door by their entwined hands) “More than worth it.” (lifts and twirls vaggie down the hotel steps) “Whooosh!”

Vaggie: “Oh is THIS why you really wanted me in a fancy dress? For the ‘whoosh’?”

Charlie: “That, and for the way you smile when I whoosh you~”

[mspopstar]

What would happen if you were to lock Meta Knight, Dedede, Magolor and Marx all in the same room?

Content warning: Graphic Content.

DDD: "Wha- What the?! What is this place? Meta Knight?! Meta Knight where are we?"

MK: "Sire, I've not a clue. We're in some...cage"

M: "Cage? Cages has bars, this is more of a cube!"

MK: "This is no reason to be pedantic, we are trapped and that is the issue at hand."

M: "Hm...."

THIRTY MINUTES LATER.

DDD: "Meta Knight, do you see anythin' up there"

MK: "Sire, there is not even a seam of which the ceiling meets the wall. It... The material... It is not concrete, it is not wood, it is not even metal. It neither scratches or warps like plastic too. It feels like glass, but it isn't transparent otherwise... Well, we would see something, no?"

M: "Well... There's the possibility that it is transparent and the white we're seeing is what's outside of this cube... Like we're all trapped in a glass cube in a white void in... somewhere."

MK: "Quiet you. If that were the case, there'd be a reflection wouldn't there?"

M: "Mm... Well, not always! After all, you don't get a reflection from plastic, right? We could be in a plastic cube!"

MK: "Did you not hear me, if it were plastic then I'd already free us! It doesn't scratch, it does not warp."

M: "Maybe it's translucent rather than transparent. Hm? There's clearly a light source coming from something."

DDD "No bickering you two. Crap. I don't even feel some form of air comin' through either. This room has no circulation of any kind... As ya' said. no seams so the walls and floor are all one solid material. No way this is hand-made then if there's a interior... Not to mention... It's solid, no sense of hollowness on the other side of these walls. Magic maybe? Well, if it were magic I'd have a sense of it."

M: "Heh. Well, I'm gonna take a nap. Wake me one one you two have figured out anything."

FOUR HOURS LATER.

M: "Bets?"

DDD: "On what?"

MK: "....What?"

M: "Bets on how long it takes for Kirby to come save us."

DDD: "Optimistically... Three days?"

MK: "That is if Kirby has a idea of where we are..."

DDD: "You bring up a good point chrome dome. Usually when we go missing there's a huge event. I just remember taking a nap an' then I'm in this crazy place."

MK: "In my circumstances, I had just finished looking through some electronic order forms from a merchant on Planet Mecheye whom my operations does business with and for. I wanted to re-check the product code for a new set of energy valves meant for a future upgrade. So I decided to leave the communications room to and head to Captain Vul's office so that we coul-.

M: "Gahaha! Geez! Who cares about that? Cut to the point."

MK: "..."

DDD: "I'll have to agree with my jester over 'ere Meta Knight. We might have all time in the world but we don't need a play-by-play of your day."

MK: "Right, sire. Well, I did not wish to wait for the lift so I decided to teleport... Then, well, I am here."

M: "For me, I just blinked."

DDD: "What?"

M: "Yes. It was very weird. I got something in my eye, blinked a couple of times and when I re-opened my eyes on the... third blink I opened my eyes to this white room."

MK: "Hm... That rules out a few theories I have."

DDD: "Does it now?"

MK: "Aye. Clearly, our imprisonment is not of the result of magic, a physical kidnapper, or, in my case, a faulty re-route of my teleportation. It... It is the result of something or someone beyond that. There's no correlation between us and how we arrived here. It is anomalous and random."

M: "Ahah... We're totally in it now."

MK: "Why are you chuckling, tell me, is this but a game for you? What is it in this case?"

M: "Relax. Meta Knight, was it? You can't teleport out of here with that cape of yours. Dedede couldn't break a dent in the walls with his hammer and your sword couldn't scratch. It in this case is the worst possible scenario."

DDD: "Don't say that."

MK: "Yes. We needn't the excessive negativity."

M: "Hmph. If that is how you wish to be, who am I to stop you."

DDD: "For now, let's just rest. Sleep a little. Clear our heads and come up with a plan."

24 HOURS LATER.

MK: "We do have some provisions. Three MREs, a chocolate bar, two lolipops, an Invincibility Candy, and finally a full canteen of water."

DDD: "Is this really all we have?"

M: "Gosh! You're right. If I had known we'd be trapped in a cosmic prison. I'd bring some snacks!"

MK: "We do have a single Invincibility Candy, I suppose we can take advantage of its properties."

M: "How?"

DDD: "You never had one, have you?"

M: "No, I can't say I have."

MK: "It is simple. The Invincibility Candy replenishes all. One bite, and you're instantly satiated, all wounds heal, and so on. I suppose I can break it down into as many small chunks as possible and we can ration it out once the normal provisions run out."

M: "Ahaha, I see now!"

MK: "For our normal provisions... I suppose it is best we conserve what we can, using only the absolute minimum. However... Well, I suppose I do not need to eat or drink..."

M: "...Oh? And why is that?"

MK: "Being what I am... Whatever that may be. I do not need to consume food or drink. After all, my species is long lived, hardy, and nigh immortal. Consumables are not exactly necessary."

M: "Hm. ...Well, I suppose more for..."

M: "..."

M: "Well, I suppose that's more for me and his highness then, right? Thank you, Meta Knight!"

DDD: "Hold on jus' a second. I don't want you to starve Meta."

MK: "It is of no concern to you. I will be fine. I would rather fast if it means keeping those who can't alive."

DDD: "If you say so..."

MK: "With our food situation squared away... Well, I suppose we can sleep?"

THREE DAYS LATER

DDD: "Wait a second..."

M: "...?"

MK: "What is it...?"

DDD: "I... I don't think help is coming."

MK: "..."

DDD: "Meta Knight, there is somethin' very strange and very wrong about this prison place here."

MK: "Calm yourself. What is the issue?"

DDD: "You can't teleport out of here, and that is a dimensional cape, right?"

MK: "No, unfortunately, I cannot."

DDD: "Is there anything, anything at all that could stop you from using it to teleport? Maybe that can be a clue to where we are You can already pull stuff from it, so it's not completely broken, right?"

MK: "Yes, and no. The problem is, my Dimensional Cape works as more of a hammer-space, similar to Kirby's mouth. Teleporting is, for lack of a better explanation, opening a door within that hammer space to traverse to a different location that is contingent on dimensions. No matter what I've tried, I couldn't open that door so to speak. So, the only thing that would stop me from accessing it's properties for teleporting... would be... if there wasn't a dimension to tap into in the first place."

DDD: "Crap. If that's the case.... You can't use your cape so... So we're stuck not just physically, but outside of physics itself?"

MK: "Er...Yes?"

M: "I don't understand what that means. What exactly is the problem?"

DDD: "If what I'm theorizing is correct, we are outside the existence of our 'dimensions' itself. In other words, it is like we're outside of existing within a physical or chronological instance... Whatever this place is... It's in a sort of null-dimension outside of what could be considered a "physical" dimension of sorts."

MK: "..."

M: "...Huh. Is it even possible to... Traverse that? Magolor could come find us, right? He's a dimensional traveller."

DDD: "I don't know... I don't know if Magolor could even make it... Can you even traverse a dimension that isn't even... How should I say, how d'you go to a place that was never present from your own perspective?"

MK: "..."

M: "..."

TEN DAYS LATER

*Clang*

*Clang*

*Clang*

M: "Will you give it a rest? You've been at that wall for hours. That sword of yours isn't gonna break it. You haven't even left a scratch!"

MK: "I have... *huff*... I have to try something. We can't just be... Stuck."

M: "Hah... Do you know of the definition of insanity?"

MK "..."

DDD: "..."

M: "So, what now?"

MK: "We continue waiting...."

M: "Right, but what then. Do we continue waiting and waiting? Heh. Is that it? We do nothing and wait for the inveitabl-"

MK: "Silence. Do not even speak such thoughts."

M: "Right, right. Of course, you would say that. Right, Sir Meta Knight?"

MK: "Kh-?! What are you implying, anyways you devil?"

M: "You're going to outlive us both, aren't you? You already know that."

MK: "...That... That is true. What are you trying to get at? Why are you saying this."

M: "What then, Meta Knight? What then after that? Are you prepared for that?"

MK: "...So be it. If... If that will be my fate I have... methods to..."

M: "Take care of yourself, perhaps?"

MK: "..."

TWO WEEKS LATER

M: "We're out of food. All of the water is gone. ...We have only two small pieces left of Invincibility Candy."

MK "...I see. Aye. Go ahead, take one and pass the other to his highness."

DDD: "Wait, are we really out of..."

MK: "Yes, Sire. I'm sorry."

M: "Tch. Two weeks. Not a single change. NOTHING, NOTHING, NOTHING!"

DDD: "..."

MK: "SILENCE! Do you think I do not know? We've been in the same forsaken box for two weeks! Do you think I already don't know we're TRAPPED?!"

M: "Without food or water... Well, Dedede here is now biding time, huh?"

MK: "Bah! You are in just as much danger, no?"

M: "...Oh, right... Yes, you're right."

MK: "That hesitation, what for? Hm?"

M: "...Hmph, it doesn't matter now. Okay? I lied."

DDD: "What...."

MK: "So you did know a way out? Another one of your sick pranks?"

M: "Kyahahah! No, no, no. Trust me, I do not care for being stuck here as much as you two do. I admit. A soul? Don't have one. Thank Kirby for that one. I lack a soul, ergo, I had no necessary need to eat or drink. Sorry about that, I really am. However, if I am to die here I refuse to die on a empty stomach."

MK: "You vile selfish beast!"

DDD: "...Meta Knight, calm down. .... It ain't...It's not worth it. Is it now? What's done is done. Haah... Let's just... Let's just sleep. You two are exhausting... I don't have the energy to deal with it."

M: "..."

MK: "...My apologies."

Three Weeks Later

M: "I...I don't think Kirby's coming for us. Hah... Meta Knight? Why... Why am I scared?"

MK: "... I... Kirby will come for us."

M: "Wouldn't he have, already? Why hasn't he?! There's so much he could've done by now. He could've wished for our safe return through NOVA by now."

MK: "That's... Kirby... Stop. Kirby is going to come for us or we're going to figure out a way out..."

M: "Why hasn't he?!"

MK: "I do not know! I don't know why Kirby hasn't shown up..."

M: "..."

MK: "...? Sire, are you okay?"

DDD: "...Meta Knight. I'm scared. I want to go home. I don't want to die like this. Anythin' but this... "

MK: "I know. Eventually, we'll get out of here. For now... Go to sleep, Sire. Conserve your strength."

DDD: "...Alright."

M: "..."

MK "...I will. I will fix this. I will get us out of here. I have to, any means necessary."

M: "Pah, good luck with that..."

MK: "..."

SEVEN WEEKS AND THREE DAYS LATER

MK: "Sire, I'm sorry."

M: "Huh why do you...?"

DDD: "Mmngh?...Wha...What're yo-"

*Ssslraash--!!!*

M: "W-WHY?!"

MK: "I had to. It's the only way to escape."

M: "Escape?! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!!!"

MK: "He was in pain. He could barely sit up. He was shivering. It was an act of mercy. A quick death is far more appealing than a long, drawn out one of anguish."

M: "Hahaha?! Have you lost your mind or something?!"

MK: "Perhaps. We aren't escaping from here. I realize that. There are times where you can only give up. That is okay. I have made peace with that."

M: "...Wait. I don't... Meta Knight?! Meta Knight! ...What are you doing?"

MK: "Worry not. I will make this quick."

M: "I... Hold on, wait. I don't... I don't... I don't want to-!"

EIGHT WEEKS LATER

MK: "....I'm sorry, I'm so sorry....Sire... Uuhg... I'm sorry... Sire... I can't do it... I can't do it.... I'm sorry... I'm sorry.....Kirby... Agh..."

ELEVEN WEEKS LATER

MK: "....It is time. Deep breaths... Allign the blade....and..."

MK: "Nn...!?!!!-"

TWELVE WEEKS LATER

TWENTY WEEKS LATER

FOURTY WEEKS LATER

THREE YEARS LATER

"My, my, what an interesting scenario! I can't say I am too surprised of the outcome. Well, thank you again for using HWC's Virtual Problem and Scenario Observer, VPASO!"

-Executive Secretary Susana Haltmann

[wolfertinger999]

I want to know what is wrong with the people following and defending Salem and Wis without even attempting to ask questions or challenge their claims. Instead, falling for obvious lies and not even attempting to get stories from the actual affected parties.

Why are you listening to Wis, who wasn't even involved in the situation, but posts about it on the daily publicly to shit talk an intersex latino person that she personally dislikes and already has a bias towards? Calling them a dog, calling them a groomer when dating a 19 year old Salem as a 22 year old, yet she isn't a groomer for dating 20 year old Salem at 23? Calling them white for some reason, as if that's a negative (Sawyer is not white, they are latino), yet gets mad when you call her a "cracker". She's ACTIVELY DEFENDING A RAPIST AS OF TODAY, EVEN AFTER ADMITTING SHE WAS IN THE WRONG. Even though the rapist Mari/MeggieBun admitted she raped Sawyer. And the rapist THAT WIS DEFENDS calling Wis "ugly", a "gooner", and that she "should kill herself". She will use ANY terms or lies to downplay Sawyer. Using TME as if that fucking matters in a situation like this.

Salem says nothing at all now, because he knows if he gets involved, his audience will keep digging. He's a part of it, whether or not he speaks up. Just as he didn't want to speak up about his shared groomer ex with Sawyer, Torin. He allows his girlfriend to speak lies on his exes name because he dislikes them. He is AWARE this is happening, and will not interact with Wis' posts about Sawyer. No intervention is still bad. Centrist bullshit. He's also interacting with a 16 year old minor a few days after the wolfertinger account pointed it out, when this happened in the past already. He ONLY responds to art criticisms or "hate", nothing else. That's the only way to prove he sees this account. He responds to almost every art criticism posted here, almost out of pettiness, through a vague post or a new drawing. Notice how his art almost always mirrors posts here, a day or a few after it's posted? It's fucking embarrassing. His pettiness runs deeper, trying his hardest to piss Sawyer off by making ripoffs of an oc he gifted them in 2022, Pepper.

They both claim to despise "pedojacketing", but will happily do it to Sawyer constantly, just to get away with it constantly because their fans blindly support them.

You have all of the evidence hand-fed to you, and you choose to side with terrible people because you cannot FATHOM losing access to mid furry porn. Use your resources. You literally don't need to use KiwiFarms for this. These accounts are full of evidence if you need them. PLEASE fucking try. Many screenshots are submitted and taken by me, or very rarely, from Twitter accounts I've nabbed them from who have been around for past issues, such as the Kungfurevvv/Kung Fu Revvy anti Asian racism situation, which only one person ever got a screenshot of.

Type keywords. It's so easy. I am begging. I will type some for you.

"racist" "racism" "nazi" "groomer" "grooming" "rape" "rapist" "lying" "liar" "admitted"

There are more. Think of some, and type it in. You can also view the archive if you'd like an overall view.

Use these blogs. If you don't trust screenshots, I don't know what you want me to say? You can talk to Wis or Salem directly and try to get a story from them if you'd like. Screenshots, a solid timeline, something. I doubt they'll have anything for you but a wall of text, snarky replies, or getting upset at you because you don't trust them. You will get blocked, though. You will also get blocked if you interact with this post, so be careful. You will also be on their radar forever.

I also never condone harassment, death threats, or anything of the sort. Be civil, be normal. Be upset, because these people are lying to you and many sit there and allow it to happen.

Evidence blogs:

@wolfertinger

@bunnyhazedayz

[dreams-of-me]

All Aflame

Reiner x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Minors DNI, NSFW, Military!Reiner, Engagement, deep penetration, vaginal penetration, creampie, AFAB Reader, Angst.

This will probably be part 1 of two in this series because i have to write him coming back from war and the news you have to share with him. Its super long but it felt so good to write again. please enjoy and more to cum!

It's been 3 years since his discharge. He’s Reiner but he's different. Like he's in a dream, i can't put my finger on it specifically but it feels like he's.. Lit up. In a negative way. Like smoke inhalation. Like he's burning, and I don't know how to fix it. I'm scared I'm losing him and I fear that he won't be able to handle the news I have to share with him. 

When we met, I was 18 and fresh out of Basic training. He was 20 out of basic but we were different. He knew college wasn't for him and he knew that he loved his country enough to serve during a war. He was alive then, quiet, stern, but once he was out of his shell he was a whole new person. Still steady and reliable and strong but funny and free. Although still holding himself back for some reason. Nonetheless, I fell in love with him. It was so filling and consuming much like a flame. He was what I needed, the solid ground to my sky. Because I knew where I came from, he was here by choice and I was here because I had no other place to go. It was the army or sell myself and I knew that was the ultimate and final choice. Throughout basic he helped me and taught me and I cared for him, even in the barracks it was limited access that I yearned for almost every day and when we graduated and no one came to tap me out, he did. His family came for him and he came for me. I embraced him for what felt like forever and at the end of the embrace he got down on one knee with the stone he clutched while running to me. 

“Marry Me.”

“Reiner… yes.”

In that instant everything faded and we were in bliss. He was almost completely free. Before we got stationed we got a place together and lived like newly weds even though we hadn't even started planning the glamorous and fabulous wedding his parents, more specifically his mother, wanted. We were content in our little bubble. We were happy. 

He was leaning on the wall by the kitchen with his arms crossed. Light grey sweatpants with his calvin klein underwear showing slightly at the top. No shirt, his chest and abs completely exposed. His hair was a mess and the stubble from his beard was finally beginning to grow in a subtle way that makes you want to rub your face against it. He watched me for a while before speaking. 

“What am i going to do with you”

“Reiner please, all did was make dinner”

“Yes, but youre supposed to be in bed with me. What is a world where I wake up and I don't find you next to me.”

