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shoutogepi · 4 years

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Catboy!Shouto

Todoroki Shouto

word count : ~2K (blurb!)

[ ☀︎ ] fluff!!

bio : general catboy!sho hc’s. initial meeting all the way to relationship.

author’s note : a midnight hc that got WAY out of hand. fair warning idk what the fUCK this is, whatever it is is all astrid’s fault. i decided to make this bc i suck at finding fics and i rly wanted to read something about a snuggly catboy!sho.

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

in my opinion, shouto is already very catlike in certain respects.

he’s aloof and likes to watch rather than engage. he’s very intelligent and he’s driven when he wants to be. and not to mention he’s very loyal to those few that have melted through his ice-protected heart. he’ll probably also only allow physical interaction if he’s the one initiating it...

you didn’t adopt him in human form. at some point you got a cat and you thought that was it— that it was merely a cat. a cute one at that, split down the middle like a patched together hand-me-down. he reminded you of a ragdoll because of his peculiar colors, even though his coat was sleek and shiny. he also had a very prominent air of elegance... overall, a very pretty cat.

however, he wasn’t the nicest animal at first. he was skittish and guarded. he really only interacted with you in order to get food and water, and he didn’t allow you to touch him all too much. any time you had friends over there was no chance he’d be spotted, always hiding in the shadows of your closet or the safe space underneath your bed. when your company would leave, he would slowly crawl out, watching you from a respectable distance as you tidied up before heading to bed.

even though he was kind of a dick, you spoiled him silly. you bought him his own bed since he refused to even go near you. he had his own cat tree and everything, and ample toys too. that was how he first began warming up to you.

you had managed to pique his interest by dragging a ribbon toy across the floor and disappearing around the doorframe. you had been over the moon when he had poked his little head into the room, pupils wide as he eyed the ribbon with intense curiosity.

the morning after that, you had awoken to find him sitting on the very far corner of your bed. it was as far as he could possibly be from you while staying on the mattress, but you were elated nonetheless.

— - —

from then on, your relationship was a little steadier with the feline. he would follow you around your place, always in the same room as you but forever out of reach. occasionally he would allow you to give him a little scratch behind the ear or under the chin, but he would get up and leave after a few seconds of affection.

it wasn’t until he came down with a minor kitty cold that your relationship changed. you took him to the vet. he hated it. he was such a misbehaved boy, but when you had nearly cried as you frantically apologized for his behavior, he strangely became limp, a disgruntled expression on his cute little face.

you took him home and attempted to administer the medicine, even if he hissed and growled at you when you approached him with the distinct vial. you tried to give it to him, and he lashed out and scratched you for the very first time.

it was just a little cut, but it was enough to draw blood. you left the medicine with him and closed yourself away in the bathroom as you tended to your wound, irritated that after all you’d done for him he still treated you like shit. but he was a cat, you reckoned, and so you instantly dropped any malice that had come forth in those few minutes. when you opened the door again, he was sitting at the doorway, ears flat to his head and head lowered, the medicine vial resting before his paws.

after that he allowed you to administer the medicine without complaint. he just layed there and would blink lazily at you while you moved him accordingly, never fussing at all. it was clear that he was sick initially, but each time you gave him that medicine he became more and more like himself. he looked strong and healthy once again. you were relieved.

your relationship kept improving. he would now let you pet him from time to time. sometimes he would even jump up and settle himself into a little loaf next to you as you watched TV or typed away at your laptop. he began sleeping closer to you, sometimes on your feet, sometimes on the vacant side of your bed. the sound of his low purrs lulled you to sleep.

things started getting strange when you started going out with someone you had met. you’d given your number to them when they’d asked for it out of the blue. it was all very innocent, nothing too crazy. just a coffee here and there, really.

that was when shouto started becoming more affectionate with you. he would let out a loud meow in greeting when you came home, running to the door to meet you and promptly sticking his head into the shoes you slipped off your feet. he would sit with you as you went through the work you brought home, even nuzzle your ankles while you made yourself dinner. he would start to sit on your lap when you were watching the television.

he would even let you kiss his head , and he’d slowly blink at you when you praised him for all his handsomeness, for how good of a boy he was. he even started slipping into the sheets with you, allowing you to hold him close as you drifted off into slumber, and kneading at your blankets as the two of you fell asleep together.

but coffees turned into lunches. and lunches to dinners. you started spending less and less time at your place, and he would find himself watching the clock on the wall as he waited for your return. though when you finally would, later and later with each passing date, he was not pleased to find your scent mixed with another’s.

he had stayed in cat form for a very long time. perhaps he shifted into human form when you weren’t home, you didn’t know. you thought he was your cat, and that was the end of it. all you knew was that one morning, you woke up, expecting to have your snuggly companion curled up into your side as usual.

instead, there’s a whole ass MAN tucked into the sheets beside you, long leg slung over yours and his arm wound round your waist. what’s even wilder is that two cat ears stick out of the silky hair on his head, colored the distinct red and white of the fur you have become so accustomed to. a long, furry tail also rests on your thigh, brushing against your skin.

he’s also butt ass naked.

to say you’re shook is an understatement. thankfully he’s laying on his stomach, so you don’t see anything indecent. you weigh your options here— this man is so obviously your cat, there’s no way he’s not. but you have a cat, and this is a man!! man-cat? you can’t care to know the correct terminology.

you decide not to scream, but you shuffle backwards. it’s enough to disturb the creature, and his heterochromatic eyes peel open slowly. he sees you looking at him, and still weighed down by sleep, a mild, content smile curls his lips and a loud purr rumbles out of him. then his eyes move down and he catches sight of his own arm around you, and he scrambles off the bed, ears tucked back and tail bristling as he trips over the sheets.

after you find some clothes for him to wear, you have a rather awkward conversation over breakfast. turns out that he’s been capable of turning into this human form the whole time, but he had become accustomed to life as a cat and preferred it to being a human, as he had a hard time fitting in with his big ears and long tail. you reckoned you, too, would live as a cat if you had the option... especially with such a doting and caring owner as yourself.

now though, you can’t really refer to yourself as his owner. he’s a person, just like you— he just harbors many of his cat-like qualities.

initially it’s hard to adjust, knowing he’s also a man (and a very handsome one, at that). you buy him some clothes and start to cook meals for the both of you. what else are you gonna do, throw him out onto the street?

your interactions become a little forced... you’re just really confused as to how you’re supposed to act around him. he seems to sense your unease, and he shifts back into a cat in order to comfort you. he walks right up to you and hops into your lap, standing up to put his front paws onto your chest, and leaning in to rub his cheek across yours, finishing off with a quick lick of affection.

apparently, he has missed the attention the both of you had become so accustomed to giving/receiving. so, the moment you hesitantly begin to rub his ears, he starts to purr loudly, settling on your lap/chest. he’s really warm and soft, so you end up wrapping your other arm around him and continuing to pet his head.

it becomes routine for you to have this nightly cuddle before bed, but after you’re finished with pretending to pay attention to the tv, you tell him goodnight and shut yourself into your bedroom for the night.

no longer does he receive your praise nor your kisses, and it’s taking a toll on him. he’s needy!! you’ve conditioned him to soak up all your love and now you just stop?

so eventually he’ll sack up and knock on your door, asking why you won’t let him sleep with you anymore. he knows you’re intimidated by his human form, but he thinks the reason is because you’re scared of him. you hesitantly let him know it’s really just because you’re attracted to him. and what do ya know, he feels the same.

another reason why you’d been avoiding him that you’d rather die than tell him is that you’re embarrassed that you just straight stared at him in shock when he used your toilet like a human. eye contact and everything. this was back when you’d first gotten him but now you’re just overwhelmed with residual embarrassment LOLLLLL anyways...

from there your love blossoms !! yay!

now he will walk around your place in his human form more often than cat form. though sometimes he does like to be in kitty form so he can sit on your lap while you’re working at your desk.

snuggles become a norm. he’s very affectionate. absolute cuddle bug.

stressed? cuddles.

happy? cuddles.

bored? cuddles.

i cannot emphasize this enough!!! hold him!! he lives for it! he is baby.

he still loves playing with all the toys you buy him. and what’s hilarious is that he can’t seem to help himself from fixating on those little aluminum twist ties that you keep in the kitchen. he doesn’t know why, but when you toss them across the room he’ll just run for it. nyoom!!

makes sure to bring it back like a good boy every time.

a really good investment is a laser pointer. human or cat, once that little red dot is spotted, you can bet he’s chasing it. this has resulted in broken furniture more than once LOL. at the end of your little play session you guide the laser over to you and he’ll pounce on you!! cue more cuddles.

as if all the snuggles he gives you through the day aren’t enough, falling asleep is complete bliss.

he’ll slip into your covers and wrap his long limbs around you. lithe fingers will caress your skin and your hair, and if you return the favor, he’ll start to purr softly for you. he’s totally into nuzzling you, too. he’ll just nestle his face right into your neck and breathe your scent in, completely at peace. and he can’t help it when his purrs grow louder, an indication of his complete content.

more rarely he’ll come out into public with you, provided he wear a beanie or something to cover those cute perky ears of his. the tail he can tuck into his pants just fine. when he’s out and about with you, he’ll likely stay right by your side, an arm over your shoulder, around your waist, or your hand held hostage by his.

when you’re out on these rare excursions, he will often ask for a boba or a latte—he loves to indulge in those sweet milky drinks every now and then. plus it makes him happy when you’re happy, and you always get excited when you get one for yourself too.

overall 10/10 would recommend adopting catboy!sho. he will give you all the love and snuggles necessary and he’ll be more than happy to accept your affections too.

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

so... can you guys tell i’m a cat person?

(づ｡◠ ‿ ◠｡ )づ <3 <3 <3

➥ masterlist thanks for reading!! hope u enjoyed whatever... this was LOL

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

#todoroki shouto fluff #todoroki shoto fluff #todoroki shouto fic #todoroki shoto fic #mha fluff #mha fic #bnha fluff #bnha fic #bnha hc #mha hc #todoroki shouto hc #todoroki shoto hc #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #cat boy todoroki #cat boy shouto #my fics

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joonkorre · 3 years

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(love) is a heartache

@drarrymicrofic prompt: hope is a heartache - léon

let it be known that harry goes through life purely on vibes. half of his reasons why for every decision at his big age are “idk imma just hope for the best”

ao3

People’s hearts twinge sometimes. For Draco, he can barely remember the last time he doesn’t have these twinges. It’s pretty normal at this point.

“No, it’s not,” Pansy says. She’s a Healer, so she’s probably right. But Draco prefers to ignore that.

“Leave it be,” Draco murmurs, lips against her scalp, ��I’m fine. Say, are you free tomorrow?”

“Yeah. You want to go somewhere?”

“Mm. Sleep.”

They go out the next morning, Pansy in thick makeup and Draco practically drunk under nine layers of Charms. The air is a bit humid, which seems to get worse when the bustling street intensifies in volume into a roaring din. Pansy pulls him under an awning, yanking at his sleeve a bit to try out her disgusting sugary coffee. She always does this whenever she wants to take his attention away from something, which means he just has to look at exactly where she’s doesn’t want him to. As his lips wrap around her lipstick-stained straw, he glances up.

Across the street, a couple strolls through a gushing crowd. Fiery red hair, airy laughter, a pale arm wrapped around her fiancé’s waist. Curls of black, sleek spectacles, a protective palm on his fiancee’s shoulder. They make the perfect picture, a vibrant oil painting. Their existence is formed from bold strokes of sunlight and starburst kisses, with the focal point being a shock of phthalo green and cadmium lemon, two minute specks that make all the difference. As all good paintings do, they pin the viewer on the spot, as if the viewer himself is a thing to behold. Then they shift away.

The exhibit moves forward and out of sight. It’s closing time, the viewer has overstayed his welcome.

Something leaps in Draco’s chest and splatters on the floor of his stomach. Placing her hand over his heart, Pansy frowns at him. She doesn’t ask why Potter stared at someone who looked like a stranger to him. Only tells him to start finding answers.

Months later, on the most awaited day in recent Wizarding history, there’s a knock on Draco’s door.

He throws on a sweater, and a throw, too, for good measure. Ambling to the door, he checks the mail slot before peeking through the peephole. Nobody but a package is outside. Draco hums and unlocks his door, crouching down the moment it opens. What feels like soft satin brushes against his cheek, cool and smooth. With a flash, a pair of shiny dress shoes appear before him.

“Draco.”

Draco peers up as he rises, hands around the package. Potter has his maddening Invisibility Cloak slung over his arm, his roguish charm heightened by a perfectly fitted three-piece suit. A tiny posy is pinned on his left lapel, muted green hellebores with a few sprigs of privet berries. He’s dressed like a man in love.

Draco feels something he hasn’t felt in months at the sight. He’s trained himself to suppress it the moment it showed itself and has been relatively successful until now. The sting, without warning, bursts from within his chest, calling forth a slight wince. Potter’s brows furrow.

"How do you know where I live?"

“How long has this been going on?”

Draco frowns. “Pardon?”

“That,” Potter gestures at Draco’s chest. “The heartache.”

He rears back. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? At Potter’s unchanging expression, Draco shoves his hair out of his face with a quiet huff and puts a hand on the doorknob.

“It’s none of your business. Please leave.”

“It is, actually,” Potter stops the closing door with one arm.

“Excuse me? We haven't had a proper conversation in more than a decade and suddenly you want to act like we're friends? Leave, now.”

“Listen to me. How can it not be my business when I feel it, too?”

“Check with a Healer, then. If you can put past grudges aside, I can hand you Pansy Parkinson’s business card,” Draco grits through his teeth, pushing against the door with his entire body, his throw slipping to the ground.

“Draco, stop, I already know, stop.”

“Know what? No, I don't care. Leave at once, else I’d alert the Aurors.”

A rough slam sends Draco staggering back. Potter pants, hard lines on his face. His chest heaves under his crisp white shirt, its top two buttons unclasped, and he steps over the threshold, closing the door.

“You think they’d believe you?”

The pain shoots from his chest to the rest of his body, and for several seconds, his lungs wouldn’t work. He whips his head away from Potter, who groans and sags against the wall.

“I told you to leave.”

“I’m sorry, that was a shitty thing to say,” Potter says immediately, sweat dotting his temples.

After an uncomfortable pause, clearing his throat, he picks up the near-forgotten package from the carpet. His hand feels around the outline of the object within, rectangular and heavy. Glancing at Draco, he says hoarsely. “I know why you bought this book.”

“Know this, know that, you know nothing,” Draco lunges forward, only for Potter to twist out of the way and raise the package out of his reach.

“The Life-long Burden of Dark Curses: A Caution by Elise Arrowlane, limited edition,” he says, unbothered by Draco’s slackened jaw. “You ordered it from the new bookstore on Diagon months ago. You were small and old and grey, but I recognized you. I always could.”

“Okay,” Draco sneers, “so you’re a stalker. Old news. Anything else?”

“There’s no need to order one. I would’ve borrowed it from Hermione if you had only asked,” Potter says. “Instead, I got curious and read it for myself. That’s how I connected the dots about the heartache, how I realized we’ve both had it since that day years ago.”

“Oh, the day you slashed me into ribbons and almost cut through my heart?” Draco clenches his jaw.

Being able to shout this ugly kind of truth into the perpetrator’s face feels oddly liberating. That is, if liberation also comes with a specific kind of agony that makes Draco want to fall to his knees.

“Dark Magic leaves a mark on both the wizard and their victim, doesn’t it? No need for a book to tell us that,” Potter says, the harsh afternoon glow of him gentled by the soft lamplight in Draco’s hallway. “In certain cases, it even leaves a link. A connection.”

Draco bites the inside of his cheek and looks away. The only consequence from that horrid night was his fucked up heart and nothing else, nothing at all. Whatever Potter is insinuating, he hates it. He hates this. He hates him.

“How are you so sure there’s a connection.”

“I wasn’t,” Potter says. “The Healers said it’s a health thing I developed after the War and I just needed to avoid strenuous activity. I didn’t think much of it, but then I read the book and realized that it usually flared up whenever you watched me.”

Scoffing, Draco turns and stalks into the kitchen. Walking past the boiling kettle, he throws a cabinet door open and grabs a mug, his hand trembling.

“Interesting how my health suffers when I see the bastard who quite literally carved me open.”

“I was eating dinner when I thought I was going to die of a heart attack at 23,” Potter continues. Draco pulls the drawers out, unable to find a single bag of tea for several excruciating moments. “The next day, I was reading about your mother’s death on the Daily Prophet. That was the first sign.”

Grabbing a rag and wetting it, Draco wipes the countertop even as he’s just done so last night.

“When Ginny saw you on the street during our date and extended her hand toward you, you shook it. But your heart ached.

“I saw you looking at the picture of Ginny and I kissing on the front page of Witch Weekly. Your hair was brown and your back was curved, but I saw you. Your heart ached.

“When I announced my engagement to her on the Battle of Hogwarts’s 10th Anniversary, you were clapping along with everyone else. But your heart ached.”

Draco throws the rag on the counter. The kettle whistles, a piercing sound. “What’s your point? Are you here purely to flaunt your relationship and imply that I’m in love with Ginevra Weasley? If so, I got it. Thank you so very much, it’s been enlightening. Now get out.”

“The point is,” Potter says, lifting the kettle off the burner to pour it into Draco’s mug, placing his tea bag in, “unless the article about you being gay was wrong, Ginny isn’t the one you’re in love with.”

“What arti—” Draco stops. “That was years ago.”

His sexuality was leaked to some irrelevant gossip rag, not even making the front page. Nobody noticed, nothing changed, and it hasn’t entered his mind in what feels like forever until Potter reminds him.

“I remember.”

“You—” Draco frowns. His eyes strain on the cup of tea until they hurt. He squeezes them shut, sighing. “It doesn’t prove anything. Perhaps I’m jealous of my childhood nemesis having a better life than me, ever thought of that?”

“Yeah,” Potter says, “I’ve thought about this a lot. Which is why I’m here. To make sure.”

Draco takes it in, then, unable to help himself, curls his lips at Potter and his attire. At his artfully gelled hair, his hanging bow tie, the elegant boutonniere on the lapel of his dark blue suit. His empty ring finger.

“Couldn’t you have chosen a better date to make sure? Preferably before your wedding day?”

Potter steps closer. A respectable distance away, but closer.

“I could’ve, but I spent most of those days in denial. Then the dots connected and I couldn’t deny it anymore, so I decided to just go through with the wedding regardless, be with the woman I loved. Hoped that maybe the odd emotions I had would go away,” he shrugs, raising his eyes to meet Draco’s. “Saw Ginny at the end of the aisle and, well, I couldn’t stop thinking that it should’ve been someone else. All this time, I’ve thought that she didn’t feel… right in my arms, but I pushed it down. And there she was in that white dress.

“Seeing that today was the last straw. I had to leave.”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat. Swallowing it down, he grabs his mug, scooping out the tea bag just to have something to do. He takes a sip without blowing, ignoring its scalding heat.

“That was stupid.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Draco can feel a headache building. “That was a horrible decision. I never imagined you—you!—out of all people, could be this irresponsible. What the fuck.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am. Merlin, that poor fucking woman. If your purpose here is to make me feel bad for Ginevra and all 300 of her relatives for once in my life, you’ve succeeded, congratulations.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that to me, say that to—oh, you’d do what you want no matter what I say, wouldn’t you?”

“Depends on the situation.”

“‘Depends on the situation,’ he says,” Draco mocks, getting a carton of milk from the fridge to save his bitter, bitter tea. Potter doesn’t reply. Stirring the milk in, Draco lets out a heavy sigh.

“What do you want me to do about this?” He says. “I didn’t make you run out of your own wedding. If you expect me to take the blame for your inane decisions, the first person I Floo wouldn’t be the Aurors, but Ginevra Weasley herself.”

A small smile graces Potter’s lips. “I don’t expect anything from you but honesty.”

Draco squints.

“And how will you know if what I say is a lie? Will you reject my genuine answer if it’s not what you want to hear?”

“That won’t be a problem,” Potter says. “I trust your heart will speak the truth for us both.”

There’s a pang in Draco’s chest, and judging from the twitch of Potter’s brow, he can feel it too. Not another word is said, the two men merely facing each other from across a tiny kitchen, considering. Draco can feel the warmth of sunlight beaming through the little window and coating his nape as he leans against the sink, earl grey on his tongue. Lovely citric notes of bergamot drift up his nose. He closes his eyes. What to do, what to do.

Weightless oxfords clack against the yellowed tiles, clear and bright in Draco’s ears. Fabric rustles as Potter slips a hand into his pocket only to retrieve it a second later. Draco lets himself be cornered, barely glancing at the wool-clad arms caging either side of his waist. A clink catches his attention, however, and he tilts his head to the left.

Millimeters beside Draco’s hand on the counter, glinting in the sun, is a wedding band. Draco knows Potter and Ginevra’s in and out, has examined the picture on that day’s issue of the Daily Prophet more times than he should have. He knows the marquise droplets of Ginevra’s gems and the chevron curve of her ring, the blankness of Potter’s own band a dream and a question in his mind.

The band that’s resting on the counter is different. Rustic gold and a fissure in the middle, the fertile earth splitting open to reveal a stream of diamonds, a sparkling river. Draco sets his mug to the side and holds the ring up close, his finger smoothing over the grooves of its texture.

“Did you make a stop at a jewelry store before breaking into my home?” He asks.

“No,” Harry murmurs. Draco looks at him in surprise. “I’ve had this with me for months.”

A pause.

“I thought you said you were in denial.”

“I was, but I knew, somewhat, that I wanted someone else,” Harry’s head lowers, slow and careful, until his forehead rests against Draco’s shoulder. “I told myself that I just liked the way it looked, had to get it in case I didn’t want the other ring anymore. But I got it a size smaller. Been carrying it in my pocket ever since.”

Draco’s heart throbs and throbs. Large hands circle his waist, bunching up the back of his sweater and pressing him close, chest to chest. A blanket of pure heat envelops his body as he breathes in the timeless saffron and neroli of cologne, half-lidded eyes pinned on the band he’s given. Oh, dear, he thinks, and again when it settles at the base of his ring finger with ease, as if it belongs there and never left. Oh, dear.

#drarrymicrofic #drarry #drarry fanfiction #drarry fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #yeah erm harry isn't the brightest bean in the pod or whatever that saying goes #they'll work it out i promise #draco's idea of a first date would be dragging harry over to the weasleys and forcing him to give ginny a formal apology #like ok he doesn't care about her at all but having this woman's unhappiness on his conscience is unbearable #also i really like the idea of the sectumsempra fucking up draco's bodily functions #the scars are really cool but i especially like it when the consequences are idk more visceral and clearly lower draco's quality of life #im not gonna get into the whole connection thing bc idk either #just know that whenever draco feels something intensely #like grief fear jealousy and ooooh heartbreak #his heart throbs and harry also feels it #in this fic harry's secretly happy that despite the whole shitty heart thing there's an unbreakable connection between the two #he needs some work in this fic but he means well i assure yall #draco seeing harry canoodling w ginny and feeling his heart hurt: that was weird haha #joonkorre writes

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ilooklikeaburntchickenugget · 3 years

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Womanizer

A/N: I’m actually doing Chris Evans fan-fic on this account now. So here you guys go. Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x F!Reader Word count: 1,819 Warnings: Very, very lightly dark Ransom, if you even consider it dark.

To Ransom, you were everything.

