#then suddenly your cat turned into a fucking gold statue | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs | Tumgik

#then suddenly your cat turned into a fucking gold statue

teecupangel · 1 year

Note

Back to the animal Desmond trope, I can just see a cat Desmond casually walking into various era's, fucking up the Templar's plans by just doing normal cat things, like casually pushing a glass of water onto a letter that never gets sent that would set off murder plans, and then just staring at the nearest Assassin ancestor looking to be carried off somewhere sunny to sleep. He's done his work, human, now worship him as the great cat gods of egypt said he'd be and fetch him a fish lol

For this one, I'm just imagining a white cat with POE gold eyes like this (but lighter golden eyes)

Tumblr media

And he’s a cat that appears and disappears whenever he pleases. Everyone thinks he’s some kind of stray and he refuses to eat any of that ‘cat food’ crap.

He will steal your food if you dare give him what counts as ‘cat food’.

Altaïr first sees him after his demotion and the only reason why he even noticed him was because his fur was too white. It was eye-catching and Altaïr didn’t need anyone turning his way because a damn cat was meowing at him and trying to climb his leg. He picked the cat up, earning a purring meow then gives him to the first beggar who tries to ask for alms, surprising both the cat and the beggar and giving Altaïr enough time to run away from both of them, ignoring the indignant howling the cat was now doing. The next time Altaïr sees the cat, it was after the assassination of his target and the cat suddenly swooped down from the roof, slamming its claws to a guard’s face that was about to hit Altaïr from the back while Altaïr was busy taking down three more guards. The guard threw the cat off him but Altaïr was faster, grabbing the cat in midair and taking him with him as he made his escape. The Rafiq had looked at the cat that Altaïr was holding in one hand and just told him that they didn’t have any food to spare for the cat. After that, the cat just pops up every now and then, helping Altaïr by being a distraction or actually trying to air assassinate guards with his claws. He accepts scritches only from Altaïr but any Assassin can pat his head and back. Once Altaïr was the mentor, he cuts part of his red sash and ties it around the cat’s neck, announcing him as part of the Brotherhood. (Altaïr is pretty sure Malik gives him half of his food every time the cat sits next to his plate and stares at him quietly)

Ezio first finds the white cat with the vibrant red ribbon in Villa Auditore. To be more specific, the cat had been sleeping on top of chest armor that was on the pedestal by Altaïr’s statue. The cat yawned and jumped off the pedestal, wiggling out of the bars, and sat in front of Ezio, meowing at him. Ezio scritches his neck which made the cat purr before rolling to his back and batting Ezio’s fingers lightly. After that, the cat seemed to stay in Villa Auditore most of the time but Ezio does see him walking around town as well. Everyone in town loves him and gives him food or just pets him. Only Ezio is allowed to scritch his neck. The cat also seems to have the habit of being in certain areas in town that would yield the most profit if Ezio was to rebuild/renovate them. Then he started appearing in certain sections that would bring more money to the town if he had the architect focus on them as their next project (like the abandoned mine). Claudia believes he’s a cat that brings good fortune. Ezio is simply just happy that petting the cat seemed to be helping their mother in some way. (Then the cat appears in Roma to help Ezio with finances and then in Constantinople to give Ezio tips on where to invest and Ezio, at this point, is pretty sure the cat doesn’t bring good fortune but is actually some kind of god of money and finances. Hey, if Minerva isn’t really a goddess, maybe the god of money and finances is a goddamn immortal cat)

Edward grabbed the first cat he sees when they finally landed somewhere safe after escaping the Spaniards because every ship needs to have a ship’s cat. Not just because they kept rodents at bay but because it’s superstition and sailors/pirates are a superstitious lot so Edward’s not gonna take any chances. Turns out the cat he dragged into the ship didn’t like being grabbed without even a ‘hello, beautiful’ and refused to kill rats. Instead, the cat, for some unknown reason, got all the rodents to be at his beg and call. In one loud yowl, rodents from all over the ship will skitter to his location………… which always turns out to be the captain’s quarters just as Edward was about to go to sleep.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was sure the white cat that appears and disappears all the time was some kind of spirit. That was the only reason he could think of to why he would always hear the same meow in the direction he needed to look at to have enough time to hide or to find whatever his target was. The white cat was also the best hunting partner Ratonhnhaké:ton ever had. What he lacked in strength, he made up with speed and the ability to jump from branches to branches faster than any animal Ratonhnhaké:ton had ever seen………… He also has the habit of suddenly swooping down from the rooftops and slamming into Haytham’s head, clawing his hat and, more than once, actually managing to take the hat off Haytham and running away with it, dragging it to the mud and getting Haytham to run after him where the poor hat ended up in horseshit. Strangely enough, Haytham never got angry at the white cat and when Ratonhnhaké:ton asked why, Haytham simply said…

“You do not anger the Rat Caller.”

#desmond as a cat #altaïr just thinks the cat is an intelligent ball of fluff #ezio thinks the cat is the god of money and fortune #ratonhnhaké:ton thinks the cat is a spirit that likes to hunt with him #the kenway father and son think the cat can summon rats like hugo #if anyone wants a continuation with rogue to syndicate #let me know #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #connor kenway #ratonhnhaké:ton #haytham kenway #edward kenway #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed

276 notes · View notes

ollieofthebeholder · 9 months

Text

WIP Snippet Game!

I was tagged by @blasphemous-lies-and-deceit with the words hide, walk, flavor, fabric, and ultimate. Thanks for the tag!

Hide: From to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)

They’re in, so far as he can tell, a completely open field. There are no trees, no statues, no fences. Hell, it suddenly hits him that they’ve been climbing a hill, and that they’re probably standing at the highest point in the park, which would be dangerous if there was a thunderstorm going on but isn’t so dangerous when it’s just rain. The point, though, is that there’s nowhere for Martin to hide, no way they could possibly have lost him. And yet, when he spins around, nearly losing his balance in the wet grass, he can’t see Martin. He can’t see anything.

Walk: From the untitled TMA Tim time travel AU:

“I don’t need a fucking ambulance.” Tim clenches his fists. He’s still aching all over, but not in a way he thinks emergency medicine will help, and he can walk just fine. Paramedics won’t come to the Institute anyway. “You need something,” Jon says firmly. “All right, if you won’t go to hospital, what about that clinic up the road? But, Tim, if they say you need to go to the A&E—” “I’ll take him,” the woman promises. “Can you manage alone for an hour or so?” Jon gestures vaguely around him. “I don’t think it’s going to make much difference one way or another,” he says dryly. Tim barks out a bitter, sarcastic laugh. “About time you gave into the futility, boss. Try not to suck anyone’s soul out while we’re gone.” Jon looks genuinely taken aback by that, but Tim’s already storming towards the door without another word, and the woman scurries to catch up. They walk—or in Tim’s case, stalk—the four blocks to the clinic in silence. Tim’s been before, twice that he recalls, once in his early days in Research when he found what he thought was someone’s missing cat but quickly turned out to be a disgruntled badger and once right after taking the Archives job when he accidentally cut himself on that thing on Elias’ desk and the bleeding wouldn’t stop, so he knows the way. The air is crisp and cool, the sky leaden grey, and the sidewalks are virtually deserted, not that that’s at all unusual for a weekday. What pisses Tim off, somewhat unreasonably, is that it’s all normal.

Flavor: Funnily enough, this word does not show up once in a single one of my WIPs.

Fabric: From "Candle in the Water", a Star Trek AOS/TOS crossover fic I started years ago and may not ever finish:

"It's all right, Ensign." Kirk stepped down from the platform. As he did so, he happened to glance down at his outfit. Rather than the greenish-gold wrap shirt that had been standardized across Starfleet earlier that year for captains, he was wearing a standard gold shirt, but the fabric was slightly patterned. The rank stripes on the cuff were right for a captain, but they were straight rather than wavy, and silver rather than gold. This was not his uniform. Sudden misgiving struck him and he glanced up at the wall, but it was blank. So. Not the mirror universe they had encountered a few months previously, but an alternate reality nonetheless.

Ultimate: From one of the spinoffs of leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall), an alternate spinoff where Melanie also traveled backwards in time:

For the first time in…however long it’s been since she came back, she wonders if she’s the difference. If knowing more before she went to India could have prevented the Apocalypse somehow. If her choices were ultimately the ones that doomed Jon, and subsequently the world.

My words: star, hope, green, watch, and thread!

Tagging @fridayyy-13th, @amberastra, @franzis-frantic-thoughts, @selkiestars, and anyone else who wants to give it a go! Come ye forth and shamelessly plug your WIPs!

#ask games for ts #seriously I even looked in my original fiction #I apparently don't use the word 'flavor'#writing stuff

5 notes · View notes

nsfwflint · 3 years

Text

Office Politics Chapter Five: Supply Run

Tumblr media

A/N: So first things first, this chapter is about AOA Hyejeong. I was a little hesitant about writing this chapter for her back when the scandal about Mina first broke. However, since then new information has come out that suggests that Hyejeong had nothing to do with the bullying. Between that and the fact that I can't imagine anyone besides Hyejeong in this chapter, I decided to say "fuck it" and wrote it anyway. I hope ya'll enjoy.

It’s been five days since the charity gala with Nana, and neither of you have spoken more than that many words with each other since. Every time you look over, she’s busy dealing with the mountain of paperwork she’s accumulated. In addition to Nana, everyone in the office has been drowning in work due to the numerous new clients signed at the event. Yourself included.

The day after the event, you found out that, even despite your rookie status at the company, Jonathan Gold was very impressed with you. So much so that he turned down the offer to have meetings with a more experienced member of the company and insisted on meeting with you. While you think it’s partially to see if he can get one over on you, you’re also thankful for the opportunity it gives you.

The downside of being the exclusive contact of such an important person, is that you have very little time for anything else. You’ve been spending so much time reading and finalizing contracts that by the time you get home, you end up passing out almost immediately. And while you’ve been slowly adjusting to the workload, it’s kept you so busy that you’re extremely pent up. Especially since nobody has requested your “services” since the gala.

Bo Reum walks out of her office and begins approaching the group of desks the rest of the department is working at. Staring at the way her chest bounces as she walks, you can’t help but begin to fantasize about the last night you spent together. You watch her lips move and remember how great they felt on your shaft. As you keep looking at them, you suddenly realize that she’s talking to you and return to reality.

“Rookie! Do you hear me?” Bo Reum asks in an annoyed tone.

“Sorry ma’am. I’m a little out of it today. What did you say?”

You scratch the back of your head in embarrassment as Bo Reum takes a deep breath before trying again.

“I know we’ve been really busy lately. But we gotta try to get through this, okay you guys?”

“Yes ma’am. What can I help you with?”

“I asked Mrs. Ryu to bring back some paper for the printers before she left for her client meeting, but it seems like she forgot. Since you’ve got the lightest workload here, do you mind running down to the storage room and getting some for me?”

“Not at all. I’ll get right on it.”

Thankful for the excuse to take a break, you stand up and stretch slightly. As you begin to leave the bullpen, Bo Reum stops you again.

“You do know where the storage room is right?”

You feel your face warm slightly from embarrassment. Your sense of direction, or rather lack thereof, is apparently no longer a secret. Thankfully, nobody at the company knows about the time you got so lost that you had to have a pair of black and white cats guide you. Or at least you hope nobody does.

“Yes ma’am. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“All right, good. Now hurry up then.”

Bo Reum shoos you out and you make your way to the elevator. While you aren’t sure if it’s the specific one she meant, the only storage room you know of is back in the Idol Department. A soft ding sounds as you press the button for the 4th floor. As the elevator slowly descends, you replay the events of the night of the charity gala in your head. The same way you have countless times.

No matter how many times you think about it, both you and Nana had an amazing time. And as embarrassing as it is to admit, you’ve been with people who have faked enjoyment during sex. And that definitely wasn’t the case with Nana. Even as people, you both just clicked and were immediately comfortable with each other. You just don’t understand the drastic change in Nana’s demeanor. Something clearly changed that night for the two of you, but you don’t know what it is. You just wish she’d talk to you, tell you what is going on.

As your mind races, you realize the root of the problem. At some point, you developed feelings for Nana. Which is just ridiculous. While she might have enjoyed your “services”, there’s no way that you’d ever be in the same league as any of your coworkers. You’re just not good enough for them.

Shaking your head, you try to free yourself from that train of thought. Thinking like that will only affect your confidence. While it might be true, you can’t let it get to you like this. It will just make the office more uncomfortable. Your steps quicken as you clear your mind and you soon find yourself standing in front of the storage room door. You take another deep breath, attempting to expel the negative thoughts from your mind as you grab the door handle.

Just as you turn the handle to open the door, you feel a soft hand on your back before it shoves you inside the closet. Before you can say anything, your body is forcefully turned around and pushed against a nearby shelf. Tender lips repeatedly press against your neck as a hand begins repeatedly stroking your cock through your pants. You fumble for the nearby lightswitch, and after a few seconds you finally find it as the pleasurable assault on your body continues. After flicking it on, you find a raven haired beauty pressing against you.

“Hyejeong?! What are you doing?” You exclaim.

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m making full use of the services your position provides.” She replies in a mischievous whisper.

“But I’m in the Acting Department right now.”

“I don’t give a fuck. I’m horny, so you’re gonna get me off. And maybe if you’re good enough, I’ll let you get off too.” Hyejeong says with a seductive smile.

You gulp nervously as your dick throbs against her palm through your pants..

“Besides, I saw the way you looked at me before. Are you really going to pass up the chance to fuck all this?” She teases.

Before you can reply, Hyejeong unzips her skirt and drops it to the floor; revealing the silky and shapely legs that you’ve lusted over for years after seeing them in several music videos and a pair of thin black panties. You take a deep breath as your eyes slowly trace her legs' sensual curves.

“See? You’re practically drooling already. Are you really going to pretend you don’t want this?” She whispers with a mischievous smile.

As she continues to stroke your crotch, you think that maybe this is just what you need. You’re employed as sexual relief to some of the most beautiful women on the planet. It’s time for you to fully embrace your role in the company and put your misguided feelings behind you.

“Nobody in their sane mind could say no to you, Hyejeong.”

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Unlike this.”

Hyejeong quickly undoes your pants and pulls your stiff cock out of your boxers. With the sensual eye contact she’s known for on stage, she gives her hand a long lick. Her slender fingers return down to your shaft, slowly stroking the underside. A shaky breath escapes you as your dick twitches against her palm. She leans in slowly, her lips dangerously close to yours.

“If I remember correctly, you said you used to be a fan right?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“So in all those years cheering for me, what was my most attractive feature?”

“Your legs.” You reply without any hesitation.

“I see. Well, I gotta give the fans what they want, no?” Hyejeong smiles.

As she removes her hand from your cock, it immediately misses the gentle heat of her fingers. Thankfully, that feeling doesn’t last long. Hyejeong braces herself on your body as one leg slowly slides up your body. She slowly lifts her leg over your cock before lightly squeezing it with her knee. Your tip twitches slightly as your dick is now sandwiched between her thigh and her calf. With leg coordination you can only dream of, Hyejeong starts to slowly jerk you off with her knee.

“Oh, fuck.” You groan.

The smooth skin of her leg slides up and down your shaft with ease thanks to the mixture of her saliva and your precum. Soft grunts escape your throat as her pillowy leg squeezes your dick. Leaning in, Hyejeong presses her lips to yours and slips her tongue into your mouth. Her tongue flicks and rubs against your own as she continues to jerk you off with her leg.

Hyejeong wasn’t kidding about wanting to get off, her tongue rapidly swirling and massaging yours. The lustful kiss muffles both of your moans. You flinch slightly as you feel her soft fingers brush through your hair. As she clenches her knee around your shaft, she begins to alternate from circling her tongue around yours and biting your lip. Briefly pulling away from the kiss, Hyejeong licks her hand again before reaching down and rubbing your tip.

Sticking her tongue back into your mouth, she resumes sensually rubbing your tongue with hers in a passionate kiss. Small bits of saliva pass your lips as she sloppily swirls her tongue around yours. The messy and lustful massage from your tongues vibrate from both of your moans. After a few minutes of the erotic tongue entwinement, she slips her tongue out of your mouth and begins lightly sucking on your bottom lip. Her velvety skin rubs up and down your shaft as Hyejeong gently nibbles on your lip. She pulls on it gently before letting it go and giving you a seductive smile.

“Do you like this?” She asks teasingly.

“It feels so fucking good, Hyejeong.” You groan.

The pleasure of her smooth skin is intoxicating, but fuels your desire for more. You gently push Hyejeong away from your body, bending her over so she's propped against the nearby shelf. Your fingers slip past the waistband of her black panties before yanking them down to the floor.

"But I want more." You growl as you admire the view of her shapely ass.

"Then take it." Hyejeong replies, her quiet whispers dripping with seduction.

Determined to do exactly that, you quickly line your stiff cock at the entrance of her moist chasm. As you brush your tip against the soft lips of Hyejeong's cunt, you quickly decide you aren't finished with her legs yet and slide your dick between her luscious thighs. The pillowy flesh envelops your cock, her satin skin clinging to your shaft. Your hips begin to move on their own, slamming against the back of her velvety thighs.

"You weren't kidding about liking my legs, huh?" Hyejeong giggles softly.

"Can you blame me? They're fucking incredible."

Unable to contain your hunger for her legs, your thrusts quickly intensify. You frantically slam your waist against the back of her thighs as you attempt to savor the fact that you’re fucking a pair of heavenly legs you’ve lusted over for years. Soft whimpers escape Hyejeong’s lips as your dick brushes against the moist lips of her cunt with every thrust. Her silky thighs become slick with her juices as Hyejeong starts thrusting back towards you.

Your eyes are drawn to her shapely ass rippling against you as you rapidly piston your dick between her legs. With every thrust, you grow more and more addicted to the sensation of her satiny thighs jiggling around your dick. You attempt to stifle your own moans as you drown further in ecstasy. The luscious, pillowy flesh of her thighs tightens around your cock as Hyejeong squeezes her legs together.

“Fuck, your legs feel so good.”

“Then you should hurry up and see what my pussy feels like.” She teases.

"Yeah, I guess I should." You agree.

Grabbing one of her legs, you put it over your shoulder as you turn Hyejeong to the side. Her hand tightly grips the shelf as you teasingly rub your tip against the warm lips of her entrance. Slick juices coating your dick, you slowly begin pushing yourself inside her. Your tip pries its way into her depths as her tight walls greedily pull you in deeper and deeper. It doesn't take long before your cock is buried inside her, all the way to the hilt.

"Holy shit, you're so tight Hyejeong." You gasp, trying to adjust to the pressure engulfing your dick.

"I know. Now hurry up and fuck my brains out. We don't have much time." She moans.

Realizing that Hyejeong is right, you don't even bother attempting to restrain yourself. You aggressively slam your cock against her womb as your frantic thrusts take control of you. Her body ripples wildly as you piston your dick in and out of her velvety walls with reckless abandon.

"Fuck, that's it. Just like that." Hyejeong gasps breathlessly.

Every fiber of your body is chasing the ecstasy that Hyejeong's curvaceous body graciously provides you. The moist warmth of her cunt greedily clings to your shaft, tugging and pulling on your tip with every savage thrust. While you should probably be worrying about the noise level of your bodies lustfully crashing against each other, you care about nothing except the hunt for your climax.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Hyejeong's leg on your shoulder rippling as you aggressively pierce into her depths. Every relentless slam makes you grow more addicted to the moist heat of her chasm. At this point, you care nothing about Hyejeong's own orgasm. Right now she's just a tool to appease your own animalistic lust.

"God, Hyejeong. You feel so fucking amazing." You grunt.

"Stop talking and just keep fucking me." Hyejeong moans as she throws her head back.

You decide to oblige and continue your violent thrusting into the depths of her welcoming cunt. Her moans slowly crescendo as her walls hungrily clamp on your shaft. Hyejeong quickly covers her mouth as you aggressively pound away at her cavern. Your tip pries into the deepest part of her chasm, slamming against her womb.

As you rapidly plunge your cock into her depths, you can’t help but stare at Hyejeong’s incredible body. Despite being contained by her white button-up, her sizable chest bounces with every thrust. Seeing her breasts heave wildly in her shirt as she desperately tries to muffle her erotic moans only fuels your lust even more.

“I want to see your ass.” You command.

Without waiting for a response, you push her leg off of your shoulder and bend her over again. Your hands roughly squeeze Hyejeong’s ass as you resume your violent thrusts. As your tip aggressively pounds against her womb, the silky flesh of her ass cheeks jiggle against your palms. The addictive heat of her cunt radiates along your shaft as you slam into her depths. Hyejeong tightly grips the shelf in front of her with both hands.

“Oh my god. You’re hitting so deep.” She moans.

Your brain can’t muster a reply as you’re too preoccupied with fucking Hyejeong as hard as you can, just as she commanded. While you’re enjoying the satiny skin of her ass rippling against your fingertips, your hands travel up her sensual curves before gripping her hips. You squeeze her waist tightly as you wildly slam into her tight chasm. Frantically pistoning your cock in and out of her, you squeeze her hips harder and harder as your thrusts grow faster.

“FUCK.” Hyejeong groans, barely able to control her voice.

The velvety walls of her cunt clenches around your cock. You feel a small rush of fluids surround your shaft as you continue piercing into her depths. Not enough to be a squirt, thankfully to avoid ruining both of your clothes. But definitely an orgasm. Hyejeong’s body trembles against you as you refuse to slow down your assault on her tight cavern. You continue to pound away at her cunt with the same amount of force and speed that you have been. Her body continues to twitch as you aggressively fuck her throughout her orgasm.

As your animalistic attack on Hyejeong’s cunt reaches its peak, you watch her shapely ass bounce and jiggle hypnotically from your violent slams. You squeeze her hips so hard that her skin begins to redden around your fingers. Attempting to push your cock deeper and deeper, your tip throbs violently against her womb. Trying to last as long as you can and savor every moment of this lustful ecstasy, you power through several more aggressive thrusts before you acknowledge that you’re at the edge of your own orgasm.

“Ah, Hyejeong. I’m going to cum.” You grunt as you feel yourself nearing your limits.

“Today’s not safe, you have to pull out.” She moans, turning around and gently pushing her hand on your chest.

Hearing her order, you frown slightly. While you’ve always fantasized about filling her to the brink with your cum, there’s no other choice but to obey her wishes and pull out. With any luck, there will be a time in the future where you’re able to drown her womb with your seed the way you’ve always wanted to. You withdraw your cock from her intoxicating chasm and thrust your dick between her shapely legs. The silky skin of her thighs squeezes your shaft as you aggressively slam against the back of her legs.

“So, this is how you want to cum?” Hyejeong asks in a tone you can’t decipher.

“Yeah, I’m cumming between your legs one way or another.” You grunt as her sculpted ass ripples from your slams.

“Oh, are you now?” She giggles.

Hyejeong clenches her legs together, the milky skin engulfing your cock. The top of your shaft furiously rubs against the soft lips of her cunt as her sweet nectar drips onto you with every thrust. Her thighs slick from her juices, your cock pistons between them with little effort. You wildly slam yourself against the back of her legs as you frantically chase your orgasm. The soft supple skin of her sensual curves ripples and jiggles against you. While you wish you could last longer, you feel yourself reach the end of your endurance.

“I’m cumming, Hyejeong.” You groan.

“Let it all out.” She moans, her fingers tightly gripping the shelf in front of her.

With one last slam, a surge of cum blasts out of your tip. You can feel some of your cum splash onto her silky thighs. Hyejeong squirms on your dick as you ride out your last few thrusts, both of you trying to milk out as much cum as possible. Your cock throbs violently in between her pillowy thighs as one last ropey spurt shoots out of your tip. An absurd amount of semen has covered the company logo on the box in front of you.

You briefly zone out, focusing only on trying to recover from your intense orgasm. As you pant heavily, you flinch slightly as you feel Hyejeong’s soft fingers gently brush against your cheek. You’re in such a daze that you didn’t even feel Hyejeong separate her body from yours. Her lips press against yours for a tender kiss before pulling back and giving you a satisfied smile.

“That was fucking incredible, rookie.” Hyejeong chuckles as she runs her hand through her hair.

“Yeah, that was amazing.” You nod, still trying to regain your breath.

“And what about you? Did you enjoy the show?”

“Huh?”

Confusion takes over as you stare at Hyejeong. After a brief second, you notice something nearby move slowly. Your eyes widen as someone stands up in front of you. You were so focused on the mindblowing sex with Hyejeong that you somehow didn’t notice that another person was in the room with you.

“One of the best shows I’ve seen in a long time. Between you and Team Leader Seungyeon, Rookie seems to really know what he’s doing.” Ryu Abel smiles.

As you stare at Abel the first thing that registers is your thick creamy load painted over her face. The pleasure from Hyejeong was apparently so strong that your orgasm somehow managed to reach Abel’s face. She slowly drags the sticky cum down onto her tongue before swallowing it.

“Hyejeong knows I like to watch, so the two of us set this up.” Abel says as she finishes licking her fingers clean.

The second thing you realize is that Abel’s skirt is hiked up and she’s not wearing any underwear; her wet pussy on full display. As she gives you a seductive smirk, your brain finally registers what she said. “I like to watch.” Suddenly things make sense. That’s why other people knew about Seungyeon fucking you in the office, because Abel had told them. At some point, she had seen one of the times Seungyeon pulled you aside to fuck you during the day. The realization must be showing on your face because Abel starts to giggle quietly.

You turn to Hyejeong and she winks as she gives you a playful smile.

“I have to get back to work, so I’ll leave you both to talk.” Hyejeong says.

She leans in and gives you a parting kiss. Her warm tongue enters your mouth, quickly rubbing against yours for a second before she pulls away again. Your eyes widen again as she turns and does the same to Abel, a soft kiss with a brief moment of tongue. Hyejeong gives one last flirty smile before walking out of the storage closet and quickly closing the door behind her. Abel turns back towards you and sees you struggling to comprehend what’s happening.

“Now I’m all revved up, but unfortunately it doesn’t like you’ll be ready to go again for a while.” Abel frowns.

“I uh…”

“Don’t worry though. I’ll still be ready for you when we meet up tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah. Tonight.”

Struggling to keep up with what’s happening, the only thing you manage to do is nod mindlessly. Abel smiles as she fixes her skirt. After a few seconds, you never would have guessed that she was just masturbating to two people having sex right in front of her. She steps towards you before gesturing behind her.

“You really made a mess in here.”

You blush as you look back towards the cum that has made its home on the nearby shelf.

“I guess I did.”

“Yeah, you should clean it up so nobody sees it. Use these.” Abel says, softly grabbing your hand and forcing it open.

She quickly presses a soft, slightly damp, fabric into your hand. After a brief second, you realize that you’re now holding the pair of white silk panties that was missing from her outfit earlier. Before you can say anything, Abel softly presses her lips against your cheek. When she pulls back, Abel gives you a seductive smirk.

As she disappears out the door, reality catches up with you. You quickly pull up your pants and make yourself presentable again. After a few deep breaths, you grab several packages of copy paper and make your way back to your department as you try to think of an excuse for why it took you so long.

A/N: So a shorter chapter compared to the last one, but also a lot more smut focused than plot focused. I had a lot of trouble writing the knee job scene because it was difficult to describe. But it was the inspiration for this entire piece so I wanted to keep it in. I just randomly thought of Hyejeong jerking me off with her knee one day and went "damn that's hot." Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoyed this one.

#kpop smut #kpop #malereader #male reader #reader insert #reader x idol #reader x hyejeong #aoa hyejeong #hyejeong #office politics

193 notes · View notes

spectral-kitkat · 3 years

Text

Miraculous Rant.

Where the hell do I begin…

Season 1:

The show was decent in season 1. Some episodes were just mindless filler and probably weren’t needed in the grand scheme of things but they helped us get introduced to the characters, we got to know the plot and the world our characters inhabit. It was good. The love story between Adrien and Marinette was cute and off to a touching and fluffy start.

Season 2:

This season was immediately better than season 1. It had character development, it went more into detail about the lore surrounding the Miraculous and we got to learn more about our characters and their families and the villian’s motives. (HM really went from “I wanna destroy the world” to “I wanna wake my wife from the coma she’s in”).

We got to see new heroes which was fun! We got new characters like Luka and Kagami.

The season finale was epic! The Miraculous team all taking down all the previous villains in the show was awesome. At the end we even got Mari kissing Adrien on the cheek. It was great! (Even though it clearly reset itself in season 3 cause it’s never mentioned again)

I really enjoyed season 2 and it’s probably my favourite out of the 4.

Season 3:

Season 3 was kinda good and kinda bad. We had some great episodes but this is where the show took the wrong turn.

Marinette lost some of her character in season 3. This was the start of her descent into being the Queen of Mary Sues. It’s also where she was crowned the Queen of Stalkers! Her character took a fucking nose dive in this season. We had so many moments that just creeped me the fuck out.

1. The ENTIRETY of Puppeteer 2 🤢🤢🤢 I could not stand that episode. When we reached the dreaded statue scene I physically had to pause it like 10 times. That scene takes about 3 minutes to watch… it took me about 20. I cringed so fucking hard because of the secondhand embarrassment I was feeling. That was not sweet, it wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t the least bit cute… it was a train wreck! It was creepy and stalkerish and it’s a wonder Adrien even spoke to her again after that atrocity!