“Hahaha honey please, just come eat.”

“I’ll do it but not because you told me to.”

He sat at the table that his body made look small in the corner of the living room. Laid back with his arms loosely crossed watching me as it set everything out for him. 

“I gotta put a baby in you if you keep feeding me like this.”

“Oh boy this again. Just eat.”

The food was still steaming, a white rice that seemed to glow under the light above the table, a cucumber salad, teriyaki chicken, and beef strips. He ate a ton but it all went to his frame and thank god for it. I’m tall for a woman, but he still towers over me in a way that makes me feel small. He envelopes me in his warmth in the best way. I looked up at him eating slowly but gleefully and smiled. We engaged in small talk over the food. 

“You know, they're never going to deploy us to the same place.” “Even if that's true, it won't mean anything.”

“Reiner are you sure because if we’re deployed and we get back and have to break-”

“That wouldn't even happen in your dreams.” “I'm just saying, people change.” “In the year and 6 months that you’ve known me have I changed?”

“No.. but that not a comparable amount of time” “You're right it's less.” He put his fork down and held my hand, caressing the ring he placed there. “You're mine, and I'm yours, and it will be that way even in 50 years. No amount of time, distance, or trauma will change my love for you. Okay?”

“Alright.”

“Good.”

“So how’s your mom” “I wont answer that because i know you don't really care”

“Hehe, I'm glad you know me so well.”

We were happiest in each other's presence, we hadn't left the apartment in days knowing that next week we would be apart for months. Sleep, eating, showering, all of it and more, always together, inseparable. 

He washed over me like sunlight and I accepted every ray. We layed in bed again and he layed on my stomach grasping me as if I was trying to leave. Entangled in each other, I caressed his hair with another hand drawing circles along his bicep that held me down. 

“Ya know, when we leave next we-”

“Please stop, stop bringing it up just… just lay here with me a little longer.” 

“If we can't ignore it forever, it's going to happen.” 

“I know, but I don't want to think about it right now.” 

“If not now then when”

“After you finish for me… the third time.”

“What?”

He was finding his way to my core. Kissing me sucking on my thighs. Making me exhale shakily when he started to pull my shorts off. 

“Ri.. you're stalling.”

“One of many things you know I'm good at.”

“Ah- a well trained soldier indeed.”

He closed his lips around my clit, suckling and licking all over shooting waves of pleasure all through me. It was his way of taking control for once. Letting him do all the work was the only thing he asked for when we made love. 

He left my core a soaking wet mess as he trailed more kisses up my body, slowly lifting my extremely large t-shirt that is actually his, up and exposing my chest. He closed on the opportunity to suck on my nipples just as gleefully as he did my more. 

“Mmm Ri, if you're going to rile me up at least give me what the first time around.”

“You're so right, round one always goes to you just like in basic.”

He slid back down, beginning to ravish me just how I liked it. Sucking on my puffy red clit and drawing circles with his thumb when he isn't using his mouth. He was large enough to sit on his knees and lift my lower half to his face. Finishing his meal, he let me cry out his name a few times before using two fingers from his free hand to curl into me while his mouth did the rest of the work. I convulsed into his mouth gasping as I came all over his face. His stubble looked so good when it was wet. 

“My turn,” He said in a low voice.

He set me down, kissed my tummy and flipped me over. He was slow and decisive with his movements. Using his hands to feel all over my body, taking the time to slap by ass with a force that made me moan. He pulled me up so that I was on all fours. He spread me, taking the view in of my soaked sex and although i couldn't see him i just knew that he was biting his lip. It made me want him even more. He moved to his sweatpants and underwear. Letting them get below his mid thigh, almost to his knee. He pushed the tip in letting himself take in the heat and slick that he created. 

“How do you want it baby?”

“However will make you miss me the most when we're done.”

“Jesus.”

He pushed into me slowly making me moan his name. He stayed there for a moment. His hands caressing my body and finding my hips. I still hadn't known what he chose. What would make me miss the most? Then he tightened his grip on my hips and stroked nicely and slowly. The feeling made me gasp as he passed the best spots inside me. 

“Oh god Ri.”

“I gave you the option to choose didn't I?”

He was slow but precise in his movements. Making sure he hit my favorite spots every time he stoked but still slow enough to keep me wanting more every time he pulled back. I loved the way he filled me up so slowly that I could feel my insides stretching around him. He sped up a little and I knew he was close. But he maintains the diligent strokes he started with. 

“Fuck.”

“Ri, I need ah- I need more.”

He grunted a response and let a hand fall from my right hip to my clit once again. He maintained his speed and rubbed me slowly but I was already so close to cumming around him. I arched my back and pushed back. 

“Give it all to me baby.”

He thrusted hard and slow and rubbed me quickly. I was creaming all over him and filling me up. He pulled out slowly making me shudder as I collapsed face first into the bed. I was catching my breath when I felt him standing over me. 

“One more.”

“Huh.”

He picked me up, hooking my knees with his arms and letting my still wet core rub against his abs. I wrapped my arms around his neck and shuddered again. 

He looked at me, eyes low. He licked his lips, signaling for me to kiss him. And I did. Entrapped his lips in mine as he walked towards the closet knowing there would be mirrors for both of us to watch everything going on. I was still kissing him when lifted me up slightly, gliding me onto his dick. I threw my head back in pleasure and moaned.

“Ahh yess Ri.”

“Talk to me baby.”

He let that be his cue to use me as a fleshlight. Pounding in and out of me one moment and stroking slowly into me the next. He gripped the hell out of my ass and I was sure it would leave a mark in the morning. But the feeling of him being so deep in me was making my mind fog. He wanted me to talk to him but I was fighting just to keep my eyes open and breathe. I let all my weight fall on him as I whispered in his ear. 

“All yours, always.”

He grunted again and I felt his dick twitch inside me. He pushed me all the way down his cock. Making me groan and bend under the feeling of being so full. He leaned against a dresser behind him. His legs were giving out. I accommodated this using the little strength I had left to put my feet atop the dresser and lift myself off of him with his help. He picked me up and slammed me on him time and time again. 

“I could never get enough of you even in 40 years im gonna be fucking you til you need a new cane.”

“Ugh way to ruin the mood. Why even mention old wrinkly sex Reiner?”

“You know I'm not good with words. But how is the mood ruined when you're still gripping me so well?”

He went back to using me, making sure I couldn't do anything to stop him even if I wanted to. 

He was slamming me on his cock and I couldn't hold my cries back every time he did. It hurt so good. He put his head in my neck, breathing hard and closing his eyes. That's how I knew he was close. He always latched onto me in some way. I was close too, I felt my legs shaking and my insides quivering. The next moment I was cuming on him again and he was filling me up. I held onto him tightly feeling his load drip out of me and onto his thighs. But I still felt so full. I let my weight fall on him, completely exhausted. He lifted me off of him but still carried me. We went into the bathroom and washed off. We almost fell asleep in the tub. The hot water was bliss although he always complains that I have it too hot. He got up first. Grabbing the towel and wrapping it around his waist. Then he helped me up out of the tub. Passed me the towel and drained the water. We walked into the kitchen to grab water before getting dressed and getting back in bed. I hadn't noticed before but he let me soak in the tub for a little longer and changed the sheets of our bed. They were fresh and clean and comfortable. We laid there for a while, breathing in each other's air before falling asleep. 

The next few days were about the same. Except for Friday, Deployment Announcement Party. We invited all of our military friends to our apartment, pizza, drinks and music. We used the time to catch up and at 10 PM we would all check our emails and go around saying our deployment locations. As per usual Connie and Jean were the first ones drunk. Bertholdt, Reiner’s childhood friend, was definitely tipsy because he looked a little less nervous than usual and more talkative. Reiner didn't seem to pay attention to any of it because I was sitting on his lap and feeling so good. Sasha was in the kitchen eating damn near everything and Mikasa was picking at her plate but still being protective of it around Sasha. Eren and Armin were fighting over aux, and on round 4 out of 10 of rock paper scissors. It was a fun party, I could always expect a good time with these people around me. 

All of a sudden time flew and it was 10 PM. It was time to see where our group would divide and conquer. First up Armin. “Texas, oh lord I hate the heat.” We all laughed recalling the way Armin’s entire uniform would change colors under his sweat.

Eren. “Germany, man what. That language is so difficult for no reason.”

Mikasa. “South Korea… Well at least the night life is fun.”

Connie. “Germanyyyy, Jaeger you can pray all you want but you can never get rid of meeee.” We all laughed as he jumped into Eren’s arms and even louder when Eren dropped him on his ass.

Jean. “Iran.” The mood soured. Iran has been an active Warzone for as long as we could remember. Hundreds of lives lost throughout the years. We all gathered around Jean and gave him encouraging words. He smiled sweetly, walking to the kitchen to pour himself another shot. 

Sasha. “Virginia, man I thought I'd at least get to leave the country.” 

My turn. I stood up and took a breath, everyone was watching me as I pulled out my phone and opened up my email. “Hawai’i. Wow, that's actually perfect hahaha.” Relief flooded the room as everyone congratulated me. Reiner came up to me and planted a kiss on my lips that made Connie whistle and Eren yell “GET A ROOM”.

I sat down in Reiner’s spot as he pulled out his phone. 

“Hungary.” He looked up at me as my jaw hit the floor. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Hungary was basically military for Ukraine. We knew deployment there meant we would be in an active war zone and that being said he would be in more danger and doing 10 times as much work as Jean. He came to me and hugged me tightly. He sat down in his spot again and let me bury my face in his chest. The room was silent for a minute, then Connie yelled we’ve got one more. 

“Yea i’m going i know.” Bertholdt stood up. “Hungary, man fate is so funny it wont let me leave this guy's side.” We all giggled. We all drank some more and finished the pizza and snacks before everyone started heading out. Reiner and I let the music play as we cleaned up. He could tell I was still sad and afraid but content with the fact that he won't be alone. We went to bed knowing that even though we would be across the world from each other, we won't be alone. He curled up to me and fell asleep instantly as I let my mind wander before I fell asleep as well.

[minisugakoobies]

can I please request “come back to bed.” for enhypen Jay please💘🫶🏼

I love your writing💜

Aw, thank you, anon!! This is my first real fic for Jay and Enhypen - my bad cop!au musings aside - so I hope you like it! 💕

Pairing: Jay x Reader Genre: smut, maybe a tiny bit of angst, non-Idol!AU Rating: M (18+) Warnings: the relationship status here is not quite dating but maybe already kind of in love, a little bit of angst about reader feeling insecure, fingering, biting, fucking standing up, back shot, aftercare Disclaimer: NSFW, obviously I do not own Enhypen - they just inspire me **********

“Come back to bed,” your maybe boyfriend whispers, wrapping his arms around you. He found you in his living room in the early hours of the morning again, staring out the windows at the lights of the city outside. For some reason you can never actually sleep when you sleep over here. 

That negative voice in your head nags at you, suggesting that maybe that’s some sort of sign. That as much as you want this - as much as you want him - you don’t belong here. Trying to ignore it, you lean back against Jay’s chest. He’s so solid, so sturdy and strong behind you. The chill you’d felt earlier as you stood here alone is gone now. 

That’s how it always is with Jay. He drives the cold away.

“I can’t sleep,” you explain. Broken record repeating.

He hums a sympathetic note. “Didn’t say we had to sleep,” he says, with a sharp tug of his teeth on your ear. You press your lips together, amused at his suggestion, and roll your hips back against him to show your agreement, whimpering when his hand slips between your thighs. 

In no time at all, you’re desperate for him. You brace yourself with your hands against the wall as he lifts your leg to open you for him. His strokes are slow and deep, and you cry his name when you come, lost somewhere in that dreamy haze between lust and love, the place where you keep finding yourself with him. He pulls out, and you feel a wet warmth splatter on your back, and hear him whisper your name in a choked voice.

When you’ve stopped shaking, he leads you by the hand to his bathroom, where he lovingly cleans the sweat and semen from your body. Then he guides you back under the covers of his bed, and lies down behind you, draping an arm over your stomach to hold you close. 

He must notice the tension you still carry in your muscles, holding yourself taut as that annoying nagging in your brain starts up again, mocking you, and clicks his tongue.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to sleep, baby. But you should still get some rest. Let everything else fade away, and just be here, with me.”  

His fingers lightly trace over your skin in soothing strokes, and you sigh, settling deeper into the bed, letting the distance between you dwindle until there’s none left. You’re safe here, nestled against him, and before long, the first tendrils of sleep begin to pull at you. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his warm voice silencing the obsessive nagging in your brain again. “Just relax. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Promise?” you mumble, lips barely moving, already heavy with slumber. 

“Always.” 

His lips brush your shoulder, and you sigh again, surrendering to sleep. Maybe this is where you’re meant to be after all. 

***********

Thanks to @moni-logues for sharing that "Always" mv in the chat with @minttangerines @simp47koreancrackheads so I could finish this 💜

[vermilionstarlight]

Made because I'm bored on the shitter. No shapeshifting because I know this website and I know my sphere of influence and it'll automatically sweep.

A statistically significant portion of you are transgender / therian / queer / autistic / otherkin weirdo freaks (affectionate) (loving) (I fit almost all of these descriptors wholly or partially)

OVERLY DETAILED ELABORATION BELOW THE CUT:

1. Flying - Top speed of Mach 1. You're immune to the negative effects of G force on your body, low pressure environments, low oxygen, low temperatures, and damage from air resistance.

2. Amphibious - Your swimming is not enhanced (you must learn to swim, same as anyone). Any water inhaled is magically turned into breathable air as it passes through your mouth or nose. You are immune to pressures up to and exceeding that of the Marianas trench, low deep-sea temperatures, and the bends. Wildlife that would otherwise be aggressive or dangerous will simply ignore you, and venom from aquatic or semi-aquatic creatures will not affect you. Basically, you're safe from hazards unless you explicitly attack something.

3. Teleport - You have the ability to place the portals (similar to those from the popular video game Portal) at your choosing, and they can be placed at any point in space that you can see. It can be any 2D shape, so long as it fits within the area of a five m^2 square. You can 'bind' the portal to an object (car, wall, article of clothing, yourself), or you can simply have it freestanding in the air and be stationary relative to the Earth's surface. You can only place two pairs of portals at a time. If you attempt to place a new pair, you must choose an existing pair to remove. If you close or remove a portal while something is passing through it, it shears that thing perfectly in two. You can't open a portal in a position or orientation that would have it intwrsect with a solid object, only liquids, gases, or plasma.

4. Time Loop - You can start a time loop of indefinite length at any time. It resets whenever you wish, or when you die, whichever comes first. You can end the current loop at any time, or begin a new loop with a new start point and reset interval/reset condition at any time. You can only have one 'start point' at any given time.

5. Telepathy - At any time, you can think of a specific person and project a thought, concept, emotion, or sensory experience into their mind. Once you do this, it establishes a connection that the recipient can use to transmit in the same fashion. You can create telepathic "group chats" between people, with a maximum of 10 participants (including you). Any participant can exit the connection at any time.

6. Inventory - When you're touching an object, you can will it into an extra-dimensional space. There are no weight or size limits. You can store singular discrete objects, containers and their contents, and "piles" of objects (like a mound of dirt). You cannot store living organisms, meaning any object put into your storage is 100% sterilized. Non-living organic matter (vegetable matter, meat, bone, dead bacteria) can still be stored. You can mentally access this space at any time, and can get a complete mental inventory of everything stored inside it at any time. Time doesn't pass for anything stored in this space, and qualities like arrangement and temperature are preserved. Whenever you wish, you can retrieve an object from the space, and it appears as it was when you stored it, and in any orientation you wish, so long as it's touching you as it comes out (e.g. it comes out of the space in your palm, at your fingertip, on top of your head, touching your ankle, etc.). If you attempt to retrieve an object in an orientation that would make it intersect with anything solid, the retrieval attempt fails.

7. Invisibility - You can, at any time, choose to switch between being visible and being invisible. This does not affect the way light interacts with you, but instead makes it so that anyone perceiving you will contextualize you as not being there, and never having been there recently. The fact that you are walking around, talking, and interacting with the world around them does not change that you are not there to them. Light still reflects off of you and hits their eyes, but they will simply be unaware of the fact that someone walked into the gas station two minutes ago and is standing in front of them right now. Because the you are not there at that moment, most suspicious activities do not register to anyone perceiving you, because you aren't present to them at that moment, and people that are not present aren't able to do things.

8. Healing - When you touch an organism, you are able to heal it of any given perceived malady, affliction, or harmful effect. This relies on the perception of the one receiving the healing, not on the perception of you, the healer. Cancer, aging, alzheimer's, even relatively "minor" afflictions like male pattern baldness or a mild tendency towards pimples. There's no specific limit, so long as the receiver perceives it to be bad or harmful. This also can heal congenital disorders. Specific afflictions can be targeted, so a "full heal" isn't always necessary. If you want to heal someone of a spinal disorder, but they were also raised Catholic and perceive their sexual desires to be inherently harmful and sinful and in need of removal, you as the healer can choose to only heal the former and not the latter, if you are uncomfortable with that. If somebody wishes to have their hearing damage healed, but they are also a paraplegic and consider that to be an important part of their person-hood that shouldn't be changed, it's possible to target specifically the hearing damage and not the paralysis. This ability is also able to affect mental afflictions, chemical imbalances, and the like. This will change the receiver's mind to be in line with whatever they consider to be "healthy," relative to their perceived affliction. It is not possible to apply healing without the desire of the receiver. Verbal consent is not required, only conscious desire for the affliction to be remedied. It's supernatural bullshit, so there's no gray areas. If they would have said yes to an explicit question of consent, you're able to do it even without verbal consent. If they would have said no, then you aren't able. This is specifically to allow emergency life-saving healing, in the case of someone being unable to explicitly verbally consent. Morally dubious, but generally very helpful. Also, so long as you and nobody you care about are killed instantly (or killed too far away for you to heal in time), you and everyone you care about is immortal for as long as any individual desires.