The two of you hadn't spoken more than a dozen words to each other, only having had a few interactions at these various events and galas the elite class had to attend. You would ignore him, mingling around everyone else. But most importantly, other men.

He eyed you like a vulture. He was discreet about it, making sure to memorize the patterns of when you would look around, clearly out of boredom, and diverting his eyes elsewhere or back to the meaningless conversations he participated in. He would swirl his vodka in his small cup, filled with ice in a race against time so it wouldn’t water down to distract himself from your figure that stood no more than 15 feet away from him.

He noticed exactly how your drinks went: you would start out with champagne, finishing it. You would move onto red wine, only drinking half. He knew it was out of sake for your sobriety. You were smart. Then you would move onto whisky. He saw you down one a few times, and smirked to himself. You could drink hard liquor, that said something about you as a woman.

You were nothing alike the girls he would bring home for a one night stand. No, he wanted to put a ring on you. He would buy other girls some Cartier bracelet or a Prada bag for their cheap endeavors with him, but since the day he first saw you he knew you were his.

He had spent an entire night looking you up on Google. Finding your occupation as an English professor at an Ivy League school, to your academic essays. And of course, he found your Pinterest board. Because he knew damn well every woman had a Pinterest board for their wedding.

He noticed what you had saved, multiple photos of huge diamond rings, emerald cut. Classy and glamorous, it fit you. The very next day he went out to Tiffany’s, and bought a ring just like it. He knew your ring size, just from eyeballing your sleek hand. He had bought meaningless rings for dozens of other women, he was a pro at this point.

And in his lower desk drawer in his personal office, sat the blue box that he one day hoped to drop on one knee and grant you with, an official bond between you two that as of right now, he could only dream of. But he would do everything in his power to make sure it happened.

He noticed how other men looked at you, sleazy eyed with the most disgusting intentions. Sure, he wanted to take you home. But he wanted to keep you there, with him. He wanted you to be his, and only his. Forever, and ever.

“Mr. Drysdale,” His thoughts drowned in wonderland were ripped from him, disrupted by one of the investors in his publishing company.

“Mr. Peterson.” He tightly smiled, holding out his free hand to shake with the other man. His insides were burning with a fire of annoyance at this man, having to put on a stupid, nice face for him. He wanted no more than to find you, and start a conversation with you.

He continued to look over the older man’s shoulder, only for a few moments at a time, catching a few glances of your gorgeous smile, your elegant being. It was the only thing keeping him sane.

“I should probably introduce you to some of my colleagues, other investors.” Mr. Peterson mentioned, “Follow me, they’re right over here.” “Oh, there’s no need-” Ransom tried to reason, an attempt to get away the talkative man who was arguably a nobody compared to the various others who had invested more from their pocketbooks than he had in his entire bank account.

“No, I insist.” He waved Ransom on, to which the brunette tightly smiled again, and with great reluctance followed.

He guided his way through the crowds and groups of people talking, their expensive clothes and obnoxious laughs making Ransom more irritable by the second. He could feel his anger rise to a slow boil, his ability to contain himself slimming by the moment. Then he saw it.

He saw you, standing there in that form-shaping dress of an emerald green, with a kind smile on your face. You, too, were talking to these so-called investors. His temperature dropped immediately, an inaudible sigh escaping his lips as his once forced smile turned into a natural one. One by one he was introduced to the various men, dressed in stupidly expensive suits that didn’t even fit, until your name came around, “And Y/N Y/L/N.” Mr. Peterson smiled, “English professor at Cornell, and published author.” You smiled at him, holding out your hand to which he shook.

Oh, how soft your hands were. It was like a cloud, he felt your elegant fingers grasping in his, the various rings on your fingers felt cold against his warmed skin. “I believe we’ve met before, Mr. Drysdale.” You spoke up.

“I believe so, Ms. Y/L/N,” He smiled, “And please, Ransom is just fine.” You nodded in agreement.

The conversation began, investors talking about money and bets, traditional things, finally Ransom’s company came up. “You have a publishing company, correct, Mr. Drysdale?” Your boss, Mr. Hart spoke, to which he nodded.

“Yes, my grandfather’s publishing company, I inherited it.” He took a sip of his drink.

“It’s doing well, I see?” Another asked and he nodded.

“Very well, yes,” He replied.

“And you, too, are an author?” A third asked, the questions becoming annoying to him. He nodded.

“That was how I inherited the company,” He began, “I released my first book and it got some press, sold a few copies, Harlan saw that I could take over his company and gave it to me.” “What is this book called?” Mr. Peterson asked, his clueless mind elsewhere.

“A Wrath for One Another,” You spoke up, his head turning to you and eyes shooting open wide in shock, “It’s a phenomenal piece, truly.”

“Why thank you.” He smiled at you, his mind still in a state of complete shock over your knowledge of his work.

“Well, we may just have to include that in the curriculum,” Mr. Hart smirked, sliding his hand to the small of your back. You knew he was tipsy, he always tried to flirt with you, physically, when he was like this.

“Well,” You spoke up, “If you would have read my plan for the curriculum at the beginning of this last semester, you would have seen I included that very book in the plan.” Most of the men around you nearly choked on their drinks, Ransom chuckling under his breath with a smile at how easily you dominated the man and the entire conversation. “Now, if all of you will excuse me, I must excuse myself with Mr. Drysdale to talk with him further about his works.” You removed yourself from your boss’ grasp with grace, walking over to Ransom and glancing only once before walking past his frame, which was quite a lot larger than yours. He stopped for a moment, getting the memo before following you, yet still unsure about what to do.

The two of you found a nearly silent corner in one of the rooms of this mansion, gold rimmed with old furniture, only a few guests lingering about in quiet conversation. “So,” Ransom was the first to speak up, you leaning against the wall and taking a sip of your whisky, “You’ve read my book, huh?” “Of course I have,” You coyly smiled, “Anyone who is actually within the modern world of literature has.” He sighed very lightly.

“You’re right.” You nodded, a few seconds of silence lingering between the two of you.

“I apologize that I took you out of the conversation, I just had the feeling that you didn’t want to be there either.” “Am I really that easy to read?” He asked you with a slight smile. “Eh,” You smiled back, “A little.”

“Well,” He began, “You are quite the woman-” “If you’re trying to get me in bed my answer is a firm no.” You rolled your eyes knowing too much about the playboy, something he too knew.

“That was not necessarily the plan.” “Necessarily?” You asked, looking at him and squinting your eyes in confusion, “Then what, pray tell, was the plan?”

“Well, it was to ask you out to dinner, get to know you better, go on a few dates and see how things go.” He began.

“Hugh Drysdale taking a woman out on a date?” You scoffed, “Hilarious.” “I mean it.” He fought right back.

“I’m sure that’s what you tell all your girls.” “But I would never do that to a woman.” He began, looking you up and down, “I know you’re smart, smarter than me if we’re both being honest, but I also know you drive me insane whenever I see you at these completely pointless events.” “Oh?” You asked, this time downing your drink, “And how would I know you don’t say that to all your other girls?”

“Because I know you love dogs, you’ve had three of them in your lifetime. I know you love to cook, your favorite thing to make is homemade pasta carbonara, and I know your favorite author is Hemingway, specifically his short stories, something that tells me enough about you to know that you’re a smart minded woman who can think outside of the box but within reasonable perimeters.” He responded all in one breath, leaving you breathless. You stared up at him confused and dazed, like a deer in the headlights.

“How did you know all that?” You asked, turning to him, this time seriously, “Are you stalking me.” “Stalking is a strong word,” He stated, your face turning to more panic which he noticed, “Oh please, no, I’m not stalking you in any way. I just overhear your conversations, wanting to know more about you.” It wasn’t a complete lie. “So eavesdropping?” You reiterated with a sigh.

“If you would like to use that word, then I suppose.” You held the small glass cup loosely within your fingers as you rolled your eyes again.

“Fine.” You sighed out, “One date. That’s it. But, no touching unless I say so. I don’t want to hear you brag about yourself, it gets obnoxious to a point where I get waves of nausea,” He couldn’t help but scoff, “And no talking about work. I’m sick and tired of people thinking it’s my only personality trait.” “Deal.” He agreed with a nod.

“Now,” You sighed, taking his hand very lightly in yours, “Back to old men staring at my boobs.” He lightly chuckled with a smirk.

“You do have nice boobs,” He said, to which you whipped your head around and gave him a grimace, “Respectfully.”

#ransom drydale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale fic #ransom x you #ransom drysdale #ransom thrombey x reader #knives out

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oftenderweapons · 2 years

Note

I have a question for all of the Sugars if I'm allowed to be a little greedy. When you picture a disarming woman, what do you picture? What kind of woman makes you weak in the knees at first sight?

KSJ: *smirks* “It’s okay to be greedy, sweetheart. We enjoy feeling wanted.”

KTH: *barely hides a smile, looks away*

KNJ: “Who wants to start?”

KTH: “We go in age order.”

KNJ: *nods curtly, pragmatically*

KSJ: “I think… I like women who look sleek. Classy. I like when women have their hair done up in a bun, and you can see their face and ears and neck. Especially if you can see their collarbones and it looks perfect for a thin necklace with the most elegant of diamonds pendant. Just a tiny diamond cast in white gold… Or platinum. That’s very attractive to me. Especially if she’s wearing earrings. I know… It’s a bit peculiar. In terms of character, I like women who carry themselves gracefully, and that look a bit unapproachable.”

KNJ: *tuts* “How typical…”

KSJ: *petty* “Oh, let’s hear from you, then…” *rolls his eyes*

KNJ: “That makes me weak at the knees, right?” *checks to see if he understood the question* “Well. I like women who feel very natural. Women I would genuinely be friends with. But to grow immediately infatuated, I think I would need to be taken aback by their honesty. Someone transparent and direct and… Someone soft? The kind of woman who is not afraid of her womanhood as maturity and decision making and also depth of emotion. Someone who can be strong and soft at the same time. Assertive and tender at the same time.”

KSJ: “Mommy issues, Joonie pup?”

KNJ: *looks at Seokjin with a cocked eyebrow* “You still have a crush on our French teacher.”

KSJ: “You still have a crush on the nanny. And madame Poisson is still a charming woman to this day.”

KNJ: *under his breath* “Milf-hunter.”

KSJ: *under his breath, with a teasing smirk* “Subby.”

KTH: “It’s my turn, come on, shut up you too—”

KNJ: “Very mature of you, Seokjin, really. And yes, I like women who are comfortable with their motherly instincts, not because I want to be babied, but because I don’t like feeling a prey inside a relationship. I want to feel safe.”

KTH: “Okay guys. Let’s quit with the brotherly bickering.”

*KSJ and KNJ settle back politely on their seats, Namjoon with a grumpy look, Seokjin with a gloating grin*

KTH: “Some women don’t inhabit their body fully. It’s like they limit their life to one room, the most hidden, the most secluded and inaccessible. I like women who don’t do that. I like women who are comfortable escaping their bodies, pushing their essence to the very borders of their body, Who let their soul fill their bodies and overflow. I like when they look happy while trying new things. When they look happy in general.”

KSJ: “He likes them ‘experimental’, so to say.”

KTH: “I do not disdain that, actually.” *blushes and looks away* “I like all women. Every woman is art and has something precious and unique that is only hers. But I have issues staying committed after I find what makes her special and lose interest in the search.”

KSJ: “Uuh! Interesting.”

KNJ: “You’re always so indelicate.”

KSJ: “Only with you.” *blows a kiss*

———————————

A/N: Thank you for asking, honey! Questions about out gentlemen? Read their form here and drop a question for them 😘💜

#three sugars #ask:anon #ask: three sugars #dita is here!

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cdyssey · 3 years

Text

Headaches

Summary: Four weeks in London later, both Lyra and Mrs. Coulter have full heads.

AO3 Link

—

One quiet night, four weeks in London later, Lyra sits on the couch, pretending to read some history book that Mrs. Coulter insisted upon, while Mrs. Coulter herself is curled up in the chair opposite, scrawling notes in the margins of a thick book. Her loopy handwriting is pretty and small and illegible to Lyra, who never learned how to do cursive. (She ducked out of those particular lessons by feigning chicken pox; Roger obligingly dotted her with berry juice, snickering a little as he poked her right between the eyes.)

Mrs. Coulter always looks pretty, but Lyra reckons she’s the prettiest when she’s got her hair all down, and she’s not dressed to kill a man. Like tonight, for instance, she’s got on a silky robe, lavender and luxurious, its hem pooling like liquid on the floor. She seems ethereal, like a fairy almost, fragile and elegant and light, and it’s with a fond smile that Lyra remembers the conversation that they had at the beginning of all this, when they established what it means that she’s comfortable enough to wear pajamas around Lyra...

Pantalaimon, in his favorite ermine form, urgently nudges her hand, calling her back to her senses.

But think about it—that was weeks ago, Lyra, he whispers into her mind. Shouldn’t we be focusing on Roger? Shouldn’t she...? She promised...

She said to trust her, Pan... maybe she’s working on it right now, readin’ that big, fancy book of hers…?

I highly doubt Roger’s going to be found in a book, he returns crossly, turning into a wasp hovering next to her face. The buzzing of his wings catches the golden monkey’s attention; he’d been heretofore slinking up and down the stretch of floor next to Mrs. Coulter’s chair, looking strangely restless.

Surprised, Pan promptly pops back into his ermine skin again, landing on top of her chest with a neat thud.

Real smooth, she snaps, glaring at him over the top of her book.

I can’t help it!

“Lyra, dear?” Both Lyra and Pan look up to see that Mrs. Coulter’s attention has also been snagged from across the room. Indeed, she and the monkey both have directed their undivided attention towards them now, and their dual intensity is enough to force Pan to turn into a kitten, pressing his gray paws clumsily against the fabric of her shirt. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Lyra mumbles immediately, her cheeks feeling hot, “just thinking about a lotta stuff, you know?”

“The kind of stuff that makes your head feel full, huh?” Mrs. Coulter’s brow bends sympathetically as the monkey resumes his methodical pacing, back and forth and back again, his tiny hands clicking against the sleek wood. Pan watches him, a little discomfited, a little mesmerized, wondering why he’s so cagey tonight.

“Exactly!” Lyra exclaims. “That’s it. My head’s just a lil full.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Coulter sighs, the gesture less sound than susurrus, “I know the feeling.”

And she raises the thick book she’s reading, allowing Lyra to get a good glimpse at the text for the first time. To her surprise, her guardian’s elegant handwriting isn’t the only part of it that’s entirely incomprehensible to her. Indeed, the tome seems to be written in an entirely different language.

Or, more accurately still, it looks like English would if someone completely didn’t know English and was just making excellent educated guesses.

“Latin,” Mrs. Coulter supplies, correctly interpreting the confusion in Lyra’s face. “The liturgical language. I began to learn it when I was around your age.”

It’s an impressive statement, communicative of just how intelligent Mrs. Coulter is, but frankly, Lyra isn’t all too surprised anymore.

This lady seems to know everything, answering every question that the twelve-year old has with patience, kindness, and poise.

Even the little things.

The stupid ones.

Like how anbaric lights work.

Or why the sky is blue.

She won’t give you a straight answer about Roger, though, Pan reminds her stubbornly, kneading her pajama shirt with his claws.

Lyra works hard to ignore him.

“Looks fancy,” she replies, “and hard.”

“It’s most certainly both,” Mrs. Coulter shakes her head, replacing the book on her lap. “I used to be able to read it so fluently when I was in college, declining nouns like a Roman conqueror... but now, out of practice, out of touch...”

“—your head feels all full,” Lyra finishes, tilting her head sympathetically.

“Precisely, darling.”

And for the first time in a long time—perhaps since the very first week of their acquaintance—she studies her guardian's face, deconstructing it like one of the math problems the Librarian used to keep setting in front of her. And her findings prove thus, the variables all clear—beneath the mask of her gentle smile, there’s an exhaustion about Mrs. Coulter.

Slight.

Subtle.

Tinged with the indefinable manic energy of someone who works and works and works.

Staring at the faint lines beneath her arctic blue eyes, Lyra suddenly thinks of Lord Asriel for some reason. As driven as he is, as cold and as fierce and as clever, sometimes, on his rare visits to Jordan College, she’s noticed that he looks a little exhausted, too.

“If your head feels all full,” Lyra asks, “why don’t you stop for awhile? Try again in the morning?”

The monkey briefly pauses in his tracks, staring at Lyra with open curiosity—tender, probing, mild—before continuing onwards, a dutiful soldier committed to his guard.

“Believe me,” Mrs. Coulter sighs, “I’ve asked myself the same question, but my employers... they’re always expecting me to produce innovative material, even when my project is more ambitious than their wildest dreams.”

Her voices raises a little at the end, and the golden monkey, his face turned away, growls lightly, his beautiful tail stiffly coiled.

Pan transforms into a monkey, too, empathetically trying the emotion on for himself—the pent-up frustration of never feeling like he can do enough.

The form’s a little strange, but it kinda fits, too.

Because Lyra thinks about Roger again.

About how there’s so much more she can be doing to help him.

“Stick it to ‘em, Mrs. Coulter,” she says, sudden fierceness in her voice, flooding passion. Pan is a wildcat on her lap, black hackles raised. “Seriously. If you know you’re better, forget all the toerags that don’t get it.”

Mrs. Coulter’s eyes widen in quiet surprise, mouth slightly parted, before she suddenly breaks out into a laugh—sudden, sincere, and musical—the faint lines in her face creasing pleasantly. Even though he continues to pace, the monkey’s expression softens incrementally when he comes back around.

“My, my,” she chuckles, “what coarse language... but thank you, Lyra. I appreciate it. Sincerely.”

And she gives Lyra another one of those radiant smiles again, the one that she loves so much, that makes the girl feel like she’s maybe, very possibly loved.

And Pan, feral though he appears, brushes against her cheek, purring.

“But, since we’re trading secrets now,” Mrs. Coulter continues, her brow furrowing above her eyes, “why is your own head full, dear? Feeling tired? Is it bedtime for you?”

Lyra’s nose automatically wrinkles in disdain. In London, she’s had a strict bedtime every night, which is a far cry from how her caretakers at Jordan College handled her nightly routine.

(Which is to say that at Jordan College, she didn’t really have a nightly routine. Someone would just yell at her to go to bed, and then she’d maybe do it or maybe not depending on her mood.)

“No,” she shakes her head defiantly, but then, a little more gently, a little more politely, “no... I’m just... I’m thinkin’ about Roger again, Mrs. Coulter. He’s gotta be so scared and lonely and confused…”

Pantalaimon, now an ermine again, watches the golden monkey, far bigger than him and far more graceful and far better at keeping a neutral face.

But as soon as Lyra mentions Roger, the golden monkey’s nose twists unpleasantly, as though he’s smelling something awful, and Pan lurches, instinctively recognizing the emotion for what it is.

Disgust.

Mrs. Coulter smiles sadly, her slender face perfectly free of her dæmon, and the monkey turns away again.

“I imagine so,” she murmurs, “but all my best people are doing their best to look for him, Lyra. Haven’t I told you this before?”

And even Lyra can hear the warning note in her voice this time, the implicit insistence that she shouldn’t push.

Push anyway, Pan encourages, pressing his black nose gently against her neck. For Roger, Lyra. He needs you.

“I... I know,” Lyra mumbles, “but I just thought we could help look for him, too, you know? All hands on deck.”

The monkey makes some sort of impatient sound that registers as such in the empty air, but still, Mrs. Coulter’s expression remains perfectly pleasant.

Soft.

Compassionate even.

Lyra’s heart thuds with its own confusion.

“If all else fails,” Mrs. Coulter promises, straightening her silk-enclosed shoulders, “we will, sweet girl. I wouldn’t lie to you—ever.”

Pantalaimon isn’t so sure about that, but Lyra half-heartedly brushes him off again.

Because she likes Mrs. Coulter.

She really does.

We can like someone and not believe them, Lyra, he reminds her gently.

That’s scary to think about, Pan.

I know.

Mrs. Coulter’s smile is so kind… so warm… so inviting…

Someone can like us and still not tell us the truth, Pan warns, watching the monkey’s vaguely cross expression.

That’s even scarier somehow.

I know.

#marisa coulter #lyra silvertongue #his dark materials #f: his dark materials #reginianwrites #last one for this weekend i swear lmao

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thethousandyearwitch · 3 years

Text

The Show Must Go On! Chap. 7

- A Youtuber AU you didn’t want and didn’t need -

Hisoka Morrow, italian Makeup Youtuber, enjoys his life in the comfort and occasional drama of his profession. But nothing brings more drama into his life than the eldest son of the Zoldyck fashion magazine empire.

Meanwhile, aspiring australian Twitch Streamer Gon Freecs forms a special bond to a Speedrunner commonly going by "Kil".

Chapter 7 “Montero” out now!

AO3 Link

What could be worse than taking care of a teenage boy who is developing a steady video game addiction?

There was a loud bang coming from the room above the kitchen, followed by laughter and cackling. The boys were in Gons room and tried their hardest to set up the sleeping cod. They refused help, naturally, convinced that they are just as capable, confidence heightened by being in each other’s presence, hyping each other up, and the consumption of their own body weight in burgers.

Another bang. A shriek. More laughter. Mito sighed so deeply that she feared a piece of her soul might have left her.

Taking care of TWO teenage boys who are developing a steady video game addiction.

Her phone vibrated with a new message. Gon had sent her a selfie of himself and Killua on the cot, which seemed to be standing securely. The boys were flexing their arm muscles (or lack thereof) with proud looks on their faces, and the only caption was “#success”. Well, at least they are having fun.

Bellissimo<3: Good morning. I am going to pick you up at 1pm, be dressed by then, and pack your bag for tonight’s show. We are going for a brief detour.

Hisoka stretched out on his bed and squinted at the too-bright phone screen. It was 10 in the morning, though the rooms curtains were drawn shut tightly as a defence against harsh sunlight. A lazy smile spread on his lips.

Hisoka: Are we finally running away together to get married in Las Vegas? I thought you’d never ask~~❤️

Bellisssimo<3: I am trying to reward you for not getting arrested last night.

Bellissimo<3: Do not make me regret this.

Hisoka: I should avoid getting arrested more often ❤️

Bellissimo<3: 1pm Hisoka. See you then.

Hisoka let his phone drop back into pillow-mountain. This was certainly an interesting surprise, and an opportunity that the make up artist wasn’t going to waste. Getting One-on-One time with the Zoldyck was something precious and rare to him. Because Illumi was a rarity himself. In a world of increasingly bland and repetitive personalities, especially in his field of work, Illumi presented a challenge of raw potential. Cold and calculated to the masses, an obedient dog to his family, a revolutionary in his work. Hisoka knew that he must be hiding so much more, and the more walls he encountered with the man, the more he wanted to tear them down with his bare hands. Hisoka hated calling whatever this was a ‘Crush’. Sure, he was affectionate towards the other man, and at this point he couldn’t deny the pleasant twist of his heart whenever they touched. But he didn’t yearn for lazy Sundays in bed together, didn’t want the peaceful domesticity that seemed to be inherited in being a ‘couple’.

What do I want?

Hisoka pulled himself out of bed, and made his way to the shower, determined to abandon this pesky train of thought. There was no point in pondering the unlikely. Though… Illumi had been indulging him. And he was going to indulge him again this day. Maybe he wasn’t the only one getting soft, even if neither would ever admit it. The thought brought another satisfied smirk to his lips as he massaged his favourite shampoo into his scalp.

