#An honour to have this appear on my dash

[baeshijima]

— “hands off! i’m taken!”

for the first time in your drunken daze, you don't recognise your own husband.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 983 wc, fluff, (attempts at) humour, mentions/reference of alcohol consumption

A/N : neuvillette is in pain (emotional) while you are in pain the morning after (literal).

it’s not often neuvillette finds free time amongst the seemingly endless piles of papers on his desk. when he does get some free-time, he always makes sure to treat you out to the places you most recently show interest in. however, these evenings out more often than not result in you having one too many drinks. (“it’s a rare evening date!” you would tut, waving a finger at him while your free hand holds the wine glass.)

he worries for you and your health after all, and he most definitely doesn't want you to experience these so-called "hangovers" you bemoan about as he coddles you through it all the mornings after.

and so what better way to help prevent such a tragedy than by putting a stop to it prematurely?

“hands off! i’m taken!”

…or so he thought.

regardless, that doesn’t change the fact neuvillette now stands in the middle of one of the (now quite humid) private rooms in the upper floor of hotel debord, clutching his stinging hand close to his chest while staring at your huffing form in a mixture of hurt and shock. he blinks once, twice, thrice as he slowly begins to process your words — or, lack of.

“pardon?”

“i said,” you stress, narrowing your gaze at him as you begin to sit up, “hands off! i’ll have you know i’m happily married to the loveliest, most beautifulest man in teyvat and i don’t need some… some meddlesome old creep trying to get in between that.”

were this quite literally any other day besides one you were drunk on, neuvillette would be jumping for joy over the moon (metaphorical… probably) and documenting this moment in his diary he keeps safe and secured in a locked drawer under his desk, positively cooing and sighing in pure adoration at your adorable self.

(he also doesn’t have the heart to tell you beautifulest isn’t exactly a real word, but he’s flattered all the same. and it makes you that much more adorable in his eyes.)

alas, this isn’t any other day. no, instead it is a day which marks his drunk spouse being unable to identify their own husband, and your intoxicated words render him silent. 

now, don’t get him wrong, he’s glad you are, for a lack of better words, raring to defend your marital status and honour when intoxicated. however…

‘meddlesome old creep’? is that how he appears? he thought he looked quite dashing this evening, what with the way you sang his praises after he got himself dressed and questioned if you were actually married to one another.

then again, he supposes it’s still accurate to say you’re still questioning whether or not he is your husband. just not in the joking manner you initially did.

seeing how you’ve begun to grow a little restless with his prolonged silence, neuvillette awkwardly clears his throat and begins in what he hopes is a tone which masks the minor betrayal your words caused. “i’m glad you feel that way about our marriage, mon cœur, but—”

“stop!” neuvillette’s mouth instantly ceases movement. “how… how dare you, a stranger, call me that! just who… who do you think you are? my husband?”

“actually, i am.”

you blink at him. “you’re what?”

“i am your husband. neuvillette.” in all honesty, he doesn’t know why he’s nervous. perhaps it’s your scrutinising gaze causing him to sweat, taking him back to the first days when he could finally put a name to the emotions you brought out from within him — ones which have never weakened, but only seem to grow stronger as the days pass by. his hands clam up, and he’s glad you can’t see him wiping his palms against the fabric of his clothes from where you sit. even when you’re drunk, you tend to remember the most random moments. more often than not, they end up being in some relation to him.

(neuvillette laments the times where you only remembered his brief loss of composure.)

after a few more agonising seconds of staring, you speak up once more. “you’re lying.”

there are many things neuvillette wishes to say in response — such as showing your wedding rings, pulling out the small polaroid of you both nestled within his inner coat pocket, recalling the first day you met, the first day you talked, the first “thank you” you ever said to him, the first—

quickly, he snaps himself out of this spiral. just in the nick of time too, for you open your mouth to say something else. “my neuvillette is cute and lovely and pretty and everything a person could only dream to have.”

is he not cute right now? is he not lovely and pretty right now? is he not everything a person could only dream to have right now? what makes the him through your drunken lens so different to the him in your memories?

against his better judgement, he decides to ask the big question.

“then… may i ask what i am?”

“a liar.” and, as if to rub salt in the wound, you add, “i don’t like liars.”

neuvillette feels as though he could cry.

(when you awoke to a pounding headache the next morning, the last thing you expected was your husband brooding on the edge of the bed, his back facing you as he mumbled something along the lines of, “i would lie for you… not to you…” though it was a little hard to tell amidst the incessant pitter-patter of rain against the window.

despite racking your brain in an effort to figure out what caused him to be in such a state in the first place, the only things you remembered from last night were him wiping his hands on his clothes, as well as him looking as though someone slapped him across the face.

yeah. perhaps it is best you don’t tell him that.)

mon cœur = my heart, which can be read as my sweetheart/other half/life, etc.

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[nobodyinfart]

Scones worthy of moans

Thank you so much for the notes, y’all I’m so honoured! Some of the reblogs are the funniest that I can’t help but choke on my laughter a lil 😭😭😭

Maybe this is just the addiction to the series Midnight Diner talking but, I adore the idea of a mysterious eatery around the base of Task Force 141. Although there is no publicity of the spot, chef! you get a comfortable amount of regulars thanks to your homestyle food that is noted to take customers to a new realm of comfort. 

Perhaps, as of late, you notice a guy that seems to be a personified example of Intimidating regularly visiting. Maybe it’s the black balaclava he wears that hides his features, or the bulky figure of the man that spooks you at first. Although, you must admit that his chiselled features makes him out to be quite a looker, despite you not having seen his face other than his mouth. 

Other than his appearance, another thing that sets him apart is his order; “Just a tea, a little bit of milk.” He muttered the first time, then proceeded to only refer to it as his ‘usual’ as if it's some sort of national secret. No matter the time or day, you are intrigued if just a cuppa makes him satisfied. And, obviously, you can’t help the curiosity. 

“You want some snacks with that? I’ve baked some scones earlier that’s fantastic with some jam,” You commented after some deliberation (especially since this man looks like he could crack you in half like you did to those eggshells a while ago). He paused just as he pulled the cup to his hands, before giving a stoic nod as he took a sip. The way you brightened at his compliant response had you dashing to the kitchen to bring them out with a fresh dollop of cream and a big spoonful of homemade jam. 

Unbeknownst to you, the man blinked as he watched you scurry to the kitchen and come out with something that smelled like heaven on a plate. Watching you tend to other customers, he bit into the scone and had to hold back a groan at how good it tasted. Crumbly and buttery, just the way he enjoyed his scones. You must be some sort of mindreader, even the tea he had was spot-on the first time. 

Looks like his ‘usual’ has expanded to include the scones. And that, Simon will be visiting this hidden spot a lot more often now.

[themisimagines]

labyrinth

content: you and vyn attend a birthday party hosted in his honour but end up doing something rather more fun in a garden labyrinth. wink wink nudge nudge. again inspired by anna karenina (2012) film but also labyrinth (1986). maybe a companion to 'i could sleep inside the cold of you'. some spoilers for episode 10. total porn without plot. characters: vyn x fem!reader warnings: public sex, hunter-prey relationship, breeding kink, minor knife play

On your second last day in Svart, Vyn's father hosts a birthday party for Vyn – all to keep up appearances, of course. His father isn't present, and Vyn dislikes half, if not most of the people there. You've made your way through most of the evening by his side, and finally things have begun to wind down, the guests suitably drunk and starting to do unspeakable things, sure to forget everything by tomorrow. Vyn has told you to keep close – he doesn't trust half the people here, and your kidnap by his uncle is still fresh in the forefront of his mind.

Then the next moment, you find yourself wandering the grounds of a large garden maze, heart beating out of your chest as you run as fast as you can, trying to get to the heart of the labyrinth before you get caught. Every single twitch of the leaves and hedges beside you makes you jump. You've dropped pieces of clothing slowly to make a trail, so you don't get lost. Thank goodness they dressed you like an iced cake – layers upon layers of silk, lace, underskirt, petticoats, gloves, ornaments, brocade, outer layers, inner layers, not to mention the hoops used to prop up the voluminous skirts.

Just as you shed one of your outer layers, exposing your bare skin to the chill night air, a low whistle sounds behind you. Without looking, you decide to run, going further and further into the maze, not caring if you get lost now. But just as you see you've hit a dead end, you turn around, but Vyn is there, blocking the entrance.

Vyn stands in front of you, slowly approaching and twirling a decorative blade between his fingers. Even though you know he would never hurt you, there is a tantalising whisper of fear running up your spine, which is deliciously arousing.

'I found you,' he sing songs softly. In the moonlight, his eyes glint as he gets closer, the most delicious shade of honey gold. You love seeing him like this, like a cat who has gotten the cream, a mischievous boy reliving the childhood he never really got to have.

You consider making a dash for it, but he closes the distance and grips your wrists over your head tightly, breath skimming against your ear and neck as he whispers, 'Don't even try... I've hunted down my prey and I intend on enjoying every single moment...'

He turns you around and secures your wrists to a branch with his abandoned bowtie, manoeuvring expertly around your hooped skirts to run his hands up your bodice and corset, slicing open the corset ribbons and stripping your layers back. Standing there, unable to move, you feel especially vulnerable, feeling the cool metal of the blade just barely grazing your skin. Under his careful unwrapping, you are soon completely naked, bared to the moonlight.

'What a marvellous birthday present,' he whispers against your skin, pressing soft kisses throughout your back. 'Thank you.'

You can hear other people have entered the maze, laughing drunkenly from some distance away. Vyn sees you notice them, and chuckles in a low voice. 'You didn't manage to find the heart of the maze so you're all mine. If I choose to let anyone else watch me fuck you, then you can't do anything about it.'

'Pretty words,' you retort, squirming at the feeling of his gloved hands running over your body, squeezing at your tits, ghosting over your thighs, flicking at your clit. 'I bet if anyone actually dared to come over, you would have their head cut off or something.'

He growls at the thought and bites down hard on your neck, definitely leaving a bruise there. 'You're not wrong.'

Vyn pulls away and you whine at the lack of contact, turning around to see what he's up to, but without any warning, he lines his throbbing cock up with your entrance and thrusts up into you, making you cry out in surprise.

The pace he's taking is breathless, cock sliding out fully before slamming into you, setting a desperate pace like he's trying to punish you, forcing small cries from your throat. You are pressed up tightly against the hedge, pain mingling with pleasure, twigs and branches scratching at your delicate skin, feeling like a thousand hands clawing at you, which somehow is a huge turn on.

'That's it,' Vyn purrs. 'Make those beautiful noises for me, darling. I want everyone to hear you.'

You try to bite your tongue just to defy him, but then he grabs your breasts in each hand, forcing you against him and bending your back impossibly as he fucks you fast and hard. Your nipples are in his clever fingers, and he is playing with them in the way that makes you want to scream, because it feels too good, and you are terribly overstimulated from everything. You squirm relentlessly on his cock and you hear him pant shallowly, quietly whispering about how wonderful you are over and over again under his breath, hips thrusting into you endlessly.

You're not content with letting him have his way completely, so you turn your head around to look at his face, which is dark with desire, completely focused on every single sensation as if he's a beast and you're his prey.

'Is that all you've got?' You challenge him.

