#anyway silk is a great fabric if you want to practice lighting on shiny cloth
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the harlot - i
pairing: steve rogers x reader
warnings: descriptive violence, angst, fluff, smut, slow burn
word count: 4.2k
description: harlots inspired au;
one last run before shipping off steve rogers is brought to a brothel to love a woman in case of his untimely demise at war. he meets the reader, young and fresh, not yet tainted by the world they’d been born into. a torrid one night love affair that costs their mother greatly. a promise and years later they meet again, the reader resentful and distrustful. the charming, now captain rogers, seems as captivated in reader as ever. but it’s never meant to be. and you both know that.
The wiles of women. They were a trap for men, the bawdy, the harlots and succubi that taint husbands and sons with powdered skin and lips red as blood as if pricked on a rose’s thorns. The pink blush of their cheeks, draped fabric and perfectly coiffed white wigs. Their ribs crushed under the ties of a corset leaving bruises on their belly and hips. Small tight shoes that pinch their toes and a shiny penny shoved against the entrance of their womb to prevent pregnancy.
You could be one of those. You had potential. The kept woman of bureaucrats and bankers. In a home paid for them by the men who made the world turn.
“A beautiful girl you are.” Men would say. Their fingers tilting your chin up to gaze upon the craft of your Mother. They always called you beautiful. When you were a child and free, running through the streets in your patched skirt and ruddy knees. The grab of a man’s hand interrupted by your Pa.
A brawl or two for your protection, your Pa’s fists bloody and raw cracked on the jaw of a man trying to fondle his child in the street. Otherwise left alone. He wasn’t your birth father. The man who spewed you into your Ma’s belly you’d not a clue of. With this profession you can never be sure. Your Pa was a man who loves your Ma. They had a little boy together and they run the house that women sell their sex from.
The house you live in and have lived your entire life.
The only gain for hope in your Mother’s case, was to sell you to someone who would give you a good life. Better than a whore on the street, but not as good as a wife with a man to love and a man who loves you.
“You’ll never want for anything,” Your Mother would say, curling your hair around her fingers as she painted your lips, a soft pink. “You’ll be taken care of.” Pinching your cheeks for color. “And a man will not have control over what you own.”
You’d be kept on a salary. Like an employee in a home as part of the package. The goal of having a sweet little place in high society where you’d attend parties and drink and charm your way about in fine silks and a coy smile. One your Ma had you practice in the mirror. A gaze to bewitch me and have them chase your skirt all about town.
Your image was perfection. Hair in perfect curls and the flush of your skin against power pink fabric and a tightly bound corset, breasts pushed oh so innocently up. A tease for the body that they would have to pay to see.
Men love a blushing virgin.
A favorite you were. Taught piano, how to read and write. You learned card games and how to flirt with a glass of wine, your lips meeting the rim and peering up through your lashes at men who were drooling and waiting for their turn upstairs.
You played piano with a coy eye while the girls worked the room at parties. Watching a hand slip up a skirt, a drag into the dark hallway and the creaks of their beds through the floor.
And tonight was no different.
“Your bid is going soon.” Your Ma flit around the room, pulling a beautiful silk lavender gown and laying it before you, circling behind to tighten your corset. A free breath gone from your lungs, hands clutching the bed post as your breasts spilled upwards and your waist was synched tight. The wraps loosened on your curls, pinned in a bow away from your face. Innocent and sweet. A heavily jeweled necklace on your throat. A tight nude colored shoe and the dress was laid over your skin, soft and barely worn. “It’s a special occasion.” She reasoned.
You were to put on a face, shy and sweet, endearing. A group of men coming to the house for a party, special, and paid in advance. Men who would hold great standing off fighting in the King’s army. Men who would one day be those very men who make the world turn. Generals and servicemen alike. “A fine fit, I would say.” Bids for the sweet honey pot between your thighs.
You’d had offers when you were young as ten. But your Ma wouldn’t. “You’ll be better than I was.” Better than a young girl sold off and meant to please the perverts that prey on the young. “You’re worth more than that my sweet girl.” Her fingers would brush your cheek with affection. The love she felt for you palpable. The favoritism in her own blood opulent. How many pounds would be enough to sell your flesh for the very first time?
You were to be shy and sweet. Stick by her side as men approached and aimed to charm you upstairs. You watched as girls you knew and trusted, the ones you read the paper to and ones you’ve aided with pregnancy and illness, these girls nothing more than a hole to find solace in for the night. A night before leaving to risk their lives on some expedition for the King’s need for global power.
Some were handsome, charming, and one with a chipped tooth made you blush. But one by one they disappeared up the stairs and out of sight. Raucous moans and the slamming of headboards. You catch a thief in the kitchen.
“You’re not supposed to be in here.” A boy, or a man, his cap held in his hands as he worried the brim. He looks smart with his blonde hair back and tied neatly in a black bow at the nape of his neck. Not a mark on his uniform, the jacket open to his shirt underneath. He seems startled by you. His mouth parts, lips pink and a blush on his cheeks.
“I’m sorry, I—” He stands, “I uhm…” His hand reveals a fuzzy peach, missing a bite. It was the shine on his lips. You were unsure of what to do. This was the first time in your life that you had been truly alone with a man.
“You haven’t found your way upstairs.” A soldier who hadn’t found his way into the cunny of a girl before leaving tomorrow. “Isn’t that the point of even being here?”
“It wasn’t my choice, I uh—” He was naïve, it was sweet. Nervous. “I don’t know what I’m doing here if I’m honest.” You worry your bottom lip. In the light of the fire you could see how flushed he was, his fingers digging into the peach enough for the juice to run over his fingertips.
“Most men come here for sex.” To put it bluntly, he looks down at his shoes, scuffs them on the floor, then back at you. Your head tilted to the side, “Are you a virgin?” The way his mouth parts, his eyes widening. The answer was yes. You smile, soft and sweet. “Me too.” Leaving the doorway, you settle yourself at the kitchen table. “I’m Y/N.” The scoot of the chair back across from you as he sinks into the seat.
“I’m Steve.”
…
The fake moans. It’s what really gets him. The back arching, toe curling, screams. The vice of your heat on his cock. A familiar and rough tug and pull of your skin. His hands finding your flesh, gripping at whatever hold he could get. “You’re a jewel, a proper pearl among the sea of shit that is in my life.”
Alexander Pierce was a King’s man. Older with a wife who couldn’t be bothered and children older than you. He paid a pretty penny for your maidenhood. Your coy smile the charm you’d give his guests. He paid you well. Just what your Ma wanted. The mistress of a man with more money than you could ever spend in this lifetime.
Your life had changed from where it had been by such leaps and bounds that you couldn’t help but be grateful. Where people could see anyway. You were brought fabrics from China, intricate designed cloth from Spain. A row of shoes in your closet in each color you could possibly imagine. Dresses lavishly adorned with jewels. Pearls and rubies. Ribbon and lace.
“Tonight.” His fingers gripping your hair as his hips viciously slap against yours, “You will be proper and charming.” A grunt, “And you will make my guests feel welcome, no matter what I ask you to do,” The harsh rip of your hair, “You will do as I say.” Your scalp would be sore, ache as you pin your hair back to fit under the powdered wig you’d be wearing for the night. Your eyes more vacant than ever. Watery and tired.
You needed a drink.
You hardly ever got to see your Ma anymore. On occasion she would be allowed to call on you. If your schedule coordinated, she would see you out on your daily stroll, but she’d been wrong. Your contract didn’t give you freedom. It didn’t give you power. It didn’t give you control. It kept you wedged under Pierce’s heel. A pretty little ornament he would fuck while you would prey for his seed not to take root.
You wondered if it would have been better to be back home. Where your Ma and Pa were with Peter, your brother who must almost be a man by now. Ten years is a long time.
You bring the façade of life back to your eyes as he meets you in the mirror. His face powdered, but breeches still open. A smirk of satisfaction on his lips as he comes to brush down your cheek. “The pink lipstick.” A demand. “And the blue dress.” His new favorite. He was getting reminiscent lately. Of the night he first had you. In a blue dress just like it.
It would be in the evening, buzzing with wine that you’d fall into old memories. As you watch the other girls bought for the evening flit about while you watched from afar like their own bawd. An artifact is what you became. A whore only touched by one.
…
“Did you always want to fight for your country?” You asked him. The blushing boy, who really was not yet a man. He was too kind for this place. In that instant in the kitchen of your Ma’s home you wondered what life would be like in that moment. If you’d met this son of a wealthy aristocrat as the daughter of one. How he would court you and beg for your hand.
Would he write you poetry? Recite it to you as you walked about in the garden with your chaperone? Would he be asking your father for your hand? And what of the wedding? Would it be like you read in your books on romance and love?
“It’s my obligation,” He shakes his head, picking at the peach pit laid between you. “My father says it will perhaps give me more courage and strength.” While tall, he was thin and gangly. Nervous and unsure. “And on my return I will take over for my family,” A shrug, “Start one of my own perhaps.” It’s to be expected.
“In the country?” You ask him. He sung you a melody of his family’s country estate. The lush foliage and homey cottage that he’d spent most of his youth in, only brought to the city for schooling and now, his stint in the military. “It sounds beautiful.” But not meant for you. Not as bad as you would want it.
“Have you ever been to the country?” You step away to pour more wine, for both you and him. A gentle buzz.
“No.” You laugh, “I’ve never been anywhere outside of London.” You sip from your cup.
“Would you like to?” He’s so naïve and as you look at him incredulously, he seems confused.
“That’s not exactly in the cards for me Steve.” The chair creaks beneath you as you sit back down. His fingers close to brushing yours on the table. You watch him think for a moment, unanswering.
“If you could do anything,” He starts, “If you could be anyone and live any life... what would you do? Who would you be?” His fingers brush yours, a heat on your cheeks.
“I—” You shake your head, “I don’t know.” You’d imagined things of course. As you just did in an alternative life where you would be the wife of a wealthy man in a house you’d get to make yours. But it was never really like that right? A woman couldn’t own property. Even the use of her body was sold in different ways. Sometimes for silks, sometimes for love. Or the imitation of it.
“You’d never thought of it?” The tip of his finger brushed against your skin. He seemed to remember himself and pulled his hands back. “You’d never thought about if you’d been dealt a better hand?” You make the move, capturing his hand in yours. His skin smooth and soft. The tale of a boy who’d never had to do hard work in his life.
“You’d never thought about if you’d been dealt a worse one?” Your thumb smoothed over the back of his hand. He gives you a sad smile.
“You deserve better than this.” A sad laugh,
“You don’t know anything about me.” He leans forward, a soft squeeze on your hand. He licks his lips before saying,
“But I want to.” His eyes searching yours, “I want to know everything about you.”
…
“Lay off the drink.” A harsh squeeze to your side. A tug on your skirt as Pierce’s hot breath reaches your ear. “I can’t have you embarrass me as a lush.” His hand meeting the back of your neck and gripping hard. “Go and socialize.” A harsh push on the back of your neck and forcing you from the corner where you’d buried yourself in your wine.
So you made your rounds. A smile on your face and a drink partially empty in your hand that you never replenished. Putting on a show for the man you knew staring you down from across the room while you charmed his guests.
Men he worked with whose hands wandered, but never strayed too far lest they’d face the wrath of your jealous master. A playful jibe and banter that was practiced and well meaning, never too much of an overstep. Always superficial and always on the surface. Waiting to be called on by your master to appease whomever he was trying to impress.
Working your rounds back to him, charming and entertaining he lay his hand out, two fingers crooking at you. You take his hand as he drags you from the sitting room and out back, girls milling about with men, walking around the gardens and a small group smoking a cigar in the courtyard. A group of men seemingly just arrived, Pierce needing a fashionable jewel on his arm to show a display of his status.
You could have died. Right then and there as you met the gaze you’d dreamt about for nearly a decade. He’d changed, but you assume, so did you. That tall and lanky boy, you could still taste the peach on his lips. Sweet and sticky fingers, unsure and shaking. His shoulders broad and chest muscled, his face full. Your breath caught as his tongue wet his lips, still pink and full. Just as it had been before when you had tugged it between your teeth.
“Captain Rogers,” Pierce’s hand out to shake, “Glad to see you healthy and back from the front.” A smile, the way he smiled. Side of his mouth endearing. It made your legs shake.
“Glad to be back.” The shake was firm, you could tell, “And who might this enchantress be?” Pierce’s feathers standing tall, a stiff peacock of pride. Steve. His hand grasps yours. Rough and weathered. A kiss to the back of your hand.
“Y/N Parker.” Pierce’s hand met the back of your neck, “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Parkers.”
…
He tasted of the peach he’d stolen. His lips soft and wet against yours. The sweet stickiness of it making you dizzy. It started soft. Ever so soft. Your elbows on the table as you leaned over towards him and met his lips once, twice, and then when his fingers cupped your cheek they melded together and took the breath from your lungs.
Your hand gripped his tightly, dragging him from the table and slipped to the room behind the stairs. Your room.