He wondered how Illumis family would react, hypothetically, if they were to end up a couple. The eldest son of the Zoldycks, not just gay, but in a relationship with a makeup artist who is famous for starting drama whenever possible. They certainly would be a more feared and adored couple than if Illumi were to marry some busty heiress who hooks up with her tennis coach when he’s away.

Silva Zoldyck would drop dead right on the spot if Hisoka would ask him if he should call him dad, he was sure.

He stepped out of the steamy shower and mustered his refreshed face in the mirror. Maybe that’s all he wanted. To form something with Illumi that would be even more powerful than the Zoldyck empire, to make everyone else envy/fear/adore them. They had the capacity and the ability to do so, no doubt.

Or maybe he just wanted to have something he wasn’t supposed to have.

Hisoka shrugged to himself, before he went over his usual beauty routine. Today could prove very interesting.

12:45 pm, Hisoka leaned on his kitchen island, absentmindedly scrolled through social media to beat time. Illumi wasn’t going to be late, but he’s never been early either.

He decided to go with a casual look, fitted beige khakis, with an oxford blue button up, sleeves rolled up just above his elbows, debated with himself on how far unbuttoned would be appropriate-yet-slutty (Top 3 Buttons unbuttoned, was the conclusion). Under his eyes, rested on his cheekbones, he had painted his signature star and teardrop, eyebrows plucked to perfection, and after 10 tries he managed to get a satisfying cat eye done. It was perfectly normal to want to look like hell on wheels while meeting with your friend-partner-associate-crush-insertsatisfactoryterm.

The afternoons were always the worst time to check social media, the calm before the posting-storm that comes during the evening and night. Hisoka had already reached posts that were done last night, a few screenshots taken here and there for future reference and roasting purposes.

Almost fed up with endless scrolling, suddenly it appeared. Hisoka had followed a twitch streamer on twitter recently, some kid who was definitely going to screw up in some point of his career (they always do, when the fame gets to their heads), and didn’t want to miss that mess. “Foxbeargaming”, what the fuck is even a foxbear, he had thought.

He had seen the brat before, in his profile picture and clips of his streams. But that wasn’t the problem with the newly posted selfie.

The problem was that he also recognized the second brat in it. Remembered the way Illumi boasted about his talented little brother, the same wild hair and blue eyes as he showed him a picture of the kid. Killua Zoldyck is currently in the middle of nowhere Australia, and his family most likely doesn’t know about it.

Oh, this will be delicious.

Hisokas day had been upgraded from surprisingly interesting to extremely entertaining if everything were to go smoothly. Immediately revealing to Illumi before their date that his little brother is out in the desert trying to tame himself a boyfriend wouldn’t do either of them good. Let it simmer, let it fester, keep Illumi away from his phone the rest of the day.

Lost in his scheming, he just barely noticed that the clock hit 1pm. He grabbed his bag from the floor and stuffed his phone into his back pocket before he headed out the door.

Hisoka wasn’t sure what he expected, yet he was taken aback by the sight in front of him as he exited the apartment complex.

Illumi leaned leisurely against a black sports car, as if that were his only purpose in life. His sleek hair was tied into a neat ponytail, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. Hisoka let his eyes take in every detail of him. Peridot green jeans, fashionably washed out, paired with a simple grey polo shirt, the collar popped open just enough to reveal more neck than usual.

“Are you waiting on an invitation?” Illumi didn’t sound as agitated as he probably intended, giving Hisoka only more reason to push his luck.

“I was thinking about whether I want to pounce on you now or later.” He approached the other man, who in turn straightened up his posture in defence. But instead of any hostile movements, Hisoka simply took Illumis hand, and bought it to his lips for a caste kiss. “But I’d rather not spoil our date this early.”

Illumi pulled his hand away, though maybe with a second’s hesitation. “Not happening, also not a date. Get in the car before I change my mind.”

The car was equipped with fabric seats, which Hisoka was grateful for in the Italian heat. “Maybe I should film one of those Vlogs today, what do you think of the title ‘Partner takes me away for secret date’?”

“What about ‘Multimillionaire kicked me out of a speeding car’?”

“Touché.” Now Hisoka was sure that his companion had to be in a good mood, despite what he’d claim, he’d never go along with his jokes if he were feeling neutral-to-pissed otherwise. He rolled his shoulders back into the seat comfortably, golden eyes fixated on the way that Illumis elegant pale hands wrapped around the steering wheel. “I didn’t know you can drive, considering you always have someone to do it for you.”

“I prefer it over flying, and I still consider myself a better driver than half of our staff.”

“I’m sure you’re great at handling stick shift as well.”

“Of co-“Illumi pressed his lips together in sudden annoyance, he most definitely had caught onto Hisokas smirk as he waited for an answer. “That is repulsive.” That prompted the makeup artist to break out into self-satisfied snickering.

“No clue what you’re talking about, Tesoro.” This earned him an eye roll, and silence as the car made its way through mostly empty streets. Hisokas eyes fell onto Illumis phone that rested on the console of the car. “Ah, I’m sure mister multimillionaire has Spotify Premium, right? Let me turn on some music.”

“Use your own phone.”

“I ran out of data volume. Are you that afraid I’ll discover your disastrous music taste?” His teasing smirk was met with another, more defeated eyeroll and a sigh.

“Don’t play anything trashy. The passcode is 0707.” After a questioning silence, he added “It’s Killuas birthday.”

Hisoka replied with an appreciative purr, before he started scrolling through the others music library. No personal playlists, not even a profile picture attached to his account. He was almost offended at the man’s lack of care for something as deeply personal as ones Spotify account, something that surely could tell a lot about a person. “Tchaikovsky? I’m not sure if I am impressed or utterly bored. Oh-“ His eyes stopped on a familiar album cover. “Maybe you’re not a lost cause after all, dear.”

A button press later, and the familiar opening sounds to Tame Impalas “Currents” played. The faintest trace of a smile curled on Illumis lips, barely noticeable, but Hisoka wanted to burn it into his mind anyway. Never mind that he took the brief distraction to turn the others phone onto silent mode. No unnecessary distractions.

It took the rest of the album until Illumi pulled the car into the exit towards the nature reserve near Lago di Bracciano, the last notes of “New Person, Same old Mistakes” dying together with the engine as they parked.

Hisoka stretched at the warm sunlight that caressed his skin when he exited the vehicle. Birds sang happily in the trees that lined the path around the large lake, and the only other person in sight was an elderly woman walking a small white dog. As the second car door shut close, he turned around with a pleased smile that showed off his shining teeth. “I never took you for the kind to take afternoon strolls.”

His friend-or-whatever set a relaxed pace onto the path and looked out onto the deep blue water. “I can’t sit around the hotel room the entire day, can I? And Rome is crawling with sweaty tourists and noisy journalists.”

“So you wanted to get some quality time outside?” Hisoka absentmindedly ran his tongue over his own sharp incisors.

“Correct.” Illumi didn’t seem to notice, or at least ignored, the predatory gesture.

“With me.”

He missed a beat before a simple, “It seemed appropriate.”.

This earned him an appreciative purr, before the men walked in silence along the large lake. Italy still wouldn’t reach its heights of temperatures this time of year, but any breeze was still a welcomed change from the rising humidity and sting of the sun. Hisoka wondered how much the others pale skin would change if he’d expose himself for a bit longer to the sun, if he’d immediately burn up in red, or if he’d start to tan, even just the faintest bit. He’d definitely look more alive, less like a puppet on invisible strings.

They continued to walk in a comfortable silence next to each other, took in the different sounds and sights of nature and the others presence, until eventually they reached the border of one of the shore towns. Beautiful stone buildings climbed the side of a smaller hill, only interrupted by greenery sprouting up between them. The main path was lined with flower shops, cafes, and Gelateria, whose smells mixed into a pleasant sweetness in the air. But one store in particular stood out. It wasn’t super flashy, it could have been found in any city and any street, but Hisoka knew this one from memory.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the others hand, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Excuse me-“ Before he could free his hand, Hisoka intertwined their fingers and pulled him closer.

“Let me treat you to something as well, I promise you won’t regret it,amore.” As his flaming eyes were met with a wrinkled nose, the sunshades Illumi were as not-telling as his eyes, he added “If you do regret it, I’ll gladly let you drown me right here.”

There was hesitation as the other mans wrist twitched against his hold. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

The absence of a struggle was still taken as accepting whatever had gotten him so excited, and thus Illumi was quickly pulled and seated outside the small café. Hisokas attitude had changed from a lazy yet scheming happiness, to pure, unfiltered excitement. It became almost impossible for him to sit still, he rapidly tapped his fingernails against the small glass table, until a waitress (in her mid-40s, he assumed) stepped out. She handed the men a small, leather bound menu, though both were immediately snatched by Hisoka and held back towards her.

“Non sarà necessario. Ordineremo la Cheesecake alla fragola. Grazie.”

“Certamente.” The woman replied with a smile, before she retreated into the shop.

“Cheesecake?” Illumi asked with a raised eyebrow, he had taken off his sunglasses by now and placed them on the table.

Hisoka tutted, “Not any Cheesecake, dear, it is the best Cheesecake you will ever have. I will have it at my wedding, funeral, and every occasion in between that.”

“I take it you’ve been here before.”

“When I had just moved to Rieti, I’d come here almost every weekend, though I unfortunately stopped when weekends became workdays as well.” He considered carefully how much more he was willing to share about that time of his life with the other, though the decision was taken off him as the waitress approached with two plates, each adorned with a generous slice of cheesecake, topped with strawberry slices and strawberry jam dripping off it.

His jaw clenched in anticipation as he watched Illumi take the first bite of the cake, reminiscent of all the rituals he’d do for him whenever he visited. It felt degrading to admit that he wanted to impress and gain the approval of the Zoldyck, but not degrading enough to stop the attention seeking behaviour.

A bite. Some careful chewing. Averted eyes because Hisoka was staringbut he did not care. He swallowed.

Illumi didn’t look at him as he spoke, seemingly engrossed in studying the décor of the shop. But his eyes betrayed him, Hisoka swore he saw something within the dark orbs glisten and flash to life. He didn’t know people could smile only with their eyes, but Illumi continued to be different in the most intoxicating way. “It’s… really good.”

Hisoka tried hard not to pick up his train of thought from the morning, tried not to think about what he wanted from Illumi or a relationship, and he especially tried not to think about the growing urge to leap across the table at that very moment to kiss him until their lips were sore. Instead, he started to eat his own cake, and failed to supress his sharpened smile.

They ate mostly in silence, safe for Hisokas muffled crazed snickering, and ordered espresso to chase down the thick cake.

“Hey, let’s play a game. What is wrong with that woman over there?” Hisoka pointed at a blonde who rested against a railing near the lake.

Illumi seemed to consider for a second whether he even wanted to play a weird game like that, before he stopped mid espresso-sip. “Ah. Those red heels are obviously spray-painted on.”

“Bingo~! It’s super obvious, right? You can still see the black shine through.”

“I’m more concerned about the uneven stitching on her shirt. Either she did that herself, or she has gotten scammed.”

Somehow that conversation triggered them to analyse the fashion choices of every stranger they encountered on their way back to the car with increasingly devilish tones. Illumi Zoldyck was a surprisingly good gossiper, and Hisoka filed that fact into the growing corner of his brain that he reserved just for him.

In the car, Illumi informed him they would just head to his hotel room to get dressed for the show, and then head there together. Any attempt at a joke about spending hotel-room-time wisely was, expectedly, cut off.

Illumi had never focused on the road this much in his entire life. He tried to be grateful that they had managed to get ready for the show in his hotel room without any major incidents, but now Hisoka was seated next to him again, wearing the suit he made for him. He looked good, annoyingly so. Naturally, Illumi wouldn’t grant him the satisfaction of telling him that though. He had indulged the man plenty enough for that day already and was holding back from chastising himself for it.

Last night had made him soft, Illumi decided. A brief waver of confidence and self-preservation that made him want to spend one-on-one time with Hisoka, in what may have resembled friendship to an outsider.

But his head was clearer now, cleansed from whatever foolishness had overcome him – the image of his mother recovering from a coughing fit and regaining her composure crept itself into his mind. Unrelated, he thought, though cleared his throat regardless.

“Machi says the crowd tonight is dreadful. Do you think she is just saying that to keep me from going~?” Hisoka tapped his long nails against the screen of his phone. Machi was a model they both have worked with in the past, though she was no where close to a breakthrough. A pretty face, objectively spoken, though smaller than most models, and the personality of royalty about to be executed. Do they always text each other?

“She’s there as well today?” He tried not to sound bitter. He didn’t have a reason to be bitter.

“Mhm, she’s modelling for a friend of hers it seems, though all the examples she sent me looked like someone with a priest-kink designed them, so it doesn’t hurt as much that she didn’t hire me as her artist.”

A moment of silence. “I see.” Illumi was not going to indulge Hisoka even more by inquiring about the nature of his relationship to the woman. It did not concern him; it wasn’t relevant to him or his work.

“Illumi?” Hisoka leaned over in his seat, golden eyes piercing into the side of his face.

“Yes, Hisoka?” Just now he noticed that he had been clenching his jaw uncomfortably.

“Are you jealous of Machi?” He didn’t need to look to know that Hisoka was smiling from one ear to the other, voice dripping with joy. He wasn’t going to look at Hisoka.

“You are insane. Why would I be jealous of her? I pity the girl, still having to work as a favour for acquaintances.”

Predatory eyes continued to drill into him, and a dangerous purr escaped the man, “Is that so?”.

“Yes, don’t be ridiculous.” They pulled into the valet line.

“Then you surely won’t mind that she’ll meet us in the entrance hall, wonderful!”

Illumi shouldn’t mind. It should be perfectly fine that instead of spending the evening alone with Hisoka, a good-looking young woman with an unclear relationship to him would meet them. He definitely couldn’t be jealous; it would be irrational and yet-

He threw the keys to the car at the valet and grabbed the number-marker without a word. His face wouldn’t give it away to others, that he was practically fuming, but Hisoka seemed to take pleasure in the subtle way that Illumis facial features tightened. “I heard jealousy can give you wrinkles~” Hisoka whispered cheekily as they approached the venue entrance, rows of reporters and interviewers lined at the sides, even more so than at the opening day before.

“You must have a lot of experience with that.” He hissed in reply and straightened his posture as they passed the crowd, mostly reporters who desperately tried to take pictures of attendees. Pictures, Interviews, all loathsome cries for attention that Illumi has always tried to avoid as much as possible without damaging the families reputation. He looked down the carpeted entrance and spotted the young woman known as Machi Komacine, clothed in a painfully tight black dress adorned with rosaries draped around her waist like belts, her messy pink hair pulled into a high ponytail. Her posture signalled boredom, but her eyes screamed murder.

Illumi was not a man who easily feared anyone, especially not a woman who stands at 5’2 proud; But he also was not necessarily thrilled to approach her. As he tried to hiss something in Hisokas direction again, something about not having much time to chat with their acquaintance due to meeting a client, he noticed: The other man had stayed behind, and was now busy posing for numerous cameras. Their eyes met, and with a mischievous grin, Hisoka held his hand out to beckon Illumi closer. For Pictures. Together.

Take pictures with Hisoka together in a public appearance that will most definitely set the gears of the rumour mill in motion; Or approach Machi alone and run the risk of uncomfortable conversation about our respective relationships to Hisoka?

He looked back at Machi, whose eyes met his instantly with a raised eyebrow. Fucking Hell-

Illumi made his way back to Hisoka, casually disregarded the hand that was held out to him and positioned himself as practiced – left arm leisurely to the side, right arm three quarters across his front. Not too strict, but not too relaxed either. In contrast, Hisoka had his left hand in the pocket of his suit, his right hand rested on Illumis shoulder as if were the most natural thing in the world. Journalists started to yell even more for their attention now, asking pesky questions that he tried to ignore, telling them to stand closer to each other, the likes. He kept the façade of his neutral face through the blinding flashes intact, even as Hisoka snaked his arms from his shoulder around his waist. “Do you wish for a public execution?”

“It looks better for the pictures~”

Illumi brushed a few strands of hairs behind his shoulder and used the motion to glance back to where Machi was waiting, her steady gaze on the two of them. “It’s rude to let her wait.”

“How considerate you are!” Hisoka snickered. “I know you aren’t jealous, caro, but I’d still like to reassure you of something.”

“And what’s that?”

“Machi and I look for, how should I say, very different things in a partner.” He tugged at Illumi waist and pulled him closer. “She’s looking for women and I am not.”

“Oh.” Illumi continued to look at the reporters cooing for their attention, as he tried not to think of the warm hand on his waist that felt searing hot and- Wait.

“OH.” He turned in Hisokas hold to properly look at him, who in turned grinned like the cat that ate the canary, then he looked back to Machi, and suddenly he felt stupid, which he didn’t experience a lot.

“Feeling relieved, even though you definitely weren’t jealous?”

“I think they got enough pictures.”

Illumi heard Hisokas snickering trail behind him as he made his way down the entrance. Machis eyes met his again, hands steady on her hips. Up closer now, he could observe the details of her dress, white seams stitched into crucifixes that crept up the sides, and the number “3” painted on every bead of the rosaries. It was cleanly executed, but Illumi was confident in the superiority of his own work.

“Miss Komacine.” He extended his hand to her, which she shook half-heartedly.

“Illumi. I’d like to get to business talk right away, so I don’t have to look at this clown longer than necessary.”

“Business talk?”

The young woman lit a cigarette for herself and shot a glare to Hisoka. “I assume you didn’t tell him I wanted to speak with him?” This granted her only a shrug and a smile from the man. “Fine, whatever. Illumi, I want to model for your next line, it would proof beneficial for both of us.”

“I don’t deal in women’s fashion. Furthermore, I do not see how I’d gain benefits from having you work for me.” Finally, a topic he felt comfortable to speak about, even it was only to criticize the woman for her awful attempt at business.

“I don’t mind wearing a suit, you should be at least competent enough to make smaller sizes, right?” She stepped closer to push a sharp index finger against his chest. “And about those benefits; Having me model for you would give me more exposure from a mainstream crowd, and thus exposure for my group. You would gain exposure to a wider audience of underground fashion-following, that isn’t influenced by your family’s name, meaning you could manifest a name for yourself. Unless you prefer being ‘a Zoldyck’ forever.”

The nerve. The audacity. Illumi considered just calling her a presumptuous cunt and leaving with his pride intact, but Machi looked like the kind of woman who knew how to slice car tires and break-wires.

A manicured hand curled around his shoulder, and Hisoka pushed himself between Machi and him. “What could be better than this; My two favourite people in this world, getting along, talking friendly business. Unfortunately, dear Machi, there’s some people inside that are dying to meet us tonight, so we’ll catch you later~”

Before he could object, Illumi was pushed through the entrance of the venue. The large runway was occupied by a high-end brand that premiered their women’s gala collection, mood-lighting engulfed the rest of the room, rhythmic beats of low music drowned out most of the talking crowd.

“Be a darling and just let her offer simmer a little. Machi can be very scary when she’s mad, and not in the way I enjoy.” Hisoka purred closer to his ear.

“Did you know she was going to ask?”

“What if I did?”

A waiter offered them drinks on a tray, and Illumi leisurely grabbed a glass of champagne.

“What does that even mean, ‘a Zoldyck’, as if it is something bad.”

“Don’t wreck your pretty head over it, you know how women are.” Hisoka laughed, and Illumi wasn’t sure how serious he meant that, considering that personally he had no idea how women are, and after newest revelations, neither did Hisoka.

But through the course of the night, Illumi couldn’t get it out of his head. He pretended not to notice how people approached Hisoka, addressed him by his name, first or full name, and talked with him about the content he has created, complimented on his most recent videos and looks. And he pretended not to notice how people approached him, addressed him only by his last name, and asked about the family business. “Mr. Zoldyck, are you going to write an article about this line?” “Mr. Zoldyck, about the next issue-“ “Mr. Zoldyck, tell my greetings to your father.”

No word about his own collection he had premiered. No one even uttered his first name.

He was ‘a Zoldyck’. Nothing more, nothing less.

“If looks could kill, we’d be ankle deep in a blood bath by now.” Hisoka snaked an arm around Illumis waist again and rested his hand on the tip of his hip. The designer took a long sip of the bitter champagne, casually slapped away the offending hand, and kept his dark eyes fixed on the crowd. “Still pouting because Machi was being a bully?”

“I am not pouting.”

“And you weren’t jealous either, got it~”

An eye roll, followed by “I have a headache, what’s the time anyway?” Illumi tried to reach for his phone in his pocket, though before he could grab it, Hisoka took hold of his wrist. They locked eyes, and even in the dim lighting of the venue, Illumi saw something wild glisten in those amber eyes. “Let’s leave, together, to my place.”

“Very subtle, Hisoka. I am not going to-”

“Indulge me, Tesoro, I want to show you something.” Determined to blame it on the repulsive atmosphere that had build itself up at the fashion show, Illumi let himself be swept away by Hisoka for the second time that day. The thought of getting away from noisy reporters and cockroaches of the industry who only knew him as the eldest Zoldyck.- former Heir to the empire, was pleasant enough, yet he also didn’t have to be alone and actively think about his reputation, name, and being a ‘lapdog’, technically a win-win situation.

The drive back to the apartment was oddly quiet, despite Hisokas prior excitement. The car tore through the dark night primarily in silence, only accented by the ‘The Velvet Underground’ album they agreed on after scrolling through Hisokas bizarre Spotify library. It definitely wasn’t the kind of music he was used to from the home he was raised in, didn’t fit between the classical music his mother used to play before her headaches made it impossible and the obscene noise music that Killua would play to trigger the same headaches.

“Could you check my messages for me?”

Hisoka hummed in response and grabbed the phone, manicured nails tapping on the screen, before dropping it unceremoniously back into the cup-holders. “Batteries dead.”

“That can’t be, I charged it before I went out this morning, the battery is supposed to hold for a minimum of 72 hours when idle.”

“Your dainty British batteries sometimes give out under Italian heat, invest in better engineering, and charge it at my place for now.”

“…This will better be worth the trouble.”

The streets of Rieti were expectantly empty, and Illumi parked the car right in front of the apartment (Was it a legal parking spot? Unlikely. But parking fines barely matter when seemingly half the world knows your families name.)

The stairs, the door, the entrance, Illumi knew all of these things about Hisokas apartment. “What is there to show me?”

“Patience. Come here~” Hisoka opened the doors to the balcony, white drapes gently tossed in the fresh breeze. The Zoldyck followed- with sceptical hesitation, but followed nonetheless.

He rested his hands on the railing, eyes turned sky-wards, a few strands of hair upset by the wind.

“If you took me here to just look at the stars, I’m not sure which one of us is the bigger fool.”

“Right, if we wanted to look at soon-to-be dead stars, we could have stayed at the show. But we’re not here for them. They are insignificant, always there to look at until one day they vanish and are forgotten. The real star of the show is over there.” He pointed a long nail at the night sky, and Illumi tried to follow where it pointed.

“The moon? Really?”

“Close, but also mundane and boring. Here- “Before Illumi could react, the strange man had placed their heads next to each other and started to correct Illumis position with a pointed yet gentle grip on his chin. “Look straight ahead.”

Just a little bit off to the left of the moon shone a star brighter than anything else, for a moment Illumi felt ridiculous for missing it.

“It’s Venus. Among all these long dead stars, she’s ever present, stands out the most, and is a rare sight to behold.”

“You took me away from the show to gaze at other planets?” Illumi turned towards the other man, suddenly all too aware of how close they were standing once again.