2. LB delivering the present in Chat Blanc. Two words: STALKER BEHAVIOUR!!! I genuinely could not believe my eyes when I saw LB run her hand across everything in his room and then actually SNIFF Adrien’s pillow. Like WTF!!! 🤮 I’m pretty sure whoever was responsible for that scene clearly thought it was the equivalent of when someone gets their S/O’s jumper or something and it still smells like them. But this turned it up to the nth degree and way passed the line of sanity.

Adrien was extremely under-utilised in this season. He didn’t really do anything. The only episodes we got about him didn’t really focus on him. ‘Felix’ whilst focusing on Adrien’s family didn’t really feature him. ‘Party Crasher’ while a beautiful mess was more about Mari trying to get into the party than the party itself. ‘Chat Blanc’ again focused more on Mari trying to fix her mistake.

We got even more heroes in season 3, not in the right order but they were there. It was fun seeing everyone’s transformations.

Season 3 was also the season of destroying redemptions. The big one obviously being Chloe. Season 2 was setting up this amazing redemption for her and before it could go anywhere it was wiped off the face of the earth during the finale (and don’t worry we’ll get to that dumpster fire later). Gabriel also had any remaining sympathy ripped away from him. How did the guy who stopped Gorizilla from letting Adrien die when he only thought he was CN go from that to using his son like fucking baseball in Chat Blanc when he knew his son was CN. Like I knew you were a shit father but you still cared about Adrien in some way shape or form but after that episode I can see I was clearly mistaken!

Before we get to the finale I want to talk about probably my 2 least favourite episodes from this season: Desperada and Reflekdoll

Desperada:

I fucking hated this episode! The only good thing was Luka getting to be Viperion, other than that this episode was awful!

Marinette was a selfish cringey bitch. Completely ignoring Luka to gush about Adrien to Jagged. Brushing Luka off as soon as Adrien turns up. Immediately cuddling up to Aspik and flirting with him when she needed to focus on the akuma (something which she has told CN not to do many times before)

Adrien, I love you kid but Jesus Christ you were a dumbass in this episode! Aspik’s design was terrible! Aspik himself was awful. I know Adrien tried his best but dude you were given the Black Cat miraculous for a reason! He shouldn’t have tried to be Aspik but even when he did he should’ve called it quits after like 5 resets not 25,913 times.

The only person with a brain this episode was Luka. So well done guitar boy, gold star!

Reflekdoll:

This episode was annoying! It was basically the start of the Marinette can do no wrong streak! When they have to swap miraculous I was happy cause it meant we got to see new outfits and see how they each handle the different powers. It would also serve as a way to get LB and CN to see what their partners role is first hand. Until we actually get to it…

LadyNoire is of course amazing and needs no introduction to using this new miraculous that she’s never used before. She’s cocky and confident and basically just LB in Chat’s costume with his powers.

Mister Bug on the other hand is just useless. He struggles with this new miraculous (like anyone would!) and is stupid and goofy. He has to rely on LadyNoire to solve the lucky charm. They swapped miraculous so shouldn’t that mean that Mister Bug should get the lucky vision and the creative powers that the earrings give him.

Overall Reflekdoll is awful. It was shitty writing and the start of Adrien getting the short end of the stick.

And now the season 3 finale… Just what the fuck. That is my only reaction: what the fuck!

Chloe you poor fucking child! What did they do to you!!! So much potential SQUANDERED!!!!

What was the point in bringing in all these different superheros with unique skill sets, costumes and transformations if you were just going to immediately reveal them to the main villian so they can’t be used again. That’s stupid! If you wanted the shock value that is “Oh no HM knows some of the heroes identities!” Then keep it as only some. Have like Max, Kim and Kagami outside trying to find somewhere to hide but unfortunately they get hit. Or Nino and Alya are hiding but the windows open and they get hit. Have some of the heroes hide so they’re fine! Taking away every ally of LB and CN’s was a stupid move! (Even if they wanted Alya to become a spy have her as part of the like 4 that get revealed or something, it’s not that difficult)

Season 3 was 50/50 for me

Season 4:

So I know season 4 isn’t even halfway through yet but so much is wrong with this season already that I need to vent!

So my biggest problem with this season of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybitch and Rena Rouge, I mean Rena Furtive… shit, Chat Noir! Is that CN is basically pointless! Adrien has been flung over a rainbow and is only remembered when he’s needed as

1. Marinette’s love interest

2. Someone for LB to shout at

3. A plot device

He has basically been sidelined. Partners my ASS!!!

Adrien is being blown off by pretty much EVERYONE! It’s coming to a point where this poor sweet summer child is going to crack! And it is not gonna be pretty… I definitely feel like the writers are leading up to a big fight between CN and LB which will probably end with Chat Blanc 2.0.

I REALLY HATE MARINETTE/LADYBUG!!!! In Season 3 I said it was the beginning of her descent, well in season 4 she’s done it. She’s descended, she has hit rock fucking bottom. She is so unlikable I don’t actually care about her as a person. She has entered full blown stalker territory it’s only a matter of time before she starts killing people for even looking at Adrien! Not to mention that Miss Mary Sue here can’t do anything wrong! She never has to suffer the consequences of her actions, she is always perfect no matter what she does… it pisses me off!)

She’s the Guardian now big whoop. I know what it feels like to be stressed and under pressure so I do understand why she needed to tell someone about it all. I just don’t see why that person had to Alya! Especially considering she has someone by her side every akuma attack going through pretty much the exact same thing. I know she’s worried about CB happening again but as I said before the more she leaves him out the more she is actually pushing that to become a possibility! Plus it makes sense for them to reveal their identities now since LB is now the guardian it’s probably a good idea to know who holds the cat miraculous, she knows everyone else’s identities!

Even if she didn’t want to tell CN her identity she could still explain the situation to him. If she didn’t want to tell him anything (which she doesn’t anyway) then instead of Alya she should’ve talked to Luka! Her boyfriend for all of half an episode (thanks writers…). He’s so sweet and caring and clearly loves her so much! If she wanted someone to confide in then why not choose the person you clearly wanted to date but couldn’t because of that very reason! (Yeah I know it’s kinda a moot point now since Luka knows both identities but still). He wanted to try and comfort her so it would’ve been the perfect moment for it. That way you could still date him and he’d know why you had to suddenly leave dates halfway through! But no break the boys heart instead!

Adrien and Marinette were both such fucking idiots in the first 2 episodes. Like why would you start a relationship with someone when you know your heart isn’t in it! That’s called leading someone on and is a really shitty thing to do to someone! No wonder Kagami and Luka ended up akumatized!

Another aspect of season 4 I don’t like is Rena Furtive. Yes ok having a spy for your side is a good strategy but when said spy basically tells an important member of a duo that the 2 person job doesn’t involve them… it just really ticks me off! Alya you are the sidekick to LB and CN! Chat isn’t!

Miraculous specials:

The Miraculous World specials suck! Shanghai is better than NY but still has its problems. Both specials add nothing to the overall plot/lore of the show apart from trying to set up some weird cinematic universe…

NY special:

One of the worst things I’ve ever had to sit through! The plane scene alone I paused a few times. I want to say well done to Mari for trying to move on from Adrien (especially considering I’m pretty sure she’s dating Luka at this point) but I can’t help but think it’s just to give her character some pointless development that goes nowhere and doesn’t actually develop anything!

LB can pretty much fuck off at this point! I hate her! She put all this shit on CN (like she doesn’t know exactly how that feels). It’s like why does she get to go off on holiday but CN can’t. LB should’ve stayed in Paris for 3 reasons:

1. She’s recently become the guardian meaning it would probably be best that she stayed with the Mircle Box

2. She’s the only one who can purity the akumas

3. If she’s so sure about being the boss then she should take responsibility of Paris and the citizens.

What really pisses me off about her is what she says to CN during the big fight. “I can’t trust you”… surely you could have this conversation afterwards since you’re supposed to be focusing on taking down the villian! Plus everyone bashes Adrien for giving his miraculous up in this episode but look at it from his point of view: His partner and best friend just said she couldn’t trust him which in turn caused him to cataclysm someone and essentially kill them. That’s gonna take a toll on anyone, especially a 14 year old! He probably thought in that moment. “Ladybug needs a partner she can trust and someone who won’t mess up and kill someone. She needs a better partner.” It makes sense he renounces his miraculous! I’m just upset that in doing so he loses Plagg who is pretty much his only friend who actually understands what Adrien goes through at home.

When Uncanny gets CN to come back, LB acts like it’s not her fault in the first place that he feels inadequate! She didn’t even apologise for saying what she did! He apologised for lying about not being in Paris but nope LB wasn’t in the wrong at all and didn’t have anything to apologise for 🙄… (yes the LadyNoir hug was amazing but I just wish it was under different circumstances!)

Also are we not gonna mention Gabriel Agreste almost starting WW3??? He wanted to launch a fucking missile!!!

Shanghai:

As I said before, this special is way better for several reasons.

We got MariChat! (Best side to the love square imo). This special actually had some semblance on a plot. Fei, whilst a bit op, was a cool character. It was nice to see Wang Cheng again.

However once again there were many problems.

A big one being Marinette yet again! (What a shock! 😒 I’ll come back to this). Another was that once again HM’s motivation has changed. How is getting the Prodigious gonna help bring back Emilie??

Back to Marinette… The fact that the words “Huh?! There must be some kind of mistake! I always know what's up with Adrien! … His 5 first names and every corresponding name date, his yearly schedule, even his shoe size! If there were anything to know about him, I would know it!” come out of her mouth whilst she is flipping through his schedule that she keeps in her pocketbook is a hugh red flag!!! That is not cute or adorable! That’s messed up and Adrien needs to fucking run and maybe possibly go into witness protection… Marinette is a full blown stalker! Not to mention the GPS she has (that could just be the find my friends app on iphone but still).

It also is extremely rude of her to use not only her great uncle’s birthday but also a lie about wanting to know her Chinese heritage in order to go to Shanghai to stalk her obsession, I mean crush. This could’ve been avoided if the Dupain-Chengs were going to Shanghai for the purpose of celebrating Wang Cheng’s bday and then Adrien just so happened to be in Shanghai.

Also this means LB left Paris without telling CN! I know CN did the same but again he can’t purify the akumas. Plus he has a reason he couldn’t stay in Paris, Mari just went cause her crush did. Great guardianship there Marinette.

This was also the last time CN actually did something. Even if it was for a short while before LB and her female partner took over (the beginning of a theme…)

Other things:

There are 2 other things that I wanna say but felt they needed a separate bit.

In Furious Fu, Su-Han has a rule book that he uses to tell Marinette which rules she has broken. At the end of the episode he tells her that is she breaks 1 more rule that he will take the Miraculous and the Miracle Box off her, which fair enough but wouldn’t it be helpful to leave the rule book with her?! How can she be wary of not breaking anymore rules when she doesn’t even know what the rules are??

Now the big one: Master Fu…

Where do I even start with him. He is so fucking manipulative!! He is Asian Dumbledore!

He decides to leave these extremely powerful jewels in the hands of 13 year olds! Surely leaving the miraculous to someone in their 20s would’ve been better!

He clearly favours LB over CN even though the Ladybug and Black Cat are supposed to be partners! Wouldn’t it make sense for them both to be in contact with the guardian from the start?? He randomly started introducing rules such as if LB and CN find out each other’s identities they would lose their miraculous… what kind of bullshit rule is that? It also came out of fucking nowhere!

Final Thoughts:

But to summarise all of that: Miraculous is on quite a steep decline but I’m invested at this point and I am genuinely curious as to where the fuck this will go.

Marinette needs professional fucking help before the writers even consider canonising Adrienette cause at the moment she is not what Adrien needs!

Adrien needs to stand up for himself! He needs to pull LB to the side and tell her what he feels and what he’s going through cause he is on the precipice of a breakdown!

(Small point that’s more to do with the fandom: when searching for fanfics it’s really annoying that Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir Bashing is a tag but Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Ladybug Bashing isn’t. Why does everyone think Marinette can do no wrong???)

#miraculous fandom #miraculous ladybug #miraculous salt #adrien agreste #marinette dupen chang #marinette salt #master fu salt #ladybug and chat noir #fandom salt #thomas astruc salt #adrien deserves better #miraculous season 4 #miraculous season 3 #miraculous rant

296 notes · View notes

haitanirindo · 3 years

Text

zukka fics that live in my head rent free!

1. what did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth (what were you digging) by draco_sollicitus status: complete (18k words) rating: mature pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: Sokka is immortal; it's been tested, he knows that he can't die. He's immortal, but he's not quite a god like his sister, Katara. He's immortal, but he's not quite powerful like his friends Aang and Toph. He's just sort of Sokka: good at fixing things, good at playing pranks, good at helping people. When a bet against Toph goes horribly wrong, and an attempt to save him goes even worse, Sokka finds himself the unwilling guest of the Lord of the Underworld. And, strangely enough, every story Sokka's heard about Lord Zuko seems to be ... completely wrong. (Also, he's really handsome. Why does he have to be handsome?)

mythology nerds come get y’all juice. a very good fic. 10/10

2. Where I Want to Be by through-the-stars-to-the-pavement status: WIP (83k words) rating: explicit pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: "'The fog was where I wanted to be.'" Everything is different. The pitch of his voice, his posture. The auditorium goes silent. No one can take their eyes off of him.… He's amazing. Zuko had to perfect the art of acting as a child to survive the horrors of his homelife. When he got older, it was only natural to take his talent to the stage for entertainment and escape. Enter Sokka, a craftsman and set designer with a giant heart who is haunted by plenty of ghosts of his own. A tale of trauma, disability, family, creativity, and love.

this is one of my all time favorite fics. it’s seriously so good and i think about it often

3. Teaching a Heart by @i-write-shakespeare-not-disney status: WIP (114k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: Sokka is asked to go to the Fire Nation to teach the crown prince how to sword fight. When he arrives, he's surprised to learn he has to pose as a companion before he can teach the stubborn prince because he rejects every teacher. Far from home and among new customs, Sokka struggles to gain the prince's trust and friendship despite the uncertainties of the customs and dynamics he sees. As he slowly finds answers to his questions, his bond with the prince grows until it becomes something far more ardent than friendship. Doomed as it may be with the prince's approaching wedding ceremony and coronation, Sokka and Zuko find themselves consumed by what they find in each other.

i have no words, i just love this fic and it makes me weep.

4. The Road Between Action and Inaction by @donvex status: complete (17k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: Sokka does a shitty k turn in the parking lot across from the bus station, pulls up to the curb where the boy is looking determinedly at his phone, and rolls down the passenger window. “Hey! Which way were you going?” He may die, but at least his conscience will be clear. The guy blinks at him. “Don’t.” Oh, he’s prickly. Or: the hitchhiker au, featuring Sokka and Zuko falling in love without even realizing it.

a classic. roadtrip fics own my ass.

5. purrfect for eachother by lesmiserablol status: complete (3k words) rating: general audiences pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: “Let me teach you how to be a cat person,” Zuko says. “Learning from the master himself,” Sokka grins. “Alright, this can’t be too hard. Show me what you got.” (because sometimes, it takes going to a cat café four times to realize you're in love with your best friend)

this whole series is adorable, reading it is self care

6. Ashes Inside When You Finish Your Song by @muncaster status: complete (47k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko, aang/katara, mai/ty lee summary: Sokka writes lyrics for his sister’s band. Zuko plays piano and is unnecessarily nice. Fellas, is it gay to write love songs about your friend and his golden eyes? (AKA, a modern band AU featuring The Gaang, crappy software equipment, homoerotic lyrics, and the realization that maybe, if you think about a guy every night before you sleep, you just might be in love with him.)

i think this is the longest one-shot i’ve ever read and it’s so worth it

7. a study in matchmaking by @verdanthoney status: complete (12k words) rating: general audiences pairing(s): sokka/zuko, aang/katara, bato/hakoda summary: Zuko and Sokka try to play matchmaker, but things don't go exactly as planned.

this fic makes me want to scream, in the best way. it’s so cute

8. A Predictable Story by mindbending status: complete (7k words) rating: general audiences pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: "On this night, you shall share a kiss with a great love of your life!” That lying, scummy Aunt Wu predicts a grand romance for Sokka. To disprove her "fortunetelling" once and for all, Sokka decides to spend the night with least romantic person he knows. Zuko.

again, i have no words. this fic is cute as hell

9. that’s murder, buddy by @bisexual-atla status: WIP (14k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: Throughout the streets, on quiet nights, it was rumored the screams of those missing could be heard. Some say the sounds were coming from underground. Where were the young girls? And what was happening to them? Was an evil spirit haunting Gaoling, or something more human? More sinister? My name is Zuko, and you’re tuning into another episode of ‘That’s Murder, Buddy’. Or: Sokka has no idea that his crush is the host of his favorite podcast. (But everyone else knows.)

i love the entire concept of this one, we love oblivious sokka

10. We’ll play hide and seek (to turn this around) by @crosspin status: complete (5k words) rating: general audiences pairing(s): sokka/zuko, bato/hakoda summary: Sokka gave him a sheepish smile. “It’s…well, you see, there’s this boy…” Hakoda sighed and set down the sports section. This was going to take a while. “He works at Barnes & Noble. At the big information desk in the middle. Every Saturday. And I really want to ask him for his number, but it’s super awkward because there’s always this other guy working the information desk at the same time. He’s old, like you. But I have a plan." Sokka’s eyes lit up deviously. “You come with me to Barnes & Noble today when they’re working and distract the old man. And while you have him distracted, I’ll swoop in and get the goods!” Sokka has a plan to ask out the cute boy at the bookstore. Hakoda is a begrudging participant until he meets the boy's beautiful older coworker.

this fic!! this fic! adorable, incredible, magnificent

11. feels like we only go backwards by @oldpotatoe status: WIP (88k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: [Time passes oddly. Between one second and the next, Sokka has the Fire Lord pinned to the wall with his hands around the bastard’s throat. Golden eyes (one gold eye, his mind whispers) widen in shock. “Sokka?” he chokes out. And then he smiles. What the fuck? “Sokka, I—” Sokka slams his head against the wall, once, twice, and the smile wipes off his face. Good. “What,” Sokka bites out, “have you done to my sister?”] Or: An injury leaves Sokka with amnesia. His last memory is of the failed invasion, of leaving his father behind in enemy territory on the Day of Black Sun. Of hopelessness. Rage. But then he wakes up, and the war is over. Suddenly, he must come to terms with the fact that years have passed, and that he's somehow the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador to the Fire Nation. He is also supposedly friends with banished-Prince-turned-Fire-Lord Zuko, of all people. Close friends. Yeah, nah.

if you’ve been following me for a while you know this fic fucks me up beyond belief

12. breakable heaven by @fruitysokka status: WIP (43k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: With his twenty-first birthday looming just around the corner, the Southern Water Tribe Elders have decided that Sokka, next in line to be Chief, needs to get married. Sokka does not want that, but he does need to get them off his back until he can figure his way out of it. What better way to do that than to pretend to date his best friend (and newly minted Ambassador to the Southern Water Tribe) Zuko? Seriously, this is a foolproof plan. Maybe one of Sokka's best. Absolutely nothing can go wrong.

this just in: sokka and zuko being oblivious makes me want to yell

this turned out a bit longer than i expected but it also doesn’t even cover all my favorites. i had to stop somewhere, or i’d be here forever. maybe i’ll make a part two someday.

anyway, enjoy!

#cas recs things #fic rec #atla #zukka #cas speaks #text #zukka fics #zukka nation

633 notes · View notes

dekuskacchan · 3 years

Text

the brightest light is you

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28681833

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, tooth rotting fluff

A/N: Hi friends!! This fic is a secret santa gift for my love @lonely-rabbit (you should totally follow her) and our lovely fambly. The prompts were “First Christmas,” and “Proposals.” I hope you like it! <3

--------------------------------

December 10th

----------------------------------

Katsuki saw the sign to the pet store before Izuku did, and immediately knew he was in trouble. Why is there a pet store inside a fucking strip mall?

“Kacchan, look!” Izuku pointed at a baby, chocolate colored bunny, sleeping in an enclosure on display in the front window.

“Absolutely not.”

“But look how cute she is!” Izuku pouted.

“Deku, we already have a cat.”

“Yeah, so she’d have a friend!”

“No, she’d get fucking eaten.”

“Chip would never, she’s too polite.”

“She’s a fucking demon!” Katsuki snapped.

“Pleeeease, Kacchan? She needs a home, and it’s just in time for Christmas,” Izuku wrapped his arms around Katsuki’s middle, staring up at him.

Katsuki averted his gaze and gritted his teeth, knowing he couldn't resist Izuku's pleading eyes.

“No. Don’t give me that fucking look.”

To Katsuki’s surprise, Izuku just laughed and released his hold on him.

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” Izuku sighed dramatically, “let’s go before I get too attached. I’m hungry, anyway.”

Katsuki watched as he walked away, considering for a moment.

“God fucking dammit,” Katsuki muttered, pulling out his phone to snap a picture before Izuku noticed.

----------------------------------

December 18th

----------------------------------

“Look at these, Kacchan!” Katsuki looked up from an outrageously priced scarf to see Izuku holding the most hideous sweaters he had ever seen. They were bright red, each decorated with a matching design that, when held together, formed a Christmas tree that was adorned with real tinsel, glitter, and colored pom-pom ornaments.

“Fuck no,” Katsuki spat, and Izuku burst into laughter.

“Why not? They’re perfect,”

“No way in hell you’re getting me to wear that shit,” Katsuki snapped.

“I can think of a few ways,” Izuku winked. Katsuki sputtered, pink dusting his cheeks.

“C’mon, Kacchan, it’s Christmas! We have to get ugly sweaters.”

It was their first Christmas together since buying their new house, and Izuku had insisted on decorating accordingly. Apparently that also included embarrassing the hell out of Katsuki.

“I don’t have to do shit.”

“Please?” Izuku pouted his lip.

Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

“Fine,” he growled, while Izuku cheered and tossed the sweaters into the shopping cart.

“Oh, we could get matching Santa h-”

“Don’t even fucking think about it, Deku,” Katsuki pushed the cart forward, swiftly exiting the clothing section of the store as Izuku giggled behind him.

----------------------------------

It had been at least 30 minutes since Katsuki had seen Izuku. Where the fuck had he gone? This shop was too small to get lost in. He had checked all the aisles twice, but Izuku was nowhere to be found.

“Goddammit, every time,” Katsuki muttered, pulling out his phone to call again.

“Oh, Kacchan! There you are!” Katsuki jumped as a mop of green curls popped up from behind a giant red bin. How had he missed that?

“Jesus, Deku! You scared the shit out of me. How long have you fucking been there?,” Katsuki grumbled.

“Way too long. I’m trying to pick out lights, come help me,”

Katsuki sighed as he approached and took in the sight before him.

Izuku was muttering incomprehensibly to himself as he knelt amongst a messy pile of packages, each containing string lights of different sizes, shapes and colors.

“Those white ones in the big box,” Katsuki pointed, interrupting Izuku’s train of thought, “they’ll match the walls and the trim on the house."

Izuku looked up at Katsuki and beamed.

“You’re so smart.”

“Damn right,” Katsuki grinned, “and we’re getting a shit ton. We’re gonna have the best fucking house in the neighborhood," he pulled five boxes of lights from the bin, tossing them into the cart.

“Okay, Kacchan,” Izuku laughed as he cleaned up his mess.

----------------------------------

Their shopping cart was practically overflowing with decorations now, but Izuku didn’t seem to notice, excitedly pulling Katsuki all over the store.

“We already have three of these, nerd,” Katsuki watched as Izuku pondered over a vast selection of snowglobes.

“Yes, but not little ones! We could put these all over the house,” Izuku turned to face Katsuki, holding up a miniature globe with Dynamight’s signature gauntlets inside. Katsuki sighed and draped an arm around Izuku’s shoulder, knowing his mind was already made up.

“Could give this one to your mom,” Katsuki pointed to one that was large, green and orange, with “Wonder Duo” engraved on the front. Inside were little statues of Dynamight and Deku, posed dramatically in battle.

“She likes-,” Katsuki paused, abruptly letting go of Izuku and all but sprinting away, disappearing behind a shelving unit.

“Kacchan what’s-,” Izuku called, startled. He gasped when Katsuki returned with a box three times his size.

It was a giant, twelve foot tall statue of a Yeti wielding a staff. Katsuki poked his head around the side, grinning wickedly in delight.

“Kacchan, where would we even put that?” Izuku stared in disbelief.

“We’ll make room,” Katsuki grunted.

“Make room where?”

“We can put it next to the fireplace.”

“Kacchan, that’s where the stairs are.”

“Fuck the stairs.”

“That thing is taller than our ceiling,” Izuku stifled a laugh as Katsuki struggled to balance the weight of the box.

“Then we’ll put it outside,” Katsuki huffed in frustration.

“I don’t think our neighbors would like that, it’s scary.”

“Fuck the neighbors, this is badass.”

Izuku was laughing in earnest now, tears coming into his eyes.

“I can’t get a bunny, but you can get a giant monster?”

“This is way cooler than a fucking bunny.”

“I’m blaming you if we get in trouble with the landlord.”

----------------------------------

December 20th

----------------------------------

“That’s not food, Chip!” Izuku cried. “Let go!”

Katsuki snickered, slicing vegetables to add to a pot of bubbling curry while Izuku struggled to protect the tree from their cat.

“Shit!”

A resounding thud came from the living room, and Katsuki sighed as he dumped the ingredients into the pot.

“I need help here!” Izuku called desperately as Katsuki entered the room.

Izuku was on the floor, becoming increasingly tangled in ropes of tinsel as Chip rolled in it like she’d struck gold.

“I give up Kacchan, she won’t let- stop laughing! Can you grab her please? She keeps nibbling me” Izuku scowled.

Struggling not to choke on laughter, Katsuki whistled, quickly catching Chip’s attention.

“C’mere, you little shit, I’ve got something that tastes better than Deku,” Katsuki kneeled, dangling a piece of chicken in front of him. The tabby sprinted to him and happily devoured her prize.

“Dumb fucking cat,” he muttered under his breath.

“She likes you more than me,” Izuku chuckled, untangling himself from his tinsel prison to finish wrapping it around the tree.

“Course she does. She only likes the best,” Katsuki grinned, scratching Chip's chin as she purred and rubbed against his knee.

“There,” Izuku stood back to admire his handiwork, “I think it just needs the star now.”

“Can you even reach, shortstack?” Katsuki teased, watching Izuku struggle on his tiptoes.

“Of-” Izuku grunted,” of course I can.”

Wordlessly, Katsuki wrapped his arms around Izuku’s middle, lifting him up with ease to place the silver star atop the tree.

“It looks good, right?” Izuku grinned as Katsuki lowered him back down, still hugging him from behind.

“Yeah. Nice work, nerd,”

“Thanks, Kacchan.”

“Hm.”

“Christmas is gonna be great,” Izuku whispered.

“Be more fun if we just stayed home,” Katsuki grumbled into Izuku’s neck.

“That could be fun,” Izuku laughed, turning in Katsuki’s arm to hug him properly, “but it’ll be good to see our parents. It’s been over a month.”

“Tch. I guess,”

“Thanks for making dinner, Kacchan,” Izuku squeezed him tight and tilted his head up for a kiss.

“It’s gonna fucking burn if you don’t let go of me,” Katsuki murmured against his lips, but kissed him back.

“Hmm. That’s fine,”

Katsuki snorted.

“Hey, I think the demon spawn is ready for round two,” he nodded at the sneaky cat, who was quietly approaching the tree again.

“Dammit,” Izuku whipped around, tearing out of Katsuki’s arms, “Chip, stay out of there!”

----------------------------------

December 25th

----------------------------------

Katsuki woke to soft lips on his forehead

“Good morning, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered in his ear.

“ ‘S too fuckin early, Deku,” Katsuki groaned, eyes still closed.

“It’s almost 10.”

“I said what I said.”

Izuku yelped in surprise as Katsuki grabbed his waist and unceremoniously tugged him down onto the bed.

“Kacchan, it’s Christmas,” Izuku laughed, snuggling into his side, despite himself, “we’re supposed to be at your parents house in three hours.”

“Mmm, fuck’m,” Katsuki grumbled.

“I have coffee brewing,”

Katsuki’s ears perked up, the scent suddenly filling his nose. Sighing, he stretched his free arm above his head and cracked his eyes open to see Izuku smiling at him, wearing that atrocious sweater he’d picked out. Katsuki tucked a stray curl behind his ear.

Too cute for his own damn good.

“Come on, Kacchan, I made breakfast too,” Izuku pulled Katsuki by the arm as he sat up.

“You made breakfast?” Katsuki was dubious as he slid his glasses up his nose.

“Yep. My specialty,”

“Canned cinnamon rolls?”

“Canned cinnamon rolls.”

“....fuck yeah.”

Katsuki had long since accepted his role as the chef in their relationship, because Izuku couldn’t cook to save his fucking life, but canned pastries were a guilty pleasure he knew he’d never shake.

----------------------------------

It was a peaceful morning. The sun peeked through the curtains, bathing the room in warm, golden hues as they sat by the fire, Chip asleep on the couch between them.

“Hey, nerd, go open your present,” Katsuki nudged Izuku, who had begun to doze on his shoulder.

“Hm?” Izuku yawned, stretching his arms, “oh, okay!"

“It’s that red one,” Katsuki pointed to the largest package under the tree. Izuku eyed him curiously before crawling to open the gift, excitedly ripping through the paper and tape to reveal...

Another box, wrapped in different paper.