“Steve.” You sigh, his kiss making your brain swim in your thoughts, you shouldn’t be doing this. “She’s taking bids for me.” Your forehead against his as your back meets the door. “For my virginity.” His brow pulled in concern, his hands cup your jaw, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “But I want to choose.” You watch him swallow, his voice unsure and shaking,
“Are you sure about this?” You weren’t, you were sure your Ma would be furious, but maybe she wouldn’t need to know. Maybe she wouldn’t find out.
“Are you?” His lips meet yours again, gentle, slow and when you part, you turn, the buttons on your back nervously plucked from their holes. The heavy fabric shifted off your body to fall down off your hips. His hands rest on the stiff corset around your waist as you turn back to face him, shifting his jacket off and tossing it to the floor. Fingers plucking at his breeches as his fingers find the ribbon holding your corset together and slipping it loose.
You’re finally able to really breathe as your hands work on the laces, the bones of the corset peeling from your skin as you’re left in your shift.
Steve’s hands shake as his breeches fall to the floor. His boots tossed off and he’s left in his drawers standing across from you in the lamp light. You could see the hard length of him pressing against the fabric and it makes you shiver. A step towards the bed, his hands found your hips again, capturing your lips as his hands massaged the tender skin, your slip falling from your body to pool on the floor.
He fell to his knees before you, and you’d never felt so powerful. His lips pressing to the red markings on your belly. A soothe for the dig and restriction of your breath for the sake of beauty. A silent worship. His eyes on yours as his lips make their way to your sternum pressing between your breasts. A gentle lead to the bed. His drawers gone and a heat growing between your thighs at the sight of his firm pink cock pointed up at his belly button against a dark blond patch of hair.
“Are you sure about this?” He asks again, finding his place between your thighs. The length of him pressed against your wet cunt. You part your thighs wider, knees cradling his sides as you pressed your lips to his in assurance. Your hand dipping between your bodies to grab him, hot in your hand, and press the tip of him to your entrance.
“I’m sure.” A slow thrust of his hips. It was a strange sensation, different from the curious exploration of your fingers. A mutual gasp as he seats himself fully, a burning stretch. Your hands gripping his shoulders. He dips his mouth down to yours, a soft comforting kiss. A gasp as his hips move back to thrust again.
“Are you okay?” It wasn’t what you expected. Not in the least. He came quickly, as virgins do and he brought his lips to yours before cleaning the cum from your thighs. It wasn’t some big miraculous moment. And you didn’t feel horribly changed by it, “I’m sorry,” He whispers next to you. You lay facing him in the sheets. “I know sex isn’t terribly wonderful for women… at least not the first time. My friend… James, he says… that it takes time and practice to have sex be enjoyable for a woman.”
“Is that why you came here?” His lips pressed to the inside of your wrist.
“I didn’t want to come here at all, honestly.” His fingers were sticky as one traced your bottom lip, “But I’m happy I did.” He sighs, pulling you closer to him, the heat of his body warming you from the chill of the room. “I wish I could take you away from here.” He whispers against your lips, “I wish I could be yours, and you mine.”
…
Steve lets out a laugh, nervous, “I may have heard word of them.” Peirce’s hand tightened on your neck, a silent order to not speak unless spoken to.
“This is Mary Parker’s only daughter, a rare jem and the crown jewel to be held above all.” His other hand tilting your chin towards him. Steve’s face betrays no emotion, shifting into a smile as Peirce meets his eyes again.
“Simply stunning.” Steve agrees, making your heart race.
It’d been so long you didn’t know what to do or say. So you did nothing. And stupid with drink you distanced yourself from him almost immediately. But his eyes you could still feel on you as you walked with Pierce so he could introduce you to a General, and a man named Quill who just came into property in the states.
More wine. And maybe he won’t be able to perform later. The kitchen familiar and dark, a bottle plucked from the counter to refill his glass. The hulking figure in the doorway giving you pause. Your breath catches in your throat. Wine bottle grasped in both hands. He looks as though he’s searching for the words to say, his mouth parted and eyes looking upon you with the boyish innocence they had before.
It bubbled from your throat first, “You never came back for me.” An accusation that comes out more aggressive than you meant it to be. He steps into the light and you take him in tip to toe.
Maybe his father was right to send him off to war. The thin lanky boy that left you came back a broad shouldered and well-shaped man. But it was still him in the way he looked down at his shoes and then back at you. Like he had ten years prior. Bashful. Ashamed.
“I hadn’t been able to come back for anything until now.” You shake your head, sighing and go to move around him,
“Maybe you shouldn’t have come back at all.” His hand shoots out to grab your arm as you pass and you flinch from the action. A stunned reflex he lets go, immediately.
“Y/N—” The anger was bubbling up. Maybe from the wine, maybe from where you’d buried it long ago, but you couldn’t help it.
“My Master needs me.” Leaving him in the doorway and walking back to Pierce whose relaxed posture made you aware that he was almost there. Drunk enough to stumble into his own bed whereas you could sleep alone in yours. A rare blessing in this life.
…
“When I get back from war,” A whisper between your thighs, “I’ll come back for you.” The flat of his tongue in your cunt. A soft whimpered moan of sensation not before felt by you. Those measured means towards ecstasy. His fingers laced in yours as he worked to please you. The boy who’d just became a man, who’d just made you a woman.
As you meet your end he presses those sweet pink lips up your body, to meet your mouth, “Do you promise you’ll come back for me?” His fingers tracing your cheeks, eyes betraying love.
“I promise.” You’d been naïve. Of course, you’d been naïve. When your Ma had come to wake you the next morning and found you with that boy in bed, you’d been flogged for it. A weeping,
“How could you do this?” Her fingers hard on your chin. A curse at Steve, “You will tell no one of this.” And the blushing bumbling boy said,
“I would never.” He hadn’t even been gone a week when Pierce put his bid in for you. Nothing to turn your nose up at. A startling 400 pounds a year salary. One hundred up front. And a pension of such should he tire of you. If he ever tired of you. That first night as you lay under him you thought of your soldier boy, off to war with the promise of a return.
It was in your dreams and hopes, your prayers at night. But as each year passed it grew more and more distant in your mind. Your soldier boy wasn’t returning for you.
And you’d felt a fool.
#steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#chris evans#captain america#bucky barnes#sam wilson#the falcon and the winter soldier#tfatws#steve rogers x you
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Happy Valentine’s Day (Yoongi)
Summary: You have a very special idea for this Valentine’s Day, focused completely on your boyfriend Yoongi who comes home to an unexpected surprise.
Warnings: SMUT, almost completely. Mainly, there will be: swearing, erotic body touching, erotic massage, handjob, fingering (barely), unprotected sex (be very careful IRL!)
Word Count: 2923
Yoongi sighed heavily as he walked into his house, frustrated he couldn’t finish the song like he wanted to and with a sore neck and back from sitting at his chair for way too long. Although it was a comfortable chair, his sitting position wasn’t the best for his back but he just couldn’t change it.
Taking off his coat and hanging it next to the entrance’s door, Yoongi noticed your coat already there and smiled. You never told him you were coming over. He could really use your warm and soft body to fall asleep next to this night.
“Y/N? Babydoll, you should have told me you-”
Yoongi’s words got caught in his throat the moment that he walked through his bedroom’s door.
There you were, bare foot and clothed in only a set of vibrant red lingerie, silk and lace covering your beautiful bouncy breasts and soft abundant ass, lush tummy and pillowy thighs bare, a black almost sheer kimono around your shoulders and arms. You had your hair done, minimal make-up around your expecting eyes with shiny red lips spread in a coy smile that made his heart thumb heavily inside his chest.
The bed was made with silk sheets, scented candles on the bedside tables although still unlit, curtains closed and light switch turned to low. Then his heart fell to his feet and his blood ran cold.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, hun” you seductively said, leaning your head to the side.
“Shit…” Yoongi cursed under his breath, panic starting to rise. “Y/N, I’m so sorry, I just-”
“I know you forgot, Yoongi, it’s fine” you immediately pacified him, coming close and placing reassuring hands up and down his arms. “You’ve been very busy, so I totally forgive you. But I wanted to do something for you anyway, so… Go take a quick shower and meet me here, alright?”
You smiled so brightly, obviously excited by whatever you had planned, not a hint of resentment in your voice or expression. The only reason Yoongi didn’t kiss you silly right then and there was because of how guilty he felt.
Following your guidance, Yoongi went into the main bathroom adjacent to the bedroom to take a quick shower. You were almost jumping in place, opening a drawer in the bedside table and getting everything ready.
“Hun, pick a scent! Chamomile, ginger or lavender?” you ask, loud enough for him to hear you from the bathroom over the falling hot water.
“Hum, lavender, I guess?” he picked, albeit confused.
“Great, thanks!”
You started lightening up the candles, a scent of pine and vanilla filling the air, something that would go great with the lavender oil Yoongi had picked. You were just rearranging your air into an up-do, to make it more practical for what you were about to do, when your boyfriend came back from the steaming bathroom, clad in his usual pajamas and doing the buttons of his shirt. You chuckled and moved to him, stopping his fingers with your own, undoing his work.
“No, no, you won’t be needing this” you told him.
“Babydoll, what are you planning?” he curiously asked, watching as you removed his shirt from his body. You kissed the skin in between his clavicles and goosebumps tickled the hairs at the back of his neck.
“Go to bed and lay facing down, please” you asked nicely, smiling innocently up at him.
“When did you even have the time to prepare all this?” Yoongi inquired as he climbed to the center of the bed, looking around at all the ambience you had set up.
“I asked for today to be my day off. Had the whole day to do it” you explained, climbing to the bed next to him, on your knees, a hand on his bare back encouraging him to lay completely down on the soft covers, head rested on the fluffy pillow. “You won’t need these either.”
You hook your fingers on the elastic of his pajama trousers and he allows you to pull them down his legs, leaving him only with his boxers.
“Y/N, what are we doing exactly?”
You kneel beside his torso and bring the bottle of lavender oil to the bed, squirting a bit in your hands and rubbing them together.
“You won’t be doing nothing. All you have to do is relax while I give you a massage, babe.”
Your fingers start at the top of his neck, exactly where he had been feeling sore, and he sighs with relief at the motion and pressure of your soft hands on his muscles.
“Massage?” he repeats, closing his eyes as your hands continued.
“Yeah. I’ve been taking a short course for the last month to learn about it. How does it feel?”
“Fucking great” he confesses, sighing again as your hands move to his tense shoulders. “You did that for me?”
“Yes, I wanted to do something special for this Valentine’s Day. Since you always treat me so nicely and take me out to such expensive places, I wanted to reciprocate the feeling this year” you shared, smiling at his hum of appreciation.
“I still can’t believe I forgot. I’m so sorry, babydoll” he presses, still feeling guilty.
You lean down to kiss the exposed cheek turned to you.
“It’s okay, hun. Just tell me if I’m using too much or too little force, okay? I never practiced on a real person before” you enlightened.
“Better not. Don’t wanna share these hands” he voiced, hazily.
You chuckle and keep working on the tight muscles of his pale back. The angle wasn’t right, so you swung one of your heavy legs around his waist and straddled him from behind, sitting comfortably at the top of his thighs as you continued moving your fingers and hands. You heard him hum in pleasure, so you assumed he didn’t mind.
“Tell me if I hurt you at any point, okay?” you ask of him.
“You can never hurt me, baby.”
You smiled at his confidence in you and kept going with renewed vigor. Then you remembered something that was missing.
“Oh, right, the music! I have some calming music to play in the background!”
Just as you were about to stand up, Yoongi caught one of your bulky legs around his waist with his hand to keep you in place. You looked confused at him, half of his face covered by the pillow, the one eye you could see half-closed as he looked at you.
“Don’t need it. I prefer the silence or the sound of your voice.”
“Really?” you smiled brightly. Resuming your place, you leaned down and kissed the oil covered skin you were massaging on his back. “Well then, whatever my hun says.”
Moving your hands to his arms, pumping more oil every once in a while in your hands, you soothed and kissed every tense muscle Yoongi had on his lean small body, trying to make up for months and months of stress and overwork. He seemed to be enjoying it immensely, eyes closed and humming with satisfaction every once in a while.
Skidding down, you started his bottom half by his feet, rubbing the hardened skin and pressing on all the right spots that had Yoongi sigh with relief. You then started his legs, hands moving up and down his calves, relaxing them slowly. When you got to the back of his slim thighs, the muscles you worked so hard to relax tensed up a bit and you bit your tongue smugly, knowing exactly why.
Fingers brushing the skin teasingly, you brushed the underside of his butt cheeks and he shuddered slightly under you. You massaged those too for a few moments, leaning down to kiss down his spine as you did so.
“Time to flip, hun” you informed him, giving him space in the bed to turn.
He grunted but conceded and rolled to his back, stomach up this time. Your top teeth caught your bottom lip as you saw the tent in his boxers, a result of your exploring hands on his body. Although you were trying to relax him, one particular muscle seemed to have other ideas.