“I took you away from the show because no one there is capable of understanding your true potential. The way everyone there only sees you as an extension of your family is so infuriating, that it makes me want to ruin all their hopeless little dreams right in front their pitiful faces.” With a swift movement Hisoka had pinned the designer against the railing of the balcony. “You could crush all these people under your heel and make them beg for forgiveness. And there’s nothing I’d rather see than that.”

“I don’t need to make anyone beg, if I want something, I get it. It’s always been like that.” A cold thumb traced the line of his sharp chin, followed by a dark chuckle, and all of a sudden Illumi felt fatigued, all air leaving his lungs. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers his mother recalling symptoms like that. It’s a sickness, nothing more nothing less.

“You get it because you’re a pretty show dog held on a short leash by your family.”

Fucking lapdog. The weight on his chest feels like it could crush his organs any second.

“I’m not asking you to bite the hand that feeds you. But I’d give everything to see what you could do if you were free of restraints.”

Feeling like he needed to hold onto anything, Illumi grabbed onto the back of the other man’s head, fingers buried in wild hair. “And why would you care so much? If you’re just trying to rile me up, there’s ways that don’t make me want to throw you off the balcony and watch your mangled body struggle for life.”

“It’s because you fascinate me, Illumi. You’re my Venus in a sea of dying stars. I want to observe you in all your glory as you outshine everyone else, in your full potential.”

“Who says I won’t crush you as well?” His fingers grasped harder on a few strands of hair. Everything in his body felt wrong, the way his skin was freezing all over, but searing hot wherever he made contact with the other man, the suffocating weight on his chest increased by the second, and in the back of his mind something about sickness echoes again.

They locked eyes, and just then Illumi noticed how close they truly were, Hisokas hot breath falling onto his lips.

And he should have pushed him away.

Should have slapped him, insulted him like the sorry maggot he was.

But he felt weak and sick and so cold, and Hisoka radiated pure heat.

Their lips met, softer than expected of either of them, and Illumi wondered if this is what it feels like to be saved from drowning.

A pleasant warmth seeped into his body, and his lungs felt weightless, like he could breathe for the first time in his life.

Hisoka kissed like each touch might be the last, and Illumi let himself be guided as he wanted, eventually wrapping his arms around the others neck, eager to steal as much of this intoxicating heat as possible.

The man kissed along his jawline, stopping just barely below his ear. “Stay here tonight, cuore mio.”

And Illumi placed a kiss to his temple, as gentle as a man who was never been taught gentleness with people could manage. “Let’s go inside.”

#hxh fanfic #hisoillu #killugon #hxh #hisoka marrow #illumi zoldyck #killua zoldyck #gon freecss #mito freecss #machi komachine #fanfic #fanfiction #I continue to have the worst update schedule known to man <3

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sithsecrets · 4 years

Text

A Matter of Expediency - Part VI

After being married off to Kylo Ren in the name of securing an heir to the First Order’s throne, a princess tries to navigate the ins and outs of married life. As she grows closer to her new husband, the princess also carves out a place for herself in the Order, assuming control over her life when she thought she would have none.

—

Part 6

4k words

Mentions: swearing

—

You rise early on the morning of your wedding, too anxious to lie in bed any longer as you watch the sun creep up in the sky. It’ll be hours before it’s time for you to get dressed, and you know good and well that your ladies are still fast asleep. Lydia’s never been a morning person, Joon stayed up late playing cards, and Helda had to be practically poured into her bed by the time dinner ended. It looks like it’ll just be you for a while, so you start hunting for ways to occupy your time. Nervous energy thrums through your entire body, and you’re plagued with the urge to pace about the room until your legs give out. You decide that a walk on the beach might do you good instead, so you set out on the sand, not bothering to change out of your nightgown.

The morning sun is gentle and warm on your back as you walk along the shore, letting the salty water of the ocean lave over your feet and ankles as you did last night. This place really is paradise, you think wistfully, smiling to yourself as you observe some marine life further out. The creatures jump out of the water together, seemingly playing a game of chase, and you consider the event a good omen.

A bit less anxious after some time outside, you head back up to your rooms, glad to see that a breakfast buffet of sorts has been laid out for you in your absence. It’s far too much food for you to eat alone, but you figure that the resort staff has considered the fact that your ladies may come to eat with you as well. You nibble on some fruit and a pastry, unable to eat much because of your remaining jitters.

You’re salty and windswept from being out by the water, and though no one is here to help you, you decide to take a bath anyway. It ends up being nice, soaking in the warm water alone as you languidly wash and cleanse your body. Though bathing does help you relax a little bit, you still can’t help but think of what’s to come as you exfoliate. You’ll be a married woman in just a few hours’ time, and tonight, you’ll retire to your marital bed with your husband. Surely the Supreme Leader is expecting that the two of you will lie together, and the mere notion of that makes your heart pound. You feel totally helpless, lacking in sexual experience of any kind, and you fear that you won’t be able to please him. Both Lydia and Joon have said that it’s not that difficult to make a man happy in bed, but you’re still incredibly unsure of yourself. So, to compensate, you’ve decided that it would be best for you to make your body as soft and appealing as possible. You may not know what to do with your body, but you would die if Kylo lost interest in you simply because he ran his hands over a patch of scratchy dry skin.

Out of the tub, your crusade to make yourself appealing continues, and you slather yourself in lotion and moisturizer. At the end of it all, every inch of your body is silky and soft, and that makes you feel just the slightest bit more confident.

You snack on some more food after you’re done bathing, munching on fruit and toast until your ladies finally come stumbling into your chambers. Helda complains of a headache, calling the rest of you cruel when you snicker at the fact that she’s hungover. Your ladies graze on the spread that was laid out for you earlier, practically force-feeding Helda toast and fruit so that she’ll feel a bit better. You nibble on some cheese and berries, eating because you know you need to— passing out in the middle of your own wedding would be too mortifying to bear.

Finally, the time comes for the lot of you to begin getting dressed. As always, Lydia does everyone’s hair, making quick work of styling Joon, Helda, and herself before she sits you down in the chair. Lydia is much more deliberate in her work with you, twisting and combing your hair carefully, pinning with purpose and a strategic touch. When she’s finished with you, your hair is sleek and elegant, drawn into an intricate knot at the back of you head. It’s so different from you’re your usual loose, carefree hairdos, and you touch the hairstyle lightly, experimentally.

Lydia must mistake the gesture for one indicative of a disliking for what she’s done. “I thought it would look rather pretty with your dress. You said that they’re going to call you ‘Empress,’ and I thought the look would complement your new title,” she tells you. “But if you don’t like it, there’s plenty of time for me to start over.”

“No,” you say quickly, not wanting her to remove a single hairpin, “no. I love it. I just… It just makes me feel different is all.”

You know what you’ve said is strange, but no one mentions it as Joon starts on everyone’s makeup. Like Lydia, she fixes up herself and the other ladies quickly, brushing on a few light washes of color and calling the whole thing done. With you, of course, she takes her time, working with her own face close to yours as she defines your features and paints you prettily. And stars, Joon is a talented artist, for when she’s finished with your makeup, you look radiant. None of what she’s put on your face is heavy or overbearing, but every subtle highlight and shadow works together to make you look regal, sultry— you don’t think you’ve ever looked this good in your life.

“You’re a witch, Joon,” you state, unable to tear your eyes away from your reflection.

“Well, I just did my best,” Joon says with a humble shrug, but the little smile on her mouth tells you that she’s rather pleased with herself.

With your hair and makeup done, the time has come for you to get into your dress. Lydia and Joon steady you as you step into the garment, guiding your legs through the layers of fabric so that you don’t tear your train by accident. Helda’s the one who really dresses you, though, working diligently behind your back to fasten up the dozens of little buttons that run down your spine. She has the smallest hands out of all of you, and the girl has always had a talent for tedious tasks such as this one.

After a few short minutes, Helda steps back pronouncing you dressed. Everyone is quiet for a moment after she says this, studying you in the mirror.

“Well,” Joon says softly, “I guess that’s that.”

You aren’t sure what she means, but you understand nonetheless.

“You look beautiful, Princess,” Lydia declares.

“A real vision,” Joon adds quickly, and Helda nods.

“Thank you,” you say, distracted by your own appearance.

One would think you vain, studying yourself so intently in the mirror, but it’s not your beauty that has you fixated. You hardly recognize yourself like this, though you’ve gotten dressed up for many events in the past. But there’s something different about this time, something different about you. You look like a queen instead of a princess, like a woman who commands attention.

“Thank you,” you repeat, “thank you all. I look incredible, really.”

“He’s going to die when he sees you,” Lydia affirms, coming to take your hands. Joon and Helda clasp their palms over Lydia fingers, smiling up at you with a tinge of sadness. Suddenly, you realize that this is it, this is the last time that you’ll all be together in this way.

“It’s been an honor to serve you, Princess,” Helda tells you, and you try your very hardest to blink the tears out of your eyes. It wouldn’t do to ruin Joon’s work, not when the wedding is coming so quickly.

“It’s been an honor to be served by all of you,” you say, talking around a lump in your throat. You break into a tearful smile, looking a Joon, Helda, and Lydia in turn.

There’s so much more that you want to say, but you don’t get the chance. A knock at the door breaks your moment, and you know immediately that it’s your escort come to retrieve you.

“I have to go,” you say quickly, stepping away from the mirror. Joon tails you to the door, straightening the train of your gown and checking your hair one last time.

And with that, you’re gone, off to become a married woman.

---

Your wedding ceremony feels like a dream. All you can really remember of it is faces, the faces of the guests as they watched you walk down the aisle, the face of the officiant, Kylo’s face as he recited his vows to you. Kylo’s face, and the warmth of his hands, and the quick kiss that the two of you shared once you were pronounced husband and wife. Everything else, though, that’s a complete blur. You don’t remember your vows, or what instruments were played as you walked in, or even what Kylo said as he promised himself to you.

You and your husband are whisked to the reception almost immediately, though you are pulled into a side room for photographs. A woman dressed in plain, official clothes poses you and Kylo stiffly, snapping pictures of you smiling and not smiling, of you seated and not seated. Your husband doesn’t speak to you during any of this, and you’re thankful— you don’t think you could form a coherent sentence right now if you tried, too overwhelmed by everything that’s just happened.

The reception is indoor/outdoor, set in a richly decorated hall with a terrace and access to the beach. You and Kylo are greeted with cheers and applause, and the noise of it all is loud enough to make the building shudder. Before you can so much as catch your breath and get your bearings, Kylo’s taking you aside to a receiving area. Two members of the Imperial Guard stand behind you and your husband, supervising guests that come to talk to both of you. Person after person, couple after couple approach where you’re seated, and all of them congratulate you warmly. Kylo already knows most of the people that come your way, but your head is swimming with new names and faces. By the time the line clears, you feel like you’ve just downed a bottle of strong wine.

Kylo gives you his arm when the two of you get ready to leave the receiving area, and you’re happy to have something solid to lean on. Your head thrums with a dull ache, and you find yourself wishing you had eaten more earlier. And of course, your mind spirals with thoughts of all of the interactions you’ve just had, thoughts of all the important people you just met. Anxious, you hope that you made a good impression, thinking of how Kylo said he needed a “second face” for the Order. And that would be just your luck, wouldn’t it, fucking up your new job on the very first night?

“You’re doing very well,” your husband whispers suddenly, and his words send a chill down your back. In your nervous tizzy, you forgot completely that the Supreme Leader can easily read your mind, and your heart pounds at the thought of him knowing how anxious you are.

Your shock and fear must show on your face because the look in Kylo’s eyes softens to something more apologetic. “You are,” he presses, and you can see that he means it. Kylo’s compliment instills you with just a little more confidence, and you straighten your back, grabbing on a little tighter to his arm as the two of you go walking about the room.

Finally, it comes time to eat. The sun is slipping down as everyone moves to their seats, and you’re grateful to sit down. Kylo helps you into your chair before moving to sit down himself, an unexpected gesture that you find rather sweet.

“I’m starving,” you tell him, just to make polite conversation. You and Kylo haven’t talked much since the two of you wed, more focused on entertaining guests than anything else. Kylo turns to look at you, to really look at you. You’re not sure if you’re doing a poor job of schooling your expression or if Kylo can simply sense your feelings, but he somehow knows that you’re overwhelmed nonetheless.

“The hard part is over,” he says to you seriously, speaking quietly so that only you can hear him. “We get to relax now.”

You’re not sure that Kylo Ren’s ever relaxed in his life, but you decide to take his word for it regardless. Before you can say anything else, two servants approach the both of you from behind, setting your food down in front of you without a word. When everyone’s been served, Kylo stands, and a hush falls over the room.

“Friends,” he declares, “allies. I thank you all for being here tonight to witness this union between myself and your Empress.”

Your pulse quickens at his use of your new title, but you try to paint a pleasant expression on your face as you watch your husband speak.

“Tonight marks an auspicious new beginning for the Order. I believe that with the Empress’s help, we will be able to expand our organization and bring even more prosperity and stability to the galaxy.”

Thunderous applause erupt in the room, and it takes several seconds for everyone to quiet themselves. When things are silent again, your husband looks down at you, his goblet held aloft towards your guests. The look you see in his eyes escapes description, but you cannot help but feel that there is something akin to passion swirling behind his irises. Or maybe it’s lust… You aren’t entirely sure.

“To the Empress,” calls the Supreme Leader.

“To the Empress!” echoes the room, and everyone drinks to the toast.

Kylo never breaks your gaze as he takes a long drag off of his glass, moving to sit down as he does so. You think that you should say something, anything, but every word dies right as it reaches your tongue.

Despite the nervous buzz in your veins, you eat ravenously, your need for food too strong to be ignored now. Kylo eats with as just much vigor, probably as hungry as you are. He drinks wine with his meal, but not to excess. You try to be as mindful of your alcohol consumption as well, thinking it would be best to be sober for tonight.

After dinner is cleared away, a band begins playing cheerful, fast music, and many of your guests flock to the center of the room to dance. You spot Helda, Lydia, and Joon amongst them, and your heart yearns to join your friends in their merrymaking.

“Do you dance?” you ask Kylo, turning to look at him. Your husband looks rather taken aback by the question, so you’re not surprised by his answer.

“No,” he says quickly, “not at all. I’m not good, and I don’t like it.”

His answer deals you a crushing blow, and you settle your hands in your lap a bit solemnly. “Oh,” you say softly, trying to hide your sadness, “well that’s good to know.”

The look on Kylo’s face changes, becomes more nervous. “But you’re more than welcome to,” he blurts. “I mean, don’t let me hold you back.”

Under different circumstances, you would have been out on the floor already, but you feel obligated to stay with your husband. This is your wedding, after all.

“Are you sure? I feel bad leaving you here by yourself,” you tell Kylo, but you’re already itching to join in the fray.

“Please,” Kylo affirms, and with that, you’re up and out of your seat.

Joon, Helda, and Lydia squeal when you find them out on the floor, all of them crushing you into a big hug all at once. It’s hard to hear them over the noise, but you manage to catch all of the compliments that they throw your way before the lot of you go galivanting across the dancefloor, twirling and spinning and jumping and holding hands with one another.

After a few songs, a young officer cuts in, asking shyly if Helda would like to dance. She accepts, and just as she goes to leave, Joon’s boyfriend comes and whisks her away as well. You and Lydia stand to the side of all the dancers now, panting and grinning, flushed with joy.

“Let’s get some air,” Lydia suggests, red in the face. Sweat beads at her hairline, and you’re sure that you’re in a similar state.

“And some water,” you add. Lydia nods in agreement, and then you’re turning around, trying to meet your husband’s eye. Your heart jumps a bit when you see that he’s already looking at you, but you don’t say anything, merely throwing your head Lydia’s way and pointing towards the doors that lead outside. He seems to understand what you mean, nodding calmly. You flash him a smile, and though Kylo doesn’t return the gesture, you like to think that you see softness in his eyes.

Someone’s taken the liberty of placing lights outside so that your wedding guests may enjoy the beach, even under the cover of darkness. You and Lydia manage to slip away from the crowd, glasses of water in hand as you traipse across the sand. As you move farther and farther away from the resort, everything grows darker, your path mostly lit by moonlight now.

“The Supreme Leader thinks that you make quite the pretty picture,” Lydia says to you, a fistful of her dress clutched in one hand. You roll your eyes at that, but you’re glad that it’s too dim for her to see you blushing.

“I would like to think so,” you murmur, thinking of how your husband looked at you as he gave his pre-dinner speech,

“Oh, you don’t have to think,” Lydia teases, “because I know for sure. He’s been staring at you all night long.”

The idea of that pleases you, but you try not to let it go to your head, giving Lydia a little shove as she laughs at you.

“I’m just saying that I don’t think you’ll have any trouble endearing yourself to him,” she says, still grinning. “He seems to think a lot of you already.”

“I know.” You’re still murmuring, shy under Lydia’s suggestions.

After a few seconds of companionable silence, Lydia suddenly stops short, turning to look at you. She’s thrown into shadow, almost featureless under the light of the moon, and the way she’s holding herself is strange. Before you can ask her what’s wrong, she speaks.

“Still, it’s not too late to back out,” your friend states. Only now do you realize how far away you are from the resort, how alone the both of you are.

You stare at her for a moment, raising your chin appraisingly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Lydia says, taking a step closer, “that this stretch of beach goes all out to a bit of untamed, uninhabited land. If we kept walking, it would take some time before someone came looking for us. We could be anywhere by then.”

Coming from anyone else, her suggestion would be appalling. But this is Lydia, and you know what happened to her when she got married.

“I’ll be just fine, Lydia,” you say quickly, reaching out to caress her arm. “Thank you. Thank you for thinking of me like that. Thank you for being willing to stick your neck out. But you don’t have to. I can handle myself. I’m going to be okay, I promise.”

And really, you think that you will be. The Supreme Leader does not seem so terrible, and you feel like you could figure all of this out if you try hard enough.

Lydia gazes at you for a moment, and then she reaches out to squeeze your hand. “If you ever want to leave, all you have to do is contact me. I’ll figure out a way to rescue you, no matter where you are or who you’re with. I’m not afraid of any of those people.”

Your friend could be executed for treason if anyone heard her talking like this. You cannot believe how fortunate you are to have someone that loves you so much.

“I’ll be fine,” you reiterate, squeezing Lydia’s hand even harder than she squeezed yours.

---

Back inside, you say goodbye to your friends. It’s bittersweet, exchanging hugs with all of them, aware that you won’t be seeing them for quite some time. But, none of you cry to blatantly in front of the other guests, so you consider the whole thing a success.

You go back to your husband, plopping down into your chair tiredly. Your feet ache, and wisps of hair have come loose form your updo.

“Did you enjoy dancing?” Kylo asks you lightly, eyes flitting to where your hand tucks a piece of your hair back into place. You smile weakly but brightly.

“Oh yes,” you say, laughing airily. “I’m exhausted now, though.”

“If you’re tired, I can have a group of guards take you back to the ship,” Kylo offers, and you cannot help but feel that he’s nervous to be speaking to you like this. His gloved hands fidget, eyes darting away from your face for just a moment.

You’re taken aback by this, having not thought of your wedding night for hours now. Though your initial impulse is to decline, you see that it’s growing late. You have to do this eventually, you know that, so you might as well rip the bandage off now.

“Yes,” you say, “that would be all right with me. Are you coming along as well, or…?”

“No,” Kylo says quickly, folding his hands in his lap. “I thought you would like a moment to yourself. You can go now, and I’ll follow shortly.”

You only nod at that, but you’re glad to see that Kylo’s feeling just as shy about all of this. Still, he steels expression as he motions to two imperial guards, blunt and commanding as he orders them to take you to your transport vessel. The two guards do so wordlessly, not speaking to you or even to the Supreme Leader as they escort you out of the room.

You’re loaded onto a small, light aircraft manned by only a single pilot. The guards climb aboard as well, sitting across from you with their weapons at the ready. You get the feeling that they’re there to protect you more than they are to intimidate you, but you find them off-putting anyway. You’ve always known stormtroopers to be friendly and sociable, but you assume that members of the Imperial Guard are held to a higher standard, that they’re people of a different breed. Still, you think that they could stand to say or do something to make them seem a bit more human.

The Supremacy is the biggest craft you’ve ever seen, a virtual city floating out in the blackness of space. As your vessel lands on one of the ship’s many decks, you wonder how you’ll ever find your way around this place, already panicked by the notion of getting lost onboard. Still, you try to keep your cool as you disembark, thanking your pilot and the guards graciously.

A small party is waiting for you upon landing, just a couple of stormtroopers and a woman who displays no insignia or rank of any kind. She’s older, old enough to be someone’s mother, and she wears her graying hair in a tight, slick knot at the nape of her neck. Dressed in shapeless black clothing, one might find this woman unremarkable at first glance.

“Empress,” she says, curtsying deeply. The stormtroopers also bow, acknowledging your arrival. “My name is Miriam. I am here to serve you.”

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fanfiction #star wars #star wars imagine #ame #my writing

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release-the-sheep · 5 years

Text

Thanks to @curriebelle for the prompt, "masquerade ball". I did a bit of research for historical accuracy and proper Venetian-ness, but I make no promises. Also, there's a bit of Italian throughout this that I didn't bother to footnote, so you may want to have google translate open, or you could guess, you'll probably be fine, it's not very involved.

Venice, 1724

Ah, there he is.

A bit on the nose, perhaps, the devilish red Volto-style mask, complete with sculpted horns, but then Crowley has never been all that subtle. It's been said that Carnevale is where people show their deepest, truest selves, hearts on sleeves and all the rest of it. A shame, Aziraphale thinks, that humans need the security of a mask to hide behind before they'll let themselves be truly free. A shame, but entirely understandable to Aziraphale. Humanity is often cowardly when it comes to profound emotion, and he can certainly relate.

Which is why it has been nigh on a half hour since he showed his invitation at the door - addressed only to Il Putto in a quirk of charming and enticing secretiveness - and he has yet to take a single step forward since noticing Il Diavolo. Well, in all honesty, "noticing" was probably not the best word for it. He had been fairly struck by the sight of Crowley in his crisp red velvet coat with its black brocade and gleaming gold buttons, vest and breeches in sleek black silk, a jaunty but elegant black tricorne hat adorned with a plump red feather perched on his head, and the look finished with frankly outrageous varnished red shoes with massive gilded buckles. The vision had rooted Aziraphale to the spot. Ever the flash bastard, was his... counterpart. A waiter had soon come by with a tray of drinks, to which Aziraphale had almost unknowingly helped himself, and he had been standing there ever since, sipping from it and watching Crowley prance and twirl from dance partner to dance partner, temptation to temptation. The latest song ends and the dashing demon bows low to his latest conquest, snapping up at the waist just as the musicians lift their bows from their instruments in unison, before removing himself to the edge of the dancefloor and disappearing among the crowd of revellers.

