#this opportunity is quite hard to come by well then amuse me surrender is a valid option i promise i'll be gentle

[nordicfiord]

what a good opportunity it is

well I realized I went with a bit of a casino thematic because his vibes are a bit similar with Aventurine from hsr? I can imagine him clutch anything in his hand behind his back just so he could be not so nervous about his bluffs and I mean anything. it doesn't have to be a knife!.. I promise :}

[nagipeko]

This opportunity is quite hard to come by. Well, then, amuse me. Surrender is a valid option. I promise I’ll be gentle.

^ childe’s last words before you casually pop 450k damage on him

[lavendermin]

would you mind | childe

pairing | childe/reader

word count | 1.9k

genre | developing relationship, light smut, complicated feelings

If ever there was a force greater than the ancient winds of old Mondstadt, it was that harbinger from Snezhnaya. All it took was one afternoon during your shift for him to gain an interest in you—a fascination maybe.

The Fatui weren’t known for a good reputation in Liyue, and it only made you a bit uneasy knowing his high ranking—a cautious approach to a stranger in higher power. You couldn’t deny him and you didn’t dare show disrespect for subtle fear of consequence.

Rumors of people getting blackmailed—or worse— from getting tangled with the Fatui spread like wildfire in the harbor. Though they were baseless accusations, they didn’t stop from simmering in the back of your mind. The ‘what if’ was a damning point your mind made. Rumors didn’t come from nowhere around these parts.

Though Childe carried a sense of danger with him, there was something about him that kept your nerves manageable. The persona he carried was very impressionable, maybe even a little irritating at times. He was a persistent one.

“Mind if I join you for lunch?”

“Sir… I work here.” He knew this, too, yet he always arrived at the tea house with the same line. Still, you were quick to tend to him.

Childe hummed, eyes grinning with him as he happily plopped down at the table you swiftly offered him. “I’ll take that as an opportunity. The usual, please.”

Just treat him like a normal patron, was a personal mantra to get you through a shift at the tea house.

You were just lucky he was well-mannered. It made dealing with him easier. There was something about him that irked you, but at the end of the day he was polite and never forced a conversation if you were busy serving others.

“You don’t seem to talk much these days,” Childe notes as he swirls the remnants of his tea in its cup. It’s nearing closing time and you keep glancing over at the clock as he makes no move to leave. He sighs dramatically, “I miss our conversations.”

It’s playful, knowing full-well you hardly ever speak to avoid trouble from your boss. Maybe you would blame it on the exhaustion of a long shift, maybe put blame on lack of sleep. The comment, however, still makes you break seriousness and you erupt in an abrupt fit of laughter you quickly fight to quiet down. Luckily you’re closing by yourself tonight.

The sound is melodic, surprising Childe as a grin grows on his face. Though your back is turned as your shoulders shake from suppressed laughter, he can see the embarrassed red at the tips of your ears.

Oh, so you did find his company entertaining.

Your back straightens, and when you turn around you’re back to keeping him at a distance with an air of seriousness. Nothing more than work and patrons.

Childe leaves after wishing you a safe trip home and thanks for the wonderful service, as usual. The briskness of the cool night air keeps his mind intrigued once more with the mystery that surrounds you. Duty in Liyue was getting quite boring, and he decided to indulge in figuring you out.

“Would you mind if I joined you for a stroll?”

The familiar ginger hair strode up matching your pace. In the bustling crowd of the harbor, his presence sticks out like the cries of seagulls overhead. Maybe it’s your paranoia, but you swear people make an effort to move away from your little bubble he now infiltrated.

Still, he’s a harbinger.

So you nod quietly.

“I’m just running errands. It’s quite boring.” The way his eyes linger on yours for a second longer has you averting your gaze. The smile he wears… since when did it make your chest squeeze?

“I’m sure not as boring as some of the tasks I’m given,” he chuckles.

“Paperwork, I’m sure,” you guess idly. The vague smile he throws you has something about it that sends chills running down your spine.

“Something like that.”

The chuckle you give him is a little nervous. You aren’t sure what tasks he gets but you aren’t sure you’re willing to find out.

“Feel free to join me if you’d like, then.”

And for the rest of the day he patiently strolls around with you around the harbor through idle chatter. From dock to dock he follows, offering to pay the entire sum of anything on your errands list. The unlimited financial power he holds both terrifies and amazes you.

From then on, his company became frequent on your errand runs. Many shop keepers at first got anxious with a Fatui agent escorting you around, but his bright charisma won them over eventually. Business was business in the end, and his tendency to let the shopkeeper ‘keep the change’ won the favor of many.

You forgot when exactly you stopped trying to shake him off altogether. Perhaps you got too complacent since there was little you could do. Some days you even enjoyed his company. Childe was a good listener on days when you were a little more talkative, and he would always answer with utmost sincerity.

Yes, you looked forward to his little greeting and chance encounters on the harbor. Part of you hated the fact that you got so comfortable with him but the louder part of you was conflicted with bubbling feelings for the harbinger. For months on end you kept those feelings suppressed in the deepest parts of your heart.

And then the storm season hit.

“Mind some company?”

The water dripped down your face, soaked clothes clinging to your form as you stood under a tree near the outskirts of the harbor. Your eyes were wide, doe-like as you peered up at the familiar voice.

“Oh, sure.” Your eyes drift back to stare absentmindedly at the puddles rippling in the rain. “I was just waiting for the rain to let up a bit so I can make it back home.”

Childe hums, his usual charismatic smile bright on his face. It’s a little dangerous, and makes your heart race. Addicting.

“You know, at this rate you’ll get sick by the time you get home. I say we just make a run for it,” he offers with a devilish grin.

The frown you give him only further amuses him. “Run? Through the pouring rain?”

“Got any better ideas?”

You sigh, the sound of pattering rain filling the silence as you weigh your options.

“Fine. Okay.”

He grins, and you surrender to letting the harbinger have his way in the rain. Through the streets you both run, footsteps cutting through puddles and crowds of people with umbrellas. It’s thrilling and you can’t help but laugh at how fun running through the rain is. You both look like lovers that got caught in an unfortunate circumstance, and your chest wells up with feelings as you watch Childe pull you through crowds and street vendors.

The storm is raging outside, rain pattering on windows that rattle softly from the wind. It’s soaked you both to the bone by the time you arrive at your little flat. The room is quiet save for the rain that relentlessly knocks on the windows.

The quiet sound of panting fills the room as you both catch your breath from running through the rain, towels draped over your heads as you try to warm up.

“It’s pretty rough out there,” Childe notes, looking out the window. “Any longer out there and the wind might have picked you up before I did.”

It’s wordless—the way you join him by the window to look out at a grey city. You give a silent hum as you finish towel-drying your hair. The expression you wear is serious, aloof as you’re unreadable in your thoughts.

Childe is the first to speak, his voice soft and sincere—perhaps a little disappointed at your return to keeping him at arm’s length. “I’ll get going then. Glad you could make it home sa—“

It comes as a surprise—the sudden kiss you give him. Your small hands pull him down by his shirt collar to meet your lips in a rushed kiss. He’s quick to return the gesture, his lips curved in a smirk against yours.

You pull away breathless, face a little flushed. The frown you wear is adorable, a pout almost. “I hate that I like you.”

Childe is at your lips again, a breathy chuckle rumbling through his chest as he cages you against the wall. “And here I was thinking I’d never woo you, what with you not liking the Fatui and all.”

You cut him off with another kiss to hide the heat rising to your face. “Stop talking.”

He laughs wholeheartedly, his body against yours as you melt against his lips. It’s needy and rough. The sounds of your soft pants and little gasps are washed away by the rumbling thunder outside.

And through the storm, you spend the night. Childe feels like he’s won—gained one step closer to knowing more about you. He wanted to know all your faces, uncover all the mysteries and unknowns you held. And through the night, he learned of your sensitivities, the little noises you made, and the gestures that made your heart leap.

He had you around his finger. But perhaps the same could be said about him.

Early morning comes, the light barely coming through the window to illuminate the dark room. From under a mess of sheets you stir, body sore. Your fingers graze over the blooming markings on your chest and neck.

Beside you Childe sleeps soundly, his broad back dusted in light freckles and scratch marks. The way he hugs the pillow makes his sleeping face look almost kid-like in innocence. You’d never think he was a war machine for an archon.

You push the sinking feeling away, and brush some hair out of his eyes. The featherlight kiss you place atop his head stirs him from his sleep.

“Mornin’. Here I thought you would be gone by now,” he mumbles groggily. With his tousled hair and sleepy smile, you find it incredibly difficult to feel annoyed.

“I live here.”

He chuckles at this, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you against him. You scramble to pull the blanket over your bare body and though he finds it amusing, he doesn’t comment on your shyness. “Would you mind if I stayed the morning, then? The rain isn’t letting up anytime soon.”

“That sounds like an awfully obvious lie,” you retort.

It’s hard to ignore the hardness that presses against your abdomen. The lack of shame on his content face irks you. Still, you don’t deny the way your body heats up once more.

“Your face is just so cute when you’re begging,” Childe teases, pressing kisses up your neck.

“Childe, sto—haah.”

In a swift motion, he has you straddling him. You can feel his hardness press against your ass, sending a shudder of anticipation through your body. The ache in your thighs tries to protest against the lust-driven haze clouding your judgement.

Childe’s hands are already massaging the soft flesh at your hips, hands waiting for permission. “What do you say, sweetheart? Another round if you can keep up?”

“Y–You have duties to tend to, don’t you?” you bring up meekly, eyes shut tight as he bites a sweet spot on your neck that hitches your breath. Slowly, your mind is losing itself, drunk on his attention again.

With a smirk against your skin, he answers simply, “They won’t mind my whereabouts in this weather.”

[mothandpidgeon]

Ok but since you are writing a Regency piece...could you imagine having Din Djarin and Marcus Pike fighting over you? Each of them is so different and you can't help it because you're attracted to both of them because Din is the brooding yet kind introverted man that quotes to you poetry and takes you on long boat rides (with someone else of course because he cares about your image) and you're head over heels in love but then Marcus comes along and he's dashing and sweet and a little introverted but mostly talkative whenever he has to be and although he doesn't read to you poetry, he does gush about how none of the Greek and Roman and Etruscan sculptures and Italian works of art come close to your beauty and he takes you on long walks in gardens and even invites you to go to Versailles one time with him and then the three of you run into each other during one of the balls and the two are begging just for a moment with you and you're dancing with no one else but them during the entire night and when you try to go to the garden to get some fresh air, you're bombarded by the two men and they get into a heated argument to the point where they say that they will duel for you but you stop them both because you don't want either of them to get hurt and then...oh my sweet lord...and then, you take each of their hands and kiss their knuckles and fuck you shouldn't be doing this because what if someone sees and your reputation and no no no...but they both grow even more shy and you smile at them and-

"How about you invite us over to your estate Captain Djarin? I'm sure we can all...come to an agreement. Right?"

And the two are so confused but when they look at each other and return their gaze to you, they finally realize what it is you're talking about and they're both appalled by your offer but their shock slowly subsides because they fucking crave you and they nod and you throw each one of them a wink and-

"I'm looking forward to the invitation, good evening gentlemen."

And AHHHHHHHHHHH I DIE!!!!!!!!

Ok, Maggie, you went SO HARD on this one. Phew. You really know how to torment me!!! You are always welcome in my inbox. Considering the tale you wove, I really hope this lives up to it and you’ll have to forgive me I could go on but I was already approaching 1.5k words!!

Also I hope you don’t mind (and apologies to Regency!Din) but the mention of Versailles just screamed late 18th century (an important distinction in my nerd brain) so…

A/N: 18+! This ribbon bit comes from Barry Lyndon so apologies to the ghost of Stanley Kubrick.

It was a shame that Misters Djarin and Pike detested one another so when they had so many similarities. Both of them were kind and sweet and terribly handsome.

Mr. Pike accompanied you to the opera on more than one occasion. In the privacy of your box, he would whisper sweet words into your ear and nudge the soft skin of your neck with his nose. Mr. Djarin was more of an outdoorsman. He took you riding on his estate. When you were far enough on the grounds, he would help you down from the saddle and recite poetry to you beneath a shady tree.

And yet seeing them side by side now in Mr. Djarin’s parlor where you’d just shared a very awkward tea, tension straining the air between them, they couldn’t be more different. Mr. Djarin, so reserved, dark and modest. Mr. Pike, flirtatious and warm, cheek always dimpled with a smile.

You knew it wasn't going to be easy to break the wall between them but you’d been wise enough to plan for it.

“It seems I cannot force an accord between you but I know how men like their sport. I propose a wager. Nothing like a friendly competition to encourage affection,” you said.

Marcus cocked his eyebrow. He had wanted to win you since he’d met you last summer, pursuing you endlessly and yet this other man still stood in his way.

“I wonder which of you is a better hunter,” you said.

“And how would we prove that?” Mr. Pike asked. Din’s brow creased. He didn’t know how hunting had anything to do with your ludacris proposal, the one that they had both scoffed at at the ball. He wouldn’t have agreed to contemplate the thought if he hadn’t been so afraid of losing you.

You rose from your seat and both pairs of brown eyes watched you intently.

“I have devised a test. I’ve hidden a white ribbon somewhere on my person,” you said, trying to bite back your smile. “The better man finds it first.”

Both men looked at you in a stunned silence. Your heart was racing nervously but you were savoring their expressions. Mr. Djarin collected himself first.

“You’ll forgive me for being unfamiliar with the ways in which women amuse themselves but I hardly find such a suggestion to be entertaining,” Mr. Djarin said, his cheeks turning pink.

He couldn’t pretend that the idea of undressing you didn’t make his heart pound but he hated how easily you would give yourself over to Mr. Pike. He disliked the way Pike flirted with you so openly. Of course, he knew some of it was envy— he had never been a charmer.

“I do not speak in jest, sir,” you told him.