Ignoring the heavy look Yoongi was giving you from his almost closed lidded eyes, you started massaging from his feet up this time, taking longer than you probably needed. When your fingers started working on his thighs, more precisely his inner thighs, you couldn’t help but notice the twitch of his shaft inside the fabric seemed to happen exactly at the same time your fingers brushed up his skin. You almost giggled, but tried to keep it to yourself.
Instead of straddling his waist as you moved to start working on his torso, you kept your legs on either side of one of his legs, the position a bit more uncomfortable but worth it for his reaction. When your hands ran from his tense shoulders all the way down to his abdomen, brushing his nipples in the process, he hissed and squirmed under you, opening his dark eyes finally and staring frustrated at you.
“Y/N…” there was a warning behind his tone of voice.
“Yes, hun? Am I doing something wrong?” you bashfully ask, wide innocent eyes as you kept massaging the muscles around his ribcage.
“Enough teasing” he demanded from behind almost closed teeth.
Your Cheshire cat smile grew as you leaned down, face just inches from his, a mischievous look behind your eyes.
“Maybe there was a bit of miscommunication? I just took a course to learn simple massages, not happy ending ones” you elaborated, voice darker with a seductive tone as you whispered.
Yoongi chuckled, the air hitting the skin of your face.
“I’m sure you can handle it” he guaranteed.
In response, you kept your eyes on him as your hands pulled his boxers down, the erection springing free and hitting his stomach as you threw the underwear away. Licking your lips at the flushed and throbbing length, you palmed his thighs up and down a few more times, digits barely brushing the hairs at the base, making him growl in frustration. Your hands circled around in his stomach until, finally, you rubbed them against the underside of his cock and he moaned at the feeling.
Your hands kept interchanging between massaging parts of his body, his thighs, his stomach, his pecks and his arms, and his needy length, just circling your fingers around the base and rubbing up, circling the leaking head, before leaving him be or massaging his ball sack, almost making him choke each time. You could tell Yoongi was growing more and more frustrated, but it was such a rare occasion to leave him like this that you just couldn’t pass on it. Taking pity on him, seeing his hands clutching the sheets in fists, you circled your hand tighter around him and pumped him with determination this time, willing to let him have the sweet relief he so yearned for. It was the only way to terminate the massage with his muscles completely relaxed anyway.
However, just as he was growing hotter and hotter in your hands, surely not about to last much longer, one hand of his stopped you from keep going.
“W-Wait, stop” he asked.
“Why, hun? You’ll feel completely relaxed once I finish you off.” You were confused.
“I know, but I want you to cum too. Get on top of me” he guided, hands reaching for your plushy hands and trying to pull you to where he wanted.
“Babe, this is about making you feel good, my present for you. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine” you assured him, trying to keep his hands back.
He then sat up and caught your lips suddenly for a vigorous deep kiss, mouth slanting with yours and tongue plundering past your soft lips, coaxing yours to reciprocate avidly. It was the kiss he wanted to give you from the moment he saw you, all sensually dolled up and waiting for him.
Before you knew it, he had unzipped your bra and had a hand running down your panties, fingers slipping in between your folds and making you moan into his lips at the tremor of pleasure that cursed through your spine.
“Liar” he whispered against your lips, parting his from yours only an inch as he raised his hand, showing how wet it was from your dripping entrance. “You’re almost begging to cum too.”
“I’ve been touching you for over an hour now, hun. Of course I’m aroused. But I wanna make this Valentine’s Day all about you” you clarified, taking his fingers into your mouth and licking them clean. The erection pressing against your doughy thigh jolted at the sight.
“Then, obey my requests. I want you to ride me, babydoll” Yoongi insisted.
Smiling, you placed a hand at the center of his chest and pulled him back to lay down on the bed, moving your legs so you were straddling him again.
“Very well. But keep laying down and let me do all the work. You just relax and enjoy, babe” you proposed, pressing your moist hot center against his hard member, rubbing slightly against it. Yoongi fisted the sheets again as he threw his head back against the pillows and sucked in a breath.
“Fuck, yes” he readily agreed.
Making sure to heavily coat him, even as he was already heavily coated in the oils you’ve been using, you couldn’t lie to yourself, you really wanted him. Raising your heavy hips just enough to position his red tip against your throbbing entrance, you then allowed your heavy weight to slowly come down and have him filling you all the way to the base.
Although your basic instinct was to start moving up and down at God’s speed, you controlled yourself and instead moved your hips in lazy circles, wailing at the way you felt him stretching your insides from all angles. You then moved your hands up and down his chest and thin arms, trying to keep massaging them.
“Fuck, Y/N, I need you to move, babydoll” Yoongi complained, lust blown small eyes barely open.
Nodding, you steadied yourself with both hands on his chest and started to bounce up and down his length. There was heat pooling in your belly threatening to break the dam at any minute, your whole body strung with tension as your breath grew unstable and mind started going blank. He always went so deep in this position, your hips barely lifting anymore from his as he was rubbing delectably a spot inside and your clit brushed against his pelvis with each rebound, enhancing the urge to tip over the edge.
Yoongi, in the meantime, was in absolute heaven. He had the urge to lift his hips to meet yours, but there was really no need with you moving so perfectly like that. There was heat rising off your body, your velvet walls snugging so tightly against his cock as you moved on top of him. Your whole body jiggled on top of him, tits bouncing and ripples of the aftermath of each snap of your bodies joining together dancing across your soft malleable flesh. You looked so sexy like that, mouth slightly parted with moans escaping you, eyes closed as you ran after your release, that he could barely keep himself together.
You then stopped the upward movement and gyrated your hips once more, making Yoongi snap.
“Shit, Y/N, I can’t!”
Just like that he grappled the fluffy flesh of your hips to keep you in place as he began thrusting up at an almost inhuman speed, ramming himself into your clenching heat with as much force as he could.
“Ahh! Yoongiii…!” You moan loud as all you can do is steady yourself against him.
The out of your control friction of his movements end you in a matter of seconds, a hoarse cry leaving the depths of your throat as something inside of you was overflowing and dissolving your bones into orgasmic pleasure. Your whole nerves caught on fire and you felt like you were bursting into electric warmth, muscles spasming around him before giving in completely, making you fall on top of him.
Yoongi felt your walls spasming and clamming down on him as you came, making the fierce ache that was growing inside of him explode as he clenched his teeth, body jolting and burning when he jerked violently at the razor sharp pleasure he felt as he erupted inside of you and filled you with his essence. The blissed out relief, alongside your massages, had his body about as relaxed as it could get, going completely limp underneath you.
“Sorry, hun, give me a sec and I’ll move” you apologize when your brain comes to.
Yet, when you look up at your boyfriend’s face, you see him sleeping soundly, even snoring quietly. You smile proudly, happy you got him this relaxed even though he was in a very busy moment with his work. Dropping a kiss on his shoulder, you try to move away from him, but find that he turns to his side in search of your warmth, his arms wrapping around your waist and dragging him close to your body.
“Okay, babe. Not going anywhere.”
You cuddle comfortably against his chest and pull the comforter and sheets over your naked bodies, not caring to change them or go wash until the next day. And you could always buy more candles after the others burned out.
#bts chubby reader#bts chubby!reader#valentine's day#special for valentine's day#chubbyreader#chubby reader#bts#bts imagine#bts fanfiction#bts fanfic#bts yoongi#yoongi x reader#yoongi x you#bts suga#bts smut#yoongi smut#kpop smut
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the darkest little paradise
moodboard made by me
masterlist
Chapter 3
Black marble floors, red candles on the chandelier made of glittering diamonds, dripping sapphires, emeralds, rubies, and countless jewels that no one had named yet.
Hades knew them all, of course. He’d made the room, he’d helped with the candles, and hand picked every jewel to be a part of the chandelier. He would have never done it otherwise, but this had to be special. It was for his darling, of course, nothing else would be good enough (this barely was good enough as it was).
Obsidian thrones, one with at least five pillows and the other with none. Of course the one with pillows only had them added recently, for a portrait they had done of the family.
“Hades?” Her hair was shiny in the light, her skin gorgeous in the way the fabric she wore smoothing any creases in her skin left from the wrinkles in the bed sheets.
“Yes, darling?”
“How are preparations going? Have the florists come yet, I had some last minute ideas to incorporate more flowers into the chandelier, and maybe weave some around the thrones. Flower petals on the floor, and garlands on the balcony edges of course….”
“Darling,” he interrupted. “I’m sure that with or without your florist nymphs or forest Fae, if that’s what you chose they would find a way to make it work. No matter what.”
Cooing and giggles came from the doorway. Pain and Panic could be heard fretting over where the child had gone this time, but Hades only smiled.
He put his fingers over his lips with a smile, signaling to his wife that they should be quiet, and then silently walked over to where he couldn’t be seen from the doorway. He never did spill the secret of how he walked silently in his leather shoes, or how the pants of his suit never rustled to give him away.
“Rahhh!” He growled playfully as he grabbed his daughter from where she peered out. She squealed, long blonde hair flying as she was spun in the air in her father’s arms.
Hades looked at his wife, his darling, checking on her. She still looked stressed, but she was smiling and laughing at them. He smiled, secretly victorious in his nefarious plot to make her smile. He didn’t want anything else from her but the sunshine that spilled from her lips.
He pulled his daughter close, and while he messed with her long hair to ensure it wasn’t caught on any buttons of his shirt, she pulled at his previously slicked back hair. It wasn’t hard, considering it was getting long. He needed to trim it, or get a new hairstyle.
He gently lit a blue flame on his finger, offering it to the child.
She stared at it, fascinated, and reached out to grab it.
“Nuh uh uh,” he pulled it away quickly. “Bad idea, kiddo, even your mother didn’t like it for a while. Takes more than a year to get used to the heat, sweetie,” he winked at his wife.
She rolled her eyes. “Alright you two, time to get the princess into her dress for the party. It’s not every day we’re asked to host a New Year’s Party and we actually say yes,” she added reproachingly, staring meaningfully at her husband.
He sighed. “I’ll go make sure everything is prepped- well, whatever can be at this point.”
------
It took a while, but eventually Mal’s joints loosened enough to let her maneuver her motorbike with Celia’s arms around her waist.
Pulling her goggles from over her eyes as they glowed, she chanted, “Noble steeds, proud and fair, you shall take us anywhere.”
The bikes took off, and none of them looked back, even Carlos when Dude yelled, “Carlos! You’re gonna miss Jane’s birthday!”
-------
Dancing. He didn’t want to look away from her, the way silk fell on her shoulders, shifting and glimmering in the light of the candles, of the torches, of the very glow of godliness that just about everyone at this party emitted, but it all seemed to be shadows compared to her.
The way the fabric rustled, parts of her outfit with woven gold and blue and green, practically taken from sun and water and life itself; and then the other parts, the pinks and blacks and purples, the magic she carried, her title, and their daughter’s early sparks.
The little blonde was being carried by her father, in a dark purple wrap that was strapped to his chest, safely snug in a way that was comfortable but didn’t let her touch his hair that she loved so, as it was currently lit up with a blue flame that nearly outdid the sun god that was only a few feet away from the dancing couple in the center of the floor.
He opened his mouth to say something, but then…..
------
Kore came to with a start. Dancing, black marble, and pretty clothes with a pretty husband and a pretty child faded as quickly as she tried to remember what her dream had been about, not even able to notice that she wasn’t in her cot.
“So, you finally woke up. What’s the secret, Kore?” She whipped around. Audrey had been watching her the whole time, scared of what she could do.
“What are you talking about, Audrey?”
“Why didn’t the scepter work on you?” Audrey seemed genuinely confused. “It works on everyone, even Maleficent had effects from it at some points when she fought my parents.”
Kore chuckled. “I don’t think,” she said slowly. “I don’t think it works on me, because it knows something about me. No one claimed to know me before the barrier went up, but clearly it’s not true. Magic itself has a sort of memory, you know. Chances are if you pricked your finger on the spinning wheel, you’d have a sort of immunity, because your mother was so affected by it.”
“Why don’t you remember anything before 16 years ago anyway? I thought we had the best healers in Auradon, there- there wouldn’t be anyone on the Isle of course,” Audrey laughed at the thought. “That would be ridiculous.”
Kore shrugged. “Maybe something with-.” She cut herself off, head burning suddenly. “I can’t- I can’t think-” She gasped for air, her brain feeling like it was being stabbed from the inside to the outside.
“Kore? Kore-!”
Audrey crouched over her former friend. Kore had always been kind, she had only been sympathetic and understanding when Mal stole her Ben, she couldn’t leave her here.
Hefting Kore into her arms, she gazed down at her former magic mentor. “I’ll fix you,” she promised. “I swear I’ll fix you. You’ll remember everything, it’ll be okay someday soon. I’ll be queen,” she wheezed, dragging Kore up the stairs, gritting her teeth. “I’ll make them fix it. Whether they want to or not.”
--------
Audrey strode to the end of the path, encountering a waiter as she entered the clearing. “Anybody save me some guacamole?”
Everybody and the waiter stared at her.