Aziraphale's corporeal feet suddenly remember how to move and begin to carry him through the crowd, not toward Crowley, heavens no, but to somewhere he can hope to catch another glimpse of that impressive red mask, the bob of a scarlet feather. It seems the feet in question had grown restless during his prolonged motionlessness, and they pull him along rather more zealously than the rest of his body can handle. It is only a matter of a few steps before he tumbles headlong into the arms of a fellow partygoer, spilling his white wine and dignity all over the stranger. "Oh dear, terribly sorry- or ah, scusa..." He straightens and brushes himself off, then nearly jumps at the fearsome sight of the Medico della Peste before him. He manages to turn the fright into a respectable chuckle, though, remembering that certain individuals have in recent years taken to making a costume of the plague doctor's dark robes and odd, beaked mask. He had thought it rather tasteless initially, but confronted with one now, close-up, he has to confess that it is rather impressive; dark folds of heavy cloth envelop the man like a panel of thick, black, night sky, a cowl fully covering the head and neck, the odd flat hat and characteristic white beak painting up a singular silhouette. "Ottimo costume, signore," he says, remembering his Italian. A terse nod from the other, and silence. "Ah, where are my manners, I've spilt your drink, too. Cameriere!"

Crowley is stunned.

He had come here off-duty, with no intention of inciting, aiding, or abetting any sort of sin, for a few reasons. Firstly, humans were rather good at doing all that themselves without him; doubly so with alcohol present, triply or more from behind the anonymity of masks. Secondly, while temptation could be fun, it had been a long year of wiling and he was uncharacteristically tired. Wiled-out. Wild-through. Wiled-thin (and if there was more to it than that, if it had been an awfully long time since two adversaries met on a misty battlefield and talked about war and peace and the fomenting thereof, and if he was starting to feel the weight of those years empty of a particular bright smile and endearingly questioning eyes, well he certainly wasn't going to admit it).

The third reason was that it was Carnevale, da- bless it, and if no one else had to work for these few merry weeks, then he certainly wasn't going to. That was just basic sloth, that. Straight out of Sin 101. Besides, Crowley rather enjoys simply watching people, and there are many to watch here in this city, at this time of year. He likes posting up in the corner of a crowded room and letting the full spectacle of human virtue and vice and everything in between unfold before him, as dramatically or discreetly as it pleases. There has always been something fascinating about humans, Crowley thinks. They are clever things. Ruthless and tender, full of contrasts. They never fail to put on an entertaining show, and now they are even dressed as performers.

This is why he had pulled the great black cloak on, donned the pointed mask, miracled up a party invitation for Il Dottore Peste and set up camp here in the shadows at the edge of the ballroom, where he can see widely without needing to be seen - though he is utterly unrecognizable in the doctor's guise. He likes this costume. It amuses him, somewhat morbidly. Humans had started to wear it to remind themselves that life was short, a message which fit seamlessly into the spirit of Carnevale. Crowley rather enjoys the irony of an eternal being walking around dressed in memento mori. Besides, it is warm. He is cold-blooded, and it is impossible to escape the way wind comes up off the water and snakes its way into your bones here, in this city of waterways. It is December for Hell's sake, he isn't about to go skipping about without a sturdy outer layer on.

So he had prepared, in a manner of speaking. But not for this. He had not prepared for Aziraphale to be there, let alone for the blasted angel to trip and fall literally into his arms like some tragicomedic heroine. And yet there he was, all wrapped up in soft pinks and blues, and a generous helping of cloud-white in the form of a flowing cravat and dainty tricorne. A white-feathered Colombina half-mask, too, which left his round little apple-red cheeks and soft-lipped pink mouth unhidden. Absolutely bloody cherubic.

Crowley had frozen in place at the sound of the familiar mortified voice, the scrambled apology threaded through two languages and pulled taut by fretting hands. Crowley had just had the time to blink a couple of times and ensure that he wasn't hallucinating when Aziraphale swept back around to face him again, brandishing two fresh glasses of wine, one of which he places in Crowley's gloved hand.

"There you are my dear fellow! Ancora scusa."

And with that he's gone, tottering off between the fine suits and frilly dresses, neck craned toward the dancefloor. Crowley's mouth opens behind the plague mask, then shuts. He didn't know it was me. He slumps back into the plush upholstery of the seat he's claimed, sprawls out over it as is his custom. Of course Aziraphale didn't recognize him like this. What would there be to recognize? His face? Mask. His hair? Cowl. The shape of his body? Cloak. His voice? He hadn't breathed a word. Crowley grits his teeth and scrunches his face up in a frightful expression of dissatisfaction, which no one sees. This is just as well, because it is entirely inwardly directed. He lets his gaze drift to the dancefloor, where bodies are beginning to gather once again, following the orchestra's quick break. A sea of masks filling up once more, white Bauta and black Moretta, the likenesses of Zanni, Arlecchino, Pantalone, and the rest of the cast of the Comedia dell'arte, old gossips and military captains and monsters and animals and - oh.

There, nearing the very centre of the dancefloor, is a dandy dressed in a vibrant red coat, with a blood-red devil mask to match. He is twirling and peacocking about in front of a row of ladies, an absolutely ridiculous puff of a plume lazily following his movements. What a prick, thinks Crowley bitterly. His eyes trace a line to the other side of the room where a cloud-white hat is poking up eagerly, angled directly toward the detestable man in red. Fuck. Now that will not do.

Aziraphale has finally managed to push to the front of the crowd and get a clear few of the dancefloor. His eyes scan it for a moment before once more alighting on the vivid red shape of Il Diavolo. He jostles slightly, adjusting his position for prime Crowley-viewing, and prepares to drink his fill of the way the demon moves, the way the light plays on his flamboyant clothes. He finds himself wondering how long Crowley had been based in Venice; he seems to have picked up certain Italian idiosyncrasies since they last spoke, little locally inspired changes to his manner, new flutters of his hands. Aziraphale really has been away too long. He sips his wine and watches the show, keeping his hat low as if that would have any effect on Crowley's ability to recognize him should he happen to glance Aziraphale's way. There doesn't seem to be much of a chance of that happening anyway, frankly. Il Diavolo seems determined to dance the night away, and as such is quite distracted with his apparently endless parade of partners. At that thought, Aziraphale notices a suspiciously orderly row of people on the edge of the dancefloor behind Il Diavolo, and is that- it is! He's got them queuing up!

Demonic stamina, he marvels, surreptitiously shaking his head. What if he were to- no, no, certainly not. But after all... why not? It wouldn't be all that difficult to make his way around to the other side of the dancefloor, to join the queue. He'd continue to have a good view and in a while, he could take his own turn dancing with the demon. He wasn't usually one for dancing, but he hadn't known Crowley to be particularly either, and yet there he goes, nimble feet somehow managing not to tangle with those of the handsome Capitano now on his arm. Maybe it isn't so hard, he thinks. What does he have to lose?

He stifles a laugh. He has a great deal to lose. He has... missed Crowley, in a way, and he cannot allow their reunion to be marred by some clumsy, literal misstep. No, it would be foolish. Definitely foolish. He is happy to watch.

Il Diavolo's dance takes him across the dancefloor again, and again Aziraphale finds himself twisting his neck uncomfortably to see him clearly. He starts to shift back again the way he came, toward the silent plague doctor chap in his darkened corner.

Crowley is propulsed out of his seat by the sudden pang of jealousy. And then, as soon as it came, the heat is gone.

What exactly would he have done, he asks himself as he settles yet again in his corner, body melting back against a cushion. Stormed over there and shouted at Aziraphale through the mask, something about "not him, me!", or pulled off his getup in the middle of the party to reveal himself, going against every unwritten code of Carnevale and drawing a mountain of unnecessary attention to the two of them, probably getting them both booted into a canal for the imposition? And even without considering the practical aspects of delivering such a message, what was the point of the message itself? Minutes ago he would have been perfectly content (well not quite, but never mind that) for the entire evening to pass without him seeing head nor tail of Aziraphale, and now here he is, scrambling to make himself known to the angel. What sense does that make?

No, he shall stay here, and let Aziraphale go on thinking whatever he thinks. He considers taking a drink from the glass in his hand, then remembers the mask. Just an accessory, then, this wine. Let Aziraphale have this, he thinks, he's clearly enjoying himself, watching the overstuffed fop put on his show.

It is an easy enough mistake to make, Crowley supposes. He is a bit hurt that Aziraphale could mistake him for such a- pompous, puffed up- arrogant- son of a- ahem. The point is, as much as it may hurt his demonic pride to admit, there could be said to be certain - minor, superficial, and only in a certain light - similarities between himself and the fellow in the red. Crowley knows he can scarcely be counted among the humble, that his style could certainly be described as showy, if not typically colourful, and he can even concede that there is something of his usual temptations in the way the man takes each new partner by the hand, as though he is about to show them a brand new world. But it's exaggerated and crass, almost a caricature of his own way of doing things, and he can't help but feel somewhat miffed in the face of Aziraphale's obsession with the bloke, obvious even from a room away. Or it was- at least, he was-

"You've got a good view of Il Diavolo from here, haven't you old chap? Ah, I mean, come si dice- oh bugger it all, it isn't as though you were much of a conversationalist earlier. I hope you'll excuse me, but the drink is rather impeding my ability to make myself understood in your language, and by no means do I wish to sober up at this time."

Aziraphale drops down into the seat next to Crowley, folding his hands in his lap as he turns his head back toward the blur of red controlling the dancefloor. Crowley forces himself to recover quickly from the minor shock of the angel appearing so suddenly again at his side.

"I know him," Aziraphale says, pointing, a proud little smile on his face. "I've worked with him before. He's a colleague."

Crowley tilts his head in what he hopes looks like an interested gesture.

Il Putto takes the encouragement. "Lovely fellow, really. A bit... stubborn, at times, but quite pleasant, deep down." Aziraphale looks to the dancefloor with wistful watery-blue eyes. "I quite like him."

Behind the safety of the mask, Crowley gulps. Is that so, then? He opens a gloved palm in a curious gesture. Go on.

Aziraphale's cherub cheeks darken further, and he chuckles. "Yes, I rather enjoy his company. It has been some time since we last spoke, and I was happier to see him than I had expected I would be, if you can believe it." At that he flexes one of his doughy hands, toys with a ruffle on his sleeve. "Do you know, I was considering going to line up for a dance with him? That must seem to you an odd thing to do, dancing with a work colleague at a masked ball. I'm not even much of a dancer really. Don't know where the idea came from." His eyes remain fixed ahead for a moment, and then steal sideways, to Crowley, briefly. For a moment Crowley is afraid the gig is up, that Aziraphale has worked it out and that he's going to have some uncomfortable explaining to do. But then he sees something in the heaven-blue eyes, a sort of question, a need for... is it assurance? Permission?

He drops his head to one side, letting the beak of his mask point toward the man in red, still dancing up a storm. Off you go, then.

Aziraphale lights up. "Do you really think so? It's not... silly? Foolish? You don't think he'll laugh?"

Don't push it, Angel, he thinks, but points his beak more sharply toward the dancefloor.

"No, you're right. You're absolutely right. It's Carnevale, after all, no inhibitions, all that business. Thank you my dear fellow!"

Aziraphale bounces off the seat and disappears back into the crowd in a cloud of pink and blue frills and ribbons. As soon as he is gone, Crowley drops his masked face into one gloved hand.

Aziraphale is fairly buzzing with excitement. Here he is, at the edge of the dancefloor, next in line. And there is Crowley, twirling a young woman in a cat mask with his long, strong fingers, scarlet coat swishing behind him. At last, the furiously spinning pair approach the edge of the dancefloor as the music swells to its climax. He dips her on the final, sustained note, then draws her back up, kisses her hand, straightens his cravat and strides toward his next partner.

Which is Aziraphale. Il Putto steps forward, holds out a hand. "Posso avere questa danza?" he asks, and it comes out more sheepish than he intended by half.

"Beninteso," comes the reply and it's... wrong. This warm, rolling bass is not Crowley's. The hand reaching forward to take his is not Crowley's either. The curl of black hair slipping out around one ear and contrasting against the red of the mask is certainly not Crowley's.

Aziraphale stumbles back. "S-sor- ah, scusa," he manages, pulling away from the dancefloor and the stranger and back into the far more comforting press of bodies surrounding it.

Dazed, he makes his way back to where he was last. The plague doctor is still there, holding the same wineglass he was earlier. He welcomes Aziraphale back with a half-nod. For someone whose language Aziraphale hasn't been speaking this entire time, the fellow certainly does a good of job of seeming like he understands. Pretending, perhaps.

"It wasn't him," says Aziraphale quietly, mostly to himself. The plague doctor puts a comforting hand on his back and- Aziraphale tenses. Behind his eyes flash the brown dirt of Mesopotamia, the sands of Judah, the white tiles of Rome, the misty hills of England. A feeling of calm inspired by the soothing drag of black and red scales over soft skin. That touch... it couldn't be. His nerves calm, sensation returns to his muscles. He turns to face his adversary, his counterpart, his... friend.

There is no one there.

#sorry not sorry #don't you just love unsatisfying endings #good omens #a sheep wrote this #very sorry for the lack of readmore I am on mobile #long post

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smartbutuncertified · 4 years

Note

Supernatural but as DRAGONS

Anon, I just want you to know that this is the best ask that I have ever gotten, and that my not answering it for so long was largely due to my inability to do the awesomeness of this concept justice.

Sam would be a huge dragon, brown and beautiful. He has a long, soft, mane that he tends to as his only vanity. He likes to walk in forests, which weirds out a lot of other dragons. His hoard is largely comprised of books, so he regularly files down his claws in order to ensure he doesn’t damage them. He’s very sociable with humans and other species, further alienating him from his combative family. He has learned to take a humanoid form in order to talk to them more easily and to read their books, but doesn’t allow anyone to know- they would think that the humans were corrupting him. Sam couldn’t really pass for anything but a shifted dragon to others, though. Some of his scales always stick around, as do his pearly horns, and his nails are always a bit clawish.

Dean would be a sleek dragon, all gleaming black lethality. He keeps his mane cropped short for better battle advantage. He polishes his scales, but refuses to admit this to anyone. He’s a bit smaller than Sam, but can bring him down in a sky spar. On the ground, though, Sam has the advantage. Dean hoards whatever he finds fascinating, but also has a secret hoard of mirrors that he uses to make sure that he’s not scuffed anywhere. He regularly teases Sam both about his diligent mane care and his scuffed scales, batting at them to cheerfully add scratches to the mess already there.

Castiel is a storm elemental who can take the form of a dragon, but doesn’t really understand them. He thinks that Dean’s sleek blackness is amazing, like a stormcloud given elegant life. He often lights on nearby mountains to watch Dean run through his flight drills, and has peeked down through the shaft that Dean opened in order to make sure that there was natural light in his mirror hoard. He thinks that Dean is loveliest when he is happy, whether that is fighting or preening, and is confused by the feeling that this stirs. Sam is slightly dull to look at, but Cas loves his sharp wit and the texts on dragons that he allows Cas to study.

Gabriel is the spirit of the sun, bright and glimmering. He lighted on the earth for a bit to talk to the dragon who was always quietly basking in his light, and, to his delight, found that Sam was as bright as Gabriel’s own light. He laughed at one of Gabriel’s jokes, and for a moment, he was sure that he knew how Sam felt under his light. He prefers human form to dragon form, though that may be partially because Sam tends to tuck a protective wing over smaller creatures near him. It’s odd to return to Earth after having fled so far to get away from the fighting of Micheal and Lucifer, the sky and the moon, but every time he doubts, Sam turns his ever changing eyes to him, and Gabriel melts in tenderness.

#sbuficideas #destiel #sabriel #with #DRAGONS

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elysianrey · 5 years

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what could be as lonely as love?

[part two of it’s a slow cinnamon summer. read part 1]

(a/n: Y’ALL. I JUST DELETED THE ORIGINAL POST. I’m so mad at myself... if you liked this or reblogged it sometime yesterday or today...feel free to do it again. The feedback i’ve gotten has honestly been the best. You guys are amazing. I will try to get part 3 up tomorrow. xoxo Content T+)

In the weeks following the secret lake party, Josie decided to throw a small get together at her house for their group of friends. Although Anne did not necessarily consider herself a friend of Josie’s, Ruby had begged and pleaded in the wake of Diana’s absence, especially since Moody was going to be there, and the two had been spending an awful lot of time together. Ruby was convinced that it would only be a matter of days before they officially began courting. Anne could find it within herself to be grateful that Ruby had given up her lifelong pining of Gilbert, however, the reasons why were still not entirely clear to her.

But she knew it had something to do with that night at the lake, where she was beginning to see him as potentially more than a friend. And it frightened her.

Josie spared no expense in ensuring her friends had plates of food and many glasses of punch to help them enjoy the midsummer evening. After one glass, Ruby was giggling uncontrollably at a joke Moody had made and by glass two she was sobbing hysterically at a song he was strumming on his banjo.

This was when she understood exactly just what kind of beverage this punch had in it, and she took it upon herself to drink enough until the movements of her body felt looser and her mind was a little less sad. Marilla trusted her judgement and Anne had grown far wiser when it came to drinking alcohol since the day when Diana and her consumed a whole bottle of raspberry cordial. She smiled reminiscently at the memory as she swirled the orange liquid in her glass and finished the rest with a silent toast to her bosom friend, hoping that she was savoring her time in France.

Deciding she had enough of the girls’ dramatics, Anne slipped outside of the house into the clear, July evening that she was fixed on enjoying properly.

She found herself trailing delightedly through the Pye’s enormous garden, the scent of blooming roses wafting through the twilight air and encompassing her slightly buzzed senses. Giggling lowly, she closed her eyes and attempted to follow the direction of that glorious smell with solely the use of her nose. She reached her arms out to feel for the delicate texture of a petal as she continued further into the maze of tall bushes.

“Where, oh where, are you my lovely friends?” she called out joyfully into the nature surrounding her. For the most part, she was doing well to avoid running into the walls of bushes, but occasionally she walked headlong into one and had to use her vision by slightly squinting open one eye to redirect her path. The several glasses of punch she drank with her classmates seemed to be helping her discover the world in a new light tonight and she could not resist feeling grateful for it.

Eventually, her fingers found the source of her elation, and she knew she had made her discovery when she felt not only the feather-soft, smoothness of rose petals, but also the prickly thorns that accompanied them. Gasping from the slight ache on her pointer finger from the unexpected sharpness, Anne let her eyes drift open fully to appreciate the hundreds of red blooms that lay before her.

“Ah, there you are,” she grinned cheerily, sticking her finger in her mouth to stop the small drop of blood that had formed. “You are especially marvelous tonight with your velvety red petals and deliciously smelling perfume.” She dropped her hand to glide along the tops of the flowers and revelled in their feel.

“Anne?”

The girl heard her name, yet her jubilant ministrations on the rose bushes continued.

“Anne is that you?”

Pausing this time, she turned slowly to face the owner of the curious, low voice. Before her sat Gilbert Blythe, glass of punch in his hand, resting comfortably on an elegant wired bench that was almost humorously too petite for his large, broad form. At this realization, Anne let out an amused laugh, her mind still rather loose from the alcohol she had consumed.

Gilbert’s eyebrow raised in perplexity, his eyes looking bright and content in the dimming evening air. The side of his mouth quirked upwards, revealing half of a smile, as Anne’s laughter began to grow louder and harder until she was clutching her side in a desperate attempt to keep herself from toppling onto the green ground.

“Oh Gilbert,” Anne choked, tears streaming down her cheeks as she choked for air. “I--you--” she attempted again, pushing the falling tendrils of coppery hair back from her face. “That bench you’re sitting on--it looks as it could nearly topple in half at any moment.” If only her brain would have allowed her to consider the words coming out of her mouth…

“Anne Shirely-Cuthbert,” Gilbert chuckled, quite entertained at this girl before him. “Are you calling me fat?” His face broke into a wide, dimpled smile that Anne could not help but saunter toward slightly, her feet moving on their own accord.

“I would never,” she playfully gasped, stopping directly in front of him so that she could get a better look at his dapper features. This was the happiest she had seen him look in a long time, and she wondered if it had anything to do with the drink in his hand. It had certainly aided in lowering her inhibitions. “I am positive that your big ego could do that all on it’s own.”

His face twisted into a mock expression of hurt and Anne’s laughter returned, a melodious tune ringing in his ears. “My ego may never return to the size it once was after a remark like that, Anne,” he grinned, his eyes staring fondly into hers. He brought his glass up to his lips for another sip of his drink.

Anne watched as his lips curled around the rim of the glass, an unwelcome heat forming in the pit of her stomach. These were not details about him she would usually notice and she tried her best to redirect her line of thinking onto something less romantical.

“Do you know what I’ve always wanted to do, Gil? Touch your hair,” she gingerly stated. Great, Anne. That was just the perfectly normal comment to say to someone who was definitely not your romantic partner.

She watched his shoulders tense and the lighthearted expression on his face faltered enough for her to notice. “Anne,” he replied in a tone that denied everything his body had already told her. “How many drinks have you had tonight?”

Anne crossed her arms, irritation building in her chest. For him to think that she needed to be drunk to say something like she wanted to touch his hair. The nerve. “Why is it of your concern? I’ll have you know that I am entirely in control of my thoughts and actions, thank you very much,” came her terse response.

He glanced away from her, not buying into what she had told him, however, he would not dare tell her that for he was a bit tipsy himself.

Anne waited crossly until he finished the drink in his hand, which he was gulping down this time. No longer caring that she would later regret a majority of the choices she was going to make from this point forward, the freckled girl stared boldly at him gulp down his drink, his adam’s apple bobbing, wanting nothing more than to prove him wrong.

The heat in the pit of her stomach had returned, and was growing until she could feel it everywhere. Her whole body was hot and it was all because of him. The handsome boy in front of her with his deep, warm eyes that constantly brought reassurance in her moments of doubt, the spotted beauty marks on his face that she wished to count and connect to form new constellations, and that hair. His dark, wild head of curls that folded in every direction, and had been tempting her to reach out and run her fingers through for weeks now. The jealousy she had felt all because of those water droplets that had clung to it that night.

When he turned his head back toward her, he seemed to pick up on the newfound intensity in her sparkling blue eyes. He rivaled her dark scrutiny with a matching expression of his own.

“So may I?” she asked once again, her chin tilting up to signal that she was not going to relinquish this quest.

“Fine.” His retort was clipped and unfeeling, which left Anne further annoyed that he was acting childish about simply granting her this one wish.

Normally, she was not the selfish type. She was always ready to leave her work at the drop of a hat and run off to help someone in need. But not today. No, in this secluded section of Josie Pye’s garden, filled up on a little too much spiked punch, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was bound and determined to get her way.

She sealed the distance between them, inching forward until her knees brushed against his. Despite the fabric separating them, her skin burned hot enough that she almost stumbled backward. Quickly steadying herself, she reached out a tentative hand that ghosted along the side of his head. Anne was trying her hardest not to look at Gilbert for she had a sinking suspicion that she would know exactly what she would see if she looked into his eyes. Her hand trembled as she moved her fingertips ever so slowly along the tips of his hair.

Then she brought her fingers into his curly locks and he let out a small gasp of pent up air that she feared had come from her mouth instead because as she touched his hair lightly with one hand, her heart nearly exploded out of her chest cavity in trepidation. His silky strands were everything that she imagined and more. It was as if she were running her hands along the tall wildflowers that grew in the fields near Green Gables. She began to lightly twist a finger around a strand and she watched as it coiled gracefully to her request and then bounce back to its original form. However, one hand coursing through his luscious, sleek hair was not enough for her, and Anne raised her other hand to continue her analysis. As that hand landed on his head, Gilbert’s hands were suddenly grabbing ahold of her waist.

Anne immediately froze, her tender exploration coming to a halt as she inhaled sharply at the contact. She looked straight ahead at the green shrubbery before her and her fuzzy brain wondered if he was going to let go. He did not. Yet she would be a liar if she tried to deny that she didn’t enjoy the slight pressure his large hands were currently presenting on her waist. Reluctantly removing her hands from his hair, she brought them down to hover on top of his hands instead, still not meeting his gaze.