Upon hearing that, he growls and stops to untie your hands, looking to punish you even further, but the moment you are free you tackle him onto the ground, knocking all the air out of his lungs and mounting him. His face is surprised, but he doesn't resist, and this time it's your turn to pin his arms above his head with his own bowtie as he watches you hungrily, not resisting although you know he could easily break free of your sloppy knots, wanting to see what you do next. It's a strange sight – you are completely nude, having been stripped so thoroughly by Vyn earlier, but he is almost fully clothed. It almost makes you feel like a wild woman who has hunted down her prey and is ready to enjoy the spoils.

You slide down onto his cock, relishing the feeling of fucking outdoors – being fucked from behind always feels so animalistic, but being on top tonight drives you wild, and you lift yourself off his cock and plunge back down, watching Vyn bite his lip and watch you move up and down, your breasts bouncing with every thrust, your thighs burning with exertion. 'Nghh-' you moan, feeling him hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. 'I love watching you like this,' you tease him breathlessly. 'Helpless beneath me, completely at my mercy...' You grind your hips in a circular motion, drawing your lovemaking out.

There are more voices approaching, they seem to be getting closer, but you're quite sure that they aren't about to find you anytime soon. Cries of pleasure ring out from other corners of the maze, other lovers having found secret spots to release their desires. You see Vyn's eyes glint as you tease him, a smile on the corner of his lips, rising to the challenge. He shifts his feet upwards, thighs grazing your buttocks, and you are just about to ask him what kind of tricks he's trying when his hips thrust upwards, sending you bouncing upwards, and seeing stars from how deeply his cock is buried inside you.

'I can hardly let my prey get away with everything,' Vyn bites down, cock ramming into you, leaving you breathless and begging him to slow down.

'Ah - Vyn - Ah - ah - mmmh!' You cry out, as he drives faster and faster, not letting you gather yourself for a single moment, thrusting so hard that you lose your balance and are pressed against him, hands scrabbling for purchase in the soil as he just uses you mercilessly, chasing his own release while pushing you closer and closer off the edge. 'Ready to scream for our audience?' He chuckles in a low voice. A pair of voices comes so close that you swear they are about to turn the corner, and the thought of getting caught is so deliciously tantalising that Vyn just has to thrust a few more times before you come undone around his cock, trying to stifle your cries in his neck, clenching and throbbing so hard that you see flashes at the side of your vision.

Vyn speeds up for his last few thrusts, and he whispers how good you are, how amazing your cunt feels around his cock, about how much he loves you, and surely you have another one in there for him, he wants to feel you come again. He has freed his own hands and one now snakes down to your clit, the other tearing your hand away from your mouth - 'Don't you dare hold back, I want everyone to hear that you're mine.' He rubs your clit as his cock grows and throbs inside your cunt and that pushes you over the edge again, crying out in earnest this time - 'Fuck yes, Vyn - oh!' and Vyn cums with a guttural groan, growling deeply and squeezing his eyes in pleasure.

The voices trail off, giggling to themselves. There is no way that they didn't hear their lovemaking, but also the hedges are so thick that they couldn't possibly have seen who it was. You collapse onto Vyn, and he embraces you in his arms, both of you panting heavily. He gives you his jacket, and drags over the remains of your dress to keep you warm. 'It would be a shame if you caught a cold,' he says. 'I would feel rather responsible.' You giggle against his chest, buried in layers of silk and tulle. You both look up at the sky, watching the stars and feeling so lucky to be in love.

[arclic-stuff]

Symbiotic Relationship - Chapter 1

PAIRING: Grayson x fem OC

SUMMARY: Besides her agreement with Zander, Grayson communicates with a reliable informant—her ex-wife, Tatianna. Tatianna is a Zaunite Merchant—a caterer by day and a smuggler by night. Together, they try to maintain peace between their cities, benefiting each other greatly and creating a symbiotic relationship they both have been craving. 

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Hehe guess who's finally posting! It's been hard finding the time to write and figure out the structure for this story but at least it's starting haha. Very excited to share it and write more of the chapters. I hope y'all enjoy it. Have no idea how quick I'll do the next chapters but I'm sure it'll be soon:)))

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Festivities were in full swing within the Piltover Country Club as the Kirammans prepared for an afternoon of celebrations. Outwith its walls in the calm countryside, two competitors engaged in friendly conversation. 

"I'm an enforcer. For me, knowing how to handle this weapon means being able to protect people. To be of service to the city. And that's trophy enough. Begs the question, young Kiramman. What are you shooting for?"

Before the girl can respond, her mother, Cassandra, beckons her inside. She dashes up the steps, stopping to look back at Grayson. "This isn't over, Sheriff," she narrows her eyes, pouting as she ascends the steps into the building.

Grayson continues to embrace the calm silence, the smell of the forest, and the taste of her wine. She takes one final inhale before acknowledging the familiar figure hiding in the background since she came outside.

"Are you going to lurk in the shadows all night, Ms Brauer?"

With that, Anna Brauer strides into view, her heels hitting the stone pavement and her jacket drifting in the breeze. Dawning an olive green jacket, she was also clad in an all-black suit, her white skirt's top buttons undone, showing her jewellery cluster around her neck. Her long black hair was pulled into a bun, elevating her appearance and almost making her look taller. Grayson made note of Tatianna's grey strands twisting around her head; she had finally stopped dying over them, which Grayson found admirable.

"Just making sure I didn't interrupt the fan club," Anna says, standing parallel to Grayson and leaning on the balcony.

Grayson chuckles. "She's a good kid. She means well."

"She insinuated that you took a bribe and threw the competition." Anna raises an eyebrow and looks at Grayson.

"Aw, protecting my honour? You'll make me blush," Grayson jests, poking Anna with her elbow, making the smaller woman roll her eyes in response.

"Just think the little gremlin should watch her tongue", Anna uttered at a lowered volume, tilting her head towards the party where the girl was now socialising.

Grayson moves closer to whisper, "You should lower your voice, dear. That 'gremlin' is the daughter of a councillor." She chuckles. "And besides, you know I'd never take a bribe". 

Anna put her hands up in surrender. "Or throw the competition? Right?"

Grayson doesn't respond; she simply rubs the back of her neck, looking anywhere but Anna's suspecting eyes.

"Oh, for fucksake, Grayson!" Anna groans, slapping Grayson on the forearm.

Grayson blocks the last few playful hits, laughing in the process. "What! She deserved the win! She's had a hard time with exams, and Cassandra put a lot of pressure on her to do well today. And anyway, I'm not beating my goddaughter."

Grayson had been a close friend of the Kiramans for a few years before Caitlyn was born, but it was still a surprise when Cassandra asked her to be her Godmother. As strange as it felt, it was one of the best things in her life—watching her grow up, teaching her to shoot, be headstrong, and do all the other things she had hoped to do one day with her own family.

Anna sighs, shaking her head. "You've gone, soft, Gray," she says before reaching into her jacket for a beige folder — the main reason for their meetup.

This month's conclusive report focused on the City of Zaun and all notable events or changes within its walls. Anna reluctantly slid the folder to the Sheriff. Even though she knew logically it was for the best, she still couldn't help but feel like a traitor to her people and to her home. The report showcased lists of new businesses, crime states, and this month's headliner: the death of a Chem-Baron.  

Although Chem-Baron Arlo passed peacefully in his sleep, he left behind chaos as his sons fought for the family business.

"All I can say is that I hope the youngest son doesn't take over; Finn is ambitious but reckless; Zaun doesn't need that" Anna waits for a response, then glances over to Grayson, reading, entirely focused on the pages in front of her. Anna takes the opportunity to watch her for a moment. She watches as her eyes dart across the pages, breathing steadily through her nose, the breeze shifting her hair into her eyes. As she flicks to the last page, her expression shifts from concentration to mild irritation, furrowing her brows before speaking.

Anna knows exactly what she's reacting to. Twice a year, Anne has a large shipment of stock transported into Zaun via Piltover's trade routes. Anne gets two shipments that aren't inspected yearly in exchange for being an informant. She uses this for her more valuable goods like medicine for the Zaun shelters - in the past, the shipments have been 'lost' or 'confiscated' by the enforcers with legal loopholes purely because of the shipment's destination. Grayson's leniency allows essential medicine to reach Zaun's unfortunate, something she holds onto to try to forget the dubious contents hidden within.

"This shipment is way bigger than last time." Grayson looks up accusingly, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

"The demand increased; it's for the—" Anna tried to explain the changes but was cut off by a raised hand.

"I don't want to know Tatianna" Grayson sighed, shutting the folder in her left hand and downing her drink with the other. She regrets using that tone with Anne but doesn't want to know. She knows Anne has to smuggle for unsavoury clients to pay the bills and that the jobs allow her to give back to the poorer Zaunites, but it still makes Grayson feel dirty like she's no different from the corrupt enforcers she swore to root out.

It's for the greater good; it helps Zaun and Anna.

Anna felt the atmosphere shift and was reminded of the distance between them. It didn't happen often, but sometimes, when interacting with Grayson, Anna would be transported back to when they first met, when things were simpler. When she broke from this trance, she would feel the emptiness in her chest that always lingered in Sheiff's presence. As soon as she felt it creeping back in, she ran.

"As always, Sheriff, it's been a pleasure. See you next month," Anna said with a comedic curtsey before turning on her heels to walk past Grayson. However, before she could take her first step to freedom, Grayson stepped in front, slighting her, stopping her in her tracks.  

"Are you not staying?" Grayson sheepishly asked, avoiding eye contact. She knew the answer, but every time Anna tried to make a speedy exit, Grayson would try to make her stay in a last-ditch attempt to reminisce for a little longer in the fantasy.

"I can't. I have a meeting with a new client in the morning, some industrialist is looking for a new trade route. I'll see you around Gray." As she walks around Grayson to leave, she gives Grayson's shoulder a light squeeze. To onlookers, it was a subtle goodbye gesture, but they both felt Anna's hand linger a second longer than it should.  

Grayson is left outside alone, her own hand replacing Anna's, where she touched her shoulder moments ago. She looked out at the grounds, which were now shrouded in sunset lighting. The same surroundings Grayson had found peace in now felt cold and empty. Cold and empty like the house the first day she came home without Anna there to greet her. Even after all these years, Grayson always felt this way after their meetings. She wondered if Anna ever felt the same; maybe she had moved on or was just as miserable as Grayson felt now - Grayson didn't like either option for her ex.

Feeling her thoughts spiral, she shook her head and took a deep breath.

What good will those thoughts do? It's all in the past now, and that's where it should stay.

[mcufan72]

Sugar and Cinnamon

Loki x female reader/ 18+

Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Warnings: contains fluff, smut, sex, oral sex, angst, alcohol, soft!dom/sub vibes, jealousy, dirty talking. It's a very long chapter (~9.5k words) so please be prepared! Some of you asked for it and I delivered.

Note: the dancing scene came to my mind when I walked through Soho/London a few weeks ago. It's also inspired by the dancing scene from the movie "Last Night in Soho" and you can find it on YouTube, and this is the song Anya Taylor-Joy and Matt Smith dance to... just to get a bit of the vibe ...and I couldn't resist to let MS make an appearance

I couldn't resist, my lovely @lokisprettygirl You already know that. Thanks for your help and for answering my special question and I sincerely hope I got it right...

This special part of the chapter is for you, my dearest (you'll know it when you read it)❤️🩷💚🤍

Loki couldn't remember the last time he felt that nervous and excited before an event. It must have been on Asgard when he was a young innocent prince, attending for the first time to a ball at the Asgardian Court, expected to dance with a princess for the very first time. He was delighted when Rhea sent him your confirmation for tonight's gala dinner and he looked forward to seeing you again. It wasn't even a real date, officially he booked you as his companion or as you were calling it, his arm candy. Nonetheless, he was grateful that you still wanted to spend time with him.