“No? Well it looks like you forgot to invite me as well, even though you all know how that went last time. Oh don’t be expecting Mal to save you either, she’s uh,” she snickered. “She’s not feeling herself right now.”
She moved further towards the cupcake table. “Does that make you sad? Does that just ruin everything?”
No one reacted. “Mindless little drones,” she muttered. “It’s a shame really, the groundskeeper has more personality than all of you combined. Especially that good for nothing grape haired bitch.”
An apprehensive look appeared on Chad’s face, she ignored it.
“How could you forget what she did to us?! How did you all forget that I was supposed to be the queen?!”
Chad jumped a tree trunk. “Time out!” He panted, then straightened up. “First off, great new look. I absolutely love the lace, but before you do whatever you’re gonna do, I was wondering if you maybe wanted a loyal boyfriend at your side?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Partner in crime? Sidekick?”
Audrey’s expression went to pure boredom.
“Well- maybe just a lackey to do your bidding? Change tires, smoothie runs, huh?” His expression turned to begging. “Please?”
Audrey thought of Kore, and that Chad always paid more attention in first aid than she did. “You could be useful. Fine, stand behind me.” He scurried behind her, as a smirk appeared on her face. “If Auradon likes to forget so much, they’ll love this. Just a little reminder, of course.”
“Happy Birthday to you,” pink smoke appeared as she stomped the staff into the dirt. “Happy Birthday to you,” people fell asleep standing up. “Happy Birthday, dear Jane,” the fog made its way down the hill to the pavilion by the Enchanted Lake, where Jane was watching, unsettled. “Happy birthday, to you!”
--------
Running. Running and running and running- why?
‘Mother said to run if it ever appeared again, to run as fast as I can, but why? What is so bad about any of this?’
Abruptly, she stopped. The dark patch on the ground was down the hill now, and she had the forest to hide in if she needed.
“You do know I don’t want to hurt you,” the voice called. “I just want to talk to you more.”
She knew him. “Who are you?”
“You know who I am, darling.”
She smiled. “I do, but I have to say it anyway.”
He sighed. “I have another plant for you.”
She immediately scampered down the hill to see, skidding to a stop just before she crashed into him, and hugged him. “What is it?”
He told her he didn’t know, and as she rattled off facts and statements about it to deduce what it was (Underworld plants were very different from normal plants) he looked down at her.
Her hair had flowers in it, probably from laying in the meadow all day, staring up at the clouds dreamily. How he wished he could see her face when she did it, but every time he appeared she had to run away immediately, to keep up pretenses with her mother.
Demeter was traumatized by Zeus and Poseidon, she understandably wasn’t going to give Hades a chance to go after her precious daughter, her pride and joy.
‘Pity she can’t understand love anymore.’
“You’re beautiful, you know that?”
She looked up abruptly, startled by his interruption.
“You always know what’s wrong with something so precious, you care about them all,” he went on. “I wish more people would bother to see it.”
‘I don’t really, because more people might try to steal you away,’ he thought, but it wasn’t proper to say that of course.
The pastel dress she wore, deemed by her mother to be one of the only things that was appropriate for her to wear, fanned out in the gentle breeze-
Hades awoke from his nap with a start, tears streaming down his face.
“I miss you,” he muttered. “I miss feeling you next to me.”
There was so much he wished he could say, but the memories in his mind were all he had left. They’d certainly married her off, or locked her up somewhere without access to the ground or to light. Or something equally as soul draining for her, knowing that outright killing her would be enough for his anger to bring down the barrier.
Death magic wasn’t meant to be contained.
It wasn’t like he wanted to take it out on the other Isle prisoners of course, but he couldn’t help it. He was draining the life out of the people, the island, the magic of the barrier itself. He kept himself away from everyone he could- didn’t want to become more of a villain than they already thought he was, but there wasn’t much he could do, or really anywhere isolated enough that it would only affect him.
Being able to use it a little when his daughter picked up a few more kids with her friends had only done so much, there was years of backed up magic, years of backed up judgements and organization and paperwork- none of which anyone outside the barrier ever thought of.
Outside his lair, the clouds inside the barrier grew darker, trying to restrain the magic that so desperately needed an out.
#mal#mal bertha#persephone#hades x persephone#hades#descendants#disney descendants#royaldescendants#wip#kore
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Into Thin Air - Chapter 1
it’s here ! the first chapter of my w.i.p posted here under the cut! hope y’all enjoy n’ love you loads <3
- One Year Before -
Simon
The Watford Market is extremely crowded. Simon is noticing this as he shuffles through the crowd, his pockets jingling with the heavy weight of shiny bracelets, coin purses, and every other treasure he manages to snag. It’s not unusual for the crowd to be so dense, but it’s rare that people are so unsuspicious of the clumsy boy who keeps stumbling about. Every so often, he’ll trip over his feet again, dipping his fingers into their pockets in the process. But naturally, they’re all unaware, thrown off by the disarming smile that he’ll throw their way. He’s been told that he’s got a charming smile – well, only by Penny – but he doesn’t believe it. His smile nearly splits his face in half with how wide it is and makes his eyes narrow and well up with tears.
“But that’s only happiness, Simon. Everyone looks great when they’re happy, even if they are ugly.”
He learned a long time ago not to start arguments with Penny unless he plans to sit for a long time. The first time he’d tried disagreeing with her on a point she’d made, they ended up being kicked out of the café they frequent for loitering. Had he been up to it though, he would’ve said then that a smile isn’t always happy, but that would’ve just led to the pity staring and another one of the tightest hugs that Simon’s ever received. Which would result in the two worst outcomes of visiting Penny; pity or having to endure one of her lengthy speeches. He doesn’t have time to be pitied or to sit through an hour of her tight voice disagreeing with every point that Simon can articulate, and so he doesn’t bother.
He’ll agree that happiness looks good on everyone (she’s not wrong on that one) and again agree, albeit reluctantly, that his smile is charming. And if Penny, who is almost always correct thinks so, he might as well use it to his advantage.
“So sorry,” he’ll apologize, smiling broadly – and charmingly, he’ll think begrudgingly - until whoever he's thrown himself into begins to smile back shyly and turn away. “I’ve been told that I’m awfully clumsy.”
The sheer volume of the things bulging from both his coat pockets is starting to weigh him down a bit and he’s beginning to think that he should turn down the stumbling a notch. After all, he has plans for tonight (besides meeting Penny for tea in the evening,) and he can’t be worried about dropping his goodies in someone’s home.
Sighing, he breaks away from the crowd, ignoring the ache in his gut that is only slightly more guilt than hunger. It’s still a pressing need though - to eat. If he’s not full, he’s empty, running on the pangs of an aching stomach. He shakes his head, shakes away the pressing feeling on his gut, and catches the eyes of a pretty blonde woman swathed in the light of the sun.
She’s practically shimmering, in a clean set of swirling, white silks. Her pale yellow hair is only slightly darker than the shade, but her smile matches the pearly white to a tee. A smile which she’s currently aiming at Simon. He takes it as an invitation to make his way over, pushing through the crowd and mumbling half-hearted apologies, barely taking his eyes off of her.
He smiles back then when he’s only a few feet in front of her stand. His eyes catch on all the silvery bracelets on the table, then move up to focus on the scarf adorning her neck. He notices then that the fabric isn’t white at all. It’s an iridescent shade, the lightest hues of every color in the rainbow.
Pretty enough to be sold instead of pawned, if Simon can devise a way of distracting her long enough to pull it away from her shoulders. He takes a few steps forward, pausing right before the edge of the booth. Dragging his fingers through his curls as deliberately as he can. He does this with every stranger who takes a second glance at him or holds his eyes for a moment too long.
He takes the time to stretch out a bit, but it’s more time to let his mind race, really. He’ll wait for a second to reign in the first chaotic whirlwind of worry before he gets any closer. Then another to let her notice the broad frame of his shoulders or the way he’s finally filled in his clothing.
Just in case she’s caught a glimpse of one of the many, many posters pinned up on nearly every street corner, advertising a “negotiated reward,” for whoever could find and capture the bony little nightmare who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. In case she’s smiling to herself, thinking of that reward and her chance to get off the street.
She doesn’t look like she’s very concerned about money, if her jewelry is anything to go by. (He’s grown adjusted to noticing people’s material items before their faces; it’s impossible for him not to notice the shiny beads adorning the length of her wrist.) Still, he presses closer, finding confidence in the fact that he doesn’t resemble his current self at all, minus the eyes.
Surely by now, the people should have updated the rough sketch of his fourteen-year-old self, yet they haven’t. Everything about the boy that they’ve drawn looks tired – like he’s barely able to lift his head. He’s too wiry and they’ve drawn him without a single freckle when Simon’s got a million. But they hadn’t, and he doesn’t know whether to feel sorry for them or to laugh at his fortune.
Either way, he makes sure to draw himself up to full height, push on his bronze curls, and clench his jaw tightly. He showcases his broad shoulders with tight t-shirts and makes sure to wear his ruby ring on his pinky, the only finger it fits on.
Look at me. I’m not that boy. He breathes in and out, once, then twice.
Just in case she’s lulling him with her gorgeous smile, charming him with the swirl of her shiny, rainbow clothes. Just in case she’s going to take him down too. She’ll recognize his eyes (that’s what Mr. Salisbury’s always saying) and shout for help, and it’ll be over. Taken down by a bloody ribbon merchant and her inviting smile.
I’m only me. I’m Simon Snow. One breath. Then two.
His second breath is punched out of him as a young boy knocks into him from behind, running past him as fast as he can. Just as he’s gathered to courage to take the last couple of steps as well, which is just his luck. Just as the boy darts through the crowd, gathering more attention from the crowd, a man comes hurtling past Simon, running full speed towards him.
Maybe the boy’s dad, he thinks, turning to watch the man just as he’s about to catch up to the little boy. He's certainly much too young, from what Simon can see, with dark hair trailing behind him. He's in a grey suit and he fills it out perfectly, which means he's either rich enough to afford tailored suits or hasn't started shrinking like old people do when they start getting old.
Anyway, they’ve gained the attention of everyone lingering by the market stalls, all turning to watch the pair sprinting through the street. It’s a whole mess, people screaming as they get pushed aside and grumbling about manners. Simon almost laughs, until he sees that the boy is slowing, tripping over his own feet. His frantic gait is worrying him already. He's going to trip if he continues running so fast, he's sure of it.
So Simon rushes forward, past the ribbon merchant and even the man chasing after the boy, running as fast as his feet will carry him. He knows the clench of his hands, sees the chains hanging from his tiny fingers before he notices anything else. A thief, then. A little one at that, barreling straight towards the butcher’s shop.
Simon doesn’t bother to wonder why this man is chasing him, just keeps running with every intention to save the boy. His thoughts are moving as fast as his legs, thinking he’s too young, with every step he takes. He knows how it feels to push past limits, to run long after you’re tired. He can’t bear to witness it, won’t let him get caught by this stranger hell-bent on ruining him.
He’s too young, only a boy. He speeds up as soon as the thought crosses his mind, head shooting down to watch his steps as he nearly stumbles over his own feet.
He looks up from the ground just in time to watch the boy’s foot catch on the edge of a table and watches him sprawl out on the ground. Simon stops abruptly at the sound of a wail piercing the air, like a police siren. He’s sure that someone must have called them, that they’re here to capture the boy, when he notices that the crowd around the butcher’s table has gone silent, except for the awful shrieking. It's a woman, the one nearest to the little boy. She's moving backward frantically, trying and failing to stifle her sobs with her hand shoved between her teeth.
He nears the group, watching the boy’s chest dip slowly as he lies on the ground. Simon can hear it slow from the ugly, rapid gasping of earlier into something softer. Like sleeping, deep and a little ragged, but even. It’s when he realizes that there’s blood on the ground. Deep red, fanning out from around his tiny torso like dragon wings.
Oh fuck.
He can’t breathe or think, other than the constant stream of curses. There’s no reason why there should be so much blood pooling on the ground. Maybe a broken tooth, but no, it’s spilling from his chest, staining his jacket a deep red. There’s nothing but silence and the lone woman sobbing, and Simon’s heart beating so loudly that he can feel it pulsing through his body. A small boy on the ground, chest heaving, and gurgling. He wants to throw himself forward, to help him, but he can’t move.
He doesn’t even know why he’s bleeding so much.
The boy is starting to gasp, and Simon’s sure that his eyes are wide, facing the dirt. He’s got to move, got to get away from this scene and the people, but before he can turn away, the man from earlier is rushing past, mouth pressed into a firm line. He’s as silent as everyone else, even as he places his hand on the boy’s neck, right over his pulse point. He doesn’t look up, not even when the boy stops breathing, or when someone in the crowd lets out a long breath.
Simon staggers away, pulling himself upright and letting whoever that man is deal with it. He himself certainly can’t, not when his eyes are filling with tears that he can’t blink away and his chest feels so tight that he can’t manage a breath that isn’t a gasp. He looks back, once. The man’s staring at him with a strange look, maybe because Simon’s crying or maybe because he’s just witnessed someone die and he’s still got his hand on their neck, but either way, it’s unnerving him.