“That is what you want?” Mr. Pike asked, his soft eyes already slipping lower. He was already thinking of places to explore.

You watched Mr. Djarin look away from you when he nodded.

“And the better man, does he win something?” Pike asked, enjoying how flustered the other man had become.

“My highest regard,” you answered coyly.

Marcus chuckled.

“Then the lady should get what she wants, don’t you agree?” he asked Mr. Djarin.

Din cleared his throat.

“Very well,” he said.

Pike came to your side and took your hand to escort you to the couch where you sat between him and Mr. Djarin.

“Perhaps you should take the first turn,” you suggested to Mr. Djarin who was looking at you with a mix of fear and yearning in his eye.

He’d been so careful with you, always so cautious not to overstep or do anything at all that might invite scandal save a few soft kisses. And here you were laying yourself out for him. He swallowed dryly and met your eye with a shrug of surrender.

“Is it in your hair?” he asked, eyes darting up to your coiffure.

You smiled at him, nearly reached out to put your hand on his cheek. That protective nature was what drew you to Mr. Djarin in the first place. You knew what he really wanted, you could see it in his eyes, but he was too polite to take what was being offered. Not without convincing.

“I believe this requires a more thorough search, Djarin,” Pike said from over your shoulder.

He cupped your hands and turned them over as in a playful inspection, then lifted both of your arms. “No. Not there.”

You laughed and the noise made his heart jump. He’d found that he would make himself a fool if it put a smile on your face. Marcus was happy to take the opportunity to move in closer, to claim you with his touch. He brushed your neck so gently, his fingers tracing a ljne from your jaw to your shoulder where the bodice of your dress began. Goose pimples broke out on your skin and Marcus put his lips against your earlobe.

“I wonder,” he mused, leaning your back into his chest.

He hooked a finger under the fabric and followed the line down from your shoulder to the swell of your breast and you gasped. He had so often admired the rise and fall of your chest, Marcus couldn’t help but caress your skin with his thumb. Din felt himself stiffen as he listened to the soft moans Pike was drawing from you as he put a kiss on your skin. Watching your lips part, Din was frozen in place.

Marcus moved his hand down the straight front of your bodice and you felt yourself pulsing beneath your skirts.

“Perhaps under here?” he asked.

You allowed him to work the front of your gown open, the silk parting to reveal the creamy ivory stays below. Din felt twin aches in his chest and his groin as he saw the other man slide the bodice off of your shoulders.

Neither had seen you in such a state of undress before. Marcus took a moment to steady himself, admiring the figure below and sliding his hand across your middle. You were hardly naked, still clad in your stays, shift, and skirts but your underthings made his cock twitch.

“Now you see how the game is played and that Mr. Pike has been so far unsuccessful,” you said to Mr. Djarin, your voice more breathless than before. “Would you care to try, Mr. Djarin?”

You encouraged him by bringing your foot to rest beside his knee, leaning back into Mr. Pike. Din licked his lips, staring at the floral pattern on your delicate shoe for what felt like a century. Finally, he gave in to his longing.

He ran his fingers up your ankle over your silk stocking, revealing the smooth line of your leg. His large hands encircled your calf as he inched your skirt up further. You let out a shaking breath, squeezing your thighs together. You could hear Mr. Pike’s jagged breaths in your ear as he watched with anticipation. He had half a mind to release himself from his breeches to relieve the torment building there.

Din was careful not to reveal any of your skin, stopping just above the spot at your knee where your stockings were tied with thick ribbons.

“These are blue,” he said, running his thumb over the bow.

You were looking down at him flushed and breathing heavy and it took everything in his power to stop from taking you then and there.

You leaned to him, putting your lips against his and letting your mouth fall open to invite him in. You heard him whimper and he clutched onto your leg. Then you turned to Mr. Pike who kissed you hungrily, his wide palm kneading at your breasts.

“I’m quite disappointed in the both of you,” you said once you could speak again. Your whole body was thrumming with arousal.

You raised your skirts up around your hips and felt both pairs of eyes lustily watching. There, tied around the thickest part of your thigh was the white ribbon. But they only noticed the slick shining between your thighs.

“We shall call it a draw. But I’m afraid that means you’ll have to share me, gentlemen,” you said.

And from their twin growls, it was clear that they didn’t mind.

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 24)

OK everyone, we’re going to finish in 26, maaaybe 27 parts if I decide to go ahead with an epilogue! Enjoy, the ride is almost over!

Previously on LBitR...

For one interminable moment, it goes exactly how Lena remembers it would. The pain—white hot and blinding, cresting in waves that crash against her very psyche in what feels like a sonic boom right between her temples. She feels it bubble up under her skin, searing the insides of her skull, like her brain is boiling.

It makes her feel… suspended, somehow. Untethered from herself—she’s not exactly an observer watching over her own body and mind succumb to the whims of another; she’s still very much there, feeling the flashes and the searing pain that come with whatever reshuffling of memories and actions that took place in her mind as viscerally as if it were all real.

Wait.

No, no, they are real. The pain is real. Lex wouldn’t have it any other way; he would always want to inflict maximum, tailor-made suffering…

Would imaginary pain so visceral it feels real be his version of tailor-made suffering for Lena?

His trigger words are still swimming in her mind, bouncing around, bumping and rattling in there like her psyche is a pinball machine, but there’s something else, too. It’s not poignant, not so invasive in her mind, but it’s there, like a mantra Lena didn’t come up with, a little obstacle everything else that has been forcefully injected into her mind has been plonking against.

You know, Lena. That means you are prepared.

Lena feels blood in her mouth as she tries to make sense of the mayhem in her head, as she ponders what the hell she’s supposed to do, detached and bound to the searing flashes all at once. It’s exhausting.

Her tongue swells a little where at the spot on the side she had apparently bit raw; she worries it against her teeth, feeling and tasting the tender muscle in something she can recognize as a conscious, deliberate action.

Oh.

That means something, Lena’s sure of it. She just needs to unscramble what’s left of her mind enough to analyse it, somehow.

“Lena, Lena, Lena,” Lex’s voice comes through the intervals between flashes, haunting and childlike, crystal clear though almost robotic as it is filtered through speakers. “Open your eyes, Lena! I don’t want you to miss the show!”

Lena wants to retort that her eyes are open, otherwise, where the hell is all the light coming from? But as she clenches her jaw, the fresh cut on her tongue throbs, and she remembers she’s in a Lexosuit.

Her lids snap open and she is immediately greeted by the orange hue of the suit’s visor as it filters the skyline of National City in a crystal clear image and rows of data. It’s a bit much for her brain—she goes from dizzying white flashes to the overwhelming displays in the Lexosuit, and it takes her several long moments to adjust.

And so, Lena blinks into a state of half-awareness. She’s flying, zipping through the air above National City, but she has no recollection of how she got there; another gift from the little implant in her temple. The way her body moves is… unnatural—she’s not controlling the way her limbs adjust so that her current flight pattern is uninterrupted by the wind, and in the part of her mind that is only partly aware of that fact wonders how exactly Lex is controlling everything, whether he’s doing it via the implant or via the suit itself.

“Hey, Lena, I’ve got an idea,” Lex says in her ear, and the Lexosuit stops in midair. It does so roughly and abruptly, enough to give Lena some hope that maybe, just maybe, Lex is not controlling her actual physical movements.

But knowing her luck as of late, he’s probably doing both.

“Let’s play a game, sis,” Lex says jovially. “Let’s play ‘Find the Blue Dot… Then Kill It’.” His laugh echoes in the confined space of the helmet. “What do you think?”

Lena tries to answer this time, but all she manages for several moments is a pitiful series of angry grunts—it amuses Lex to no end, she can tell even in her altered state as his barely contained chuckles reach her ears—until she finally muddles through a gritted jumble of words.

“Ff-u—fuck-k you…”

He tuts loudly. “Now, now, Lena, that’s no way to start a game. You have to pay attention—look, there’s a little dot coming your way right now!”

Lena feels the agonizing slowness of her reaction time; it’s like her limbs are made of lead, and she hasn’t even really tried to move them yet. Her eyes seem to move slowly too—she wonders if her pupils are contracting and dilating again with no control, because it takes her an excruciatingly long time to focus on the little blue dot that beeps on the suit’s radar, indeed careening Lena’s way at breakneck speed.

“Nngh” she grunts again, like she’s chewing out the words. “K-kar—Kara—”

“Let’s give the Girl of Steel a warm welcome, shall we?”

Everything happens in slow-motion then—or at least, the part of Lena’s brain that she’s compartmentalized away for herself perceives it that way.

She sees that little blue dot zoom through her visor once, twice, before entering her actual field of vision. Kara’s blue suit is a weird shade of green through the orange of her visor, her cape an odd brown hue as it flutters in the wind, though the movement seems so slow to Lena’s perception she might as well be in water.

With her hair cropped short and the different colours of her suit, it’s like Lena’s brain has to play catch-up for a moment; it’s like she cannot recognize Kara for a second that stretches into infinity as the Kryptonian comes closer and closer.

Lena feels something at her back—a mechanical whirr, hydraulic hisses—and then, against her will, her arms are outstretched towards a rapidly approaching Supergirl, and Lena’s brain has finally caught up, just as the blasters at the suit’s forearms click into place and begin to glow green.

An image of Supergirl, of Kara—long hair, red and blue suit, face riddled with green—flashes before her eyes, and she’s falling, falling lifeless from the skies. For a moment, Lena thinks she’s seeing the future, but at with another painstakingly slow blink she’s back in the present, where Kara’s currently barreling towards fully loaded Kryptonite blasters.

“Kara, no!”

There’s an explosion of green, and the impact is enough to send the Lexosuit reeling backwards—Lex’s laughing in her ears, and Lena has to fight to get her bearings. Kara’s blue dot still darts in Lena’s visor—the radar puts her somewhere behind the Kryptonite-powered suit.

She’s alright.

“What a miraculous save from Supergirl,” Lex’s voice cackles. “Very last minute, though; a little less graceful than we’d like, but we’re used to her brawn, aren’t we, Lena?”

“S-stop it,” Lena hisses, and she’s not sure she’s talking to Lex or to herself, but the thrusters on the suit don’t heed her choked plea.

She’s zipping after Kara in what probably looks like a frenzied, disorienting game of tag over National City’s tallest skyscrapers. Kara dodges, dives, curls around buildings only to shoot upwards again, and Lena tries her hardest to follow the Kryptonian’s movement with her eyes as her body blindly follows.

She needs to stop this—she can already feel the blasters powering up again, and the suit has locked onto Kara once more, preparing to fire; Lena can even tell when Lex will take the opportunity—as soon as Kara weaves back from the CatCo building and into open skies—

“Lena!”

It’s Kara’s voice, coming from quite a distance, but Lena can still hear it, clear as day. For someone who needs to fly away from a Kryptonite-powered war-suit, Kara sounds relieved. She’s stopped zipping through the air, now merely hovering above the CatCo helipad, a sitting duck for the blasters Lena wields unwillingly.

“K-kara, stay away!” Lena shouts, the panic easing the passage of her words through her throat, even if her entire body rebels against the action.

“She never learns, does she?” Lex drawls from within, sounding absolutely giddy. The green light emanating from the blasters seems to illuminate Lena’s full field of vision; it gives everything a sickly glow.

“Kara, go!”

“You can stop it, Lena—I know you can!”

Lena feels like she’s shaking her head, but it’s hard to tell—the Lexosuit is suffocating, her mind is a jumble of thoughts, past and present, some of them not even hers. She can practically feel the implant pulsating in her temple.

“Lena! Look at me! You can stop this; Lena, just—look at me!”

Lena is, she’s looking straight at Kara, who has her arms raised above her head as if she’s surrendering despite the crackle of green in the air, as if she can’t see the blasters powering up or hear the beeping of the suit’s targeting system, and no, no, no, no—

The whole world explodes in green.

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[sweetestlamb]

Temptation

Summary: Vincenzo is feeling parched.

Author's note: These two have been living in my mind rent free lately, I'm just shallow and they look so damn good together and when you add the chemistry, well I'm a goner. Just a little drabble based on today's episode, I'm taking a break from BMTL this weekend because it's going to be another 10k probably and it's the first weekend I'm off with my bf so I promised not to ignore him to write all day lol. Update soon though!

Bon appetit!

Wispy dark lashes flutter just above her high cheekbones as she awaits the blow, her pretty face scrunched up in anticipation as a minor twitch in her lip distracts him.

That's been happening far too often lately, more than he'd care to admit. It was easier when she was blindly following Babel and refused to see the insidious truth about the morally bankrupt company, it was easier to pacify his attraction when she was the bad guy. Not that he was the right candidate to judge, he'd done notifiable heinous things in his life. Her father had been the first person to look at him like he was worth something, like the evil that lurked under his skin could be used for something good.

But her eyes had been opened, in the end she had chosen her father. If only he'd been here to see it.

That decision unhinges the small grapple he has on his control, he finds himself looking at her all the time cataloging the many emotions that distort that expressive face. She's like a living caricature and instead of finding that off-putting he's intrigued and mesmerized. Constantly battling with his lips that won't stop rising in her presence, he's not someone who smiles lightly. Has never had much of a reason to.

Until now.

"What are you waiting for? Just do it." She whines impatiently, squirming side to side and pursing her full lips.

That small move captures all his attention, eyes locked on the rosy pink skin. Instinctively he steps forward until he can feel her body heat, her face is even more captivating up close. She was beautiful, that wasn't hard to admit he was a man after all and his eyes were functional. It was.... everything else that he couldn't admit, not even to himself.

Just do it.

If only she knew what those words did to him, he felt as if he was lit in flames by his own lighter; burning up just from his prolonged vicinity to the loud lawyer. She was being her usual brazen self but she had no idea, not the slightest inkling of what exactly he wanted to do to her. It usually ended in passionate screams in his dreams. Her wild abandon was a thing of beauty, he didn't even mind the mess on his silk sheets because his mind supplied such vivid imaginings.