9. Mind-Reading - You are able to non-consensually probe the mind of anyone you can directly see (television screens do not count, there must be direct sight-line between you and the target). You can see any memories they have, though the clarity and veracity of these memories is context-dependent. You can glean their immediate surface thoughts, and you can perceive through their subjective experience. You aren't immediately made aware of their deepest most subconscious desires, but you can analyze and infer from their thoughts and memories to deduce such things. Unless you're skilled in self-reflection and psychology, it won't be easy to immediately understand their entire person-hood. This may be morally dubious at best, but it can be useful for vigilantism and the like, depending on your moral allowance for such things.

10. Skill Retention - Your brain just works better when it comes to getting better at mundane skills. You are not supernaturally more capable than a normal human, you are just able to rapidly get better at things within normal human limits. Skills come easier to you, and not just things like "playing the piano" or "throwing objects" or something. You also find it easier to improve with critical thinking skills, emotional awareness, general kinesthetic coordination, and other such things. Additionally, you retain these skills far better than a normal person can. You don't easily "get rusty" with any sort of skill unless you go entirely unpracticed for decades. You can learn how to perform advanced acrobatics, go unpracticed for 15 years, then pick it back up at almost the exact same level of technical skill. Some tasks require more than just skill and mental capacity, like sports, and you're granted no special ability to get more physically capable. However, this ability does make it significantly easier to learn how to keep yourself disciplined and stick to a routine, allowing you to become more physically capable anyways. You are the most average superhero ever.

11. Clairsentience - You are able to create a supernatural, intangible "camera" whenever you like. You can perceive sounds and sights through this camera, even if you are physically deaf or blind. Your brain functioning is changed so you're able to adequately process two simultaneous sets of sensory input without biologically blue-screening. You can move the camera around as you please, with no range limit, and it's able to move at speeds up to 0.99c (99% of light speed). You can spy on anything, anywhere, whenever you want. Spy on billionaires, spy on political backroom deals, spy on your asshole neighbor to steal their Dropout password.

12. Animal Speech - You can intuitively communicate with and understand any and all animals. Animals that are solitary and lack much social capacity like tigers, polar bears, and some shark species will mostly make for boring and/or antagonistic conversation, though they'll still be able to transmit and receive basic emotions and concepts (territory, fear, food, bright, dark, baby, sex). More social animals, like many canines and felines, will be far better conversation. They still don't have the complex language capacity of a human, but they'll be more amiable even if they aren't generally able to handle more complex concepts. Very intelligent and social animals like crows, orcas, or elephants will likely be mostly comparable to a full human person in terms of conversation, if not functionally the same. They have generally better language capacity than many other animals, and complex social intelligence.

[c0ffe3c4t]

❝ THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY ❞

PAIRING : Jaime Lannister x Fem! Stark! OC

SYNOPSIS : Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, and his wife are expecting their third child, but the shadow of past failed pregnancies looms over them. With no children to brighten their home, Elena carries the constant fear of another loss, though she tries to hide it behind a serene smile.

Jaime, always perceptive of her worries, refuses to let anguish consume her. Through his gestures, he strives to ease her days and help her leave behind any negative thoughts.

WARNINGS : Mentions of childbirth, stillbirth, miscarriage, and mildly suggestive content (non-explicit).

Elena paced back and forth across the room, her mind spinning in circles like her steps over the dark-toned carpet. The afternoon light cast shadows through the tall windows, reflecting against the golden walls the same exhaustion she felt in her body. The nausea hadn’t eased, even though it should have by now. She knew that, but her body seemed to have other plans.

She sighed, running a hand over her barely rounded belly. The third one, she thought, a sharp pang of fear tightening her chest. But no, she couldn't think about that. She couldn’t let the anxiety take hold. Not now.

She didn’t hear the sound of the door opening, nor the footsteps approaching her with the quiet ease of someone who knew how to move undetected. She only felt the warmth of strong arms wrapping around her waist, gently pulling her against a familiar, solid body.

—They told me you had a rough day, —Jaime murmured against her ear, his breath brushing the skin of her neck.

Elena didn’t respond immediately. She closed her eyes for a moment and let her head rest against her husband's chest. She placed her hand over his, which rested on her waist, and intertwined their fingers.

—It’s nothing, —she finally said, but her voice wasn’t convincing.

Jaime tilted his head and pressed a kiss to her hair before turning her gently in his arms to face him. His green eyes studied her intently, searching her face for something she didn’t want to reveal.

—The nausea again? —he asked, his tone softer now.

Elena nodded, suddenly feeling unbearably tired.

—It should have stopped by now, —she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Jaime didn’t speak right away. He only looked at her with that piercing intensity of his, one she had once mistaken for arrogance but now knew was something deeper. A mix of concern, devotion, and that unwavering loyalty that only he could offer.

—A maester will come, —he said finally, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Elena frowned and looked away.

—I don’t want a maester. I don’t want herbs. I don’t want anything.

—Elena…

—What’s the point? —Her voice wavered slightly, betraying her. She took a step back, wrapping her arms around herself. She knew Jaime wasn’t to blame, but in that moment, the fear was overwhelming. —The other two…

She couldn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

Jaime watched her in silence. Then, with that same quiet determination he always carried, he closed the distance between them and cupped her face in his hands.

—This baby will be born, Elena, —he said with certainty, as if saying it could make it true.

She blinked, her lips trembling slightly.

—And if not?

Jaime lowered one hand to her belly, caressing it gently.

—Then we’ll try again. And again. And again. Because this is not the end.

Elena felt her throat tighten. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he could say it so easily, with such conviction. But at the same time, she needed it. She needed that certainty he projected, even if she didn’t share it.

Jaime leaned in, resting his forehead against hers.

—I know what you fear, —he whispered. —But you’re not alone in this, Elena. You never will be.

Elena closed her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, allowed a tear to slip down her cheek. Jaime caught it with a soft kiss before pulling her into a firm embrace.

—Promise me something, —he said after a moment.

—What?

—That you won’t pace around like a caged wolf. You’re making me dizzy.

Elena let out a choked laugh against his chest.

—Idiot.

Jaime smirked, satisfied.

—You married this idiot.

She sighed and let herself sink into his arms. For now, it was enough.

The silence in the room deepened, broken only by the faint crackling of the candles and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Jaime kept his hand over Elena’s belly, as if he could ensure everything would be fine just by holding her. As if he could protect her with his touch alone.

—You should rest,— he murmured, though he didn’t move his hand.

Elena shook her head softly.

—I can’t.

Jaime tilted his head, watching her closely. He knew her too well. He knew it wasn’t just the pregnancy weighing on her mind.

—Is it about your sisters?

Elena pressed her lips together. She had wanted to see Sansa and Arya that day, but between the nausea and the constant scrutiny of the maesters, it had been impossible.

—I don’t want them to think I’m avoiding them.

—They won’t.

—Sansa, maybe not. But Arya…—she sighed. —She’s too perceptive. If she notices something, she’ll tell my father.

Jaime scoffed, resting his chin on top of Elena’s head with a playful smirk.

—And what if she does? Will Eddard Stark glare at me with his eternal look of disapproval? Will he remind me that I’m unworthy of you? Will he tell me—again—how much he despises the Lannisters? Oh, the Seven save me.

Elena elbowed him lightly in the ribs, but a faint smile played on her lips.

—Jaime...

—Come on, admit it. Your father hates me.

—He doesn’t hate you.

Jaime looked at her incredulously.

—Do you really believe that?

Elena rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Their marriage hadn’t been well received by Eddard Stark. Not at first. And while time had forced him to accept it, Jaime knew the man would never look at him kindly.

Still, he didn’t care much. He had Elena.

Jaime traced his fingers along his wife’s arm, an absentminded but intimate gesture.

—And what if he finds out? Are you going to hide it forever?

Elena lowered her gaze.

—No. But I don’t want him to know yet. I don’t want his warnings, his concern. I don’t want him looking at me like I’m about to shatter at any moment.

Jaime understood. Too well.

He knew how strong Elena was. He knew how much she hated being treated as fragile. But this pregnancy… it was different. It was a constant reminder of what they had lost before.

Jaime tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his gaze steady.

—You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.

Elena blinked.

—Not even to you.

She sighed, resting her forehead against his chest.

—Sometimes I feel like if I allow myself to worry, everything will fall apart.

Jaime held her tighter.

—It won’t.

Elena closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth of his embrace.

—Tell me everything will be alright.

Jaime lowered his head, whispering against her hair:

—Everything will be alright.

He didn’t know if it was true. But if anyone tried to take this from him—if fate itself tried to steal it away—he would fight against it.

Elena didn’t answer. She only clung to him a little tighter, letting her body relax against his. For a moment, she let herself believe his words, let herself be cradled by the certainty he offered without hesitation.

Silence wrapped around them again, but this time, it wasn’t uneasy. Jaime still had his hand over her belly, unusually patient. Sometimes, in moments like this, Elena wondered how it was possible that a man so accustomed to arrogance and irony could also be someone who offered such quiet reassurance when she needed it most.

—If you keep holding me like this, I’m going to fall asleep standing up.

Jaime smiled against her hair.

—That was the idea.

Elena let out a soft laugh and pulled back just enough to look at him. His green eyes held that same intensity that was so uniquely his, but also a tenderness that few ever got to see.

—Come with me, — he said, guiding her gently toward the bed.

—Jaime, it’s not necessary.

—Shhh, stop resisting good ideas.

Elena sighed but didn’t argue when he helped her lie down. He settled beside her, wrapping an arm around her, making sure his hand rested over her belly.

—Just close your eyes.

She obeyed.

For a moment, fear still lingered like a shadow at the edge of her mind. But the warmth of Jaime beside her, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his hand remained firm over her belly as if he could shield her from everything…

She couldn’t help but feel a little safer.

Just a little.

And sometimes, a little was enough.

୨୧

Jaime was lying on the bed, one hand resting on Elena's waist and the other gently placed over her abdomen. She slept deeply against his chest, her breathing slow and steady. It was one of those rare moments when he saw her completely at peace, without the weight of uncertainty reflected on her face.

He didn’t bother to move or wake her. He knew she hadn’t been sleeping well the past few nights, that anxiety often woke her in the middle of the night, and that sometimes he would find her sitting at the edge of the bed, staring into the darkness with a distant gaze. But not this time. This time, she seemed to be in a deep sleep, and he had no intention of interrupting that rest.

He ran his fingers gently along her back, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. Her breathing was steady, but every now and then, her hand unconsciously tightened over her belly, as if even in sleep, she clung to the hope that this time, everything would be all right.

Jaime looked down at her and, without thinking too much about it, leaned in to press a soft kiss to her hair.

Elena mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep and curled up closer to him. Jaime smiled softly.

No matter how much she tried to appear strong in front of others—her family, the court—here, in his arms, Elena allowed herself to lower her guard. And without needing words, he silently promised her that he would be there. That this time, everything would be all right.

Outside, the Red Keep continued its usual bustle, but in that room, in that moment, the world could wait.

୨୧

Elena walked slowly through the halls of the Red Keep, exhaustion wrapping around her with every step, though she still couldn't quite explain why. The pregnancy, though still in its early stages, seemed to drain her energy in a way she had never experienced before. Maybe it was the stress, or maybe the memories of her previous pregnancies that made her feel even more vulnerable. But, in any case, she couldn't shake the constant desire to rest and sleep.

When she reached the door of her father’s office, Lord Eddard Stark, she knocked softly a couple of times, waiting for the familiar sound of his deep, steady voice telling her she could enter.

—Come in, —Ned said from inside. Elena smiled upon hearing his warm tone, and as she opened the door, she saw him immediately rise from his chair, as if he had been expecting her.

—Hello, Father, —she said with a smile, relieved to see he was alone in the room. She wasn’t in the mood to face any other inquisitive looks at that moment.

Ned nodded, a faint smile forming on his face at the sight of her.

—Elena. It’s good to see you. How are you? —he asked, his tone carrying a concern that Elena had long learned to recognize.

—Mostly fine, —she replied, sitting across from him at his desk. She sat with a slight weariness in her posture, though she tried to hide it. The tricolor cat she had left behind had, in some strange way, made her feel a bit lighter. —Just a little tired, I suppose, —she added, searching for the right moment to bring up what she had come to say but also wanting to reassure her father.

Ned studied her more closely at her words. A heavy silence settled in the room. Elena, seeing the serious look on his face, knew she couldn’t delay any longer.

—Father… —she began gently, finally voicing what she had been avoiding for so long. —I’m pregnant.

Ned’s expression softened slightly, but his eyes still held a concern he couldn’t quite mask. He leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the desk.

—How far along are you? —he asked, his voice somewhat tense. He knew things hadn’t been easy for his daughter in her previous pregnancies, and fear crept into him instantly, like a shadow he couldn’t ignore.

Elena took a deep breath before answering, trying to sound calm and steady, even as she felt her heart beating faster than usual.

—Almost three moons, —she replied with a faint smile, hoping that number would ease some of the tension between them.

Ned remained silent for a moment, as if processing the information, then glanced out the window, as if searching for answers in the distant horizon. Elena could see that her father was worried—he always was when it came to his children. And though his protective presence was comforting, she couldn’t help but think about what had happened during her last pregnancy.

—I remember it well, Elena. That raven that arrived at Winterfell… —Ned said, his voice heavy with bitter memories. The days when he thought he might lose her, along with the child she had been carrying, still weighed on him like a stone.

Elena felt a tightness in her chest, but at the same time, a warmth at knowing how much her father had cared for her back then, how deeply concerned he had been for her and his granddaughter.

She leaned toward him with a gentle gesture and took his hand with quiet affection.

—Father, I’ll be fine, —she said with a warm smile, her eyes searching his with quiet reassurance. —I know you’re worried, but I will be fine. I promise. I won’t let the same thing happen again.

Ned looked at their hands, then clasped hers in response. It was a simple gesture, but it carried years of love, shared concerns, and the fierce protection that only a father could offer.

—I know, —he finally said, his voice calmer but still laced with the worry he couldn’t fully let go of. —I just… I just want everything to go well. And for you to be safe.

Elena nodded, feeling the weight of his words but also the unconditional support she had always found in him.

—I will be, Father. I will be.

The peace in the room didn’t last long before it was interrupted.

—I hate to intrude on a private moment, —Jaime said, his tone nonchalant, though his eyes gleamed with the usual tension he carried. His golden hair fell in soft waves, perfectly complementing the gleaming armor he wore.

Ned, who had been about to say something else to Elena, lifted his gaze in displeasure at the interruption. He knew what was coming.

—The king demands your presence, —Jaime said bluntly, as if it were as simple as a dinner invitation.

—I’ll go as soon as —Ned began, but Jaime cut him off abruptly.

—Bring that damned Stark here now, —Ser Jaime said, his tone edged with impatience. Though the words were sharp, the meaning was clear. It was an order from the king, but the irony in Jaime’s voice left no doubt about what he truly thought of it.

Elena watched as her father’s frown deepened at the knight’s words. Jaime, with his ever-present smirk, knew exactly how to make any situation more uncomfortable. And when he added:

—King’s words, not mine,

his tone was almost mocking, but Ned, despite his irritation, chose not to respond.

Ned sighed, resigned.

—I’ll give the doll to Sansa, —Elena said, her tone soft but laced with frustration. She carefully took the doll from her father’s hands. Ned, saying nothing more, simply nodded and began walking down the hall, his steps firm, his gaze set forward.

Jaime remained at the doorway, that insufferably relaxed expression still on his face. His smile was the kind that told her he knew exactly what he was doing.

Elena shot him a sharp look before sighing.

—Stop provoking my father, —she said, giving him a light whack on the shoulder with the cloth doll.

Jaime didn’t even flinch. Instead, he grinned with amusement.

—Provoking? —he asked, feigning innocence. —I’m merely trying to make his life more entertaining. A little excitement never hurts Lord Stark.

Elena rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t quite stop the corner of her lips from twitching upward. She knew Jaime enjoyed irritating her father, and though she sometimes wanted to strangle him for it, she also found it amusing how he could make even Ned Stark lose his patience.

Jaime tilted his head slightly, observing her with curiosity.

—By the way… —he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. —Did you tell him?

Elena blinked.

—Tell him what?

Jaime placed a hand dramatically over his chest in mock indignation.

—What do you mean, ‘what’? The pregnancy, of course.

Elena felt the heat rise to her face.

—Of course I told him.

—And? —Jaime crossed his arms, leaning slightly toward her, expectant. —How did he take it?

Elena sighed.

—He was worried, as expected.

Jaime raised an amused brow.

—Worried that his daughter, a grown married woman, is expecting a child? Or worried that the child is mine?

Elena shot him a murderous glare.

—Jaime.

—Alright, alright, —he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. —I suppose after what happened last time, he has a right to be concerned.

Elena nodded, but before she could say anything, Jaime continued, his usual teasing tone returning.

—Though… now that I think about it, don’t you think you should have softened the news a bit more? Something like: ‘Father, I have wonderful news. But before I tell you, promise me you won’t hit my husband.’

Elena smacked him again with the doll, this time harder.

—Jaime!

He let out a laugh.

—Oh, come on. I may not be his favorite son-in-law, but I’m not the worst either.

Elena rolled her eyes.

—You’re his only son-in-law, idiot.

—Exactly! No competition. Which technically makes me the best, —he said, winking at her.

Elena buried her face in her hands, shaking her head as Jaime chuckled in satisfaction.

—One of these days, my father is going to hit you.

—Probably. —Jaime shrugged.

Elena tried to keep a serious expression, but in the end, she couldn’t stop a small laugh from escaping.

Jaime Lannister—always insufferable… and always making her smile.

୨୧

Sansa had witnessed how her sister Elena had grown and evolved, silently observing from a distance. She had always felt a mix of admiration and, at times, a hint of jealousy towards her. Elena was married to a knight, living in the heart of the court, in the magnificent Red Keep, and was united with a man who, despite his reputation, treated her with a courtesy that Sansa secretly envied.