He closes his eyes and turns away, leaving behind both strangers so he can breathe. Penny will understand if he doesn’t show, or he’ll explain it to her next week when they meet again and she’s done chewing him out for being alive and not showing up for tea. He just needs to get home. He’ll tell Mr. Salisbury what happened and then he’ll get to lie in his bed all day without a single complaint. Skip dinner and get endless amounts of tea and scones instead, just like when Ebb passed.
Baz
Baz has absolutely no clue how this boy managed to snag the knife that was balanced on the butcher’s table on his coat. Had he not seen it just now, he wouldn’t have believed that anyone could have such awful luck. He’s watching the boy now - Mason - as he feels his hammering pulse recede into stillness. He stands, watching the crowd warily to gauge their reactions.
It’s shock and horror, and a few tears. Everyone in this part of town knows who he is and what he does, but he’s always afraid that someone will blame something like this on him. Surely, no one thinks that he killed this boy, and yet, there’s some boy in the crowd stumbling back, eyes alight and wide.
Baz watches him extra closely, feeling shame prickle on the back of his neck at the unadulterated horror on his face. Maybe they knew each other, he thinks. Maybe brothers.
They looked similar enough, and maybe that’s why the older boy was chasing so frantically after this small one. Same deep brown hair, and the same ridiculous hair cut – a thatch of loose curls on the top of their head, with shaved sides. Could’ve been a coincidence, but he takes a longer look at the startled boy just to make sure. Baz feels a pang of shock run through him as he sees tears streaming down the boy’s cheeks, and before he can confirm if they really did know each other, he turns and pushes through the crowd, which has already started to slowly disperse.
He sighs and turns back to the tiny body laying on the ground, taking a glance before he looks back towards the sky.
The boy – Mason – had mumbled something with his final breath, but Baz didn’t catch it, even in the heavy silence that followed the whole thing. He won't even bother to take the heavy chains from his hand. Let him have them. Someone else will take them later on, but for now, they’re his. Someone somewhere in the small crowd of people says, “He was only a boy.”
It makes Baz sigh again, eyes flicking back towards the crowd before fluttering closed again. He feels the constant ache in his neck increase, (which Gareth's always saying comes from all the stress of his job) and has to roll his head back down to face the ground to ease the pressure building up at the base of his skull.
He lets himself think about that, about how he was only a boy. Only about seven, or eight, maybe.
“Jesus fuck,” he mutters, because he can’t help it. “Only a fucking kid.” His head is starting to spin, and he knows he should leave before anyone sees just how much it’s affecting him but even the small crowd still surrounding them is daunting, all those eyes on him, flashing with recognition.
“That’s all he’ll ever get the chance to be,” someone says. Their voice is small but clear, ringing through the air and wrapping around the forefront of his thoughts and that’s what it takes to get his feet to start moving. He won't let them see that he's weak, he can't. What kind of man would he be in his profession if he showed an ounce of regret for justice? Still, he can't help it, he needs to see who's said the words that he's thinking, that are consuming him.
Baz’s head whips around, eyes landing on the source of the words almost like magic. She’s a young woman from the looks of it. She’s a sight – all flared nostrils and clenched jaw and tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. Baz wants to look away as he’s walking, but he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes on her long after she’s looked back to Mason, on the floor until anyone who cares bothers to move him. Maybe she’ll be the one. Maybe that’s why she’d said it, why she’d stared at Baz like that.
He looks away when she meets his eyes again, and doesn't look back.
#carry on#lwm fic#simon snow#baz pitch#penelope bunce#agatha wellbelove#snowbaz#also cross-posted on a03#which will be in the next post#aaaa gosh im nervous to post this#hope y'all enjoy the first piece eeee#into thin air (lwm)
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Misfits Chapter 2 Rough Draft
Art of Oria and Eska, the two heroines from my story Misfits, done by @cherryvunilla Vunilla on deviantart. See the original post here.
Once again I want to point out that this is an extremely rough draft. Much has changed and some scenes don’t even exist anymore. This is the last chapter I wrote the first time I tried to write this story and it’s unfinished too. I’ve since rewritten it from scratch. However, I wanted to share it anyway in case it sparks anybody’s interest and gets them interested in this tale that I’m trying to tell. Enjoy!
Synopsis | Chapter One
Oria awoke to a maid opening her blinds. The light from the street lights flowed in and lit the room a warm yellow.
Oria sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with one hand.
"Good morning miss. I've laid out a clean outfit for you," she said gesturing to the end of the bed.
A very fancy dress, much like the one Isbeil had worn the day before laid before her. It was white however and did not have a high stiff collar. Oria felt the fabric in her hands. It was so soft.
The maid helped Oria slip into the dress with ease and she put on a pair of white silk dress shoes.
"We're washing the clothes you came in now."
Oria looked in the mirror and tied her hair to one side with a bow. She was amazed at how pretty she felt.
The maid led her to the dining room. As the approached she could hear Isbeil and Abhi speaking in in a tongue that she did not understand but recognized as Hindi.
As she entered the room she saw them sitting at a long dinning table. Abhi sat at the head of the table and Isbeil on his right hand side.
"Ah, good morning Oria," Abhi greeted.
"Good Morning," Oria greated.
Oria moved to the seat across from Isbeil and lifted her dress, careful not to sit on her bustle, as she sat.
"This is a nice spread," Oria said eyeing the spread out in front, "I don't recognize any of these fruits though."
"Try these, they taste like strawberries," Abhi said passing a tray of small orangy green fruits to her.
"He's always going on about strawberries," Isbeil said as Oria accepted a few, "I think the reason he's most excited about us having contact with earth again, is that he'll be able to have all the foods that he grew up with.
"Hush, you have no idea what you're missing dear. Tell her Oria."
"Yeah, they're pretty delicious," Oria smiled endearingly.
Eska entered the room wearing a dress shirt, dress pants and a pair of brown boots.
"Good morning sleeping beauty," Isbeil said.
"Only because I get to see your face," Eska winked and plunked herself in the seat beside Isbeil.
"Flatterer."
"So Oria," Abhi began, "Now that we've all had some rest, tell me, what has happened on earth since we severed contact?"
"Um well... it was 100 years ago during the second world war, right?"
"Right."
"When exactly did you loose contact?"
"Right after they dropped them bomb on Hiroshima."
"Okay, well, they dropped another one before the war was over. The allied forces won. There's no longer a royal line in Japan. They're a democracy now. Germany had it's army taken away for a while.
"A couple years later there was the cold war between the U.S and Russia. Everyone was afraid they'd nuke each other that the sky would be fill up with ash and dust. That never happened though.
"Um, when I was 7 terrorists crashed two planes into the world trade center towers. A bunch of people died and they had to evacuate New York for a while. Then they sent a bunch of troops to the middle east and they're still fighting those wars unfortunately.
"Other than that, cars have gotten faster, we put a man on the moon, a rover on mars and I think we even have a satelite outside of the solar system too.
"Um... what else...? I think I'm blanking now sorry. Oh, and global warming! The atmosphere is warming up because of all the carbon emissions from cars and power plants and stuff. It's effecting the enviroment and all these different species are just dying off. There have been heat waves that kill tons of people, I think there was a sea that dried up too and it's putting a hole in the ozone layer."
"That's insane. How is that possible? How do people allow that to continure?" Isbeil exclaimed.
"I- I guess people are just too comfortable to care, or at least do anything about it," Oria replied.
"I see that things still haven't calmed down," Abhi cut in, "Humanity has always been a passionate and fearsome race. Thank you dear for enlightening us. It was all very fascinating. Sometimes it doesn't feel like I've been away for that long at all, " he reminisced, "But so much has happened on both sides. Having you here is like having a little piece of home."
Oria's heart warmed a little.
"Thank you. I'm glad."
"Now my dear, would you tell us more of the reason why you're here."
Oria took a deep breath.
"It's my mother," she began, "She has terminal lung cancer. The doctor has given her little more than a year to live."
"That's quite serious," Abhi said solemnly.
Oria nodded and leaned forward.
"But Eska's Uncle tells me that it's possible to cure her. It's just-"
"The problem of getting her here," Abhi finished for her.
"Yes, and I thought, since you were originally from earth, maybe you would have some experience with these kinds of things. That maybe you could help me."
Oria was speaking so fast but stopped when Abhi put his hand up and took hers.
"Oria, I will help you in anyway I can," he said sincerely.
Oria smiled.
"Thank you," she said with gratitude.
He let go of her hand.
"We'll need to go to immigrations in the home world. Yours is a speccial case so I think things will go well. However, I don't want you to get your homes up too high. Home world is very by the book. We'll need very good lawyers to get you through the loop holes."
"Lawyers?" Oria asked.
"Oh yes, we're going to have to go through many court cases and get on the good side of many of politicians. Lucky for you I've already got that covered," he winked.
They finished breakfast and then prepared to depart. Isbeil helped Oria pick out a decorative sun hat, that had sashed that came down the side and tied under her chin, and a pair of white satin gloves that went up past her elbows. She also gave her a small coin purse which Oria put her phone, I.D, and some of her makeup in.
As Isbeil helped her accessorize they smiled and laughed and joked. Isbeil kept telling her how pretty she was and how much the clothes suited her. Oria felt really relaxed around her. Like they had been friends for years. But she guessed she was just on of those kinds of people.
When they got outside a carriage was waiting there. Eska was wearing a long trench coat that she left open. To her right Abhi looked very dapper in knee high boots and a long dark coat. He held the door open while the girls entered and followed them in. He signalled to the driver and they were on their way.
They drove slowly down the hill. At the bottom, rather than turning left or right, they did a 180 and turned into a small tunnel that Oria had not noticed the day before. Lanterns hung at the sides. THey lit the place up with yellow flickering light.
They were in the tunnel for no more than a minute when it let out into another part of the portal world. The houses there were still nice. Women of lower status walked the streets selling flowers, bread, milk and other goods.
They made their way down the street at a decent pace. Eventually they turned and began makinf their way to the closest wall of the cavern. Finally they made it to a slightly larger cave.
This one was lined with nicer, more advance lights. Oria didn't recognize the make but they almost looked fluorescent.
The tunnel was also lined with video frames that showed many sorts of ads for products that were unrecognizable and alien to her. As they moved down the tunnel suddenly the road was glassy looking and lit a pale green. It was transparent and showed lit blue wires like a microchip. It reminded her of Tron.
Soon the tunnel began to brighten as the pale glow of sunlight began to mix with the florescent lighting. Soon they exited the tunnel and Oria practically cried out when they were left hanging in mid air. However they did not fall and continued to hover as the carriage moved forward. Oria looked out the window at the wheels and saw that the air glowed green below them. She soon realized that the road was not gone but had just become transparent. She could tell it was still their by the slight sheen of light bouncing off of it.
She looked down and saw a grand city looming far below them. It was silver and white and far more advanced than any she had seen on earth. Vehicles flew through the air and more vehicles lined transparent roads below her.
"Amazing," she breathed, too awestruck to say more.
Eska smiled over at her and Isbeil smirked.
They descended downwards slightly and soon came upon a moving platform. It took them down past the top of the highest buildings and soon Oria could measure their height in the amount of floors they went down. She counted 80 under her breath and still they were so high up in the sky. The buildings were enormous and impossibly wide to boot.
When they got off the moving platform they exited the carriage and got on to one of the flying vehicles that was waiting for them there. They took off into the sky and Oria white knuckled the seat.
She had flown once before in the helicopter that had taken her to the Toronto hospital after one bad self injury session she had when she was younger. She still remembered how her cheek stung and the pain in her mothers eyes after they had stitched her up and stabilized her. She had never done it again.
Soon the landed on a platform in front of the tallest building in the city. It was attached 10 stories down from the top of the building.
"This is where the council is," Isbeil began, "Immigrations is located here too a few floors down."
They stepped out of the vehicle onto the shiny white floor. It pulsed bright like where her feet applied pressure. She almost felt like she was in heaven.
They walked towards the building though the beautiful park and garden that surrounded them. There was a sitting area and a fountain and even a playground that had been taken over by small children from races she had yet to know.
The walked through large grand glass like doors that needn't part but one could simply phase through. The technological advancements stunned Oria. She hadn't the words to describe the complete awe she was feeling.
The room that they were in had a high ceiling like a stadium and many booths lined that walls that could be reached by more floating platforms. A long line trailed from a large reception desk at the front of the room.
They walked past all this and reached a grand staircase in the center of the room. The descended and walked down a long hallway along the side of the building that was lined with a large window that spanned the length of it. At the end they reached an elevator that spanned the length of a full room. They went down 20 floors and exited into a smaller but no less grand room than the one before.
They were greeted by a woman in full business attire there.
"Welcome Sir Rana. What can I help you with today?"
"Immigrations business," he replied, "I'd like to speak with Vito if at all possible."
"Certainly Sir, right this way," she lead them down a hallway and spoke on an ear piece as she did.
"He's just finishing a meeting right now, he'll be with you shortly," she said as they approached their destination, a small waiting room.