Dressed in black briefs after a relaxing bath which he took after returning from a run in Morris Canal Park, he stood in his closet and began to dress himself for the evening. For the gala dinner, he chose a black three-piece suit, perfectly tailored, excellently wrapping and emphasizing his muscular body. He combined it with a tight-fitting black shirt, and a dark-green tie which perfectly matched with the dark-green details of the waistcoat and the dark-green evening gown he gave to you, and finished his look with black leather shoes. He wished you would wear the dress tonight. He'd feel honoured. He had a further, little surprise for you. It was nothing special but he hoped you'd like it.

Nervous, nauseous, and excited. Three words to describe your condition. With trembling hands, you did your makeup and put on the dress. Why were you always so nervous when you had a date with Luke? You already slept with him so there was no need anymore to be nervous. You pulled your hair into a sleek tight bun like you always did, the knot high on your head this time. You'd prefer to wear your trainers but of course, you chose the elegant golden high heel sandals you had bought for events like these. They were just a further pair of beautiful little beasts but they perfectly rounded up the elegant design of the gown. You finished your look with the dark red lipstick and there she was: Sugar, ready to meet Luke. You grabbed your golden box clutch, studded with shimmering rhinestones, from the dresser and left your apartment, leaving all your problems behind. You wanted to enjoy this evening to the fullest. You deserved it, didn't you?

When you arrived at the event location, Luke was already waiting for you. Because of the evening darkness and the tinted car windows, you couldn't see what he was wearing but you were sure he would be the most handsome man tonight. He was always eye candy but for tonight he was your eye candy. Luke opened the door for you and offered you his hand helping you to get out of the limousine. You smiled brightly at him, happy to see him again. How could he look better every time you met him? He looked dashing in his tailored suit. Did his tie have the exact same colour as your evening gown? You found his attention to detail remarkable and adorable. What a man. What a wonderful, attentive man. Why wasn't he already taken? There must be a woman who would appreciate and want to be with a man like him.

Loki helped you to get out of the limousine and the first thing he saw were your beautiful legs and the elegant golden high heel sandals with the delicate straps on your feet. When you had left the car completely he smiled lovingly at you. You were wearing it, the evening gown he had chosen for you and you had no idea how happy you were making him. The evening gown hugged every curve of yours perfectly and the strong updo allowed an excellent view of your smooth neck and nearly bare back. You were so damn beautiful, and for tonight you were his and nobody would take you away from him.

“Good evening, Sugar. You look stunning in that dress. Absolutely gorgeous,” he gushed, one hand still hidden behind his back.

“And you look very dapper in your black suit. You're such a handsome man, Luke. And I like your tie, it looks gorgeous. I'm so happy to see you,” you complimented him.

“I hope I didn't overstep a boundary by sending you the evening gown. I just thought you might like it. Thank you for wearing it tonight. I feel extremely honoured,” and a hint of shyness appeared on his face.

“You didn't overstep, Luke. The dress is fantastic and I love it. It's perfect. You have an excellent taste for fashion. I don't deserve such a generous gift and I appreciate it. And also thanks for your lovely letter and I can assure you, I'm not mad at you. How could I, you don't owe me any excuse,” you explained to him sincerely.

His answer was a thankful smile and then he gave you what he had hidden behind his back. A little bouquet of multi-coloured wildflowers, tied together with a small green ribbon.

“Oh my god, Luke! Thank you! Thank you so much…how beautiful,” and your eyes teared up. You've gotten a lot of bouquets from some of your clients but none of them compared to this one. You never got a bouquet as pretty as this. You were sure he had poured his heart into it.

“Did you pick the flowers yourself?”, and you caressed the flowers.

“I did. I collected them in Morris Canal Park. I hope you like them,” he told you and you recognised a bit of shyness in his gaze.

“No man had ever done this for me. Thank you, Luke,” you whispered and pressed the flowers gently to your cleavage. You wanted to hug him but you didn't dare do it.

“It's nothing special but I…”

“Don't underestimate the beauty of self-picked flowers…and they are special. They're special to me because they're from you and I love them,” you interrupted him. You didn't want the flowers to wither and so you gave them to Walker who promised you to take care of them.

Loki felt like a little boy, trying to impress his first crush. He had never expected this cute reaction. He could've impressed you with a giant bouquet of roses but it seemed you appreciated the wildflowers more than any rose or lily he could've bought for you. You were amazing. How could you still be without a loving man by your side? You were so adorable… and naughty as well. A perfect combination.

“Shall we go in?” and as the gentleman he was, he offered you his arm.

“Yes, I'd love that!” and you two entered the location.

Loki introduced you to some of his business partners and finally, he wanted to introduce you to the host of the evening, Mr.Smith, who was still in a conversation. But he had already made eye contact with you. And then you understood what Rhea meant when she said, he's an attractive man. He wasn't a classic beautiful man but he definitely had an extremely charming aura. Almost as tall as Luke, he was lean but bulkier, had dark blonde hair and a sly smile which gave him something boyish and devious but in a very sympathetic way. His green deep-set eyes were sparkling with mischief and fun, and they had nearly the same stare as Luke's. The way he moved, spoke and behaved could captivate everyone under his spell. His elegant black tux and black bow tie perfectly rounded up his impressive appearance. You were sure a lot of women wouldn't say ‘no’ to him and your gaze wandered to an Indian beauty in an amazing black lehenga dress. This absolutely beautiful and elegant three-piece ensemble consisted of the actual lehenga, a long ankle-length and voluminous skirt, embellished with golden intricate embroidery, the choli, a well-fitted blouse top which emphasized her perfectly formed torso and the dupatta, a scarf which she had draped around her stunning outfit. Her waist-length and nearly black hair shimmered like black velvet and cascaded over her back, her big and sparkling dark-brown eyes were the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. She was such a stunning eye-catcher and you didn't miss how Mr Smith looked at her from time to time. You knew that kind of gaze very well, not just from your clients and every time their gazes met, they both quickly looked away. It was kind of adorable. One might think he was totally smitten by the Indian beauty and nobody could blame him for this, she was one of the most beautiful women at tonight's gala.

“I don't like the way he looks at you,” Loki growled quietly.

“Do I hear some jealousy in your voice, Mr.Larsson?” you teased him. You didn't want to annoy him, you just wanted to see his reaction. You didn't want him to fall in love with you, he paid for your company but nonetheless you wanted him to desire you. You knew that was weird but tonight you were just his, and he was just yours, right?

“What? No, of course not! You're my escort, not my wife,” he frowned, pressing his lips firmly together, his jaw clenching.

“No, I'm not your wife. A pity, actually,” you teased him further and he side-eyed you, the expression on his face unreadable.

At this moment Mr Smith ended his conversation and came over to you two.

“What a beautiful sight at my friend's side… good evening, Miss…?

“...Black, I'm Miss Black,” you greeted him and he took your hand in his and gave a brief kiss to your knuckles.

“You look gorgeous, Miss Black, a further sparkling diamond at my party,” his deep-settled eyes staring flirtatious into yours and a sexy smile curved one corner of his mouth. He grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter, who passed by with a tablet of filled champagne glasses, and gave it to you.

“Thank you for completing me, Mr Smith,” and you took the offered glass of champagne from his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you,” you responded tantalizingly and held his gaze.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Black and I hope you enjoy the evening. Eat, drink, dance and have fun,” he encouraged you and he turned towards Loki. Mr.Smith was such a player, a sexy lad, you've already sensed that.

“Luke, my old friend, what a pleasure to have you here. I hope you enjoy the evening,” and he shook Loki's hand and placed his other hand amicably on Loki's shoulder.

“Matt, it is a pleasure to meet you, as always and thank you for the invitation," he answered, slightly annoyed and both appraisingly staring into each other's eyes. After a short conversation, Mr.Smith left to order a drink for himself at the bar.

You sensed the tension in Luke's shoulders and you suppressed a grin. He was a bit possessive over you, wasn't he? Since you worked as an escort lady, you were used to a man’s behaviour like Mr.Smith’s. You did everything to get these reactions, through clothes, style, and attitude because every man you saw could become your client. But all of this was a costume, a mask. That wasn't you. Luke would never want you or even like the woman and her problems, who were hidden behind that mask. The woman behind all the makeup and the dark-red lipstick. The woman who called herself ‘Sugar’.

“He was just being polite, and there's nothing wrong about it. He's interested in someone else so, relax Luke, he really was just being nice,” and he side-eyed you again, with raised eyebrows.

He was just being nice? Interested in someone else? You were a head-turner, an eye-catcher tonight and he just saw this guy lustfully staring at you and the only thing he could think about was that no man should ever chase after a girl on a friend’s turf. He saw you taking a sip of champagne, turning your head and grinning at him.

Between the main courses and the serving of the desserts was a pause so that everyone could take a short walk, have some drinks at the bar or enter the dance floor. Shortly before Loki wanted to ask you to dance with him, Mr.Smith came back to you, a glass of bourbon in his hand. With the biggest mischievous smirk on his face, he addressed Loki with a question.

“Would you allow me to dance with your charming companion?”

“You don't have to ask me. You have to ask the lady,” he said to Matt, giving him a fake smile.

“I think I should allow our host of the evening to dance with me, shouldn't I, Luke?” and Mr.Smith took you by your hand.

You would never understand why you had fun annoying Luke and where your self-confidence came from. Why did you want to provoke a reaction from him? And what kind of reaction did you expect? You didn't understand yourself anymore. Did you expect him to fight for his right to dance with you because he paid you for your company? You knew that Mr Smith just wanted to provoke a reaction from that gorgeous-looking Indian lady his eyes had been glued to for over several hours now. He couldn't fool you.

“I'm on to you, Mr. Smith but…Let's play a little game," you said to him while he led you to the dance floor. “But don't you dare play with her, she likes you,” you warned him.

“What do you mean, Miss Black?” He tried to play ignorant.

“Mr.Smith, don't fool me. I just dance with you when you spend the rest of the evening with her and dance with her only,” you answered demandingly, smiling at him.

“Her? Who is ‘her’?”

“The beautiful lady in the black lehenga.”

“I don't dare ask her. I'm sure she doesn't find me pretty enough, not good enough for her.”

“Then you probably should stop eye-fucking each other all evening… it's pretty obvious that you like her… and she likes you,” and you sensed he felt caught.

“Likewise,” he mocked you, "Mr Larsson is eye-fucking you as well, so… you two are not any better than us. It's obvious how possessive he's over you,” and he crowned his statement with a smug smile.

“I see we're speaking the same language, Mr.Smith. Get your girl, she likes you more than you think and believe me, you are very attractive and charming,” you tried to convince him.

“Thank you for saying that, you're very kind...And you go and get your man before he combusts with jealousy… he's addicted to you. And by the way, call me Matt.”

Before you could answer anything the music started to play and Matt began to dance with you.

“You're not his girlfriend, are you?” And he twirled you around.

“What makes you think I'm not?” you asked when you faced him again.

“Don't get me wrong, you're beautiful and charming but he's more the type for fake dating, he never wants to be connected to someone or be close to someone, nonetheless…,” you danced several steps away from him and twirled back into his arm, “…he's undressing you with his eyes,” and he twirled you around again and when you danced face to face again, he held you by your midriff, swaying to the rhythm.