The life Elena led seemed so perfect, so calm. The marriage, although forged in a tumultuous context, was now one filled with stability and respect. Elena's place among the nobles, the way Jaime looked at her, the way her life seemed filled with comfort and love, was a reflection of what Sansa deeply desired.

Still young and naive, Sansa saw in that relationship something she longed for herself. In her dreams, she saw herself united with Joffrey, the prince, a love she had idealized for so long, believing that one day he would look at her with the same eyes that Jaime looked at Elena. Sansa wanted to live that life, to be the wife of an important man, to be at the center of events, surrounded by luxury and with the security that seemed to come from a marriage with someone of his status.

In her heart, Sansa didn’t want to see the cracks that might exist in relationships, she didn’t want to see the hidden problems beneath the surface. The love she had for Joffrey was unconditional, and even though his treatment of her at times wasn’t what she had expected, Sansa clung to the idea that one day he would change, that she could have the same as her sister.

What Sansa didn’t fully understand was that Elena’s life was not as perfect as it seemed. While she was married to a man who treated her with respect, she had endured her own fears and losses. Elena had lived through the pain of failure and frustration, and although she now seemed to be in a relationship that protected her, it wasn’t the idyllic story that Sansa imagined.

Sansa longed for the love she thought Joffrey could give her, not realizing that the prince had not yet reached the emotional maturity to understand what it truly meant to care for and love someone, as Jaime did with Elena. Unknowingly, Sansa was walking down a path that could be far more complicated and dark than she had imagined, but her vision of life remained centered on that fantasy of beauty and tranquility that she saw in her sister.

Elena’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

—Sansa.

Sansa quickly turned, searching with her eyes for the source of the voice. When her gaze landed on her sister, she noticed that she was holding something in her hands. Elena approached with a calm step, a faint smile on her lips.

Sansa frowned when she saw the object: a rag doll.

—What’s this? —she asked, taking the doll with an expression of disbelief.

—A gift from my father —Elena replied lightly—. A companion for the tournament later.

The smile on her face wasn’t enough to calm Sansa, who felt a burning sensation in her chest.

Her face flushed with anger, her lips pressed into a tight line. With a sharp motion, she threw the doll to the ground, as if it were burning in her hands, and turned to walk away, her steps hurried.

Elena sighed, bending down to pick up the doll.

—Sansa —she called, following her—. It was a joke.

—I haven’t played with dolls in years! —Sansa snapped, not stopping.

Elena quickened her pace and caught up with her, gently holding her arm.

—I know —she said softly—. Dad bought it for you, to try to ease your worries.

Sansa gritted her teeth, not turning to face her sister.

—Dad should do his job and stop treating me like a little girl —she replied coldly, before jerking her arm free from Elena’s grip.

The older sister watched her with a sigh, unable to stop herself from murmuring:

—You’re a little girl.

Sansa stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, she turned her head toward her, her expression hardening.

—One day I’ll be queen —she declared firmly, her gaze burning with a mix of pride and resentment—. And then you won’t be able to mock me.

Elena parted her lips, surprised by the intensity in her voice.

—Sansa, I’m not mocking you! —she exclaimed.

But her sister was already walking away, ignoring her.

An old servant, who had been watching the scene from afar, approached Elena with a kind smile. Gently, she took the doll from her hands.

—I’ll put it in her room —she said reassuringly.

Elena nodded silently, offering the woman a faint smile. But inside, she couldn’t help but feel that, little by little, Sansa was drifting further from the girl she had once been… and from the future she so longed for.

She simply sighed wearily.

—That girl —she murmured to herself.

୨୧

The sun shone over the jousting field, reflecting off the shining armor of the knights preparing for the tournament. The crowd murmured with excitement, and the sound of the banners flapping in the wind mixed with the hum of the people. From the stands, the ladies and lords watched attentively, and among them, Elena sat with her sisters, enjoying the moment as a family.

Sansa had changed into a more elegant dress, a light blue silk one, while Elena opted for a simpler one, in soft tones with loose sleeves. Her hair, partially tied, fell in loose waves over her back, with little jewelry or extravagant adornments. She had never been fond of tournaments, but she had decided to attend to spend time with her younger sisters, and because she knew that Arya was more excited about them than anyone.

At that moment, they were pointing out the knights on the field. Sansa was whispering excitedly about which knights she thought were the handsomest, while Arya, with much more enthusiasm, was exclaiming which ones seemed the strongest.

—That one over there is Ser Loras Tyrell —Sansa whispered, leaning towards her older sister. —They say he’s the most handsome knight in all of Westeros.

—He looks more handsome than strong —Arya huffed, crossing her arms.

—Beauty is also a weapon, Arya —Sansa replied, with an amused smile.

Arya rolled her eyes and immediately changed the subject, pointing excitedly towards the field.

—Look! —she exclaimed, pulling on Elena’s arm. —Jaime is going to ride!

Elena turned her head, surprised. Indeed, on the field, Jaime was adjusting his armor while speaking to his squire. His golden hair shone under the sunlight, and his bearing was that of a knight in all his glory. But what unsettled her most was the fact that he was participating. Jaime never participated in tournaments, and she never watched them. What a coincidence that on the day she decided to attend, he was there?

—Do you know who will fight first? —Arya asked, leaning on Elena’s lap, who draped an arm over her sister’s shoulders while looking towards the jousting field.

—Don’t be impatient, they’ll announce it soon —Elena answered calmly.

But her calmness was only apparent. From a distance, she noticed how Jaime was looking at her, and it made her feel slightly nervous. Was he doing it for her?

Sansa leaned in closer, still not taking her eyes off Jaime.

—I hope Ser Jaime starts on our side —she murmured, a gleam of admiration in her eyes.

—I hope he beats Loras to win your affection —Arya added with a mischievous smile, playing with a lock of her sister’s red hair.

Elena sighed, unsure whether to laugh or shake her head. The truth was, her sisters seemed more excited than she did, the one who was supposed to be the Kingslayer’s wife.

—I see the girls like the Kingslayer —a voice rang out behind them.

Elena, Sansa, and Arya turned at once, finding the slender figure of Lord Petyr Baelish, who was watching them with his usual sly smile.

—Lord Baelish —Elena greeted politely, offering a restrained smile. —It’s good to see you after so long.

She gently squeezed her sisters’ hands, which rested on her lap. They both gave a slight nod of respect, though Arya avoided looking at him directly, clearly uncomfortable.

—I’ve heard about your pregnancy —Lord Baelish continued, not taking his eyes off Elena. —Congratulations on the baby.

Before she could respond, he took her hand and kissed it gently.

Sansa and Arya both grimaced at the same time, showing their displeasure with the gesture. Elena, however, kept her expression serene, although her gaze hardened for a brief moment.

—Thank you, my lord —she replied politely, subtly withdrawing her hand.

Baelish smiled, as if enjoying her discomfort.

—Perhaps the gods will grant you an heir this time —he said in a soft tone, almost as if speaking to himself. —After all, it would be great news for your honorable father, don’t you think, my lady?

Elena felt a pang in her chest. She couldn’t ignore the implication in his words. Not after what had happened.

—The gods will decide what they deem fit —she replied firmly.

Lord Baelish studied her for a moment, as if analyzing every nuance of her reaction. Then, with a slight bow, he bid them farewell with his usual mysterious air.

As he walked away, Arya let out a huff.

Elena turned her attention back to the jousting field just in time to see Jaime getting ready. His horse, an imposing white steed with golden barding, moved with an elegance befitting the great knights. Jaime calmly adjusted his helmet, as if he had no cares in the world. From a distance, even with the visor down, Elena knew he was smiling.

—He’s too confident —Arya murmured, crossing her arms. —As if he’s already won.

—He probably already has —Sansa commented with admiration, not taking her eyes off him.

Elena didn’t say anything, but her gaze remained fixed on her husband. She knew Jaime was an excellent fighter, but tournaments were not battles. Here, victory depended not only on skill but also on luck and chance, something he had always preferred to avoid in his life.

The herald raised his voice to announce the first match.

—Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard against Ser Garrick Storm of the Stormlands!

Cheers erupted from the stands as the knights prepared, taking positions at opposite ends of the tilt. Ser Garrick, a tall man with dark hair and platinum gray armor, raised his lance firmly. Jaime, however, didn’t seem impressed. His posture was relaxed, confident, as if the outcome had already been decided.

Elena felt an odd pressure in her chest. It wasn’t fear, not even anxiety, just an inexplicable feeling that this fight was more than what her eyes could see. She wasn’t used to seeing Jaime in tournaments. Why now? Why today?

The sound of hooves interrupted her thoughts as the knights charged at each other, covering the field in dust. The clash of lances rang out like thunder, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Ser Garrick wobbled in his saddle but managed to stay upright, while Jaime, with surprising agility, remained standing, not a scratch on him.

—Go, Jaime! —Sansa shouted, her face lit up with excitement.

Arya, always the observant one, furrowed her brow.

—That wasn’t a clean hit. If he had used more force, he would’ve knocked him down immediately. He hasn’t put in all the effort he could.

Elena nodded silently, recognizing her sister’s sharp eye. Arya watched the fight like a strategist, always looking for what others missed.

The second round came soon after. This time, Jaime seemed more focused, his lance moved with precise accuracy. The hit landed with such force that Ser Garrick was thrown into the air, crashing heavily to the ground. The crowd roared with enthusiasm, and the cloud of dust from the knight’s fall made some spectators cover their faces.

Jaime lifted the visor of his helmet, his face impassive, but his eyes immediately moved to the stands. Elena felt the impact of his gaze from afar. Not to the kings or the nobles, not even to the cheering crowd. He was looking at her. It was such a private gesture, so intimate, that Elena couldn’t help but blush. As if that triumph had been reserved just for her.

—He did it on purpose —she murmured, almost to herself.

Arya frowned, confused.

—What?

—Riding in this tournament... winning... making sure I saw it —Elena replied, with a slight nervous smile.

Sansa smiled sweetly, understanding immediately.

—Maybe he just wanted to impress you.

Elena exhaled slowly, not taking her eyes off the field. Though she tried to maintain her composure, a torrent of emotions flooded her mind.

— If that was his plan, he’s succeeding —she said, her voice soft but filled with an emotion that was hard to define.

Arya huffed, but even she couldn’t help but smile as she watched Jaime, after his victory, turn his horse and leave the field with such natural elegance that it seemed as if the outcome had never been in doubt.

It was clear that, for him, all of this was just a small part of something much bigger. Something only he and Elena understood.

୨୧

The room was lit only by the dim light of candles, casting soft shadows on the stone walls. The tournament had ended hours ago, but the tension between them still lingered in the air like an invisible thread that connected them.

Elena was leaning on the table, absentmindedly biting into a red apple while watching Jaime remove the pieces of his Kingsguard armor. His movements were slow, meticulous, as if he enjoyed making her wait. His doublet clung to his torso, outlining the muscles of a man who had spent years training with a sword.

—You didn’t say anything about my victory —he commented, his voice laced with amusement.

Elena gave him a look, raising an eyebrow as she took another bite of the fruit.

—What did you want me to say? I knew you were going to win.

Jaime raised an eyebrow and walked toward her, stopping right by her side. His large, firm hands rested on the table, gently trapping her.

—Not even a compliment? I’m disappointed.

Elena smiled slightly and lifted the apple to her lips, offering it to him. Jaime watched her for a moment before leaning in and biting the spot where she had just bitten, his mouth brushing against hers with intention.

—Tastes better this way —he murmured against her lips, his warm breath mixing with hers.

Elena felt a shiver run down her spine as Jaime slid his hands around her waist and pulled her toward him. She resisted only for the pleasure of doing so, but he didn’t give her the chance to escape.

—Jaime... —she whispered in warning, though her tone lacked any real conviction.

—Mmm? —he replied with feigned innocence, tilting his head to kiss her neck, just below her ear.

She closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation. Jaime had a natural talent for touching her in just the right places, knowing exactly how to make her shiver.

—You can’t do much in my state —she said with a half-smile, resting a hand on his chest to push him away slightly.

—Don’t underestimate my creativity —he retorted with a mischievous smile before wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her effortlessly, making her sit on his lap.

Elena found herself facing her husband, her legs on either side of his body, feeling the strength of his arms holding her. Jaime looked at her with that intensity that made everything else disappear.

—This way you’re more comfortable —he whispered, kissing her bare shoulder, slowly sliding his lips across her skin.

Elena ran her fingers through his golden hair, gently tugging on it to lift his face and kiss him for real. The kiss was slow, deep, filled with a warmth that sent chills down her skin.

In the end, the kisses didn’t stop. And although things didn’t escalate further due to her pregnancy, it didn’t stop them from enjoying themselves. Jaime, with his characteristic boldness, found ways to keep her entertained without breaking any rules.

—We’ll have to find other ways to keep busy —he murmured, brushing his nose against hers.

Elena chuckled softly, resting her forehead against his.

—I trust your creativity.

—Good choice —Jaime whispered before kissing her again.

Elena let herself be carried away by the warmth of her husband, enjoying the way his lips traced her skin with almost lazy devotion. Jaime had always been a passionate man, but when it came to her, his touch could be as soft as the caress of a feather or as intense as a raging storm.

She adjusted herself better on his lap, letting her hands wander through his golden hair, weaving her fingers through the silky strands. He rested his forehead against her clavicle, inhaling her scent with his eyes closed, as if he wanted to engrave every detail of the moment into his memory.

—You know? —Jaime murmured against her skin—. I like seeing you like this.

—Like what? —Elena asked, not moving from his embrace.

Jaime slid a hand down her back, his thumb drawing lazy circles on the fabric of her dress.

—Relaxed. Comfortable. Happy.

Elena laughed softly.

—I didn’t know you were so observant.

—Only when it comes to you.

Elena rolled her eyes in amusement, but deep down, her heart beat faster. Jaime had a way of saying these things effortlessly, without expecting anything in return. It was part of what made her let her guard down with him.

After a few moments of silence, he slid his fingers over her abdomen with almost reverent movement.

—How do you feel today? —he asked gently.

Elena rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the sensation of his warm hand on her skin.

—Good… though Sansa and Arya didn’t stop during the whole tournament. They seemed more excited than I was.

Jaime chuckled softly.

—Sansa seemed thrilled. Arya... —he paused, amused—, well, I think she would’ve liked it more if there had been some blood.

Elena smiled, imagining the look on her younger sister’s face as she analyzed every move in the fight with a critical eye.

—Yes, she said you didn’t hit hard enough in the first round.

—Well, what a disappointment. I’ll have to try harder next time.

Elena lifted her head to look at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

—Will there be a next time?

Jaime tilted his head with a lazy smile.

—Maybe. If you enjoy watching me in the lists, I could do it more often.

Elena looked at him skeptically.

—You hate tournaments.

—True. But if it’s to impress you...

—You don’t need tournaments for that —she whispered, sliding a hand along his cheek.

Jaime narrowed his eyes, savoring her touch.

—Then what do I need?

Elena leaned in closer, her lips brushing his in a whisper.

—Keep kissing me like this.

Jaime didn’t need any more invitation. His mouth captured hers slowly, with the patience of a man who knew exactly how to make her lose herself in him. And Elena, with a smile on her lips, let herself be carried away.

— Maggie ☕

[ratcatcher0325]

A Fraction of Justice (Chapter #35)

Chapter #35. SURPRISE!!!🎄 🎁 Merry Christmas! 🎁🎄 I couldn't leave us on that big of a cliffhanger! Not on Christmas! Anyway, here is a little holiday gift from me to you. I want to sincerely thank everyone in this community who takes the time to read this story. I am so grateful for each and every one of you! Where is Natalie taking Alexander? Is he going to love it or hate it? It's usually 50/50 with him.

Previous: Chapter #34

Next: Chapter #36

Word Count: 8,756 Read Time: Approx. 90 mins

CW: Physical intimacy. SO much physical intimacy.

Btw, DM me if you wanna be added to the tag list!

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A Fraction of Justice

Chapter #35: La Petite Aiguille

[Alexander’s POV]

Rows upon rows of bolts of fabric in every color, shade and pattern I could fathom, lined the walls. Custom racks accommodated spools of thread all arranged in the gradient of the rainbow, while tungsten sconces bathed the room in an orange, electric glow. The solid wood beams of the ceiling gave the room an old-fashioned gravitas, while the smell of polished wood and starched linen ignited my olfactory senses. 

Everything was immaculately organized, each thread having its place. 

There was a break in the floor-to-ceiling shelves on the left, where a maroon curtain separated us from whatever lay on the opposite side. 

On display on the tables in front of us and on the counters of the classical oak desk that served as the register, were mannequins sporting all kinds of clothing, from impressive gowns fit for a runway stage, to elaborate, themed costumes, to, yes, even beautifully crafted suits in every cut. 

But the best part? 

Every single article of clothing on display, from the dresses, to the outfits, the hats and shoes, were perfectly proportioned to my dimensions. This entire, wonderful place accommodated people like me. 

I stared, slack jawed, unable to believe this wasn’t some sort of very realistic dream, when I felt Natalie’s gaze on me, “What do you think? This is supposed to be the best place in all of Massachusetts…” She hummed softly, the fingers of her left hand stroking the outside of the pocket, about level with my chest. 

Unable to tear my eyes away, I swallowed, gripping the fabric to keep from showing her any pathetic emotions, “I—“ 

Before I had a chance to complete, or even begin, that thought, the sharp clink of metal rings sliding across a curtain rod hit my ears, as someone crossed the threshold. 

My heart jumped. Another human. What was this one going to be like? 

My hands itched for something to defend myself with. Whether she could feel my body stiffen, or just guessed by instinct, Natalie gently pressed her fingers over my heart, caressing my forearm with her thumb. I looked up to catch her gaze. Her eyes seemed calm, reassuring. I did my level best to relax. 

As the figure crossed behind the main desk, I endeavored to take in all of her details, reading her for any signs, positive or negative. 