Staring down at her he wonders how she would taste, perhaps like the spicy noodles she was so fond of or maybe something sweeter and forbidden, once you peeled back the many layers you would discover something so delicious it was addicting. She would be his ambrosia.

"Come on, you're killing me! What's taking so long?" She grumbles now pouting, plush bottom lip jutting out enticingly and his finger hovers in front of her forehead but he can't move, can't bring himself to hurt her no matter how insignificant the hit. Somehow this woman has weaved a web around him, he feels like a fly caught in a spider's deadly but beautiful trap.

What's wrong with me?

There must be indeed something wrong with him because he feels his hand unfurling and lowering until he's nearly cupping her jaw, the delicate point barely above his hand. He's so tempted. Taking another step forward he lifts his second hand, curling around the dip of her lower back. She's so petite despite her loud bark, her entire body could fit easily in his hand.

He wants to lower his hand, grab her face and her waist and.... And what? What is he thinking? This is not why he came to Korea. He wasn't supposed to get involved more than he needed to and he knows no good can come of this, there's only one outcome for men who are lured by seductive sirens. He has to ignore her song no matter how much his body aches when he's with her. Woman have never been elusive in his line of work, gorgeous Italian women who opened up for him easily, surrendering under his capable hands. They were nothing but a good time, a perfunctory scratching of an itch. But, Cha-young he wants to wreck her, take her apart piece by piece until she's putty in his hands.

"What are you doing?" She says sounding amused and he lifts his eyes to find her twinkling ones already on his face. She looks at the twin hands hovering above her body with a raised brow, face now turned into the hand adjacent to her cheek.

"Do you want to change the specifics of our deal?" She teases darkly and he gulps, finally lowering his hands but twisting them around his back to prevent himself from making a huge mistake.

"No." He lies, trying to douse the fire that is blazing in his blood.

"Aishhh. You're such a bad liar." She huffs, nose crinkled up in disbelief and he hates the way his heart smarts his lips twitching to form a smile. He feels so warm and he doesn't know what any of it means.

"Come here." She doesn't give him an opportunity to disobey before reaching out to grab his tie, her hands wrapped around the luxurious material and with a sharp tug he's pulled into her, their bodies colliding and everything feels right.

"Stop." He whispers throat feeling raw, his voice comes out rougher than he intended. His eyes widen at the red flush that it yields, he's not the only one affected it seems.

"You don't want to flick me," she states with certainty, eyes searching his face as she tightens her hold on his tie his neck strains under the slight pressure, leaning down to lessen the tension. Too late he releases how much closer that brings their faces, she's barely an inch away from him now her soft puffs of breath landing directly on his face. "What do you want to do to me instead, Mr. Cassano?" She boldly finishes her statement, dark eyes ping ponging between his lips and his eyes.

Mentally berating himself for his weakness he suddenly grabs her waist, his arm circumvents the entire circumference with room to spare. She gasps in surprise but doesn't look scared, rather she looks curious, biting her bottom lip as she earnestly watches him.

"Do you really want to know?" He bites out, bringing his hand to her jaw and then sliding lower curling it around her neck, fingers tickling the soft nape of head.

She smirks, unflinching in the eye of his storm. She stands on the tips of her toes, bringing them that much closer, "Oh you don't know how much I want to know, Vincenzo." His name is exotic on her tongue, the letters not quite settling correctly but it sounds delectable to his ears, he wants to hear her scream it loudly too.

"I'll show you then." He's done with words, it's clear that they're both cognizant of what's happening between them, the air is so charged it's nearly crackling. She isn't backing down and despite his better judgement he doesn't want to lose, he can't be the way to pull away now. Simultaneously they yank each other closer, him by her neck and her by his tie. He sees the passion in her eyes, finally bursting to the surface and that's all the consent he needs, if she wants him too then she can have him.

Twisting his head he surges forward, eager to capture her lips and devour her moans of pleasure, his hand is now curled possessively around the small swell of her tight posterior, her suit pants always putting it beautifully on display. He had been hungry to touch it, grab it and feel the plumpness in his hands. It's every bit as amazing as he's imagined, her lips fall open as he squeezes at the flesh and he leans forward prepared to eat her alive.

She wraps her free arm around his neck, dragging him down to meet her and he easily lifts her off the ground, grinning boyishly when she squeaks releasing his tie to wrap both arms around his neck, their faces are now level. His hand remains on her ass.

Silently they move towards each other, intent crystal clear.

He can feel the heat from her lip, just as he grazes the smooth skin he hears a loud crash from behind them and they both jump, foreheads knocking accidentally as they react to the sudden sound.

He unceremoniously drops her, but her arms still latched around his shoulder force him forward making his forehead now collide with her chin. She lets out a loud scream of pain, shoving him away and shouting obscenities. He rubs at the pained skin, wincing in discomfort before turning towards the loud interruption with a murderous glare.

Who the fuck was it?

Nam Joo-Sung stands quivering in apparent fear looking like he's seconds away from urinating himself, his knees knocking together viciously.

A deer in the headlights, his eyes are as huge and terrified as one.

"I--um well you see.... I forgot to water the plants....you both look angry. Scary. You don't want an explanation. I'm going. Gone. I'll just. Go." He stutters out nonsensical, suddenly grabbing the plants and he watches as the frightened man awkwardly lifts the pots, cursing when the soil falls out dirting his clothes and the wooden floors, then he falls to his knees scooping it back into the pots, crawling backwards until he's out the door.

They both stare at the door.

Awkward silence remaining even with the man's departure.

And then a vibration fills the air, she jumps as if broken from her stupor reaching into her tiny bag and retrieving her phone. He can barely hear her over the beating of his own heart but he catches the disappointed look she sends his way, they can't continue this.

"Yes. I understand, we'll be right there."

Grabbing his briefcase he takes a moment with his back turned to her to catch his breath, collect himself. He's Vincenzo Cassano, not some prepubescent teenager. He can control himself, control is his middle name.

Then he turns back around and loses all his hard worked composure.

She's right in his space, rubbing absently at her neck as she looks at him.

"We'll finish this later. Don't think I'm going to let you off easy, I always finish what I start." She promises, pointedly looking his lips before grinning then boldly she lightly smacks him twice on his cheeks, "Pick your jaw off the ground, we have to go."

Her long hair bounces over her shoulder as she skips away, his eyes locked on the hypnotic sway of her hips. Her hands are cutely by her side, her signature walk that he had found ridiculous before. He doesn't view it the same way now.

Next time, there will be no interruptions he will make sure of it. Even if he has to kill someone.

[edie-baby]

Les Fleurs du Mal Chapter 2 | Pierre Gasly

Summary: Sava Dvorakova had big dreams for Formula One. An opportunity of a lifetime comes around, so she takes it and runs. She proved just about everyone wrong, and is awarded a very controversial seat on the F1 grid. There’s smiles and grins, hugs and kisses, love and laughter. There’s tears and sobs, fights and break ups. There’s evil where you least expect it, hidden in the garden of eden. The Flowers of Evil.

Warnings: a lot of swearing, shitty parents (they’re a recurring theme), sexism, i ignored a lot of actual f1 rules because i couldn’t be bothered writing it into the story tbh, yuki is fcking adorable, a lot of smut eventually, like a lot.

Sava woke up on Friday with no intention of getting out of bed before noon. And then realised that she wasn’t in her bed, it was a hotel room. The memories and realities of her current situation made her head spin, and with a shit eating grin on her face, she jumped out of bed and into the shower. Feeling as though she should stay on brand, Sava pulled on a white pleated skirt and tucked the oversized Carlin shirt into the waistband. She braided her hair while it was still a little wet, knowing it would be easier than the kerfuffle she had yesterday trying to walk, carry a helmet, and braid at the same time. Combat boots, a phone, and paddock pass later and Sava was leaving the hotel room to meet Amelia in the cafeteria-like space on the ground floor to have breakfast and chat about the agenda for the day before they headed to the track.

Unbeknownst to Sava, a number of the F1 drivers were staying at the same hotel, and when she stepped into the room, eyes focused on finding other Carlin shirts, many heads turned her way. Obviously, news about a girl in a Carlin race suit with pink hair had spread into the formula one paddock quite quickly. Sava gave up on trying to find her assistant when she had no luck, preferring to make her way to the coffee bench to make herself a very sweet black coffee over ice. While the coffee began brewing, she turned her back to the bench, taking another look out over the crowds of people at tables to try and find her friends again, only to see that 75% of the room was already looking at her, and those that weren’t were whispering to the people that were. The poor girl looked like a deer in the headlights, and apparently one man couldn’t see her like that, as he stood from his table and walked toward her. He was still metres away and Sava was already having to strain her neck to look up at him.

“Hi, I’m sorry to bombard you like this while you’re already quite overwhelmed. But I can tell you’re a bit lost. Would you like to come and sit with me until you find your team?” The man asked, his accent was distinctly French, and Sava kicked herself for not instantly recognising the man as Esteban Ocon.

“Oh my, yes please! This is my first time outside of karting, let alone in the actual F2 paddock, so I’m so lost and don’t know anyone.” Sava giggled, finishing up making her super sweet coffee and following Esteban’s stride toward a table of black and yellow clad people, along with the unmistakable grin of Daniel Ricciardo.

“I’m Esteban, by the way. I think I heard your name was Dvarokova?” The Frenchman questioned after a few beats of silence, realising that the 5’1 woman couldn’t walk as quickly as he.

“Ah, Dvorakova. Don’t worry about messing up the pronunciation, I misspell it sometimes. My name is Sava, but pretty much everyone calls me Bunny.” Sava replied with a giggle at the butchering of her surname. She couldn’t blame anyone, it was a hard enough name to most Eastern Europeans, she couldn’t even imagine how some of the nationalities in the paddock would pronounce it.

“Bunny. That’s quite cute.” Esteban mused, and they finally reached the rowdy table of Renault employees.

“Guys, this is Bunny. She’s going to sit with us cause she’s new and can’t find anyone from Carlin.” Esteban introduced, and a round of wolf whistles sounded as she threw up a peace sign, then took the seat next to Esteban, across from Daniel.

“Hi, I’m Danny. You’re such a little cutie.” Daniel introduced, leaning his arm over to poke at Sava’s cheeks that immediately heated up in a flaming blush. Another round of oohs and ahs went through the table and Sava giggled again.

“Pipe down, I’m only 17.” In immediate reaction to her statement, Daniel threw his hands up in surrender, his eyes connecting with a few guys nearby who all laughed at his expression.

“Way to make a man feel like a pedo.” Daniel mumbled, and more chuckles reverberated around the group who heard. The team all spoke to Sava with interest and respect, something she didn’t expect she would be getting before she had even gotten into a car. After about fifteen minutes, she spotted Yuki walking through the door with Amelia, and excused herself quickly, exchanging fist bumps with everyone she passed along the Renault table. When she got to the end, she met Yuki and Amelia with surprised looks on their faces before the three found a small table by the window to finally sit down and eat.

“How ready are you Bunny?” Yuki asked later on that morning while the two pulled their race suits up and made final preparations. Sava looked over at him nervously as she tucked her pink braids into the suit.

“Considering I’ve only ever driven a go-kart or a Hyundai I-20, I’m shitting myself. But I’m confident enough in my karting ability to do well-enough here. How about you? Amelia told me you have a seat at Alpha Tauri next season, are you still nervous about these races or are you a cool guy about it?” Sava hit back, smiling at her first friend in serious motorsport, who she could tell she would miss if she made it into F2 next year like Dr Marko had suggested.

“I still want to do well so that they don’t think they’ve made a mistake. But I’m not as nervous as I was when I didn’t know if I’d have a seat.” The Japanese man replied, and pulled on his balaclava, Sava following shortly after. They made eye contact, their mouths obscured by the fabric, and burst out laughing. Amelia guided Sava away so that she could get her helmet on and have one final chat with the engineer she would be hearing in her ears for the weekend. Yuki ran over just before Sava jumped in the car and slapped the top of her helmet, just like her uncle Sebastian had done before every race and she smiled the biggest she probably ever has. With a quick hug to Yuki and another scolding glance from Amelia, Sava climbed into her car for her first ever free practice in a single seater.

“Radio check.” Sava spoke, her voice wobbling slightly as she felt the rumble of the car beneath her.

“Confirm, Bunny. Hop to it.” Her engineer, Marcus, stated with amusement in his voice. Sava audibly laughed as she stepped on the accelerator, rolling out of the garage when she got the signal. Driving through the pitlane was surreal, and Sava knew she’d be feeling that a lot throughout the weekend. She ran two warm-up laps, getting acquainted with the car and testing the responsiveness of the brakes and the throttle. Once her tyres were at the right temperature, she got a radio message to give it hell, and so she did.

It was complete radio silence in the Carlin garage as everyone, including Yuki, sat and watched the rookie on her first hot-lap. She got a purple first sector, green second sector, and purple third sector, putting herself at the very top of the timing tower. While the practice session had only been active for around eight minutes, she had already beat two other drivers who had put in preliminary hot laps. Marcus relayed the time to Sava, and when she asked for the fastest time out of a qualifying session from the year prior, she groaned in frustration.

“Can I run a few more out laps and get comfortable with the responsiveness? I know I can do better.” Sava pleaded, and Marcus quickly agreed. If she thought she could get a better time than the one she had already given them, then hell they’d let her run all day. After four out-laps, she was brought in for a quick refuel and to look over the data of her hot-lap in comparison to Yuki’s. He was braking later, but Sava was getting better acceleration out of the corners. She knew now just how good the brakes were and considering she was known throughout the European karting scene for braking extremely late, she knew she could get better times, and maybe knock a few tenths off her entire lap. By the time she was finished looking at the data, everyone on the grid had put in multiple flying laps, and she was confident that whatever she pulled out now would be a decent comparison of her speed to the rest of the grid. With two more out-laps to get her tyres and brakes at the perfect temperature, she was off again.