“Why does it bother you? You should mind your own business, Matt. And to be very clear, I'll never date you, it'll always be him and you better take care of the Indian beauty over there. You should really ask her to dance with you … I'm not the one that you want,” you said kindly.

“Yeah, you might be right. I think if Luke is addicted to your personality and not just your body, then he may be falling for you.”

“I think we shouldn't play cruel games with them. We both have what we want, both are furious with jealousy. We should redeem them from their suffering, shouldn't we?” you suggested.

“You're an amazing woman, Miss Black, no man can fool you, indeed.”

“Not in this case, I guess, and… you can call me Candy,” you responded and with that the song ended, your dance was over and you both left the dance floor, walking towards Loki who was waiting for you with an annoyed expression on his face.

That was it. That was the reason why he hated it that you worked as an escort. Other men touching you, lustfully looking at you, dancing with you the tantalizing way Matt just did… This guy was too close, his hand too low on your back, his gaze at you too intimate. Loki fumed with jealousy. All those men didn't deserve you. He didn't deserve you either but he must do something to get you out of the escort business and he better not run out of ideas.

“Thank you for this nice conversation and the dance, Matt,” you thanked him with a bright smile.

“The pleasure was all mine, Candy. Thank you very much for telling me about your opinion and enjoy the rest of the evening.” Loki looked unbelievingly back and forth between you two, frowning.

“Relax, mate, she talked about you only,” Matt said to Loki, patted his shoulder and walked over to the bar.

“Candy? What?” Loki was confused.

“It's my second name, don't think about it further…oh and you can relax, Matt is off the market, he's no competition for you. He never was,” you smiled defiantly at him, clearly feeling the tension in his body. When the next song started, you saw Matt entering the dance floor with the Indian lady. ‘What a beautiful couple,’ you thought and smiled.

You could be such a bratty girl. You did it on purpose, didn't you? You had forbidden him to fall in love with you but you didn't hesitate to tease him like this? Maybe he should give you a proper and all-devouring kiss, here and now so that you and everyone else know, you belong to him. No, no he should not do that. You didn't belong to him. You were your own person and you could do whatever you wanted to do. But he had enough. He grabbed you by your upper arm and pulled you with him into an undisturbed, dark corner and pressed you with his whole body against the wall, breathing heavily.

“What are you thinking you're doing here, hm? Teasing me like that, here in public? Want me to fuck against the wall? Now? Hard, quick, deep?”

“Maybe? You wanted to show me pleasure…”

“You're such a tease. You in that dress… have you any idea what you're doing to me?”

“You wanted me to wear it…”

“Oh yes, because I knew how amazingly sexy you would look in it. And I wanted you to be one of the most gorgeous-looking women tonight because you deserve it. And I'm proud to be the man by your side,” he growled softly.

“Why didn't you want to dance with me? You let him dance with me but don't demand your right to a dance from me? You pay for me and my services. Why don't you force me to do my job?” you asked him quietly, still caged between him and the wall.

“I don't chase, I attract and to make myself very clear, I won't force you to do anything!” His voice dropped to subzero temperatures, dryer than gin.

“And believe me, Sugar, the kind of dance I'm thinking of, is not meant for the dance floor. All you have to do is ask me.”

“You can ask me the same question, I'm your escort, you pay for me, you can possibly demand it from me,” you provoked him further, a tantalizing smile on your lips.

“I'd never do that. I'd never force you. I'm still not sure if you want to do it at all so you'll have to be the one to ask!”

There it was again. He tried to give you the feeling that you were the centre of everything, that he was there to please you, not the other way around. You grabbed his tie and pulled his face closer to yours.

“I want to sleep with you, I want to make it up to you, I want to erase my mistake. I want you to play with me. And I want to try new things,” you whispered, your lips slightly brushing his earlobe, making him shiver. “Play with me, I allow you to kiss my whole body, if you want to, except my face,” you offered him sweetly.

“So you allow me to play with you? Are you sure?”

“Yes, show me pleasure, Luke. Show me how to give in to you, show me how to do it right. I won't disappoint you again,” you promised him.

“I'll do whatever you want and whatever you allow me to do. You won't regret it and believe me, you did nothing wrong or disappointed me,” and he pressed a gentle kiss on the soft flesh of your throat, his hand caressing the part of your naked thigh where the gown had the slit. Your hands clasped his shoulders and you felt his muscles tensing. You lifted the leg he was caressing and hooked it around his waist. He immediately pressed his hips against your throbbing core and you felt his cock hardening.

“We should stop doing this, Luke. We don't want to cause attention, do we? We should continue our ‘dance’ in the hotel suite later,” you moaned faintly.

“You have a valid point there. I don't want anyone to look at you while I tear you apart,” and he gave your butt a gentle squeeze. You felt so good in his arms, too good.

You giggled like a schoolgirl and loosened yourself from his lustful grip, took him by his hand and intertwined your fingers with his. It felt so familiar as if he were your lover, not your client.

“Let's get something to drink. And I need to sit down somewhere…my feet…”

“…are killing you. The little beasts, right?”

“Yeah, sorry. I shouldn't complain so much.”

“It's alright, sweet thing. We'll drink something and you can put your aching feet on my thighs if you want… underneath the table, of course. No one has to see it,” and he winked at you.

“You're adorable, Luke. I don't deserve it. Come, I need a cool beverage now… and…”

“…a dessert, yeah. I already know that. Sometimes I think it's the only reason why you escort me to dinner events,” he joked and teased you and he got a heartwarming laughter from you. You were so devastatingly beautiful when you were laughing. He shouldn't allow himself the feeling but you grew on him more and more.

“You might be right, Mr.Larsson,” was the only thing you could answer him. Desserts were definitely your weakness.

On your way to the dining area, you saw Matt and his beautiful Indian lady heavily making out in another dark corner of the location, both completely melting into each other's arms and forgetting the world around them.

“Shhhh,” you gestured to Luke, “we don't want to disturb them” and you both sneaked silently past them. You couldn't deny that you wouldn't mind Luke Larsson kissing you the same way Matt kissed his girl but unfortunately … you'd never kiss a client.

“I don't like desserts. I don't have a sweet tooth.” Loki complained when you both sat at a dining table to eat some dessert, sitting opposite to each other.

“Who doesn't like desserts? I still don't get it. It's the best thing about a meal. The culmination of every menu… sweet and a melting pleasure on the tongue…,” you gushed.

“I hate it, okay!”

“No, you don't!”

“I do!”

“No, you don't!”

“I do...mpffhh…” and you shoved a spoonful of chocolate mousse with cream into his mouth before he could speak further nonsense. The delightful glance in his eyes when the taste buds of his tongue were pleasantly surprised by the dark chocolate, told you otherwise. A blissful moan rumbled in his throat, making you smile.

“As I said. You don't hate desserts,” you stated knowingly.

“You forced me to eat it!” He frowned and pouted, licking the last droplets of mousse from his lips. “Can I have some more?” He whispered, barely audible to you.

“What did you say?” You mocked him.

“Can I have some more, please?”

“I'm sorry, it was the last one on the buffet… Well, you shouldn't be too disappointed that you can't have more, Luke, because you hate desserts, right?” A mischievous grin curved your lips.

“Hm!” He pouted and crossed his arms in front of his chest, trying to avoid showing his disappointment. “It's not as bad as I thought it would be… but, yeah you're right. I still hate it.”

You chuckled silently and recognised how cute he was at that moment. Trying hard to hold on to his opinion about desserts and not to show you how much he truly liked it after tasting it. Gosh, he was so adorable.

“You can tell me that you've changed your opinion about desserts. It's nothing to be ashamed of. And we can share my chocolate mousse if you want,” you told him softly.

“I appreciate it, Sugar, thanks. Enjoy your chocolate mousse. Come, place your foot on my thigh, sweet thing,” and you did.

Loki opened the straps of your sandal, took it off your foot, placed it on the free chair next to him and began to massage your aching foot and the toes tenderly but with the right amount of gentle pressure.

“Gosh, that feels so good,” you sighed blissfully and enjoyed his tender hand kneading your foot for several minutes.

“Now the other foot,” he said and gave it the same attention and care as he did with your other foot. You moaned blissfully again and the way Luke glanced at you was arousing you. When his fingers massaged around your ankle, you jumped at the opportunity rubbing your foot over his crotch and you felt him getting hard. You looked enticing at him and his pupils dilated with arising lust.

“You're such a bratty girl,” and he pressed a thumb into your bunion, hitting the right spot. You hissed lustfully and a dull throb in your core made you feel all giddy.

“Shall we leave for the hotel?” You asked him and he just nodded. He came over to you and gave you your shoes and when you put the first sandal on he bent down on one knee and fastened the straps.

“Luke, please, get up. I can do this on my own,” you begged him vehemently. He wasn't your servant and he certainly did not have to do this.

“You wear this torturous footwear for me so helping you with your shoes is a bare minimum,” he declared.

You stood up from your chair and stood close to him. He leaned into you and you put your hand on his shoulder. Your cheek gently touched his cheek when you whispered a soft “Thank you” into his ear.

Your closeness and your scent intoxicated him. His one hand wrapped automatically around your middle and pulled you closer to him. The way you gave in to his movement without any hesitation came so naturally that he immediately felt wanted. He couldn't believe that you were just pretending to want him. But it was maybe just your art of seduction and your magic allure that blurred his mind and made him succumb to you.

When you arrived at the hotel and finally in the same suite as the last time, you both didn't waste any time. You quickly prepared the things you needed to be prepared and put your kimono and a lace bra on the backrest of the chair. The purpose of being here again was more than clear. Loki took his jacket off, as well as the waistcoat and the tie. He would need the tie later. He opened his shirt completely but let the hem stay in the waistband of his trousers. He took a seat in the armchair and spread his long legs wide.

You stood opposite him, getting off of your high-heeled sandals and watching him getting partly undressed and taking a seat in the leather armchair, his shirt completely open. Every muscle in his arms and thighs and torso was flexing and relaxing while doing it and it sent a shiver down your spine and directly to your cunt. When there was one thing you hated, that disgusted you to the core, it was men sitting with wide-spread legs. Normally it disgusted you but Loki doing it did something to you, you had never expected. It aroused you, you wanted to sit on his lap or … humping one of his beautiful, muscled thighs. God, if you didn't shove those thoughts away immediately you would've turned into a wanton whore sooner than you thought. Nonetheless, you couldn't stop staring at his prominent bulge. This man was too sexy. His whole body screamed sex.

“Do you like what you see?" he teased you, an arrogant grin on his face while slowly rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

"W…what?"

“I asked, do you like what you see?” And he placed his now bare forearms on the armrest of the armchair again, his long fingers curling around the ends.

“I hate it when a guy sits like a man whore.” Loki chuckled darkly, smugness written all over his face.

“You like it!”

“I hate it,” you murmured.

“Liar! Come here, Sugar!” Loki pronounced every single word, his voice deep and rich.

You looked at him and a smirk appeared at the corner of your mouth. You shook your head lightly and rolled your eyes. You wanted him to play with you and the game had already started. You both were all in.

“Come.Here.” His voice dropped to subzero temperatures. Harsh, cold as if he could freeze the whole room into an ice cave.

A shiver ran down your spine again and you obeyed. You walked slowly toward him until you stood between his spread thighs. You stared down at him, his ocean-blue eyes glancing up and down between your eyes, your lips and your cleavage. You wanted to be cool and collected but you couldn't help the wetness between your thighs drenching your lace underwear. Why was he able to cause such arousal in your body? It was just sex. A sex appointment. A date, set by your escort agency. A consensual sex date to get some steam off. Just a natural need that you and he wanted to satisfy.