Her hair was cut short, tight pin curls looping and twisting in a gravity defying mop of pure white. Her keen, bright eyes shone beyond the rim of her, golden reading glasses, perched low on her nose. Her vintage jewelry, including an elegant gold watch, sparkled in the light of the lamp beside her. Her outfit was clearly custom made, a beautiful matching vest and skirt in warm earth tones, with white dress sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hands were lithe, yet possessed a certain air of intentionality with every move she made. She held a leather bound tome under her arm.

“Apologies for the wait, we’re at the peak of our holiday orders at the moment. How can I help you?” She locked eyes with Natalie, seemingly not noticing me quite yet. Her voice was soft and clear as a bell. She set down her book, cracking it open and scribbled something along its many columns and rows. Natalie stepped up to the counter as she spoke. I leaned forward, enjoying the swooping, artistic motions of her calligraphic script as she wrote in incredibly ornate cursive. 

“Oh, hello, there.” She’d stopped writing. I looked up to find her gaze, dulled with age but not without a keen spark, was fixed on me. 

I clenched my jaw as I hardly dared to breathe… I waited for the condescending comment to come next. She leaned down to address me again, “Sir? What can I do for you today?” A smile played about her lips, but it was far from anything like a sneer. It was warm, friendly. 

I breathed a sigh of relief. She was waiting for my reply. She was addressing me directly. I cleared my throat. “I, uh, I believe I’m here to purchase a suit.” I raised my voice to cover the distance, trying to sound like I did this sort of thing all the time. 

“More than just one. He’d like to be fitted today, please.” I whipped over my shoulder to look up at Natalie. Was she serious? When I met her eyes, she nodded and winked at me. 

“So you want the full custom package?” The woman looked at me, I looked to Natalie, Natalie nodded in the affirmative. The human across from us checked her wrist, nodding with an exact precision I couldn’t help but admire, “Perfect timing. I believe I can squeeze you in between our other standing consultations. Right this way.” She motioned for us to follow her into the curtained room. 

We entered the back area and were greeted by two tables with ornate lion’s paw legs. The one on the left was piled with fabric, neatly folded, with tools of the trade including rulers, pushpins, scissors and measuring tape. On the right, the surface of the table was bare, save a series of pristine white boxes, each sitting side by side, along its center. I wondered what those were. 

Instead, we curved toward the left. I supposed I’d just have to wait to find out more. 

We came to a stop in front of the table with its neatly organized tools. I was beginning to deeply appreciate the pristine organization of this place. It was far more comforting than Natalie’s rat’s nest approach to every inch of her living space, though I'd managed to train her out of her most egregious lifestyle habits. 

I was torn from my musing when fingers descended all around me, the pad of Natalie’s thumb resting over my chest while two fingers hooked under my arms as she applied light pressure.

I met her eyes to see her arched brow, as she sought permission to pick me up and set me down. With a curt nod from me, she lifted me up and out, placing me on my own two feet in the center of the table. As she fished for my crutch, the other woman approached the table, setting a clipboard and red ink pen down on the surface beside me. 

She adjusted her glasses as she pulled the chain to a lamp behind me, bathing my surroundings in a soft glow. I couldn’t help but notice the way my jaw involuntarily clenched and I held my breath as her arm loomed overhead. 

I realized with a sharp pang the indignity that was about to commence. 

Natalie was finally granting me the opportunity to dress like the gentleman I was, a wonderful thing indeed, but… no tailored suit, big or small, was possible without acquiring that gentleman’s measurements. 

I felt a twist in my stomach, as I pictured being pinched, grabbed, and puppeted about like a doll, as string was cinched too tightly around my arm or leg to quantify the size of limbs. This strange woman’s hands who I’d admired from a distance for their precision and poise, now intimidated me in the lamplight, seeming too aged, bony and frighteningly precise in their movements to be anything but painful when they seized me. 

The liver spots that dotted her arm, the thin and almost papery nature of her skin that displayed the blue veins snaking beneath and the pronounced knuckles on her arthritic, littlest fingers all reminded me of a particular set of hands I’d fought very hard to forget. 

“… Alexander?” The present circumstance came back into crystal clear focus at the sound of my name from Natalie’s lips. I blinked hard and looked up at where the sound had come from. Her finger and thumb held my crutch between them, as she bent at the waist to address me, her brow slightly furrowed with worry, she gently brushed my arm with the side of her curled fingers, nudging me back into reality, “… Here you go.” She offered me my walking aide, and I cleared my throat, taking it from her while staring at the floor. 

“Ah, is that your name? I don’t think we got properly introduced.” This time it was that voice that tinkled like a bell in my ears. I’d admit, it had a pleasant ring, despite my trepidations, “Hello, Alexander, I’m Marianne. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She offered a finger to shake. I admit, I was taken aback. Why was she so courteous? She was smiling at me. 

It put me on edge. 

When was she going to burst into laughter? Was it when I gave in to her invitation to shake, like equals, only for her to pull her hand away? Or would it be the moment I turned over my shoulder where she’d take the opportunity to snatch me up by the collar? I refused to believe this wasn’t an act. 

She was still offering her finger. 

I was taking too long, if I waited much more I’d be questioned. 

I took a few steps forward and stiffly shook the pad of her finger with my hand. Immediately retreating the few steps back when it was over. Good. No funny business. Not yet. I decided as long as she continued this charade of being polite, I’d do the same. An eye for an eye and all that. 

“Well, we’re delighted to have you here. And what’s your name, young lady?” Natalie introduced herself and shook hands with the older woman with a warmth I found reassuring. “Welcome to La Petite Aiguille.” I suppose she thought that name was terribly clever. How gouche. Of course, she probably assumed I couldn’t understand French, which would be a false assumption.

 I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, as she addressed us again, “May I interest either of you in any refreshments?” She had my attention, now, as she acquainted us with our options. I ordered herbal tea, Natalie chose coffee. The woman, Marianne, excused herself to prepare them both. 

After the clack of the woman’s shoes on the hardwood faded, Natalie leaned down, resting her chin on her forearm, setting down her free hand close to where I stood, “So? Whaddya think?” Her eyes gleamed. Always so excitable, wasn’t she? 

“It…” I felt heat rise in my face. I mustn’t come across like some giddy child let loose in a toy store, “It seems like a professional and respectable establishment.” 

Her face fell, she was clearly hoping for more enthusiasm from me, but I was far too embarrassed to show her just how excited I was. Before she could form a response, Marianne returned with a tray, including a steaming mug of coffee I could’ve taken a dip in if I so chose, as well as a teapot, mug and saucer balanced on an embossed tray, all sized to me. But that was not all. In hand, she also clutched a proportional end table and chair which she gingerly placed beside me. I served myself the tea as she continued.

“As you can see we specialize in custom clothing for those of nimbler proportions than our own.” Nimbler, eh? I quite liked that. “So what’re we getting outfitted for today? A holiday party? Gala? Wedding?” Me? At a human wedding? I nearly spit a mouthful of tea back into the cup. 

“No, nothing like that.” Natalie swooped in to save the conversation, “He just likes to be sharply dressed. Personally, I love lounging at home in sweats and a t-shirt but this one wants cufflinks and starched collars.” Her index finger brushed the toe of my shoe, “He’s suffered for way too long in casual clothes. Now that he’s more healed up, he deserves to dress to the nines every day if he wants to.” She winked at me. My heart knocked at my ribs. Stupid, impressionable, laughable idiot! Just drink your tea and stop with the flushed face already! I swallowed everything in the cup in one go. 

“A true mondain, I see. Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place. Let’s see what we can do.” What was this woman’s deal with sprinkling French into every other sentence? Was she trying to show off? She grabbed her pen and started to jot things down on the form before her. 

I poured myself another cup of tea, and directed my words to the ceramic vessel, “Vous pensez que vous êtes si intelligent, n'est-ce pas? Je peux aussi parler français, tu sais.” The woman, I supposed I could start thinking of her by her name, Marianne, never paused in her writing. The line came and went without her understanding. I pursed my lips and couldn’t help the smug smirk that crossed my face. It seemed she didn’t know the language nearly as well as she’d put on. I continued to revel in my superiority, until I heard the human to my right clearing her throat theatrically. 

I looked up to see Natalie’s eyebrows raised as she scowled at me disapprovingly. “Be nice!” She mouthed. I opened my hands and shrugged as if to say “What?”. She didn’t get a chance to retaliate, however, as Marianne raised her eyes from the page and addressed us. 

“Now, first thing’s first, we’ll need your measurements.” Damn. I came down from my temporary high and felt my heart in my throat again. 

Evidently I wasn’t as skilled at masking my feelings on the matter as I’d thought, because she reassured me while preparing her tools, “Not to worry, Alexander, there will be no rough treatment here. I’ll be as gentle with you as Natalie would.” I snuck a glance up at the woman she’d mentioned, only to find, much to my embarrassment, that she was already looking me over. 

We both instantly turned our attention back to our drinks.

Marianne carried on unperturbed. I was beginning to wonder if this woman was one of the least observant people on the planet, or if she was just exceedingly polite. She scribbled things on her paper, before organizing her rulers and measuring tapes before her. She addressed me as she prepped, “So, you’re fond of gentleman’s wear, hm? Not many young men care about keeping up appearances anymore. I’m glad you’re an exception to the rule. My Henri was fond of his pinstripes and pocket squares. A perfect pairing for a seamstress, you can imagine!” Her eyes sparkled with memories long past. 

“I… I’m sorry for your loss…”  Natalie’s voice was kind and genuine. 

“Oh, that’s alright, honey. We had many wonderful years together.” She turned to me, “I think he would’ve quite liked you, Alexander.” 

Me? I couldn’t imagine how much I and an older human man could possibly have in common, besides our manner of dress. And in any case, this woman had only just met me, how could she possibly make such a rapid assessment?

I nodded politely in agreement anyway, hoping to move past this rather somber moment and return to the exciting part of getting me into a beautiful suit. 

Of course, Natalie couldn’t help but ask follow up questions. Annoying, the way humans always politely placated each other with niceties and small talk, “Did he help you run this place?” 

Marianne cracked a smile, “Oh, yes! The whole thing was his idea. Down to the name. I was perfectly happy to stitch away on my little creations at home, but he encouraged me to share my skills with others. He was always the gregarious one…” you don’t seem to have any problem talking at length, as far as I can see. “… and much better at putting our clients at ease, though, I try my very best. I know the constant invasion of personal space can be unwelcome.” 

Finally someone acknowledges this well-known truth! 

“Now, Mr. Alexander, if you’ll take a few steps forward, I’ll get your height to start.”

The flattery of being addressed so formally was quickly counteracted by an unwelcome reality that the aforementioned invasion of personal space was about to begin. 

I looked about myself to set down the cup in my hand. The side table was just out of reach from where I stood. I shifted my weight, about to turn over my shoulder to cross closer to the surface when a finger brushed the length of my forearm, warm and soft. I stopped in my tracks and looked up. 

Natalie was offering to take the cup from me. Her lips curled into a soft smile as my gaze locked with hers, “Don’t worry, I won’t accidentally drop this one. I promise.” She winked. 

I couldn’t help but crack a smile, and shake my head before balancing the cup on the pad of her index finger. She pinched it between finger and thumb and carried it to its proper place for me. 

***** 

As Alexander stepped forward, away from the tiny furniture, the experienced hands of the craftswoman carefully slid a polished wooden ruler behind his back. I found myself balancing my chin over my crossed arms to get a closer look at what the measurement tool showed. 

He stood very still, his posture perfect, and his chest puffed. I could tell he was stretching his spine to stand as tall as he possibly could. As I squinted to discern the tiny lines that Alexander could easily trace with his fingers, I saw his exact height for the first time. 

Five and half inches, exactly. 

My heart melted. 

As the ruler was removed, I searched his face for signs of unease. I wouldn’t blame him for being nervous. He was already grumpy enough being handled by me, I knew having a stranger’s hands all over him wouldn’t exactly be a walk in the park. 

“You okay?” I mouthed, unable to resist brushing the toe of his shoe with a fingertip. He nodded, sucking in a sharp breath. I could see he was steeling himself. 

I trusted Marianne, she seemed extremely kind and respectful. Still, her fingers, though aged and thin, were each over half the length of his entire little body. 

She prepared a length of bright crimson thread, tying it off in a knot in one graceful pull. 

“First, I’ll ask you to let your arms rest at your sides…” he shuffled his weight, unsure what to do with the crutch in his hand. 

“You okay to stand without it for a few? I can hold it for you.” I offered. He nodded, clearly disinterested in needing any help, but having no choice. 

“…And then I’m going to measure the width of your shoulders, will you turn to face Natalie?” I liked that she walked him through every single step she was taking. I could see he was starting to relax a bit as he shuffled his feet to face me. Marianne used the bit of string to measure along his shoulder blades, from point to point. The scribble of her pen on paper and the hum of the heater somewhere behind us, were the only sounds in the room. 

Until…

Thunk, thunk, thunk. 

I think I jumped more than he did. Someone was knocking on what I assumed must’ve been the back door of the shop. 

Marianne had a different reaction, “Oh!” She dropped the thread and checked her watch, “They’re early! I apologize, someone is here to drop off a bulk order. You’ll have to excuse me. This is the trouble of running things all by myself!” She looked flustered and embarrassed for having to pause, “I should only be a minute!” 

She stepped through the curtain and after a few moments I could hear the sounds of a door opening and the low rumble of male voices mixing with hers. The activity faded into the background as I took in the little life before me. 

“You wanna sit down? Rest your leg?” 

“I’m fine, thank you.” I wasn’t convinced but it didn’t seem worth it to argue over. I found myself reaching for the bit of string that had served as his measuring tape. Threading it in and out from between my fingers. 

That’s when we heard Marianne’s voice cut through, far more flustered than we’d heard before, “No! No, this is all wrong. You have half of my satin and georgette mixed in with someone else’s bolts of polyester! How difficult is it to keep your orders straight?” I could hear the clack of her shoes on hardwood growing louder as she suddenly thrust aside the curtain, “I’m so sorry for this little hiccup. I’ll just be a bit longer… Oh—“  

Her eyes cast down to the crimson thread pinched between my finger and thumb. “Were you measuring him yourself?” 

Alexander and I both exchanged flustered glances before I tried my best to respond, “Well, I—“ 

I heard the low voices of men and the shuffling of heavy feet beyond the curtain. As Marianne checked over her shoulder, her eyes widened, “Be careful with that! You almost knocked it over!” Her head of curly white hair, popped back in to address us, “No, no. Please. Go ahead! It’ll save us time! You’ll have to excuse me!” She gestured at the thread between my fingers before dashing off, footsteps fading even as I could hear her shout in exasperation about some other mishap those workers were creating in her shop. 

And suddenly it was just he and I. 

He cleared his throat, pulling at his collar. 

“So…” I finally mumbled, breaking the silence. His blue eyes met mine when I spoke. My face felt warm. 

“So.” He shifted his weight, his face splashed with pink, while he craned his neck to stare up at me. 

“I guess, I’m gonna— I mean, if you’re okay with… me??”

He thrust his hands in his pockets, nodding his head, while his blonde bangs hung in his eyes, “Right, no. I mean. We must… Musn’t we? For the sake of-of the time. Like she said.” 

“Yeah. Totally. Uh. Okay. So…” I twirled the piece of thread around my finger, while I glanced at the sheet of paper, “It looks like I’m supposed to measure your chest next…” My hands inched toward him. I could feel my pulse in the tip of every finger, I had to concentrate to keep them steady. Alexander watched my encroaching hands like a hawk, his spine stiff, his lips taught.

“Wait!” He threw up his own little palm. I stopped, confused. His brow furrowed as he addressed me, “You’re practically towering over me, standing like that. Do you know how exhausting it is to practically break my neck just to be able to address you? Go find a chair.” I raised my brows, he rolled his eyes, “Please.” 

I pulled it up before the table and sat down, “There, better?” I was so much closer to eye level with him now, and yet, he still seemed so far away, standing in the shadow I cast. 

He won’t seem so far once I’m physically touching him. I felt a thrill rush through me at the thought. 

I took the knotted end and gently held it against his sternum. He rocked back on his heel from the pressure, nevertheless. His little heart was pounding against his ribs. I melted again. 

After a moment, “Ahem, Natalie?” I was frozen in place, just mesmerized by the thrumming of life beneath my fingers.

“Right, right! Sorry!” I shook my head. “Okay hold that for me, please…” his lithe little fingers took over for my gigantic one, as I wrapped the string around his chest and arms. I pinched the string where it met the knotted end and pulled it away from his body. Finally, I laid it flat to the tape measure before jotting down the number. We proceeded to do this with the length of his arms, the circumference of his tiny little wrists, even his neck, which I tried to be painstakingly delicate with. 

With his chin thrust in the air, I could feel him gazing up at me as he held the knot against the hollow of his throat. He opened his mouth to speak and I bit the inside of my lip, worried he might snap at me out of discomfort, but instead he spoke so softly it was almost too quiet to hear, “You’re not too bad at this, Ms. Marquez…” 

As he spoke, I could feel the tiny vibrations in his neck as I very delicately brought the string around. What a mesmerizing feeling. I swelled with pride, “Oh really? Approval from the Little Nightmare? Not a single criticism yet? It’s my lucky day. What’d I do to deserve this?”

“Don’t let it go to your head… it’s big enough as it is!” 

“Hey! Rude!” I released the string, pretending to be offended. To my delight, his little face broke out into that lovely crooked smile I adored so much. 

“You’re awfully pleased with yourself, aren’t ya?” 

“As I ought to be! It was a shining example of my cracking wit, and you ought to be more impressed.” 

“You ready for the next part, Mr. Chuckles?” 

“Oh! Come on!” He wrinkled his nose in disgust, “That was terrible. Was that the best you could come up with? I’ll take Xandy over that, any day!” 

“What’s that? I can call you Xandy now??” 

“No!!! No that’s not what I said! Don’t you dare– Hey! What’re you doing?!”

**********

As I spoke, her fingers and thumbs rushed up from behind and landed on either side of my waist. The warmth was intoxicating, her grip all encompassing, and intimate. My face flushed with color and heat. 