Izuku raised both eyebrows at him in confusion and Katsuki grinned.

“What, you don’t like it?” he mocked offense, as Izuku narrowed his eyes, “I’m just fucking with you. Keep going.”

Katsuki chuckled and quietly slipped out of the room while Izuku’s attention was occupied.

“Kacchan, this is so unnecessary,” Izuku groaned, as he pulled out yet a third box.

“Maybe I’ll just take it back, then,” Katsuki declared loudly as he re-entered the room, startling an oblivious Izuku.

“Kacchan, when did-” Izuku gasped. Katsuki was leaning against the wall with a smirk, holding a familiar small, chocolate brown bunny in his arms.

“I had Shitty Hair get her after we left the mall,”

“She’s been here for two weeks?!” Izuku cried in disbelief.

“You think I took care of her on my own? Fuck no,” Katsuki grumbled, meeting Izuku halfway and carefully passing him the rabbit, “had your mom keep her. Picked her up last night while you were asleep.”

“I love her,” Izuku smiled, burying his face in Katsuki's chest, “thank you, Kacchan."

Katsuki sighed, wrapping his arms around him and kissing his hair.

“I just knew you’d never shut the fuck up about it."

“Did you introduce her to Chip yet?”

“Yeah. She couldn’t fucking care less.”

Izuku laughed, kissing the bunny's soft head.

“I told you they’d be friends,”

“Yeah. Friends," Katsuki rolled his eyes, "go sit, there's one more,"

Izuku smirked as he watched Katsuki stumble over the ruins of his prank to retrieve the gift.

“There’d better not be another box in there, Kacchan,” Izuku warned, warily taking the package.

“Just open it, dumbass,” Katsuki barked a laugh and joined him on the couch.

Izuku pulled the lid off the long box and stared. Inside was a tall, holographic photo frame filled with drawings Izuku and Katsuki made as children. When tilted to the side, the images changed to reveal photographs of the pair as Pro Heroes.

“Kacchan, you- you kept these?”

Katsuki shrugged.

“They were too badass to throw away,”

“Kacchan-” tears welled up in Izuku’s eyes again, “it’s perfect. You big softie.”

“Tch. I’m not the one crying,” Katsuki wiped the tears as they rolled down his cheeks.

Izuku laughed again.

“But you know I’m right. My turn now?”

Izuku didn't wait for his response, clambering over the sea of boxes for the present without putting his furry new friend down.

“Here!”

It was surprisingly heavy, and topped with a comically large bow.

“Shit, Deku, you put bricks in here?”

“Just open it, Kacchan,” Izuku watched him with excitement in his eyes.

Katsuki ripped the package open to reveal a thick, leather bound scrapbook, with Dynamight’s signature X on the front. The inside cover read, in handwriting Katsuki immediately recognized as Izuku’s,“The Legacy of Dynamight.”

His eyes widened as he flipped through the book of memories.

There were journal articles of him in action. Newspaper headings; “Pro Hero Dynamight makes his big debut!” and “Pro hero Dynamight saves Musutafu Children’s Hospital!

Then came the letters glued to the parchment paper, comprising the majority of the book. Katsuki’s mouth fell open as he read words, handwritten, that he’d never seen before.

There were letters from citizens that had watched him take down terrifying enemies, praising him for his good deeds. Letters from people he’d saved, grateful for the chance to see their families again.

Letters from sick children he’d visited in the hospital telling him how awesome he was, several thanking him for giving them the encouragement to keep fighting.

And finally, there were multiple pages filled with artwork. Most were children’s doodles of Dynamight in action and Dynamight saving the day, but there were also several beautifully drawn and painted portraits.

The remaining pages were blank, waiting to be filled.

Izuku had written on the inside back cover:

This is a book of memories, of growth, of victory, and salvation.

If you are so fortunate to see this, know you are reading a testament to the strongest person this world has ever known.

The fiercest hero and most loyal partner, who always wins and always saves.

The legacy of Katsuki Bakugou, Pro Hero Dynamight.

At the bottom, Izuku had doodled several explosions and grenades, and Katsuki grinned.

“I sent a letter to the World Hero Association Journals, asking people to send in their thoughts about Pro Hero Dynamight. There were so many! Those kids were full of stories. They think you’re really cool. And we can fill the rest of it with new memories, too," Izuku said softly, smiling at him.

Katsuki tried to speak, but nothing came out. He was speechless as he stared at Izuku.

“I just want you to know how proud of you I am. How proud everyone is. You’re amazing, Kacchan," Izuku was looking at him with those big, knowing eyes, and picked up an envelope Katsuki hadn't noticed at the bottom of the box.

“Open the last one.”

It was a page full of more doodles from when they were kids, and potential hero names they’d created. At the bottom read “Dynamight” in uneven, capital letters.

“We had the same idea,” Izuku laughed.

“Deku, I-” Katsuki stuttered, still unable to find the right words.

“I know.”

Did he know? Could he possibly know how much this fucking meant? How much he meant?

They both startled as Chip dove into the pile of wrapping paper on the ground, ripping it to shreds.

“Oh-wait, come back!” Izuku reached for his bunny as she leapt from his lap to explore the wreckage, but Katsuki grabbed his chin and pulled him back.

“I love you,” Katsuki said firmly, capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

It felt like hours, but Katsuki knew it had only been minutes when Izuku pulled back.

“Kacchan,” he was breathless as Katsuki’s lips trailed down his chin, “I don’t know where she went.”

“She’s fine,”

“But-”

“She’s fine.” Katsuki growled, silencing Izuku’s burst of laughter with another kiss.

----------------------------------

“It’s fuckin’ cold, Deku, let’s just take the car,” Katsuki complained, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

“It’s not that cold, Kacchan. And look how pretty it is!” Izuku insisted.

Thin flecks of snow fell from the sky, disappearing into the fluff that already coated the neighborhood. Water dripped slowly from the tree branches as the snow began to melt in the sunlight. The air smelled of evergreen, crisp and cold enough that they could see their own breath.

“Besides, it’s not that far of a walk. Come on, we’re already running late,” Izuku hauled a bag of gifts over one arm, reaching for Katsuki’s hand with the other.

“Our house is the most badass,” Katsuki grinned, looking up at his prized statue. The giant took up half of their front yard, it's long shadow peering over their roof.

“Kacchan, that thing is an eyesore,” Izuku grimaced.

“Shut up. It’s cool as fuck as you know it."

Izuku laughed and shook his head.

“Do you think they’ll be alright without us?” Izuku worried as they walked, thinking of the animals they’d left at home.

“Who knows. Maybe the demon spawn will have eaten that fluff ball by the time we get home,” Katsuki teased.

“Kacchan! That’s not reassuring,”

“You asked,” Katsuki smirked, interlacing his fingers with Izuku’s, “they’ll be fine. They’re fucking animals. And she’s in her pen.”

----------------------------------

The walk was short, but still longer than Katsuki cared for in the cold.

“Oh, mom’s already here!” Izuku pointed to the small, blue car parked in front of the Bakugou household.

The house was huge, decked top to bottom in red and green lights that matched the trees in the yard.

“Hope the old hag hasn’t eaten her alive yet,” Katsuki mused.

“Kacchan, that’s not very nice,” Izuku playful shoved him, “we’d better not keep them waiting,”

They were greeted at the door by Inko Midoriya’s warm, smiling face.

“Merry Christmas boys!” She squealed, pulling them both in for a tight hug.

“Merry Christmas, mom,” Izuku grinned, wrapping his arms around her. Katsuki hummed, loosely returning the embrace.

It was pleasantly warm inside, and smelled of cinnamon and vanilla.

“Oh, those are so cute!” Inko exclaimed as they discarded their coats, pointing to the abhorrent sweaters Izuku had insisted they wear, much to Katsuki’s chagrin.

Katsuki groaned as Inko poked at the ridiculous pom poms on his chest.

Deku’s lucky he’s so fucking cute.

----------------------------------

Katsuki had just finished bickering with Mitsuki when he overheard Izuku and Inko talking in the next room. He paused, leaning against the wall to listen unnoticed.

“I can’t believe you kept Nibbles a secret!”

Nibbles? Where the fuck did that name come from?

“It wasn’t easy, I was so excited! But I was more than happy to help. She’s very well behaved,”

“She is,” Izuku laughed, “thank you for taking care of her, mom.”

“Of course, dear. Katsuki came to check on us almost every day.”

Katsuki flushed as the pair laughed.

“What did he think of the scrapbook?” Inko asked excitedly.

“He liked it, I think. He was quiet, which is Kacchan for “thank you."

Inko was laughing again.

“I think it was a great idea, honey, it's very thoughtful."

“I’m just...really proud of him, y’know? He’s come so far. I don’t think words are enough,” Izuku was sniffling now, “gah, I'm sorry mom, I don’t mean to be so mushy.”

“Don’t apologize. You get it from me,” Inko chuckled, the emotion clear in her voice too, “did you like your other gift?”

“I love it, it’s so perfect. Did you know about that, too?”

“He asked me if I thought you’d like it. I said yes, of course,” Inko paused, “he really loves you, honey.”

“I know. “

Katsuki flushed deeper, leaning quietly against the wall.

Did he know?

----------------------------------

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Inko cried in appreciation for the snowglobe Katsuki had picked out, and locket they’d customized with a photo of the three of them. Mitsuki and Masaru enjoyed the cheesy as fuck digital photo frame Izuku had insisted on, with less teasing from Mitsuki than Katsuki had expected.

Everyone was delighted to see All Might when he stopped by to visit in the afternoon, but Katsuki barely even noticed him. In the crowded room, all he saw was Izuku.

Izuku, who had saved him so many times, in more than one sense of the word. Izuku, who had rooted for him his whole life, the only person who had never stopped truly believing in him, who had reminded him of his true purpose.

Izuku, who had never expected more of him than he had to give, but encouraged him endlessly to reach new heights.

Izuku, who was currently asleep in his lap, wrapped in his new blanket hoodie.

Izuku.

“Can i sit with you, dear?”

Katsuki was interrupted from his reverie by Inko’s soft voice.

“Sure,” he murmured, scooting over as best he could without waking the sleeping lump.

“Thank you for the gifts, they were very thoughtful.”

“Was Deku’s idea,” Katsuki lied. Inko laughed.

“Sure."

They sat together in a calming silence for a while, watching the flames crackle in the fireplace.

Katsuki was frequently comforted by Inko’s presence. She was a beacon of light, always warm and wise. He thought she was about to speak, but she was interrupted by Izuku’s sudden snores.

“He’s loud even in his fucking sleep,” Katsuki rolled his eyes.

Inko chuckled, running a hand through her son’s hair.

“It adds to his natural charm,”

“Yeah, it’s real charming waking up to the sound of a fog horn in the middle of the night,” Katsuki grumbled, earning another musical laugh.

“You know, I don’t think I ever congratulated you on your new home,” Inko hummed.

“ S’just a house."

“Of course it is,” Inko smiled knowingly and patted his arm, “I’m very proud of you both.”

Katsuki was silent for a moment, before squeezing her hand.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

----------------------------------

It was dark when they finally bid their farewells, and considerably colder outside.

“Drive safe, mom!” Izuku waved as Katsuki helped her into her car and shut the door.

“Let’s cut through the plaza on the way home, Kacchan, I want to see the lights,"

“That’s ten fucking minutes out of the way, Deku,” Katsuki growled.

“It’s our last chance to see before it gets taken down! It’ll be fun,” Izuku pleaded, hugging Katsuki’s arm.

“Tch. You’d better fucking walk fast."

Izuku grinned in victory as they left.

“Today was a nice day. I didn’t expect All Might to actually come by, since he’s so busy. It was good to see him,” Izuku thought aloud.

“Woulda been pissed if he didn’t,” Katsuki grumbled.

“Did you invite him, too?” Izuku looked at him in surprise as he shrugged, “that’s really nice, Kacchan,” he smiled, leaning his head on Katsuki’s shoulder.

“I guess.”

They hadn’t been walking long when the light show came into view. Izuku gasped, releasing Katsuki’s arm as he stared.

Silver and gold arches stretched across the narrow street, wrapped in bright, white lights. The roofs of the buildings were covered in brightly colored stars that illuminated the sparkling snow, and the lamp posts were decorated like candy canes. A large statue of silver bells sat in the green field at the center of the plaza.

Katsuki had to admit, it wasn’t all that unpleasant to look at.

Izuku was fucking loving it. Katsuki watched as he stood under an arch, beaming in delight as he admired the view.

Does he know? Katsuki thought back on the events of the day. Does he really know?

“Kacchan, come look,” Izuku called to him.

Katsuki was still lost in thought as he approached, and Izuku paused, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

“Are you o-,” Izuku startled as Katsuki’s hands came to cradle his face.

There were so many things left unsaid, things he’d wanted to say but didn’t know how. Katsuki had always been better with actions than words, and Izuku had always accepted that. He accepted and loved him as he was without a second fucking thought.

“The strongest person this world has ever known.”

Izuku made him stronger.

“The legacy of Dynamight.”

Staring into eyes that were as soft as the falling snow, Katsuki decided he knew.

“Izuku,” Katsuki murmured, looking him straight in the eyes.

Every moment had led to this.

“Kacchan?” Izuku breathed.

The legacy he cared for most was the one he’d forged with Izuku.

“Marry me.”

Izuku’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Listen, I’m- I’m not good at this sappy shit. I don’t know what to fucking say. But-” Katsuki released he didn’t realize he’d been holding as Izuku’s palm brushed his cheek, “the world is a fucking shitty place. But it’s less shitty with you. And I don’t want anyone else by my side. So marry me,” Katsuki voice softened, “Please."

It wasn’t exactly the most romantic of proposals, and there wasn’t a ring, but Izuku didn’t seem to mind.

“Okay,” he whispered. A breathtaking smile spread across his face that put all the fucking lights in the world to shame.

Katsuki met Izuku halfway, lips colliding in a passionate kiss.

The world could be ending for all Katsuki knew, and he couldn’t fucking care less.

Izuku wrapped his arms around Katsuki’s neck, murmuring I love you against his lips, over and over again as he deepened the kiss, and nothing else mattered. Nothing mattered except for this fucking moment as they melted into each other, ignoring the world around them.

Just as their tongues brushed, Izuku pulled back, resting their foreheads together.

“We should-,” Izuku breathed with swollen lips, “should we go home?”

Reluctantly, Katsuki lifted his head and nodded.

“Yeah.”

----------------------------------

It was past midnight when Katsuki woke. They had fallen asleep on the couch, Izuku curled into his side with Nibbles, with Chip resting at their feet. He watched the shadows from the fireplace dancing on the wall, the room gradually becoming dimmer as the flames died out.

Izuku stirred in his sleep, tilting his head up to look at Katsuki with a blissful smile on his face.

“Merry Christmas, Kacchan.”

Katsuki pulled him closer.

“Merry Christmas, Deku.”

----------------------------------------

A/N: thank you for reading!!!!! this is the first fic i’ve ever posted so im super nervous lmao.

also: the italic lines are supposed to be Katsuki’s thoughts, I wasn’t sure if that was totally clear lmao

also!! big shoutout to @jekacatrina and @thatpinkbetch who helped me with the idea for kacchan’s present and also for the encouragement!!! (best parents ever)

#much love for my bunbun i hope you like!#and my fambly!#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bkdk #bakudeku #ktdk #katsudeku #fambly #birdie writes #my fic #its sfw but it gets a lil steamy just a heads up if that's not your cup of tea #how the fuck do you write a kiss?? i sure as hell dont know #anywho #thanks yall!

182 notes · View notes

ezwhump · 3 years

Text

Let the Cat Out of the Bag - pet whump, pet-sitting, pampered pet, introduction of characters

“Explain it to me again.”

“Aw, fuck off, Farhan.”

“No, seriously!” Farhan spat a seed shell into the solo cup and took another swig of his beer. “This woman puts an ad in the fucking paper, for christ’s sake, asking for someone to what? Look after her kitty cat?”

He buckled over, eyes creasing, and barked out a laugh.

“No you got that exactly right, man,” Gregor let his mouthful of warm beer dribble back into the bottle and set it down on the table. “She’s got some sorta terminal illness, says she won’t be home enough to look after it, yeah? That’s where I come in.”

Farhan snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah but she could just sell it though. Get some dough before she croaks.” He leaned over and snatched the paper off the table. “Pet-sitting. Fucking hell. I can loan you the money, you know.”

When Farhan got serious he got fancy, started picking up his ‘t’s, shortening his vowels. Offering money. It made Gregor raise his hackles.

“When you think about it, it's not a bad gig. I get to fuck around in some OAP’s house all day and I get paid for it. If I do a decent enough job maybe I get in on the will.”

Farhan shook his head, flipping to the sports section of the paper. “You’re a fuckin’ vulture, man.”

Gregor smiled to himself and drank his warm beer anyway. Farhan didn’t really understand, it didn’t matter what the job was, it mattered what the pay was. And he’d do pretty much anything at this point (except become Farhan’s charity case), so long as food got put on the table and the bills were paid, even looking after some geriatric’s pet.

Even if he was allergic to cats.

--

The car pulled up a few streets away from the old lady’s, and Gregor opened the passenger door.

Farhan leaned over and rolled down the window. “You got your cell?”

Gregor patted his jean’s back pocket.

“Right, good. Wallet, keys?”

“Fuck off, Farhan.” Gregor was getting irate, jumping on the spot with his hands in his front pockets. It was too fucking cold outside for chit-chat, he wanted to get into the warm house and start eating.

Farhan laughed and cranked up the window with a “right, right”.

The house was in a cul-de-sac of luxury townhomes, redbrick with intricate railings and a courtyard with a fountain. Gregor was suddenly very aware of his ratty sneakers and DIY buzzcut. He spat into the bushes and rang the doorbell, stopping short of shouting up to the closest window. It seemed like the sort of place where people would stop and stare if you spoke too loudly, and god forbid he caused a kerfuffle and the police were called.

He patted his pocket for his dab pen and rolled it between his thumb and finger while he waited to be buzzed in.

“Katz residence.”

Gregor jumped and turned to the intercom speaker on the side of the doorway. He pressed the little purple button.

“Uh, hi. It's Gregor. Enache. I’m here for the pet-sitting gi- job.”

He waited for a moment, wind whipping inside his jacket and making him shudder. Then the intercom buzzed and he heard a lock click, so he took his cue and went inside.

After processing the excessive grandeur of the lobby, Gregor took the elevator up to the top floor. All the hallways were cream with soft white lights in sconces and glittering from chandeliers. The floors were marble, and Gregor almost laughed when his soles squeaked and tracked dirt if he scraped them hard enough.

There was a soft tinkling music coming from somewhere and all the doors were painted a deep plum colour with gold handles. The whole place smelled like sweet perfume. Part of Gregor wanted to break everything just to check if it was real (especially the little statues on the antique tables), part of him wanted this whole place to be preserved in resin so he could stare at it forever, but he mostly just wanted to see if there were price listings for any of it. The pawn potential made him lightheaded.

“She’s gonna pay you,” he reminded himself, stopping at door 19 and rapping the golden knocker. It was shaped like a cat.

A boy answered the door. Well, not really a boy, though he seemed younger. He looked around Gregor’s age, 22 or so, but they were leagues apart.

He had pearl-blonde hair that stopped at the base of his throat and his lanky frame was a little taller than Gregor. He was wearing a long-sleeve shirt and slacks made out of the same muslin fabric, but his feet were bare and clean.

“Pleased to meet you Mr. Enache.” A woman’s voice called out from the guy who stepped aside silently to let Gregor in.

Salma Katz was sitting on a white lounge sofa in a skirt and blouse, her legs crossed at the ankles. She wasn’t geriatric by any stretch of the imagination but she did have an air of vulnerability around her, like something was wrong and she was using every vice at her disposal to hide it. It showed in the way she picked at her nails or kept tucking back her blonde bob.

“Hi.” Gregor stood dumbly in the entryway, eyes darting to all of the fanciful objects littered about the place. Little markings of money, of privilege. He felt sort of trapped. “Um, so where is the little guy?”

Salma was blinking sluggishly, and Gregor couldn’t help but compare it to when his mom had gotten hold of Farhan’s Vicodin after his dental surgery last month. Hazy, drugged up. It was probably painkillers or something.

“There are a few things I should go over before I leave, but just in case there’s a list on the refrigerator.” She gestured for Gregor to sit and he did, slumping into the love-seat across from her, a glass coffee table between them with a small vase of peach roses in the middle of it.

“I’m very invested in the comfort and safety of my pet while I’m enjoying treatment, and thus very meticulous. . . about who watches him.” The boy had taken a seat on the floor in front of her lounge chair, and Gregor had to drag his eyes back to Salma.

“Right. Well, I mean, why put it in the paper then? Any dickwad off the street could come in.” A humoured smile lit up her face, and Gregor caught himself. “Uh, with all due respect, ma’am.”

Salma laughed, an airy, unbothered sound. “Well, just prove to me that I made the correct choice young man, and we won’t have a problem.” Her eyes trailed Gregor up and down and he tried not to squirm, setting his jaw and meeting her eyes. They glinted. “Now, Leander has a particular diet which I included on the list. I presume you can cook?”

Gregor nodded. He’d had to learn a long time ago.

“Wonderful. Taking him outside the apartment is discouraged, however we do have a balcony if you’ll be needing to smoke or he needs fresh air. He takes a bath most nights, and you’ll know what to wash him with. Oh, and of course if you need anything from him all you need to do is ask.”

“It’s trained?” Gregor felt his eyes widen, impressed. Cat’s weren’t usually trained, but he should’ve figured given the context of the whole situation.

“Indeed he is. Now, I wouldn’t want him to get lonely, either. He has his own room but he does enjoy company. Would you be available to watch him five days a week?”

Gregor thought for a moment and nodded. He’d cover his bases, pay his dues, on the weekend. And besides, pets didn’t really require all that much effort.

“Perfect. Does 7-12 feel appropriate? Of course we’d provide you with adequate food, a bed, transport, and whatever else you require to perform your duties.” She was talking slowly, like she was trying to coerce a wild animal into a cage, but Gregor wasn’t going to complain. Living in a place like this all day, free food, a fucking car, and all he had to do was refill a food bowl and wrestle it into a bath sometimes? He felt like he’d stumbled upon a get-out-of-jail-free card.

“Sure, no problem.”

Salma smiled again and smoothed her hand along the boy’s hair, standing up and gesturing for Gregor to do so as well. Gregor tried to keep the incredulity from showing on his face.

She reached out and took Gregor’s hand, clasping it briefly and then turning back to the boy. Gregor looked around again for a tabby, a persian. A fucking tiger.

Salma ushered the boy forward, and he stood graceful and silent in front of Gregor, avoiding eye contact.

“Mr. Enache, this is Leander. My pet.”

---

I’m taking a short break from Russ & Lennon, but hopefully you guys will enjoy reading about Gregor & Leander as much as I enjoy writing them :) I’m starting up a new tag list for these two so if you’d like to be included pls just let me know! <3 - ez

--

tag list: __

#pet whump #pampered pet #whump #brief mention of drug abuse #cw unknowingly using it as a pronoun #cw brief mention of cancer/terminal illness #cw brief mention of alcohol #cw unintentional dehuminization #pet-sitting #again pls lmk if i missed any tags

38 notes · View notes

pl-panda · 4 years

Text

Damienette arranged marriage: part 12

Credits: Miraculous Ladybug team for the elements I take from MLB show. DC for their characters, @ozmav for the AU, @maribat-archive for giving me access to so many different stories to have take inspirations from, @thyladyanput for idea for Chat Damian and me for the plot.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9 Part 10

Part 11

Damienette arranged marriage: part 12

NEXT

--------------------------

Marinette felt an excruciating pain in her chest. It was like her heart burned alive. She kicked Chat Noir right below the belt. He let go of her and stumbled back, this time falling onto the blanked an holding his manhood. Marinette also fell. A green light covered the general area of her heart.

------------------------------

The excruciating pain slowly died and light faded, but both still lingered. Marinette could feel her limbs stiffen to try and counter the pain. It was like she just survived a serious heart stroke.

She slowly managed to stand up. Chat d’amour was still lying, crying in pain from her two punches. Marinette got to the edge of the balcony and looked down. Her body was still hurting, but she managed to jump over the barrier and slide down the edge. Her beautiful red dress was dirtied and damaged, but she didn’t care. She had to get away. She had to escape. But she was still too close. She had to get down. But she was three storeys above the ground. It took her only a moment to make the decision to jump.

People who were down there watched in fear as young girl fall from the roof. Marinette had to think fast. She cursed herself internally that she left her bag at Chloe. Tikki was still there. She did not plan on leaving in this outfit. She loved the dress, but there was a need for some accessories. Specifically, a place for Tikki. Acting in panic she tried to grab herself onto some sill, but it did little to actually work. She was sure she would smash into the ground.

Hard pavement came much to fast. She only managed to slightly bend her knees and extend her legs to minimize the impact. When she came into contact, the momentum pushed her into the ground and she felt immense pain in her soles, but to her relief she was able to walk. And more importantly, to run. All of her person was full of pain and each step felt like walking barefoot on broken glass, but the fear of what would happen if the Akuma caught her won over physical discomfort. She had to get away. She had to get to the hotel. Marinette needed Tikki. And more importantly she had to check if Damian was safe. Oh Kwami! Damian! He tried to defend me and Chat threw him at the wall! He must have been hurt badly. He doesn’t have miraculous to protect him!

But what mattered most was that she had to stop Chat. She couldn’t let him harm anyone because of her. He was doing it because she rejected him. He got akumatized over the fact that Ladybug rejected her and then apparently he shifted his focus on Marinette, only for her to publicly start dating Damian! But that was no reason to wreck the whole city. To get akumatized! To try and kiss her!

She shuddered at the memory. This was not okay. Marinette remembered her panic. In the hindsight, maybe breaking his nose was not a sign enough… I will go straight to castration if it ever happens again. Great. Now I sound like Damian…

“So your mother is some cult leader that decided to play a matchmaker?” Chloe asked in disbelief. “Ridiculous! Utterly Ridiculous! And why Dupain-Cheng? I mean I… What does she brings into it? How would your mother even know about her?”

“I am not sure.” Damian admitted. He operated on half-truths since the beginning of the talk. “Maybe that’s exactly why. Marinette has heart of gold and she doesn’t care about people’s past, their status or family. She just looks at them and what they have inside.” He spoke from his own experience. She didn’t care that his mother was the one who forced him into this. She apologized for inconvenience she caused him.

“But why her? There must be thousands of girls like her that would entail at least some benefit…”

“I can assure you miss Bourgeois that there is no one like her.”

“I guess…“ She wanted to say more, but seeing Damian start to glare through the window angry made her stop. Now there was the brooding ball of angst she heard so much about.

The whole talk while waiting for the ambulance was taking too freaking long for his liking. They sat here for almost half an hour by now. He could only guess that Akuma attack was making things hard, but he had no idea why since no one besides him was hurt to his knowledge. It was like people stopped caring about them. He tried to call Drake again, but there was no answer whatsoever. It was almost like they were isolated from the rest of the world.

The realization dawned on him. He was a complete idiot. The idiocy on par with that of Drake. “Nobody is coming. I think I know lover cat’s powers.” He stated

“Then talk instead of sitting there like an utter idiot!”

“Isolation. He wants to have Marinette only for himself, but this idiot probably used his powers on us too!” Damian was fuming. Chat not only tried to take Marinette against her will, but his whole goal was to make her separate from everyone. Screw the rules, he would gut him and worry about the consequences later.

Standing up he felt pain rush through his leg. Damian frowned, but he used his sword in scabbard to support himself. That is until Chloe pushed him back to the bed.

“You are not going anywhere Lover Boy. Last thing I need is you making Dupain-Cheng a widow before she turns sixteen.”

“Why are you suddenly so defensive of her?” Damian scowled at the blonde. From what he knew, she was not the kind type. And he didn’t buy the sudden ‘change of heart’ thing.

“Because I don’t want to be alone! I want to have friends! I know I am utterly ridiculous, but I want to have real friends! She was ready to just forgive me and defend me! I want… I want to repay her!”

“Then man up and help me get to my room. I need to call one person who can help us.” Damian snarled. He was still unconvinced, but it seemed that it didn’t matter. It was that or leaving Marinette alone with the French Psycho #2. Blonde frowned, but helped him nonetheless.

They arrived at his room and Damian got a reinforced case from under his bed. He made sure to open it just a little bit and snatch the satelite phone and smash it back locked before Chloe saw the kevlar suit inside. It was enough revelations because he fucked up today anyway. His brothers would not let him live the fact that he revealed the marriage anyway. If he also outed himself as Robin, he would probably just return to being a hermit in the mountains. It would sure be easier than the scolding from father and jokes from his brothers.

He pulled the phone and pressed several buttons. After scanning his finger, the screen came to life. He picked the number and called. After two rings a muffled voice came from the other side.

“Yeah yeah. I need Superboy so drag your tired ass here this instant!”

“~~~~”

“I don’t care what your father said!”

“~~~~”

“Eh… My wife is in trouble… I hear one tease from you and I am asking father for Kryptonite knuckle dusters for birthday!”

There was a sound of incoming plane and suddenly someone crashed through the window. The boy wore a zipp-up jacket with Superman logo, jeans trousers and had ruffled black hair. He was about thirteen, maybe fourteen.

“‘tsup?”