“Strip off your dress,” he commanded seductively.

You obeyed again. You loved to be told what to do next. Since when? You reached behind your back to pull the zipper down but had some struggle finding it.

“Could you please unzip me?” And you slowly turned around. You couldn't see him but you felt his gaze wandering up to your shoulders and down to your buttocks where his eyes remained for a moment.

He could smell you. The subtle scent of your perfume, the natural scent of your skin and the heavy, beguiling scent of your arousal.

“You're outrageously beautiful, Sugar,” he murmured and pulled your zipper slowly down. It was the most arousing sound you had heard for a long time. He was so close to you and you felt his breath fanning over your skin. You let your green dream of a dress slide down your shoulders and it pooled around your ankles and you stepped out of it, kicking it carefully aside.

Slowly he let his hands slide over your shoulders and flanks to your front and cupped your naked breasts carefully, teasing your nipples with his thumbs, making you sigh and moan. A warm tingling rushed through your veins but a coolness rushed over your skin as if a god would touch a mortal to make said mortal shiver in submission.

“Get your bra,” he whispered to your ear, nibbling at the soft skin of your neck. You did as he told you and he took the flimsy lace bra from your hand, put it on you, and closed the clasp of your bra. From the last time, he remembered that you felt better leaving your bra on. And he wanted you to feel comfortable.

“Am I still allowed to play with you?” He asked quietly.

“Yes, yes you are,” you whispered and turned around to face him.

Loki made some steps backwards, sat down again in the leather armchair, leaned back and spread his long legs wide.

Loki's heartbeat quickened and his mouth watered when he saw you in your tantalizing black lingerie. The flimsy lace bra emphasized your cleavage and cupped your breasts perfectly. Your peaked rosy nipples were on display for him through the transparent lace and he felt his cock throbbing with anticipation. He was on edge and he would've loved to take you instantly, roughly, thrusting his cock deep inside of you until you were a dripping mess, screaming his name. But he wanted to take his time with you, enjoy you, seduce you slowly till you were begging him to fuck you. And he would make sure you never needed to fake an orgasm again. With him, every orgasm of yours would be a real one. He would take good care of it and he wanted you to enjoy it to the fullest without feeling ashamed or bad.

“How do you want me?” You asked him softly, your lips slightly parted. Your plump lips drove him crazy. He wished he were allowed to kiss these beautiful lips of yours. He could just imagine how deliciously they must taste.

“I want you to suck my dick. I want you to suck and lick it extensively,” he demanded, testing you. How far would you allow him to go? The imagination alone of your lips wrapped around his cock made him harden.

“Okay. But you won't cum in my mouth. I don't like swallowing your sperm. You can cum over my breasts…and don't hit my face!”

“With that I can deal,” Loki answered darkly.

You didn't like sucking cock at all and the last time you completely ruled it out. Not to talk about swallowing sperm. But it seemed possible to suck him, this handsome guy and you wondered why. You told him you wanted to try new things and so you wanted to give it a try.

You knelt between his thighs, unbuckled his belt and opened his trousers. You reached into his briefs and pulled out his dick along with his balls. Loki moaned quietly and you could just let out a small gasp when you saw his erection. You saw his cock for the first time tonight because the first time when he slept with you, he had blindfolded you before he got rid of his clothes. Loki was a bit bigger down there than the other men you had had sex with. And his cock was… beautiful, pretty even. Perfectly formed in length and thickness, his tip swollen and leaking pre-cum, the veins on the underside pulsating in anticipation, his balls heavy and hot. Your mouth watered and you couldn't wait to suckle him. You had never expected to think about a guy's cock like you did right here and now.

“Am I allowed to place my hands on your thighs?”

Loki hesitated for a moment before he permitted you to do so. If he lost control, nothing would be noticeable there for you. And he still wasn't sure if he was able to stand your touch. But he gave it a try.

“Yes,” he moaned, and you placed your hands there.

You lowered your head and licked a stripe from base to tip. Torturously slow. Once, twice, then you took his cock head gently into your mouth and let your tongue swirl over and around his sensitive tip. You released him with a plop and licked your lips. He tasted so good. Sweet and salty and you craved for more. You gave him a devouring look and turned your attention to his balls. With your hand, you gave him light strokes while you kissed and sucked his balls and when you bit them gently, Loki whimpered loudly. His cock got rock-hard, aching for your warm mouth. How could he even get harder than he already was?

His scent intoxicated you. The smell of musk and the natural scent of his skin, manly and heavy, awoke a kind of lust in your body that you didn't know you had inside of you. Unbridled, initial desire. You were dripping wet and you weren't sure if you were already soaking the floor with your juices.

His breathing became heavier, filled with whimpers and moans. Loki was so turned on that he nearly forgot to blindfold you.

“Should we get you more comfortable, Luke? Lift your ass for me,” you asked him quietly and pulled his trousers and his briefs completely down and took them off completely. While his ass wasn't placed back on the armchair again you took the chance and you caressed his buttocks and kneaded them firmly. Loki sat down again but now he rather laid in the armchair than sit on it so you were able to continue cupping his ass cheeks in your hands and kneading them tenderly. You started to lick his cock again and he gently blindfolded you with his tie.

You flattened your tongue and licked his tip like a popsicle, stimulating his frenulum tenderly but firmly, testing the waters of what he might like. You didn't want to hurt him. Your one hand fondled his balls, carefully and tenderly scratching over the skin. Loki moaned and sighed heavily, writhing under your merciless but delicious torture. You took his unbelievingly hard cock into your mouth again, hollowed your cheeks and started to suck the life out of him.

“Fuck…Sugar I can't…I can't take it…much longer,” he whimpered.

You sped up your pace, your head bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm, sucking and licking him until his eyes fluttered shut, his head leaning back against the armchair's backrest, his fingers clawing into the armrest. You felt him tensing up and shivers ran through his body and you were sure he would come soon. His arousal and writhing and the way he allowed you to own him in this moment made your cunt throbbing and dripping with need. You wanted to get off as well, you never felt so needy before. Never before was any other man able to do this to you.

“I'm…fuck…I'm coming…fuck…,” and he withdrew his cock from your mouth instantly, grabbed his cock and stroked himself two more times. The coil in his lower abdomen snapped and a mind-blowing orgasm washed over him, and he ejaculated in thick ropes all over your breasts. The sight of you blindfolded and letting him come all over your precious bosom doubled his satisfaction.

“Luke…please…” You didn't know what you were begging for but the feeling of his warm sperm running down your cleavage made your head spin. You still knelt between his legs, still blindfolded and dying because of arousal, your clit throbbing and yearning for attention. Loki came slowly down from his high, his cock still hard.

“Come here sweet thing,” and he grabbed you carefully by your upper arms and pulled you onto his lap.

“You took me so well, you're talented, sweet thing. You know exactly what you do, don't you? And now you will get off on my thigh, sweet girl. Want to ride my thigh, hm? Rub your needy clit over my leg and drench me with your arousal. Come, sweet thing, drive me wild…” he moaned lasciviously, guiding your hips when you began to gyrate them back and forth to get the friction to work yourself to much-needed relief. You placed your hands on the backrest of the armchair, your forehead close to his. You felt the warmth of an orgasm rising in your stomach and you moaned and whimpered breathlessly. It felt heavenly, he felt heavenly. And these feelings were all you had because you were still blindfolded. You were already on edge when Loki took one of your peaked nipples into his mouth, suckling and nipping it through the thin lace of your bra.

“Oh god…please…” you moaned. You needed to cum. Now. But Loki stopped your gyrating movements by holding your hips firmly.

“You will come around my cock, sweet thing. No fake orgasm this time, Sugar!”

“Close…I'm so close…please…”

“I know, I'll let you cum, be patient, sweet thing and don't move,” and you heard how he unfoiled a condom. Mere seconds later he lifted you from his thigh, shoved your lace thong aside and slid you carefully down onto his fully erect length, giving you enough time to accommodate his cock and get adjusted to him. He didn't want to hurt you. He would never forgive himself if he would cause you any kind of pain. You whimpered because of how deliciously he stretched and filled you and you were still in desperate need to cum.

“Are you okay, Sugar?” He asked quietly and concernedly. “Can I move?”

“Yes …yes please, I need you,” you answered desperately.

“Good girl, taking me so well. Fuck… you're so pretty…so tight…you've such a pretty cunt.”

Loki guided your movements, made you hop up and down and when you both had found a comfortable rhythm he thrust firmly upwards, faster, deeper, hitting your inner spot at a perfect angle. He took your nipple in his mouth again, nipping, sucking and licking it until it couldn't get any harder and changed to your other breast to torture that nipple in the same delicious way. At this point, you were a moaning, whimpering mess. You felt his cock throbbing inside of you, every vein and ridge massaging you straight towards your climax. It had never felt that good.

“Cum, cum all over my cock, show me how much you want it, Sugar. Scream for me!” And his one hand reached down to your throbbing clit and he pinched and rubbed your swollen bud purposefully. His thrusts became sloppier, he felt his own orgasm rising and he rubbed your clit faster than before.

“Cum…fuck…cum for me…now…” and right on cue you exploded. Your orgasm was intense and not only your cunt but also your whole body was convulsing and shaking and your toes curling.

“Good girl…you're such a…good girl.” Loki's abdominal muscles tensed up, his body shaking when he felt your walls clenching around his cock and it made him orgasm harder than before. You collapsed against each other, bathing in post-orgasmic bliss. This time you didn't fake it. This time you truly had an orgasm and it felt good, so damn good. For both of you.

When you came down from your highs you both chuckled in unison and Loki removed the blindfold from your eyes. They needed a moment to adjust to the dimmed lights of the hotel room again and you could swear there was a light shimmer of blue on Loki's skin. But then you were sure you had just imagined it and blamed the blindfolding for it.

“I'm sorry. I made a big mess out of you,” Loki chuckled.

“Don't worry about it, Luke Larsson. I'll take a shower after you've left. But we still have some time until midnight.” You released his cock, stood up from his lap and you instantly missed the warm feeling of him inside of you. You were still a little weak in your knees.

“Did you enjoy it this time, Sugar?” Loki asked you softly.

“The more important thing is you enjoyed it,” you answered him smilingly.

“That's not the answer to my question, sweets.”

“Why do men always need the confirmation that they were good and are a grenade in the bedroom department?” You contered sarcastically.

“That wasn't my question either. I don't need confirmation that…”

“You're being very self-confident, aren't you? Do we have a god-complex, Mr.Larsson?”

“Why do you have to destroy it, Sugar? I just wanted to know if you enjoyed it and if you're okay.” Loki sounded disappointed and sad and you instantly regretted your rude answer and your behaviour genuinely. You were afraid of your feelings again. You saw him heading for the bathroom and heard him opening the faucet of the sink. You followed him. He was cleaning himself, tossing the condom into the bin and preparing a washcloth with warm water. You stood next to him, facing him in the mirror.

“I'm sorry, Luke. I didn't intend to be mean. I did enjoy it. It felt good, really. I'm just not used to getting so much attention and care afterwards, you know. But please, Luke…don't catch feelings for me. I'm just your escort.” You smiled mildly at him. Your heart clenched when you saw how sad he looked at you. You liked him more than you were ready to admit.