Purple first sector, purple second sector, purple third sector.

As her name flew up the timing table, the Carlin garage waited with baited breath, to finally see Sava Dvorakova land at P1, four tenths quicker than the next fastest, Juri Vips.

“No fucking way.” Amelia mumbled, her eyes trained on the initials of the girl she had been following around for the past two days. Similar reactions were happening over in the Renault garage, many of the team who spoke with the girl earlier that morning tuned in to catch the first performance.

Qualifying later that day followed a very similar pattern. Finishing P2 behind Juri Vips, their times separated by one one-thousandth of a second. The real test was to see if the Czech could keep up the pace in their sprint and feature races over the next two days.

Those boys had hell to pay, and sure as shit, Sava was gonna come collect.

[babygirl-diaz]

Confined Spaces

(No idea where this came from. The fic has both SamSteve and SamBucky scenes)

***

“I just hate him so much,” Sam grumbled, storming into Steve’s bedroom.

“Hello to you, too, babe,” said Steve, without looking up from the book he was reading.

Sam rolled his eyes and fell back on the couch. “Did you have to make us spar together?”

“Figured that would give you the opportunity to get to know each other. Become a better team.”

“Oh yeah, we are becoming quite the team. Now I only have the urge to kill him twice a day as opposed to three times a day before.” Sam replied sarcastically.

Steve sighed and tossed aside his book before getting up from his bed and making his way over to Sam. He sat down beside Sam and took his hand in his. “Can’t you at least try to get along with him? For me?” He asked, his eyes soft and pleading. “I am not asking you to be friends, but at least try to work together.”

“And why aren’t you asking him this?” Sam asked, narrowing his eyes at his boyfriend.

“What makes you think I haven’t?” Steve leaned in to kiss along Sam’s neck.

“Are you trying to seduce me into getting along with your best friend?” Sam asked. Not that he minded being seduced.

“I am seducing you into having sex with me,” Steve replied and brought Sam’s hand over to his sweatpants-covered crotch. “So hard for you, baby.”

Sam cupped Steve’s face between his hands and brought him closer to kiss him. He deepened their kiss and ravished his boyfriend’s mouth. Steve started to lower him onto the couch, and Sam stopped him by pushing his hard chest.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked breathlessly.

“This couch is too uncomfortable,” Sam replied. “Let’s go to your bed.” He got up and extended his hand for Steve to take it and led him to the bed. They continued to kiss as they took off each other’s clothes. Sam pushed Steve down on the bed and climbed on top of him.

***

The next morning, Sam woke up with his head on top of Steve’s chest and his arm thrown around his waist. He looked up to find Steve staring at him and furrowed his eyebrows. “Have you been watching me sleep again?”

“Can’t help it,” said Steve. “You just look so peaceful and beautiful when you’re asleep.”

“Not weird at all,” Sam teased and kissed Steve’s chest.

“So last night was…” Steve trailed off.

“...yeah” Sam agreed

“Round two?” Steve grinned and turned them around so that he was on top of Sam. He leaned down to kiss Sam, and Sam returned the kiss with an equal amount of fervor.

But a knock on the door ruined the moment. “Steve!” Barnes’s voice came from the other side, making Sam groan in frustration.

“Seriously?” He asked.

Steve shrugged and kissed Sam once more before getting up to open the door, much to Sam’s displeasure.

“Morning Buck, what’s up?” Steve asked, opening the door.

“Just came to call you for breakfast.”

Barnes looked past Steve and at Sam, which made Sam frown and pull the sheets even closer to his body. “Mornin’ Wilson,” he greeted, giving Sam a shit-eating grin. “Sounds like you had a great time last night.”

“Bucky--” Steve warned

Barnes put his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. Now come on. Breakfast is getting cold.”

“Guess round 2 will have to wait,” Steve sighed, closing the door after Barnes.

“So he’s a cock block now, too,” Sam grumbled. Just when Sam thinks he can’t hate Barnes anymore, the man proves him wrong.

***

“Shit!” Sam hissed and tried to close the elevator door when he saw Barnes approaching. The doors almost shut, and Sam was about to let out a sigh of relief when a metal hand stopped them from closing.

“Oh hey, Sam. Didn’t see you there,” Barnes lied as he got on and decided to stand right next to Sam despite the spacious elevator.

Sam ignored him and instead busied himself on his phone. There was a message from Steve telling him to ‘Hurry up and come over already’ because he apparently had a surprise for Sam.

Sam smiled to himself and responded with a quick ‘On the elevator. Be there soon.' when the whole elevator shook, the lights flickered, and suddenly it came to a complete stop. “What the hell?” Sam said to himself as he reached out to press the open button, but it didn’t work. The whole elevator had shut down.

“Well, that worked. Thanks, Wilson,” Barnes said sarcastically.

“I don’t see you doing anything!” Sam snapped.

“Are you freaking out?” Barnes asked, amusement in his voice.

“What? Of course, I’m not freaking out!” Sam reached out to press the intercom button, but no one answered. He was getting really warm. “Why is no one answering?” Sam asked as he pressed the intercom button again.

Barnes looked at his watch. “It’s Richie’s lunchtime. He must be out.” Richie was the building security guard. A sweet guy, but he always disappeared at the worst times. Barnes sat down on the ground like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like he got stuck in this elevator all the damn time. Maybe he did. Who knows? “Just relax, man.”

“I AM RELAXED!” Sam yelled. He took off his sweatshirt and tossed it aside.

“Of course you are,” Barnes said sarcastically.

Sam ignored him and reached out to ring the emergency button. “Hello? Anybody there?!” He called out but of course, no one answered.

He kept ringing the emergency button, but still, nothing happened. “Hello?!” He called out desperately.

“It’s not gonna work,” Barnes unhelpfully supplied. “There is no one out there.”

If they survived this, Sam was about to have a very serious talk with Steve about living in a place with this death trap.

“Why is it so hot in here?” Sam pulled at his t-shirt to air himself as he paced the floor of the elevator. He was sweating through the shirt, drenching it.

“What are you talking about?” Barnes asked. “It’s like 50 degrees today.”

Sam turned to look at the other man and saw him just sitting there without a worry in the world and he didn’t look like he was drenching through his shirt like Sam. Sam brought his shirt up to his forehead and wiped it as he continued pacing. He stopped and looked around, and suddenly it felt like the walls were closing in on him.

“Wilson-- Sam, hey!” A hand on Sam’s shoulder startled him and he realized he was breathing harshly.

“You’re freaking out…” Barnes pointed out. “Come on, sit down.”

Sam didn’t fight Barnes as he helped him sit down on the floor.

“Just take deep breaths, okay?” Barnes urged. “In and out.”

Sam followed along with him and breathed in and out, just like he had asked him.

“Good…” Barnes said encouragingly. “Just keep doing that, yeah?”

Sam nodded and followed Barnes’s lead. He felt himself relax a little and threw his head back against the wall of the elevator and closed his eyes.

“You feel any better?” Barnes asked him.

“Yeah, I think I do,” Sam replied.

They sat there in comfortable silence, neither of them saying anything until Sam spoke up. “When I was 9 years old, there was this kid, a year older than me, who used to bully me. One day after school, he locked me in the teacher’s closet. I don’t know how long it was before the janitor found me. It was bad, man. I was freaking out, crying, I’d even pissed myself. That’s why I don’t like confined spaces.” Sam stopped and looked at Barnes. “Don’t know why I’m telling you this. No one outside of my family knows the story.”

“Not even Steve?”

“He knows I don’t like small spaces, but doesn’t know why,” Sam replied.

“I don’t like heights,” Barnes admitted, much to Sam’s surprise. “There’s no traumatic experience associated with it. I just don’t like heights. Never have.”

“And I’d rather be flying high--”

When Barnes smirked, Sam gave him a disapproving look. “Not like that!” Shaking his head, he continued. “Than be grounded and stuck in a confined space.” He picked up his phone to see if there were any bars, but of course, there wasn’t because metal death traps also jam phone signals.

Another comfortable silence fell between them, and this time it was Barnes who broke it. “Why don’t we get along, Sam?”

Taken aback by the question, Sam looked at Barnes and noticed him staring at the door. “Because you tried to kill me?”

“But that’s in the past now…” Barnes pointed out.

“Still doesn’t change the fact that you tried to kill me,” Sam replied. “No idea why you hate me. Is it because of my relationship with Steve?”

“W- what?” Barnes stuttered, and Sam’s eyes widened. So he was right.

“You’re jealous of Steve and I!”

“What?” Barnes scoffed. “Why would I be jealous of you and Steve?” There was something in his voice that gave him away.

“Because you’re in love with Steve…” Sam trailed off

“What?!” Barnes started to laugh. “You-- you think I’m in love with STEVE?” He held onto his stomach as he fell sideways laughing. “This is the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”

Sam felt his cheeks heat up, and he pushed him, causing him to completely fall to the floor.

When he got back up, he kept on laughing, but it slowly died down. “Steve is like my younger brother. Me being in love with him would be disturbing.”

“Fine, so if you’re not in love with Steve, then why do you hate me?” Sam asked.

“Because… every time you open your mouth, you annoy me,” Barnes replied.

“Wow… thanks…” Sam rolled his eyes

The elevator shook, causing Sam to scream and grab onto Barnes, hiding his face into Barnes’s shoulder.

The elevator started to move again and Sam looked up from Barnes’s shoulder to find their faces a little too close to each other. “Because if I didn’t hate you then--”

Before Barnes could finish his thought, the elevator dinged and came to a stop. Sam immediately pulled away from him and stood up.

The doors opened to reveal Steve standing there with a worried expression on his face. He pulled Sam into a tight hug when Sam got out of the elevator. “You okay?! I heard the elevator was stuck and your last message said you were on it and I just- I got so worried” He took Sam’s face between his hands and kissed him hard.

“I’m good, babe,” Sam assured him, pulling apart.

“I’m fine too, Steve. Thanks for asking,” Barnes chimed in sarcastically.

“Sorry, Buck,��� Steve replied. “Glad to see that you’re good.” He then looked at Sam and asked, “Are you okay? I know you’re not a fan of small spaces.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Barnes was really helpful.”

“Well, I’m just glad he was there,” Steve said and pulled Sam into another hug.

“Me too,” Sam replied and looked over Steve’s shoulder to see Barnes watching them. “Thank you.” Sam mouthed, which caused Barnes to smile before heading inside the apartment.

[toraashi]

this opportunity is quite hard to come by well then amuse me surrender is a valid option i promise i’ll be gentle

[fullmetalscullyy]

Royai prompt: Are you flirting with me, Colonel?

thank u sm for the prompt!! it was so fun to delve into this even if i can’t flirt to save my life lmaooo hope u enjoy some royai banter and roy just trying to make riza smile uwu

rated: t | words: 1991 | tags: wedding, alcohol, romance, flirting

read on: ao3 | ffnet

The atmosphere in the room was electric as Roy made his way through it. The party was in full swing and the dancefloor was filled with people, dancing their cares away and having a good time.

Roy watched as Edward danced with Winry in the centre of the dancefloor. Alphonse and Mei were beside them, all four laughing together as they moved in time to the music. Havoc was trying to impress Catalina with his “moves” but they weren’t very impressive. He looked quite hopeless, unable to find the beat properly, but he was still having a good time and that was all that mattered. Catalina laughed with him though and the way she hung onto his arm told Roy that it didn’t really matter. She was impressed by him despite his awful timing with music. Fuery and Breda were deep in conversation with Falman and his wife, talking animatedly with red rosy cheeks, flushed from the alcohol and their amusement.

It was a wonderful scene to witness. It made Roy smile widely as he wandered over to where his companion was waiting for him, a glass in each hand.

Riza was sitting at the table they’d been allocated for the meal, opting to remain there and watch, pleased, as everyone had fun and celebrated Edward and Winry’s wedding.

The dress she was wearing was high backed and formed a collar around her throat. It was a pale pink colour and fell down to her ankles, swishing mesmerizingly every time she walked. It also revealed her shoes which matched the colour of the dress perfectly. The heel on them was small but it was still enough to give her an extra inch in height. On her wrist there was a silver bracelet she’d received as a gift “a long time ago”. Roy had bought her it for her birthday once. He’d been surprised to see her wearing it and Riza had just smiled warmly at him once he noticed and recognised the piece of jewellery, saying nothing more on the matter.

Taking a deep breath, Roy tried to collect himself as he approached her. She was the epitome of beauty and grace today and it was extremely distracting. But in the most wonderful of ways.

“Excuse me, Ma’am?” Roy grinned and dropped his voice as deep as he could, changing it completely.

The effect worked because Riza turned around at the surprised interruption. It was clear she didn’t recognise who it was who’d approached her. Once she realised though her shoulders fell, and she shook her head fondly at his antics.

“Is this seat taken?” He continued his charade, pleased to have gotten such a surprised reaction from her from his joke.

She rolled her eyes and said nothing. Roy did manage to catch the smile she tried to hide though once she looked away.

“A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be left sitting alone at a party such as this,” he added, speaking lowly as he handed her the wine glass in his left. “You should shoot the bastard who left you all alone. How rude of him.”

“Are you flirting with me, Colonel?” The Lieutenant lifted a disapproving eyebrow that strongly hinted that he better not be. “Well,” she smirked, “are you trying to?”

“You wound me, Hawkeye.” He clutched at his chest for dramatic effect. “So what if I am?” His reply was nonchalant as he settled into his chair and took a sip of his whisky. It went down smooth, settling inside his chest and spreading warmth across it.

“I would have to disapprove, of course.” Her tone gave nothing away so Roy tilted his head so he could get a better read on her out the corner of his eye.

“You would ‘have to’, huh?”

“Of course, sir,” she replied evenly. Her wine glass lifted to her perfectly painted lips and Roy was distracted for a moment as he watched her move. “It would be highly unprofessional, wouldn’t it?”

Roy hummed noncommittally, pulling himself out of his distracted thoughts.