“Shut up Superboy.” Damian frowned. He had to restrain himself not to out Kent in front of the irritating girl. He wished he just got Mari home when he had a chance.

“I though we were on the first-name basis Robin!”

The sound of Damian’s facepalm could be heard in Fortress of Solitude.

——————————————————————————————————–

Taglist (sorry if I missed you)@pheonixashtree @sassakitty @unabashedbookworm @vixen-uchiha @maggiecc12 @actualdisasterwoman @tired-butterfly @shizukiryuu @floralfi @imanerddealwith @northernbluetongue @krispydefendorpolice @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @bluesoulblueheart @theatreandcomicfreak @disneyfoxuniverse @mindfulmagics @alwaysnumberonetruth @nyaabinch @jardimazul @lenamau @rosep16 @dramatic-squirrel @sonif50 @daminett4life @lulutheawkwardess @weird-pale-blonde-person @mooshoon @jeminiikrystal @mochegato @moonlightstar64 @dragonflyswing @silverwhiteraven @shamefullove @magic-miraculous @valeks-princess @heaven428 @mlbchaosqueen @winter-gardenflower @spicybelladonna @emo-elaine13 @vetilora @karukofox21 @my-name-is-michell @sturchling @lokiifriggasonn @redscarlet95 @melicmusicmagic @interobanginyourmom @the-fusionist @razzledazzle247 @miss-mysterys-blog @darkthunder1589 @i-is-mysterious @catthhay @the-one-woman-army @zestyzealot @dahjokester @write-for-your-life2 @mermaidreject @peachedpocky @sassakitty @dahjokester @crazylittlemunchkin @novicevoice @justafanwarrior @eliza-bitch @schrodingers25

#mlb x dc #maribat au #maribat #arranged marriage au #crossover #guardian!marinette #batman #damienette #marinette x damian #league of assassins #order of the guardians #mlb #miraculous lb #miraculous ladybug

406 notes · View notes

amostimprobabledream · 4 years

Text

The Witching Hour (Tommy Shelby x Reader)

(Also available on ArchiveOfOurOwn: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25369792) There’s something special about that certain hour of the night, between midnight and three. It’s a feeling that comes to you every now and then, an overwhelming sensation of possibilities. Like anything can happen.

Maybe that’s why you feel strangely calm, knowing just who’s coming to see you. Actually, ‘calm’ isn’t quite right, it doesn’t match that singing in your veins, the magnetic tug of attraction that grows stronger and stronger with each passing minute, like your body can feel him approaching. No, calm isn’t exactly it, but there’s a degree of assurance that makes this feel fun instead of tense.

You know that he isn’t going to forget about you.

Thing is, this should be tense. Your husband ain’t there (and where he is, you don’t know, nor do you care) but he’d go fucking ballistic if he knew what was happening – what was about to happen.

Well, fuck him. You know he’s been screwing around behind your back for months. Maybe even longer. Well, two can play at that game, you’ll do far better than any two-bit whore or overeager showgirl.

No. Your catch is considerably more impressive.

The door swings open, silent as a ghost and you find yourself sitting up straighter, like a naughty kid in class.

Tommy Shelby walks into the room like he owns it, shutting the door with a firm click behind him. He’s already removed his coat at the door, but the signature cap is still firmly on, shadowing his face just so. But he’s staring right at you, twin rings of blue growing thinner as they skate up and down your body. He blinks once, slowly, those lashes dipping like a wing. You’ve admitted before to being terribly jealous of those eyelashes – you’re the one in showbusiness but those eyes of his put any movie star’s to shame.

You made sure to dress nicely for him, but now you wonder if you’ve overdone it. Your favourite (and most expensive) nightgown, the stockings you know he loves and a fucking string of pearls glistening around your throat. You thought it was a good idea at the time, but maybe you look ridiculous, like a kid playing dress up, playing at being an adult.

“Look at you,” Tommy rasps, startling you, both with the suddenness and how he always seems to know just what’s going through your head. “Very nice.”

He’s never effusive with compliments – he’s not much of a talker in general – but two words from him in that low, approving purr means more to you than a thousand gushing compliments from suck-ups and boot lickers you get in your line of work. You feel warmth bloom in your stomach and bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning like a fool.

“Thanks,” you say and Tommy steps further into the room, his tread slow and careful as a cat’s.

His hand reaches out and gently his fingers wrap around the pearls, tugging you gently to your feet. His mouth is warm as it meets yours, one hand tangling in your hair, angling your head while the other clicks the pearls between his fingers.

It’s a cliché, but kissing Tommy isn’t quite like kissing anyone else. For a man who is so hard to read as he is, like talking to a statue, he knows how to kiss with feeling. His teeth gently scrape your bottom lip, lips slightly chapped but firm and hungry against yours. He loves your mouth, but he likes to kiss your throat too. Letting a man like Tommy that close to your neck is nothing short of thrilling to you – it’s like baring it to a wolf.

But the best part of it is, you know how much he wants to do more.

If Tommy had his way, he’d lace your skin with love bites, so everyone would see them and know exactly who was fucking you. There would be no sneaking around, snatching these fleeting moments together, under the cover of darkness. And he wouldn’t be gone every morning after, he’d be there when you woke up.

If he had it his way, you’d be his.

But in a perverse way, you wonder if it’s exactly because you aren’t that he makes sure to treat you right. It’s not that you think that Tommy would ignore or mistreat you the moment he got a ring on your finger, but once that happened, he’d have won. Eventually, new things become familiar and the excitement disappears. What comes after isn’t bad – comfort, easiness – but you know Tommy. He craves excitement and danger more than any drug known to man. That your dear, darling bastard of a husband would kill (or try to) the both of you if you found out is like his birthday and Christmas come at once.

So Tommy lavishes you with ‘anonymous’ gifts, sneaks into your room whenever possible and fucks you until you see stars, because he know that it’s all he can do at present. And if he’s going to do those things, he’s fucking well going to do them properly.

The inconvenient problem that is your marriage, and having a husband who is too well-connected to quietly get rid of, is one you and Tommy have talked about before, but Tommy’s never given you anything definite to pin your hopes on. That’s not his way. All he keeps saying over and over is, “When he’s gone.”

The words always send a little thrill down your back. It’s like he’s casting a spell by saying it, weaving it together to once again bend the world to his will. It’s well-known that Tommy Shelby tends to get what he wants, eventually.

“Oi,” Tommy says quietly, giving your earlobe a little nip. "Look at me."

You obey – mostly because it’s not as if looking at him is some great chore. You only do as he says when you fancy it, something you know he finds both amusing and infuriating. A potent mix. He smirks and lets go of you, taking a step back.

Carefully, like he’s putting on a performance for you, he begins to remove his clothing. First the hat, placed on the table. Then he takes off his jacket, and you see his pocket watch and chain, winking in the dim lights, a slash of gold in a sea of coal black. You find yourself watching him hungrily, tracing a fingertip over your lip where he bit you. Even the sight of his forearms, revealed beneath rolled-up sleeves, is enough to fan the flames of urgency you feel when you look at him and the distance between you feels increasingly unacceptable.

“Tommy-“

“Mm-mm. Stay there,” he says, pointing a finger at you as he takes his time undressing, his smirk more pronounced now. As serious as he is, he’s a dreadful tease.

You scoff but know he’ll just make you wait longer if you don’t comply, so you shift impatiently on stockinged feet, feeling far colder than you did lounging on the bed waiting for him. You absently rub your arms, feeling goosebumps stippling your skin as you watch him, white shirt sliding apart to reveal the scarred, pale skin beneath, tattoos standing out starkly against his flesh. You have a sudden, powerful urge to bite him.

Finally he’s done, down to his trousers. There’s a beat, expectation hovering in the air between you. Then, he turns and marches towards you so suddenly and with a glint in his eye that makes you take a step back without realising, until your hip nudges your dressing table behind you.

With a smile that can only be described as wolfish, Tommy’s hands slide down to your waist and gives it a playful squeeze before he lifts you up, sitting you on your vanity. The clatter of makeup falling to the floor beings you back to the real world and you frown, flicking your gaze to his.

“Those had better not be broken now, Tommy,” you say, annoyed. “It’s an expensive brand.”

He snickers throatily and responds with a lazy kiss, though his porcelain face is unrepentant.

“I’ll buy you more,” he says with a shrug.

He’s not interest in your makeup, even with traces of your lipstick smudging his jaw. Instead he kisses you until you’re panting, standing in between your legs and sucking, nibbling on your bottom lip, like it’s a thing to be devoured. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, which you’d expect from him, but there’s another taste in there too that you can’t quite put your finger on – it reminds you of the woods in winter, of the outside.

His hands rest on your thighs, toying with the hem of your stockings, flirting with the lace, but then he pulls back a little, examining your face. You’re sure you already look a mess, pupils blown, lips red from his attentions and hair falling down out of its usual style. He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and it hits you right between the legs when he does that.

“Your ‘usband,” Tommy says, each word weighty. “Doesn’t deserve you.”

You find yourself holding your breath.

“I know,” you answer, on the exhale.

Tommy grunts and lets you go. Then he slowly kneels down, sliding his hands down your legs as he does so, caressing them. He maintains eye contact with you until he’s kneeling right in between your legs and turns his gaze to what lies straight ahead of him. You squirm on the vanity, heart thudding hard in your chest. It's a little embarrassing to be looked at quite so closely, but your skin is tingling with excitement.

He runs his hands slowly up your legs, pinkie ring glinting as he does so, and nudges them apart, fingers squeezing your thighs, since he knows you’re liable to snap them shut when the tensions gets to be too much to bear. He licks his lips, enjoying that tantalising strip of flesh above the stocking, but it’s not what he’s after right now.

You’re helpfully not wearing any underwear and Tommy smirks, before shifting you a little closer, your little gasp of surprise amusing him. His breath is hot as it ghosts over your skin, and anticipation twists in the pit of your stomach.

The first lick is scorching hot, his tongue dragging a stripe up the centre of your core. Your mouth drops open, a whispered “oh” that you didn’t plan on saying drifting into the air. His fingers are firm as he holds you still, but not squeezing so hard as to bruise your skin. But despite how much you start to fidget, you can’t break free of his grip.

Not that you want this to stop. A throb is building in you with every stroke of his tongue, the sounds Tommy makes, greedy and primal as he tastes you, sends a tingle shooting through you like a firework. He doesn’t keep his hands idle, either, using one to hold you open for him and the other to massage lazy circles on your clit. You whine in response, two points of pleasure twining together to send you dizzy with how good it feels. You rake your hands through his hair, tugging a little as he sucks you into his mouth.

“Yes…” you mutter with a little hiss punctuating the end of the word. “Oh…mm…Tommy…it feels so good…don’t fucking stop…”

Tommy can be obliging when he wishes, so he doesn’t stop, not for a second, working you to the brink of an orgasm with that single-minded mercilessness that does him very well in his line in business. You feel drunk off what he’s doing to you, spellbound as he makes you come undone with little more than some flexes of his tongue. More things spill to the floor from your vanity but you scarcely notice, too wrapped up in the burst of pleasure slamming into you.

“Tommy-!”

Apparently, listening to the noises you were making, thinking about how he’s now pretty much fucked you on every available surface in your bedroom, has had quite the profound effect on Tommy as well. When he’s finished, he wipes his mouth (he’s oddly gentlemanly like that sometimes) and rises to his feet, tugging you closer by hooking his fingers around the backs of your knees. He jerks, impatiently, at his fly, slightly short of breath himself. The sight of him even slightly undone makes you pull him closer, clutching at his shoulders.

“You know there’s a perfectly good bed five feet away?” you laugh, breathlessly.

“Fuck the bed,” Tommy all but snarls, fingers digging into your ass. “I want you here. Now.”

He enters you almost on the wood, in one fell thrust, and you cry out without a pause, the sound leaving your mouth as if it had been trapped there all this time, just waiting to get out.

You know you can’t be as tight as he always insists that you are, but fuck if he doesn’t fill you up, hot and hard and it feels so fucking good. The spite towards your husband is just the icing on the cake, it’s like you’re both fucking him while you do this, your bodies united in a silent vendetta against his invisible presence. You growl as Tommy sinks in deep, and just because you feel like it, you drag your nails down his beautiful back, inch by inch, making sure that he’ll have marks of his own to carry around with him. Tommy’s eyes snap open, though you know he doesn’t dislike it.

“Naughty,” he rasps, giving your backside a sharp smack that makes you squeal.

“You like it when I’m bad,” you reply in a muffled voice, smirking against his lips. He huffs in amusement, forehead touching yours.

“That I do, love,” he concedes.

Still, that doesn’t stop him from grabbing one of your thighs and hoisting it up to his waist, changing the angle and hitting you in a way that makes you breathless, sinking himself to the hilt inside you. You can’t stop yourself from moaning anymore, though it’s softened by the mirror rattling behind you as Tommy rocks the vanity table with each thrust, his own curses of “Fuck” a low rumble in his throat.

The pulsing, throbbing that starts up again in your core but somehow has spread to the entirety of your body, flooding your system with want and need.

“Oh, fuck…” you breathe, squeezing him like your life depends on it. “Yes…Tommy, I’m so fucking close…”

“Are you?” he asks, somehow managing to sound arch even at a time like this. His voice dips even lower. “And did I say you could come, sweetheart?”

The bastard! He’s going to tease you now, when you’re this close? You make the mistake of groaning in annoyance and he slaps your ass again, opposite side this time and you yelp.

“No…” you mutter petulantly, though you have to suck in your cheeks a bit to stop yourself from breaking character and smiling.

“No, what?” Tommy prompts, deliberately slowing his pace to taunt you further, the tension that had been building in you rapidly uncoiling. Frustration and lust surge through you, making it rather difficult to think straight.

“No, Tommy,” you say dutifully, but he clicks his tongue like you’re deliberately giving him the wrong answer just to annoy him. Then it clicks and you feel your face grow hot.

“No, Daddy,” you correct yourself, squirming beneath that piercing stare of his. He reaches out and winds a strand of your hair around his finger.

“That’s right,” he says, relentless and beautiful at once. “Now, I believe there’s something you want. Ask me nicely.”

You’re tempted to refuse, just to keep the game going, but your body can’t sustain this – it’s been too long since you stole a night together like this – so you give in, surrender yourself to Tommy like you always do.

“Please, Daddy,” you say in a low voice, moaning as he slide out of you, inch by inch. “Please.”

“Good girl.”

And he rewards you as he always does, sliding back fully into you and picking up the pace like there was no interruption at all. You cry out as he hits you deep, stroking where your own fingers can never quite reach and you hook your legs around his waist, clinging to him like a drowning person. You bury your face into his neck, his name spilling from your lips like an incantation, Tommy…Tommy…Tommy… - it leaves you breathless.

Tommy growls something in Romani as he comes, his head back, eyes shut, his jaw clenching. The moonlight peeping through the window hits his face just right and you can only sigh to look at him.

Silence falls, heavy as snow as both of you fall still, trying to gather your bearings. Tommy recovers faster than you do and sweeps you up off the vanity, carrying you across the room to deposit you into bed. You reach up and gently, lazily skim the sun tattoo branded on his chest. You’re one of the only people you know he’ll allow it from, and he knows you love his tattoo.

“Maybe we should get you one, eh?” he teases as he flips the covers back and sets you down. “Maybe my name, eh?”

You give an obligatory smile, but your heart isn’t in it. Despite the afterglow beginning to settle in and the tingling shocks still thrumming through you like a plucked string, this is the part you hate the most. You try to be adult about it, but watching him dress and vanish at the door, into the cloak of nightfall…it makes you feel like he’s just visited a whore.

Isn’t that what I am? You think, with a stab of bitterness. An adulterer?

As usual, it’s like Tommy reads your thoughts, because he turns your face towards him.

“It won’t always be like this,” he says. “Eh? Someday we won’t ‘ave to fuckin’ sneak around like this.”

“Now, where have I heard that before?” you ask, dryly.

Tommy scoffs, one hand idly smoothing over the covers.

“’ave I ever lied to you, love?” he asks.

You blink, surprised at the question, but even as you mentally count backwards to when you first met, you can’t come up with a single time Tommy outright lied to you. He chooses not to tell you certain things, but that isn’t the same.

“I suppose not,” you answer, shifting onto your side. “I just...I hate watching you leave.”

“I ‘ave to be gone in the morning,” Tommy says, but you sense that he’s hesitating, looking away as if thinking hard. You bite your lip as you watch him, but quietly you choose to let it go. You mustn’t be selfish.

“I know,” you say, settling back against the pillows. “Don’t worry. I didn’t mean-“

But to your surprise, he rubs a hand over his face, seeming to come to a decision…and then he’s sliding between the sheets beside you, as if it’s perfectly normal. You’re so surprised that you don’t move for a moment until he pulls you closer.

“I don’t deserve you either,” Tommy drawls, almost musingly, his voice husky in your ear. “But that never fuckin’ stopped me before.”

He holds you close to him like he has no plans to let go and you can’t temper the delight that flares somewhere inside you that your bodies fit together so perfectly, nor do you want to. Instead you move closer and rest your head on his chest, smugly.

“Who’s to say who deserves what, anyway?” you say, sleepily. You turn your head and press a kiss to his chest, feeling his heartbeat jump beneath your lips.

Tommy hums approvingly, his hand lightly dragging up and down your skin. The movement is soothing and even though you want to savour the moment a little longer, your eyes fall shut, and you can’t muster the energy to open them.

~

When the morning comes, you know that Tommy is gone even before you open your eyes. The yawning emptiness of your bed is impossible to ignore.

Still, evidence of Tommy lingers in the room like perfume. You can smell the faint tang of expensive cigarettes on the pillow beside you, and your fingers trace a bitemark he left on your neck. It can be easily covered by your hair, just as your scratch marks on his back will be hidden…but the point is, you’ll both know.

Fog engulfs the ground when you twitch the curtains aside to peek outside, and it’s easy to imagine Tommy striding through the mist in his long black coat, conjured like the devil himself.

It’s then that your eyes land on something on the vanity. Everything else has been put back more or less where it was, but the little box, tied with a ribbon, is new. Curiosity needles you, so you tiptoe across the room and pick it up, rattling the box like a child on Christmas Day.

The ribbon slithers between your fingers and you find yourself holding your breath as you take off the lid.

Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, sits a necklace with a delicate silver chain. You lift it up and gasp slightly at the jet-black pendant on the end, glittering like a drop of blood in the early morning light. The chain and the jewel contrast pleasingly, simple but gorgeous. You don’t know if Tommy actually bought it himself or just sent a secretary off with a generous sum of money, but either way, it’s far more thoughtful than a string of pearls you rarely wear. You don’t waste any time slipping it on. It glitters between your breasts and you smile to yourself – it suits you.

Tucked into the lid of the box is a note and you smile at the familiar sight of Tommy’s script.

Wear this and think of me.

Until next time.

Love, TS. X

He’s never effusive, but you take the note and slot it beneath the velvet, in a little compartment hidden inside the box. Nobody will know it’s there and this way you can take it out and read it when you’re alone.

Your reflection smiles secretively at you in the mirror, the necklace cool on your skin. The night may be over, the hidden side of you retreating as you get ready to face the day, but you feel comfortable that no matter how long it may take, Tommy will make sure to see you again. The gift he gave you is more than a simple present, it’s a promise, a pact sealed.

The witching hour will come again.

#Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x Reader #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinders x Reader #Reader Insert #Fanfiction #I listened to so much Lana Del Rey and Halsey writing this #Writings #Writing #Readerfic #Dommy Tommy #Blogging

117 notes · View notes

yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

in aeternum, little lamb

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

Word count: 4756

Prompt: “Look, I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone.”

———————

It was raining. Again.

Usually a rainstorm was serene and peaceful, normal for London, but there was a certain sticky humidity in the air that made going outside a chore. It was cold, yet uncomfortably warm at the same time with no wind blowing to ease the mild heat that has settled its oppressive, sultry murk over the city. It spilled into every street, every alleyway, every house that dared to open the window, thinking that it would help with the clamminess that fogged their home, but to no avail.

This, of course, brought upon complete and utter dreariness that coated every person making their rounds through their daily lives.

Anne’s forehead was dotted with beads of sweat by the time she arrived at the theater, only then really regretting her decision to walk to work. She hadn’t been expecting the humidity to be that bad, but here she was, feeling like she was leaking steam from every pore.

“God, this weather is miserable,” Jane was grumbling in her dressing room when Anne peeked in. She was currently attempting to tame her wild blonde hair (and losing the battle), which had a small (read as: large, high, anything but small) tendency to frizz up in high vaporous atmospheres like the one drenching London on that day.

“You look great, Jane.” Anne laughed, leaning on the doorframe. She gets a piercing grey glower shot in her direction, but isn’t phased by it. The coldness of the stare almost eased her internal temperature.

“Why is it so damn humid?” Jane finally exclaimed. “We live in London! Not Florida or whatever the fuck it’s called—”

Anne bit both lips, trying to hold back her laughter at the proper fit the queen before her was throwing.

“It’s supposed to be rainy and cold. Not rainy and a LITERAL SAUNA!”

Kitty, who was sitting nearby at her own makeup table, giggled softly. She got up and picked up a brush to help with her mother’s wild hair, which was definitely puffing up as if she were an angry cat or a distressed Studio Ghibli character.

“I don’t know, Jane,” Anne laughed slightly. “Well, I’m going to go get a cup of coffee. You two need anything?”

“Yeah,” Jane said. “A word with Mother Nature.”

Anne laughed again, waved a hand, and walked off to the break room.

Well- it wasn’t really a break room, per se. Theaters didn’t really have those. It was just an extra dressing room that nobody used and had a microwave, mini fridge, and coffee machine inside. In some way or another, a round bar table, small couch, and two beanbags ended up inside- Anne couldn’t really remember how they got there, but they were there and, thus, the room became a nice place to chat and relax when nothing was going on. Kitty had once even hid under the twin beanbags during a game of hide-and-seek (which was also her idea).

Upon stepping inside the break room, the scent of coffee bombarded Anne’s nose. The coffee machine was still on, but little was left in the pot. She walks over to it, thinking it was enough to sate her- she didn’t really like coffee, but she needed the extra rush to help her combat the dreariness the weather was inflicting upon her.

“Sorry,” A voice from behind suddenly said. “If I had known you wanted some, I would have made more.”

Anne actually jumped and she whirled around to see none other than the music director sitting in one of the beanbags. She jumped, too, and straightened up, nearly spilling the mug she had placed beside her pillowy seat.

“Sorry!” She said again. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Anne placed a hand over her racing heart and waved the other dismissively, laughing.

“It’s alright!” She assured the girl. “I didn’t see you at all!”

Joan smiled slightly, humoring her comment, then slumped back over to continue reading the book she had in her lap.

Anne studies her for a moment- as everyone said, Joan wasn’t much for conversation, despite always lurking on the edges of a group discussion. It was like she wanted to join in or just talk to someone, but didn’t have the courage to do so. Perhaps she was worried about being ignored or rejected, so, instead, she just watched in silence.

Maybe that’s why a few younger stagehands who were working there for college credit started calling her the “Theater Ghost.” Anne couldn’t really deny that that title wasn’t accurate- her not noticing the girl at all just proved that it was.

“Did you drink all of this?” She asked, trying to strike up a conversation to make things less awkward. Tenseness was as thick as the humidity outside in that room.

“It’s not that big of a pot...” Joan sort of mumbled.

So, yes. She did.

Anne frowned slightly. She vaguely knew of Joan’s caffeine addiction, but never really saw it first hand. She just knew that the girl drank more coffee than everyone working on the show combined.

“I see,” Anne chuckled. “Well, alright.”

She turned around while waiting for the pot to fill to see that Joan was looking at her. However, when she noticed, Joan snapped her head back down to her book. Anne furrowed her eyebrows.

“What are you reading?”

“Huh?” Joan seemed...surprised that Anne was asking her something. “Oh, it’s just- it’s just some silly book.” She kicked her leg anxiously against the beanbag, seemingly trying to hype herself up for something. “It’s, umm- it’s called Wings of Fire.”

She brandishes the book, keeping one finger inside the pages to mark her spot. On the cover was a flying gold and black dragon with four insect wings, spines along the back, and funny little glasses on the snout (something about dragons having eyesight care and possibly dragon eye doctors stood out as silly to Anne).

“It looks good,” Anne said after inspecting the picture.

“Oh, it is!” Joan said, perking up slightly. “It’s about these ten dragon tribes and five baby dragons were supposed to be born on The Brightest Night and be the Dragonets of Destiny to stop the war between three Sandwings fighting to be queen. So they’re kept underground, but their caretakers are kinda abusive and mean. Probably because the Skywing egg was destroyed so they had to replace it with a Rainwing egg, which are supposed to be the laziest tribe and that makes Kestrel- the really mean guardian- mad. So she’s kinda a jerk to the five dragonets. But then they break out of their cave before they’re supposed to leave when they’re six, because they have to wait until they’re seven, only to be captured by the Skywing queen! And they’re forced to fight to the death and they’re almost killed because this one character, Peril, can burn everything she touches! But then it’s revealed that Clay, he’s the Mudwing, has fireproof scales! And Glory, she’s the Rainwing I was talking about, can spit venom!! Then they escape and go to the Seawing kingdom and Tsunami- the Seawing- is actually the missing Seawing princess and a statue was killing all the other eggs. Then they go to the rainforest and Glory becomes queen and Starflight goes blind in the fourth book and the end of the war happens in the fifth!!” She’s babbling about a hundred miles per minute- Anne can barely keep up. “We should- we should read it together! If you’re interested. Like a book club! Except I’m on the twelfth book right now and I don’t know how fast you can read and I just basically spoiled the entire series, hahaha...but only for the first five!! But the next arc isn’t that good if you ask me. It completely throws everything that has happened out the window and just puts new characters in a school? Which they barely even stay at! So why even make the school, Tui? And my favorite character in that segment is in a coma for, like, three of the five books in that arc!! Arc three is pretty cool, though. I like the new tribes. And Sundew is supposed to be a lesbian! With an actual girlfriend! And it’s a main plot point!!” She’s beaming now. “I just—I think you would really, really like it and, I dunno...it would be fun! I can read it aloud? N-not because I think you can’t read or anything, I just—like talking. To someone. And to make sure you don’t doze off and miss any of the really good parts! Because there are SO MANY even though Tui doesn’t seem to remember any of her world building half of the time, but—”

“Joan?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

Joan’s face flashed deep crimson. She hunched her shoulders around her neck and ducked her head, almost using her book as a shield to hide herself. It seems she just realized that she had been talking the green queen’s ear off.

“Sorry,” She whispered. “I-I just thought that you wanted to...” She shook her head. Her hands clench around the sides of her book. “Nevermind.”

“Joan-”

“Your coffee is gonna get cold.”

Anne looked at the full coffee pot, then back to the girl, and then walked over to get herself a cup. She can hear Joan shifting anxiously in the beanbag behind her.

Honestly, she found the girl’s deep interest in what she was reading quite endearing, she just didn’t know how to reply to her monologue in a way that showed that she actually was interested in what she was saying.

“Maybe send me the link to the book sometime?” Anne offered while heading for the door. “Or if you have a physical copy...”

“Yeah,” Joan smiles thinly- weakly. “I have some at home. I’ll give them to you tomorrow.”

“Sounds great.”

“Oh, and— Anne?”

Anne stopped right as she was walking out.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“What for?”

Joan looked down shyly, shifting her legs.

“For talking to me.”

———

“She thanked me. For standing there while she was ranting about a book!”

The other queens looked rather amused by the story they were given during dinner. It wasn’t exactly the reactions Anne was hoping for- was nobody else concerned by the oddity of the situation?!

“Joan’s a...quirky kid.” Jane merely said. “She’s always been a little strange, Anne. I’m almost positive she was raised by literal street rats, so that might have something to do with it. Rats aren’t exactly much for conversation.”

Anne looked at her in shock. Of everyone to say such a thing, she hadn’t expected it to come from Jane “Protective and Loving Mom Friend” Seymour.

“Did you just—”

“Anne,” Jane sighed. “You know what I’m talking about. She worked for you! She’s just a weird kid. Kids are weird!”

“‘Weird’ is when a kid likes to watch snails go over salt and get burned, Jane. Thanking someone for listening to them talk about a book is concerning.” Anne argued.

“Cathy does it all the time.”

“Cathy doesn’t thank us!”

Anne was really getting worked up over this and she wasn’t exactly sure why. She really only got this way for Kitty or Maggie- she theorized it was those maternal instincts kicking in or just a natural protectiveness for an ex-maid in waiting.

Whatever it was, it sure seemed to be amusing to the others.

“Okay, calm down, Anne.” Cleves said, laughing slightly. “We get it, you think it’s worrying. No need to start a food fight over it.”

“I’m not going to-” Anne broke off into agitated grumbling, which caused even more giggles in reaction.

“I said thank you to Catherine when I read to her yesterday,” Cathy said.

“That’s because you were asking her opinion on a chapter you wrote!�� Anne struck back. “It is NOT the same thing!”

Cathy shrugged and took a bite out of her pork chop.

“It’s nothing you should stress about, Annie.” Kitty said. “Maybe some people are just meant to be alone!”

Anne gave her a look of disbelief.

“Like Henry.” Cleves put in helpfully.

“Like Henry, yeah!”

Now, don’t get Anne wrong, she loved her little found family with the queens very much, but, at that moment, she wanted to hit all of them with the salad bowl at the center of the table as hard as she could.