“No worries about that. I won't catch feelings for you, Sugar.” A lie, a perfect lie from a perfect liar. That was what he always has been and always will be, a liar.

“I just wanted you to feel comfortable around me.” And he turned towards you, the washcloth in his hand. You wanted to take it out of his hand to clean your cleavage and stomach from his now sticky seed but he didn't give it to you.

“Let me do this, sweet thing. It's the one thing I'd like to do for you,” and he began to gently clean you. His actions were so soft and caring. You wished you could have this tenderness every day. But not with anyone, no, it had to be him.

'Don't fall in love with him, just don't, you foolish girl' you cursed inwardly.

“I destroyed your lingerie. I'm sorry for that. You looked so tempting and sexy in it, and it was wonderful to have sex with you dressed in this hot lace.”

“A bit kinky, hmm? Lingerie, a blindfold, commanding me…” you stated and smiled.

“Watch your mouth, sweet thing. Don't be a brat.”

“What if I'm bratty? Will you punish me next time?”

You both chuckled and looked into each other's eyes. There weren't only mischievous and lusty thoughts. There was something else. Sympathy, harmony, trust. You two didn't know how or why but you felt drawn to each other.

“Well, the biggest mess got cleaned,” Loki said after he finally cleaned you from his seed and smiled at you.

“Thank you! That was very sweet and thoughtful of you,” you said gratefully.

“My pleasure!" He answered with his deep voice, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. You wished you had a boyfriend like him. Attentive, affectionate and gentle. And not only in a sexual way. With a boyfriend like him, you surely haven't ended up here, as an escort with a man you liked more than you were allowed to like, not to talk about you weren't allowed to fall in love with. You made these rules yourself and you would never break them. Anyway, a man like him would never want to have someone like you as his partner in life. Why should he choose you when he could have any other woman who was smarter, more beautiful and more decent than you? Under different circumstances, you two might have had a chance but now your life was fucked up. You wished you would've met him before you became an escort but it was what it was and you couldn't turn back the time.

You walked back to the main room, took on your kimono and climbed into the bed. You curled up on one side and pulled the duvet over you.

“Are you okay, sweet thing?” Loki asked you softly when he found you lying in bed under the sheets when he returned to the main room as well, dressed in his briefs and his open shirt.

“Mhmh…,” you murmured sleepily. “I'm just tired.”

Loki climbed onto the bed, leaning his torso against the cushions on the headboard. You looked so innocent and cute with your head snuggled deeply into the fluffy pillows. He watched you dozing and he smiled lovingly at you.

“I'll stay until midnight if it's okay for you,” he whispered and you nodded slightly. It made him smile again. He hated cuddling after sex and cuddling without sex even more. But suddenly you came closer and in your sleepy state you draped your leg over his, curled your hand around his waist and your head snuggled into his chest as if he was a damn comfy pillow or a plushie. A sugar angel sleeping in the arms of a monster. He shouldn't enjoy it. He shouldn't touch you. His hands were the hands of a killer, a liar. Hands that fit easily around a gun or a neck. He shouldn't hold a precious woman like you in his embrace.

He wrapped his arm tightly around you and pulled you closer to his chest. You must've fallen asleep, your breathing became calm and deep. You felt so soft and warm and good in his arms and he stole a little kiss by pressing his lips softly on the top of your head. It wasn't a direct part of your face, was it? He closed his eyes for just one short moment because he had to leave soon but he wanted to enjoy every minute he had with you. Maybe aftercare wasn't as bad as he probably thought.

A loud banging at the hotel suite’s door and a loud man’s voice woke him up.

“Sugar? Sugar!” The banging became more violent. “Sugar, are you okay? Sugar, open the door, if not I'll have to break down the door.” It was Walker, deeply concerned because you hadn't been back by the limousine right in time. You also hadn't sent an emergency message. Loki shook you awake when he got aware that you both had fallen asleep.

“Sugar, wake up, Sugar…,” Loki tried to wake you up.

“I'm so tired…I just want…to sleep. Just… a few minutes…just a bit longer…,” you murmured, still sleepy when you heard the banging at the door.

“Sugar, I break the door open! Now!”

All of a sudden you were wide awake. You jumped out of the bed and ran to the door hurriedly. You flung the door open right in time before Walker would break it down.

“I'm okay, Walker, I'm okay,” you gasped in shock, breathing heavily. “Everything is fine,” you told Walker, appeasing.

“Are you sure?” Walker asked concernedly. He peeked into the suite and saw Loki getting dressed.

“Yes, I'm absolutely sure, Walker. I'm so sorry for frightening you but…we…we fell asleep. Mr.Larsson did nothing wrong, I assure you, he behaved decently,” you told Walker and he trusted you. You'd tell him if there was anything that wasn't okay for you. “Please give us a few minutes, we will just get ready,” you asked him.

“Okay, I'll wait for you by the limousine,” Walker answered, throwing a warning look at Loki, who didn't show any reaction towards Walker. You nodded once at Walker and closed the door, leaning against it and taking a deep breath.

“Didn't you tell me, you don't do aftercare?” you questioned Luke teasingly and slightly laughing.

“I did.”

“Do you know what it's called what you did for me in the bathroom and by lying in bed with me sleeping?”

Loki buttoned his shirt upwards, leaving the last three open, buckled his belt, put his waistcoat on, slid into his shoes and looked smilingly at you.

“You tell me,” he asked you and grabbed his jacket from the sofa and his tie from the armchair and draped them over his arm.

“The loveliest aftercare I've ever gotten. Thank you, Luke… also for this wonderful evening, the dress and…”

Loki walked towards you and cupped your head gently between his large hands. They were so soft and felt comfortably cool on your warm skin, that you had to suppress a shiver. He leaned down and pressed a tender, featherlight kiss to your forehead and you closed your eyes.

“No, Luke, please…please don't do that …,” you whispered with teary eyes.

“I know I'm not allowed to kiss your pretty face but I care about you and I want you to know that. I know you could call Walker immediately and tell him to beat me up and throw me out… but it's worth the risk.”

He leaned his forehead slightly against yours and his warm breath fanned over your face. And there it was again. The spicy aroma of something you couldn't specify mixed with his comforting scent of fresh cotton, sandalwood and orange blossoms.

“I just hope that all the other men you meet handle you with all the respect and care you deserve. Thank you for this wonderful evening and night, sweet thing. It was such a pleasure. I felt very comfortable with you. When can we meet again? What about tomorrow?” Loki asked, his voice dark and smooth. He was a picture of pure elegance and arrogance but also gentleness, and his eyes staring longingly at you while waiting for your answer. Would you ever be able to be without him?

“I'm sorry Luke. I already have appointments for the next three evenings.”

“Okay. Then I call the agency tomorrow and ask for another date with you. A club night? Dinner? Would you like that?” He asked you softly.

“Uh hmmh! Sounds good.” You seemed insecure and indifferent but he didn't ask you further.

“Good night, Sugar and take care of you.”

“Good night, Luke… and sleep well.”

Should you hug him? Should you tell him that he's the only one you were sleeping with? Did he already sense it? He had almost left the suite…

“Luke…”,you stopped him in his actions by calling his name and he turned around, facing you. You ran to him and fiercely flung your arms around his neck which obviously caught him off guard. He hugged you back, not knowing what to say.

“Luke Larsson, you might be the only one I take with me to this suite,” you whispered into his ear and for a brief moment you felt safe in the arms of a man who'll never love you back. “Say something …please say something,” you begged him and let go of him to look into his eyes.

He rubbed a thumb tenderly over your lips, his eyes teary.

“You shouldn't be an escort. You should leave the agency. You're too precious for that business. But if you'd do that, I'd never see you again. So I don't know what I should wish for. You being an escort so that I can still meet you but sharing you with other men or knowing you're safe and protected, away from that business but never be able to see you ever again. It both hurts, Sugar… and I know I've already let you come too close to my heart.”

“I can't quit this job, Luke. And maybe someone like you is the only reason that keeps me going. I'd love to meet you again next week. We could go to a nightclub, it doesn't have to be Vivian's Velvet. You can choose another one and afterwards you can have me again,” you offered him, your voice almost breaking. You better contain yourself and not show him that you don't want to let him go.

“In the beginning that was exactly what I didn't want and somehow you convinced me otherwise. You already know that I want to meet you again next week. You, and you alone decide what you want to do afterwards and please don't feel obliged to sleep with me. But you should also know that I'd never deny you. Good night, sweet thing. Promise me to get dressed now and let Walker drive you home. You need some sleep.”

“Promised,” you nodded. He was right. You were tired beyond belief.

When he finally had left, you opened your hair bun, got dressed in casual clothes and Walker drove you home. The whole time until you arrived at your apartment you held the wildflower bouquet in your hand, thinking of him.

“I'm sorry if I scared you, y/n but I was truly concerned.”

“It's okay, Walker, you just did your job. I should be sorry for frightening you… we just fell asleep, I was so tired.”

“Understandable, you are on the road seven days a week. You should take a break. You won't last forever.”

“I know Walker but I have no other choice,” you sighed.

“There's always a choice, y/n…and Mr Larsson likes you if not more,” and he grinned at you through the rear-view mirror, watching you gently touching the flowers Luke had given to you. You smiled tormented back at him.

“He doesn't know me, it's just my pretty shell he likes.”

“You might underestimate him. Sometimes you just have to ask for help and help will be given to you,” Walker told you wisely. Maybe he was right. If it just were that easy.

🌹🥂🌃🌹🥃🌃🌹🥂❤️🌃🌹🥃🌃🌹🥂🌃

Next chapter things will change 👀👀

Tag list:

@lokisprettygirl @faesimps @gruftiela @fandxmslxt69 @buttercupcookies-blog @chantsdemarins @fictive-sl0th @justjoanne242 @km-ffluv @stupidthoughtsinwriting @anukulee @lovingchoices14 @wheredafandomat @lokixryss @huntress-artemiss @smolvenger

[magicalgirlsandcerulean]

Boueibu VA comments (Happy Kiss vers.)

Original comments here. Also see the student council, Defence Club VAs' and Goura/VEPPer's comments.

Naoyuki Shimozuru [1] (Kyotaro's VA):

This is Naoyuki Shimozuru, who plays Kyotaro Shuzenji.

Congratulations on the 10th anniversary since the broadcast of the anime series and the announcement of the movie Binan Koukou Chikyuu Boueibu ETERNAL LOVE!, Chikyuu Boueibu series! Also, this time I'm very honoured to play my role alongside my LOVE! upperclassmen in this new work.

HAPPY KISS!, the anime which began airing in April 2018, has always been close to me from the beginning of my voice actor life and has also made people feel love for 10 years. I'm happy to be related to this kind of amazing work!!!

I want to support the Chikyuu Boueibu series, which has continued to give and spread love, forever and ever, even though my help may not be much.

Everyone, let's bask in Boueibu at the theatre!!!!!!!!!! [2]

Ryoga Komata (Ryoma's VA):

Are You HAPPY???

This is Ryoga Komata, who plays Ryoma Kirishima.

Congratulations on the 10 year anniversary, Chikyuu Boueibu series!!

Boueibu is a work which I have a lot of memories of at the start [of my voice acting career].

Boueibu, which was the first audition I received as a voice actor.

Boueibu, which gave me ma---ny first experiences.

And! My first! Movie [role]!! Is also Boueibu!!

I'm very happy to be involved in this work.

Even now, you've given me love and happiness, everybody.