"If you would please take a seat," she said gesturing to the couches and coffee table.
"Thank you," Abhi said.
She bowed slightly. She left for a minute and returned with a tray of tea. She place tea cups and saucers down in front of them all. She served them all tea and bowed again before leaving.
They waited no more than five minutes before Vito entered the room with his personal assistant. They were both the same kind of humanoid creature as Jules and the woman in the painting back at the mansion.
Abhi and Isbeil rose so Oria did too. Slowly Eska did as well. It was apparent that she didn't care for the mannerisms of the high class.
"Good to see you again friend," Vito said as he shook Abhi's hand.
"And it's good to see you."
Isbeil stepped forward.
"Hello Vito," she said grasping his hand, "These are my friends Eska and Oria," she gestured to the pair.
"Nice to meet you both," he nodded first shaking Eska's hand and then Oria's.
"So Abhi, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Vito asked. "It's a matter of great import," he replied.
And that’s all I wrote of Chapter 2! I hope you enjoyed. Here are some bits that I had on the end of the file that I wrote down that happen later in the story.
About him paying a lot to fast track her case- "My dear, I have so much money, I don't know what to do with it all." (When she thanks him)
"This is my idiot brother" "Is that any way to treat your older brother?" "By five minutes." "And I'll never let you forget it!" "Isn't that my line?
"These are my best friends," Oria said showing her a picture on her phone, "Jamal, Peter and Nina. I go to school with Jamal and Nina, and I met Peter at ballet lessons when we were little.
“Who’s that?” Eska asked as she scrolled past a picture of her ex.
“Oh- that’s Hwan.”
Eska seemed to notice the briskness of her answer and side-glanced at her as she continued to go through pictures.
“And these are my three little cousins Cara, Steebeth and Vea.”
“Aw they’re adorable little runts.”
Oria chuckled.
"Tell me something that I don't know about you" "I sang in a choir when I was a child." "Really? I can't see you doing that" "I'm full of surprises" "Sing me something," Oria requested. Eska tucked a strand of hair behind Oria's ear. "Are you going to Scarborough FairParsley, sage, rosemary and thyme Remember me to one who lives thereShe once was a true love of mine....."
Scarborough Fair is just a placeholder song until I can think of some lyrics of my own.
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Ballroom Dancing
(It’s sort of a working title)
Summary: Lance McClain Can’t dance. Pidge finds a room in the castle only Lance hoped to find. Lance is extremely nervous. Keith can dance, Keith is helpful.
( I am shit at summaries, my apologies )
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P1:
The castle was big. Of course, there were rooms we hadn't seen yet. Did Pidge have to stumble across that room, though? When I found it I hoped I was the only one who would find it, because I knew what would come next. "Hey, Princess?" started Pidge at dinner that night. Allura, who had just taken a bite of her food, turned her attention to the green paladin with a wide-eyed look that read "Yes?" Pidge set down her fork. "I was wandering the castle today on my way to training, and I found a room… I think it was a ballroom?" I held back a groan but I couldn't hide the slight look of displeasure and terror on my face. Good thing everyone was focused on Pidge now.
"Why, yes! As a diplomatic family, of course my father had a ballroom. Oh I have such fond memories of dancing with my father and friends in that ballroom when I was younger!" says Allura and my look of worry grows. Oh please don't say it…
"I wish we could do it again…" Allura sighs wistfully.
Quiznak.
"Well," Hunk began, swallowing a bite of space food. "Maybe we could? We could invite a bunch of people from the alliances! Maybe we could even have the Balmerans come; it'd be great to see Shay again…"
No no no no oh god no.
"Hunk, that's a great idea!" Allura exclaimed, a new glimmer in her eyes. "I don't know. Having the doors open and a lot of guests here… That didn't work out so well last time." Saved by the Keith! Also, he makes a good point. "Yeah, what if some galra show up, or some spies get in? Lotor is sneaky." I add. "Lance agrees with Keith? This is a new age," mutters Pidge and Hunk stifle a laugh. I shoot her a look and she sticks her tongue out at me. "We could have security! Shiro and I could keep a look out for any shady figures. You know, back when I was a young Altean, I had to go through a rigorous training in order to-" As Corran begins on one of his "when-I-was-younger" stories, I begin thinking of ways to avoid the ball.
See, the thing is, I can't dance. I mean, of course, I can make up some moves and such, but ballroom dancing? Nope. Never been able to. I even took classes back on Earth and I still couldn't get the hang of it. I would always step on my partners' toes. They eventually kicked me out of the class after I sprained someone else's toe by accident… My mother gave up on ballroom dancing after that.
I was jolted out of my thought process when Hunk tapped my shoulder and whispered, "Do you believe this?" I jumped a bit and blinked, replying, "You're actually listening?" Hunk glared at me. "Lance, we're on a completely different subject. We're talking about songs! Now that Corran got some internet, we can look up songs even from Earth,” he whispered. My stomach did a backflip just thinking about Earth. About home. “Okay. Have we decided anything?” he whispered back. “A few… mostly classical. Bach, Mozart, that kind of stuff." I smirked. "Can we sneak in some Ke$ha" Hunk rolled his eyes. I felt a kick under the table. "Lance, no!" Pidge hisspered (that means hiss-whispered. I coined the term myself). "OW Pidge! No need for violence, you little-" "Lance?" I looked up to see Shiro looking at me quizzically. "Yyyyes?" I said cautiously. I obviously had no idea what they were talking about. "What do you think about Allura's idea to have them pay something to dance with the paladins?" he asked. "I… What?" "When I was a little kid and my father held balls here, I remember them trying to raise funds by having the guests pay a small fee to dance with the paladins! I thought we could do that again, seeing as we need funds. Actually… I don't think I can recall us ever actually paying for somethi-"
"I think it's a great idea, princess," interjected Hunk.
"Me too" added Pidge.
"I actually wouldn't mind that," said Keith.
Well, now it'd look bad if I didn't agree.
"Sure, Allura. Sounds good!" Now if I could just leave the room without drawing too much attention to silently panic in my bedroom…
"Princess, shouldn't we have practices first? I'm sure many of us haven't danced in a long time, or even at all," offered Shiro. Oh, come on! That makes everything so much worse. But, maybe with enough practice, I could learn by the ball? Who am I kidding? I'm never going to be good at dancing. I've just learned to accept this.
"Shiro, that's a wonderful idea! We can even use the ballroom!"
And so it begins.
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P2 it’s a double feature:
"Lance."
"Lance!"
"Oh my god, LANCE WAKE UP"
I'm violently shaken awake by small hands grasping my shoulder and hitting my face.
"Ugh... What the hell, Pidge?"
Lance, you've had your beauty sleep, now you have GOT to GET UP" Pidge exclaimed, jumping up and down.
"Dude, what's happening?" I say, rubbing my eyes and moving to sit up. Pidge is smiling like a dork. It's a little creepy, but that's Pidge for you. "Allura has outfits. And they look amazing." She put a space between "they", "look", and "amazing" for emphasis. I immediately perked up. "Wait, seriously?" Pidge laughed, "Why would I lie about cool clothes, Lance? OF COURSE I'M SERIOUS!"
We simultaneously started squealing.
When we got to the rest of the team (except Shiro and Corran, who were meeting with the Arusians about security) Allura was already showing Hunk some suits that the previous paladins had worn for dances. Hunk was eyeing the old blue paladin's suit with designs along the collar that looked like a galaxy or magic. It was beautiful. When Allura noticed us walk in, she said hello and immediately brought over an array of outfits that would fit me. She turned to Pidge, "Would you like to wear a dress or a suit? I have plenty of both that will fit you!" I saw Pidge's eyes go wide. Nobody had ever asked her that. "Thanks, Allura! Can I look at both options?" Pidge said, maybe a bit more enthusiastically than expected. "Do you just want to look at cooler alien clothes, Pidge?" I elbowed her. "Duh, Lance. Duh," she replied as she followed Allura to another corner of her enormous princess closet. I snickered as I looked through the suits Allura had given me. They were all stunning, made with a fabric like a mix of silk and cotton, but definitely nothing I'd ever felt before. There was one with shimmering holo, another with a holo-like substance, but it was truly a moving rainbow. There was another with moving stitches, depicting a battle between Voltron and a large alien beast. At the end, when Voltron was victorious, it moved and started over again. My eyes finally fell on a shimmery sky blue suit, accented with fabric that looked exactly like the ocean's surface, and moved like it too. I immediately took it and tried it on.
It fit perfectly.
I totally didn’t squeal and jump up and down for a solid 10 seconds…
After everyone had picked out their outfits, we all gathered in Allura's bedroom in our outfits. We all looked around. I felt so high-class like I should be holding a champagne glass or something!
Hunk had chosen a sparkly yellow suit that shimmered in the light, a perfect golden, paired with a shiny black tie. The top looked like it was made directly from the sun. He looked great.
Pidge ended up going with a dress after all. She had an off-shoulder dark green dress with those little sleeves. It puffed out at the waist and flowed down, with a small train in the back. The design of beautiful alien plants looked so real, for a bit, I thought they were growing out of the bottom of the dress. She looked so happy in it, and she looked amazing.
Allura had a tight light pink dress with blue accents that shimmered when she walked. She also had a tiara with jewels hanging down and into her hair, which was up, but cascading down in the sides. She looked gorgeous.
Keith had a dark red suit, with accents that looked like red fire in the evening, so real I expected smoke to come off it. He had a black flower that looked like it should turn to dust, but in a good way, you know? He looked nervous in front of everyone. I kind of wanted to assure him that he didn't need to be worried… I mean, he looked crazy good. Definitely better than me. Probably the best in the room, though I hated to admit it. Maybe this ball wouldn't be that bad… Allura clapped her hands and broke the silence. "Well, you all look wonderful! I'm so glad you like the outfits, too. I had been hoping to reuse them someday," she smiled and said. "Yeah, thanks Allura! These are so cool," Hunk replied. "Dude, I love this so much," Pidge agreed, sitting on Allura's bed and playing with the ends of her dress. Allura laughed. "Well, you all should probably hang those up in your own rooms now. Wash up and rest up! Tomorrow we start dancing!"
I was so hyped up with my new suit, I didn't even mind the impending doom that loomed over me in the form of dance lessons as I showered and put on my nightly Altean face mask.
Well, I didn't think about it until it was the middle of the night and I woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare I couldn't remember. My feet felt sore. It hit me what was going to happen tomorrow and a million "what if?"s ran through my mind at a million miles per hour. What if I fell? What if the fall sprained my ankle? At least then I could embarrass myself further. But what if they made me dance anyway? What if I was so bad none of us raised money at the ball? Would Voltron die? Would Haggar and her evil druids make the galra reign over the universe once more while we were still stranded in space with no way to get home? I couldn't get back to sleep with all these horrible ideas in my head. So I went out, rubbing my eyes, not sure where I was heading.
My feet took me to the kitchen. I figured a midnight (do Alteans have midnight?) snack might clear my head. As the door slid open (man I love these automatic doors in the castle) I heard movement in the kitchen. I jumped slightly, only to realize it was only Keith. "Hey, man. Couldn't sleep either?" I asked.
"I guess... I'm just not that tired. What about you?"
"Oh.… I.. Uh…" Did I want to tell him I had a slight panic attack about how I can't dance and now I can't get back to sleep?
"Let me guess: You're nervous. Honestly, so am I. I don't think I'm a great dancer. I'm also not the most popular paladin, so at least not a lot of people will want to dance with me."
"I'd want to dance with you!" I blurted, immediately regretting it. I don't like seeing my friends upset, especially when I'm already upset. Sometimes I just say whatever I think they'd want to hear without thinking about it first. Not that I wouldn't want to dance with him though, I'd just make a huge fool of myself.
"Um, thanks, Lance. That's… really nice of you. Maybe I'll take you up on that offer"
Alright not what I was expecting but… wait… is he… blushing? It's not much, but I'm pretty sure he is. Oh god. Now I'm blushing too. This is awkward. I'll say anything to break this silence. A small part of my head says "tell him that why you're really here". Okay, anything but that.
"So, uh, what brings you to the kitchen?" I ask. Smooth, Lance. Great conversation starter.
"Midnight snack. Maybe it'll help me sleep. You?"
"Same thing… Hey," I begin. "You said you didn't think you were a great dancer? But you can dance, yeah?"
"Yeah? I mean I guess I can. I took lessons and I didn't fall on my face, so I suppose I was good."
I fell on my face. A lot. I feel my face get warm with embarrassment.
"Why?" Keith asked.
"Well, ugh, this is weird to say, but I can't. Dance, I mean. It's super embarrassing. I tried taking lessons and stuff, but I was never any good," I found myself pouring out all the crap I didn’t want to think about. It felt good. "Every time I would try, I would step on someone else's toes, or trip them, or trip myself, or mess up in any way possible dancing. Eventually, my mom took me out of dance. I'm still sad about it because I did really like it. Music is awesome and I just wish I could move to it well. That sounds stupid, I know, but it didn't sound as stupid when I was lying awake in bed, sweating, because I was scared my bad dancing would scare away anyone from donating to Voltron at all, then Voltron would fall and we wouldn't be able to stand up to the galra and they would regain control over the universe and we would all be enslaved to them and all of would be stranded slaves in space with no way of getting back home." I finished, tears breaking through my eyes and slowly rolling down my cheeks.