Maybe not Aragon, though (unfortunately). The woman hadn’t told Anne to forget about the situation or just move on- she was thoughtfully silent, eating her dinner in reserved peace. Whatever her opinion on the argument was, she didn’t say it.

Anne sighed, putting her head in one hand as she picked at her dinner until Aragon finally spoke up to tell her to get her elbow off the table. She begrudgingly obeys.

Like that, the conversation is dropped and something new, something Anne really didn’t care about was talked about.

After dinner, Anne decided to do some snooping on her laptop. First, she looked up historical information on Joan, only to find nothing. Every website was just the same thing over and over again- literally. It was just copied and pasted from the extremely short and vague Wikipedia page on the girl. The names of her parents weren’t even recorded, nor was any childhood information. There was barely even anything on her time as a lady in waiting, which only covered her work under Jane and not either of the cousins.

She had a son named Hercules, though. If that meant anything.

Next, Anne went to Joan’s Instagram page. It had several hundred followers, mainly from the fans who insisted on following everyone associated with the show, and was filled with the normal posts the actors usually had- although there were very few compared to the queen’s and other ladies in waiting’s accounts. Most of the photos were of her work or her playing the songs on her piano or of selfies of her in the band costume.

In almost all of them, she was completely alone.

Anne searched for something- she didn’t know what exactly, just something- in the seventh-five posts on the account, then went to the photos Joan was tagged in. There weren’t many- just group photos and a few good shots of her from a MegaSix and a single appreciation post (she vaguely remembered Joan telling them about it and how giddy it had made her...nobody had really listened to the babbling at the time).

And then Anne found a certain photo- the first one she was ever tagged in: it was a photo of her costume laid out on a table with the caption, “Here’s the lady in waiting costume! I’ll be posting about SIX more on my other account, so follow if you’re interested!”

The name of the account was @force-be-with-ewe.

Anne clicked on it.

force-be-with-ewe

i just really like drawing sheep

Johanna-She/her-Asexual lesbian-Musician and artist

That’s the first thing Anne saw when she clicked on the account, along with an adorable profile picture of a sheep playing a piano, then the whopping twelve followers (most of which were ghosts or bots) and three hundred and nine posts.

It took Anne just a moment to realize that this was Joan’s personal account.

And she went through all of it.

The profile was a mishmash of drawings and piano videos and sheep. The latest post was actually a photo of a bird with a caption talking about how the little guy had been visiting Joan’s bedroom window every morning and “giving her a reason to get up because she had someone looking forward to seeing her.” She maturely and proudly dubbed the bird “Minecraft.”

After that were drawings of dragons with #wingsoffire and #wof in the descriptions, leading Anne to believe that they were characters from the book she had been told about earlier that day.

And they just kept going.

Among videos of Joan playing the theater keyboard when presumably nobody was around, were drawings of sheep playing various instruments and sleeping and being adorable, drawings of more dragons, drawings of a few Pokémon (mainly Snom, Wooloo, and Sobble). There were stunning drawings of giant creatures from a game called “Subnautica” and beautiful drawings of castles and scenery. There were even drawings of the queens!

Usually fans would tag them in art, but it appeared that Joan was too shy to do that. So, instead, she just left them floating in her profile with no ways to see the masterpieces, since there weren’t any hashtags on those.

Anne was genuinely amazed by the attention to detail in the sketches of her and her fellow queens and even more amazed by the drawings with watercolors. She swore the painting’s eyes had more color than her own and the costume was as vibrant as the actual one in real life.

It was beautiful. They were all beautiful.

Why didn’t Joan want anyone seeing these?

Anne kept scrolling and eventually came upon rather...concerning posts.

The first was of a messy, but haunting colored pencil sketch of a pitch black ram with inky, bleeding red eyes that seemed to stare through the screen and directly into Anne’s soul. The caption simply said, “Black Philip.”

Another was a drawing of a blonde girl, presumably Joan, leaking coffee from every single orifice on her face and was drawn with such detail that it would easily make an emetophobic’s stoamch churn with nausea.

And then there were a few of an ice dragon, slightly similar to one of the dragon tribes from the book, but this one notably had more icicle spikes, frayed scales, and jagged wings. It was moon silver in color with ice blue hues and eyes like a raging blizzard.

All the drawings done with this beast, which was apparently named “Killer Frost” (and has no ties to the Flash character of the same name), were normal- just it laying around, flying, standing atop icebergs menacingly or breathing a freezing death breath. But there were a few that stood out to Anne as worrying.

The first was of Kitty, actually. She was wearing her show costume and her eyes were closed with a peaceful expression on her face. And then there was the glittering paw of the ice dragon reaching down from the top of the image and cupping one of her cheeks with its serrated, barbed claws. The caption read, “The Chosen One.”

The second and much more concerning drawing was captioned, “Envy truly is a deadly sin.”

It was a drawing of Killer Frost crouched in a feral position, staring forward with blazing eyes, jaw hanging open and teeth bared, absolutely soaked in blood.

There was just blood everywhere. Blood on the body, blood on the claws, blood dripping in horrifying realistic threads from the mouth, blood all over the blank, white floor beneath the beast, blood squirting from the remains of the carcasses that had presumably been gored.

The image left Anne with so many questions- What did this represent? Who were those corpses? Was Joan jealous? And if yes, who was she jealous of?

One thing was certain, though- Joan was startlingly good at drawing gore. A sketch of Killer Frost holding its own gooey, bloody esophagus and larynx in another photo just proved that. There was even one of the dragon ripping its own throat out while the faint outline of what appeared to be three ghosts encouraged it.

It was strange to see such mishmashes of horror shoved in between adorable sketches of sleeping baby lambs and fluffy Wooloos. It also left Anne with growing worry for the artist.

When she finally finished going through the profile, Anne decided the follow the account and became the thirteenth follower.

This time, thirteen would not be an unlucky number.

———

Five books were left on Anne’s dressing room table the next day, all with a colorful dragon on the cover, and a note that read, “I didn’t know if you only wanted one book or all of them, so I just left the first arc. Let me know what you think! :) -Joan”

“Fan mail?” Cleves asked, peeking over to the table from where she was getting ready.

“Nah,” Anne replied. “Just some books.”

“Sounds very cool,” Cleves chuckled before returning to dousing her hair with hairspray.

“Extremely.” Anne said, then set out to find and talk to Joan before the show. She could get her hair and makeup done later!

Except she couldn’t find the girl anywhere. She asked around, but nobody knew where she went. And she was definitely there because Anne saw her onstage right before the performance, but, by then, it was too late to speak to her. Anne just decided to see her afterwards, which was easier said than done because, once again, Joan was nowhere in sight.

Anne was about to give up, since it was almost time to leave, but then she spotted the girl in the break room playing a card game by herself at the round bar table. She considered charging in and barking at her about where she’s been, but she didn’t want to freak her out, so she just walked in calmly.

“Hey, Joan,” She said cooly, noticing the way the music director’s hand froze as she was setting down a card. She grabbed a water bottle from the mini fridge and sat down at the chair across from Joan. “Whatcha doing?”

“Just...playing a card game my brother taught me.” The girl replied meekly.

Joan had a brother? The articles on her said nothing about him...

“You had cards back then?” Anne asked, as if she hadn’t been born in the same time period.

“No, we used strips of wood we would tear off from people’s houses and carved symbols on them with knives.”

Anne blinked.

“...Oh. That’s...”

“Concerning?” Joan finally glanced up from her deck of cards to look at Anne. A ghost of a smile graced her lips for a moment before she tilted her head back down with a light laugh. “I know.”

“Mind if I play?”

She’s glanced at again- scanned, as if Joan was expecting her to pull something and make a joke out of her. But then she gave in and began collecting the cards from how they’re laid out on the table.

“This game is too complicated to explain,” She said. “But we can play Speed?”

After a quick rundown of the rules, Anne agreed and the game began.

And honestly? It was great. Joan genuinely laughed and smiled as they playfully bickered and argued over the card game. She almost looked like a happy little lamb frolicking in a field of flowers.

On their third round, Kitty peeks into the break room.

“There you are, Annie!” She said. “I was looking for you!”

“Oh, hey, Kit!” Anne said. Out of the corner of her eye, she definitely saw Joan clench her jaw. The drawing of Kitty and Killer Frost’s claws and then the bloody sketch briefly flashed in her mind. “What’s up?”

“We’re leaving,” Kitty informed. “We had dinner plans tonight, remember?”

Joan sighed softly and began to pick up the cards. Anne gently pressed her hand down.

“I think I’m going to pass tonight, Kit.”

Both blondes looked shocked- Joan more than Kitty from the way her head whipped up fast enough to give her whiplash.

“How come?” Kitty asked, clearly confused. “I thought you really wanted to go to this pub...”

“I know, but I’m hanging out with Joan right now.” Anne said. “Just bring me home something if you can!”

Kitty blinked several times, glanced at Joan, then nodded and walked out.

“You didn’t have to stay,” Joan whispered.

“I wanted to, though.” Anne assured her. She gently took the deck of cards from Joan’s clenched hands and began dealing them out. “Wanna keep playing Speed or try War? I’ve played with Aragon before. I swear, she ALMOST broke my nose in anger!”

“You followed me last night.”

Anne blinked.

“Yeah, of course,” She said. “I had no idea you could draw so well. You’re very talented.”

A hot pink blush dusts Joan’s cheeks and she looked away. She anxiously plays with the corner of an ace of spades. The slight drizzle that had been tapping on the window starts to pick up.

“I-”

She’s embarrassed, Anne realized. Embarrassed and horrified because she knows Anne saw the gruesome drawings she had made.

She believes that Anne thinks she’s sick. Or a freak. Or a monster.

Anne would admit that they’re a little weird, but a lot of artists liked to make horrific art. Nothing wrong with that, especially if they were vents.

“Joan-”

“Why are you doing this?” Joan asked quietly. She looked up and centuries worth of loneliness and neglect and pain reflect in her stormy grey eyes. “What do you want?”

Finally, Anne understood.

“Look,” Anne said. “I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone.”

Joan froze. She just stared at Anne in shock for a long time before tears fill her eyes and start to run down her cheeks. She tries to stop them, but it’s clear she’s been bottling this all up for a long time and won’t be able to hold it back any longer.

“Y-you want to be my friend?” Joan whispered.

“Yes, Joan.” Anne answered her honestly, not missing a beat. “You deserve someone who cares about you.”

The most heartbreaking whimper Anne has ever heard strangled itself out of Joan’s throat. The tears start to come down faster.

“N-nobody— Nobody has ever w-wanted to—”

“Oh, Joan...”

Anne quickly got out of her chair and walked around to Joan’s side of the table. She wrapped her arms around the girl and she immediately slumped into her embrace, clinging back like Anne was her life line.

“Oh, Joan,” Anne said again. “Oh, you poor, sweet little thing...”

Joan began to openly sob against her shoulder. Her hands claw at the back of Anne’s shirt, desperate for a good hold.

“I’ve- I’ve been alone f-for so long—” She wept.

“Shh, shh,” Anne hushed her. She began to rub her back soothingly. “I’ve got you now, honey. I’ve got you. I won’t let you go.”

That elicits a sharp whimper from Joan, who burrows herself even closer to the queen’s warmth. And she stays like that, half slid out of her stool, clutching onto Anne Boleyn like her life depended on it until she was able to choke back the rest of her tears.

“Feeling any better?” Anne asked. She was still rubbing Joan’s back, as the girl had yet to pull back from the embrace.

Joan shrugged weakly. “A-little.” She croaked. “N-not...not good. But better. B-because you’re here.”

Anne’s heart simultaneously broke and melted.

“You sweet girl,” She said lovingly. “I want to be here for you from now on. Is that alright?”

Joan nodded. “Please...”

“Alright,” Anne said. She gently pressed Joan back and gave her her water bottle, which she never actually opened. “Drink something for me, sweetheart.”

Joan obeyed and took a few small sips of the water. It soothed her dry throat, which was weak from the outpour of emotions.

“Good girl,” Anne said encouragingly. “Hey, here’s an idea! Why don’t we go back to my house and watch a movie? I know there’s a tray of lasagna we could heat up! If you want to, that is.”

“N-no, that’s-” Joan sniffled. “I would really, really like that...”

Anne smiled warmly at her.

“Wonderful.”

———

When the other queens came home later that evening, none of them were expecting to see Anne sitting on the couch with the music director’s head in her lap, but that’s the sight they were greeted to.

They both looked content, Anne with a loving smile on her lips and Joan with a peaceful expression settled on her face as she slept. One of Anne’s hands was stroking through Joan’s hair and the other was holding a book, which she looked up from when the front door opened.

“Hey, ladies,” She said, momentarily setting down Wings of Fire- The Dragonet Prophecy. “How was dinner?”

———

A day later, Anne got a notification on her phone saying that @force-be-with-ewe had posted. When she checks it, she sees a digital drawing of Killer Frost being nuzzled lovingly by a large, emerald green dragon.

The caption simply reads, “Thank you for giving me a chance”

#six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #anne boleyn #jane seymour #katherine howard #joan on the keys #anna of cleves #catherine parr #catherine of aragon #nana boleyn #in aeternum little lamb

63 notes · View notes

anika-222 · 4 years

Text

Carry On Sparks: Watch

I present to you my submission for @carryonsparks prompt ‘Watch’! This ended up being a second chapter of my first spark submission, Drive Slow. I wanted to see where it was going.

Timing

Baz

Sunday is a quintessentially English winter day - grey and wet and chilling to the core. I arrived at the café disappointingly early, despite my best efforts to arrive right at eleven. I check my watch for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes. It’s only two minutes past and I’m already bracing for the possibility that Snow might not come. He’s changed his mind. He’s remembered all the reasons why he left in the first place. The kiss last Thursday was simply a massive lapse in judgement. On his part. For me, it was everything. If I hadn’t still felt the imprint of his lips on mine as I drove home, I’d have thought it all a dream.

Doubt is growing, taking up more and more space in my head. I check my watch again. The watch Snow gave me for our anniversary. It has a gorgeous Italian brown leather band with rose gold case. I was astounded at Snow’s good taste. It’s not a Cartier, but quite lovely for what was available in Snow’s price range. 11:04. Crowley, time is moving slower than a numpty (they are essentially sentient boulders.)

I’m starting to question everything. Did I miss something when we discussed when and where we were meeting? Was I too kiss-addled to remember correctly? Was I a fool for not confirming our meeting? I’m fiddling with the hardware on my watch, cursing my sentimental heart for wearing a gift from Snow, getting my hopes too high for what is certain to be an inevitable let down. Though admittedly, I didn’t think the let down would come quite so soon; I thought Snow would at least show up before crushing my hopes and dreams.

Simon

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m always late, but I took extra precautions today. I set about fifteen alarms to remind me when to start getting ready and when I needed to leave my flat. And when I really, really needed to leave my flat. But here I am, dodging through people strolling along the pavement like it’s a lazy Sunday. Ok, I guess it is a lazy Sunday, but can’t these people see that my fate, the possibility of getting back together with the love of my life, hangs in the balance?! It’s a cold, wet day, yet I’m burning up in my coat. I growl in frustration, and the lady in front of me glances back with concern, but then steps aside to let me rush past.

My heart is beating wildly, and I don’t think it’s entirely because of this unexpected cardio session I’m getting. My heart’s been thrumming since Thursday. I’ve talked non stop at Penny the last two days in anticipation of today, while she smiles, sort of sadly, at me. She doesn’t even try to enforce her Baz quota. I think she’s worried. She talks to me with that tone of voice she uses for her younger siblings, when she’s explaining some terrible truth about the world to them, like the humdrum stealing magic. Fuck. Me and Baz aren’t as doomed as the humdrum, are we?

Well, there’s not any time to fuss about that, I’ve arrived at the small cafe near Baz’s flat that he loves. That he loved, anyway, when we were still together. Without pausing, I push through the door, huffing and loud. Probably should have stopped to catch my breath.

Baz

Even though I’m still fixated on my watch, there’s no doubt when Snow arrives. The door to the cafe slams open, and the bell crashes against the glass. I look up to see Snow, out of breath, with ruddy red cheeks (he’s beautiful) standing in the entrance, eyes sweeping the few tables until they hook onto me. His tentative grin makes me forget everything. Every worry, every minute perseverating over whether he would be here. Of course he would be here. Snow doesn’t go back on his word.

He walks up to where I’m seated and I stand to greet him. “Snow.” I say in greeting, hoping the tremor I feel doesn’t make it into my voice. His eyes are fixed on mine and he seems to not know what to say. His gaze is uncomfortably intense but I find I can’t tear my eyes from his. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to watch his shades of blue shift in the light. Eventually, he looks down, surveying the table for whether I already have a beverage.

“Can I get you a drink? Your usual?” He says. My heart flutters at the familiarity. My throat works to make some sound of assent, but I give up and simply nod. When he turns to go to the counter, I sit heavily back in the chair, my legs feeling weak from the brief interaction with Snow.

He returns quickly with our drinks and unloads his coat and scarf onto an empty chair at our table. “Hi,” he says. He’s looking everywhere but at me.

“Snow.” The following stretch of silence is torture. I’m in physical pain trying to find something to say that strikes the balance of nonchalance but will also convince Snow to get back together with me. I think I can actually hear the arm of my watch tick the seconds by.

“So -” he says at the same time I start to ask how he’s been. (Truly inadequate, but nothing else was coming to mind.) “Sorry, sorry, go ahead,”

“How did you find a job as a veterinary assistant?” I resort to the conversation piece from last Thursday that lit him up most.

“Oh, yeah, Shepard met Dr. Patel when he was trying to track a gulon. He saw it get injured, thought it might end up in a veterinarian’s office. You know Shep: he became fast friends with her, found out she was looking for an assistant, and recommended me.” He recounts, smiling incredulously at Shepard’s ability to charm his way in or out of any situation.

“And you like it?” I prompt him, hoping he’ll talk forever about this, as long as it keeps lighting up his features like this.

“Yeah, yeah. I guess at first I was a little surprised, what with my track record with maybes.”

I huff a laugh at the American slang for magical beings, “Maybes? I think you’ve spent too much time with Shepard.” He grins. I’m not surprised in the least that he excels in working with animals. Simon never wanted to hurt any of the creatures launched at him in battle, it was always out of necessity. His nature is gentle and caring to his core.

“But dogs and cats and the like, they don’t need much. Just a little food and cuddles and they’ll love you forever. It’s calming to be around them. Um,” he hesitates, breaking eye contact and looking uncertain of whether he wants to continue. “‘S helped a lot with the depression.”

My heart cracks open at his admission, his vulnerability. A little jealousy slips in, too, that it wasn’t me that could help him be happy. My mouth suddenly feels dry. I swallow and it feels loud and exaggerated.

Simon

Baz is looking at me with an expression I can’t quite place. I was worried he would pity me, but this is something different. He looks in pain, like when we roomed together at Watford, it’s a look I would have mistaken for hate.

I don’t want to dwell on this point so I change the subject. “How’re classes? The term just started, yeah?”

Baz’s expression returns to a neutral expression, “Yes, they’ve just begun, though you wouldn’t know it with the workload they’ve given us.” I smile at his complaint, knowing Baz is perfectly content with a big academic load, especially if it’s all English Lit classes. He’s in his element.

“You’ve a class with Penny?” He hums his agreement as he sets his cup down. I continue, “she mentioned you study together on Saturdays. D’you study with anyone else in class?” It’s a pathetic attempt to see if Baz’s social circle has widened since we broke up. To suss out if there’s anyone special in his life.

He laughs. It’s beautiful and light and happy. “No, you know Bunce. She hasn’t time for any more than 2.5 friends.”

“Dev and Niall, how are they?”

“Quite good. They rather enjoy some of the more social aspects of university.” I assume he means parties and drinking. Dev and Niall seemed to be the reason Baz went to any social functions at Watford at all.

“Um. Do you?”

“Do I what, Snow?”

“Erm, enjoy the s-social aspects of university?” Fuck, my stutter is coming out. He’s definitely going to know I’m nervous.

His eyebrow raises. “Every once in a while they’ll drag me out, but you know I don’t enjoy parties much.” There’s a note of suspicion in his voice.

Baz

Snow was never a great conversationalist, but this is starting to feel more like a line of questioning than catching up over coffee. He’s starting to fidget and shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Have you met anyone new?” Snow spits it out, like it’s all one word instead of a full sentence. I’m so stunned I sit back in my chair. He wants to know if I’ve met anyone. Does he want to know if I’m dating? My stomach flips and drops, then flips again at the implication. It seems there’s an Olympic gymnast in my torso.

I sit forward again, my muscles tensing in the effort to remain impassive, cool, and collected in the face of his interest in my romantic status. “I’m not dating anyone, if that’s what you mean.”

He blushes, but looks more pleased than embarrassed. I try to keep my hopes tempered, but I can’t help but consider that Snow’s concern for my romantic life is due to his personal interests, and not simply curiosity.

Our conversation becomes lighter and easier, a slow return to familiarity. We talk about Snow living on his own, the whirlwind romance of Penny and Shepard. Snow even asks after Daphne and Mordelia, but leaves Malcolm and Fiona out of the conversation. I think he gets nervous even talking about them. Our coffees are long finished when Snow realizes the time, “Oi, I have to get going.” I feel my face fall, ever so slightly.

“Baz…” Snow says softly. It feels so intimate and my pulse is racing from hearing my name in his voice. He reaches out and his hand hovers just over mine, like he might take it, and I’m quite honestly holding my breath. At the last minute he pulls back, and I look up at him curiously.

Simon

“The watch,” I say, my smile widening, fully betraying how chuffed I am that he’s wearing my gift. Baz doesn’t wear anything without full consideration, usually of fashion, but he’s chosen to wear the watch I gave him for our first anniversary. I doubt it could live up to his taste, but I spent hours trying to think through what he might like and would fit his style.

Baz isn’t saying anything. He’s watching me, watching my reaction. I’m suddenly filled with embarrassment. What if it just happened to go with his outfit? What if he doesn’t even remember that it was a gift from me? It could actually mean nothing at all and I’ve just gone and completely mucked up the nice time we were having. I can feel panic filling my nerves and urging me to escape.

“R-right,” I stutter, breaking the silence. “Best b-be off.” I stand up and the chair clatters loudly against the floor. I hastily grab my outerwear from the chair and don’t even bother pulling it on. I’m sure the heat of my shame will keep me sufficiently warm during the walk to Penny’s.

“Snow -” I barely hear as I slip out the door and half run towards Penny’s.

My mind churns. I can’t believe I was about to ask Baz on a date and interrupted myself to comment on his watch. I’m both relieved I didn’t give him the chance to turn me down and angry at myself for not following through with it. By the time I get to Penny’s I’ve cooled down a bit, both literally and figuratively. I stand outside her flat, flipping my mobile over and over in my hand. I’m considering if I should just text him now, ask him out and get it over with, or forget it entirely. My mobile chimes with an incoming message.

Baz: Simon, can I take you out to dinner Friday?

#carry on sparks #carry on fanfiction #snowbaz fanfiction

37 notes · View notes

treatian · 3 years

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Breaking the Curse

Chapter 9: Birds and Bugs

Just because he was anticipating the breaking of the Curse didn't mean he was going to be stupid about it. There were things in his life that were important, things that he couldn't risk losing, and if a girl like Ashley Boyd could break into his shop, he had to assume others could as well. He'd disabled the camera so that he was safe, but the downside was that now he couldn't use it himself. So, his conclusion was: if it was important, it needed to be transferred elsewhere, somewhere he still considered safe. The morning after the robbery, he'd packed up Bae's shawl, Belle's chipped cup, and the long slim box that held his dagger. He'd gone home and taken those items with him. Now he had to decide what to do with them.

His house was a mess. It always had been. He had hazy memories of it being that way since his aunts died, which meant it had been that way since he'd arrived in Storybrooke. It didn't particularly bother him; he only lived in a few rooms. But it would have bothered Belle. She'd have set herself to cleaning it and keeping it organized. And so, he placed her cup nicely on a table that was more or less uncluttered, somewhere that was safe from his bad habits, a place he could see it every day, but it would appear to simply be a decoration to anyone else. Baelfire's shawl wasn't so much a shawl as it was a scrap of cloth. It looked like a rag, and when he reflected on the life that they'd lived before, he hated to admit it, but the truth was that it was a rag. He folded it as nicely as he could and then set it in a drawer in the kitchen reserved for the rags. It concealed itself.

But as for his dagger…that was going to be harder to hide. For now, it was stashed inside his pillowcase. He went to sleep feeling it beneath his head each night and woke each morning ever aware of its existence. There was something ironic and yet familiar about that. But the pillowcase wouldn't do, not forever. He needed to make alternative plans for it. Bae's shawl and Belle's cup were items he didn't want to lose. But losing the dagger was a lot more dangerous. And without magic, without the ability to constantly feel for it and be aware, he needed something much more creative for it.

He spent the next two days brainstorming ideas for where to hide the dagger and how to hide the dagger. Much like he'd found Maleficent if Regina was watching, he needed to come up with a time when he knew that she would be distracted. That should have been something easily handled, it should have been something he could rely on Dove for, but as of right now, he was having a hard time thinking he could rely on Dove for anything.

The previous night, he'd been in the shop when he'd felt the Earth shake, the power flicker, and heard the sounds of half a dozen car alarms blast to life. He'd sent Dove, who was still tailing Emma, to investigate, and he'd reported a few hours later that the explosion had been in one of the old town mines. Regina was using it as an excuse to finally shutter the mines. He'd thought nothing of it at the time. Something like that seemed too natural for it to be part of the Curse breaking. But he'd been shocked earlier today when Dove had sent him another message today. Henry had gone into the mines. Archie had gone with Emma and Graham to try and get Henry out of the mines when it appeared that somehow Archie and Henry had become trapped inside. Emma, along with half the town, was working to free the pair.

"And Regina is allowing such a thing?" he questioned through a quick text message.

"In all the confusion, I forgot to tell you. Emma Swan was the new deputy, appointed by Graham. Today's her first day."

That was all it had taken to anger him. He was paying Dove good money to watch the girl, paying him to be his eyes and ears. And he'd just "forgotten" to tell him that she'd found a job? A job working for the man that the Evil Queen shared her bed with? A job that gave her access to damn near anything and everything in Storybrooke?! If he'd had magic, Dove would have found himself on the other end of a tight fist. Fortunately for him, there wasn't magic. And he didn't dare show up at the mine site. He had a role to play. Being curious and caring were not words that were in Mr. Gold's dictionary. He couldn't show up at the scene because he wanted to watch, and he couldn't think of a reason to go down on his own.

Dove sent him messages throughout the day, messages that he must have thought he cared for. "Half the town is here working to free the boy." "They found an old shaft they're trying to use as access." "Boy and Doc pulled from the shaft." He didn't care for any of them except for the last one. "Going home," was all it had said. Going home? He nearly laughed out loud at that one. First, he'd forgotten to share crucial information. Then he'd decided to share unimportant information while being certain where the girl was. Now that she was going to be leaving, he was leaving her too. His thinking was backward. And now, to top the encounter off, he'd been sending messages to Dove telling him not to go, to keep watching the girl. Now that Henry was free, he needed to know what Regina's reaction was to her, what Henry wanted to do. But suddenly, Dove had stopped responding to him.

"Home," he'd said. It appeared that Dove needed some reminding of his job. Fortunately for him, he knew where Dove had disappeared to. And better yet, he owned the town, which meant that he happened to have a key to damn near everything, including Dove's apartment.

He sneered at the two useless puppets he kept in his shop, Marco's parents, not that he knew that at the moment. He kept that sneer the entire drive across town. He knocked once on the door, but there was no answer. He had a key. Legally he was the property owner, and if he was worried for the safety of his tenant, he was allowed access. For all he knew, the rush of water he heard coming through the pipes could have drowned out poor Dove's cries if he slipped in the shower. That would hold up in court.

Inside the apartment, he heard nothing but water running through the pipes. The shower was running. Dove's phone, listing his messages, and jacket were left haphazardly on the kitchen counter, along with a can of beer that appeared to have been pulled from the refrigerator. That was all good. That meant he'd be back before falling into bed.

And Dark Ones did love dramatic entrances.

He took a seat across the living room and waited for his time to come. He waited patiently. Patience was his gift, after all. Finally, the moment came. The water in the pipes stopped. There was a pause and then the sound of a door opening. Barely a second later, Dove strode out of the hallway, towel slung across his waist, still wet from the shower. He took it as an opportunity to turn the lamp by his chair on.

"Shit!" Dove cried, jumping nearly six feet and making a motion for his jacket. He preferred not to know, but he suspected he had a gun hidden there. "Fuck!" he cried again when he finally realized who it was. His shoulders relaxed a bit. He stepped away from his jacket. His chest continued to heave. "You scared the shit outta me."

He ignored the language. Nothing he hadn't heard or said before himself, though maybe not word for word. He refused, however, to smile gleefully at the result of his little surprise.

"Remind me why I hired you, Mr. Dove."

"What?"

"Why do I employ you?"

"Sir?"

"You see, I've been asking myself that question all day. Why do I hire you to give me necessary information, and why do I continue to pay you when you don't tell me that important information. Information like…like Emma Swan having a job."

Dove took a breath and shook his head, looking baffled. Did the boy not even understand what he'd done? "I only found out last night, after the mine explosion. Given the circumstances, I thought-"

"I don't pay you to think, Mr. Dove, I pay you to tell me what I do not know," he growled through his teeth. He held up Dove's cell phone, the one that had his unanswered messages on it. "I pay you to answer your phone!" he roared, throwing it at him. The boy managed to catch it before it could shatter on the wall behind him.