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s the next thing on the list!” She was defensive. I twisted and squirmed feeling the tension in the thread as it rested at the small of my back. 

She had to be playing coy with me! Couldn’t she see how flustered she was making me? It’d been hard enough to keep my composure when she rested her fingertip over my heart, or gently guided my arms where she wanted them, or leaned down so close while she regarded me with such care and gentleness that her fingertips left electrical pulses where they brushed against my skin. But now this? 

I was finding it hard to breathe. 

“You could at least warn a man before you trap him in your colossal grip! Have you learned nothing?” 

“I’m not– Look, we don’t have to do this. Especially if you’re gonna get all pissy about it.” She looked crestfallen. That soft warmth dissipated as suddenly as it had appeared when she pulled her hands away, the thread dragging limply along the table’s surface, pinched between her finger and thumb. 

No, no, no! This isn’t what I wanted at all. Couldn’t she see I was addicted to it now? That warmth, that soft touch? This was all her fault.  

“Wait!” I stepped forward, snatching up the opposite end of the thread before it snaked away from my reach. She looked at me with curiosity, waiting to see what I’d do next, “If you’re going to hold me by the waist, have the courtesy to let me participate.”  Her golden green irises dilated as her mouth parted slightly. I had her complete attention. 

A tremor ran down the nape of my neck to the curve of my lumbar as I pulled the string toward me. She let this tension in the thread move her hand forward with no resistance. My heart skipped a beat. She was letting me control her.

I guided her fingertips to the soft flesh just above my hipbone, where my obliques flared and rippled as I fought to keep my composure. I transferred the thread to my right hand and fed it behind my back, allowing the tension to hold my weight as I leaned back, feeding it around to my right side. I could count each and every quaking beat of my heart as I held the crimson thread in my fist, offering it to her. She slid the tip of her index along the inside of my forearm, making me suck in a sharp breath, before uncurling my fist and taking the string from me. 

“Now what?” she whispered, two pairs of a finger and thumb resting on either side of my body, waiting for my instruction. 

I’d never felt so big in all my life. 

I guided one set of fingers to rest on my navel.  Could she feel how my breath shook when she touched me? 

I grounded myself and brought the other side to meet, letting the string cross itself at the proper place. She pinched the spot with her thumbnail and slowly, gently, retreated to measure and write down her findings. 

“Okay, now hips,” She held the length of string in front of me, waiting to be guided once more. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from beaming. 

I performed the same little ritual with her, and this time her fingertips landed over a much more intimate part of myself. I flushed bright, hissing between clenched teeth, “Careful!”

I expected her to scoff at me, but the eyes that met my upward gaze were soft, “I’m only going where you put me. You’re in control.” 

I don’t know what came over me, but suddenly my legs buckled and gave way beneath me. She was quick to act, wrapping a finger around my hips and pinning me between finger and thumb. 

Dear god, what was she doing to me?!

Before I could take another breath, the clattering of human footsteps and the scrape of metal met my ears and made me jump. 

Marianne’s voice cut through our built up tension like a razorblade, as she seemed completely unaware of our situation, “Okay! So sorry about that, you two!” Natalie quickly let go, as I rushed to tidy myself and readjust my crooked clothing. The seamstress rounded the corner of the table and entered my periphery, glancing over the measurement sheet “Looks like you got the vast majority completed. That’s perfect, we’ve got a great place to start.” She clapped her hands with a sharp crack, a smile warming her aged features as she leaned down to address me, “Now, Mister Alexander. What’re we in the market for?” 

My head spun as I tried to engage my brain, lips and tongue again, “W-what am I—? Uh, um…” It was a truly foreign sensation for words to elude me. I shook my head trying to clear my mind, “A, uh, A classical cut is always best, single breasted, three piece, wool, tweed or cotton, with a notch lapel and double vent.” The words flowed with an easy familiarity, and I found it easier to breathe for the first time since she had left Natalie and I to our own devices. 

“You were right,” She addressed the woman before me, “He really knows his stuff!” Natalie nodded vigorously and smiled, as if to say “You have no idea”. 

“Ah— And no pinstripes. I hate pinstripes.” I added in haste. 

“Duly noted! I think I have quite a few pieces you’ll be interested in.” She gathered the paper with my measurements, Natalaie’s chicken scratch contrasting sharply with the older woman’s elegant script. As she crossed the room, opening a cabinet and searching for something, she spoke over her shoulder, “Please, feel free to come to this other table here…” She gestured to the table with those mysterious boxes on them. 

Natalie and I exchanged a glance, before she slid her palm beside me, hooking her thumb beneath my left arm. She gathered me in her hand, her other fingers supporting my weight before she lifted me off the table. 

She crossed with me to the opposite side, her free thumb gently stroking my cheek. It wasn’t all that long ago I would’ve recoiled at such a caress. Now I melted beneath it. 

What has gotten into me?? 

Soon, I was being lowered to my feet, before one of those mystery boxes. I could see now that the front was obscured by a curtain. 

“Go ahead,” Marianne had just placed a polished wooden case of some kind on the table just to my right, as she seemed to register my curiosity. I took a step forward, only to feel a warmth and pressure on my shoulder. I turned to see Natalie offering me my crutch, balanced on a fingertip. I acquiesced and took it, before thrusting the curtain aside. 

I’m not sure what I’d expected but it wasn’t this. 

Beyond the veil of the fabric, and just a small step up, was what I imagined a dressing room to look like. I’d never been in one myself, human-sized or otherwise, but it fit my expectations and then exceeded them. On the wall opposite me was a full length mirror, held in a gilded, golden frame. A beautiful Persian rug softened the faux wooden floor. There were hooks along the wall to hang clothing, as well as a vanity complete with a mirror and chair. Along the walls were framed prints of famous art pieces. I admit, the Lady with an Ermine was the only one I recognized. Everything felt… authentic. Real. Human. Is this what rooms looked like to them all the time? There was a wide variety of plants that looked… were they real? Not just plastic bastardizations of the typical human houseplant? 

I stepped into the ‘room’ and as I marveled, heard a breathy “Wow, fancy…”  from up high. I craned my neck to find that this room, for all its proportional realism, lacked a ceiling, and, therefore, Nat was easily able to peer down, her arms crossed, and smile at me from above. 

But there was one area in the corner, also sectioned off by a curtain, which, when I peered into it, I realized was actually fully enclosed, complete with an electric wall sconce to brighten the space. 

Oh. What a relief. I wouldn’t have to change in front of these two women. I never expected humans to think of these things. This was a nice surprise. 

“Is it suitable to your tastes?” Marianne appeared beyond the edge of the far wall, “My Henri designed every detail. We had such fun putting them together. Oh speaking of… try these on for size…” 

A wrinkled finger and thumb descended into the space, shattering the illusion that I was in anything other than a highly detailed doll house. Pinched between her digits, was a suit jacket, vest, and matching slacks, each hanging on their own seemingly custom wooden hangers. She carefully placed each of these on one of the wall hooks. Her hand disappeared and then returned with another set and another and another. 

I admit, I felt my heart race at just the sight of them. I’d missed the familiar fit of a suit so very much. My grip on the walking aide was becoming clammy as I absentmindedly bounced on the ball of my good foot in anticipation. 

She also laid down a folded under shirt on the vanity (the folds were crisp and tidy. Impressive for fingers that big) and several different collared shirts on the remaining hangers. 

“I’ll work on ties, belts and shoes while you start with these. How’s that sound?” I nodded in agreement, already making a beeline for the undershirt, a white collared dress shirt and the first vest and pair of slacks on the rack before she’d finished speaking. 

I was just about to disappear into the changing room when a finger on my shoulder stopped me. 

My mouth twisted into an instinctive grimace as Natalie halted me. What?? What did she want?? I was moments away from shedding this baggy loungewear for something sophisticated and elegant. What could possibly be so important that she needed to interrupt me at this very moment? 

I turned to face her, only to realize precisely what. Offered up between her fingers was that pair of tweezers. The same ones I’d used to help myself change since I’d blessedly escaped that god awful tie dye shirt. She’d brought them from home for me. 

“Just in case,” she winked at me. Oh. Now, I felt like an ass. 

I breathed out from my nostrils, releasing the tension in my shoulders, “Thank you.” I even briefly patted the side of her finger as a show of appreciation as I took the object from her. I figured she’d like that, what with her love of touching me all the time.

The sudden thought of her touch and heat and softness completely overwhelming me just moments ago on that other table top made my face flush with shame. 

I hurried inside the changing room, where, luckily, no one could see my changed complexion. 

********** 

I drummed my fingers on the table, just dying for him to throw that tiny curtain aside and reveal himself. Marianne flitted about the room, opening drawers, cabinets and boxes, finding just what she was looking for, all while peering over the rim of her glasses with the keen eye of a master at work. 

Soon she had a lineup of tiny accessories displayed on the vanity table for him to peruse. 

I caught her gaze and mouthed “Thank you”, she nodded warmly and winked, before catching something out of the corner of her eye and gesturing for me to look too. 

That little curtain fluttered with movement, and before I knew it, there emerged one tiny socked foot, then another, with a metal and rubber crutch complimenting their rise and fall. 

Then, my heart skipped.

Hello there, Alexander. 

He looked absolutely incredible, and he wasn’t even fully dressed yet. The slacks sported a flattering pleat down the length of his leg, settling perfectly about his waist. The vest fit beautifully, cinched slightly in the back, the white dress shirt contrasted nicely and the sleeves fit him just right. 

I immediately dropped my chin to the surface of the table to get a closer look. 

He emerged with his head ducked as he gracefully threaded the final button on the vest, the royal blue wool lacing through his lithe little fingers. 

Suddenly, two icy blue irises like crystals of frozen flame were trained on me and I had to bite my lip to keep from embarrassing myself. The blue of the suit made his eyes shine even more brightly than before. 

“It looks like a perfect fit. How does it feel?” He craned his neck to listen to the voice looming above him. He adjusted his shoulders, made sure the vest was perfectly centered, and he toyed with his shirt sleeves until they were just right, before he turned to the full length mirror. 

With my head balanced on my hand, I could just make out a sliver of my face reflected in the tiny mirror over his shoulder. 

Seeing his entire body against the backdrop of one small part of mine reminded me of that first day, when I’d forced him into that ugly little doll shirt and held him up to my bathroom vanity admiring our size difference. That truly felt like a lifetime ago.

Marianne passed him a silky rust colored tie, and I watched with flustered amazement how his fingers expertly worked the flimsy material into a pinprick of a complicated knot, even and perfect. I felt like I was glimpsing into a whole other world of his, a past I only faintly understood. 

With each infinitesimal adjustment of his collar, sweep of his hair, and threading of his tie beneath his vest, I felt myself staring slack jawed at this new version of the little man I thought I’d known so well. 

Now for the jacket. She handed it to him, and he spread the lapels to admire the inner lining (a gorgeous, patterned silk with flowers of purple and blue) when his eyes stopped at something sewn into the collar just as the nape of the neck. 

***** 

I stared at the inside of the jacket, almost in disbelief. 

Sewn with expert precision, were a handful of stitches that unmistakably spelled out “For My Henri”. 

I was flabbergasted. 

Marianne had said he was the love of her life, that they’d built this business together, that he’d encouraged her to use her talents to help others, and this man had been… like me? 

“I-I can’t possibly accept this…” I shook my head, thrusting the beautifully crafted garment away from my body and offering it back up to this kind hearted woman who peered down at me. 

She simply smiled, “Just try it on, at least.” 

She couldn’t be serious. But it would be nice just to try it on for size. She could use it as a reference. I was determined to refuse her offer if she brought it up again, but I saw no harm in at least donning the final piece of the suit, just to see it all together. 

I took a deep breath and easily twirled the garmet over my shoulder, sliding my arms along the silken lining and letting it fall around my body, gazing into the mirror once more. 

Oh, hello there, Alexander. It’s good to see you again, old friend. How I’ve missed you. 

It was beyond perfect. It was the most beautifully crafted suit I’d ever had the pleasure to wear. I looked wonderfully smart. My chest swelled as a small smirk creeped onto my features, threatening to boil over into a boyish grin if I wasn’t careful. 

I refocused the lenses of my eyes to take in Natalie’s gaze, dominating the landscape behind me. Her pupils were dilated, her expression dreamy. I turned to face her, leaving my crutch behind for now. 

I thrust a hand in a pocket, unbuttoning the jacket to show the vest underneath and spun on my heel, feeling altogether like a million bucks. 

“You look… incredible” She practically breathed. The way her eyes shone when she gazed at me… Why did my knees suddenly feel weak at hearing her sigh at me like that? Perhaps I needed my crutch after all. 

“She’s right, you know. It suits you. I suppose I can’t convince you to try on the rest of them can I?” The older woman issued me this challenge with a twinkle in her eye.

Natalie furrowed her brow and cocked her head. As if to say “What could possibly be the problem with that?” 

Of course. She didn’t understand what Marianne and I already did. 

I slid off the jacket and held up its stitching to her. She leaned in so close I could feel the heat of her exhale as she finally managed to squint enough to read the name sewn there.

“Oh, oh my god. So…your… he was…?” Natalie stuttered. 

Marianne nodded, a smile sparkling with decades of memory igniting in her eyes. Eventually, she busied herself with handing me the next suit, this one a beautiful gray, continuing to address Natalie, “He was the best thing to ever come into my life. We found each other when I spent a summer in Paris, a whole lifetime ago. I couldn’t bear to return home without him. Luckily, he agreed to travel halfway across the world to be by my side. It took us a while to come to terms with our feelings, believe me, most people couldn’t possibly understand… especially not in those days. I hope you two don’t let your fear get in the way.” 

My face burned and my mouth felt so dry, my voice cracked as I spoke, “Oh, no, we’re not… we-we—“

Suddenly Natalie’s louder voice tumbled atop mine, cutting me off, as she spoke through a strained smile, “Thank you.” 

I sensed that I’d committed some sort of social faux pas, though I couldn’t understand what. Natalie and I weren’t… that is to say we didn’t have that sort of dynamic. Despite this, I decided to bite my tongue out of a desire to spare Natalie any unnecessary embarrassment. Judging by her bright pink complexion, she was already suffering enough from my attempt to set the record straight. 

I put that interaction out of my mind, though, as I returned to the garments in my hands. I admit, I allowed myself the small pleasure of trying all four of Henri’s suits, each one as beautifully crafted as the last and still in such incredible condition for their age. 

I tried on various loafers, belts, ties and even, to my utter delight, tie clips and cufflinks! 

As a boy coming of age, I’d been repeatedly reprimanded after asking for cufflinks to match my larger counterpart, being told they’d be “much too small to be worth any effort to make them in the first place”. 

Once I’d enjoyed everything those suits had to offer, she asked me to describe what I’d like to have custom made, letting me touch various fabric swatches and color options to help me make my decisions. 

This was all a dream, right? Some sort of beautiful, wonderful dream that I never wanted to wake from? It had to be. Well, if it was all make believe, I supposed asking for what I really wanted wouldn’t hurt any. 

She took notes as Natalie watched on. Why was it every time I turned over my shoulder, she seemed to be looking at me? 

I sat in the chair, pulled beside the vanity, palming the perfectly proportionate cufflinks, and rolling them between finger and thumb. They were so detailed and well crafted I wondered if Henri had made them himself. 

What is wrong with me? These things aren’t mine to take. No matter how wonderful they were. 

I deposited the little metal pieces on the counter beside me, folding my hands in my lap, determined not to fidget anymore. 

As if reading my mind, Marianne travelled around to the side of the table to face me. 

“Well, you’ve been quite the model today.” I nodded in agreement, “I think we’ve put you through more than enough. Now, your custom orders will be shipped to you in approximately ten to twelve weeks. If you need any alterations at all, feel free to come back to the store.” 

What a lovely dream this was. 

She continued, gesturing to those beautiful suits hung along the dressing room the wall, “Which one was your favorite?”

“Oh, well… I couldn’t possibly— they’re all equally wonderful. You possess incredible skill…” 

“I want you to have them.” 

Both Natalie and I let out an incredulous exclamation, in sync with one another: 

“No, no you’re being far too kind—” 

“We couldn’t take them, they belong with you!” 

She shook her head smiling warmly first at Natalie, then to me, “He would’ve wanted them to go to a fine young gentleman who can appreciate every stitch, rather than gathering dust in some box. I’d be honored if you’d take them. Think of it as Christmas coming early!” 

I was completely taken aback, a rush of emotion making my chest swell and my throat tighten as my vision suddenly blurred, “I— I’m at a complete loss for words… T-thank you.” 

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Alexander. Thank you for coming to visit today.” She leaned down to offer me her finger to shake. With a trembling hand, and biting back tears, I shook her finger tip, squeezing it much harder than was called for, and yet I didn’t imagine it was enough to hurt her, “I’m delighted you like them so much. Why don’t you wear the blue one home? It was always my favorite. Now I’ll finish packing the rest and will wait for you to check out in the other room.” 

And suddenly, it was just the girl with the wild hair and warm eyes, and me. She caught my gaze, a smile playing on her lips “Surprise!” She chuckled. 

The swell of deep gratitude, delight, overwhelm and pure joy flooded through me once again and I was perilous to keep it at bay. I rushed forward, my leg aching from the effort, as I crashed into her hand, squeezing myself into the hollow of her palm, as I clutched the base of her thumb and wept, mumbling my thanks between tears of joy. 

“Oh, Alexander…” she breathed, gently enclosing her fingers around me, embracing me back. Her index finger on her free hand gently caressed my hair, neck and shoulders as I wiped the tears from my eyes. I couldn’t stop smiling, no matter how hard I tried. She held my chin with her fingertip, wiping tears with her thumb, “I’m so happy you’re happy. You deserve this. I’m sorry it took so long… but I’m so glad you finally got what you wanted.” She beamed at me. I bit back more tears. She arched her brow and jutted her chin in that mischievous way she always did, “Now pull yourself together and go be all dapper and shit.” She nudged my arm with her thumb. I couldn’t help but laugh along with her. 