"Oh, Lance…" Keith sighed, setting his cup down on the counter and opening his arms for a hug. His expression looks so genuinely concerned, which only made me feel worse. Though, if he looked mad or happy I'd still feel worse. Nevertheless, the tears started coming faster, and I leaned forward while Keith stepped towards me and wrapped me in a bear hug I didn't think possible for someone of his size.
I sniffed and Keith gently let me step back. "I've never told anyone all that…" Keith smiled warmly. "I'm glad you told me. If you wanted, I could teach you how to dance?" he offered. I looked up. No one ever asked me to dance, even if it was just lessons. "I told you, I took lessons before. I'd probably end up getting your wrist sprained…" I answered. "You got someone's wrist sprained?" Keith asked incredulously. I winced. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to- Maybe it'll be easier to learn one-on-one? And with someone you already know?" Keith offered. "I… I don't know. Maybe. I think I'll tell the group tomorrow, though. It'll be easier now that I've already told you," I sighed. "I'm going to try to go back to sleep. 'Night, Keith." "'Night, Lance. Hope you get to sleep."
It took me a little while to actually fall asleep, but at least the anxiety had calmed down, more or less. I prepped myself for tomorrow.
I was (not) ready.
#omg this sucks#i'm sorry#klance#keith/lance#voltron#vld#voltron fanfiction#fanfic#fanfiction#vld fanfic#keith x lance#keith kogane#keith is gay#gay#langst#klangst#angst#sort of lol#horrible#ew#oh my gosh
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TDBM Fic: The Pleasure of Your Company - 4
Finally! The next part rather got away from me... In case the thread was lost in the time passed, this is a series of scenes taking place before the Jean and Lucien wedding, from the POV of other characters.
4. The Bridal Party -
At first Celia didn't recognise Jean Beazley. It wasn’t just the new hairstyle and the shocking tendency to wear trousers to the shops. There was a confidence about her since becoming engaged to Lucien Blake that had changed her very carriage. Then Celia noticed the familiar tip of her head, furrow of her brow and she said "Jean!" before she remembered that Jean had deserted them--for that shocking man.
'Let's look at that tummy.' His voice had been kind and gentle, his fingertips soft. He'd smelled nice. Not like her husband, how he reeked of sour alcohol and stale cigarettes, and whose grip was clumsy and painful. Confused, Celia started to back down the narrow shop aisle, pulling her baby pram along.
Before she make her retreat, Benny echoed his mother's excited squawk from his pram.
"Celia!" Jean quickly dropped the pale ivory tulle that she'd been fingering. They were among the fine fabrics suitable for christenings, confirmations and weddings.
Celia shushed Benny. There was no avoiding Jean now, so she might as well ask: "Starting on your wedding gown?"
Jean didn't answer. She leaned over to tweak the baby’s plump cheek. "Benny's grown so much. The last time I saw him was before Christmas, of course."
Celia nodded, uncomfortable. She turned back to the fabric. "That'll be a lovely gown. Getting a bit of a late start though." She'd seen the announcement in the Courier and now the wedding was be in two weeks' time. It hadn't be in the church notices, of course.
"I'm not making a gown. I bought a nice suit." Jean smiled stiffly. Her gaze shifted back to the frothy silks. "I'm too old for such silliness anyway."
"Right," Celia murmured. Benny began to fret and she bent to soothe him.
"He looks just like his father," Jean noted.
"Thank God." Quickly changing the subject, Celia snared the end of a bolt of an ivory satin. "You've made so many lovely dresses for others, why not yourself?" She remembered that Jean had made her dress, had treated her like a real lady during the fittings. The future had seemed so bright in those days, Ben so in love and attentive.
"It's silly," Jean repeated, shrugging.
Celia gave Benny a teething ring to quiet his fussing.
Jean continued, as though reading her mind. "But considering the spectacle that we've been putting on for the whole town, me wearing a proper dress would hardly raise an eyebrow." Jean always was the sort to cut right to the meat of the matter. Cecia's laughter bubbled out.
Jean joined in, but then sobered. "Pa--a friend, a very good friend, recently told me that we need our triumphs. I haven't had many in life. Always worried about what others would think or say--but maybe it's time. Time to enjoy this day." Her smile turned impish again. "After all, I might as well give something yummy for the gossips to chew on."
Celia became practical. "Do you have a pattern?"
Jean tapped her temple. "Right here."
Celia motioned to a hovering clerk. "Let's get started then." She felt very daring for the first time in a long time...well, since she'd accepted an invitation for tea with Terrance Hampton, their insurance agent with the engaging smile. She still wasn't sure what she felt about Jean's abandonment, but she knew that she had to be bold once more, or lose herself forever.
"There's not time for me to finish--"
"Let us get started," Celia repeated firmly, even as her hands shook with uncertainty.
X
But it wasn't going to be that easy. Ben started his usual integration as soon as she told him that she was going out for the evening, and several more evenings in the future until the gown was finished.
"Jean Beazley? Bullshit!" he roared.
Celia covered Benny's ears. "Language!" she warned.
"That slapper's been tossed out of church. You're not going to associate with her."
Furious, Celia spat, "Decide which it is. Am I sneaking off to an affair or hanging around with another slut?"
Backed into a corner, Ben took a step forward, just to see her cower in fear.
She tried a softer approach. "Ben, truly. It's helping an old friend out. She can't tailor the dress herself."
"She's been tossed out by Father Emery! How's that gonna make you look?"
"She chose to leave of her own accord--"
"And then had some armed standoff in the cemetery!"
"Ben, don't be silly! This is Jean Beazley you're talking about! Christopher Junior was a mate of yours."
He was always much more dangerous when he lowered his voice as he did now. "You're not going."
"I promised," she whispered. "And Dorothy and Evelyn are going. It'll be perfectly respectable." In fact, she hadn't rung up the other ladies yet, and wasn't even sure her friends would be willing to visit the disgraced former member of the sewing circle.
It did take some convincing for Evelyn: "Celia, I was Father Morton's housekeeper and now I do for Father Emery three times a week. It would seem that I condone what Jean's done, and that's simply not the case."
"I'm surprised that you associate with me," Celia said, stung.
"But you have confessed your sins," Evelyn pointed out.
It was time to make a low shot. "You may have gone to jail for murder if it wasn't for Doctor Blake."
Evelyn had been quiet for a long time before saying, "Hate the sin, love the sinner."
"So I'll pick you up at six?"
Dorothy had been much easier, even eager. "It's been ever so long since I've seen Jean. I'll make biscuits."
Celia brought Benny, promising Ben some peace and quiet for the evening. He'd be drunk when she got home, hopefully passed out to give her some solitude of her own.
When the sewing circle arrived at the Blake house, every room was lit bright and people bustled everywhere. The dignified household of the senior Doctor Blake was gone.
"I'm so sorry," Jean said, ushering them through the house, "Lucien and his gang are setting up our new bed-edroom." She stuttered on 'bed' and flushed.
She quickly introduced everyone. Besides Lucien Blake, there was Chief Superintendent Matthew Lawson, nearly unrecognisable in civilian clothes; a young policeman, Danny Parker; and the Courier reporter, Rose Anderson. The two young people were in dungarees and worn shirts, and although Lawson leaned heavily on a cane, he seemed ready to work as well.
Jean settled the ladies in the dining room, her dress form at the ready, and the shopping sacks with the fabrics and notions in them. Lucien was fussing about though, his eyes bright and curious on the women. She made the situation clear, flapping her hands at him. "Your lot straighten out the studio." She called to Danny. "Bring the folding screen from the doctor's exam room. It'll shield this doorway." For the doorway between the lounge and dining room, she tugged the heavy curtains free from their holdbacks. "No peeking, Lucien."
"I'm not," he said as he peered over her shoulder and smiled greetings. They all murmured uncomfortable replies.
"Change your clothes before you ruin another pair of trousers." She gave him a brisk slap on the bum as a way of moving him along, but that got her a slow smile, and their eyes locked.
Celia couldn't look away as her friends did. Her lover had gazed at her that way. She'd believed him when he told her that she was special to him, that they'd be together someday--no second wedding for her, though. She didn't believe in divorce. Head down, she started to sort through her sewing box for her scissors and pins.
"Right. I'll be a good boy," Lucien murmured before heading to his bedroom. Her cheeks pink, Jean yanked the curtains closed and joined the other women.
She had several magazine photos for reference, and had done a sketch of a dress based on her favourite elements. She'd marked pages in her pattern books for a tea length satin skirt and a fitted bodice with a fine lace overlay. After rolling out paper, she quickly set the patterns and the women pinned them to the fabrics.
"Thank you so much for helping," Jean said, "it means alot to me."
Dorothy squeezed her hand. "I've missed you so much, Jean."
"I've missed you too."
Celia bit back, 'Then why have you left us?'
"Jean?" was at the curtain.
"Yes, Lucien." She didn't look up from the piece that she was cutting.
"I've changed."
She sighed. "And?"
"Do you want to check my clothes?"
She whispered to them, "He doesn't dress down much."
Flipping back the curtain just enough to see him, she looked him up and down. "That shirt!" she exclaimed. The other women craned their necks to see. He wore a white dress shirt but there was a faint but large stain on the left side of the chest. In the center of the stain, Jean had neatly stitched shut a large tear. His trousers were faded gray, the knees a bit shiny with age.
He was rolling up his sleeves, and snugged them at elbows. "Will I pass muster?"
She rested her hand in the middle of his chest, and rubbed a light circle. Tweaking the open collar down flat, she said, "You'll do," giving him a soft smile.
He planted a quick kiss on her cheek as to not muss her lipstick, and then dramatically swished the curtains closed.
After a moment, Jean turned back to her friends. Brushing a lock of hair off her flushed cheek, she smiled at them. "Right. Back to it."
At first, It was just like old times. But when their needles were flashing, basting together the pieces, the conversation turned to the wedding.
Jean kept her voice casual. "You've all received your invitations?"
They murmured back. Celia pricked her fingertip with a pin and quickly sucked it dry before the blood could stain the fabric.
Smoothing the lace out flat to cut it, Jean said, "I understand if you can't come. But you are truly welcome."
Before they could respond, there was a great crashing in the hall and the young policeman came barreling into the room, knocking over the screen. A massive walnut headboard was stuck crossways in the studio doorway. Benny started to cry.
Jean rushed forward to replace the screen. "Danny, what are you doing?"
"I lost my footing, Auntie Jean. That's a bloody big bed." Danny raised his eyebrows and she smoothed her hands down her skirt, avoiding his teasing grin.
Matthew stuck his head around the screen. "Danny, get the hell back over here. Lucien can't hold it up all on his own and I'm useless," he grumbled, irritated.
"I need a hand here," came a breathless male voice from behind the bed.
"Where's that girl?" growled Matthew. "Gave her a man's job to do and no sign of her."
"She's stuck in the studio,." Danny pointed out.
Jean gave the women an exasperated look. "I'd better go look in on all this. I'll put the kettle on afterward. Just about time for a tea break, I say."
Celia was settling Benny down a bit, giving him a bottle but his eyes were still wide and anxious as he looked around. Their house was much more quiet and dark.
Evelyn leaned over the table to hiss: "I'm not surprised by any of this. Doctor Blake is a bit--"
"I've brought my ginger biscuits," Dorothy said, cutting her off. "Could you find them in my bag?" she asked Evelyn, shutting off the gossip. She pushed herself up from the table and stuck her crutches under her arms before hobbling into the kitchen. The other women followed.
After washing their hands at the tap, the work crew joined them, ribbing each other for the lack of progress.
Jean poured out, shaking her head. "It won't matter if we have this dress finished, if there's no marital chamber to retire to after the ceremony."
"Here, here," Lucien said a bit too strongly for everyone's comfort.
"Time to call in reinforcements," said Matthew, and got on the phone.
Benny was still fussing, and Celia was having trouble juggling his squirming body and her teacup. While moving around the table with the teapot, Jean took the baby and went to pass him to Rose. The young woman looked horrified, so Jean settled him on her hip and finished her round.
Lucien came up beside her and cupped Benny's head. "It's all too much for you, mate?"
"He's teething," said Celia said shortly.
"I can get him something for that," Lucien said, his mood quickly brightening at the prospect at offering medical assistance.
As he bustled back with a bottle in hand, the front door rang. He opened the door as he went past. A woman with short, slightly untidy red hair was there.
"Oh hello, Alice. Come on in."
Alice's face blanched at the sight of all the people in the kitchen.
"Yes, Alice, join us," Jean said, beckoning. She introduced Alice to the sewing circle.
Dorothy asked, "Are you going to help us with the dress?"
Alice blinked in befuddlement, then said carefully, "I think that you'll find my stitching is a bit rough."