"I'm…I'm sorry. It was a long day up at the mines. I was filthy, I needed to-"

"You don't finish your work until I say you have," he interrupted, rising from his seat. "Emma Swan is your assignment. Instead of leaving her at the mine to handle your own…business, you left when she did. Do you even know where she is at this moment?"

"She was just as filthy as the rest of us. I assumed she'd rush right home and take a shower herself."

"This isn't a time for 'assuming,' Mr. Dove. This is a time for knowing. And I need to know everything about that girl. This is a warning…don't disappoint me again." And then, with his assistant good and rattled, he set his sights on the door and-

"Is there something going on?!" Dove shouted at him before he could leave.

He turned to face him again. "Something going on?"

"This is a sleepy town, Mr. Gold. And don't get me wrong, I love my job, but working for you is usually status quo, and now all of a sudden…this girl shows up in town. Storybrooke hasn't seen this much excitement since…I can't remember the last time it's ever seen this much excitement. It's just got me thinking there might be something going on…something you're not telling me."

"I was under the impression, Mr. Dove, that part of your employment included discretion. I don't ask you questions about where you get your information, and you don't ask me questions about the jobs that I have for you," he corrected. "If I'm wrong, perhaps it's time I found a new associate. One of your cousins, perhaps."

Dove stood up a little taller, a little prouder, a feat for someone wearing nothing but a canary yellow towel. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Gold. I'm just…curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat, Mr. Dove. Imagine what it'll do to a bird. Don't make me have to track you down again, Mr. Dove. I find it tedious work, the sort of work I'd prefer to pay you for."

Without another word, he left to go back to his car. But he didn't get far, barely halfway across the parking lot before he heard…crickets! Crickets! The sound caught him off guard, and for a few moments, he couldn't understand why until, off in the distance, he heard the clocktower chime the hour, a noise that was still foreign to him, and he realized. There had never been the sound of crickets in Storybrooke before. Coincidence? Like the mines? Or something more?

Angry as he was, he felt himself smile as he opened his door and slid into the driver's seat. First the clock, then David…now there were crickets. What next, he wondered. What next…

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #Regina Mills #Evil Queen #Emma Swan #Henry Mills #Dr. Archie Hopper #jiminy cricket #ouat #ouat fanfic #fanfiction

3 notes · View notes

eldritchsurveys · 4 years

Text

804.

1. When was the last time you swam in a pool? >> The last time I was in a pool was probably over 5 years ago, at Easton Mountain. I’m not fond of the way pool water smells. 2. Do you like to party? >> I like gatherings, and get-togethers, and barbecues, and casual social events at someone’s house with food and booze and games. I don’t really care for anything more hectic than that. 3. If your ex suddenly kissed you right now, what would you do? >> --- 4. Are you a virgin? >> No. 5. What are your parents views on your relationships? >> There could never be a relationship that my father would have approved of.

6. If you ran into your current boyfriend/crush in 10 years, would you marry them? >> --- 7. Is your best friend dating anyone? >> --- 8. Describe the shirt you’re wearing? >> It’s black and has the design from the Endless Night Vampire Ball of 2019 on it. 9. Do people who wear Hollister and Abrerbrombie every day bother you? >> Why would that bother me? 10. Could you go out in public without wearing make-up? >> Of course, I do it all the time. 11. What is one feature that you don’t like? >> --- 12. Would people describe you as happy? >> I don’t know how people would describe me. It’s not like I make a habit of asking, and most people don’t make a habit of volunteering that information out of the blue. 13. Are you single? >> No. 14. Does it bother you that pretty much every survey you take asks if you’re single? >> Eh, whatever. For some reason, romantic relationships are of the most pressing importance to a lot of people, and I’ve gotten used to it. 15. Do you have Tumblr? >> Heh. Wouldn’t you like to know.

16. What about Xanga? >> Damn.... RIP. 17. Have you ever babysat before? >> Nope. 18. Is there a teacher who you absolutely hate? >> Well, no, I’m not even in school. 19. Ever shopped at Sephora? >> Yeah, many times. 20. If your current boyfriend/crush suddenly moved away, what would you do? >> The thing about having a spouse whomst you live with is that this kind of thing is way less likely to happen. 21. Do you have any university plans? >> No. 22. If your best friend revealed she was a homosexual, what would you do? >> --- 23. What are your views on sex? >> I don’t have “views” on sex. That’s such a broad question, lmao... 24. Do sexual questions bother you? >> Nah. 25. Would you rather have sex with your boyfriend or break up? >> Wh.................. 26. Have you ever dreamed about your wedding? >> Nah, I was never much into the idea of having a wedding. And then I had one, so you know. Life is like that. 27. Does it bother you when people TYpe 1yk dis’? >> I haven’t seen anyone type like that in almost a decade. The world has moved on. 28. Do you delete pictures of you and your exes off of Facebook? >> --- 29. Would you ever date a friends Ex? >> This is one of those situations that I just can’t at all imagine myself navigating. 30. What’s the last book you read? >> The last book I finished was The King in Yellow. That’s going to be my answer for a while, because the book I’m (re-)reading right now is fucking long. 31. Ready for 10 simple questions? >> Nope. 32. What is your last name? >> Hmm. 33. What grade are you in? >> I’m not in a grade. 34. What school do you go to? >> --- 35. Summer, Fall, Winter or Spring? >> Spring. 36. Favorite Color? >> Gold. 37. Are your parents together? >> No. 38. Any siblings? >> Not worth mention. 39. Favorite subject? >> I don’t have a favourite subject.

40. Least favorite subject? >> Or a least favourite subject. 41. Favorite song? >> People who can choose one favourite song are cryptids. 42. Okay. Simple questions are over. Happy? >> Hopefully I can stop giving such simple answers, too. 43. How many friends do you have on Facebook? >> Thirteen. 44. Ever been requested by some old guy from another country? >> Nope. 45. Have you ever googled yourself? >> Yeah. It’d be a lot harder to google myself now, because I have a fictional character’s name. 46. Have a Formspring? >> Well, no, considering that site is defunct. 47. You’re offered free tickets to a Justin Bieber concert. What do you do? >> Tell whoever it is to give the tickets to someone else? I’m completely uninterested in Justin Bieber. 48. Would you rather spend the day at an amusement park or a water park? >> Amusement park, if I must. 49. Been to Disney world? >> No. 50. If someone posts their status “9 Inches :(” do you know what they mean? >> No. 51. Ever had a boyfriend? >> Yes.

52. Ever had a huge crush on someone who still doesn’t know? >> I don’t know, maybe. 53. Have you done something in the last week that you regret? >> No. 54. Ever drank alcohol? >> Certainly. 55. Know anyone who’s currently doing drugs? >> Sure. 56. Ever watched The Hills? >> No. 57. What about Jersey Shore? >> No. 58. Ever called someone a slut? >> Not seriously. I’ve said it in a joking way to friends who appreciate that sort of banter. 59. What do you think of short shorts? >> I don’t want to wear them. 60. Does it bother you if people swear around you? >> Of course not. 61. Have you ever gotten an A in a subject? >> Yes. 62. What about a B? >> Argh..... yes to all. NEXT 63. And a C? 64. How about a D? 65. Ever skived? >> I don’t know what that is. 66. Would you consider yourself popular and outcast or somewhere in the middle? >> These dynamics don’t really apply to adult life... well, not in my experience. Maybe if I had a more structured social life? 67. Are most of your friends older or younger than you? >> --- 68. Ever been stabbed in the back by a close friend? >> Nah. 69. Do you think it’s immature when people laugh at the number 69? >> I don’t make any judgements about it. 70. Ever watched porn? >> Yep. 71. How many laws do you think you’ve broken in the past month? >> I don’t think I’ve broken any, considering I barely even go outside except to take walks. 72. Do you wake up with an alarm clock? >> No. 73. Do you prefer Wednesdays or Thursdays? >> All days of the week are pretty much interchangeable to me. 74. If your school had a Glee Club would you join? >> --- 75. Ever performed in a talent show? >> Probably. I don’t remember. 76. Have you ever cried in public? >> Yeah. I used to be homeless in a metropolis, privacy wasn’t something I had access to. Guess that might be part of why I’m so big on it now. 77. Do you have a favorite between your Mom and your Dad? >> --- 78. Would you audition for a reality talent competition? >> Fuck no. 79. How many celebrity crushes have you had? >> *shrug* 80. How many non-celebrity crushes have you had? >> *shrug* 81. Name 5 male celebrities who you think are attractive. >> Matthew McConaughey, Peter Mensah, Jeremy Irons, Denzel Washington, Oscar Isaac. 82. Name 5 female celebrities who you think are attractive. >> Sandra Oh, Aisha Hinds, Normani Kordei, Gillian Anderson, Helen Mirren. 83. Ever been compared to a celebrity? >> Yeah, a couple of times. 84. Have any embarrassing pictures on Facebook? >> I only have one photo of myself on facebook. 85. Do you think spending £20 on Lip Gloss is a waste of money? >> It’s not a waste of money for whoever buys it. That person just wouldn’t be me, I have no interest in lip gloss. 86. Are you opinionated? >> Not especially. 87. Do you have a favorite store? >> Nope. 88. Would you ever wear Flare Jeans? >> I did when I was younger, but I doubt I’d be into them now. 89. Do you own jeans that aren’t skinny? >> No. I can’t really fit into any jeans that aren’t stretchy (and the stretchy ones are usually skinny jeans). 90. Have you ever worn the same outfit twice in one week? >> Many times. 91. What’s the longest period of time you’ve been away from school? >> A couple of months, when I was in the psych ward. 92. Do you google abbreviations you don’t understand? >> Yeah. I google almost anything I don’t understand, unless I just have zero interest in understanding. 93. Does it bother you when people have cats as their profile picture? >> Why... would that bother me... 94. Own a pair of converse? >> Nope. I can’t wear any shoe without arch support. 95. Is there a teacher at your school who has obvious favorites? >> --- 96. If yes, are you one of them? >> --- 97. Do you text in class? >> --- 98. What brand of jeans do you wear the most? >> The only pairs of jeans I have are from Old Navy. 99. At what point do you think sizes are “Plus Sized?” >> I don’t know what sizes are plus-sized and I’m not interested in finding out right now. 100. Do you want to lose weight? >> Yes. 101. Ever seen a therapist? >> Yes. 102. Ever watched porn? >> This is a repeat question and I would delete it if the questions weren’t numbered. 103. Ever purposely ignored a text? >> Yeah. 104. A facebook message? >> Yeah. 105. A poke? >> God, when did they finally get rid of those? I haven’t heard about pokes in years. 106. A friend request? >> Yeah. 107. Would you say you read into things too much? >> I don’t know if I read into things too much or not. 108. Is your best friend more likely to be the one suggesting something stupid or refusing to do something stupid? >> --- 109. Do you have a “fun friend?” (A friend who you have tons of fun with but you never really have deep conversations?) >> No. 110. Ever been called a bully? >> No. 111. Ever purposely hurt yourself? >> Many times. 112. Ever gone to church? >> Many times. I think I’ve gotten the gist of it by now. 113. Would you call either of your parents screw ups? >> One of them was certainly a screw-up in caring for their child... 114. If you turned out exactly like your mom would you be pleased? >> Absolutely not, considering that’s the parent I was talking about in the previous question. 115. What do you want to do with your life? >> I don’t have any specific goals for my life. I’m pretty content just living it.

116. Let me guess… You have brown hair? >> Yeah. 117. Already know what you’re being for Halloween? >> I don’t know if I’m ever going to get to dress up for Halloween. We’ll see. 118. Do you still go Trick or Treating? >> I’ve never been and I am way too old for it now. 119. Ever liked someone WAY older than you? >> Like 80% of the celebrities I named in those two questions about attractive celebrities are way older than me. 120. Does it bother you when people have really loud conversations on the bus? >> Only when I don’t have my headphones with me, which is... just about never. I know I have sensory issues, so I come prepared. 121. When you have sunglasses on, do you stare at people? >> Fuck no. 122. Ever had a credit card denied? >> Yeah. 123. What’s the last movie you watched? >> The Lovebirds. 124. Last TV Show? >> Patriot Act. 125. You see your Ex making out with one of your friends. What do you do? >> I can’t imagine this being bothersome to me. Or even significant, honestly. 126. Ever been called a whore? >> No. 127. Are you american? >> Yeah. 128. Ever made yourself throw up? >> Yeah. 129. Have you ever kissed someone who wasn’t your boyfriend? >> Yeah. 130. Are you Cute or Gross? >> What...??? 131. Does it bother you when people say “LOOK HOW MUCH YOU’VE GROWN!”? >> It would bother me if that was a situation I’d ever find myself in. 132. Can you say intelligent things around the guy you like? >> --- 133. Ever had the lead in a play? >> Nope. 134. What about a solo in a concert? >> Nope. 135. What kind of a student are you? >> I’m not a student. 136. Worst subject? >> --- 137. Best subject? >> --- 138. Ever had a crush on a teacher? >> Something like that. 139. Would it bother you if you found out that your mother was pregnant? >> --- 140. How late do you sleep in? >> 9a seems to be my limit. 141. Do you edit your profile pictures before posting them? >> --- 142. Be 100% honest. Do you have any friends who are uglier than you? >> This is so fucking rude. 143. Do you believe in love? >> Yawn. 144. Would you consider yourself a good student? >> --- 145. Does it bother you when Surveys ask “Did you like this survey?” >> Not really, I usually just delete that question because, like... the survey-maker is definitely not going to see it, so what’s the point. 146. Salty, Sweet, Sour or Spicy? >> Salty + sweet, spicy + sweet, spicy + salty, or any of them alone except for sweet. 147. Are you going into High School this year? >> Fuck no lmao 148. What about Junior High? >> Double fuck no lmao 149. What is one thing someone could say to you right now that would make you cry? >> I don’t know, man. That’s usually contextual, anyway. 150. Where did you find this note? >> I got this survey from another survey-taker on tumblr. 151. Last question. How many unread messages are in your phone? >> Zero.

#surveys #survey #random survey #some surveys just don't need to be as long as they are #question quality is in the gutter

2 notes · View notes

grant-spiraltf · 5 years

Text

Stuck

Chris Jones had quite the uneventful day. There was nothing to do at the office and he had finished all of his current games. After just lounging around for the entire morning, he put on some workout clothes and headed out for a jog. He ran through Regent’s Park while enjoying the warmth of the sun, since most of the time it’s raining cats and dogs. And what do you know, right after he thought it, the sky started to darken and a few drops could be felt. Chris shortened his route, hoping to be home in time, but within minutes it began pouring. He decided to seek shelter in a shop and wait it out, so he looked around and saw a store he hadn’t seen before.

From outside the store looked like a small boutique, but when he opened the door he saw rows and rows of high shelves, seemingly never ending. “That’s clever use of mirrors” he concluded. “Nope, it’s just a big store. Hi I’m Grant, the owner. Have a look around, if you need me just give me a shout!” Chris was taken aback by the voice and looked around to find it’s origin, but didn’t see anything. Suddenly a man carrying a stack of books walked around the corner, coming from the hall with the shelves. “Still standing there? The rain ain’t stopping for a while buddy, have a look around!” Chris thought that maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to have come here, so he turned around and grabbed the door handle. When his fingers touched the gold, a flash of lightning hit the pavement, only 2 metres away from him. He immediately let go and turned around, walking into the store.

Grant had meanwhile set the books on the counter and was checking them out, tossing some books into a pile. Chris reached out to touch the latest addition to the stack and found the book to be scorching, burning his fingers. He quickly retracted his fingers and blew on them, trying to cool them off, but nothing helped. Grant saw what was happening, huffed and waved with his hand. Immediately the situation was resolved, like it was magic. “If you don’t want to be a werewolf, don’t touch that book. Trust me, it’s not as fun as the tv makes it seem. Go ahead and explore, I’ll keep an eye on you.” Grant winked at the astounded Chris, who was still in disbelief. “Go on! I have plenty of things to do. I recommend the more mind oriented transformations, since your body is great as it is.”

Chris took short steps through the aisles, trying to make sure to not touch anything, but failing at it. A seemingly harmless studded collar was laying on a shelf, so he reached out to it. It then came to life, jumped onto Chris’ arm and wrapped itself snugly around the thick neck. Chris feared that he’d get choked to death, but nothing really happened. He tried to walk forwards, but his legs gave out, landing him on all fours. He tried to call to Grant, but all that came out was a bark. “Found the collars eh? Who’s a good boy? You are! Now sit!” Hearing Grant call him a good boy was weirdly comforting, causing his cock to stir and a big grin appeared on his face. He quickly sat down, eager to please. Grant walked over and started to rub his belly, causing Chris to yip contently before feeling a hand tug on his collar. His self returned to him as he saw Grant put the collar back. “Yeah sorry about that, the collars tend to make the wearer quite protective of them, so I had to distract you with belly rubs. I see it worked though heh.” Grant pointed towards Chris’ crotch which was tenting. He decided didn’t like the mental transformation aisle since those made him lose control, so he walked towards the physical aisle, hoping that would be safer.

There, he almost immediately walked into a shelf, causing a flask of grey mist to fall on him, the vapour coating his clothes. When it disappeared, his workout clothes had become a three piece suit. He looked around to try and find something to turn them back and he heard Grant laugh. “5th shelf from the ground, 6th bottle.” This time Grant was nowhere to be seen, his voice echoing slightly. Chris looked up and saw two identical bottles, so he grabbed the left one and poured it over the suit. “Wrong one, there’s a minuscule bottle you missed while counting.” Chris freaked out a little and waited out the transformation. “Don’t worry mate, it just changes the colour. So now instead of a blue shirt, you get a purple one.” Grant’s words proved to be the truth when the mist was gone, revealing his old shirt with it’s new colour.

After more tiptoeing, it appeared that the storm had gone away. Chris was a little conflicted though. He desperately wanted to go home and let this freaky store behind him, but another part of him wanted to explore more. He decided he’d walk through one of the physical aisles and then leave.

The aisle he had chosen wasn’t as full as the others, but looked much fancier. The shelves were made out of white marble instead of the wood and in the middle stood a short marble pillar which enriched with gold. Grant was still cleaning the liquids and broken glass, until he suddenly heard a gasp. Within a heartbeat, he stood behind Chris and found out why he had gasped. His fingertips which he used to touch the pillar were turned into marble, making a distinct sound when they touched each other. “Fuck. I’ll try and find the antidote but I think I’m all out.” His eyes rolled back into his head and some red and black particles started to flake off his suit. After a second, his eyes and suit became normal again, but he had an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry Chris, looks like you’re turning into a statue.”

Chris was mortified and outraged. “What do you mean?! Can’t you reverse this?!” Grant’s stance changed from apologetic to defiant. “It’s not my problem that you thought that touching the pillar was a good idea. I can make the transformation easier for you and also make a clone who you share consciousness with, but that’s it.” Seeing no other option, Chris defeatedly accepted the offer. Chris then felt something tug on his back, and when he looked back, he looked back into his own eyes. The only visible differences between him and the clone were that the clone had fingers made of flesh and was drooling, but otherwise he was spot-on. “Chris, I suggest you leave and live your normal life.” Grant’s eyes flashed a shade of red and the clone stopped drooling, adjusted his cock and walked out, running back home. The real Chris’ transformation was progressing fast in the meantime, his shoulders and shirt just turning to stone. He turned around to face Grant and saw his boyfriend looking back at him. “It’s still Grant, I just thought that maybe you’d like one last bj from the bf?” Chris croaked out a sure and Grant went to work, expertly sucking Chris off. Meanwhile, the marble had traveled towards Chris’ pecs, letting him bounce them one last time before they turned to stone. The hardness travelled downwards through his now permanently chiselled (pun intended) abs and his shorts, legs and feet quickly became stiff, turning a rich white. Grant started to edge him and Chris fell backwards, landing his ass on the pillar. They quickly turned to stone too, leaving only his cock and head as flesh, but not for long. Grant milked out the load, making Chris empty his balls inside of him. With every shot, his cock and balls gradually turned to stone.

“Now in a few seconds the transformation will be complete and I’ll put you up on a nice pedestal. You can switch between statue and clone whenever you want, I think you’ll only be here when you don’t have a lot to do as your clone, but you can freely jump between them.” Chris took one last breath before the marble travelled upwards, completing the transformation. Grant took a step back to admire the stud. “Hmm he could do with a posture change and I should cover his dick up.” Grant’s fingers started to lose definition and became the same ethereal look as his suit had become, turning red and black. He then started to adjust the statue, pulling up the shorts, crossing his arms and making sure his expression was less terrified and more smug. He took another step back and smiled. “Much better.” Grant waved his hand and walked back to the front of the store, while behind him the statue began to float. A pedestal appeared under it and the statue moved towards another room. There, it found a spot between two other statues, becoming part of the vast collection.

Tumblr media

So i actually edited this myself, and i'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Especially for a first time :P

#muscle tf #celeb tf #tf story #inanimate tf #statue tf #chris jones #my edits #grant-spiraltf

70 notes · View notes

sinsbymanka · 4 years

Text

Tumblr media

Thank you for the prompt @tuffypelly! I needed the practice writing Modern!Hawke and Varric!

Prompt: “Don’t you remember the go karting incident?”

Someone broke into Varric’s apartment.

Again.

He ran through the list of usual suspects and began crossing them out one by one. Magic was clearly involved, the leftover energy gave him a bit of a shock when he grabbed his doorknob. So Rivaini was off the hook. No sign of blood or whiff of sulfur, which meant Daisy probably hadn’t come by to water the plants she insisted he needed.

That left three witches. Sunshine would have patiently waited outside, so she could be discounted. Anders... well, it could have been Blondie, but somehow Varric doubted it. Blondie hardly ever came to visit anymore, and never uninvited. His friend was too busy working himself into a frothing rage over the templars in the undercity most of the time.

So. Hawke.

Varric shoved the door open and peered around his tidy apartment. Sure, he preferred the bustling arts district to the ritzy section his brother favored, but Varric was no starving artist. Everything screamed comfort, from the plush, worn leather sofas to the rich, mahogany bookshelves lined with his eclectic collection. His laptop sat, undisturbed, on his coffee table with his empty mug from the morning still beside it.

On the other couch, however, the Champion of Kirkwall sat in a nest of her own making. She had wrapped herself up in his comforter like the apartment was freezing, but she hadn’t thought to turn on the heat, which she was more than capable of doing. She had a takeout container opened in front of her, chopsticks impaled in half eaten noodles, and a cartoon featuring brightly colored, implausibly proportioned women playing on his TV.

“Hawke, if you didn’t save me an eggroll I’m kicking you out.”

She didn’t turn from her chosen entertainment, but she waved in the direction of his kitchenette. “I brought you a whole damn meal. And beer. You’re welcome.”

“What are you watching?” He asked, shuffling off his coat and throwing it over the counter. He swaggered to the fridge and opened it, withdrawing the still lukewarm container. Hawke hadn’t been here long, then.

“Fuck if I know.” Hawke tipped her head to the side like an over-inquisitive parrot. “It’s on one of those strange Nevarran channels you get.”

He opened the container and peered into the half-eaten remains of his portion of the takeout. He glared playfully at Hawke, who’d finally turned to watch him as he discovered her treachery.

“I was hungry.” She defended with a sly grin, folding her arms on the back of the couch and resting her head on them. “Where were you?”

“Tracking down those ingredients Blondie wanted for his ‘make my demon cat less crazy’ spell. Do you know what Sela Petrae is made of?” He muttered darkly. Hawke grinned evilly.

“Why do you think I said I’d help him find the Drakestone?”

“I hate you.” He groaned, rubbing his forehead.

Hawke smiled, suddenly sweet. “No you don’t.”

He didn’t, but he wasn’t going to admit it after finding out he’d spent all morning asking for crystallized urine. He grabbed his own chopsticks from the counter and ambled over to Hawke on the couch, collapsing beside her.

“You worried about him?” Hawke asked, slim fingers worrying the frayed edge of his comforter.

“Nah.” Varric lied easily. “He’ll be fine. He’s just having a mood.”

“Yeah.” Hawke lied through her teeth too. “I’m not worried either.”

They needed a change of subject. Varric gestured with his shoddy utensils at the TV screen. “Can’t afford your own cable?”

“Like you’re paying for cable, serah.” Hawke huffed, settling back into the cushions and resting her head on his shoulder, an easy, light pressure that felt as precious as gold.

Varric waited, spinning the silence out until Hawke finally relented. “I’ve been having nightmares again.”

Nightmares. Cards spelling out portents of doom. The same refrain now for weeks. Kirkwall lurching into the next disaster, but none of them any wiser as to what it was. Hawke stared, unseeing, at the TV, while she recounted her dream. “I’m at city hall, standing on top of that awful dome with the naked statue. But the statue isn’t there, it’s me. I’m encased in bronze just like it is, and the metal is melting, scorching my skin. I have wings, but the feathers are falling past my fingertips and I know I’m going to fall. The world is on fire underneath me and I... I’m watching from the center of the flames.”

“One question.” Varric couldn’t bear to see the strain weighing her down, making her look old beyond her years. Shit, she was just twenty-five. Too young for all this, by far. “That statue on top of city hall is naked Hawke. Out of author’s curiosity...”

She laughed, like he knew she would, swatting him with the edge of his own blanket. “You’re awful. My premonitions of doom are jokes to you, is that it?”

They weren’t, he’d seen too many of them come true, but he also knew by now they couldn’t stop them. Worrying themselves into an early grave wouldn’t help. May as well go laughing.

“Andraste, Varric. Get me out of this place.” She swung the blanket off the couch and stood, a bundle of nervous energy. “I’ll text Fen and Merrill. You grab Bela. Let’s go do something fun.”

“Hanged Man is right downstairs.” Varric offered. “I think the special tonight is their own special brand of watered down...”

“For fuck’s sake. No, I don’t want to drink.” She babbled, wrapping strands of dark hair around her fingers. “Let’s do something exciting. Oh! The aquarium, down at the harbor. Let’s...”

“Rivaini’s banned.” Varric smirked. “Someone caught her teaching a man to fish behind the shark tank, if you catch my drift. Besides, Broody will complain the whole time about the smell.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Hawke sighed. “The Rose has...”

“A two for one special for templars right now.” Varric advised cheerfully, careful to note the tension that immediately rose in Hawke’s shoulders. “Best leave Daisy out of it if we go there.”

“Alright.” She huffed. “The amusement park...”

Varric held her gaze and raised one solitary eyebrow. “Don’t you remember the go-karting incident?”

Hawke bristled and crossed her arms over her chest, staring down at him. “That whole thing was blown wildly out of proportion.”

“I’m still paying bribes for that mess so Aveline doesn’t find out. The fact that you didn’t get tossed in the Gallows that night is a miracle.”

Hawke waved his concerns away dismissively. “Details.”

“We’re emphatically not welcome at the amusement park, Hawke. Cops will be called. We’ll have to explain ourselves to Aveline. I’ll develop ulcers.” Varric bemoaned.

“Your chest hair will wilt and fall out. Dogs will howl in the street.” Hawke collapsed back on the couch, dramatically, half on top of him. She nearly knocked his noodles from his hand. “Varric, I’m dying of boredom. It’s an ignoble end for the champion of Kirkwall. Do something. Anything.”

He sighed wearily and sat his container on the table while Hawke’s eyes glimmered expectantly. He drummed his fingers on the table lightly, rearranging his schedule in his head. “Bianca.”

“Varric?” The AI answered brightly. Hawke perked up immediately.

“I need you to make arrangements to rent a car under one of my pseudonyms. A fast one, something sexy. We’ll bring it back late Sunday night.” Varric rubbed his stubbled jaw thoughtfully.

“Modified for Dwarven use?” Bianca chirped.

Varric looked at Hawke. “You gonna drive?”

“If it’s sexy, of course I will.” Hawke purred playfully. “Where are we going?”

“I’m gonna let the humans take the wheel, Bianca.” Varric stretched his arms above his head. “Work on cancelling whatever shit is on my calendar tomorrow.”

He wrapped one heavy arm around Hawke’s shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “We’ll go wherever you want. Caveat is, I’ve gotta be back on Monday.”

“Important meetings to avoid?” She teased, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

“You know it.” He yawned into his other fist. “There’s a music festival in Ostwick on Saturday. Casinos in Markham are always a good time. I’d even let you drag me to Starkhaven.”

“If we go to Starkhaven, we’ve gotta take Bethy and Sebastian. I could use a damn break from their canoodling.” Hawke tapped away at her phone. “Who’s playing in Ostwick?”

“Fuck if I know.” He was far too old to be keeping track of that shit.

“You’re so helpful.” Hawke sighed. “Bianca?”

“Chantry Oblivion, The Infamous Nugs, Refuse Project, and Tool of Anarchy.” Bianca offered. “There are smaller, lesser known bands at side stages.”

“Ugh.” Hawke wrinkled her nose. “Markham it is then.”

“Too much heavy metal?” Varric picked his chopsticks back up with his left hand.

“If I wanted to listen to people screaming I’d go to the Gallows and stand between Orsino and Meredith.” Hawke grumbled. “Bela’s in. So is Merrill.”

Of course Rivaini was in. She’d be at the door any second, bag already packed. Varric shoveled another bite of noodles into his mouth and watch as Hawke looked up, eyes fastening on the windows lining his apartment, the ones looking out onto the broad swathe of shops and galleries. Her face went slack.