Before long, I found myself perched on the countertop of Marianne’s desk in the front of the shop, dressed to the nines from head to foot. I wore the blue suit, of course, with brown leather shoes, and belt, a silken ochre tie with matching pocket square, cufflinks, and a tie clip. I stood tall as the women above me exchanged money for goods. 

I felt a lightness in my body and mind that I hadn’t felt in… well, had I ever felt it? I couldn’t be sure. I had to keep biting the inside of my cheek to stop from grinning ear to ear like some stupid little boy. I’d never been spoiled like this. I’d never been treated like this. I had no idea what to do with myself. 

As we were about to leave, Marianne turned to me, her lips curled into a smile. She gazed at me over the rim of her glasses, giving me a clear view of her keen eyes. “Alexander? N'ayez pas peur de lui dire ce que vous ressentez. Il est clair qu'elle t'aime de tout son cœur. Vous méritez le bonheur autant que nous tous.” 

******* 

I had no clue what she’d said to him, but whatever it was, he looked like he’d been shot through with an arrow, after hearing it. His little eyes went wide and his face burned bright red. 

“Hey…” I rubbed his little shoulder, and he seemed to snap out of it. I smiled apologetically at the woman on the other side of the desk, “Sorry, I think he’s just really excited and overwhelmed about everything that happened. Thank you again, for all you did for him.” As I spoke to her, I coaxed the little man into my hand, his movements suddenly sluggish and distracted. 

“It was truly such a wonderful thing to meet a pair like you. You give me hope for a better future. Thank you for coming in today. You’re always welcome back at any time.” 

“Thank you so much, Marianne!” I echoed her warmth. When Alexander stayed silent, I nudged him a little with my thumb and he seemed to come to. 

“Y-yes! Thank you. V-very much!”

What had gotten into him? Maybe the thrill of the whole thing had worn off and he was just exhausted. Because of his dogged determination to push himself to the limits all the time, it was easy to forget how much more effort it took someone of his size to just interact with people so much bigger than him. He was also standing and walking on his injured leg without his crutch for much longer than normal. I wondered if he was in pain and trying to fight through it. 

Whatever the case, I was looking forward to getting him home with me, and giving him a chance to relax. 

I took in the wonderful sight of him lounging in my palm, his head resting on the pad of my index finger, his calves and ankles hanging off the far edge of my palm, his little hands spread against my skin, keeping himself steady. He stared at his tiny leather shoes, and seemed disinterested in looking in my direction. How funny he was. I wondered what on earth was on his brilliant little mind. 

Strange little nightmare, let’s get you home.

___________________________________________

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[raikiriwolfwrites]

Bitterness, Sweetened by Your Lips

Lucanis is struggling after Weisshaupt. Emotions boil over and Rook is there to offer long needed reassurances.

Enby RookxLucanis

Warning for allusions to Caterina's A+ parenting and panic attacks.

Chapter 6 - Catharsis

Read on AO3

Lucanis landed heavily against the stone, jolting upright with a wince as Ghilan’nain screamed in disbelief at the blood trickling from the cut on her face.

He’d missed.

The tap of Caterina’s cane echoed in his ears, moving closer, ready to chastise him for his failure. He was ready to throw himself back at Ghilan’nain, prove he could complete the job, when Rook’s shout made him pause. The rhythmic sound of a cane on stone morphed into Rook’s heavy footfalls as they ran up to him, gloved hand a vice around his bicep to pull him back.

“Let’s go!”

“Give me another shot!” He tried to twist out of Rook’s grip, but they held firm.

“Too late, back to the eluvian.”

He wanted to keep fighting, fix his mistake, but writhing walls of blight were building up around Ghilan’nain and spreading fast as she raged. Logic won out over anger. Rook was right, the window of opportunity was gone. He hesitated for one final second, watching his target disappear from sight behind a grotesque, fleshy, barrier of blight, before pivoting on his heel and following after Rook and the others.

Rook shouted to Holden as the team drew together in their sprint for the exit. “Is it working?”

The ethereal glow of the eluvian seemed as strong as ever as they approached. The familiar floating islands of the Crossroads just visible through its shimmering surface. “I hope so.”

“Best odds all day.”

One by one they ran through to the safety of the Crossroads beyond.

-----

They all went their separate ways in the Lighthouse, agreeing to meet up in the dining hall once they’d all cleaned off the blood, sweat, grime and blight of Weisshaupt.

Lucanis mechanically cleaned up and redressed in his casual clothes. Leathers and blades were wiped off, checked over, and put away. Dust and sweat cleansed from his skin with a cloth and warm water. His body followed the familiar motions of fastening his waistcoat and heading to the kitchen to start preparing coffee while his mind whirled. He couldn't tell where his agitation ended and Spite’s began over the loss of their kill. They twined together, a negative feedback loop of emotion buffeting him from the inside as he desperately clung to his routine, and the familiar rich scent of Andoral’s Breath, to keep himself grounded. He tried taking deep, controlled breaths to reign the emotion back in, but it felt like trying to empty the Treviso canals with a coffee cup.

He doesn’t quite remember everyone else arriving, or sitting down at the table, but the next thing he registers is the solid presence of a chair beneath him and at his back. A press of warmth at his knee from his left draws him away from himself and he looks up from the coffee mug clutched like a lifeline between his palms.

Rook isn’t looking at him, they’re watching everyone settle in their seats, but he shifts his leg under the table to return the pressure, grateful for the contact as people start talking. He sips his coffee as the conversation washes over him, the words barely skimming his consciousness as he focuses on centering himself with even breaths.

Harding is the last to take her seat, with a missive in hand. “Evka sent word. Last of the civilians made it to Lavendel. Janos and his people held the line long enough for them to escape Weisshaupt. And the Wardens are in Lavendel, too.”

“What’s left of them, you mean. Over a thousand…that’s how many fellow Wardens I had. And now…One god. One Archdemon. That’s all it took to nearly wipe out our entire Order.”

“I promise you Davrin. We’ll make Ghilan’nain pay. For every Warden she killed. Every child left alone. There will be a reckoning.”

“How? We all saw what she did. That’s beyond…”

“We killed her Archdemon, though. That’s something, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. After it turned into a snake monster with too many heads! Are all blighted dragons going to do that? I don’t know how to fight that!”

“Well, at least we’ve made Ghilan’nain mortal.”

“Mortal or immortal doesn’t matter if we can’t get close enough.” The feeling of eyes boring into the side of his skull grates on his senses enough to pull his focus back to the table. Davrin’s look of disdain is aimed right at him as he continues. “We had our shot at her. And we missed.”

Spite’s anger is a writhing mass behind his eyes, melding with and feeding off his own frustration. The unsubtle jab, salt in a wound he was already picking the edges of raw. But he manages to keep his voice level to reply. “Say what you mean Davrin. I missed.”

“Nobody blames you for that, Lucanis.”

He held back a scoff. Harding may not, but she should. The target of his contract was there, he’d had his chance, and missed.

“Yeah? Maybe I do. This Crow has a demon inside him, right?”

Davrin’s words sank like hooks into the open wounds of his failure and he relished the sting. He needed to be better.

“Now that’s not–“

Davrin had found the target for his righteous anger and Harding’s interruptions weren’t going to stop him.

“How do we know we can trust him? Maybe the demon pulled his punches.”

Spite railed at that. He was clenching the mug in his hands tight enough he worried it might shatter as he fought back against Spite clawing for the reigns. But the porcelain held, as did his control, if only barely.

“Okay. Hold on. Now we’re getting–“

Between Davrin’s words, Spite’s vicious tantrum thrashing behind his eyes, and his own swirling temult of emotion, his patience and temper were fraying and he couldn’t help but snap back. “And you, Warden? What about the blight that runs through your veins? The same blight that Ghilan’nain commands so effortlessly.”

Even Emmrich’s deep well of patience seemed to be running dry as he attempts to settle them all down again. “Just a moment, please–“

“Enough!”

Rook’s deep voice cuts sharply through the bickering like a knife. A rare thread of anger steeling their voice enough to make everyone instantly fall blessedly silent and listen.

“Stop arguing. We’ve got no chance if we turn on each other. Chaos helps the gods, and hurts this team. It will get us killed, one by one.” They looked round the table as they spoke, meeting everyone’s eyes in turn. Lucanis gathered himself enough to meet them with a veneer of calm contrition as they finally reached him. Everyone looking suitably calm or chastised, they continue, addressing the whole table. The frustration has faded, but the hard edge to their voice remains, brooking no argument. “So get it together. We need to figure out how to defeat them.”

Emmrich is the first to break the tense silence. “We’re all in agreement on that point, Rook. But the question remains— how? We barely survived against one of the gods.”

Lucanis picks at the memory, trying to find the loose thread, where the job went wrong. He was so close. He cannot keep the bitterness from his tone as he mutters, “I nearly had her.”

“Nearly. But you and Spite are not of one mind, Lucanis. Fighting for control…it’s no wonder you missed such a rare opportunity.”

Emmrich’s words aren’t meant to be an attack, he knows, but still they fall like a lash on his back, another brand woven into the tapestry of failure across his skin.

Rook’s voice anchors him in the present and he clings to the comfort of it as it cuts through the turbulence in his mind. He feels the brief reprieve of the eye of the storm as he locked on to their words.

“We’ve all been distracted, but we’re not in this fight alone. We have allies and friends in all sorts of places. We reach out to them and eventually someone will find something that will put us on the trail of the gods. There’s so much going on that we can’t control, but the least we can do is help our allies, help each other. We can’t afford distractions, but we have time to prepare. For now though, we need to rest and cool off. We killed an Archdemon today, and we all made it out in one piece. And when the time comes, we make the gods pay for the ones who didn’t.”

Everyone read the silent dismissal in Rook’s words and started to slowly trickle out of the room, the tension between them not quite gone, but certainly lessened. Lucanis was the last to rise as Rook watched the door shut behind the others from their seat at the head of the table.

In the subsequent quiet, his own thoughts become loud again, he feels raw as his mind is pulled in every direction at once, an unrelenting force pounding behind his eyes.

But he has to keep it together. He can’t let Rook see how close the threads holding him together are to snapping. Rook deserves better than a patched up shell of a man, straining at the seams. He needs to be better. He needs to work, and prove that he can fulfill his contract.

The mask of collectedness doesn’t slip into place as easily as he would like but he manages to hold it together enough to try and reassure Rook. He hopes it’s enough for them to leave him alone to scrape together enough of the scattered pieces of himself; to build them back into something resembling Lucanis Dellamorte, the Demon of Vyrantium.

Rook reaches up and catches his forearm in their calloused palm as he rounds the table, concern clear in their expression.

“I’m fine. I just need some time alone to get my head on straight.”

They seem reluctant, but unwilling to push after the day they’ve had. They let him go, voice soft. “Whatever you need to do.”

He misses the warmth of Rook’s palm as he pulls away but he can feel the mask slipping. He can’t let Rook see. They have the whole team to hold together, they don’t need the added stress of holding him together, too. The roaring in his ears is starting to build again and his focus tunnels in on the pantry door, so much so that he doesn’t register Rook’s voice, talking to the empty air beside them as he firmly shuts the door behind him.

-----

He doesn’t even make it into the pantry fully, managing to close the door before the dam breaks and he collapses back against it. The thick wood doing more to hold him up than his own trembling limbs.

His back muscles twitched, besieged by a phantom ache, the memory of pain awakening as if fresh. Every thought, every doubt, every recollection of his failure compounding, layering over each other like the crack of Caterina’s cane on his bare flesh. His back itched and tingled where the scars mapped his skin. Each a lesson. One he thought he had learned well, paid for in sweat, blood and bruises seared deep into his bones.

He can faintly hear Spite, feel the brush of his sharp magic as his manifestation rages around him, but it’s distant, muffled. His mind sunk so deep into the maelstrom of his own feelings that even Spite’s can’t quite get through to him. His hands come up to clutch at his hair, the sting of his harsh grip a penance. Caterina’s firm hand always followed sharply on the heels of mistakes and failures. Until he learned not to fail. That pain had moulded him into the Master Assassin he was lauded as, made him stronger.

The ‘Demon of Vyrantium’ never failed a contract.

His family was nearly all gone. His home was under occupation. He had lost a year of his life to pain and darkness, only to escape with a mind and body that wasn’t even his own any more.

If he couldn’t even complete a contract, what did he have left.

What use is he to Rook.

His breath shakes, chest aching. One hand claws at the chain at his throat, ripping it off along with his cravat. The top button of his shirt falls victim to the harsh rake of nails and is sent flying, clattering across the floor alongside the crow skulls and chain. The hand returns to its tight grip in his hair and he closes his eyes to fight off the black encroaching at the edges of his vision, back sliding down the door until he meets the stone floor with a heavy thump. It should feel cold beneath him. He feels nothing. Disconnected from the sensation, and too entrenched in the depths of his own mind to notice.

The crumbling stone walls of the Ossuary close in around him, crushing the breath from his lungs. The trickling of water through the cracks becomes a flood. The water slowly rises up around him, engulfing him in its numbing embrace. He rakes blunt nails across his scalp to feel something other than the oppressive weight closing in from all sides.

The pressure builds, a vice around his ribs as his heart tries to break through them from the inside.

The dark nothingness he falls into is a relief.

-----

Spite growls and rages around the pantry as Lucanis shuts the door behind him. He throws his spectral form into the shelves, thrashes at the food, candles and other objects littering the pantry. But nothing budges.

He wants to break.

Kill.

But without Lucanis’ form he can’t.

The Lighthouse is the closest thing he’s felt to the fade since he was ripped from it, forced into a vessel not made to fit.

But he. Still. Can’t. Touch. Anything.

It’s part of the Fade, but disconnected somehow. Or maybe it’s him that disconnected. Forced into a mortal shell, not even a mage who can access the Fade. Only a tenuous link where the veil is weak allowing him to pull things through to help Rook.

His fury returns to its primary target.

Zara.

It’s. Her. Fault.

In the Fade the world would bend to his whims. With enough determination, anything was possible. But now be’s trapped. And Lucanis isn’t keeping his side of the deal.

He whirls back to where Lucanis is hunched by the door, surprised that he hasn’t been told to be quiet or wrangled back into the dank cell of the Ossuary in his mind.

Lucanis is ignoring him.

He stalks closer.

“Let. Me. OUT. We make them PAY. For what they did to. US.”

He was shouting in Lucanis’ face now but his eyes were screwed shut and he still wasn’t listening.

“You. Keep. Us. TRAPPED.”

He seethed, inches from Lucanis’ face, chest heaving from his outburst despite not needing to breathe. Still nothing. His anger simmered down as he looked closer at Lucanis.

Something was wrong.

The sour notes of distress permeated the air. The tangle in his mind where their emotions met was a turbulent mess. Feelings old and new knotted together and tore where they caught on sharp, unhealed edges. He prodded at the divide between them and was met with damp stone.

He couldn’t reach Lucanis.

The body before him was trembling, breaths thin and short. He watched it slide down to the floor.

He prodded harder at the link between them only to be met with a jolt of pain. No. That was Lucanis’ pain.

Lucanis was hurting.

He needs Lucanis.

But how can he make it stop.

He flitted about, unsure, but unable to do anything. He kept niggling at their bond. The mental wall keeping him out started to crumble as the body before him curled in tighter on itself. It collapsed, but there was only silence beyond. It felt like in the Ossuary, when Lucanis retreated into his mind, closed off from all feeling to escape the pain.

With the mental barrier gone, he was thrust into control of Lucanis’ body, catching it before it dropped sideways onto the floor.

It felt wrong. Like the adrenaline of battle coursing through his veins, but instead of adding strength, it left limbs shaking and weak. His chest felt bruised, heart beating too fast, finally starting to slow back to normal.

Lucanis needs help.

Rook.

Rook helps.

Rook, who’s magic feels like home. Who always listened, helped people who ask, and those who don’t. Who is kind but doesn’t hesitate to cut down those who stand in their way. Rook’s presence is a comfort to them both.

He forces shaky legs to stand and leaves the pantry with one goal in mind.

-----

Rook collapses onto the chaise with a heavy sigh. Weisshaupt had gone poorly yet, somehow, that meeting had been worse. Post battle adrenaline had made tempers short. They had done the rounds, checking in on everyone afterwards, and thankfully the team seemed to have settled down again. They have some time while their allies gather more intel, time they can use to help get everyone back on task and focused.

Lucanis was the only one they hadn’t spoken to. He said he needed some time, and they had to respect that, as much as they wished to be there by his side. They could see he was taking it hard, Davrin’s misplaced frustration not helping matters. They breathed out another weary sigh and dropped their head into their hands, rubbing at their eyes.

Maybe a short nap, and then drop by and see how he’s doing.

The rattle of the door handle lures their head from the cradle of their hands. The sight as it swings open has them jumping to their feet and rushing to the door.

“Lu- Spite!” The purple glow in place of dark brown is familiar, if unexpected. But the state he’s in sends a surge of panic through them.

“Rook.” Spite’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, a subtle tremor to it that makes Rook’s heart ache.

It’s the most dishevelled Rook’s ever seen Lucanis. His clothes are rumpled, cravat, collar pins and chain gone. They can see faint red welts across his neck where the shirt gapes open without the top button holding it closed. There’s a faint sheen of sweat across his skin and an unsteadiness to his limbs that contradicts the usually precisely controlled movements of the master assassin. Even without being able to read his eyes past the purple glow, his face looks lost and unsure. That more than anything, so unlike how Spite normally carries himself in Lucanis’ body, sends tendrils of anxiety racing through them.

Their hands flit over him, trying to find the source of the problem. Finding nothing obvious they move back up to gently cradle Spite’s face between their palms, smoothing their thumbs slowly across his cheeks. “Spite? What happened?”

Spite surges forward and buries his face into Rook’s neck, inhaling deeply, and their arms wind around him securely. They reach one arm out to shut the door, locking it behind them as they gently steer Spite towards the chaise.