That’s when she heard a whisper, barely loud enough for her ears to register, and quite desperate, “Anne.”

And for the second time that evening, the copper-haired girl was selfish and finally gave in to what she wanted, no matter how insane the desire was, her blood pumping furiously throughout her body with courage. Closing her eyes, she swiftly pressed her lips against his, sunbursts of light exploding behind her eyelids. A noise of shock bubbled out of Gilbert’s throat at first, then he was pulling her closer to him and her body was wedged between his legs quite scandalously, but when had she ever been one to care about what society deemed as proper?

Here she was, heatedly kissing the most beautiful boy she had ever met, and he was returning her advances with all of the passion and fervor she had ever dreamed of. His lips were slightly chapped, however they felt nearly as soft as his hair that her fingers had returned to, and when she pulled at it, a low moan reverberated in the back of his throat, and Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was confident that Gilbert Blythe was going to be the reason for her undoing.

Finally pulling back, Gilbert leaned his forehead against hers and looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Anne-girl,” he murmured breathlessly, a hand coming up from her waist and caressing the freckles on her cheek with his knuckles. Anne’s heart soared from hearing his affectionate nickname spoken from his lips in such a delicate manner. “I think you’ve made your point,” he added with a quirk of his lips.

“Hmm...I’m not sure I have,” she teased lightheartedly, tugging again at the dark strands, which prompted Gilbert to go in for another stolen kiss. She ended it quickly though by pulling away from his embrace from where he sat on the bench and taking a distancing set away from him. “We should be getting back to the house. It’s getting late.” Her mind felt like it was becoming clearer. Anne would have tried to walk back by herself, but the game she had made up to find the roses had ultimately left her lost in this garden.

Gilbert could not help hiding the look of disappointment that crossed his face at her abrupt request after the moment they had shared. He rose and offered her his arm, which she accepted graciously with a placid smile, and they started in the direction from which they initially came in silence, neither seeming to know quite what to say.

“If I behaved immodestly--” she blurted out anxiously, keeping her eyes directed toward the ground. Now that the alcohol was wearing off, rational Anne, who knew how to behave in the presence of a boy, a friend, was returning.

The boy walking beside her let out an incredulous huff. “You didn’t Anne and if I did anything to lead you---”

“Absolutely not Gil,” Anne broke in vigorously, lifting her eyes to meet his with a calm assurance. As much as it pained her to say it, she added, “I think I just need some time to think and process some of the events that conspired tonight.”

Gilbert’s voice sounded tight as he hollowly agreed, “Yes, of course.” This did not do much to aid the guilt she felt in the pit of her stomach during the rest of the walk to the house.

He did not say a word and neither did she.

+++++

The journey back to Green Gables with him by her side was just as quiet and tense, which was very unlike them. Usually they talked far beyond their arrival at the front gate of her home, to the point where Marilla was calling for Anne to come inside the house. Tonight, Gilbert gave her a brief ‘Goodnight’ and turned in the opposite direction toward the Blythe Farm. Anne stood at the gate, watching him go until she could no longer see his broad outline, her throat feeling exceptionally dry. Not like when his lips had been dragging along hers only hours prior. She briefly considered shouting out to him and working to talk this whole situation out. Explain that she had wanted it to happen so badly. Yet he had shut himself off to her because she had hurt him by not saying more.

Here it was, the regret. She was a foolish girl, Marilla was right.

Sighing loudly, Anne opened the gate and made her way into Green Gables. She had assured Matthew and Marilla that she would be alright without them waiting up for her tonight so they were fast asleep in their beds.

When she got to her room, she shut the door quietly and flopped down on her bed, biting down on her bottom lip, hard, in an effort to keep the tears welling up in her eyes from spilling. It was no use. All she could picture was Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert. The way his mouth tasted, how he made every nerve in her body act on their own accord, the noises he made because of her.

She knew sleep would be futile tonight.

#anne with an e #awae #shirbert #shirbert ff #anne shirley cuthbert #gilbert blythe #anne x gilbert #anne with an e season 3 #no spoilers here though #i'm an utter idiot #thank you for being gracious #ellie writes

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warriors-windandfireau · 5 years

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Wind and Fire: Into the Wild - Chapter Nineteen

Read on Ao3

Firepaw was woken up early the next day- much earlier than he would have liked, in fact. He instinctively leapt to his paws, his gaze desperately scanning the dark horizon for any signs of potential ShadowClan invaders- why else would he have been woken up so early, during what seemed to be the middle of the night? However, the only things he could see were the stars in the night sky and the sleeping forms of his Clanmates, and he couldn't see or smell any ShadowClan cats.

In the midst of Firepaw's thoughts, he heard a soft yet familiar voice call his name. He spun around, coming face to face with both Greypaw and Onepaw; the former looking like his usual cheery self, and the latter looking not too pleased at being awake at such an early time.

Firepaw snapped out of his initial shock before he quietly blurted out, trying his best not to wake his Clanmates, "What are you two doing up? And were you guys the ones to wake me up?"

"Well, he was," Onepaw said, gesturing to Greypaw, "and he wanted to get you up before telling me anything, apparently."

"Hey, it'll be much easier to tell this to two cats at once," the ThunderClan apprentice chimed in.

"So, what do you need us for?" Firepaw asked, sitting down in front of his two friends.

"I have a plan to defeat ShadowClan."

Firepaw choked. Way to be blunt, Greypaw. Onepaw stared at the grey tom with an expression that seemed to be a combination of both surprise and disbelief. For a moment, hardly any sounds were made, before Onepaw spoke up and broke the silence. "How, exactly? And... why didn't you just wait until the morning and then tell the rest of the Clan?"

Greypaw glanced around at the sleeping forms of the rest of the WindClan cats, before beginning to pad a few paces away from the throng of bodies, beckoning the other two apprentices. “Come on. We don’t want to wake anyone up.”

Firepaw felt a swell of his confusion building. Now Greypaw was acting like this was some sort of top secret mission. Maybe it was some sort of order from Tallstar? Or maybe he was going to bring them to ThunderClan to figure out if Bluestar would help. He sure hoped it was something like the latter.

Once the trio of apprentices were out of earshot of the unconscious cats, Onepaw spoke up again. “So, what’s this genius plan of yours?” The brown tom appeared to still be irritable.

Greypaw, however, didn’t seem to be fazed by Onepaw’s attitude. “There are some cats willing to help us in defeating ShadowClan. Of course, I don’t expect or want to wipe out the whole Clan, but maybe we could get rid of Brokenstar somehow.”

Onepaw blinked, his brows furrowing. “Wait, ‘some cats’? Does that mean a couple of apprentices from ThunderClan? Please don’t say you think we can take down the most terrifying cat in ShadowClan with some apprentices.”

Firepaw had to admit that he agreed- there was no way they could even make a dent in ShadowClan with a small group of apprentices. They could all be killed.

Greypaw snorted. “Oh come on guys, do you really have that little faith in me? I’m optimistic, but I’m not thick in the head. I did speak to a ThunderClan apprentice before I left, but she agreed to tell Bluestar about our plan to attack soon. I included all the dates and times. She’s actually one of the two cats I told about me rescuing WindClan.”

This time Firepaw spoke up. “And how in StarClan do you know that Bluestar even agreed?”

“Let’s just say I haven’t slept. I met up with her and a couple other cats…” Greypaw responded sheepishly.

Firepaw glanced at Onepaw, feeling unsure about the whole plan. They were relying completely on this friend that Greypaw had- what if she got the details mixed up? What if Bluestar had changed her mind? But then again, Firepaw did feel eager to get revenge on ShadowClan. But his doubt might outweigh this feeling.

"So... I'm assuming you want us to help you with this as well?" Firepaw asked.

“Precisely. Now you’re getting it!” Greypaw seemed to brighten up a little, looking back and forth between Onepaw and Firepaw with an enthusiastic expression.

Naturally, the two WindClan apprentices were still doubtful. “Are we positive that this apprentice got the details through clearly?” Firepaw meowed, brows furrowed.

“Yes, of course. I went over the details again when we met up earlier to be positive she got the right ones through. Bluestar, and presumably some others, will be aiding us in an attack against ShadowClan’s camp. We need all the help possible. And even if you refuse to go, I’ll go alone.”

Firepaw nodded. He should’ve expected that Greypaw wouldn’t be negotiated into not going. “Alright… but if we don’t meet up with this help you’re talking about, then we’re leaving. Even you. I’ll drag you by the scruff if I have to.”

Greypaw seemed to perk up at Firepaw’s words, but then turned his attention to Onepaw, who had been quiet for a bit.

The brown tom in question turned to look at Firepaw. “You’re going, huh?” He hummed, “Well, I know I’ll regret it later if I refuse. I’ll go.” Onepaw smiled slightly at the two.

Greypaw’s eyes shined with excitement. “Wow. I didn’t actually expect to get both of you along. We should get going, then.”

The two WindClan apprentices nodded, and the three began to head further and further from the shelter that the nervous WindClan warriors had set up.

As the trio headed further and further through the large territory that was WindClan’s, Firepaw began to realize that they were heading towards Fourtrees. He supposed it made sense- maybe it was so they could meet up with some of Greypaw’s ‘friends’ that he mentioned.

As they continued, Firepaw sensed a faint trace of fear from Onepaw, the smell he had gotten so used to in the last two moons in his Clan. It was to be expected- they were going to run into a battle in the very near future where the other side was willing to slaughter them if given the chance.

However, Firepaw didn’t have too much time to dwell on this fact, as they soon reached Fourtrees as he had expected. It was how he had remembered- four tall, towering trees that nearly resembled mountains, and a large rock that the leaders would normally be seated on during a full moon. But now the place was vacant of any cats other than the three apprentices- or what seemed to be only them.

"You're finally here!" A new voice rang out throughout the clearing, one that Firepaw hadn't heard before, and as he tasted the air for scents, he deduced that this fourth cat was from RiverClan. Is this one of Greypaw's friends that he brought along?

Greypaw purred cheerfully. “Here I am, yes! And I brought company!” The grey tom headed towards the RiverClan molly, beckoning for the two WindClan apprentices to follow him.

“Er- hello. I wasn’t aware that Greypaw had friends in RiverClan. I’m Firepaw.” The orange tabby introduced himself, nodding to the molly.

“And I’m Onepaw. You are…?” Onepaw tilted his head.

“Her name’s Silverpaw!” Greypaw chirped before Silverpaw could get a chance to speak, signalling towards the molly in question as he spoke.

“Yes, well, ‘friend’ singular. We met about a moon ago. Have been chatting since. I assume that you can keep a secret?” Silverpaw inquired, a glint of threat in her eyes, as if saying, ‘I dare you to say you’ll tell someone.’

Onepaw seemed oblivious to this. “Well, of course we can. Tallstar has no clue we’re doing this!” Onepaw paused. “Oh. That probably isn’t good. He’ll be furious.”

“Tallstar will be furious? Oh, you have no idea how angry my father will be.” Silverpaw chuckled, the threat gone from her expression.

“Angry responses aside, we should probably get some sleep now- we’re gonna be attacking with some ThunderClan cats in the morning.” Greypaw explained. Firepaw felt somewhat thankful- he had expected they’d be attacking at night. He supposed it was understandable though, as they'd be able to see much better with the daylight.

“Oh, goodie. You’re still not forgiven for waking me up so rudely,” Onepaw joked, before nodding. “I’ll go find a place to rest.”

Firepaw nodded, turning so he could follow Onepaw. As he did so, he glanced at his friend.

“Do you think this’ll work?” Firepaw muttered under his breath.

Onepaw didn’t turn when he responded. “I sure hope so.”

---

All the apprentices woke up the following morning in various ways- once again, Firepaw was nudged awake, although this time it wasn’t from Greypaw, and rather the silver molly he had met last night- yes, her name had been Silverpaw, he remembered.

As Firepaw got up, all the memories of last night rushed to him. Now the sky, although not completely blue, was much brighter. In the new light, Firepaw could clearly see Silverpaw.

The RiverClan molly was a gorgeous silver tabby, with clear blue eyes. Her fur was sleek, and she had a lean, thin frame, and a feeling of elegance to her movement.

Other than Silverpaw, Greypaw was also awake. The last sleeping one seemed to be Onepaw, who Silverpaw seemed to be going to wake up as well. Firepaw’s suspicions were confirmed when Silverpaw padded over to the sleeping WindClan apprentice, and nudged him. In response, the brown tom swatted at her, groaning.

Or, at the very least, that was until he seemed to realize what was going on. Onepaw jumped up in alarm, before facing Firepaw.

“Now I remember what we're doing. Why did we agree to this again?” He sniffed.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit too late to ask that. We’re heading into ShadowClan territory. Now,” Silverpaw meowed, flicking her tail towards the direction of ShadowClan’s territory.

Onepaw groaned, and shot a faux-exasperated look to Firepaw, and in turn the orange tabby just rolled his eyes.

Greypaw padded over, ears pricked and eyes shining. He seemed excited, but there was an undertone of nervousness to it all. “Well, let’s get going, guys.”

The apprentices nodded, before beginning to head towards the towering pines that would lead into ShadowClan’s territory.

As they padded along, Onepaw spoke up. “So, I assume that ThunderClan’s patrol will be further in…?”

Greypaw nodded, not stopping or turning. “Sounds right. As long as everything goes well, we should be able to succeed.”

Onepaw nodded, and the apprentices fell into silence again.

The light soon became duller as the tall pines started to surround them, the sharp needle-like leaves becoming the constant feeling underpaw. The thick scent of ShadowClan enveloped them.

Personally, Firepaw (and seemingly the others judging from their expressions) found the scent somewhat vile. But perhaps it was nature that he was so used to WindClan’s smell.

Firepaw found himself breaking the silence as a thought occurred to him. “Hey, Silverpaw. Why are you even helping? Has Brokenstar even done anything to harm RiverClan?”

A downcast expression fell upon the molly’s face, and she smiled slightly. “My father may be willing to help Brokenstar, but I’m not cruel enough to leave a Clan that suffered because of these cats in a constant state of fear and danger.”

As Firepaw went over what Silverpaw said, he glanced at her. “Your father is Crookedstar?”

She chuckled slightly. “Yep.”

Firepaw nodded, and the group fell back into silence.

As the group kept walking, Firepaw felt something cold hit him. Upon observing his surroundings more, he realized that it was starting to rain, and that it was picking up pretty quickly.

Oh, StarClan, why did today have to be the day we fight ShadowClan? How are we going to be able to fight in such heavy rain?

Despite the weather, the group of four apprentices remained silent as they carried on with their journey, although Firepaw heard a few annoyed and quiet mutters from his companions. No one had interrupted them or stopped them yet, so Firepaw took this as a good sign. It was only when Onepaw let out an alarmed hiss that the orange tabby felt a well of panic in his stomach.

Firepaw followed Onepaw’s gaze, and so did the others, and they all saw someone standing there- a large, shaggy-furred black molly from the looks of her. Firepaw stumbled back, glancing at the others with a worried expression.

Silverpaw seemed to be in a defensive position, eyes slitted. Onepaw’s fur was on edge, and he was looking at Greypaw, who seemed to be surprisingly unsurprised.

“Guys, calm down. It’s just Yellowfang. I didn’t know she was going to help in the patrol… but… here she is.”

#Warrior Cats #Warrior Cats AU #ITWChrono

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buckysforeverprincess · 5 years

Text

What Do You Want From Me? Ch 8

Lance X Reader, Jase x Reader, OFC Claire

Words: 2862

Warnings: Language

A/N: The night of Jase and readers date...what could happen? Enjoy!

You were nervous the entire time you got ready for your date with Jase. The last time you'd been on a real date was three years ago, and that relationship only lasted a few months.

Drew was not a fan of how much time you spent with Lance. Even after explaining how the job was too new to make demands for yourself and telling him you'd negotiate with Lance later, Drew decided later wasn’t soon enough and left just shy of six months. Maybe you should’ve listened to him.

Putting on the finishing touches of your makeup, you looked at your phone to check the time. Jase was picking you up at six thirty, which gave you fifteen minutes to put on the dress and shoes.

There's also a text from Jase telling you he was on his way, and your stomach starts to bubble. How were you going to make it through the night if you couldn't get it together? Hopefully, hanging on the arm of one sexy lawyer you'd like to fuck, will give you a much-needed confidence boost you were looking for. It couldn’t hurt, right?

Pulling yourself from your less than pure thoughts you put on your shoes followed by the dress. You couldn't quite get the zipper up and would need to ask Jase to help when he arrived, but by all accounts, you were ready for the night to begin.

Your thoughts suddenly slipped to Lance. What it would have been like to attend functions like this with him. To get all dressed up and hang on his arm all evening, have him look at you like you were the only thing on his mind. Ugh! Get a grip woman! You're plain, ordinary, ‘average’. Lance Tucker only surrounded himself with gorgeous blonde model types. You'd never be in the same category as the women he shows off. Being plain ordinary sucks.

The knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts and your nerves came creeping back. Don't be nervous, don't be nervous, don't be nervous, you chanted as you made your way to the door. Pausing for just a moment, you took in a deep breath. “You can do this.” You whisper, and you inhaled a deep breath and opened the door.

Greeting you was the most gorgeous man you’ve ever laid eyes on. He was wearing a gray suit with a white button up shirt and black tie. His blonde hair was combed back and looked like there was probably some product keeping it in place. The stubble from your first meeting looks to have grown out some and sat perfectly down his jawline to his chin and joined the mustache on his face, giving him an amazing goatee. Jesus Christ, his blue eyes were making you melt, and he looked and smelled like sex on legs!

Jase looks at you and smiles brightly, “you look absolutely stunning.”

You can't help but blush at his comment, “thank you, but have you seen yourself?! If we weren't going to this event, I'd invite you in and ride you like a horse!” You quickly place your hand over your mouth at the words that voluntarily came out. Holy fuck! You just told him you'd ride him! Who the holy hell are you?! Game over you sex crazed idiot!

Jase laughs at your comment. “As much as I want you to hop on that saddle and ride me till morning, I believe I promised you a date, and you agreed to accompany me on said date. Besides, I'm a very territorial guy. I want everyone to see the beautiful woman on my arm…let them have a taste of what they can't have. I fully intend to show you off this evening.”

You inhale a deep breath and slowly let it out. His words lit a fire deep inside you. This man was everything you wanted, and desired, and was practically staking his claim to you. All you had to do was grab hold and never let go.

“I just need to grab my coat and wallet. Oh, could you zip me up, please?” You turn your back to him.

“I'd love to.” He replies, and places one hand on your hip, and the other finds the zipper. Jase is moving it up slowly, like he's appreciating the view. Once he reaches the top, he moves your hair to the side and places a kiss on the back of your neck. A chill runs through your body, and you are so close to just saying ‘fuck all’ and take him back to your bedroom to make good on that ride!

You turn around to face him, and he's staring at you with lust blow eyes.

“If we don't leave now, I'll probably ruin that amazing dress of yours, and it would be a shame to do so without getting to enjoy it first.” His voice has lowered an octave and is mind blowingly sex filled.

“Let's go now!” You grab your coat and brown checkered Louis Vuitton Croisette Wallet with chain (the only thing Lance bought you the entire time you've worked for him) and walked out the door.

Arriving at the event was nothing you've ever experienced before. The building itself looked as though it were hosting a Hollywood premiere; spotlights flashing, and red carpet leading to the entrance. Valet! There was a valet, and they were helping you to get out of the car, while your date traded his keys for a ticket to be turned back in when it was time to leave.

“Shall we?” Jase asks, holding out his arm to you with a smile.

“We shall.” You wrap your arm through his, and the two of you walk inside.

Everything is so intimidating, and your nerves were starting to take control. All the women you saw were so intimidatingly beautiful, you knew you were out of your depth. Their dresses were either sleek and form fitting, or elegant but lacy. For a moment you felt underdressed, and the words ‘average’ squeaked back into your head.

Jase sensing your unease, pulled you in closer to whisper in your ear. “I can assure you, you're the most beautiful woman in this room, and plenty of them are more intimidated by your beauty than you are of theirs. Relax. Now let me show you off!” And he places a soft kiss to your temple. The gesture so intimate, so loving. God, this man is absolutely perfect!

As promised, Jase led you around the event, introducing you to everyone he knew. The governor's wife was impressed by your politeness and wit, offering Jase an approval of his choice in women. “I’m absolutely delighted with her! She has such a classic beauty, which means her beauty is true, not bought or plastic like everyone else in this room. I hope you plan on keeping her Jase…you won't do any better!”

He laughs at the woman's brashness, “of course Aunt Jane. I have no intention of letting her go!”

You were absolutely smitten by this man. When he wasn't introducing you, his attention was only directed to you. Walking around, your arms were linked, or he was holding your hand, and when you were standing still his hand was always on your lower back. It made you feel wanted… admired. This man was showering you with attention after two days. Lance couldn't do it in three years.

“Hey stranger!” Claire's voice heard above the men talking around you.

“Claire!” You detach yourself from Jase in order to give her a hug.

“Y/N…you look breathtaking! I had to see you for myself…you're quite the talk around here tonight.”

You were quite confused by her statement. Why would anyone talk about you? “Um…why? Why would people talk about me?”

Claire smirks at you like a cunning fox, “you really don't know? I left out the part about Jase being the governors very single nephew. So, when he's seen out with a very beautiful woman, people talk!”

You suddenly felt very sick to your stomach. You had heard the conversation he had with his aunt, but it didn't dawn on you just how much he was in the public eye. Were you only here to provide him cover so all the unwanted women would stay away from him? Would you be a one-night romp, with a walk of shame in your future, never to see him again? Would Jase be another Lance?

“Excuse me Claire.” You say to your best friend, leaving her standing there and making your way through the crowd and into the women's bathroom. Once inside, you lock yourself in a stall and try to clear the thoughts racing through your head.

“Did you see Jase Collins?” You hear a female voice say as she enters the room.

“Who hasn't seen him! The man reeks of sin.” Another woman says happily.

“That poor girl on his arm has no idea what she's in for!” Both women laugh at the same time.

“He's worse than Christian Grey in a fifty shades novel.” They're cackling now.

“She looks like his type; cute, timid, and utterly clueless!” The first woman says. “He'll break her for sure, then he'll be on to the next!” They laugh as they walk out the door.

Jase has a type! Of course, he was too good to be true. No wonder you were the talk of the event. He had a reputation, and they were all intrigued by the appearance of his new potential conquest. God, Y/N! You sure know how to pick ‘em! First Lance the self-proclaimed sex god, and now Jase the master of fuckery! No wonder you're single, you really are pathetic!

You needed to get out of this place and now! Leaving the bathroom is the first step, I'll get my coat and sneak out. What's the worst that can happen?

You wished you hadn't had that inner dialogue in your head. Leaving the bathroom, you realize you weren't paying attention when you run smack dab into the chest and arms of the last man you wanted to see right now. God, you were cursed beyond belief.

“I'm so sorry Ms.! I did- Y/N?” You couldn't even look at him. “Y/N! Are you ok?” He asks, almost sounding concerned.

“I'm fine Lance. Excuse me, I need to go!” You remove yourself from his hold and begin to walk away.

“Wait, please? I'd like to talk to you.”