“You should put a piano there, Varric.” She mumbled.

He nearly choked on his mouthful of noodles. “What? For stone’s sake, why? Rivaini would just be bringing men in here whenever she wanted the experience of fucking on it instead of making the trek to your place.”

Hawke shook her head, frowning, before dropping her head back to her phone. “I don’t know.” She sighed, rubbing her temple. “It was a thought. Something with Ostwick. It’s gone now.”

Thank Andraste for that. Hawke resumed her grin and punched him lightly in the shoulder. “C’mon then. Let’s pack up your chest hair and go.”

#modern thedas #modern magic #modern hawke #modern varric #varric tethras #varric tethras and hawke friendship #hawke and varric are bros #dragon age 2 #modern dragon age #the calm before the storm #kirkwall is about to go to shit #poor hawke

4 notes · View notes

witchqueenofthemoon · 5 years

Text

BODY AND SOUL Part 10 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: This part sort of stretched itself a lot further than I originally anticipated, there was so much I wanted to elaborate on that consequently, it’s Part 11 that will feature Mackenzie’s dinner for Duncan, and the fulfillment of his morning promise (hot sex y’all) & the revelation of the special gift (I also decided I wanted everyone to witness that part through Duncan’s perspective, so we’d be privy to his thoughts and feelings regarding what Kenzie did for him and how worried he is about her safety/his desire to soothe her, among other things, and I’m trying to stick to the dual perspective pattern, so). I know this part doesn’t have smut and Duncan isn’t in it very much, but it’s very important to the development of Duckenzie’s emotional trajectory, and it took a long time for me to write it and it was emotional for me. I really loved spending this time with Mackenzie; I did my best to give her room for doubt while also being clear that she is fiercely individualistic and does indeed have a core of strength, even if she can’t necessarily always see that about herself. A lot of new AU versions of AHS APOC characters crept into this: Ben Wilder is obviously Billy Porter/Behold, Precious is Queenie/Gabourey, Zadie is Zoe/Taissa, Anchaly is Ariel/Jon Jon, Candice (my Cordelia AU)’s lost love Mia is Misty/Lily. I’ve toyed with the idea of making Samuel canonically an AU several times, but even though I think of Lance Reddick’s Papa Legba for him sometimes, he’s not really Papa; he’s someone else, my own character. If anyone wants to make fake Instagram edits for Duncan and Kenzie, I’d fucking love that. Please humor me with all the clothes in this one; I modeled the stuff Kenzie picks after things you can actually get on Madewell’s website, for what it’s worth, and I tried to plot out her Georgetown shopping as accurately as I could; there’s both a Sephora and a Dean and DeLuca within short walking distance of the Georgetown Madewell. The prints in Duncan’s living room are Bouguereau’s Dawn, Day, Twilight (Evening Mood) and Night. I made an edit representing the statues of Dike, Nike and Athena Duncan has in his living room here. Here is Ella Fitzgerald’s BEWITCHED, BOTHERED AND BEWILDERED. Nirvana Rose is a scent I wear in the spring; I always planned for it to be Kenzie’s scent of choice (vetiver, geranium and rose are the notes). I have to admit I put a lot of my own thoughts and feelings about money and the fantasy of money in this part; I struggle a lot with feeling guilty about wanting luxurious things in my life, so I sort of channeled that for Kenzie’s shyness about spending money that Duncan wants her to have. Had to finally bring in the fact that Cody and Billie are both Cancers. Kenzie’s lifelong imagining that Persephone loved Hades is my lifelong imagining.

Kenzie ran into the Post, her heart fluttering around in her chest like a butterfly trapped in a net. At home. At home. Her parting words to Duncan danced around in her brain, spinning and swaying. See you tonight--at home. She vaguely registered that she and Duncan had had their breathless conversation, between passionate kisses, on the open sidewalk in view of at least fifteen people milling around outside Franklin Square. At least, she thought. Probably a lot more than that, if I’m being realistic. She remembered the blonde woman snapping pictures of them; remembered the eyes of everyone in Emissary staring at her and Duncan as the woman made a scene. Fuck. She rushed into the elevator, her boots clicking in her ears, her bag smacking against her hip. Fuck, she was late. Fuck. At home. See you at home. I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard. Baby. Angel. His breath on her ear as she woke to his touch, the overwhelmingly hungry look in his eyes--storms, thunder--as she sucked his hard cock, the way he’d grabbed her hand holding the water glass and pulled her close to him, his hands on her thigh and against her ass, looking up into her face with that worshipping glint in his sapphire eyes--

FUCK, Kenzie, focus! You’re late for work!

Kenzie just made the elevator, smacking the button for the 10th floor, squeezing in between four other people as the doors slid shut behind her; she glanced down at her phone, dazed, as she heard it trumpet: Clairebear.

MACKENZIE LOUISE, oh my FUCKING GOD! Duncan is fucking beautiful! I see what you mean about his eyes, they’re like jewels?!?! He’s so tall and his hair like WHAT, how does it do that?? Those women in line ahead of you, what the fuck was that all about? I was absolutely STARSTRUCK with how beautiful you looked together, no wonder they noticed you right away, you were like two movie stars or something. He was so lovely and polite, who the fuck knew??? I’m just speechless!!!! You looked so happy, you were LUMINOUS, like you were glowing, bitch, love looks so fucking good on you!!! And the way he looked at you, like you were made out of moonlight or gold or something, fuck! He’s got it fucking BAD for you, I felt like he was singeing the ends my hair with that energy, I had to drink a glass of water when you guys left, WHOO

Kenzie felt the smile spreading across her cheeks as she read her best friend’s ecstatic text. Oh Claire, she thought, you’re so wonderful. She looked up to check the floor (5) and quickly typed:

Clairebear, I was SO HAPPY you were there, oh my god, I’m just so happy, I never knew I could feel so happy, I’m so glad you liked him, I can’t wait for us all to have dinner!!! He said he liked you immediately! Those women took a picture (I think more than one) of us without asking? It was really weird. They recognized Duncan and got shitty when he asked them to delete whatever they took and that’s when they left. I feel weird about it but we couldn’t really do anything?? Oh Clairebear. I’m in love. I really am. I love you, I’m sorry we had to leave so quickly, I’m so late for work. She added a distraught-faced open-mouthed emoji at the end.

She sighed, as if to let out the weight of the emotion that was enveloping her, threatening to crush her, bouncing on her feet a little as she looked up again; 9th floor. Almost there. She checked the clock on her phone. 9:26. Oh fuck. So late. The doors finally slid open and she jumped out, eyeing her little desk in the corner; glancing from side to side. No Candice in sight. That was good. She started to make a beeline to her desk, head down to avoid eye contact with anyone she might see, when someone stepped in front of her, blocking her path--someone wearing wildly colorful, meticulously tailored pants; she looked up into the severe, unimpressed face of Ben Wilder, the Executive Features editor. He was wearing oversized black-framed cat eye glasses and a blazer made of some kind of iridescently shiny, cobalt-red material, a vintage Hermes scarf tucked meticulously into the black pointed hem vest he wore under it, and he was glaring at her with narrowed eyes behind his spectacles. His dark skin was flawless; Kenzie wondered absently for the hundredth time what kind of moisturizer he used. She doubted he told people secrets as important as that one.

“Miss Stone, I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Hi Ben, lovely morning,” she answered nervously, hand coming up to fiddle with her rose quartz. Ben’s lips were pursed and he looked at her with that appraising, Anubis-weighing-the-scales severity that so unnerved every journalist in at the Post. As Executive Features editor, Ben was in charge of surveying that the quality of the Post was always at a high standard; some at the office said an impossibly high standard with Wilder as the critic. His real passion was for the Entertainment and Arts features, however, and he was infamously thorough and up-to-speed with everything happening in the DC art scene. He also knew every hot bit of gossip about every politician in the District; his knowledge was encyclopedic, and exhaustive. And he was giving her a very knowing look indeed.

“I’ve heard a rumor, dear,” he went on, ignoring her hello, “that you had a very busy weekend.”

Kenzie swallowed, her eyes darting from side to side, plotting an exit, her heart slamming into the bottom of her throat, like a dumbbell was suddenly clattering up and down her esophagus.

“On top of some very interesting photos found on certain online rags since yesterday--photos that have begun to trend on Instagram, I might add--a few more photos have materialized on Instagram in the past hour.”

He was silent for a moment, pursing his lips again, staring at her, his eyes unreadable. Kenzie looked up at him; she knew innately that the time for lies was long past, but she thought, wildly: maybe if I don’t say anything he’ll just disappear in a puff of smoke--

“Care to guess what these photos feature, Miss Stone?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

He pursed his lips further at that, lifting his arm and cradling the elbow against the hand pressed across his torso, holding the fingers out in an open gesture toward her that reminded her of Anubis holding some poor mortal’s heart, about to crush it into dust in his claw. Hers. He leaned down, bringing his face close to hers, his voice lowering conspiratorially, though as he had said himself: there wasn’t much of a secret left to keep, was there.

“Who knew a little thing like you would catch Duncan Shepherd’s eye.”

Kenzie pressed her lips together, trying to keep her expression neutral.

“I want an interview.”

“Ben, I--we’ve only been seeing each other for a few days--”

“Get me an interview and I will make sure your editorial gets to the top of the pile. I’ll ensure that when reviews come up, you’re considered very carefully for opportunities.”

“My editorial--my editorial is--” Kenzie suddenly realized wildly: my editorial is the kind of thing that’s going to make Annette Shepherd’s head turn on her shoulders. For real this time.

“You’re in the hot seat now, Miss Stone. You can’t smooch the heir of Shepherd Unlimited--a 3.5 billion dollar global enterprise trying to unseat the President of the United States--on the open sidewalk in front of a posh bistro and expect everyone to turn a blind eye. I suggest you take a look at the narrative unfolding online and get back to me. Promptly.” He stepped away from her, waving his hand a little behind him with infuriating sass, as if to say: see you soon, honey.

Kenzie watched his cobalt-crimson back retreat, her heart still pounding, her head fuzzy. An interview? Her temples throbbed against her skull harshly. How the fuck am I ever going to convince Duncan to do that? And my fucking editorial, FUCK, I didn’t even think about that. As if I need to add more reasons to the pile that is Annette Shepherd’s fuel to hate my guts.

“Mackenzie.”

Kenzie turned at the sound of her name; Candice stood outside her office in the short north hallway, hand resting on the door frame from whence she had just emerged, appraising Kenzie’s flushed face; today her boss wore a long, rose-colored pleated satin skirt, and a high-collared white blouse with a black ribbon tied in a neat knot falling down the front. Her dark eyes met Kenzie’s, framed by her wavy blonde hair that fell around her shoulders, shimmering in the overhead light; their concern sent an icy dagger coursing down Kenzie’s spine. Oh, here we go.

“Come into my office for a minute, please.”

Kenzie swallowed again as Candice vanished through the doorway, stepping up in resignation. I guess this was inevitable, Kenz, she told herself. Ben isn’t wrong. Clearly you’ve underestimated the difficulties that come with dating a man who is wildly rich, handsome, and reputable. And from a family known for stirring up controversy. Suck it up, buttercup.

She timidly stepped through the doorway of Candice’s office; a long window stretched along the back wall of the room, small ferns and falling ivy on the ledge of it, framing Candice’s golden head in a white glow where she sat behind her desk, which was meticulously neat. Kenzie’s eyes fell down to the gold plaque at the front of it, two gold paperweights shaped like open hands on either side of it: Candice Owens, Editor in Chief, The Washington Post.

“Shut the door and sit down, Mackenzie. Please.”

Kenzie carefully set her satchel down beside one of two lemon-colored upholstered chairs facing Candice’s desk, sitting slowly, her hands coming together in her lap. She felt resigned to whatever Candice was about to say; her brain felt fuzzy and faraway, as if she was observing all of this from someone else’s body, uncaring. At home, a voice whispered behind her ear. See you at home.

Candice looked at her for another long moment, her eyes unreadable. Then she spoke.

“I’m sure you’re aware of this already, but your relationship with Duncan Shepherd is about to become public knowledge.”

Kenzie couldn’t find it in herself to tell Candice anything but the truth.

“It’s only been a few days, but...yes. We’re dating.”

“Then I assume, or I want to assume, that you’ve considered the consequences.”

“I won’t let it get in the way of my work, Candice.”

“As you were late this morning, I’m not sure you’re doing a very good job at convincing me of that so far,” Candice replied, her tone even. She turned her head a little, questioning. “You do realize that Duncan Shepherd is a very controversial figure from a very controversial company led by a very controversial, very manipulative, very wealthy family?”

“Yes.”

“Whether you intend it or not, your relationship with him will bring scrutiny on the Post, and it’s going to change your personal life in serious ways as well. It’s only a matter of time before your name and occupation are spread around online. I anticipate that we’ll need to increase security in the building, which is already tight. Your mother being who she is--a staunch and very public opponent of Annette Shepherd’s political agenda--that’s going to cause a real controversy.”

“I’m sorry, Candice. This was all really unexpected...I didn’t expect us to...”

“Fall in love?”

Kenzie swallowed, blinking at her lovely, poised boss, feeling like she was unraveling under her dark-eyed gaze, feeling as though she were a sparrow under the eye of a falcon. Exposed.

“Anyone looking at those pictures could see it, easily. It’s clear that you are in love.”

Kenzie felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes, to her deep dismay. The idea of crying in front of Candice made her feel mortified; her respect for her boss was all-encompassing, akin to the deep admiration she felt for her mother; she was surrounded by so many incredibly strong women. And here I am, she thought, frustration seeping under her skin. A fucking mess.

“We are,” she whispered, her eyes looking down at her hands, afraid to look into Candice’s face again; unsure she could maintain her composure if she did.

“Mackenzie. Does Madeline know?”

Kenzie nodded; she tried to stifle the sniff that came out of her, but failed. She saw Candice lean to a box of tissues behind the desk, pulling a few out quietly. Her boss leaned over her desk, holding them out to her.

“She’s meeting him tomorrow. I haven’t met Annette yet. I’m terrified.”

Silence hung in the room for a moment; a little bonsai fountain in the corner of Candice’s office mingled with the sounds from the street outside; cars beeping and buses rushing by, pigeons outside the window, vague music, drums coming from the park across the street.

“I loved a woman once,” Candice said, surprising Kenzie, “who was the daughter of a prominent Republican Congressman. Her name was Mia. When I asked her if we could be together, she told me she could never disobey her father’s wishes; like we were living in feudal England. That she loved me; that she wanted to be with me; but that she couldn’t, because it would be a betrayal to her family. And she chose them.”

Kenzie wiped at her cheek, her wet eyes lifting up to her boss’ gentle face. She could see the vague shine that had cast itself over them; Candice too was on the edge of tears, but they didn’t fall; they hovered there, trapped in Candice’s resolve. I’m such a crybaby, Kenzie thought. Candice is so beautiful and so strong.

Her boss paused, then went on.

“Professionally, I have serious doubts about the advisability of your attachment to someone so infamous. Men in this town; they want power, and most of them are willing to crush anyone who becomes an obstacle to that power, Republican and Democrat alike. I don’t know Duncan Shepherd; but I know Annette and Bill Shepherd want one thing and one thing only; complete control of Washington D.C. and by association, the trajectory of this country.”

She paused. Kenzie lowered the tissues to her lap, now damp with the whisper of tears that had threatened her. She looks so beautiful this way, Kenzie thought. She thought of Duncan’s statues; Justice, victory, wisdom; all women. To Kenzie, Candice was a higher being, surveying all of humankind with an omniscient eye; like Cassandra, oracle of Troy, all-knowing, perceiving truth and future alike, cursed with her own sorrow and knowledge.

“But personally, I know what it’s like to be torn away from someone you want more than anything. And I would never presume to dictate the love that extends from one heart to another. Love is boundless and obscure, and it does not follow the petty rules set down by human philosophy.”

Kenzie felt her lip tremble again.

“If you need help, Mackenzie: come to me. Don’t hesitate. Promise you’ll do this.”

Kenzie felt another tear fall down her cheek.

“I will. I promise. Candice...thank you. I...I feel overwhelmed by all of this. I never expected this to happen to me. It feels like I’ve been living inside a dream for days.”

She hesitated, sniffing again. “I can’t help but feel...afraid. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and it frightens me.”

Candice stood; moved around her desk, sat in the chair across from Kenzie, and reached out, her hand grasping around Kenzie’s in her lap, clutching the tissues. Mackenzie immediately felt a small wave of warm comfort wash over her, as thought Candice had lit a match and held it close to her skin; close enough for her to feel it, but not to burn her. The tears immediately dried from her eyes, as though someone had held a blowdryer against her cheeks for a moment.

“Fear? What has a man to do with fear? Chance rules our lives, and the future is all unknown. Best live as we may, from day to day.” Candice smiled at her, squeezed her hands a little, her eyes still shining with that hidden sheen. “Sophocles. Oedipus Rex. I was Jocasta in a production in college. I was awful. But I always loved that line.”

Kenzie smiled back at her, finding herself speechless. I still feel as though you know the future, she thought. I wish you could tell me.

“Back to work, Miss Stone. That’ll be all for now. Keep your wits about you,” and Kenzie thought of her mother, their words clashing together, echoing against each other.

Kenzie nodded, clutching Candice’s hand for a moment. Candice held it, and Kenzie felt that warmth spread through her fingers again; felt flashes of light behind her eyes. And then Kenzie stood, grasping the handle of her satchel, and walked to the door, looking at her boss over her shoulder.

“Leave the door open,” Candice said, and turned away.

Kenzie went to her desk, falling into her swivel chair with a heavy relief. She pulled her Macbook out of her satchel, setting it on her desk and opening it, her article coming up as the screen illuminated. She went to type towards the end of it, and balked. I guess I need to look at Instagram, she thought with another twinge of apprehension making its jagged way through her mind and stomach. She pulled her phone from her satchel, tucking the bag under her desk; as she lifted the phone to her face, the lock screen illuminated and she saw a text from Duncan.

I meant to mention it a few times, but keep getting distracted in you (Kenzie smiled at that). The Shepherd Freedom Foundation Gala is next week. It’s a huge event for the company every year and it has a strict dress code and a theme...my mother wants you to go to her personal stylist to find a dress for it. If you hate whatever he picks out, you don’t have to wear it. But my mother’s being really insistent about you doing a fitting with her. Is that okay?

Kenzie couldn’t stop smiling, despite her twinge of annoyance at the idea of someone else telling her what to wear; Are you asking me to be your date to the Gala, Mr. Shepherd? She typed.

She saw the telltale text bubbles appear under her reply almost immediately.

Yes, please? The theme is Gold in the Darkness: the juxtaposition of light and shadow in the works of the Pre-Raphaelite movement. I chose it, because it reminded me of you.

Kenzie breathed in sharply. Duncan had created the theme around her. The thought stunned her, made her skin feel hot, made her legs and the back of her head tingle. More to get used to, I guess. Whew, Kenzie Lou. Whose life are you living now?

That’s beautiful, baby, she replied. I can’t believe you did that.

Since you’re the only thing I can think about, it seemed natural. His reply popped up immediately. Kenzie imagined him sitting in the back of the BMW or in a meeting or in some gilded interview chair, staring down expectantly at his phone. She loved to think of him so distracted by her, though she felt a twinge of guilt. The drug that was his attention, his gaze, his touch; she wanted more, she couldn’t help it. She wanted him, all of him, his beauty within her sphere always.

I think those women from the coffee shop posted something on Instagram already, she typed, biting her lip. My coworker said something to me as soon as I got into the office. She left her talk with Candice out of it. She felt worried Duncan would be upset about her boss’ concern; there was a part of her that wanted to keep her conversation with the other woman between the two of them for as long as she could. I have to talk to him about it in person, she thought. When I feel less...unhinged.

Fuck, I had a feeling they wouldn’t waste any time, Duncan replied. My mother doesn’t want me to talk about you in interviews yet. She’s worried about the “optics”, her personal obsession in all things. But I don’t care. I love you. Let me know if anything else weird like this morning happens again. I have a feeling it will and I want you to feel safe. I can hire you a private escort as soon as you feel like you need one. And I’m going to send you Samuel’s contact right now; I sent him yours already. Please text him when you’re done with work, he can take you anywhere you need to go. I can take an Uber later. I don’t think you should take the train as often, at least, not for a little while, until the media stuff dies down. And I don’t think it’s going to for a little while.

The distinct iPhone contact bubble appeared under Duncan’s text; Samuel Adebayo.

A wave of dizziness washed over Kenzie again. I don’t think you should take the train as often. She thought of the way the woman had snapped pictures of them, the photos of them on the gossip website. A private escort? It was as if she’d been sucked out of the normal world and sucked into another one, a different timeline where nothing made sense.

Okay, baby. I feel overwhelmed.

Duncan: I’m here. Anything you need or want from me, tell me right away. This will get easier in time, baby. I promise. I’m already dreaming about how hard I’m gonna make you come tonight. At home.

Her nerves thrilled again. At home. The thought of living at Duncan’s penthouse even sometimes was too dreamlike to even really consider. The fact that she was going to go there tonight with her own key made her feel like her stomach was trying to turn over inside her. She felt goosebumps on her arms again.

I’m dreaming about you too, baby, she typed. She left the lipstick stain emoji at the end.

Kenzie opened the Instagram app on her phone, squinting in apprehension. An alert flashed at the bottom: 2,457 new followers, 1,345 new comments, 567 new likes. Her eyes goggled. What. She hit the outlined heart at the bottom of the screen; she scrolled down; mention after mention of her handle (@kenzielouwho) on several posts made by other accounts. Oh god, they found my Instagram, she thought, closing her eyes for a moment in horror. We found it she’s @kenzielouwho her mom is Madeline Stone omg omg one said. Holy shit remember this this is @kenzielouwho’s mom ripping @duncanshepherd’s mom a new asshole another one said, accompanied by a link. Kenzie clicked it; it led to the infamous YouTube video of Annette storming off the air at C-SPAN after Madeline’s comments. Kenzie went back to Instagram. I don’t know why @duncanshepherd would even be interested in her she’s not even that pretty another one said. Kenzie made a face. Because I guess he should date you instead, she thought, and then immediately felt guilty. Ugh, this is weird. Kenzie went to one of the photos that many of the comments seemed to originate from. It was clearly the account of the woman who had taken the photo of them at Emissary earlier that morning; her handle (@greatpatriotjane, Kenzie winced) was a dead giveaway, accompanied by a photo of her in an American flag bikini and a spray tan. The latest photo was Kenzie and Duncan, of course; they were looking to the side of where she’d pointed the lens, probably towards the other woman in pinstripes, Kenzie tucked under Duncan’s arm, her hair pressed into his leather jacket and falling against her cheek, a tiny frown crossing her features; one of her hands was at her breast, fingers around her rose quartz, the other hand disappeared behind Duncan’s back. Duncan’s hand was around the crook of her elbow, holding her close to him, his expression concerned, his brow furrowed; his black phone rested, forgotten, in his other hand, which was raised slightly, at his torso. We do look nice together. He looks so tall. His hair falls so perfectly. He’s holding me so gently. He’s so handsome. I look scared. That’s accurate. I felt scared. I hated it. God, he’s so beautiful. And he’s holding me.

He’s your boyfriend, Kenzie, of course he is.

Saw @duncanshepherd with his newest girlyfriend at the coffee shop this morning!!! The woman had written below. He’s so sexy in person it’s RIDICULOUS, probably has a new girl on his arm every day!!! Kenzie snorted, biting into her lip. I guess this could be worse, she thought. We look annoyed but we look really good, at least, Duncan does, and I don’t look hideous, and she didn’t know my handle...I guess someone else found that. She went back to her mentions; there was another prominent post that lots of people seemed to have commented on that was more recent; Kenzie went to it (the handle was @geminibabiered; the account photo was a selfie of a girl with long, dark, very straight hair and heavy eye makeup taken in a bathroom mirror). There were several shots of--oh my god, already--she and Duncan standing on the sidewalk outside One Franklin Square a mere hour or so before now, wrapped in a passionate kiss, clearly taken in succession; this one a true kiss, of course, unlike the photo that had been captured of them outside Le Diplomate; Duncan’s hands were around her, in her hair, at her cheek, their mouths open against each other, eyes closed. He’s so much taller than me, Kenzie marvelled. At Franklin Square and @duncanshepherd runs after this girl who just got out of his BMW ahead of him and MACKS ON HER LIKE CRAZY in front of like 20 people, they said something to each other and then she like RAN away from him into the Post building, omg I bet she works there, DUNCAN SHEPHERD fucking a girl who works for the Washington Post like I am REELING the caption read. Fuuuuuck, Kenzie thought. This one is a lot worse. She noticed the comment proclaiming excitement at having found her handle was under this post; couldn’t have been that hard, my photo’s up on the Post website.

She noticed that Duncan had followed her, though, a small silver lining, she thought, smiling at his profile picture. It was professionally shot and black-and-white (he looks like a classic movie star, she thought dreamily), his hair tossed back from his forehead in a perfect cascade, his eyes illuminated but looking off-center, his expression calm and serious, that constant five o’clock shadow prominent (I love that, she thought, I love that stubble, pressing my mouth along its prickly curve, clutching his face there as we’re fucking), wearing one of the high black Oxford collars he was so fond of. Kenzie hit the follow button on his account, scrolling down; some of his posts had to do with the company and the TV show, but most of his posts were a plethora of professionally-shot images, including some from a recent profile he’d done for Esquire (one of him in a long black coat, lounging lazily in a throne-like chair, his hair even more artfully tossed than it normally was, his blue eyes staring off toward unseen subjects, one of him in a thick, dark gray Irish Fisherman sweater, eyes squinted, hand at his lips in that tick he did when he was thinking or nervous, one of him in a well-tailored blazer and band-collared shirt, adjusting his cuffs facetiously, a silver band, like a very simple crown, across his forehead; Duncan Shepherd: Heir Apparent, Prince Presumptive the editorial read). She double-tapped them, the heart floating in front of her, dizzily admiring how ridiculously beautiful he was yet again; I still can’t believe any of this. 7.8M followers, 124 following. She inhaled sharply. 7.8 million followers, holy shit. Millions of people to critique her. Millions of people about to leave a comment that said she “wasn’t even that pretty”. Fun shit, Kenzie, a real hoot. You’ve really put your foot in it now.

She noticed he’d gone through the past few months of her photos and liked most of them; especially the ones of her laughing or smiling, or of her outfits or her plants, anything that was really her. On one photo of her (one Claire had taken of her at Emissary at the end of the previous summer, on a balmy September afternoon, under the canopy of their outdoor seating; Kenzie wore a white sundress and a light gray sweater that was falling off one shoulder in it, looking off to the side, a frosty Aperol spritzer in front of her, her hair down and wind-tossed, a little rose-gold moon pendant at her throat, a faraway smile on her face; Clairebear always takes the best pictures of me, she’d written for the caption, followed by the celestial sun face emoji), Kenzie noticed he’d left several heart-pierced-by-an-arrow emojis. She realized this was the first time she’d seen him use emojis; they were never in his text messages. His comment already had hundred of likes; she didn’t dare look at the comments under it. But it was as if she could feel the tenderness with which he’d looked through her posts, and it made her chest feel warm and hazy. She felt her cheeks glowing; she brought a thumb to her mouth, teeth biting her nail in her shyness. Deep into the funnel of love, she thought, unprompted. She shivered a little. The last time she had looked at her profile, she’d had 400-some followers; now, she had over 3,000, and counting. Fuuuuuck. Don’t even look at the comments, Kenz. Don’t do this to yourself.

Kenzie set her phone down on her desk, pressing her fingers into the corners of her eyes where she’d started to feel the low pressure of a migraine. Suddenly, she turned her phone over and shoved it away from her, shaking her hair back. Fuck this, she thought. I have work to do. To hell with Instagram. And to hell with Annette Shepherd for that matter. I refuse to be afraid of her. And fuck any-fucking-body who wants to try to tell me I’m not good enough, pretty enough, or ENOUGH for Duncan Shepherd. I am. I’m fucking great. Sun shines out of my ass. She turned to her Macbook, reading the last few lines she’d written: the prevalence of PAC donors manipulating political narratives and candidates is a serious problem in American politics, and new policies must be enacted to ensure upcoming elections are just and fair to all candidates, regardless of their ability to receive funding from wealthy donors. Good, Kenzie thought. Now, keep going. She got to work, leaving her phone face-down, determined not to look at it again until her article was finished. Or maybe never again, she thought, feeling a wave of nausea climb up the wall of her stomach. Maybe social media isn’t going to be fun anymore. So to hell with that too.

------

Kenzie rubbed her eyes. She’d just hit send in the email containing her finished article to Ben and Candice. She looked over at her phone, which was still face-down, hesitating. She’d eaten lunch without looking at it; gone back to writing without looking at it; left it on her desk every time she took a bathroom break. It’d taken all her resolve (what if Duncan texts me), but going on Instagram had shaken her badly; it had made a realization sink into the pit of her that she hadn’t really come to terms with yet. Your life is going to be different now, Kenzie Lou. And she wasn’t sure how to deal with that. She had always loved and appreciated privacy; had decided on a tiny apartment so she could avoid living with roommates; felt shy when she was the center of attention, and cried easily. How am I going to be this other person, she thought. This person dating the heir to billions of dollars; this person with thousands of Instagram followers, this person who has her picture taken by strangers in public places. I should call Momby. But as soon as she had the thought, she pushed it away. If she called her mother already, Madeline would say I told you so. I told you this man wasn’t right for you. And Kenzie couldn’t listen to that. Duncan was right for her; she felt that in her bones, in the pit of her gut, in the center of her heart. It was all this other stuff that was frightening and upsetting to her; not him. Not Duncan. He was her calm oasis in the scorching desert; her little island on a stormy sea, her blanket to hide under in the thunderstorm. When he was near her, her soul nestled into peace and joy and desire. It’s the best feeling I’ve ever had, she thought. Like going home after a long day and falling into bed, listening to rain fall outside your window. Only, it’s a person. My person.