“In response to your violent proposal,” she added, “lucky for you, my weapon is concealed, and I don’t intend to remove it at a friend’s wedding, sir.”

That interested Roy. He hadn’t seen a weapon anywhere on her person. But then, Roy thought dumbly, that was the whole point.

Damn this alcohol and your ability to be so easily distracted by her. Not that he really minded that last part though.

“Like you said, it’s a wedding. It’s where people show their love for one another,” he shrugged.

“By trying poor pickup lines on me? Now you’re begging me to shoot you,” she deadpanned, and Roy laughed to himself as he watched the rest of the room. “At least if I do it will keep you quiet.”

“Well, I can turn it on more if you’d like me too?” He flashed an excited smile at her.

Riza groaned in response. She pressed a hand to her face. “Please don’t.”

“So, do you come here often, Ma’am?” His voice dropped to the same deep one he’d used before as he joked with her. It resulted in a sideways glare from Riza.

“That’s another poor effort. Even from you.”

“So, it’s not working?”

She scoffed. Loudly. “Not one bit.”

He sighed dramatically. “Darn.”

“I would’ve expected better than that from the likes of you.”

“Well, I thought it was funny,” he snickered, thoroughly enjoying their banter.

“You would.” There was no real ire in her eyes, nor irritation. Just fondness as she shook her head at him.

“All right,” he relented, lifting his hands in surrender, “I’ll stop.”

“I think that would be best, sir.”

Looking over, he was worried she really was annoyed at him now, but her expression was neutral. However, there was a hint of a smile on her face and she shook her head minutely as she placed her glass back on the table.

“Your flirting is so terrible that I cannot bear to listen to it any longer,” Riza added after a beat. One corner of her mouth quirked up into a smirk as she laughed at his surprised expression. “I can’t believe you actually use those on your dates.” She was enjoying teasing him.

His jaw had gone slack and he huffed in mock indignation. “It wasn’t that bad,” he joked, pretending to be sullen.

“It was torture.”

“Hush, you,” he glared at her.

“Is that an order, sir?”

The mood of the conversation shifted. Roy refocussed his attention on Riza as he picked up her husky tone. She looked at him over the rim of her glass. Her smile was playful and her eyes were sparkling with amusement. However there was something else in there too. Something that wasn’t completely innocent.

Roy swallowed. “Do you want it to be?” He was dumbstruck suddenly, left reeling by the wanting look in her eyes.

Her expression broke down and she started to laugh. Roy blinked and was snapped out of the spell she’d cast upon him with just a single look and one suggestive question.

“What?” He recovered quickly then frowned at her laughter.

“That’s how you do it, sir.” She’d leaned in close to speak to him softly and Roy was caught off guard by the wonderful smell of her perfume that wafted his way.

“You played me,” he cried as loudly as he dared. No one was around but it still wouldn’t do to draw attention to them both loudly.

She giggled. Riza actually giggled. Once more, Roy was rendered mute. All he could do is stare at her as she winked at him playfully and nudged his knee with her own underneath the table.

“I’m simply better at it than you. Clearly,” she snorted.

Roy huffed and crossed his arms over his chest with a scowl.

“Don’t feel bad, sir.” Her neutral tone was back however she still looked far too pleased with herself. “We all have our strength and weaknesses.”

He muttered to himself underneath his breath.

“But,” she sighed, “I suppose we should stop. I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation any more than I already have.”

“You are relentless today, Lieutenant,” he muttered.

“You said it yourself. Call it payback for leaving a lady alone by herself at a party.”

He uncrossed his arms and sat up straighter in his chair. “I didn’t say that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him with a smile. “Yes you did.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I said a pretty lady.”

The skin of her nose and cheeks turned a shade pinker after his compliment. Riza coughed and looked away from him but Roy could see her hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass.

“And that was the truth,” Roy added, tilting his body over towards her and dropping his voice low. “I wasn’t joking when I said that.”

“Sir,” she scolded lightly.

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Just telling the truth,” he defended.

Her mouth snapped closed and she was silent for a moment. “Hush, you,” she muttered finally, cheeks still pink.

“Are you telling me to lie, Riza?” He acted scandalised, opening his mouth in shock at her suggestion.

“Fine,” she relented, looking around their vicinity to see if anyone could overhear, but there was no one to be found. “I’ll admit, it is nice to hear.” She mumbled it so quietly that Roy had to lean forwards to hear her.

“I’ll just have to tell you at every opportunity I can then.”

A warning look was shot his way.

“And I’ll do it, too,” he grinned brightly. “You know I will.”

“Maybe I will extract my weapon.” She lifted a hand to her chin and tapped it with one finger as she pondered the thought.

The two fell silent, laughing quietly together as all joking was dropped for the moment. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment longer and Roy couldn’t look away no matter how hard he tried.

“Thank you, Roy,” she murmured.

“For what?”

“For being so good to me.”

“It’s what you deserve,” he replied simply. “If I could show you it every day then I would.”

“I know,” she reassured him with an appreciative look. “I would do the same.”

“You already know you own this,” he added quietly. He stretched above his head but as his hands lowered he tapped the left side of his chest above his heart, feigning that it was just a tic of his. “That will never change.”

Riza’s hand slowly moved underneath the tablecloth, as if she was moving to fix her dress. She tapped his knee with the back of her hand and Roy slid his own hand underneath it too. Riza latched onto it tightly, giving it a hard squeeze of gratitude. Roy smiled at her, lost in her eyes, and stroked his thumb over the skin on the back of her hand. Suddenly, everything else just fell away. The party, the noise, the music, it was all gone. It was just the two of them.

Subtly looking around one final time, Riza deemed it was safe to speak what was on her mind. Still, her glass was lifted to her lips so her mouth was hidden from the rest of the room, but Roy could still see it moving. She paused before she took a drink.

“I love you,” she breathed.

Roy squeezed her hand tightly in his. Then, he extracted it from her hold but didn’t let Riza move far. He guided her hand to rest flat atop his knee. The warmth from her palm seeped into his trousers, making him smile to himself. Maintaining eye contact, he drew a love heart on the back of her hand and placed his own atop hers, covering it completely.

“That’s a new one,” she commented softly.

He grinned at her. “I like to keep things fresh, Lieutenant. And I return your sentiment. Wholeheartedly.”

[snapeaddict]

Snapemas day 7: Ice Skating

A sequel to this post

In which Minerva has a wonderful idea

Minerva crossed her arms, growing slightly impatient.

‘Well? Are you going to let this old woman risk her life by herself?’

Severus sighed. He was hesitating between different answers - a plain ‘no’; an amused remark on her trying to guilt trip him; a confession of his fear of ice skating. Not that he was afraid of the sport itself, but he was worried, worried it would trigger a complex emotional response he was not ready to handle now. He was never ready. But he supposed, Minerva could make it better – if they did manage to avoid falling into the lake.

‘Fine’, he responded, surrendering. ‘When shall we go?’

She assumed the visual clues were enough, as she was already putting on a warm red coat and gloves of a similar colour. She encouraged him to do the same: if he caught a cold, he would blame her, and trick her into hiding him from Poppy until he was better. She would not be playing this game again.

‘Filius said the ice is perfect right now, it would be a shame to miss this opportunity', she said. 'I really want to learn, and besides, I am in need of blackmail material in case I have too much wine on Christmas evening. I do hope you are a beginner like myself?’ she added, smirking.

‘I gave it a try when I was a child’, Severus informed her, opening the staffroom door to let her pass, ‘I was rather good at it.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Is there anything you cannot do?’

‘Tell you no, apparently. Now careful, the snow has turned to ice overnight.’

It was freezing. The castle, the trees, the water, all was white and shining under the winter sun: it was a lovely Sunday afternoon, the first of the holidays, one Minerva was determined to make memorable. She glanced at her colleague. His face was, as usual, impassive; and if to anyone but Albus and her it would have appeared fairly normal, he usually looked more relaxed when he was with her alone. She wondered if something was wrong.

‘Severus, I did not mean to force you to come. If you do not want to it is fine, it really is – I was just pretended to be offended, you know how it is.’

He shook his head. His nose and cheeks were already quite flushed, as they always were when the temperatures were this low, which suited him well. He indicated the lake with a movement of his chin.

‘I just hope the Giant Squib is sleeping soundly – he may not take it well, us ice skating above his head.’

He gently held her hand when she clumsily tried to stand on the ice. Her eyes were fixed on the light blue surface: she was a little apprehensive.

‘The trick is you have to dare to make broad movements from the very beginning. Trying to mimic walking will not work. Like this’, he explained, rapidly drawing circles onto the frozen surface.

Apparently, he had not forgotten any of it, even if he would need a little more practice to steady himself properly. Minerva still looked dubitative. Severus started to worry her reluctance would cause her to fall. It was inevitable, and she was not very young – why did she have to be so stubborn?

‘Take my arm. It is very slippery’, he offered, making sure to justify himself.

Minerva smiled. He appeared a little more confident now, having to take care of her; she made a mental note to be careful not to look too fearful, or he would guess she wasn’t being completely honest. But sometimes, this helped him brighten a little.

He taught her how to stand on her own, which took a while, and she admired his skills and incredibly graceful movements on the ice. He could have been a dancer, even if he would not accept the compliment; next to him, she felt like an elephant walking on glass.

‘It’s not fair! I can’t keep up, wait for me’, she begged, trying hard to move forward even though she was certain she was actually going backwards. She was kicking the ice rather brutally to stay on her feet.

Then suddenly something caught her eyes. Below her something dark and large was – it was growing larger with every second that passed – she looked up to see Severus hurrying back in her direction – it had to be –

‘Minerva, the squid!’ Severus cried, catching her arm.

A gigantic tentacle broke the ice just as he pushed her out of harm’s way. She lost her balance just as he lost his; they both brutally landed on dry land, soaked to the bones. Severus winced.

‘Are you hurt? Severus, are you hurt?’ Minerva asked frantically, getting onto her knees. ‘Let me have a look.’

He was holding his wrist and biting his tongue, obviously in pain. ‘This is entirely your fault’, he commented, a little less sarcastically than she was used to. ‘I cannot believe you were so clumsy you woke the Giant Squid.’

‘I am taking you to Poppy.’

The tentacle disappeared below the surface.

‘No.’

‘Yes I am!’

‘You are the one who came up with this foolish idea, do you expect me to forgive you if you lock me up in the hospital wing?’

‘But –‘

‘No.’

‘You are growing pale!’

‘No.’

‘What if-‘

‘No.’

Damn.

[kazuhasbunny]

Aight-, so.

We all know those lines that Childe says when we battle him right?

"This opportunity is quite hard to come by.

Well then, amuse me.

Surrender is a valid option, I promise I'll be gentle."

That could actually be quite a hornknee thing to say if used in the right scenario 👀

(Time for me to go to hornknee jail✨✨✨✨✨✨)

ah yes , that line made me think very horn knee thoughts ... i even made a fic about it help 💔💔 what having a horn knee mind does to a mf

[nbrook29]

11 goofy kiss pls<33

4, 7 for Sobbe omg👀💫👀💫 your talent kgnfjfnlfkf ...

Can you do 15 or 20? Or both for sobbe

Sooo this isn't really on the list of prompts but maybe you could write something about Robbe being totally obsessed with Sander's pouty bottom lip - whenever he sees it he has to pounce on it and kisses/bites/touches/pulls on it. Sander is either turned into a wreck or he teasingly indulges Robbe's obsession 

Hi! :)

based on But do you REALLY want the K?

Goofy kiss + Eyelid kiss + Distract kiss + Shut up kiss + Asker’s Choice

In hindsight, Robbe should have seen it coming.

When his school announced that they had received funding to organize free 6-month workshops for their students and local college students after hours, it got his interest right away. Especially when it turned out that the offered courses focused on more niche subjects.

Robbe has always felt some inexplicable fascination with Scandi culture, Norwegian in particular. In fact, ever since he discovered the multiverse theory he’s been half-convinced there must be a Norwegian version of him existing somewhere out there, which would explain this unusual interest of his. 

So when he was scanning the list of available courses and his eyes caught Norwegian 101, his heart beat a little faster and he giddily signed up right away.

And then Sander signed up too, claiming that a) if there’s a Norwegian version of Robbe there must be a Norwegian version of Sander too, thank you very much, so it is his duty to learn a little bit of his alter ego’s language, and b) it’s going to be a perfect opportunity for them to make up for the fact that they didn’t experience being in high school together. He’s always all pouty when he talks about it, mourning all those lost opportunities of them making out against a window sill in biology classroom or having secret meetings in the bathroom during class and demands compensation in the form of extra long makeout sessions in Robbe’s bed. 

Robbe doesn’t exactly mind, neither the joint classes nor kissing the pout away, which always effectively shuts him up. Quite the contrary actually. Ever since Sander texted him a screenshot of the participants list with DRIESEN SANDER under D, he’s been all hyped up at the prospect of the two of them studying together. 

His friends don’t exactly understand why he’s willing to spend his free time in their school building but at least Yasmina shows interest in the workshops as well, signing up for a few, Norwegian included.

He and Sander are the first ones to arrive to the Monday session, and when Sander notices that the classroom is still empty he wiggles his eyebrows grinning at Robbe cheekily, spins him around in a swift move and pins him to the window sill, his hands going around his thighs to make him sit down on it. 

“Is this everything you dreamed about and more?” Robbe chuckles at the delighted look on Sander’s face, legs snaking around his waist to hold him tighter.

“Yes, I got you right where I want you,” he replies smugly and doesn’t wait another second before pressing a tiny kiss to his lips, then another one, and another, until Robbe makes a soft noise of protest making Sander finally give in and kiss him properly, dipping his tongue past his lips in no time. Robbe lets one of his hands slip down, making his path down his back over the black denim jacket, stopping barely above Sander’s belt, and then without second-guessing himself goes down even lower to give his butt a firm squeeze, because it’s just so... deliciously squeezable.