They take a seat, pulling Spite down beside them. He clutches at Rook, face buried back in their neck as they settle. Lucanis’ body seems to lose some of its tension at the contact.

“Spite? What’s going on?” They probe gently, but receive no response except for deep breaths into the hollow of their throat. “If you can’t explain it, can I have Lucanis back to talk?”

The hair on his head tickles their chin as he shakes his head in a violent ‘no’.

“Lucanis hurts. Old and new. Then he hides.”

There’s a tightening in Rook’s chest, a deep regret from leaving Lucanis to dwell alone. Spite’s resonant growl over Lucanis’ voice vibrates against the skin of their neck with a wash of warm breath. But he pulls back to look at them, hand clutching at Rook’s shirt.

“Rook helps.” It’s both a statement and a plea.

The warmth at being trusted to help wars with the pain of knowing Lucanis is hurting, that Spite is hurting and confused. “Anything I can do, please, just ask.”

Spite shakes his head again.

“Rook. Safe.”

Rook blinks, confused, but reaches out to take Spite’s hand, running a thumb over his knuckles as they wait for him to elaborate.

“WE. Are safe. With Rook.”

Oh.

“Can’t reach. Lucanis. But he comes back…when it’s safe. Rook. Safe.”

They felt a surge of affection, they knew how hard it was for Spite to articulate through Lucanis. The effortless trade of thought and feeling between spirits in the Fade impossible to translate into inelegant syllables, especially in a body he had to fight to contain him. But he came to them. He and Lucanis needed help and he trusted them, explained where Lucanis could not.

“Thank you, Spite.” They pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “If you need to be here with me, you should at least be comfortable then.”

They set to removing Lucanis’ boots and waistcoat, setting them off to the side as Spite watched on.

“Come here.” Rook beckoned softly, guiding Spite down to lay along the chaise, head resting in their lap. They started running a hand soothingly through his hair and he nuzzled his face into Rook’s stomach, melting into the comforting touch with a rumble of contentment.

“I think you need rest too, Spite. I’ll be here as long as you and Lucanis need.”

They kept up the motion of smoothing their hand through his silky hair until Spite stilled fully, body relaxed. They kept caressing his hair gently, and they waited to see whose eyes would greet them when he woke up.

-----

He came to slowly, warm and comfortable, sighing softly at the gentle scratch of fingers against his scalp as fingers combed through his hair. He pressed his face deeper into the warm, soft fabric against his face. A soft chuckle jostled him slightly and he turned his head enough to slit an eye open. Rook was gazing fondly down at him. A myriad of emotions flickered across their face, he was still muzzy from sleep so couldn’t place all of them, but he thought he caught a shadow of concern mixed in with the affection.

Rook’s hand slipped from his hair to cup the side of his face, rubbing soothing circles at his temple where a headache was starting to make itself known.

“Back with me, Lucanis?”

The ache behind his eyes and throughout his limbs brought back a flood of memory. He winced, he hadn’t wanted Rook to see him like this. He can’t quite muster words to explain so he decides to hide his weakness away in Rook’s shirt once more, letting out a deep, shuddering sigh of defeat into their stomach.

“Lucanis? Please talk to me. Let me help.”

There was an edge of desperation to their voice. The thought of causing Rook undue upset outweighed his shame. Schooling his expression he levered himself upright, out of Rook’s lap. Rook didn’t let him go far though, pulling him into their side as he sat next to them.

He tried to think back, rubbing his eyes to ease the dull throbbing behind them, but everything after he closed the door to the pantry was a dark smudge in his memory. The loss of time always made him wary.

“How did I get here?” He asked quietly, voice rough from disuse.

Rook reached out to clasp his hand. “Spite was worried. He brought you here.” He could see them turn to him out the corner of his eye, feel the weight of their gaze, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet it. That first bit gave him pause though.

Worried?

Spite had control, and he came here?

Spite was there, quiet in the back of his mind. He tried to reach out but Spite stayed stubbornly tucked away, almost sulking.

“I know you took Weisshaupt hard. I’m sorry I didn’t come and check on you, but you said you needed some time alone-“

“No.” He couldn’t stand for Rook to blame themself over this. “You did everything you could, for everyone. I just l…didn’t want to you to see me like that. You have enough to deal with without my failures.”

The arm around his waist tightened. “You didn’t fail, Lucanis. We fought a god. We killed her Archdemon, wounded her, and we lived to tell about it.”

They didn’t understand.

“You shouldn’t go easy on me, Rook! I had her. She should have never gotten away from me. This was our contract, Rook. I don’t fail my contracts.”

“Ghilan’nain was a giant face in the clouds, Lucanis. I asked you to stab a cloud.”

“And I missed the damn cloud!”

“My point is: That was impossible, and you still almost did it. That’s not small. Things always go wrong, we learn and we grow. No one is infallible. You’re human, Lucanis.”

He chokes out a bitter laugh. “Am I?” Rook tenses beside him, but he cuts off the protest he can feel forming. “I thought I still had this. Whatever else I am, I’m a professional. After the Ossuary, I thought at least I could still take out a target. I need to work.”

Rook’s presence was a tether keeping him from spiralling like he did before, but he could feel the frustration building up behind his eyes and they stung with unshed tears.

Rook coaxes him to turn towards them with a soft grip on his jaw. He relents to the pressure. There’s a steel in their eyes “And you will. Next time we go in prepared, and we will succeed. Together. For now, forget about Ghilan’nain.”

“But that’s why I’m here. If I can’t do this, what use am I to you.”

“Lucanis…I’m just happy you didn’t get killed out there. Yes, we hired you for your reputation. But you have saved my life, the lives of everyone on this team, more times than I could count. You look after us in and out of battle. I’ve seen you buy gifts based on a throwaway comment that no one else even remembered. But you listened, and you did.”

There’s a strange ache in his chest, not like the one from before. He wants to look away, but Rook holds firm, willing their words to sink in.

“You don’t just cook for us, you go out of your way to make sure everyone gets a taste of home. You give them comfort in a world that has little to spare right now. Of course we value your skills, you’ve trained hard to be as good as you are, but that isn’t all we care about.”

He could see tears shimmering at the corners of their eyes, felt matching ones trying to escape his own. They took a steadying breath before pressing their forehead to his, voice deep and sure.

“You could fail a thousand contracts, and you would still matter. Especially to me.” They hold Lucanis’ face, not letting him break eye contact, even as they lean back to put a few inches of space between their faces. He’s subjected to the force of the full, open, honesty on their face, their eyes shimmering wetly with every ounce of emotion laid bare. Their words struck deep beneath years of knotted scar tissue. Unravelling something deep in his chest.

Caterina had honed him as a weapon his whole life. He didn’t know what he was beneath that. If there was anything left once Lucanis the Crow was stripped away. But Rook made him want to find out. Rook saw Lucanis, demon and all, and saw someone worth caring for. Liquid gathered unbidden in his eyes as his walls started to crumble.

“You are more than your blades, Luca.”

He broke.

Buried his face in Rook’s shoulder and clung to them like a lifeline as decades of pent up emotion washed out. Strong arms pulled him into their lap fully and wrapped around him, holding him in place. They made no comment on the wetness spreading on their shirt, only clutching him tighter, hands stroking soothingly wherever they could reach as they pressed their cheek to the top of his head. A shield to keep him safe from the outside world as he fell apart.

-----

Lucanis didn’t know how long he had been curled up in Rook’s lap, but they had stayed like that in comfortable silence as the tears dried on his face. A weight lifted from his chest as he relaxes into the hold. He slides his head away from the damp patch of shirt to nestle more comfortably against the warm skin at the crook of Rook’s neck.

Pressing a kiss to the skin he mutters a quiet “Thank you.” into it. Their response is simply a low hum as he feels a kiss returned to his hair. His throat is dry, the tear tracks have left his cheeks feeling tight, and he there’s a sense of contradictory lightness and exhaustion deep in his bones. He thinks he might end up stiff staying like this for much longer but there’s a layer of peace blanketing them that quashes any need to move.

He wraps his arms around Rook to sit in a more comfortable embrace against them and they shift to accommodate him easily. He allows his mind to wander in the quiet and something Rook said came back to him. He leaned back to lay against the meat of Rook’s shoulder so he could look up at them curiously.

“You called me Luca.”

The statement caught them off guard, and they blinked at him for a second while they processed, before smiling down at him apologetically.

“Ah, sorry. Do you not like it?”

“No, it’s…” he looked down at his hand, fidgeting with the worn fabric of Rook’s shirt. “My mother. I don’t remember her well, but I remember she called me that once. When I was young.” He looked up into Rook’s eyes, smiling softly, and pressed a hand over their heart. “I like being Luca to you.”

The kiss he was pulled into was gentle. The faint hint of salt still stained his lips but made the kiss no less sweet.

They traded soft kisses for a short while before relaxing into a comfortable position to lounge together, trading idle conversation into the night.

And some wholesome post chapter art

[diejager]

Hello!! Can I request about monster task force 141 + könig & horangi, if thats alright for you!

Where reader is a pyramid head instead and I like to see their reaction reader having a pyramid head c:

EXCUSE ME!? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME WITH THIS ASK?!???!? Cuz if you are, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I am still breathing! I might be kneeling for this concept, but I am still breathing.

Pyramid Head!reader

Headcanon

Pairing: Monster 141 + König + Horangi x male?reader

Cw: blood, gore, canon-typical violence, gun violence, betrayal, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 2k

You looked like you came right out of a horror game, a tall, muscular figure hidden under black and dark brown fatigues, thick thighs supporting the big, rusted pyramid that hung from your head and stocky arms that could bend a man in half as easily as it was to rip paper in two. Despite being slow and stumbling around, you were an entity to bring on high-stakes missions, letting you break through their defences with a heavy hand and even heavier attacks, crashing through walls and stalking the walls for your next victim.

They were all shocked when Price talked them into accepting you,  gathering them into the debrief room with your file, or your lack of one. It wasn’t easy, having you permanently transferred to their Task Force when you were so sought out by other teams for help as a long-standing mercenary and an entity. So Price was overjoyed that  Laswell had managed to get you to themselves, waiting for you at the tarmac on the day you were to land. 

Mixed feelings were being shared between his team when they watched you amble down the slope, head hung lowly, the tip inches from the ground. You were intimidating in person, seeming much bigger than life, finally being able to see you rather than hear of you, the haunting reputation that followed you around like a shadow. You weren’t a Ghost, someone reputed for having no living record and past, or his intimidating presence; nor were you a scary mercenary from KorTac, dangerous and imposing. You weren’t an efficient and fast-moving unit like the 141, you were just a one-man army powerful enough to rip a man in two and wield that heavy Greatsword, and despite it being a bit old-fashioned, you used better than man could use a rifle. 

Price, as first mentioned, was glad his hard work came to fruition, having someone like you on his side when it mattered was amazing. He might’ve been slightly worried about his boys reacting negatively towards you, Ghost, especially with his volatile hate and distrust of strangers. Only to be reassured when he saw how, unlike the way you carried yourself on the field, you were a gentle soul, a silent one but caring nonetheless. He watched you take care of his boys, wandering behind Gaz or Rudy when they returned injured, a looming figure that cast a protective shadow over them. You were like a pillar, solid and dependable, going out of your way to get anyone that strayed behind, turning your head at a slight angle to stop a bullet from hitting the one you were protecting, and caring for them. He may not be able to hear you speak a word, to be able to hold a conversation and listen to you tell them how much you cared about him and the others, but he knew you loved - he knew you were able to love. 

Ghost was distrustful of you, one with a shadow as big as yours or someone he’d worked alongside before. He kept you at an arm’s length, never too close to him so he could protect himself from another betrayal, the hurt and the sadness that came along with being betrayed by someone he trusted, and never too far so that he could watch you, analyse every thought or act you made, to stop you from hurting them before you could. He’s seen you in the field and worked on the same side, he knew that every little detail about you on the reports was true, not illusions and delusions, but factual events that happened with you beside them. He won’t lie, you were an asset - he hated using that word on any hybrid, monster or entity, but it was the truth - that people vied for and they were just lucky that you had their back and they had your undying loyalty. Your occasional sparring with him, Price and König only reinforced your care for them, holding back until he barked at you to fully come at him, you’d hesitate, but never for long. You cared for him as he cared for the others, he could see it, and now, his care was extended to you as well.

Soap was like an excited puppy meeting a new friend, past the intimidating facade and the trailing shadow behind you, you were nice. You reminded him of Ghost and König, the tall, imposing and silent figure, but unlike them, you only replied in grunts and groans, your body language being the biggest way for them to understand you. You were patient with him, bearing with his overenthusiastic tail that kept tapping your thigh and arm whenever or his rambling, your large pyramid nodding slowly, humming when you agreed with him and grunting when you disagreed. You were fun to be around, when he, Rudy and Gaz went around, bringing you along with him to play a little game, you wouldn’t snitch and you wouldn’t say a word, only shaking your head when Price or Ghost asked if they were behind it (the Captain and Lieutenant went along, seeing as they could enjoy themselves after a hard and stressful mission). He could be as shamelessly chaotic as he wanted with you, he didn’t have to entertain the egos of others or maintain a certain level of dignity, he could be himself like he could with the others. He didn’t feel like a burden beside your lengthy shadow, he felt like he was protected, and safe, but most importantly, he felt loved.

Gaz was tentative, not overly enthusiastic as Soap nor as suspicious as Ghost, he was a good mix of them both, guarded but welcoming. He didn’t mind sitting next to you and being the one to start the conversation since you always replied in hums and groans, hands moving to form the words that you couldn’t form under the pyramid. He only truly became comfortable when you went to the trouble of going back for him, stomping through the group that surrounded him when he crashed down, watching you rip the enemy apart with your swinging Greatsword that was too heavy for anyone to lift was breathtaking. Despite witnessing a scene right out of a slasher movie, his teammate in a rusted, pyramid head soaked in blood and guts, you gave him a hand and took his hand with the gentlest squeeze he ever felt. Then the little stunt you helped cover when he, Soap and Rudy were caught doing a prank on one of their leading commanders. He could depend on you, practising sign language to better understand you and simply wanting to hold the hands that saved him.

Alejandro, as usual, was easy to get along with, his charismatic and warm mannerism was easier to open up to. He might’ve been betrayed and lied to many times, but he knew a liar when he saw one after the whole Shepherd fiasco, so he knew you meant well (not that he could see your face for any indications). Unlike others of his rank, he preferred the respect given through comradery over respect through rank, he kept close to the people he worked with in the long run, forming bonds to cherish like he did with the Los Vaqueros and the men of 141. Withholding the same idea, he worked his way through your file and approached you with someone who’d won his respect and admiration from the black Ops you participated in and the people you bled to save. It was a quality he liked about you. While still being professional, he held you, he encouraged you, he embraced you just the way you were, and you reciprocated it without a second thought. 

Rudy had his reservations about you, something strong, something big, something powerful, something caring, but never something deadly, dangerous or selfish. From what Alejandro told him, he couldn’t bring himself to be doubtful of your loyalty and devotion, and from what he’s seen on the field, you weren’t deserving of the reputation of a bloodthirsty monster that followed you as it did Ghost and König. You had something that made you stand out, maybe it was the contrast in your character when you looked so menacing: your softness, the gentle edge in your actions, the comforting quality in your muted response, and your active protection on and off the field. He appreciated the way you brought more to the Task Force, another pillar of stability, another ear to rant to, another person to hold, or another friend to laugh with. Even the little pranks he’d join in on, getting his commanding officers red with rage and breathless from laughing and leaving you to cover for them, your hands speaking the words you couldn’t mutter outside of simple sounds. He often ended up in the same predicament when he couldn’t stop himself, cheeks rosy and warm, heart beating fast, fingers fumbling with each other and words coming out in breathless puffs, he knew what he felt and he wasn’t so bothered by it.

Horangi wasn’t sure what to make of you, you weren’t quite human, nor were you a monster, you were a mix of both, a creation of human and monster grief and pain. Little was known about entities and Eldritch beings, and being a feline monster made him naturally curious, or slightly curious. He observed you, watching you from afar without actually interacting with you, slinking around you, golden eyes narrowing at you like a tiger in a hunt. He didn’t dare approach you until he got to know your small cues, the danger you could pose - if you could pose any from what he saw, too gentle for the creature you were - to him or the others. He only stepped forward to talk to you when König made him, feel skittish and slightly awkward for feeling like such a stranger towards someone who took multiple bullets for him when he was down. He held his head high and voice stable while he pushed through his awkwardness, listening to your soft hums and low grunts in reply to his words, he was surprised to see König so engaged in this conversation when he had an aversion towards new people. Honestly, he was just surprised that König talked so much about you. If there was anything good, he would be the first to hear about it from König. He came to know you through König and the time you spent together on missions, hostage rescue and noisy infiltrations. Your small ticks, your little quirks and your verbal handicap were all things he came to learn and like, nearly making it his duty to watch you from the side as you stumble through the halls with your back hunched over from the weight of your pyramid.

König didn’t try approaching you until he absolutely had to, or if he needed you. Be it to give you an order, to ask you something, or during Ops, it would only be a few words here and there, never something long-drawn as he had with the other men or Laswell. It was only after being sent on a quick and easy task that he let you in, letting you calm him down after his unpredictable shift and grounding him, taking back control of his erratic mind after a rough shift of mindset, from a primal and instinctual one to a rational and panicked one. Your rough calluses felt soft against his hard, scarred skin, the soothing circle of your thumb on his palm and the grip to keep him aware of his situation, to keep him grounded on his reality after the carnage he created. Despite not being able to talk, you spoke loudly through your verbal cues, your hand on your shoulder and another one in his hand, listening to him ramble away about his fears and anxieties. You would sit down with him and lend an ear to him when he came to you, even after his first interactions with you. He wondered if you had similar fears, those demoralising words that echoed in his mind on the worst days or the painful reminder of his mistakes. If you did, would you let him ease you down from your pain and care for you with his smaller hands?

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