She turned her phone over. Two texts. One from Duncan, one from Clairebear.

Duncan: I love the photos on your Instagram, they’re so beautiful. Almost as beautiful as you are. I saw the video and the photo that woman took. It doesn’t matter; don’t read the comments if you can help it, it’s all nonsense. This will all mellow out soon, don’t worry too much about it, it’s just something new for people to latch onto, and people get distracted easily. Let me know if you need anything from me. I can’t wait to see you in a few hours. I love you.

Kenzie felt a wave of warmth spread over her as she read it. Beloved, she thought, the word seeping into her as if it had drifted out of a dream. He is my beloved. I can see his hidden soul and it’s beautiful beyond all description. Her hands shook as little as she replied. I’m okay, it’s just disorienting. I love those Esquire photos of you so much (here she inserted the heart-eyes emoji). I finished my article, I’m going to send Samuel a message in a minute and go to Georgetown to get some stuff to make for dinner and some clothes and toiletries to keep at your house. It will be such a relief to see you...at home. I love you too.

She read the other text from Claire.

Clairebear: You’ve probably seen Instagram already, but holy shit, what a hot mess. Just don’t look at it if you can help it, some people are insane. I love you and I’m here if you need anything from me.

She felt another warm hand clutch around her heart. I’m so lucky, she thought. To be loved so genuinely by the people in my life. I’m so lucky to have these people to love. I’m grateful.

Thanks, Clairebear, she replied. You are a darling to me and I appreciate you every day. I’m gonna stay off Instagram for a few days, I think. I looked at it this morning and it freaked me out, haha. Duncan seems to think it’ll calm down eventually, so I’m following his lead here. He’s way more used to stuff like this than I am. He gave me a key to his apartment and an expense account, I’m just...he wants me to keep stuff at his penthouse. I still feel like I’m trapped in a dream. This is all so surreal.

Kenzie texted her mother next.

Momby, Duncan and I would like to have dinner with you tomorrow night at Busboys and Poets. Is 7 PM okay? We can pick you up or we can meet you there, whatever you want to do. He’s really looking forward to meeting you. I love you to the moon and back, she added; a phrase they’d used with each other since she was a little girl.

She took a deep breath, setting the phone down. She closed her Macbook, slipping it into her Margaux satchel; she noticed as she did that she must have put Duncan’s cardigan absently into her bag at some point between last night and today, because it was stuffed in the bottom. She pulled it out carefully, shaking it a little, pulling it around her shoulders. You can do this, Kenz, she thought. Just pretend it’s a game, like when you were little. You’re Princess Diana; you’re calling your magical car to take you to the movie theater, the imaginary one with endless pizza.

She was about to text Samuel under the number Duncan had given her when she noticed some of her coworkers milling around by the windows against the east wall of the office; staring down onto the street with curiosity on their faces, whispering to each other, some of them glancing over at her. She stood up and walked over to them; Ben gave her another coy, perturbed look with his lips pressed, as if he knew something she didn’t; he walked away from her as she approached him, waving a hand behind him again, before she could ask him what everyone was staring at. She looked after him, frustrated, an exasperated noise falling out of her. She noticed Precious and Zadie, two of her coworkers, talking in low voices to each other a few feet away, both of them staring out the window in concentration.

“Hey, Precious, hey Zadie--what’s going on? What are you looking at?” She felt suddenly afraid to peer out the window from the way Ben had reacted to her.

Zadie didn’t say anything, giving Kenzie an odd look, one that was sort of a mixture of pity and nervous excitement, her long, straight hair falling down her shoulders, her arms crossed under her little breasts, her lips closed. Precious gave Kenzie a look of vague annoyance and disbelief, one of her hands coming around to play with the big golden lion pendant around her neck. She nodded at the glass. “Kenzie, see for yourself. This is obviously for you.”

Kenzie bit her lip, set her nerves, and looked out.

Near the entrance of One Franklin Square, she could see the clustered heads of a group of probably twenty reporters with recorders and microphones, huddled on the sidewalk as if they were a pride of lions gazing carefully on unsuspecting antelopes at a waterhole, laying in wait. Oh shit. The press had found her.

“Fuck,” she breathed.

“Unfortunately, it would seem, kissing Duncan Shepherd in full view of a Tuesday morning crowd at one of DC’s busiest parks has some consequences,” Precious said, not unkindly. She looked at Kenzie knowingly, then turned, walking back to her desk, the graphic tee she wore flashing its cheeky mantra at Kenzie as she went; If you can’t handle the heat, the front said, and Kenzie watched her back retreat; get your face out of my oven. Zadie gave her another quiet, sympathetic look. “Maybe Candice will know what to do?” she said. Her brown eyes flickered over Kenzie with that same mixture of pity and odd thrill. It was clear Zadie couldn’t help but find this sort of exciting, and Kenzie envied her coworker’s ability to see it as an outsider; they aren’t here to follow you out the door, Kenzie thought. You get to observe and go home as usual. She wasn’t upset with Zadie for this; on the contrary, she felt a wave of envy wash over her. That sense of anonymity seems to have slipped away from me overnight, she thought. And now I’m not sure who this new girl is; the girl these reporters are waiting for.

She walked away from Zadie, feeling oddly disembodied, towards Candice’s office; Zadie’s eyes followed her as she went, curious. Kenzie rapped carefully two times. “Come in,” she heard Candice’s kind voice call out.

“Candice, I’m sorry,” Kenzie said, stepping into her boss’ office for the second time that day, meeting Candice’s warm eyes with alarm seeping out of her own. “But...I need your help already.”

------

With Candice’s help, Kenzie had managed to slip out through the back entrance; this one was usually reserved for delivery trucks, with a long ramp that slanted down, trash and recycling bins lined up against one side of the concrete. She’d texted Samuel less than ten minutes before; and here he was, to her vast, wild relief; the BMW idled on the corner quietly, its tinted window betraying nothing of the tranquil interior to the occasional pedestrian on the side-street. Kenzie stepped quickly down the ramp from the backdoor from whence she’d just emerged, looking carefully from side to side, hoping against hope; she’d almost made it to the car when she heard a loud voice to her left, a bark of sound that made her jump, her eyes darting in the direction it had come from.

“Miss Stone, Miss Stone! Mackenzie Stone!” A man in casual clothing, a smattering of beard around his face and the shiny pate of his balding head reflecting the late afternoon sunlight, was walking briskly in her direction, holding a camera carefully on his shoulder; he was flanked by a woman in a tight champagne-pink pencil skirt and blazer, and it was her sharp voice that Kenzie had heard; she was holding out a microphone, the kind Kenzie had used herself for press conferences and soundbites outside courtrooms, but the image of one being pushed towards her was odd and alien, and she balked, her eyes freezing on them. Her blood froze, and she suddenly felt as though she couldn't move; the microphone came under her and she shied away from them, her body singing with adrenaline almost immediately; she felt nauseous and panicked for an instant, and then she saw Samuel stepped out of the car, oh thank god, and his strong, warm arm was coming around her, and he was opening the backdoor of the BMW and pushing her gently inside, the man with the camera still trying to angle it onto her (“Miss Stone, are you and Mr. Shepherd romantically involved? Are you privy to the Shepherd Unlimited corporation and its assets? Are you engaged? What are your feelings about President Underwood?”, the woman’s sharp voice was ringing in her ears), and Samuel barked at him to step back (he did with an alarmed look; Samuel was at least a foot taller than him); the door shut with a sharp click and she could see them pressing against the dark window, trying to see inside, the woman still pressing the microphone into the window, the man still angling the camera on it; she could still see them but they could no longer see her through the tinted glass, and Samuel was suddenly, with supernatural swiftness, back in the driver’s seat, his foot on the gas, accelerating away in a blink.

----

“Miss Stone, are you alright?” Samuel’s eyes peered over the rearview at her, his brown eyes concerned and full of empathy. He was driving carefully, smoothly now; the last few minutes had been a blur as Samuel weaved through the narrow streets with an alarming agility; he was losing anyone who might try to follow us, Kenzie thought in a daze, but they were now heading south towards Georgetown, according to the GPS, at a much more measured, casual pace.

Kenzie was breathing slowly in the backseat, her fingers clutching the strap of her satchel with white hands; staring off into space. Her attention floated back from the nether into which it had drifted; adrenaline crashed down through her, and she noticed she’d started to shake. She noted, vaguely, that soft music drifted from the speakers; bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I / couldn’t sleep and wouldn’t sleep….when love came and told me, I shouldn’t sleep…

“I...I think so…” she murmured softly. She put her satchel at her feet, feeling for her phone; her hand closed around its smooth rectangle, and she felt relief flood through her. She held it in her lap, gazing down at it in a stupor; Duncan had texted her again.

Did you text Samuel? I’ll be in a meeting for another hour or so, and then I have to pick something up. I should be home by 7:30. I’m so excited to have dinner. At home. With you.

Kenzie looked dazedly at the time; it was just after 4:30.

There were a bunch of reporters waiting outside the building when I tried to leave work, she replied. My boss helped me through the back door, but two of them still found me. Thankfully Samuel was there, but I think they got me on camera. I don’t know who they were with. I’m okay. Samuel was wonderful. I’ll be so relieved to see you, baby.

“Samuel?”

“Yes, Miss Stone?”

“Please call me Mackenzie.”

“Of course, Miss Mackenzie. I would love to. Where should we go, Miss Mackenzie? This car is yours now, like it is Mr. Shepherd’s. I’m at your service, as I am at his.”

Kenzie hesitated, feeling disoriented. Her head was pounding.

“Miss Mackenzie,” Samuel went on, softly. “This will get easier. Duncan cares very deeply for you. I have seen it; I know it is true. You can trust him. He is cradling your heart in his hands. You have kindled the desire for life in him. Through love, all things are possible.”

Kenzie closed her eyes for a moment; Ella’s voice washed over her. I’m in love and don’t I show it / like a babe in arms…

“Thank you, Samuel. Thank you for your help back there. I was absolutely terrified.”

“I am here for you now, Miss Mackenzie. There is nothing to fear. Now, where do you want to go? I will take you anywhere.”

“Georgetown is okay, Samuel. I just need to go to Dean and DeLuca to get some things for dinner, and some of the clothing shops. It shouldn’t take too long. Thank you so much.”

“Miss Mackenzie, whatever you want, it is a pleasure. Mr. Shepherd is lucky to have you; I will do whatever I can to help him make you happy.” Kenzie smiled at him sweetly through the mirror; she felt full to the brim with emotion, far beyond words.

“I wish I could talk to him now,” she whispered softly.

“He’s with you. You will bring each other strength. This time of turmoil will be brief; your life will be long.”

Kenzie nodded a little, feeling the telltale stinging of tears in her eyes again. Someday, she mused, I’ll have cried enough. Someday, I’ll be done crying. But not yet.

-------

Samuel was an excellent chauffeur (of course he is, Kenzie thought); he pulled up smoothly to the side of Wisconsin Avenue, hopping out of the driver’s seat and opening the door for her, holding out his hand. “Miss Mackenzie, do you want an escort?”

Kenzie shook her head, as much to decline as to clear the residue of tears from her head and her cheeks, and stepped from the backseat of the BMW, clutching her satchel and his hand as she got out. “No thank you, Samuel. I really want to do this alone, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it is, Miss Mackenzie. Please let me know when you need me; I’ll be nearby.”

She smiled up at him, nodding. He smiled back at her, giving her hand a little squeeze before he let go, stepping back around the car into the driver’s seat, and accelerating away from her slowly. She slipped her phone into one of the pockets of her long skirt, bringing the strap of her bag around the crook of her elbow. The sun was still out, steady and strong in the late May sky; dreamy cumulus clouds scudded over it every now and then, and the sapphire of the heavens behind them reminded her of Duncan’s eyes; everything reminds me of him now, she thought. Colors, smells, the touch of his cardigan against her arms. I want to feel his faith that everything will be fine. So I’ll pretend I feel it. I’ll pretend I’m confident, despite all of this. I will pretend I’m strong.

She breathed deeply; then she stepped toward the open entryway of the nearest shop; it was a Madewell, the May breeze coasting behind her through the blue doors which were thrown wide to the perfect weather. Kenzie knew her own style and taste well; it didn’t take her long to find outfits she loved that she knew would suit her; of course, the idea of an unlimited budget was one she wasn’t familiar with, and she couldn’t deny it was thrilling. A girl could get used to this, too. She perused the brick-lined walls with a careful precision. She’d loved clothes all her life; she could see how much Duncan loved and appreciated them as well, and her skin tingled thinking of the way he’d gazed over every outfit she’d worn around him thus far; the thought of him admiring her in anything she chose today was electrifying; the memory of his eyes on her like that made her feel drunk. She thought of the clothes she was choosing hanging in his walk-in closet, beside his perfectly pressed, perfectly tailored black clothing, and shivered a little. Together. She found a strappy, hemmed denim dress that fell to her ankles; a slip dress in a color that reminded her of grapes in sunlight; a long black chiffon dress with short sleeves and a slit up the side, covered in tiny flowers; a sweater dress with buttons down the sleeves; her thoughts drifted towards oncoming summer, choosing short denim skirts and velvet cami tops, a denim bell-sleeve top with a wrap around the middle that reminded her of a shirt her mother wore in a photo (taken in the 70’s) that was tucked into Kenzie’s bathroom mirror; a black top with a front-tie, and several mock neck crop tops with long sleeves in several colors; gray, mulberry red, dark brown. She picked up a pair of black suede boots and a pair of darkly tan leather Reagan boots; boots go with everything. She found a long necklace with tiny stars; two tiny chain bracelets with moons; little rose-gold earrings that reminded her of her succulents, and a slim black convertible bag with a gold-button clasp that she thought would be perfect for going out on evenings. Everything she picked was personal; a reflection of her.

She piled the things on the counter; the girl behind it had long dark hair tied back in a casual braid, and a warm stare. She was looking at Kenzie with a funny expression, though her smile was friendly.

“Did you find everything okay?” She asked.

“Yes, thanks,” Kenzie smiled back at her. She pulled her long black wallet from her satchel; suddenly, she felt nervous about using the card Duncan had given her. Ever since she’d gotten her job at the Post as a staff writer, she’d gained a sense of pride in using her own money; money she’d earned herself, with her writing. Using someone else’s felt strange. Then, Duncan’s voice floated into her head. Everything is okay. It makes me happy to give you these things. Please, accept them? She pulled the card out of her wallet, gripping it firmly.

The girl quoted the price to her; it was over $900 for everything she’d picked out. Kenzie handed her the card, her lips pressed firmly together. The girl swiped the card, but not before Kenzie noticed her eyes go wide from glancing at the name, a long receipt printed out.

“I thought you looked familiar.”

Kenzie felt her blood chill in her veins.

“I--I saw that video on Instagram,” the girl said, putting Kenzie’s clothes carefully into two white shopping bags with Madewell in black lettering along the side. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be so nosy, shit. You’re so lucky. He’s, like, the hottest guy ever. Good luck with everything, really.”

Kenzie blushed deeply, unsure of what to say. Today is the weirdest day of my life in a long string of weird days, she thought. “Um, thank you.” The girl passed the bags to her, shyly looking back at the register, clearly embarrassed. Kenzie turned, feeling disoriented again, and walked out of the shop. Back on the street she let the sun fall on her, warming her skin; just breathe, Kenzie Lou, her mother’s voice drifting into her mind again. She draped the Madewell bags over her arm, her satchel slung over her shoulder. She felt dizzy with the money she’d just theoretically spent. Don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this, she thought. And every piece of clothing in Duncan’s closet costs as much as I just racked up.

Kenzie turned the corner, walking up to where she knew she’d find a Sephora; make-up is so fucking expensive, she thought. I’ve lived on ramen for days to buy hair products and foundation. She perused the perfect lines of lipstain and eyeliner, picking out her standards; it would be a relief to have makeup and face wash and a hairbrush at Duncan’s penthouse, at least, if she was going to be there constantly (in various states of undress and dishevelment, she thought, unable to suppress the giggle that bubbled up). She picked up a full-size bottle of Nirvana Rose, her favorite scent, relishing the feeling of it in her hands; she only ever bought the roller-balls, it was so expensive. She imagined it sitting beside Duncan’s bottles of cologne in his giant bathroom with a thrill. Together. She imagined her hairbrush on his sink, her toothbrush next to his, her shampoo and conditioner in his (fuck) shower beside his. Together. It made her feel absolutely high. Knowing he wanted her things there. Knowing he wanted her there.

Kenzie had one more stop to make; she carefully perused the shelves of Dean and DeLuca, the fanciest grocer’s she had ever been to and normally could not begin to afford. She had been planning the dinner she’d make in her head since she came up with the idea to cook for Duncan; cooking was something that gave her a lot of peace of mind and comfort, and she felt, somehow, that she wanted to give this to him; she wondered how long it had been since someone who loved him had made him food. It was something her mother did for her all the time; something that made her feel close to her mother, something that gave her comfort, soothed her. She could see the ways that making food for someone was like telling them she loved them; this is for you. I made it for you, because I love you. It will nourish your body and bring you joy and I made it. Despite the difficult trajectory of her day, Kenzie felt innately that having a meal together would be healing for both of them tonight; unlike the prying eyes of the patrons of Le Diplomate, this would be just the two of them, with no one to spy. The thought filled her with relief, flowing through her body like the first hit of a bowl of good weed. Alone, together.

Once she was finished, she texted Samuel, trying to juggle a half a dozen bags in her arms now; as was his way, he pulled around within minutes to where she stood on the sidewalk outside the posh grocer’s. He immediately jumped out to help her with all her bags; she smiled at him, thanking him warmly. This man is so wonderful, she thought, sending out all the warm energy she could muster towards Samuel’s back bent over the BMW’s trunk, where he carefully placed her assorted bags. I already trust him with my life.

It only took a few scant minutes to make it back to Duncan’s high-rise from where she’d been shopping; its glittering facade was very still in the afternoon sun, and the street was surprisingly quiet. Samuel pulled up quietly to the curb, hopping out again to pull her door open; “Miss Mackenzie, please go inside, I will be up with the bags shortly. Don’t you worry.” Kenzie hesitated, feeling self-conscious, tucking stray hairs behind her ear; she glanced at her phone. It was almost 6.

“Okay. Do I need to tell the doorman anything?”

“Miss Mackenzie, they will know who you are. Duncan has told them everything.”

She balked at that. Told them everything. I hope not. She blushed.

----

Kenzie stepped into the building; a tall, portly, middle-aged doorman opened it for her, nodding to her politely. She felt odd, being there alone. The foyer was spotlessly clean, everything in gilded gold and polished marble. Another man sat at the front desk; he was short with closely-shaved hair and a tiny moustache, his slender eyes indicating his Asian lineage. He was deeply absorbed in a copy of Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller. Kenzie approached him quietly, one hand clutching the strap of her satchel against her shoulder, the other buried in one of the pockets of her long skirt.

“I’m...going up to Mr. Shepherd’s penthouse.”

He glanced up at her, a gentle smile falling across his face. “I’m Anchaly. You must be Mackenzie Stone. Very good, Miss Stone. If you ever need anything, please let me know.”

“I’m a Cancer, you know,” she replied.

“I’m sorry?”

“That book you’re reading. My zodiac sign is Cancer.”

“Ahhhh. Children of the moon.”

She laughed at that, surprised. “I suppose so, yes.”

“Mr. Shepherd is also a Cancer. How fortuitous. Two moon children in love.”

She blushed. Two moon children in love. “Today has been a very strange day.”

“I find that strange days are often the best days, in retrospect.”

“It was nice to meet you, Anchaly.”

“Likewise, Miss Stone.”

Anchaly leaned back down towards his book; she stepped away from the counter. I’m not one to disturb a reader twice, she thought, walking over to the gold-embossed elevators and pressing the up arrow. She thought of the night she’d first come here with Duncan; both of them locked in a passionate embrace, locked in the passionate feeling of each other’s energy, locked in the moment. Who would have thought it’d become something so real? She thought. Who would have thought something so impulsive would become...what it’s becoming. Her heart shivered. Who would have thought I’d fall in love with him this way. She stepped inside, letting the doors slide shut behind her; staring at herself for a moment in the full-length mirror against the wall; her eyes looked tired, small dark circles vaguely visible under them, her eyeliner beginning to smudge. She brought a hand to the rose quartz at her neck for the hundredth time that day; for love, she thought. Duncan’s penthouse was at the top of a 30-story high-rise. She pressed the 30 button (it was silver with black numbers), knowing full well his penthouse was the only residence on that floor. It made her shiver a little again. She pulled her wallet out again, fingers falling over the credit card he’d given her for a moment before moving on to the keycard; she pulled it out, studying it. It had a another silver 30 on it, and the name SHEPHERD, DUNCAN in silver Garamond lettering beside the numbers. The card was jet-black with a strip on the opposite side; other than these features, the card was blank. It was heavy in her hand, made of some kind of metal (titanium, maybe...like that Black AmEx Duncan has). It felt expensive, like the card alone had cost a lot of money. It probably did. She was gazing at it still in the elevator’s warm golden light when the doors slid open on the 30th floor.

Kenzie stepped out towards Duncan’s long black door, thinking again of a few nights ago when he had fumbled the key there; her arm reaching out to steady him, her lips pressing against him. Where did all that bravery go? She wondered. I could use a bourbon now, honestly. She held the card out to the slot beside Duncan’s door, annoyed with herself when she saw her hand shaking; as if you’ve never been here, she said to herself. She pulled at the small gold knob and stepped inside as a low beep rang out; closing the door behind her, breathing out slowly, carefully, her eyes falling on the pristine quiet of Duncan’s apartment.

Being here alone was odd; she felt like an intruder, as though she was here without anyone’s permission, though she knew deep down that wasn’t true. She was struck yet again by how beautiful everything he owned was; how elegant and pristine and quiet and exquisite. She moved past the vast kitchen, the diamond-drop chandelier winking at her; into his huge front room with its low leather couch and the silent, watchful eyes of the three statues (Dike, the goddess of Justice, lifting her scales, Nike, goddess of Victory, headless and winged, Athena, goddess of Wisdom, in her battle armor) on three separate corbels, two against the wall of the study, one against the wall leading to the bedroom; the wall that she faced there was made entirely of one long sheet of weather-proof, bullet-proof glass, the view she’d neglected to admire the last few times she’d been in this room, too lost in the weight of Duncan to care about anything else. She walked up to it now, gazing out on the nation’s capital city. In the daylight, it was mostly smatterings of white and cream with patches of trees, gray against the blue and white of the sky. She supposed that if she ever remembered to look, it must be magnificent at night, with the city spread out in glittering electric lights. She turned to look at Nike, who was closest to her; she trailed one hand over the back of the statue’s left wing, loving the coolness of the marble stone under her hand. Three women, powerful and wise. She loved these statues; that Duncan had them displayed so prominently in his home was of some comfort to her. She had no doubt that he admired strong women; his fierce love for his mother most evident. Having been raised by a mostly-single mother herself, she wondered if it wasn’t so much of the reason he had turned out the way he had; with a hidden depth of feeling, a hidden shine of the soul, one that extended beyond his (admittedly overwhelming) physical beauty. She hoped again, in her own silent way, that she and Annette could find a way to be friends; find some meeting of the minds, at least when it came to Duncan. We both love him, she thought. At least we have that in common.

On the wall that faced opposite Duncan’s study was a series of four paintings of identical size in gold frames, and unlike The Youth of Bacchus, these seemed to be high-quality prints rather than the originals (I guess most of these paintings actually hang in museums, she thought); she had noticed them before, that first morning, (Pre-Raphaelites, she had thought then, and they were), but studied them more carefully now; each was a woman who appeared to represent a different time of day, the first with long red hair, bathed in soft lights with plants growing behind her (the morning, Kenzie thought), the next floating in sunlight, holding a branch out to a bird, leaves in her hair (the day), and then next, she with her pose of ecstasy, the waters of the sea at her feet, a moon rising behind her (twilight) and then she bathed in shadow, her mantle black, storm clouds behind her (the night). Kenzie loved them immediately and fiercely; goddesses of nature and time, she thought, a hand reaching out towards she of the Twilight; towards the moon that hung over her head. For women create all things.

Kenzie moved through the door to Duncan’s study, holding her breath; then she turned and gazed, eyes widening, at the beauty that was The Youth of Bacchus, in all its real splendor. Looking at it sober, she still somehow felt drunk on it. She could see the ridges and bumps of Bouguereau’s paint; see the brushstrokes around the eyes of the revelers, the skin of the maiden in the center, white and bare. Oh for the hundredth time today, she thought, feeling her tears. But she couldn’t help it. It was perhaps the most beautiful object she had ever seen. The thought of seeing it every day; of being near it, living beside it, moved her utterly. She turned away from it, toward his bookcases stretching along the walls behind the desk; they encompassed all genres, but she noticed that many of them were mythology books. Of course, she thought. I can see how much it means to him. I can see it in his house and behind his eyes and I can feel it. Justice, victory, wisdom. Three women; trios are always a pantheon of power. Like the Fates. Like Hecate in her shades. Like the Moon; waxing, full, waning. She thought back on her own studies of Greek mythology; she’d poured over the book by the D’Aulaires’ in the library for months the year she was 13; she’d read Bullfinch’s Mythology in high school and The Odyssey in college. She thought (drifting) of Hades stealing Persephone from the earth, bringing her down to the dark Underworld; in many versions of the tale, they called it The Rape of Persephone, an act against her will. But Kenzie had often imagined that secretly, hidden in the annals of time, lost somewhere, Persephone loved Hades; loved his dark sadness and his eyes like blue fire, loved his crown of curls, his dark cloak, his hands, his gentleness. As a girl she often imagined Persephone didn’t return to the Underworld because she had eaten Pomegranates; but that she returned because she loved him, loved him and could not choose between her mother and the bright flowers of the living, and her husband and the dark flowers of the dead. She thought of Duncan; his serious gaze, his eyes piercing through her like thunder; his lips pressed to her like the fervent whisper of a prayer; my own Hades, lost in his Underworld, only this one hovers above the masses in its own special limbo. And in that moment she did feel torn; torn between him and the world she felt she was leaving behind, whether she meant to or not. She went over to the little polished mahogany bar cart beside the wine case that stretched along the corner, admiring the Tiffany lamp on the shelf beside it, Duncan’s spotless turntable; she took one of the crystal tumblers and her eyes traveled over the bottles there, eventually choosing the spherical shape of Angel’s Envy bourbon, pouring a finger into the tumbler, bringing it to her lips, and sipping, slow, savoring the taste, moving it under her tongue. It coursed through her, down her throat; it filled her tired mind with heat, soothing her, and suddenly, she ached for the night to come and her lover to return to her. Today was a long day, she thought. And I long for him. She went to the turntable; a Beethoven record was sitting on it, the needle hovering just above. She pressed a button on the side of it, and the needle dropped; Moonlight Sonata, she thought. I love this one. I love that he was listening to this.

She gazed for a moment longer at Bacchus, bathing in the silence, relishing the sound of the music; the curtains in this room were light-tight, the better to preserve the priceless painting, she assumed; then she heard the front door of the penthouse open, and she went out of the study, the tumbler still cradled in her hand, to see Samuel stepping into the kitchen with her many parcels; he set the Dean and DeLuca bags on the kitchen counter, then moved through the living room to set her other bags on Duncan’s low leather couch; he nodded to her, smiling, then turned to leave.

“Samuel.”

He turned back, his brown eyes dancing.

“Yes, Miss Mackenzie.”

“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. For everything.”

“Miss Mackenzie...it is my honor. Be well and be happy. I will see you again soon.”

He smiled a little; his eyes seemed to fall into him, deeper, stranger, like a universe unfolding and widening; Moonlight Sonata resounded in her ears, extending the moment. Than he nodded a little to her, turned, and walked to the door, closing it softly behind him.

Kenzie sipped from the tumbler again; lost in thought, in the fading light. Then, she went into the kitchen, flipping the switch on the wall so the diamond-drop chandelier burst into luminescence; she set the tumbler on the counter, and got to work on the grocery bags beside her; she reached up into Duncan’s cupboards, struck with excitement at his beautiful kitchenwares; only a man who cooks for himself has all of this, she thought. She hummed as she worked; and slowly, the light of day faded, and the light of the city came up, in the evening mood.

#millory #millory au #duncan shepherd #cody fern #billie lourd #duncan shepherd au #collie au #collie #cody x billie #house of cards au #body and soul #my fic #michael x mallory #duncan x mallory #duckenzie #duncan x mackenzie #duncan shepherd x mackenzie stone #ahs apocalypse #house of cards

24 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

ineffably-poetic

izzy

missdianne

Diane

90smikewheeler

mike wheelers lawyer

bunnyandberli

Berlioz and Bunny

rescuedresources

He Provides Homestead