They only break apart when they hear someone clearing their throat and when Robbe catches the sight of Yasmina regarding them with amusement, he quickly disentangles himself from Sander, wiping at his mouth with poorly hidden embarrassment. Sander is unfazed, as always, turning around with a swagger and shooting Yasmina one of his most charming smiles. She’s not a sucker for it though, contrary to Robbe, so she just fondly rolls her eyes shaking her head at their antics.

The classroom starts to fill in quickly after and before they realize the only empty seats left are placed in the back. Only Yasmina manages to snatch herself one closer to the front. Sander graciously allows Robbe to take the only unoccupied spot in the sixth row and he himself marches over to row eight.

The first hour and a half flies by and Robbe is having more fun than he anticipated. The teacher, Vilde, is young, she’s quirky in that positive way and her approach to the subject differs from what Robbe is used to during his regular classes. 

He takes notes diligently and tries to participate as much as possible but he struggles with pronunciation when asked for reading a few words out loud. When Vilde asks Sander to read them, he does it with flying colors, the jerk, and the girl is so impressed that she calls him a natural, praising his perfect pronunciation of “engelsk” and “kjole” while smiling a bit too much and too wide at him. In Robbe’s humble opinion. 

Once she goes back to writing on the board, he turns around to see Sander giving him a shit-eating grin so he does the only right thing in this situation and sticks his tongue out at him.

They are two hours in when Robbe gets hit in the ear with a small paper ball which then lands perfectly in the middle of his notebook. He throws a glance at the obvious suspect but Sander seems to be deep into copying the grammar rules from the board to his MacBook. 

His elegant handwriting gives him away though.

Du er digg 🖤

Vilde mentioned that last word just five minutes ago, more as a fun fact than anything else but of course Sander caught and remembered it.

He’s fighting against the beaming smile that threatens to take over his face because he doesn’t want to look like a lunatic to everybody around. Sander isn’t bothered by things like that though so when Robbe looks at him again he’s resting his chin on his hand, staring at him unabashedly with a grin of his own as he notices the flush on Robbe’s cheeks.  

He tells him as quietly as he can to quit distracting him to which Sander raises his arms in surrender and with a feigned-serious expression busies himself with the given exercise. If Robbe then tucks the note into the back of his notebook no one needs to know.

Not even a full five minutes pass when another paper ball lands on his desk. Robbe heaves a long-suffering sigh and raises his eyes to the heavens because yes, now he has to deal with a rebel of a boyfriend.

When he straightens out the note, he snorts.

Do you like me? 

Circle YES or NO

🖤

Seems like Sander is having lots of fun acting out this high school romance fantasy. 

He decides to indulge him and reaches for a red ink pen to circle YES. Then, he adds a bunch of crooked hearts (because he’s not the artist in this relationship) on a whim. Once he makes sure Vilde isn’t looking in their direction, he throws the note back to Sander, but not without catching the disapproving look from Yasmina who rolls her eyes so hard Robbe is surprised they aren’t stuck. He just shrugs at her without remorse. 

Sander opens the paper ball as delighted as a child opening their Christmas gift and when he sees the answer he pretends to swoon in his chair, blowing him a long kiss from above his notes.

“Sander, I think you should be paying attention.” Vilde’s reproach pulls Robbe from gazing at his boyfriend like a love-struck puppy and he immediately shoots him a cheeky grin because it’s just really satisfying to watch him being scolded by a teacher.  

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” Sander clears his throat as he straightens on his chair before he glances at his laptop and adds with a smirk, “Or, rather, Du har rett, Vilde.”

Then he winks at her and his confident demeanor clearly succeeds to appease her because she starts to wax lyrical about his oh so amazing pronunciation again.

Ugh. What a show off.

Though, Robbe has to admit that it sounds kinda hot when he speaks Norwegian but it’s not like he’s going to go and tell him that. Instead, he reaches for his phone to shoot him a quick text.

R: You’re such a teacher’s pet oh my god

R: Also stop flirting with her, she’s seconds away from swooning 

S: Are we jealous?

R: Yes, very, I’m worried you’re gonna run away to norway with her and have viking children together 🤭

S: 😘

There is no bell signaling the end of the class but at 17:15 Vilde thanks them for today’s lesson and everybody starts to pack and gradually leave. Robbe is shoving his stuff into his backpack when he feels fingers in his hair pulling his head back without real force to angle it better. Then, Sander places a big loud smooch on his lips making him giggle and swipe at him lightly.

“You’re such a dork.”

He reaches to put the strands hanging over his forehead back in their place, scratching at his scalp a little and when Sander leans into the touch, closing his eyes with a pleased purr, he stands on his tiptoes and presses a tiny kiss to his left eyelid, which earns him one of Sander’s sweetest smiles. 

Once his bag is packed, they leave the classroom with their index fingers entwined, swaying their hands a little as they walk. “So, did you like that class?” 

Sander nods. “Yeah, it was cool. You?”

“You know, I thought those three hours are gonna be a bitch but it was actually pretty fucking nice.”

Sander pushes his tongue in his cheek, wiggling his eyebrows at him. “And did you like my notes?”

Robbe pretends to scrunch up his face, trying not to laugh at Sander’s offended huff. “Hey! Well, okay then, if you’re like that I’m not gonna send you any next time.”

He juts out his bottom lip and honestly, it’s Robbe’s kryptonite, and he’s long made peace with a fact that he’s weirdly obsessed with it; it’s just so plush and enticing and he has spent hours upon hours kissing and biting it, the fact that it made Sander go weak in the knees for him an additional bonus.

So Robbe uses it against him to distract him from pouting, and this time it’s him who pushes Sander against the wall close to the school exit. He pulls their bodies together, delighted at the surprised hitch in Sander’s breath when he sticks out his tongue to drag it along his bottom lip, pulling it with his teeth to nip it a little, to then soothe the sting with his tongue again. He can feel his ministrations are starting to work and with each second Sander is turning into a pile of goo in his arms. 

A voice in the back of his head tells him the school corridor is probably not the best place for this so he eventually pulls back and drags him away from the wall to the school yard. Sander follows him but not without half-hearted protests that stop only when Robbe kisses him hard to shut him up in the middle of the school yard.

“Come on, there’s a bed in my room with our names on it and my mom works until 20 tonight.”

“Is there a shower with our names on it too?”

“If you’re good,” Robbe pretends to think about it, “then I guess that can be arranged.”

[theatresweetheart]

A Dragon’s Prince | 2

Part One

Warnings: Swearing, blood, injuries, fear, anxious thoughts, arguing.

Pairings: Platonic Prinxiety

Characters: Virgil, Roman

Word count: 5002 words

                                        ——————————

A‌ few days had passed. They had remained just as uneventful as the first one had been and Virgil watched sunset after sunset. Each and every day that brought those fading hues across the sky chipped away a little more of his resolve.

Life in the cave wasn’t…bad, necessarily. It was far from easy and certainly far from comfortable, but he was still alive, so that counted for something.

Of course, he’d still tried to escape when the dragon’s back was turned, but each attempt gifted the same response. He was snagged by the back of his tunic, hefted up and carried right back over toward the dragon’s bed. Once there, he was kept pinned in place until he quit fighting. It never took long before Virgil tired himself out and eventually ended up giving in.

The dragon was never too bothered to feel the prince’s struggles cease.

There was almost always a content rumble that followed Virgil’s relaxing. A thrum that hummed through him. The prince was left to guess that it was a soothing mechanism that the dragon would use on unruly or frightened young.

It was a demeaning thought– being treated as no better than a hatchling but, again, Virgil had to remind himself that he was indeed still alive.

The feeling of cool hard metal in his hand brought him back to the present. He was sitting back against the stone wall of the cave, idly tossing a few golden coins up in the air. He flicked his wrist, watching silently amused at the glittering pieces before catching them swiftly and tossing them up again. It was the most entertaining thing he had.

The dragon was nestled close by, eyes watching the human lazily as he amused himself. It was more of a curious glance than anything serious.

The longer the dragon looked, the more uncomfortable Virgil got.

“What?”‌ He finally snapped, turning to face the great crimson lizard, the gentle clattering of coins stilled as he held them.

The dragon only tilted its head at him, seemingly asking what the problem was.

Virgil rolled his eyes, letting his head thump against the stone wall. “I’m not going to run away,” he said sharply, before throwing a hand out in the direction of the cave’s entrance—where the dragon had not-so-subtly positioned itself in front of, just so the prince wouldn’t be able to make a break for it without having to go around the beast itself. “You’re right in my way and, believe it or not, I‌ don’t have a death wish.”

He tossed the coins up again, listening to the gold clink together. The fading colours from outside danced off the hoard. It was just another day where Virgil remained captive without the knights rescuing him.

No, he didn’t need some strong man to walk in sword-a-swinging to save him, he could save himself. This situation just made saving himself increasingly difficult.

The dragon huffed at him, looking rather distraught.

“Do you want something from me?” The prince snipped, bitterness raising in the back of his throat. He side-glanced the dragon as it crept the slightest bit closer to him. “If you want riches and gold and glittering jewels, I‌ can’t give you that.” Not here at least. He took a breath. “Look, you seem, ah, decent. Maybe even decent enough to return me home?”

The dragon—as it had softened the slightest bit—instantly shut down and snorted at him.

Hot air brushed Virgil’s dark bangs back and he sneered.‌ “Well,”‌ he said, his tone lacked mirth and amusement, “it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?”

The dragon rolled its eyes, shifting to lean back on its forearms. They were both surrounded by the soft sounds of gold clinking again as Virgil resumed tossing the coins up and down.

That relative silence was quickly broken by the prince’s stomach growling.

Pink immediately rushed to his cheeks and Virgil could feel heat creeping up the back of his neck. The dragon’s ears twitched and it lifted its head again, watching Virgil wrap his arms around his midsection, stifling the sounds.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was embarrassed, he just was.

He turned his attention away from the dragon watching him intently now. However, that only lasted for so long. The dragon made a soft humming noise, wanting to get the prince’s attention. It succeeded after a moment, but mostly because the constant noise was annoying.

“I’m just a bit hungry,” he admitted, red dotting his face. “That’s all, it’s not a big deal.”

The dragon pushed up so it was sitting back on its hind legs. It turned around, looking over its shoulder toward the mouth of the cave. It almost seemed to be debating whether or not it should just go and get something to eat anyway. Virgil could almost see the cogs working in its head, before the dragon turned back to look at him skeptically.

It almost felt like he was being accused of faking.

“If you’re thinking about leaving me here while you go hunting,” Virgil said slowly, watching the dragon’s expressions to the best of his ability, “I won’t run.”

The dragon scrunched its snout in disbelief.

Virgil scoffed. “Come on, why would I‌ lie? You could probably literally scent me all over the forest if you tried,” he threw his hands up in exasperation. “But fine, you want to drag me along on your hunting trip and risk me getting hurt? Fine.” The reaction he got from the great beast was exactly what he had thought it would be; a soft whine as it tried to figure out the best solution. Virgil examined his nails, feigning boredom. “It would be all your fault if something happened to me.”

The dragon wasted no time in nabbed Virgil by the back of his tunic—not without a squall of surprise—and the prince was settled back down into the soft cloths and silks on the dragon’s bed. (It had been collected and piled for the prince himself, since gold and old maps weren’t comfortable for a human to sleep on.)

Virgil winced backward slightly as the dragon snarled in a warning at him, those sharp teeth making a threatening reappearance. He easily understood the dragon was telling him that if he tried to escape, the prince would just be hunted down again.

His stomach jumped at the terrifying display, before surprise painted itself across the human’s features as the dragon then pushed itself back up into a stand and stalked toward the entrance of the cave with its shoulders set. It sent a final glance over its shoulder toward the shocked prince before stepping down onto the mountainside, spreading its great wings and taking off into the night.

He sat there for a moment. The silence seemed to echo in the cave like bells and it took a moment, but he understood he was alone.

Alone.

It was the perfect opportunity to make a break for it. Did it matter if Virgil knew where the kingdom was in relative to where he was now?‌ Yes. It definitely did. But getting out of the cave was his first priority and figuring out where he was could wait.

It took no time at all before he was scrambling to his feet, stumbling down off the mount of riches and jogging toward the front of the cave. He paused a moment longer, making sure the dragon hadn’t decided to camp out and wait until Virgil made his escape to show itself again. When the coast was indeed clear, he climbed down the rocky entrance leading up to the cave itself and broke into a dead sprint the minute his boots touched dirt.

He’d never been so relieved to feel dirt again.

Night was falling quicker now, and the trees began to loom with overgrown shadows. He could hear the howling of wolves off in the distance, but it didn’t matter.

Not when he could get home.

A loud, pained and rather shrill cry suddenly bellowed over the air, seeming to shake the very trees around him.

Virgil’s blood ran cold at the sound. He had an itching feeling he knew the owner of that agonized noise.

Don’t, a small voice in his head yearned– pleaded with him, don’t go back. Don’t go and help. If you do, you know the dragon will keep you prisoner longer. You have the chance to go home!

But, another part of him said, a louder part, how will you be able to sleep at night knowing you let the creature suffer in its last moments? You’ll lie awake, haunted by the sounds, knowing that you could have changed its fate.

He turned to look over his shoulder. The sound had been close enough that he could pinpoint the general direction of it. Virgil bit his lip, fighting every urge in his body to bolt again, make a blind beeline into the woods and leave everything that had happened to him in the past.

It would never had to be spoken of. He could just pretend it had never happened in the first place and move on with his life. Get back into the humdrum of his daily life and princely duties.

“You’re fucking insane,”‌ he muttered, hands clenched to his sides.

Needless to say, the prince turned on his heel and went toward the sound.

It took awhile of searching and following. It was a mix between sitting and waiting in silence for the dragon to make another panicked and helpless cry into the night, and following it. Virgil was well aware that there were other creatures out in the forest, creatures willing enough to end the defenseless human prince where he stood.