As if he hadn't said enough already. “Talk to me? What more could you possibly say to someone ‘average’? I mean, didn't you just ‘do me a favor’? You're probably jeopardizing your career just being seen with me right now!” You're yelling at him. It's not a full-blown yell, but it’s enough to catch a few people looking your way.

“I'm sorry. Some of the things I said were cruel and I never should have said them to you.”

You're laughing at him. If being a world class ass hole doesn't work out, maybe he can be a comedian. “Oh, Lance! Did you catch feelings? Oh, sweetie. Feelings don't feel very good, do they? You just want to get rid of them, don't you? Never see the bad feelings again, huh?” You say to him in your best condescending five-year-old voice.

Lance tightens his face and you can see he's pissed off. Good! Fucker needs a dose of his own medicine.

“Y/N this isn't funny! Stop playing around and be serious!” He reprimands you like a petulant child.

“Ok, Lance…,” you calm yourself down and take a deep breath in, “let's talk.”

“Thank you.” Lance swallows hard before he begins. “God, you’re absolutely breathtaking!” You give him a hard glare. “I'm sorry, it's just...I can't think...you're so beautiful...fuck, I'm screwing this up, ok. I'd really like to sit down and talk to you somewhere that isn't here.” He almost sounds sincere.

“Like your bed?” You raise an eyebrow to him.

“Bed is nice, we can get there-”

You don't allow him to finish his sentence, smacking his face with all the strength you can muster. “Listen up asshole! I've put up with your shit for too long and I won't do it any longer! Lance Tucker doesn't have feelings, and sure as hell doesn't sleep with the same person twice! Your entire life is a shitshow! Women throw themselves at you, and for what? Just to be treated like garbage the next day when you throw them out! You are a selfish, arrogant, cockwaffle that only cares about himself and his own ridiculous needs, and damn everyone else if you get too close! You've fucked with my life for the last time Tucker. I hope you die alone, holding your broken, useless, disease ridden cock for comfort!”

Never in the three years you've worked for him have you seen him speechless. This was a first. He looked everywhere but at you, and almost appeared like he was hurt by what you said. They say the truth hurts, so maybe Lance finally heard how badly his own actions affected everyone else.

“I was in love with you…but all that got me was one good fuck, and a broken heart. Good job, Lance! You get a gold medal in heartbreak!” Lance closes his eyes and bites his lower lip in frustration. He knows it's over. Everything he wanted is gone.

“Y/N, I've been looking all over for you…everything alright?” Jase comes up behind you from the main hall entrance.

“Sorry, I went to the bathroom and then ran into someone.”

Jase is now eyeing Lance. “Did you want to leave? We don't have to stay?” Jase looks like he's trying to get you away from Lance, sensing something off between the two of you.

“I don't think we've met, Lance Tucker.” The first thing he has to say is that? Are you shitting me right now? Oh, the balls on you asshole!

“Charmed.” Jase gives him a dismissive look, then turns to face you. “Let me grab your coat and I'll take you home.” He gives you a loving smile.

Jase turns back around and sees Lance still standing there, glaring at him. “You still here? Is there something I can help you with?” Jase asks Lance, hoping he'd get the hint and walk away.

“Yeah, there is. I'd appreciate it if you'd walk away and let me take her home.”

Oh, hell no! There's no fucking way in hell I’m leaving with him.

“Clearly your need some kind of mental help if you think I'm leaving here without my date. I don't even know who you are!” Jase tells him matter of fact like. Burn, Lance! Burn!

“If you must know...I'm the last guy she slept with!” Lance’s reply is full of arrogance.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Lance Tucker we all know has finally entered the building!

Jase doesn't seem bothered by his announcement and begins to chuckle. “You hold tight to that memory...I guarantee you won't be the next.”

Check and mate folks! Mr. Collins wins this match.

“Look, asshole! I don't know who you are, but I'm trying to have a conversation with my future wife!” Lance yells at Jase.

You’re stunned by this revelation and can only watch what's going on in front of you. You need a bucket of popcorn for this shit, maybe even some tea.

Jase starts to laugh, and Lance looks even more passed off. “Future wife? Well, Larry…just so we're clear...I'm going to take your ‘future wife’ home. Once we get there, I plan to put her down on all fours, naked as the day she was born. I fully intend on smacking her ass raw until she begs me to fuck her into oblivion, with the strength and might of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. And right before she cums, I’m going to make her scream my name so loud, you'll feel it on your wedding day. Bet you'll never forget my name, huh Luke?”

For the second-time folks, Larry, Luke, no Lance is speechless!

“Now if you'll excuse us, I'd like to take my lovely lady home. Your presence seems to have exhausted her and I'd like to get you off her mind. Have a good night!” Jase places his hand on your back and the both of you walk towards the coat check. Fuck my life he just dominated Lance Tucker. Epic!!!

In a matter of minutes, Jase has managed to not only dismiss Lance, but totally decimate his over inflated ego. You've never seen anyone handle Lance like that before. Good this man is good, and you totally forgot what had happened earlier in the bathroom.

Leaving the building, you never took one look back in Lance’s direction, but you knew he was watching, the jealous rage building inside.

And just as Lance was watching you, someone was watching him. They couldn't help the elation they had at how things turned out for Lance. It was finally time he got what he deserved. As long as Y/N moved closer to Jase, Lance’s world would come tumbling down around him. Revenge never felt so good.

#lance tucker #lance tucker x reader #lance the fucker tucker #lance tucker fanfiction #the bronze au #the bronze #pa!reader

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takaraphoenix · 6 years

Note

Malace for “Baby, I’m scared.” - “You don’t have to be; not as long as I’m here.”

Jace tilted his head as he wandered the loft.

He had been staying here for two weeks now. The tall, dark, handsome one, the Shadowhunter, he had brought him here. Had said he wanted to protect Jace. Not that Jace was used to that. But he said, if the Clave knew that Valentine had been experimenting on a merman, then Jace would only be poked and prodded more.

They had released most captives. The warlocks and werewolves. Not Jace though. Because Jace had been raised by Valentine. He could not just be released to the sea, he had no idea how it even worked. And if the Clave learned of him, they would want to see what exactly Valentine achieved.

So the tall, dark, handsome one’s mate – tall, dark, gorgeous warlock – had suggested to take him in for a while. To learn more about Jace, see if they could help him.

It had been two weeks and neither of them had hurt Jace.

They were kind. The tall, dark, handsome one was called Alec. The tall, dark, gorgeous one was called Magnus. And both of them were kind to Jace.

Jace wasn’t used to experiencing kindness.

Magnus had created a very large tank. Larger than the one Valentine had kept him in on board of the ship. Before that, at the mansion, Jace had had more… freedom. Or more allusion to freedom at least. Valentine had always tricked Jace into thinking he was a good man, somehow. That Jace could be grateful to be with Valentine.

Magnus had made him a very pretty tank and Jace could freely flap his tail, swim around. Alec would always stand in the doorway, watching him in awe. Jace was pretty sure that the Shadowhunter was fascinated by Jace’s tail.

It was a very impressive tail, if he may say so himself. Strong, golden, with long fins.

“What are you going to do with me?”, asked Jace.

Alec yelped in surprise. He was sitting on the couch, had thought he was alone. When he turned around, his eyes widened and his cheeks heated up.

Jace. Walking. On two legs. Also, Jace naked.

Jace tilted his head, running his fingers over everything they could touch as he walked around the living room, looking at all the curious items Magnus owned.

“I… I… you… you…”, muttered Alec, brain not entirely up to speed.

Jace was naked. His muscular back was facing Alec - and so was his heart-shaped, firm-looking ass. Alec didn’t mean to stare, but he couldn’t help it.

Jace turned toward him, tilting his head in the other direction, looking confused.

And still being very much naked.

“What?”, asked Jace confused, fidgeting with Alec’s stele curiously.

“You’re naked”, pointed Alec out, gesturing toward Jace’s crotch and blushing brightly.

Jace blinked a couple of times and looked down. “Yeah, this is really… annoying. How do you walk? All that… dangling between the legs is super uncomfortable and awkward.”

Alec groaned and covered his face with his hands when Jace planted his feet apart and shook his hips, watching his own cock in frustration. This merman was going to kill Alec. Like Jace had not been temptation enough with that beautiful golden tail of his, long and sleek and elegant, muscular, well-defined chest and golden-blonde hair on his head to match his tail.

“Part of me is really tempted to ask, but the decent part of me…”, muttered Alec beneath his breath.

“It retreats”, offered Jace, one eyebrow raised. “And only extends when needed. Human design is very highly impractical. It’s… so soft and it leaves you really vulnerable, you know. Super impractical. And it really makes walking harder than it has to be.”

Alec shook his head, taking deep breaths and trying not to look directly at Jace. Thankfully, he was saved by Magnus walking into the living room. The warlock had still been asleep, which was why Alec had been so surprised to hear anyone sneaking up on him in the living room. Magnus was not usually one to get up early, at least not willingly so. And he didn’t look willing now either, a glare on his face, as though he was ready to give Alec a piece of his mind about being so loud in the morning. Though the chiding seemed forgotten and his annoyance was replaced with surprise when he laid eyes on Jace. Magnus stared, for a couple long moments.

“Don’t tell me a sea-witch came and stole his pretty voice”, mused Magnus with a frown.

While Alec snorted in amusement, Jace just looked at the warlock with a blank face. “What?”

Chuckling, Magnus shook his head and stepped up to the merman. “Never mind, sweetheart. Here.”

Magnus shed his fancy morning robe and laid it around Jace’s shoulders, leaving Magnus in his boxers and Alec’s shirt. Alec knew that Magnus mainly owned the fancy robes to cover up that he actually enjoyed casual clothes too at home, so in case of uninvited early or late visitors, he could throw on one of his robes and look as fancy as he did during official hours. Alec found it kind of cute. He also found Magnus wearing Alec’s clothes cute. And, apparently, Jace wearing Magnus’, because the blonde merman wearing the purple silken robes where the sleeves nearly covered his finger-tips was absolutely endearing. Especially when Jace tilted his head in confusion.

“Sweetheart, humans don’t walk around naked”, chuckled Magnus as he tied the robes. “You know that. You’ve been around Valentine and his underlings and captives.”

“Well. Yes. But… I don’t wear clothes”, frowned Jace uncomfortably, shifting around.

“But you can’t walk around naked either”, chuckled Magnus fondly. “Now come, sit.”

He navigated Jace to sit next to Alec on the couch, while Jace was still fidgeting with the robes, clearly feeling confined and uncomfortable in them. Which was probably understandable, considering he had never worn clothes before. Alec’s face was still red.

“You normally also don’t have legs”, muttered Alec after a moment. “I mean, how-”

“Fath… Valentine”, offered Jace with a shrug, tilting his head. “Magic. Warlocks.”

“Fascinating”, whispered Magnus curiously, staring at Jace’s legs.

“I have to return to salt-water. But I can stay outside for… a while”, shrugged Jace. “And I wanted to talk to you. But waiting for one of you to come to my room is frustrating. So… I came to you.”

“Which you haven’t done before”, noted Magnus, still staring at the blonde’s feet.

Jace kept wiggling his toes and rotating his feet, swinging his legs back and forth. “Because I didn’t know if I could trust you. You took me home with you but who was to say that you wouldn’t just… do as fa… Valentine has done. Or worse. But it’s been two weeks now and neither of you… has hurt me yet. So… So I don’t think you’re like him.”

“We aren’t”, promised Alec seriously, resting a hand on top of Jace’s and squeezing a little. “We genuinely want to help you. We just… don’t really know how.”

“So I’ll just… live with you until I’m old and gray?”, asked Jace doubtfully.

Magnus laughed at that, patting Jace’s knee. “Well, I thought you could live with us until I manage to get a hold of the mermaid queen and we could get you settled there. But if you can actually… walk on land, that gives us a couple more options. Depending on what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want”, shrugged Jace, frown deepening. “I… never actually had a choice.”

“Well, now you do, sweetheart”, offered Magnus with an encouraging smile. “And you can take as much time as you need. You can stay here and you’ll be safe, as long as you need it.”

Jace tilted his head to look up at Magnus with a small smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome”, replied Magnus. “After all you’ve been through, you deserve some kindness.”

Jace tilted his head doubtfully at that, watching the warlock. He deserved kindness, huh…?

/break\

Alec wasn’t entirely sure what was worse. Having Jace walk around the loft naked in his human form, or having Jace swim around his tank in his room, with that beautiful golden-finned and scaled tale. He was absolutely gorgeous either way.

Alec stood with with his arms crossed, leaning against the door-frame and watching Jace. Magnus’ magic had allowed them a large tank inside the loft, easily the size of two rooms, with the glass-wall nearly all the way to the ceiling and a ladder leaning against it. It was nicely decorated (though Magnus being Magnus, he could not hold back on some teasing little additions one would find in a regular-sized fish tank). Jace seemed to enjoy it well enough. Then again, judging by the bathtub-sized tank Alec and Isabelle had freed Jace from, the boy would be enjoying anything large enough for him to actually swim in. Again, Alec grew angry. Angry that Valentine had abused this beautiful and sweet merman, experimented on him and tormented him since birth.

“You know this isn’t a TV, right?”, whispered Magnus into Alec’s ear.

“Well, the program is very… alluring”, offered Alec with a small grin, tilting his head to kiss Magnus properly. “Hey, babe. You’re home early.”

“Mh”, grinned Magnus, resting his chin on Alec’s shoulder to look at Jace. “You’re right about the program thoguh, it’s… very nice to watch.”

“You know, last week he asked us what will happen with him and… I don’t feel like we have gotten any closer to an answer, mh?”, grunted Alec with a worried frown.

“Not really”, sighed Magnus with a frown. “I hope that we will find something that Jace… enjoys. I don’t mind him staying with us, I rather… like him here, actually. But all he does is swim around or play with the kittens and… everything else in the house.”

“Ye—eah he’s not playing with the cats”, grunted Alec.

“Mh? What does that mean?”, asked Magnus confused.

“…He’s hunting the cats. He thinks we’re keeping… live-stock around”, offered Alec.

“What?”, screeched Magnus appalled.

“Mh? What happened?”, asked Jace surprised, arms folded over the edge of the tank.

“You’re hunting the cats for food?! We have a perfectly fine and perfectly full fridge!”, exclaimed Magnus, staring at the golden-tailed merman.

Jace tilted his head confused, flapping his tail. “But we eat animals. We had pig last night. Deer. Cow. All kinds of fishes. We eat animals I’ve never seen before, but I trust you that we can. So what makes this animal any different than any other animal we eat…? I don’t get it.”

Magnus opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, before he made a completely frustrated sound. “Alexander, do something about the over-sized goldfish! I’m done!”

Blinking slowly, Jace watched the warlock storm off. “I don’t understand what did I do wrong…?”

With a heavy sigh did Alec step up to the tank and gently caress Jace’s cheek. “It’s okay. Just… please don’t try to eat one of the cats. Cats are friends, not food, okay?”

“Mh… Okay”, nodded Jace slowly. “I’m sorry. I just… some things just don’t make sense to me. I lived my life in the basement of father’s laboratory. He only taught me the basic, important things.”

As always, Alec’s eyes softened and there was sorrow in his expression as he looked at Jace. That wasn’t what Jace was aiming for. He didn’t need their pity. He just needed them to understand that he didn’t mean to say or do certain things, he just didn’t know better.

/break\

There was that endearing miserable sound again. Jace grinned, he really enjoyed that sound. And the face Alec made whenever he made said sound. It was cute. And technically, Jace knew he was being mean, or something. But it was so much fun, for one, and for another, he really hated clothes. It was so uncomfortable and the pants were the worst.

“Wha—at are you watching?”, asked Jace and flopped down on the couch, leaning against Alec.

Once more, Alec made that miserable little sound, staring at Jace’s thighs. The Shadowhunter was so adorable, it was ridiculous. Jace really understood why Magnus fell in love with the awkward, tall, yummy Shadowhunter. Then again, Jace also understood why Alec had fallen in love with the gorgeous, tempting, wicked warlock. They were both real catches.

“Uhm… movie”, offered Alec, staring at Jace’s six-pack.

“So much detail. Wow”, chuckled Jace teasingly, snuggling up to the archer.

Reluctantly, Alec laid his arm around Jace’s shoulder and pulled him closer. After grabbing the blanket that was thrown over the backrest of the couch and covering at least Jace’s lower half. There was a limit to how much temptation Alexander Lightwood could endure.

“So, you went out with us a couple of times. How… I mean, do you have any… plans?”, asked Alec carefully after a while, looking down at the golden-blonde head against his chest.

“I don’t know. I mean. Valentine taught me to fight. Wanted me to always be the best. And, I guess, if… there is a place on your team… I’d be useful… or something”, shrugged Jace with a sigh. “I just never… had to think about what I want to do with my life. I never thought I’d be freed.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rush you”, sighed Alec, feeling guilty.

“No. I mean, I get it. I keep imposing on you and your boyfriend”, replied Jace and shook his head.

“You’re not imposing. Magnus said you can stay as long as you need to and we both meant that. You’ve been through hell. You’re safe here”, stated Alec seriously.

Jace hummed and looked up at him from hooded eyes, before yawning. Half an hour later, when Magnus came home, Jace was deep asleep, tucked against Alec. Magnus smiled softly as he saw them. It wasn’t rare; Jace who had spent all of his life raised in isolation was truly touch-starved and after the first time Magnus and Alec invited him into a hug, they noticed, so they offered him cuddles. Gently, Magnus brushed Jace’s hair out of his face and then kissed Alec.

“Our little merman naked again, mh?”, chuckled Magnus amused.

“Ye—es”, groaned Alec frustrated. “I mean, I enjoy that he walks around the apartment and seeks us out, but… I mean, if he keeps walking around naked, I am going to jump him at one point.”

He glared down accusingly at Jace, who was still peacefully asleep. Magnus laughed softly and sat down on Alec’s other side, kissing his boyfriend’s cheek. They had been talking about Jace and the things Jace made them both feel and want.

“I don’t think active service is the right idea for him”, mused Alec. “He’s been a captive, forced to train, all his life. He deserves… peace. He’s been showing a lot of interest in food. Oh, I think he finally understands that cats are not food. That thing had confused him so much that he did a lot of research on food, what to eat and how to prepare it.”

“Cooking, mh?”, mused Magnus with a small smile. “I could talk to Taki. Maybe Jace could start working at the diner. It’ll give him something else to do, aside from being at the loft all day. He’d make his own money, so he doesn’t have to live here. I’m sure he wants his own place.”

“I like living here”, hummed a sleepy voice.

Jace blinked sleepily as he looked up at the couple. Magnus offered him a gentle smile as he cupped the blonde’s cheek. The merman immediately nuzzled into the comforting touch.

“That’s good then, because you can stay here as long as you want”, offered Magnus.

“So… for forever is okay too?”, asked Jace boldly, slowly sitting up more.

“You can’t be happy living in the guest-room forever”, sighed Alec and shook his head. “I know you don’t really want to think about your possibilities, but… you have them now.”

“Yeah, no, I get that”, chucked Jace, slowly pulling himself up more and looking at them both. “I think the whole… working somewhere where I could learn how to really cook, that would be cool, but I want… I want to stay with you. I like the two of you… a… a lot. I want to stay with you. And I… wasn’t just thinking about… staying in the tank. I was thinking about… your… bedroom.”

“Oh. Uhm. Oh”, nodded Alec slowly. “I…”

“You make me feel safe”, admitted Jace, looking first at Alec and Magnus. “And… I… I’ve never actually felt that way before. You helped me. And… I’m scared about the future. About Valentine escaping and coming for me, about not finding my place here. I’m scared.”

“You don’t have to be; not as long as I’m here”, promised Magnus, carefully pulling Jace into a hug so the blonde was essentially sitting on Alec’s lap, who cleared his throat pointedly. “Right. Boyfriend. Sorry. You don’t have to be scared, not as long as we are here.”

“Better”, grunted Alec, rolling his eyes at Magnus.

“That’s it”, stated Jace seriously, resting a hand against Magnus’ chest and one against Alec’s. “I’m scared, but… not when I’m with you. You guys freed me and gave me a home. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and I… I really like you both. I want to be with you both.”

“That… sounds good, doesn’t it, Alexander?”, asked Magnus with a smile, cupping Jace’s cheek.

“Sounds… perfect”, nodded Alec, staring at Jace in awe.

Jace grinned and leaned in to kiss first Magnus and then Alec. Though his kiss with Alec was interrupted when the body in Alec’s lap shifted. Magnus yelped a bit surprised when a fin slapped his arm. Jace laughed, arms around Alec’s neck, holding on so he wouldn’t fall off Alec’s lap.

“Right. Time-limit to being a human”, hummed Magnus, running his fingers over golden scales.

Jace shuddered a little, wrapping his tail around Magnus. The warlock marveled at the beauty of it. Golden scales and fins, strong and long. It fit Jace’s personality though.

“Someone willing to carry me back to my tank?”, asked Jace with a cheeky grin.

“…Somehow I have a feeling that you do have better control of your shift and just enjoy being carried around”, noted Alec dryly and highly unimpressed.

Jace blinked slowly, eyes large, looking at Magnus, who just snorted. “Come here, little merman.”

Jace hummed very pleased as he was picked up bridal-style by the warlock. Alec just blinked slowly as he watched one of his boyfriends carry their other boyfriend off. This was nice. New and nice. He grinned as he got up to follow them to the tank. Once more, he found himself marveling at how beautiful Jace was as he swam. Though then he pulled Magnus along with him, laughing cheekily and Alec found himself half forced to join them. He smiled warmly as he swam with his boyfriends, Jace’s tail gracing them both gently every now and again.

~*~ The End ~*~

Read this here on FFNet & here on AO3

#malace #alec lightwood #magnus bane #jace herondale #shadowhunters #anonymous #phoe's tumblr drabbles #fanfiction #merman jace #OTP: one soul at a time

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shipwreckseemssweet · 6 years

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10 Figure Skating programs I love

With the FS off-season--and all related drama revelations--in full bloom, what better time to look back on beloved programs new and old.

Here are ten outstanding pieces (singles disciplines only) from the last couple of seasons that I managed to find online. I feel a bit guilty about not having put in Marin’s Romeo & Juliet. :(

10. Wakaba Higuchi - Skyfall (FS)

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The best FS performance of the 2018 Worlds! I must admit I wasn’t a big Wakaba fan until this season. In my prejudiced view, I considered her too rough around the edges. Then she rolled out this season’s programs and I was sold. What’s more, she owned her FS - a mix of Bond music including Adele’s Skyfall - more than any other of her competitors. From her sleek dress to her cool final spin, Wakaba makes a case for a Bond girl movie starring her. And if her electrifying performance is any indication, it’ll be one to remember. The choreography unleashes all her power while funneling it in purposeful and creative ways, never letting the tension disperse. The crazy fast 3Lz3T may be her main weapon, but it’s the step sequence that steals the show.

9. Patrick Chan - Dear Prudence/Blackbird (SP)

I couldn’t skip over Patrick, our newly retired King of Skating Skills. Dear Prudence/Blackbird by The Beatles signaled his last great season and a return to form. A very good return, despite his jump ailments. If anyone can measure up to 60s pop rock, it’s Patrick with his effortless, flowing, confident skating. His classic elegance and somewhat old-fashion charm seem to recall a bygone idyllic spring. These are songs about inner awakening and struggles; about finding a place you belong. They seem to reflect Parick’s journey to reinvent himself. At the same time, Dear Prudence is about the beauty of nature: "The sun is up, the sky is blue, it's beautiful,” and it’s the pure feeling of connection to the music that stays with you.