Everyone who has given me love and happiness from the beginning, I hope you enjoy this work!! [3]

Takahide Ishii (Nanao's VA):

Are you happy? This is Takahide Ishii, who plays Nanao Wakura. Congratulations on the 10 year anniversary, Chikyuu Boueibu series!

To me, Boueibu is a work which I have a very deep emotional attachment to because it was a big step forward in my voice actor life. I'm very honoured to also appear as Happy Kiss in the movie that's meant to be commemorating this work's 10 year anniversary. Thank you. Also, I'm happy to portray Nanao again...!

This is also the first time I've played a character for so long. It's to the point that it's an indispensable work for me!

How will [the Happy Kiss characters] interact with their LOVE! upperclassmen...?! Please look forward to the movie's release! Thank you in advance!

Rikuya Yasuda (Taishi's VA):

I would like to formally congratulate Boueibu for the 10 years.

I was happy to be involved with Boueibu again and that I could be recording with the same cast from 6 years ago. Please look forward to watching this work, which is crammed with more than enough love.

Because it's a rare opportunity, also watch Happy Kiss or rewatch it and then please be sure to go to the theatre! If you watch 4 minutes a day, you'll make it in time for winter 2025. [4] Let's start today.

Shota Hayama (Ichiro's VA):

Congratulations on the 10 years, Boueibu!!

I'm very honoured I could participate as one of the lowerclassmen who is continuing the series, which is connected by the staff and upperclassmen's [5] love. Like the movie title literally says, this is a tale spun from eternal love [6]. When the movie is released, dash! dash! dash! to the theatre [7], then please watch Chikyuu Boueibu on the big screen and receive the big love. ⭐︎

Make no mistake - everyone will be happy by the last scene.

Takuya Eguchi (Karurusu's VA):

Congratulations on the 10 year anniversary! The days of recording Boueibu were irreplaceably fun times. I was happy I could play Karurusu for the first time in a long time!

Hikaru Midorikawa (Ata's VA):

The Chikyuu Boueibu series, which agitated the world back then - it's already been 10 years since it was broadcast????? That was already a long time ago, huh? (sarcastic laugh)

Making a movie to celebrate the 10 year anniversary of the series is an expert move!! (LOL) Also, I'm happy I can participate in it. m(_ _)m What scenes have been prepared for us to be in? Look forward to it♪.

Personally, I'm looking forward to a big screen transformation scene!!!!! Even seeing it in TV size, it's cool, but if it's a movie, it's cool on cool! Right? (LOL)

Everyone, look forward to it too, right? (LOL)

By all means!! If you understand that, please enjoy it to the fullest♪.

Kosuke Toriumi (Taiju's VA):

This is Kosuke Toriumi, who plays Taiju Unazuki.

This unexpected movie! A considerable amount of time has passed since the anime's airing, so it was really unexpected to have a movie. While I'm thankful I could be part of this unexpected movie, everyone, by all means! I think you're waiting expectantly for it. No~, nevertheless, this unexpected-[The rest is omitted.]

Yoshitsugu Matsuoka (Maasa's VA):

First off, congratulations on the 10 years! It was interesting to be able to play a role I really hadn't played in a long time. Also, please look forward to the surprising contrivances in the content!

The no. 1 problem is if my voice will come out perfectly. Until the day [of release] arrives, I'll be nervous, alright? (LOL) However, everyone, I think we've made an interesting work which you can support, as you always have. Until the day [of release], please await it in anticipation!

[T/N 1: Over the years, I've gone backwards and forwards on the exact spelling of Shimozuru's name, but the page from his talent agency Rush Style says "Shimozuru", so that's what I'm using now.]

[T/N 2: This might not be clear in a translation, but the Japanese word for "bask in" is also the verb used for taking a bath or shower. Also, that's 10 exclamation marks.]

[T/N 3: 1) Not sure if it was intentional, but Komata's comments were left justified to a slightly unnatural degree, so I've tried to replicate that in the formatting by having each sentence on its own line. 2) This last part was a bit of a double-up in the Japanese, so I had to replicate that in the English.]

[T/N 4: For those coming from the future, these comments were made on Binanshi in October 2024, so if you watched 4 minutes of a Happy Kiss episode a day from that day, you'd take 72 days to complete the series or until January 7th 2025.]

[T/N 5: As you may have gathered from the comments before this one, "upperclassmen" (senpai) in this particular case refers to the LOVE! generation and thus "lowerclassmen" (kouhai) are the Happy Kiss generation.]

[T/N 6: "ETERNAL LOVE!" is in English in the movie's name, but Hayama says it in katakana to explain it to the Japanese audience.]

[T/N 7: Reference to Ichiro's character song.]

Update: Missed a music note.

[romione-trope-fest]

The One Where Ron and Hermione are Fake Not Dating

Fic Title: The One Where Ron and Hermione are Fake Not Dating

Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl

Selected Trope: Fake Not Dating (with a side of Cockblocker Harry and a dash of Weasley Weddings)

Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione sleep together the night before Harry and Ginny’s wedding and then hide their new relationship from their friends and family. (Inspired by Monica and Chandler's relationship on Friends)

Word Count: Ch1 - 3216

Rating: E

Any Trigger Warnings: none

***

Pt. 1

The One With The Dress

—-

Hermione wonders vacantly as she downs her third glass of champagne how many more it will take to dull her headache. On the bright side, if the champagne fails, this time tomorrow the wedding will be over and the bulk of her maid of honour duties will be finished. But tonight is only the rehearsal dinner, and despite her friends’ puzzling decision to get married in New York City, the ballroom is absolutely packed with guests. Aren’t destination weddings supposed to be small? Why are all these people here?

Oh, right, because it’s Harry freaking Potter and Ginny bloody Weasley.  The wedding of the century.

Hoping that four will be the magic number, Hermione looks around the room for one of the waiters that’s been circling with booze all night. Even in her wildly uncomfortable stiletto heels, she can’t spot any of them, and her path to the bar is blocked by several grey-haired Ministry officials who will surely take the opportunity to drag her into their policy talk if she gets close enough. No, thank you. She’ll take her chances with the headache.

Better yet, maybe she can find Ginny and see if she’s actually still needed at this raucous party. She hasn’t seen the bride in over an hour, so it’s not like Hermione is doing anything to help her anyway. She’s just here. Molly and Sirius have taken care of all the logistics, and the other bridesmaids folded five hundred napkins into origami animals earlier for the reception tomorrow. With all that done, Hermione thinks that the most useful thing she can do at this point is get a good night’s sleep.

She checks her watch with a sigh; it’s only seven o’clock. Of course, back in London, it’s going on midnight, and Hermione hasn’t yet gotten over her jet lag. Portkey lag? Do wizards have a term for this phenomenon?

Maybe she has had enough champagne.

Still, she’s grateful for the cool flute that appears in her hand bearing a refill, and the grinning wizard who hands it to her. “You look like you could use this,” Ron says jovially, clinking his own glass against hers. “And one of those old Ministry farts—Barry or something—“ He waves a hand in the general direction of the bar. “—wants to talk about your werewolf legislation when you have a moment.”

Hermione downs half of the champagne in one go and rolls her eyes. “Don’t they know this is a party?” she complains. “Don’t they ever stop working?”

“Reckon they’re so old they’re like Binns at this point,” Ron jokes. “They just wake up and keep doing what they do every day, no matter the location.”

“I suppose.” The rest of the champagne follows in short order, and Ron raises an eyebrow as Hermione vanishes her empty glass.

“You okay?” he asks skeptically, though he extends his own untouched flute toward her. “I’m not sure if I should cut you off or give you a refill.”

Hermione waves off the offer of champagne with a flick of her hand. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Ron rolls his eyes, clearly not believing her. “Come on, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Hermione insists. “Some other old Ministry fart—” That’s definitely the champagne talking; Hermione would never ordinarily say that, even if she thinks it. “—thought that I was Harry’s mum.”

“Oh, that guy.” Ron grimaces. “Ignore him, he’s completely pissed. Earlier, he thanked me for my very moving duet with Celestina Warbeck.”

His response elicits just a hint of a smile from Hermione. “No, I know. Even if Harry’s parents weren’t famously deceased, I know I don’t look old enough to be his mother.”

“Okay, so let’s have some fun, then.” Hermione knows she still doesn’t look convinced, and Ron goes on, “It’s Harry and Ginny’s wedding. This is supposed to be, like, the happiest day of our lives so far.”

“Their lives, you mean,” Hermione corrects him. “And to hear my mother tell it, you escorting me tomorrow as the witch of honour and best wizard is the closest I’ll ever get to walking down the aisle myself, so I’d better enjoy this one.”

Reflexively, Hermione glances over her shoulder, but she’s not sure she even cares if her mum overhears. Maybe then she’ll realize how ridiculous she’s being with all her pointed hints about Hermione finding a husband. As if she’s got nothing better to do with her life.

“Is that what’s actually got your knickers in a twist?” Ron asks with a grin. “Want me to pull you out to the dance floor and snog you in front of everyone so that she’ll leave you alone?”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “As enticing an offer as that is—” And Merlin’s pants, Ron has no idea how enticing “—I think I’m going to head upstairs. Make sure everything’s in order for tomorrow.”

“It is. I promise. I saw your list.” Ron turns his big blue puppy-dog eyes on her, and Hermione feels her resolve melting. “Seriously, forget about your mum and that drunk bastard. Come and dance?”

He drains his champagne glass and vanishes it before holding out his hand in invitation. “Oh, alright,” Hermione sighs, only feigning irritation at her best friend. “But let me get these shoes off first. I can’t get a cushioning charm to stick, and my feet are killing me.”

Ron follows Hermione over to the lavishly decorated table that’s been reserved for the bridal party. All of the tables have a designated seating arrangement, but they’ve been mostly empty throughout the night as the party swirls around the room.

Hermione sits down in one of the plush dining chairs and crosses her foot over her other knee, attempting to work the complicated straps of her shoe. Why she let Ginny talk her into buying these ridiculous heels for this weekend is beyond her comprehension, and the ones she’s wearing tomorrow are even worse.

“Why are you wearing those barmy things, anyway?” Ron asks as he watches her struggle. “They look like bloody torture devices.”

“According to Witch Weekly, they’re meant to drive you mad with longing,” Hermione quips, then realizes her mistake. “I mean—not you, specifically, I mean—wizards. In general.”

Ron’s ears are pink when she looks up at him, but he breezes past her misstep. “They look more likely to drive you mad,” he jokes as she finally drops both shoes to the floor and sighs in relief. “What about your dress?”

“What about it?”

Hermione tugs self-consciously at the too-short hem and brushes an invisible speck of dirt from the fabric. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t picked this item out with one very specific wizard in mind, but now that his eyes are raking over it, lingering on the deep V of the neckline, she’s nervous about his reaction.

“Is it comfortable?”

“Oh.” Of course that’s all he wants to know. She’s not driving him mad at all. He’s just concerned about her well-being, damn him.

Hermione forces a smile to her face. As her best friend, of course he’s concerned about her. It’s not his fault she doesn’t just want him as her best friend. “Yes, much better than the shoes,” she replies, letting Ron pull her to her feet.

“Okay, good. It’d cause a bit more of a stir to just leave your dress at the table, I reckon.”

Ron shoots her a cheeky grin before leading her to the dance floor, and Hermione can’t help but wonder—how much champagne has he had? He never flirts with her like this.

He’s not flirting, Hermione scolds herself as they find an open spot in the crowd. He’s just trying to make you feel better. Let him.