When he’d stumbled upon the grotto where the dragon was currently hunched over, he ducked behind a tree, heart hammering in his chest. Virgil pressed his head against the bark.

You’re unbelievable. You had the perfect time to escape and look at you now.

He dipped around the tree and into plain sight. The dragon tensed instantly and its head shot up, a snarl already on its features and its eyes narrowed into distrusting slits. If Virgil hadn’t of known the dragon beforehand, he would have been terrified out of his mind at the murderous look. He also knew the beast was frightened, and defending itself by baring its teeth was one of the only things it could do.

Virgil raised his hands in surrender, heart slamming against his rib-cage, half-wondering if he’d made the wrong decision to come back and help. He was relieved when the dragon softened after a moment, taking in who was standing in front of it. It whined at him immediately afterward, shifting its entire body back to show the human prince its limb—which was caught in a series of barbed wires and sharp metal teeth.

Virgil wrinkled his nose.

Bright red blood splattered the area and continually oozed onto the ground into a puddle of crimson that shimmered dully in the cool moonlight. It was disgusting. There was just so much of it.

However, when Virgil tried to take a step toward the wounded appendage, the dragon growled at him.

He kept his hands up and halted in place. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, finding this situation the tiniest bit ironic. At this point, Virgil held all the cards. The dragon couldn’t do anything to him and they both knew it. He was the one that could decide what happened here and the dragon could only put up an angry facade to frighten away wayward travelers. “I‌’m going to help you get the trap off if you’ll allow me.”

The dragon still seemed hesitant. It watched him with keen and careful eyes, before relenting and shifting back a bit more to make its limb accessible.

Virgil approached, still slowly as the dragon was still watching him intently. The limb itself had barbs embedded into it from each and every possible side. It was such a cruel sight.

It was the work of people that wanted to cause misery to the creature they were catching, whether it was something magical and mythical or something real and powerless.

“Hunters,”‌ he mused softly to himself. Though, he must have spoken loud enough for the dragon to hear since it chirped dejectedly at him. Virgil rolled his eyes. “What?‌ I can’t say it wasn’t hunters.” He leaned forward, inspecting the trap a little more thoroughly. “Though, I don’t think you were their intended prey.” He motioned to the trap as an example. “If they wanted to catch a full grown-ass dragon, this would not be the trap to do it.”

The dragon leaned forward and nudged the prince in the back, big eyes blinking at him, almost confused as to why he knew this wouldn’t be the trap to catch something like it in.

“I‌ know what you’re thinking,” he said, reaching forward and letting his fingers drift carefully over the barbs, looking for a weakened spot. “And no, I’ve never caught a dragon before. Hell, you’re the first one I’ve ever seen. My brother has always wanted to see one, you know.” Virgil gave a halfhearted laugh at that. “Though, I don’t think having his little brother kidnapped is exactly what he meant when he said that.”

After struggling for a moment, Virgil found a weakened spot in the barbed wires and tugged. The dragon yipped, and the prince winced from the sheer volume of it. He flinched back a moment as the pale red eyes focused on him as if he’d betrayed the creature.

“Sorry,” he gave an apologetic shrug of his shoulders, “I’ll warn you next time, okay? That way you won’t blow out my eardrums.”

His hands found the same spot he’d just pulled at and grabbed it again. His attention drifted back up to the dragon, making it obvious he was going to pull the trap again and the dragon gave a soft nod, as if telling him to get it over with.

Virgil tugged the wire again, the barbs pulling out further from the dragon’s skin. A loud rumbling sound erupted from behind him, showing the beast’s discomfort without harming the human’s hearing. He tugged harder, seeing the little process they were getting, but the more he yanked, the more the dragon fidgeted at his back.

His hand slid, a stray barb slicing over his palm and cutting it open. Virgil flinched back with a hiss, red painting his hand as blood blossomed through the opening the laceration caused.

He grit his teeth, the stinging almost unbearable. He’d been cut before, but not to this extent. Curling his injured hand back to himself, his eyes roved back to the barbed trap embedded in the dragon’s limb. He was being a wimp, the large creature had it worse then he did. A cut on the hand, so what?‌

“Let’s try this again,” the prince said, moving to get back to the trap when the dragon snarled at him instead, shifting the injured limb away from the small human. “What are you doing? I’m gonna help!”

The dragon growled lowly back at him, but it wasn’t threatening. It was more of a warning. Its eyes flickered down to the blood dripping down Virgil’s hand. His gaze followed the dragon’s and he rolled his eyes.

“I‌ can still help,” he snapped, “it’s just a cut, it’s nothing too bad. Now move and lets get those barbs out of your foreleg.”

The dragon only reciprocated by pulling it further out of the prince’s reach.

Virgil thinned his lips. “Well, what do you suggest we do? Sit here because now we’re both injured and wait for some nice hunters to come back to their trap, kill you and ransom me for money?”

The dragon rumbled something, before snipping back at him as if giving him a sarcastic response. If Virgil had any doubt that the dragon understood human language and tone, this was the last bit of proof he needed.

“This isn’t going to work,” he finally said, settling down against the creature before tearing a strip of his tunic and beginning to tend to the laceration on his palm. He tied it tight enough to help with clotting, even as red kept dotting the cloth, quickly turning it a warm crimson. “I can’t believe I’m even arguing with you!‌ You’re a dragon, you can’t speak to me. Most you can do is answer in sarcastic rumbles. Bare your teeth at me when you’re unhappy— wait.”

After finishing with his makeshift bandage, Virgil let his eyes focus on the barbed wires wrapped around the dragon’s limb. Pulling wasn’t doing much because it was still curled around the entirety of the forearm like a snake would constrict a small animal.

“Your teeth,” Virgil raised himself up into a stand, before pushing the dragon’s snout away from him—an action which earned a displeased rumbling low in the dragon’s throat. “Shut up for a minute and listen to me.”

He knelt down beside the injured limb again and grabbed a hold of the uninjured part to keep the dragon from moving it. Virgil put all of his weight into keeping it steady, even as the large lizard looked down at him with contempt. Of course, even though Virgil was putting everything into keeping it at bay, the dragon could still very easily shake the human off and move on with its day, but he was being listened to.

His hand stung at the movements, but he shifted so he was instead sitting on the forearm instead of leaning on it. “I‌ couldn’t get it all off quick enough because it’s stuck and tied around,” he motioned to the barbed wires winding around the limb with a motion of his uninjured hand. “If you stopped fighting me for once, I can help cut the rest and pull it out afterward. I’m just going to need you to use your teeth.”

The dragon scrunched its snout, shaking its head and focusing its attention on something other than the stubborn prince and the sharp barbs digging into it.

Virgil groaned. “Stop acting like a big whiny overgrown baby, and listen to me.” Insulting the beast probably wasn’t his best idea, but the sharp words got its attention. Virgil slid his hand under the loosened part of the trap before lifting it up enough and holding it out. “Bite through it.”

The dragon gave him a look that practically said ‘you bite through it.’

The human clenched his jaw. “I can’t,” he said in retaliation, “my teeth aren’t sharp enough to bite through wire. If you want to get out, you have to trust me.”

After what seemed like forever, and the great creature debating the prince’s trustworthiness (which was fair enough, Virgil could understand the hesitation when trusting him), the dragon finally relented. It leaned down and opened its jaw enough to bare sharp teeth. Virgil’s heart jumped into his throat, realizing his vulnerable position a heartbeat too late. Just as easily as he had held all the cards, their places were swapped just as quickly.

He held the wire up as far as he could without it tugging painfully on the dragon’s foreleg, and leaned back in precaution. His wrist was thinner than a lot of those sharp teeth and, if the dragon so wished, could take his hand off without a single thought. However, the dragon took the wire impossibly gently and without taking his hand off, too. Relieved, the prince watched as the wire snapped like thread between those powerful jaws.

The wire loosened around the rest of the limb slightly in response. Feeling as if they were finally getting somewhere, Virgil fingered around more of the wire and found another place that was loose enough to lift.

They repeated the motions a couple more times, before the wires were loose enough to tug on. It was still going to be painful for the dragon, since he needed to get the barbs out, but after that, they would be home free.

Standing up, Virgil circled around the injury before accepting the loosened wire into his uninjured hand. “This is going to hurt,” he told the dragon, watching its expression. After a moment, he received another nod of approval.

As soon as he had gotten the go ahead, Virgil pulled on the wire as hard as he could. The dragon’s claws dug into the ground surrounding it. The prince had to lean most of his weight into getting it to finally budge, but after a few more agonizing moments of yanking, the barbs finally came loose with a wet shlup.

The prince gasped in surprise, tripping backward just as the dragon yelped, loudly vocalizing its pain once more. Virgil braced against the ground, protecting his injured hand by curling it into his chest. He hit the ground hard enough that his elbow stung, his shoulder ached and his ears rang.

The discarded wire trap laid off to the side, covered in fresh and dry blood, showing how much time they had spent trying to find a way out of it. His gaze shifted as the dragon pushed itself into a stand, great red wings spreading out wide enough to hide the night sky. The dragon tentatively tested its hurt limb before focusing its attention on the prince on the ground.

Virgil had almost forgotten how big and intimidating the creature could be. The initial terror he had felt at being kidnapped rushed back when it began to limp over to him, only to loom over the human, absolutely swallowing him in its shadow.

He felt the beginning of panic raising in his chest, worried that the dragon was upset with him. To be fair, the only reason Virgil was even able to help was because he had been planning to escape. He was sure the dragon knew that and had possibly been waiting for the best time to retaliate.

When the dragon leaned down, Virgil twitched away from it on instinct, turning his head away just in case it was preparing itself to injure him further. He was genuinely surprised when nothing happened. Was he not going to be punished for his escape attempt?

Instead, the dragon only trilled at him, a soft chirping sound showing true concern.

Virgil’s shoulders relaxed after a moment, more so when the dragon nudged him gently with its snout, prompting the prince to look at it with wide eyes. “You’re… not upset I‌ tried to leave?”

The dragon gave him a forlorn look, but it didn’t seem angry. It shook its head in answer, before leaning down and so very carefully nudging at the prince’s hand—the one wrapped in makeshift and bloody bandages. In all honesty, Virgil had forgotten he was hurt in the blind terror he was going to be hurt worse.

He held up the injured appendage, looking at it briefly as if it held any answers, before sighing in surrender. “You have cloth in your hoard, right?” He said, the dragon looking somewhat surprised at the question, before nodding its head in answer. The prince smiled mirthlessly. “Good,” he then said, moving so he was sitting up in a cross-legged position, his hands resting on his knees. “I’m going to need it. Besides, we should probably bandage you as well.”

The look he was getting wasn’t exactly something Virgil had expected, but it did surprise him. The dragon almost looked apologetic, in its own way, as if trying to express its feelings without being able to form human sentences. At least, human enough for Virgil to understand. He could pick up on hints, but sometimes being verbally told something was nicer than guessing for himself. It was all just one big guessing game with the fire breathing creature.

“What?” He finally said. “It’s not like you can do it yourself. Your big nose would get in the way.”

The dragon snorted at him, as if offended. However, that little jab didn’t hold the dragon’s attention very long, it instead nodded its head in the direction where civilization allegedly laid.

Virgil glanced over his shoulder, as if he would see lanterns bobbing in the darkness between the trees, the sound of armour and swords and shields. He didn’t know why the hope in him fluttered like it did, but he was rewarded with nothing but the same inky and pressing void of night as before.

He shook his head, defeat clear in his shoulders. “I wouldn’t make it far like this,” he told the dragon, staring down at the bloody bandage. “Especially not in the pitch dark. Honestly? The safest option is to go back with you.”

As insane as that statement was. Just the realization that going back to a dragon’s cave would be safer than trying to brave his way through the dark night. He’d rather stay the night in an overly warm cave with an overgrown lizard than fight off bears and wolves and whatever else laid in wait in the thick line of trees.

“Well, come on,” Virgil said, pushing himself up into a stand. He brushed his pants off before looking to the dragon expectantly. “I’m not going to walk back to your cave.”

The dragon made a low thrumming noise, the crimson eyes watching him curiously. As if it was seeing the prince in a whole new light. It seemed to brush the thoughts off a moment later and moved up onto its hind legs after a moment. The great beast checked their surroundings, before leaning down a bit further, nearly putting its neck directly against the forest floor.

It took Virgil a moment to realize what exactly the dragon was asking of him. Since its front limb was injured, it wouldn’t be able to carry him the same way it had when he’d been lifted out of the castle gardens.

He took one more glance down at his hand, scoffing as if he didn’t believe what he was about to do.

Virgil stepped up to the dragon and reached his good hand out. He found a handhold just above where the dragon’s wing connected to it’s back and he heaved himself up as best as he could one-handed. Even after he was up on the creature, it took another moment of adjusting before he actually felt comfortable enough where he was.

To be completely fair, Virgil was never sure he would ever be comfortable being on the back of a creature that was written about, mostly in tales of burning villages and kidnapping princes, while stashing gold in their hoards. The only reason he had been willing enough to try with this one particular dragon, was because it could have eaten him on countless different occasions and it almost always refused to even bare its teeth in a snarl at him.

This dragon was odd. He wished he knew why, but that was probably going to remain a mystery. However, if Virgil ever had the chance to understand the creature—really, truly understand it word for word—he would have so, so many questions.

The dragon rolled its shoulders and the prince was pulled right back from his wandering thoughts, and stood up to its entire height. Virgil could see a little further into the darkness then before, the higher up on the treeline. Just not enough to really see over the tops of them. The wings spread out beside him and the human royal ducked down the slightest bit closer to the dragon’s smooth spine.

The scales were cool beneath his touch, but shimmered dully in the moonlight.

One powerful beat of its great wings later and they were off the ground. Virgil squeezed his eyes shut in surprised, his shoulders pulled right up. He was wound tight as a spring. The cold air surprised him as they rose higher and higher into the night.