8. Javier Fernandez - Malagueña (SP)

Another great skater on his way out. Coming into Helsinki as the defending World champion, Javier managed to skate this short program cleanly in its two-quad glory. For me this is his finest, most sophisticated SP to date. (I welcome the absence of comical elements.) Certain programs can only be performed to their fullest potential when given another season to grow, and Malagueña is a perfect example. It’s all about getting into character, making every movement count. Obviously, having Javier perform the flamenco - choreographed by a Spanish ballet director - and go the extra mile on every element really adds to the authenticity of the program. His effortless skating is just a rung below Patrick and Yuzuru. This is what an energetic and mesmerizing skate looks like!

7. Mao Asada - Ritual Fire Dance (SP/FS)

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If Mao can’t make you love figure skating nobody can. All my favorite skaters use their bodies as silent musical instruments and Mao is the leader of the pack. Her musicality, arm movements, footwork, versatility, attention to choreography and emotional projection are absolutely unmatched. In what turned out to be her swan song, all her best qualities shine through. Portraying a mysterious black bird, Mao transformed the piano version of Manuel de Falla’s ballet with her charismatic, soft interpretation. Every step and turn, every detail of the performance appears uninhibited yet polished. She has reached a level of fluidity and complexity where jump errors no longer detract from the overall quality. Also, I love the ponytail.

6. Boyang Jin - Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (SP)

Boyang is one of my recent favs despite there being room for growth in his skating and other components. Beyond the excitement of watching a young skater evolve, I think he has great potential in every area and will just get better with time. His jumps are already prodigious, his performances iconic. Underlying this program is the idea to present a more complete (and serious) version of B for the Olympic season as well as blend in Chinese elements. Unfortunately I don’t think he got the recognition he deserved. Infused with the right mix of composure and energy, this is an atmospheric character-based program that wonderfully shows his refinements in interpretation and control of edges. That step sequence is *fire*.

5. Carolina Kostner - Ne Me Quitte Pas (SP)

A very sophisticated and adaptable lady. At 31 and having lived through many system changes, Caro brings new meaning to the word “veteran” in singles skating. She first hopped under the spotlight with her stunning jumps, but stayed on the stage until today thanks to her masterful skating prowess and evolving artistic “voice”. Her effortless glide and changes of speed/direction are done on the deepest of edges; her arms move like a painter’s brush. Every movement of hers is flowing, full of love for what she does. And rather than a competitive spirit, it’s the emotions and experience she brings to her performances that keep her in the sport. As Lori Nichol said, this short program allowed Caro to be the athletic and sensual woman that she is.

4. Yuzuru Hanyu - Ballade No.1 in G minor 3.0 :) (SP)

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Yuzuru knows how to start off the Olympic season with a bang: breaking his own WR in his first performance at the Autumn Classic. A horifically difficult piano composition, Chopin’s Ballade No.1, with its dramatic chords, abstract motifs, dynamic rhythm and interwoven themes running from subtle to stormy, seems to fit our agile FS King like an elegant glove. Over the years, Yuzuru gave us not less than three different and perhaps equally iconic interpretations of Chopin’s favorite music. This particular one is all about the aura and intricate details. Every element is blended with the music. The final jump combo comes out of nowhere. This emotional peak then transitions into the StSq which is majestic in its smoothness; it rumbles and flows together with the fiery chords running down the keyboard. All doubts are resolved yet the mystery persists. Nothing can be added or taken away--this is perfection.

3. Satoko Miyahara - Madame Butterfly & The Planets/Princess Leia (FS)

I adore Satoko’s skating, despite her imperfections (read: jumps). The world needs skaters like her, whose elegance, musical flow, precision, and subtle presentation touch your heart. Her body lines and layback spin are gorgeous; her multidirectional skating effortless. (That reverse Walley into the Salchow!) Satoko is a strong character performer. I loved her Goddess/Princess Leia FS from 2016/17, how original the choreography was and how engaged and fast Satoko seemed. It’s such a difficult piece to skate to yet she managed to showcase different sides to her. This year’s M Butterfly was, given the circumstances, a safer skate, but her emotional projection only increased. Her showing at the JNats was the finest in that regard. Butterfly’s anguish and suicide seem to become Satoko’s own struggle with her injuries. But the piece ends with a spin to the dreamlike yearning of Un bel di vedremo, as if we’re witnessing both Butterfly and Satoko’s rebirth.

2. Kaetlyn Osmond - Edith Piaf (SP)

IMO, to her belong the two best ladies’ performances of the 2018 Olympics. With Edith Piaf Kaetlyn has finally found an iconic short program! You can tell when a skater is truly feeling the music and looking happy while on the ice, and this program has accomplished just that for K. We meet a French young lady, sauntering down the streets of Paris, wanting to be noticed by someone special. Accompanying her is the voice of Edith Piaf, who sings Sous Le Ciel de Paris and Milord. The program has it all: purposeful choreography, powerful skating, sensitive interpretation of music, ease of movement, the speed going into her huge jumps. Her outgoing character just floats up so naturally. Thanks to her charm, K could indeed give Cotillard a run for her money.

1. Yuzuru Hanyu - Hope & Legacy (FS)

During the 2017 Worlds, Max Ambesi proclaimed this as Hanyu’s best skate, and also the best skate in history. I couldn’t agree more, even if everyone has their own favs. It was an inconsistent season before Hanyu had surpassed himself to skate clean a program massive in ambition and complex in expression. It was as if he’d become an ethereal nature spirit. He was the air, wind and water contained within the melody. He made himself appear weightless and effortless on the ice, seemingly not needing any strength to execute any of the elements. A dreamlike aura surrounded him. I just love how the program highlights his natural musicality and attention to detail. My favorite part: the serene StSq followed by the 3F as the music rises.

Bonus: Alena Kostornaia - Stella’s Theme (FS)

What a talented Junior we have! In her first international season Alena has shown she has nothing to fear from the Seniors. Her charisma, skating skills, and arm movements are those of a fairy. Her jumps are spiced up with steps/transitions. Her spins sizzle with creativity. Nothing feels rushed or incomplete. I challenge anyone to watch her lyrical, immersive performances and experience “backloading” done right. :)

#figure skating #music #mao asada #yuzuru hanyu #art #kaetlyn osmond #boyang jin #wakaba higuchi

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catsdaydreams · 6 years

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Return of the King

Chapter 1 of Positive. This is an AU where Kendra(MC) never goes to Cordonia, Liam never actually tells her he is a Prince, and he loses his virginity at his bachelor party, with Kendra.

Catch up Here.

Requested Tag list: @ladynonsense @drivenbyfantasy @marcela13mars @hopefullmoonobject @hhiggs @madaraism @topsyturvy-dream @mfackenthal @decisso @boneandfur @kawairinrin If I missed you let me knowww.

I tend to keep all of my MC names the same for the books, so TRR MC will always be Kendra, because its an Alternate Universe of the same story. Ya feel?

Also timeline for y’all because my TRR timeline looks a lil different: I have always thought social season = 1 year. Engagement tour = 6 months, but of course our king has duty’s so there is a 3-4 month lapse between the end of the social season and the beginning of the Engagement tour. There’s also a 6 month period between the boys in New York and the start of the social season. This is the same for all of my TRR AU’s unless specifically stated otherwise.

So, the crew would be in New York Roughly 2 and a half years AFTER the first time they meet MC.

I rolled in annoyance as my alarm went off again. 6 am every day, I got up and got ready to go to work. It had been over 2 years since I had last stepped foot into the bar that I had met Liam in, choosing instead to opt for a job with a more comfortable wage, but less flexibility. I let the silence of the morning seep into my soul as I packed two lunches. One for me, and one with much smaller portions.

I walked across my small town home and peeked into my sons room. He stood in his crib waiting, a big smile plastered onto his face showcasing the adorable dimples on either cheek. “Good morning, Cadence.” I smiled. His tiny hands griped the side of his crib as he peered at me excitedly, waiting for me to pick him up and let him out. “Mama!” He squealed, his young voice dragging out the word, as a toddler often does.

I put him on my hip as I turned and grabbed his outfit for the day, a light romper and a pair of tiny sneakers. “Are you ready to go bye bye? We’re going to go see your friends at daycare!” I asked, as I pulled on the last of his clothes. He excitedly ran for the door, trying and failing to turn the knob.

I grabbed our food for the day and my coffee and helped him down the stairs and into my car, strapping him into his car seat.

Two years ago after I had learned I was pregnant with a strangers baby, one who had to return home for an arranged marriage, I panicked. I waited until I could see a doctor and heard the undeniable heart beat before I called my dad in tears and explained the situation.

My father and I both tried for the duration of the pregnancy to locate Liam, but to no avail. I couldn’t remember the country he claimed to be from any longer, and he had no face book, left no email or phone number, I had no way to track him down. I had resigned to being a single parent with the father never knowing he had a child out there, and once the baby came, I no longer cared.

Delivery and pregnancy both were relatively simple, and I gave birth to a healthy 8 lbs little boy at 2 in the morning on August 18th. He shifted my entire perspective. Being a mother was hard enough, but being a single mother proved to be impossible without some form of help. My dad moved into the city to help me keep an eye on him overnight while I worked, but it was blaringly obvious that I needed a better job.

So I searched, finally landing a paralegal job at a large firm in the city. The hours were long, and the work was tedious. But it allowed me to have nights and weekends with my son, and give me enough money to get into a house with a yard and afford daycare. I was okay on my own, and I didn’t mind much that I was alone as I didn’t have to argue with someone on how to raise my child, or have to compromise on behavior. My life was actually pretty spectacular.

I dropped my son off at daycare and pulled into work with just enough time to clock in a few minutes early. I sat down inside of my cold grey cubicle, pictures of my father, Cadence and I littering the walls and attempted to eat what was supposed to pass as a breakfast sandwich

“Hey Kendra!” I heard Shelby’s overly excited voice from the other side of the thin wall. I internally groaned. Shelby meant well enough, but she was a horrible gossip and spent more time talking than she did working. Her blonde hair was pulled into a slick ponytail as she rounded the corner into my cubicle. She adorned an abstract colorful shirt paired with sleek grey pants, and her brown eyes were alight with excitement.

“Hey Shel.” I said, trying to enjoy what was left of my breakfast, “Have you heard the news!!” I sighed placing down my sandwich and turning to face her, bracing myself for whatever longwinded story was about to come from her mouth. “What news?” I asked flatly, though she didn’t seem to notice. She squealed excitedly shoving her phone in my face, “The King of Cordonia is here on his engagement tour! He’s so cute!” She said, her phone pulled up to a TMZ article. “You realize he’s engaged yeah?” I pointed out with a laugh as I scrolled through the article. My interest peeked as I recognized the countries name.

My heart froze as I realized why the name was familiar. Liam! He had been from Cordonia! I quickly handed back her phone as I powered on my own computer. “What is it?” She asked, sensing the change in my demeanor. “Cadence’s dad. I just remembered, he was from Cordonia too!” She gasped, “No way! What a coincidence, Cadence looks just like this guy too, let me show you a picture of King Rys.” I attempted to ignore her as I pulled up the search engine, but the smiling blonde immediately drew my attention.

“There’s no way.” I breathed, staring at a picture of Liam. It was certainly his face, but his eyes held a coldness I didn’t recognize/ I grabbed my jacket and my lunch, “Shelby I have to go. Cover for me?” I said over my shoulder as I raced out of the office. I pulled up any information I could about the Kings visit, according to TMZ he and the other tour members showed up last night, and were seen at the very same bar we had met at.

Hes looking for me, I realized with a start. I then headed over to the bar to see who had been on shift last night. My old manager was there when I stepped inside, “Kendra! My good friend, I was just about to call you!” I frowned. Ymir hated me, and nothing brought him more joy than my two week notice. I peered at him apprehensively, as he fished a note from behind the bar. “Here! This is from your friend with lots of money. You should bring him back around here again, they all tip very well.” He said, his Spanish accent contorting the words.

I shook my head, now I get it. Liam must have left a note for him to get in touch and Ymir wanted his business, he thought I could probably bring them all back. I mumbled a thanks as my hands shook as I opened the envelope. I expected a phone number, or address. Instead there was an invitation for the United Nations party tonight.

A sticky note was attached, written in Liam’s scribbled writing.

By now I am sure that you have realized why I had an arranged marriage, I would like to see you again if you are in New York and I beg for your audience tonight. ~Liam.

Later that night I paced the apartment, waiting for my dad to arrive to watch Cadence for the night. I debated on bringing him with me. His green eyes peering through his un-tame able blonde locks. No, I decided. I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready to share my little bug. “Vroom vroom” He said, with a big smile holding his truck up to me.

“Yes, bugga, vroom vroom!” I said with a laugh, as I ran the truck back and forth over our rug. His ever present beam filled my heart with an inexplicable joy. A resounding knock came from the door, interrupting our play. I crossed the living room and opened the door, greeting my father.

“Hey Daddy.” I said, welcoming him with a hug. “Pop pop!” I heard my sons shrill call of joy as he raced around my legs and into his grandfathers open arms.

“So, have you decided if you are going to tell him tonight or not?” My father said, cutting to the chase. He was nothing if not a blunt man, I suppose I got it honest. “No.” I replied. “What if he tries to take him? He clearly has the means too.” I said, resuming my pacing. My dad blocked my path and grabbed my shoulders. “And what if he doesn’t? Doesn’t this man deserve to know he has a son? Doesn’t he deserve to share the same joy that you have just from knowing him?”

I pouted at him, but I knew he was right. It would be wrong of me to keep this secret from Liam. I knew in my heart what the right thing was to do, but as I watched my son play on the rug, his little heart so full of innocent and joy; I thought about the possibility of having him taken from me and it felt so soul crushing. To not be there for his sleepy greeting, or his sloppy kisses, or to watch him discover the joy of life and remind me that there was more to this world than I could see. It was terrifying.

The Uber outside honked. I frowned at my dad, “I told him you would likely need a ride.” My dad said with a shrug. He had known I was getting cold feet even without talking to me. “Sly old coot.” I said, as I grabbed my jacket and made my way to door. He smiled, my son in his arms as they both waved at me, “Say bye bye, mommy.”

“buh-bye!”

The ride to the UN party only allowed for me to stew in my fears longer. The car pulled around to the front of the party, where press stood documenting each guest. I smoothed out my lavender floor length tulle dress as I stepped out. Feeling the weight of my dangling fake crystal earings sway with the movement. My chocolate colored hair was wrapped into an elegant bun, and my make up was soft, aside from the sharp winged liner on my eye lids.

I kept my eyes on the door as I approached and produced my invitation to the people at the door. They nodded me through, not giving me much time to process if I wanted to turn around. My heels clicked on the smooth marble floor beneath me as I took in the sight before me. Walking through a 2nd set of open ornate double doors. People of all walks of life mingled as the soft music played. circular tables were strewn about decorated with beautiful cream table cloths and gold roses.

I realized quickly not to touch anything, as I probably couldn’t afford it. I searched the room quickly, but didn’t see Liam. I found the place holder that had the same number on it as my invitation and took my place at the table, noting the empty five seats around me. A server brought me a glass of white wine and I sipped on it slowly.

The crowd finally began to be seated as it neared to less than five minutes before the appetizers were brought out. There were numerous speeches none of which I cared to pay attention to, sinking further into my wine. There were two boys, and three other girls seated at the table with me, all of them speaking a language I didn’t know.

At one point one of the men turned and attempted to ask for my name in english, to which I simply smiled and nodded my head as if I didn’t understand. He quickly abandoned his attempt and resumed talking to his friends. My anxiety was high, I was surrounded by food I couldn’t afford, a language and people I didn’t know, and my gracious host was no where to be found.

An hour dragged by, the meal finished and servers dragged the tables to the outer rim to make a dance floor, which most of the populous took full advantage of. One of the men seated at my table even began break dancing. I snorted into my wine, feeling the warm buzz of intoxication. A hand entered into my vision field, outstretched.

I looked up and felt my stomach leap into my throat. Liam.

“Care to join me for a dance?” He said, hand waiting. I frowned and pulled my arms closer to my chest. “Bold move for an engaged King.” I seethed. I hadn’t realized how angry the whole situation made me until I saw him. Here he was, not a care in the world, and the last few years had been rough for me. I spent countless nights without sleep, comforting my loving son through his sickness, his teething, his injuries. I loved my son very much, but parenting was hard, and I had done it alone. And here he was enjoying balls and feasts, with all the money in the world.

He was royal, and I was not, and he had no clue about Cadence and it left me wondering what his motives were in inviting me to this party in the first place. I took a long sip of my wine. He frowned at me, “It’s just a dance, I didn’t mean any harm.” He said, settling into the seat next to me. “What’s wrong?” He stated quietly.

I rolled my eyes, the alcohol spurring the anger, “I know the deal was no contact information but you could have at least said, ‘Hey, by the way, I’m a king.’ On the ferry ride back to your taxi.” I said sarcastically. He nodded, “ah.” He said, taking a sip of champagne. “You’re angry I didn’t tell you I was a prince. Would you have changed the terms then? Used our bedding as leverage to extort money? Or just bragging rights?”

I turned to him, eyes wide as I noted his dark expression. Anger laced through his voice like a striking cobra, directed at me. “Excuse you Liam. I just don’t like being blindsided.” I huffed, “I’m not sure who you think you are talking to with that tone, but it sure as hell isn’t me.”

Liam sat in silence for a moment, “King Liam.” he corrected before he stood abruptly, “I need you to come with me, I have something I need to discuss with you.” He said coldly. I scoffed at him, “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Rage and pain coarsed through me. I was hurt at his implication, but also felt the familiar tinge of guilt. He was right, together we were just Kendra and Liam, why should it matter now if he had been a prince. We both knew what we were getting into when we agreed on a week and then never speaking again.

So why did it feel like such a betrayal, an intrusion on something private. Something ours. “It’s a legal matter.” He said, his eyes burning. My heart quickened, as I stood to follow him. There was no polite outstretched hand, or elbow as I was accustomed to with Liam. He was angry, and I understood his thought process. His title shouldn’t matter unless I wanted to use it for personal gain.

I followed him out of the ballroom and down twisting and turning hallway before he hesitated on a door handle. “Liam” I said, pulling on his elbow, “I’m sorry, you’re right. It shouldn’t matter what your title is. It just startled me to find out from the media instead of you. It felt like...like an intrusion. A betrayal.” I said. Liam and I had promised long ago to just be forward with our feelings, and I hoped that he still understood that.

He ran a hand through his hair, “Sorry, it’s habit for me to watch myself around people. Everyone always wants something for you, rarely do they want you.”

My expression softened, “Liam, I wanted you. I hate that you had to go, but I understood. I wish things had been different.” I admitted. Liam smiled, “In a different life, perhaps you would be on this tour with me.” He said, his eyes twinkling as he opened the door.

“But in this life, you are not. Which means, I need you to sign this.” He said walking to a side table as I realized we were in a suite. He pulled papers and a pen from the side table, and handed them to me. I looked over it, but in my drunkenness I couldn’t focus long enough to understand it. “What is it?” I slurred. Liam gave me a sad smile. “It is a Non-disclosure agreement. It prevents you from being allowed to discuss our time together, or go to the press.”

I frowned, “Right, of course.” I said, sitting to keep my balance. Liam sighed, “how much have you had to drink.” The irratation from earlier made its reappearance. “Don’t patronize me, King Liam.” I said, pouting. “You always were a lightweight,” he muttered clearly annoyed. “Hey whats your malfunction.” I said, my words biting. He gave me a pointed look.

“You can’t sign a legal document while intoxicated. It would get thrown out in the court.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “here, just write down your address and I’ll drop it off in the morning. I noticed you moved.” He said. “Yeah, I needed the space for...” I trailed off. I couldn’t tell him about Cadence, I didn’t have it in me. Liam cocked his head, “a dog.” I lied.

I then realized that if he saw my house the chances were high he would see Cadence too and I wasn’t ready. My brain knew I would have to tell him eventually. But not right now. I sat at the edge of the bed as I pondered what lie I could give him to keep him from asking for my address. I could fake sobriety, but he would see right through it. My mind kept spinning while Liam sat quietly and studied me.

I looked up at him through my lashes, deciding to derail the subject completely the only way I could think too through the wine filled haze. “What are you staring at?” I asked. He was leaning against the bedpost. “You are still the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.” He said wistfully. I frowned, deeply, but couldn't keep the blush off my cheeks. “Liam, arranged or not, you are still an engaged man.” He let out a bark of a laugh. “Yes, but no.” He explained. He motioned around the room. “This is my suite, do you see any of Madeline’s clothes in here?” I stared at him.

He chuckled, “Things are different in Cordonia, political marriages are allowed to be open, so long as both partners agree. Madeline has made it very clear she has no desire to pursue a romantic relationship.” he sighed. “It appears she has a romantic connection to someone at court already.” I stood, unsure of how I wanted to proceed. I wanted to stay, but I knew I should head home.

Liam had only brought me there to sign legal paperwork, and yet my gut told me there was more. Perhaps Liam was forcing himself to be extra cold, I couldn't tell, the wine impairing my senses and I had also never seen him in this setting. I stood, and brought our chests together, “does that mean its okay if I-” He leered down apprehensively, “Kendra what are you doing?” He said cutting me off. Yet he didn’t move.

I peered up at him, “Do you miss it at all?” I asked lust lacing my voice as I remembered the week we spent pent up in my apartment. I hadn't touched anyone since, and I had the sneaking suspicion he hadn’t either. “Miss what?” He asked, still not moving away from me. I could have imagined how he seemed to almost lean into me. I smiled at him through my thick lashes, and pulled on his lapels. “The way we felt together, skin on skin.” I said, lightly breathing.

He was definitely leaning into me, “We shouldn’t.” He said, his voice suddenly deeper. I frowned, “I’m sorry.” I said beginning to lean back. He put his hands on my hips and kept me flush against him. “Don’t be. I really do need you to sign the NDA.” He said huskily. I nodded, “I will.” He studied my face for a moment before bringing his head down to kiss me.

His kiss was soft, and sweet. His lips pressing on mine gently, and I could feel my knees weakening as I melted. He gently pressed me onto the bed. I could see the hint of a smile on his lips, and I could feel his quickly forming erection through his pants.

I moaned at the touch, he groaned, “I love it when you moan.” He breathed. “Can you stay tonight?” He said, kissing into my neck. I nodded, “I have to send a text.” I said, pulling my phone above my head, away from Liam’s gaze, as he planted kisses down my neckline. He pulled my dress down my hips and off by the straps as I giggled and let my dad know not to wait up for me. His response was almost immediate.

Condoms, Kendra. Cadence doesn’t need siblings.

I snorted, locking my phone and putting it face down on the nightstand. Liam looked at me hungrily, “I miss your body. I miss your laugh, I didn’t realize how much I missed you Kendra.” Liam muttered pressing kisses up my stomach. He rolled off the bed and pulled a shirt from his luggage.

I looked at him confused as he handed it to me. He smiled, “I haven't seen you in almost 2 and a half years, and we aren't doing this while you’re drunk.” He said, dropping his voice and laying next to me.

I agreed and we layed together comfortably, catching each other up on our lives, minus Cadence of course. I would tell him soon, just not yet. We laughed, and talked, and reminisced for hours, finally falling asleep tangled in each others arms.

#choices #liam x mc #pregnant #baby #the royal romance #trr #choices stories you play #fanfic

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