"Doctor Harvey is a pathologist," Jean said, her smile fixed. Dorothy looked confused. "She examines dead bodies. She and Lucien work together on police cases."
Dorothy shrank back in her chair.
Jean turned to Alice. "Do you have any trousers? Can't have you helping out in a skirt."
"Gosh, no," said Rose, crunching on a biscuit. "Uncle Matthew is working us like navvies."
"Come along then," Jean said smartly. "You can borrow a pair of mine."
After the two women had left the kitchen, Evelyn mused, "I could never wear trousers. They're not lady-like."
"What is means to be a lady keeps changing every day," Rose said cheerfully.
Evelyn looked horrified at the prospect.
"That dress isn't going to sew itself," Dorothy said, struggling to her feet with the support of the table.
"Do you want to get out of that dirty work?" Evelyn said to Rose, "and help us with the dress?"
Danny snorted. Rose glared at him. She said, "That's alright. I'm even more useless than Alice with the womanly arts. I'll stick with being dumb, brute strength." She flexed her arm and Danny laughed outright, but his gaze was admiring.
"Well, those boxes aren't going to shift themselves," Lucien said, slapping his thighs and rising.
"Auntie Jean, where exactly should we shift those to?" Danny asked Jean as she reappeared with Alice, now in a pair of trousers, and self-consciously tugging at the waistband.
"Goodness," Jean looked around. "We really should sort through those, but there's not time--"
"Just take them to Charlie's old room," Lucien suggested. Jean quickly looked to Rose, but she was just snagging the final biscuit off the plate.
"Hey, I'm sleeping there," Danny said, but the team was already moving to the studio.
"Ladies, back to our job," Celia said, tucking Benny on her hip.
By the end of the evening, Jean had had her first fitting. The gown was inside out, so there was no real way to see how it would look, but she still turned to and fro, critical of the length. "Perhaps a bit longer?"
"Skirt hems are moving up," Celia noted.
"Not on me," Jean said tartly. "I think a tea length would be appropriate for an afternoon wedding."
"But is the skirt a bit...bell-shaped?" said Dorothy, giving it a frown.
"You may be right." Jean smoothed her hands down her flanks. "Lucien does prefer a more fitted skirt for the backside, but I don't want to appear as though I'm going to a cocktail party."
Evelyn looked both confused and offended at the same time. Celia cleared her throat, not sure if she should be put out either. Dorothy just seemed vague.
Taking her sketchpad, Jean made a few quick lines. "We'll try some gathering tomorrow, and see if what looks best."
"It is getting late," Celia agreed, glancing at the clock. Surely Ben would be passed out on the settee already.
Everything was gathered up, and as they passed through, they found the moving crew had already given up and were scattered around the lounge with drinks.
After the exchange of parting, and Jean closed the front door on them, Celia felt as though they had been cast out into the darkness in more ways than the obvious.
The next day, nursing his sore head, Ben thankfully said nothing more about the sewing circle and Celia slipped away, feeling light-hearted in a way that she hadn't since she would make excuses to meet her lover.
Jean was in her dressing gown when they arrived, ready for her next fitting. The moving crew had been turned into a painting crew and were already at it, their voices echoing in the studio. It was Lucien's turn to shield his work from Jean and he closed the doors definitely in her face after a quick kiss.
The curtains were still closed, the screen up, and Jean dropped her dressing gown and held up her arms for the wedding dress to be slipped over her head by Evelyn and Celia while Dorothy waited with pins at the ready.
But first Dorothy stared at Jean's undergarments and remarked, "So there's your blue then?"
Once remarked on, Celia noticed that Jean's foundation garment weren't her usual simple Woolworth bought, carefully darned until it wore out. It was a satin corset with blue ribbons threaded along the hems and small blue bows set down the front. It was certainly purchased at one of the high-end shops, like so much of Jean's wardrobe these days.
"Yes, I suppose it will," Jean said.
The matter settled, Dorothy motioned for them to pull the dress on.
"Pleats?" Dorothy suggest, beginning to pinch up the full skirt.
Jean looked down. "I think that'll make it look a bit too casual." She flipped to a drawing in her sketchbook. "What do you think of this? Just a pleat on each side. To give shape and definition without looking fussy."
"Oh, that would be lovely," enthused Dorothy as she pinned the fabric. "Really, you should do this professionally. Your gowns are always brilliant and so much more than the pattern."
Evelyn helped Jean out of the dress. "That is an idea. Although I suppose you won't need to work anymore." Her voice was a bit bitter.
"Lucien has said something about engaging a new housekeeper, but I've assured him that I'll simply go mad without something to do," Jean said with steely determination.
Celia looked around. "This large house will keep you busy. You'll have other obligations too, once you're married. As a doctor's wife, you won't have time for vacuuming."
Her words were weighty in the air and all the women were silent.
"Before I forget," Dorothy said, raising her chin. She fumbled in her handbag. "Here's my RSVP card. To save on postage."
"Thank you," Jean said gently, taking the card. "Let me pop that in with the others."
She slipped through the curtains, leaving them open a bit. Celia watched her open a box on the sideboard and flip through the cards to place Dorothy's in the right spot. Lucien passed through kitchen and spotted her. His face lit up.
"What's this about? In your dressing gown already?" He flicked the sash of her gown before his hand settled on her hip.
"It's important to try on your dress with the undergarments that you will be wearing," she explained huffily. "Assures a proper fit." Her fingers traces his bare forearm but she didn't push away his hand.
His voice lowered but Celia still caught what he said: "So you've got your pretty wedding undies on?"
Jean quickly glanced to the curtains so Celia lowered her head over her hand stitching. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched them, feeling guilty, but unable to turn away. Jean carefully held the top of her gown open for just a moment, but Lucien's grin widened.
"Bloody hell, Jean. You're--" Celia couldn't hear the rest as Lucien leaned in and spoke into Jean's ear. But the way her cheeks flushed and she slewed her eyes at him, Celia knew the sort of thing that he must have said. Her throat tightened in anguish.
Turning quickly, Jean rejoined the others and closed the curtains.
Determined to sort the matter, Evelyn said, "I'm sorry, Jean, but you realise that I can't come--"
Jean sounded exactly like a doctor's wife when she said, "I never imagined that you would," in the nicest possible tone. Then turned to Dorothy and asked, "Will you need a car, Dorothy? We'll be happy to send one for you."
x
When they came the next day, Dorothy asked to see the studio before they began.
"Perhaps it's like the dress, and Jean shouldn't see it yet," Lucien said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Lucien!" Jean protested.
"I think that's a great idea," said Rose, obviously wanting to start trouble. "And romantic."
"Fine." Jean turned sharply on her heel, but she was smiling.
Celia wanted to see as much as the other ladies. They passed through the double doors and into a large room that smelled strongly of paint and wood polish. There was a large fireplace, and high wainscoting paneling around room. The wood was all dark, but the high walls had been painted a warm but bright color, like the best butter. A few rolled carpets were nestled by the massive bed draped in drop clothes.
"Oh, look!" Dorothy exclaimed, looking up at the ceiling. "It's gold!"
"My goodness," breathed Evelyn, "I didn't even notice that when I was here." She gave Lucien an unfriendly look. "It was so dark and crowded then."
"You're not going to paint that over?" Dorothy asked, leaning heavily on her crutches.
"That's still up for debate," Lucien said with a shake of his head.
"Do you have a cover for that large of a bed?" asked Rose, nonchalant. "Or do I just have the idea of a wedding present?"
"You don't have your pressie yet?" Matthew said. "Wedding's only a week off."
"Speaking of which, we need to get to work," Evelyn said, herding the two woman before her to the dining room.
They were nearly finished but Jean just wasn't happy about the neckline. "It's awfully...plain." It was a scooped neck of a lace overlaid on the satin bodice. "And this is plain," she grumbled, smoothing her hands down the high waist.
"Careful that you don't fix yourself right back into a new problem," warned Evelyn, peering over her glasses.
But Jean was already sketching. "I've seen this open collar on a few dresses. Sort of a Revers style--" She flipped through her magazines and stopped on a picture of Audrey Hepburn.
"But on a wedding dress?" Celia asked, glancing at the glossy page. "That's just a blouse."
Jean folded the lace and held it up to the top of the dress, showing them how the collar would look. "With pearl buttons like up the back, I think it would be dressed up."
Evelyn went through the bags. "I think there's enough buttons."
"And the V-neck would mean that I could wear the wedding gift that Lucien gave me."
"What is that?" asked Evelyn, her nosiness coming out.
"Just a moment," Jean said. They helped her out of the dress, and after pulling on her dressing gown, she slipped around the screen. She returned with a dark blue velvet flat jewellery box. Rose and Alice followed her, chatting.
"The boys are arguing about whether to paint the wainscoting or not. We put in our vote, but got shouted over," Rose explained, "so we're leaving them to it."
"How're things going here?" Alice asked, looking around with a curious gaze.
"We're just settling the final details," Dorothy explained.
Jean opened the box. "It's pearls," she explained. "He gave me black pearls when we were first engaged, but I think they'll be too dark with this color."
Evelyn and Celia exchanged raised eyebrowed looks.
"Those aren't the pearls that his Auntie gave you," said Alice.
"We decided to return those," Jean said carefully. Then she smiled. "And have a fresh start." Holding up her hair, she asked Rose to put the necklace on her. They measured where the lowest pearl settled on her breastbone, and went to change the neckline.
After putting on the kettle, Alice brought in a tea tray. Jean thanked her as she flipped through the magazines, looking for something to add to the waist.
"Not a wide belt," vetoed Celia, leaning over from the dress from where she was pinning up the hem.
At the increase of chatter, Benny woke from his nap and fussed. He was now excited and interested by all the activity of the Blake house. Alice was standing by his travel cot and looked down at him with curiosity.
"How're his gums?" asked Jean.
"The doctor's ointment has helped a great deal," Celia said. "Could you take him, Alice? I don't want to let go of this hem."
Her face full of trepidation, Alice cautiously reached into the basket and picked up the boy. She held him at arm's length under his armpits, his legs thrashing.
"Let me take him," said Jean, rescuing her friend.
Her relief palatable, Alice said, "Yes, right," as she passed along Benny. She tipped her head to Rose. "We should get back to it. We're no use here but we can fight to protect that lovely paneling."
The two women escaped and the others bent to their tasks. Jean had found a picture of Doris Day with a flat bow on the front of a gown, and decided that would be perfect to tie the lace overlay top of the gown to the skirt.
At the end of the evening, they stood around Jean in the dress and surveyed their accomplishment. A gown that was simple and elegant at the same time, with lovely details which spoke to Jean's taste and eye for style. On the other side of the curtain, Lucien was playing the piano, some romantic tune that Celia recognised vaguely as a favorite of her parents. Unconsciously, Jean was swaying to the music as she checked the way the dress moved. Celia felt tears pricking at her eyes, and swallowed the lump in her throat.
"I'll press it and steam out the wrinkles, but it's done," Jean said, satisfied. She hugged and kissed each woman. "I have something for you," she added, and ignoring their protests, presented them each with silver thimble, with the simple words thank you engraved on it. They murmured their own thanks, feeling somehow shy.
When they parted by Celia's automobile, Jean's goodbye to Evelyn sounded very final. But she had all smiles for Dorothy, and a reminder that she'd ring up with the time for the ride to the wedding. For Celia, she gave another kiss on the cheek and murmured, "Take care," with such sympathy that Celia had to turn away without a reply.
x
Jean seemed truly surprised when she opened the door to Celia, but ushered her into the kitchen.
"Let me put the kettle on," she said.
"I won't be long," Celia said, "Mrs Clayton is watching Benny."
"Alright," said Jean, sinking into a chair by Celia.
"I'd thought perhaps you don't have something borrowed yet."
"I hadn't thought much about it," Jean admitted. "With everything else to be organised."
Celia pulled a jewellery box from her handbag. "If you'd like, may I offer my bracelet? It matches your necklace."
Jean opened the box and admired the pearl bracelet. "I remember when your Mum gave this to you before your own wedding. This is very thoughtful. Thank you."
Next Celia removed the RSVP card and put it on the table, her fingers trembling.
Jean slowly turned it over and looked at the names. Celica had crossed out Mr and left it as just Mrs Lloyd.
"You'll come alone?"
"Yes," Celia breathed.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Jean said slowly.
"You sent me an invitation," Celia said, stung.
"And I can see that was a mistake. I'm sorry to have put you in that position."
"I want to come."
Jean put her strong fingers over Celia's white and clenched fists. "I know. But marriage means not always having what you want. I can't be responsible for causing discord with Ben."
"I'll deal with Ben," Celia protested.
"There's no need. Truly." Jean squeezed her shoulder. "This isn't the battle you need to fight with him. There's much more important things to stand for." Her smile was crooked as she held back tears. "Someday you'll have that triumph, Celia, just not this Saturday." She lifted the bracelet. "But you'll be with me."
"And you'll be the most beautiful bride," Celia promised her.
She'd never seen Jean smile like she did at those words. "I will, won't I?"
~ end
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