Once he found himself opening his eyes, the sight itself was astonishing. The inky darkness was no longer so suffocating. It felt like the stars were right at his fingertips and ahead, the further he looked, he could just barely make out the outline of the walls leading to his kingdom.

Virgil felt a rush of mixed emotions at the realization that they were so close and yet so far. Walking by himself would take ages. Getting back home would be impossible without the dragon’s assistance.

Though, he knew he couldn’t linger in those thoughts. Instead, he leaned back as much as he dared and let out a breath. Taking in the fresh air that stung his lungs like tiny daggers of ice. While this was completely out of the ordinary, there was just something so exhilarating about being so high up– not to mention getting to be that high up by being on the back of an incredible creature that was always told to be evil.

This was the same creature that people whispered about, told children horror stories. Dragons were the creatures of nightmares for countless people. All save for one.

In the dark of the night, in the cold air of autumn and impossibly high off the ground, Virgil laughed. The sudden sound even surprised himself, but he couldn’t stop the second one that bubbled up. Nor could he stop the third and the fourth. Not long after the sounds of joy, he could feel the dragon vibrating. It almost felt as though the creature itself was purring, showing there was contentment with it as well.

“What my brother would give to be here right now,” Virgil called over the whipping wind, the dragon showed it was listening by turning it’s head just enough.

The stinging of his hand faded into a numbness as the wind chilled it. He didn’t care.

No one would ever believe him if he ever got back to the kingdom.

But a part of him knew no one would ever have to.

-----

Taglist: @isle-of-gold  @cookiethedevil @007ardra @ao-koshka​ @sluggerbot-2-5

[fischerfrey]

hphm fic: 'til tonight do us part

fandom: harry potter: hogwarts mystery

pairing: mc/merula snyde

word count: 2.2K

summary:

A party in the Slytherin common room leads both Verna and Merula to confront some things about themselves...

“You don’t know shit,” was what Merula spat back at her and Verna didn’t know what she said wrong this time. “You prance around like you own this school and think you’re so damn special!”

“That’s fucking rich, coming from you,” Verna arched an eyebrow at her nemesis. “You’re the one proclaiming to anyone who will listen that you’re the most powerful witch at Hogwarts.”

warnings: underage drinking, swearing, merula being mean

author’s note: no proof-reading, we die like men! aka i wrote this thing at 3am in my notes app and english isn’t my native language.

hphm fic: 'til tonight do us part

“I’m not sure about this,” Ben Copper said and caught up to Verna. He had been tailing behind her and Charlie for the past several staircases. “Maybe I should’ve stayed in the common room studying with Rowan…”

“Cheer up Ben, this is gonna be fun,” Charlie attempted but Ben still didn’t look convinced. He had been trying hard to step out of his comfort zone with varying degrees of success.

“Hush the both of you, we’re almost there.”

The three of them were approaching the Slytherin common room entrance in the dungeons and the utmost care was needed. Parties in Hogwarts were notoriously difficult to organize if you wanted anyone but your own house members to attend. This one had coordinated times at which someone from Slytherin would let students belonging to other houses in. Barnaby had agreed to open the door for Verna, Charlie, and Ben at 9.30.

“Why are we even going to a Slytherin party…?” Ben asked as they reached the entrance.

“Because Barnaby invited us and I can’t say no to him, it’d feel like kicking a puppy,” Verna answered and glanced around to make sure no one else was in the corridor. “Besides, I think all of us need to let out a little bit of steam.”

“You are aware that most Slytherins think we’re the worst?”

“Yeah, that’s part of the fun,” Charlie said as the door to the Slytherin common room swung open.

“Verna! You guys made it!” Barnaby greeted them with open arms, spilling a bit of the contents of his pint.

“Well Ben almost stayed behind to study but I’m very persuasive!” Verna announced and dragged both of her friends inside past Barnaby.

“Don’t say the S-word Verna, it’s forbidden,” he said with a grimace.

“Oh shit, sorry.”

They had all been extremely tied up with studying for their O.W.L.s for the past weeks and it did sound appealing to just forget the exams for the night. The common room was dark and illuminated by a green glow. Verna wasn’t sure what its source was, but it did create certain menacing flair for the party. The music was loud, and many of the attendees were dancing to its beat.

“So, where’s the fire whiskey?” asked Charlie and Barnaby pointed them to the direction of the drink selection before going off to talk to some of his friends.

“See, Ben, no worries, there are plenty of people from other houses in here,” Verna said observing Tulip and Tonks chatting with some 6th year Slytherins, as well as Penny and André sitting on a couch, heads close together, obviously deep in conversation.

“Is that… a thing now?” asked Charlie.

“Last week I asked André if he was seeing Penny and he said no,” Verna muttered.

“So, you think it’s a new thing? Or is André just full of shit?”

“Guys… I hate to interrupt your gossip club but…” Ben yanked Verna’s sleeve to get her attention. She turned to look where Ben was glancing. Merula Snyde was walking towards them, looking like a storm cloud.

“Oh, here we go…” Charlie whispered, and Verna gently punched him in the arm.

Merula stopped short in front of Verna and glared at her. She seemed taller somehow and Verna noticed she was wearing platform shoes. “What the fuck are you doing here, Malinda?”

“I came to party.”

“Nobody wants you and your loser friends here.”

“Barnaby invited us,” Verna said simply and waved at Barnaby, who waved back, smiling.

“Lee couldn’t read a room if it punched him in the face with a book made for toddlers.”

“Don’t be rude Merula, we’re just here to get drunk and hang out with our friends.”

Charlie saw this as an ample opportunity to poke the hornet’s nest and added: “At least we have some of those.”

Merula snapped her death glare to Charlie. “Shut up Weasley.”

“Anyway! We were just about to go talk to Penny, so I’ll be seeing you Merula!” Verna interjected, handed Ben and Charlie drinks, and ushered them towards Penny and André. “Just pretend I don’t exist, if you can,” she added with a wink, grabbed a drink for herself and followed her friends. When she glanced back, Merula was still standing there, staring daggers at her back. Verna couldn’t help but be amused.

~

It turned out both André and Penny still vehemently denied being involved with each other romantically in any shape or form, so Verna let it slide. They spent a good couple of hours drinking, talking, and dancing. Verna hadn’t realized how much she needed a night off until she finally got one. Between her studies, detention, and trying to find the Portrait vault, her free time was sparse.

“Vernaaaa… can you bring me a glass of water?”

She was called out of her thought by Penny, who had, to be fair, downed quite a few drinks by then.

“Sure, sit tight,” Verna got up and navigated to the table filled with various drinks. Penny had not been herself ever since her sister got trapped in the portrait and Verna knew she was frustrated by how long it was taking to break the curse.

~

As she was filling a cup with water, she heard a familiar voice behind her: “Water? That’s weak.”

“Hi Merula…”

“Don’t tell me you can’t hold your liquor,” Merula mocked as Verna turned to face her. Her makeup had smeared just a little in the corners of her eyes.

“It’s not for me,” Verna tried to move past Merula. The latter stepped in front of her to block her path.

“Maybe you should take Haywood to sleep, she looks like she’s about to pass out any second now.”

“Maybe you should mind your own damn business,” Verna suggested and started to feel annoyed.

“What? I’m just worried about my fellow students.”

“You’ve literally tried to kill me.”

“Bygones,” Merula smirked and took a sip of her drink.

“Maybe after you apologize.”

Merula had the audacity to laugh, she truly was infuriating. “Don’t hold your breath, Malinda.”

Verna had had enough and pushed her way past Merula, ignoring her grunt of protest. She was beginning to think Merula enjoyed pissing her off.

~

“Did Merula give you trouble?” asked André once she got back.

“No more than usual.”

“Maybe we could curse her hair to fall off or something,” suggested Charlie lazily, having taken up most of the couch for himself, leaving just a small spot for Penny to sit in and sip her water.

“Chaz, as much as I would love to do that, I think we’re better off just keeping away from her tonight. After all, I’m actually supposed to get along with her for professor Rakepick’s sake.”

“Aren’t the both of you prefects…?” André asked, amused.

“Well yes, but that doesn’t really mean anything, I mean Merula is a prefect too!” Charlie protested.

André shook his head and returned to his conversation with Ben. Something about his gobstone collection.

“Guys… I feel a little sick…” came a quiet voice from Penny’s direction.

“Shit, don’t throw up on me,” Charlie quickly sat up and pulled away from Penny’s immediate vicinity.

“Okay, maybe you should call it a night,” Verna said and set her drink down on one of the tables. “C’mon, I’ll walk you back to your common room.”

“Oh… you don’t have to…”

“Shush, it’s no trouble… c’mon,” Verna took Penny’s hand and pulled her up. She swung on her feet for a second or two but seemed to be able to walk at least a little bit. “Charlie, can you tell Barnaby to let me back in in like… 10 minutes?”

Charlie saluted her and said: “Sure thing.”

That meant there was approximately 50% chance he’d forget and Verna would have to miss the rest of the party.

~

Getting Penny to walk in a straight line was a bit more difficult than Verna originally thought, but they managed to get out of the Slytherin common room and headed towards Hufflepuffs’.

“I don’t think I should have gone to that stupid party…” Penny mumbled. “I feel guilty enough as it is doing anything other than researching the vaults…”

“We’re doing everything we can, Rakepick is trying to find a way to break the curse right now,” Verna said, trying to sound confident but honestly, she wasn’t sure which one she was trying to comfort, herself or Penny.

“You don’t understand, Bea is all alone…”

Verna bit her lip. She knew Penny was taking this hard. “Penny, I get it. My brother is missing, I want to find the Portrait vault just as much as you.”

Penny let out a stifled sob. “Merlin, Verna I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

“I know, I know it’s okay…”

~

Verna managed to get her friend safely to the Hufflepuff common room and started to make her way back to the party. She felt a little bit drunk and, being absolutely honest with herself, she would’ve preferred to feel a lot drunk. Before she could make it halfway back, she heard another pair of footsteps in the silent hallway. She was expecting to see other people heading to bed from the party, but instead it was Merula Snyde, who rounded the corner.

“Are you following me, Snyde?” Verna asked.

Merula’s face transformed into a scowl. “Stop flattering yourself, Malinda.”

“Well, I just think that you mysteriously run into me a lot these days…”

“Shut up.”

Verna lifted her hands in the air as a sign of surrender. “Suit yourself, can you let me back into the party since you’re out here?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I despise you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Is that what you have to say?” Merula asked and her hands balled into fists.

“I don’t really care, honestly. You’ve been on my case for four and a half years, I know you hate me,” Verna explained. She was fed up with Merula’s constant provoking.

“You don’t know shit,” was what Merula spat back at her and Verna didn’t know what she said wrong this time. “You prance around like you own this school and think you’re so damn special!”

“That’s fucking rich, coming from you,” Verna arched an eyebrow at her nemesis. “You’re the one proclaiming to anyone who will listen that you’re the most powerful witch at Hogwarts.”

Merula blushed and that made her even angrier. “I don’t do that anymore!”

“Sure, but you used to, while I’ve always just wanted to mind my own business.”

Merula took a few quick steps closer to Verna. “You think you’re better than me, huh?”

“That’s so not the point.”

“Then what is the point? Please enlighten me, illustrious Verna Malinda.”

“The point is, that you’re mean. And arrogant. You go out of your way to make people feel bad,” Verna made sure to stress each point, so they’d maybe sink in. “I’ve tried to be your friend more than once.”

Merula let out a mocking laugh. “I don’t want to be your friend.”

“The what the devil do you want?”

Something blazed in the purple of Merula’s eyes at the question, and before Verna could react, the other girl had pushed her against the wall. Vaguely, Verna thought about how easily she could free herself from the grasp, but she found herself not really wanting to. Oh.

“Merula what- “

“Shut up,” Merula grumbled. “Just shut up, you’re ruining everything!”

Confused, Verna studied Merula’s features. The colovaria-spell keeping her eyes purple had started to fade out the littlest bit and if you looked closely, you could see specks of brown. Merula had tiny little freckles dotted across her cheeks and nose that Verna had never noticed before (If her gaze also dropped down to Merula’s lips, then that was neither here nor there).

“I don’t want to fight,” she told the shorter girl. Merula’s expression remained unchanged. Verna sighed. “Just let me back into the party, I promise I won’t bother you.”

“No.”

“Fine, I’ll go to bed then, this isn’t worth it.”

That seemed to change something for Merula again, because she moved, grabbing Verna’s shirt to pull her closer. Verna tried to ignore the excitement in the bottom of her stomach, but it turned out she didn’t have to, because Merula didn’t hiss out any more thinly veiled threats or insults. Instead, she kissed her. There was something ferocious and hungry about the kiss that made everything inside Verna twist into knots. She pulled Merula closer by her waist and found herself not giving a damn if someone happened to walk by right then. For a blissful moment, Merula had her hands in Verna’s hair and was kissing her like she actually wanted to be there with her, and then just as quickly as it started, she pulled back again. The girls stared at each other in the silence of the corridor. Verna’s heart was beating its way out of her chest.

“Barnaby’s gonna open the door for you,” Merula only said and then turned her back to Verna, hurrying to the opposite direction along the corridor. Verna stood there for several seconds, dumbfounded. She raised her fingers to her lips and wondered whether she’d just imagined that. Slowly she forced her jelly-like legs to walk back to the Slytherin common room.

 ~

Like Merula had said, Barnaby was there to let her in, as cheerful as ever. Verna went back to her friends who had migrated to talk to Tonks, Tulip, and Liz. Charlie handed her abandoned drink back and assured her no one had messed with it. Verna wasn’t feeling particularly up for the party anymore. Her mind kept wondering to the dark corridor, messy mascara, and hot, fire whiskey-laced breath on her skin.

fin.

if you read the whole thing i’d love to hear what you think! this is the first time i’m actually publishing any of my fics, despite having written them for years so this is kind of like a moment for me, personally :’)