They dance their way through several upbeat songs before the music slows down and Ron pulls Hermione in close, gently swaying her to the softer tune. As she catches her breath, Hermione sighs against Ron’s chest. “Does your mum ever give you a hard time?” she asks him, her mind wandering again as the champagne buzz begins to wane. “About not being married?”

She feels Ron shrug against her cheek. “Nah. Maybe if I was the last holdout, but Charlie’s existence means she’ll never have a full set of kids-in-law. And she might’ve lost track at this point, anyway.” He pulls away slightly to look her in the eye. “Is this really bothering you?”

The sincerity in Ron’s gaze makes the honesty come easily. “More than it should,” she admits. “And normally it doesn’t, but…I don’t know, just seeing how happy Harry and Ginny are and my mum nagging me…” Hermione sighs. “What if she’s right? What if I never have this?”

Ron tugs her back into his embrace. “You will. I know you will. You’re smart and beautiful and caring and…who wouldn’t want you?”

You don’t. Fortunately, she manages to keep that snarky thought to herself and say something more appropriate instead.

“Thanks,” she says as she disentangles herself. “And thanks for cheering me up. I think I’m ready to turn in, though. Big day tomorrow.”

Ron doesn’t protest this time, just offers, “Walk you back to your room?”

Hermione nods and hurries to collect her shoes from the table where she left them. Her hand brushes against Ron’s as they walk down the deserted hotel hall away from the ballroom, and the innocent touch sends a shiver up her spine. She tries to shake it off as they reach the lift and step inside, but the confined space is not helping alleviate the tension between them.

Stop it. You’re imagining things.

“For what it’s worth,” Ron ventures as she presses the button for her floor, “I still think you’re completely mental about the shoes, but, um…the dress is doing its job.”

She turns around to give him a curious look. “What job?”

He lifts a hand to her bare shoulder, skimming his fingers along her collarbone until he hits the fabric of her dress, his fingertips just delving beneath the wide strap. “Driving me mad,” he says, his voice low and husky.

The elevator dings to a stop, but Hermione is paying no mind as the doors whoosh open and then close again. There’s no mistaking the hungry look in Ron’s eyes, and her heart is pounding as she steps closer to him.

“I only bought this dress so you could take it off,” she whispers back. If she has somehow mistaken the signals Ron is sending, she can blame her boldness on the champagne.

He doesn’t leave her wondering, though. In a flash, Ron’s arms wrap around her and his lips crash down on hers. Her stilettos drop forgotten from her fingers and clatter against the shiny metal floor of the lift. A moan escapes Ron as her hands tangle in his hair, deepening the kiss, and Hermione lets out a similar groan of pleasure as he presses her back to the wall, pinning her there with his body. Not that she has any desire to move. Except maybe to her room. Definitely to her room.

Hermione reaches blindly along the wall for the button to open the doors, but the bulk of her attention is still focused on kissing Ron, and she sends the lift traveling upward again instead. “Shit,” she mutters as it stops on another floor.

Ron laughs and murmurs against her cheek, “My room is on this floor.”

That will work. His suggestion is met with a quick nod of approval, and she sticks her foot into the doorway before the lift can close again. Ron takes Hermione’s hand, bending down to scoop up her abandoned shoes with his other, and tugs her down the hallway. His room is only a few doors away from the lift, and in a matter of moments, they’re tucked inside it, attached at the mouth again and stumbling toward the bed.

They land on the fluffy duvet in a tangle of limbs, and Ron’s lips begin the downward journey along the dress’s plunging neckline, following the path his eyes took earlier. As he tugs one of the straps down her shoulder, finding nothing beneath it, he lifts his gaze back to hers.

“Hermione,” Ron breathes, and the whole world stops at the sound of her name on his lips. “How much did you have to drink?” he asks worriedly. “Because I don’t want to do this if—”

Hermione tugs at the collar of his shirt to pull his face back to hers for another kiss. “I want this,” she promises. If anything, she’s the one taking advantage of him, but she doesn’t want to think too hard about that right now, either. Even if this is just to make her feel better about her nonexistent love life, it’s obvious Ron wants it too. At least for tonight. They can figure the rest out later.

Ron’s hand finds its way back to the strap, but he hesitates again, looking up at her with a smirk. “You really bought this dress for me?”

Her first instinct is to laugh it off, to say that no, she just wanted to look nice for a special occasion, but Ron’s other hand has drifted underneath her skirt, and he’s about three inches away from finding out that she hasn’t got any knickers on, either. He groans at the lack of obstruction under the dress, and when his fingers find their mark, the truth slips out of her.

“Yes,” Hermione gasps. It’s an answer to his question as much as an invitation to keep doing what he’s doing, and he takes it as such, increasing the pace of his fingers as he mutters a swear of approval.

Ron has her completely unraveled in no time, and as his hand reappears from under her skirt, she realizes they’re both still completely clothed. Well, as completely as they were when they walked in, anyway, considering Hermione decided to forgo any undergarments for the evening. They could still stop. Call it a lapse in judgment fueled by too much champagne. Not ruin their friendship—because surely once they have sex, their friendship will never be the same, right? There’s no way to come back from this.

Does she want to come back from this? No, she doesn’t, but she also doesn’t know what Ron wants. Now doesn’t seem like the right time to ask, and anyway, he started it, with that comment about her dress and…

“Was that okay?” Ron’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts, his brow furrowing as he peers down at her. “You’re looking at me all funny.”

“No, it was—better than okay.” Her chest still heaving, she reaches up to fiddle with the knot in his tie, which is now askew under his shirt collar but still intact. “I was just thinking how weird it is that this doesn’t feel weird. You and me. I mean, we don’t really do this.”

That’s an understatement, but it’s somewhere to start. For all the years they’ve been friends, and all the times Hermione has wondered what it would be like to be more, they’ve never even approached the line, let alone crossed it. Now here they are jumping into bed together with no hesitation and no idea of what comes next.

The frown on Ron’s face gives way to a soft smile. “No,” he agrees, ducking his head to brush his nose against hers. “It doesn’t feel weird at all.”

He presses his lips to hers again, and she allows herself to sink into the kiss, the heat between them quickly returning. Ron makes quick work of her dress this time, leaving her completely bare beneath him, and he’s looking at her like he won the lottery as the fabric slithers off the edge of the bed and hits the floor.

Hermione reaches for his tie, intent on actually removing it this time, but then realizes that he’s still got about a hundred other items of clothing on after that. As much as she knows she would enjoy undressing him, revealing his body piece by piece, she also doesn’t want to waste that much time. She snatches his wand out of his back pocket instead and vanishes everything he’s wearing in an instant. Ron blinks in surprise before a grin splits his face. “Bloody brilliant, you are.”

Every inch of her body is fused with Ron’s as he drops his weight to his elbows and kisses her again. Hermione parts her legs to let Ron settle between them, and they let out identical moans at the tantalizing feeling of almost being joined. Ron lifts his face from hers just enough to croak out, “Are you—”

“Potion,” she confirms with a nod. “Please, Ron.”

With one smooth thrust, Ron buries himself inside her, and Hermione sighs contentedly. Her fantasies about this moment did not do the reality justice, and she catalogs every incredible sensation that arises as she and Ron move together. They find a rhythm as if they’ve been doing this for years, and the increased friction as Hermione hikes her leg up over Ron’s hip has her careening towards her peak once more.

Is it supposed to be this easy—this amazing—sleeping with your best friend?

Ron’s hand slips between them and brings her second orgasm crashing over her. Hermione can’t help the cries of pleasure that escape her, and Ron follows her over the edge moments later, spilling into her with a final jerk of his hips.

“Fuck,” he groans into her neck as he rides out his release, Hermione dragging her fingers through his hair.

He slides out of her and rolls to his side, pulling her along with him, and Hermione happily snuggles under his arm. “That was amazing,” she murmurs, letting her fingertips dance across the freckles on Ron’s chest. Everything happened so fast, she barely even got a chance to look at him. Now she wants to touch and appreciate every inch of him.

“Yeah, it was.” Ron chuckles as he reaches for his wand and casts a cleansing charm over both of them. He opens his mouth and then closes it again, and Hermione is ready to prod him about it when he says, “I guess we should get some sleep. Get ready for tomorrow.”

The words pop Hermione’s blissful little bubble, bringing her back to reality. This was just sex. Of course it was. He was doing her a favor. She knows this, but the reminder stings. “Right,” she sighs. “Big day.”

She’s about to move away and reach for her dress when Ron drags the crumpled duvet up from the foot of the bed and drapes it over both of them. Maybe that wasn’t a hint for her to leave, after all. Hermione raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Oh.” Ron’s mouth twists into a little frown. “Er—well, yeah. If you want to.”

Of course she does, but fear grips her that she’s just delaying the inevitable heartbreak til morning. Sod it. What’s one night?

Hermione relaxes against him, relishing his warmth and the soothing motion of his hand running up and down her spine as she begins to drift off. Whatever happens tomorrow and the day after that, at least they have tonight.

[burningvelvet]

Every Instance of Lord Byron Hating On John Keats, Listed in Chronological Order.

“No more Keats I entreat — flay him alive. If some of you don’t I must skin him myself.”

To his publisher John Murray, 12 October 1820:

“‘I’m thankful for your books dear Murray / But why not send Scott’s Monastery?’ the only book in four living volumes I would give a baioccho to see, abating the rest of the same author, and an occasional Edinburgh & Quarterly – as brief Chroniclers of the times. — Instead of this – here are John Keats’s piss a bed poetry – and three novels by God knows whom [..] Pray send me no more poetry but what is rare and decidedly good. — There is such a trash of Keats and the like upon my tables – that I am ashamed to look at them. [..] – I am in a very fierce humour at not having Scott’s Monastery. – You are too liberal in quantity and somewhat careless of the quality of your missives. – [..] No more Keats I entreat – – – flay him alive – if some of you don’t I must skin him myself. There is no bearing the drivelling idiotism of the Mankin. – – – – – [editor’s note: ‘dashes degenerate into scrawl’]”

To his publisher John Murray, 4 November 1820:

“They Support Pope I see in the Quarterly. [Let them] Continue to do so – it is a Sin & a Shame and a damnation – to think that Pope!! should require it – but he does. – – – Those miserable mountebanks of the day – the poets – disgrace themselves – and deny God – in running down Pope – the most faultless of Poets, and almost of men – – the Edinburgh praises Jack Keats or Ketch or whatever his names are; – why his is the Onanism of Poetry — something like the Pleasure an Italian fiddler extracted out of being suspended daily by a Street Walker in Drury Lane – this went on for some weeks – at last the Girl – went to get a pint of Gin – met another, chatted too long – and Cornelli was hanged outright before she returned. Such like is the trash they praise – and such will be the end of the outstretched poesy of this miserable Self-polluter of the human Mind [editor’s note: ‘untranscribable scrawl’]. W. Scott’s Monastery just arrived — many thanks for that Grand Desideratun of the last Six Months.”

Note: “onanism” refers to masturbation.

To his publisher John Murray, 9 November 1820:

“Mr. Keats whose poetry you enquire after — appears to me what I have already said; such writing is a sort of mental masturbation — he is always frigging his Imagination. I don’t mean that he is indecent, but viciously soliciting his own ideas into a state which is neither poetry nor any thing else but a Bedlam vision produced by raw pork and opium.”

Note: “frigging” was slang for masturbation.

To his publisher John Murray, 18 November 1820:

“P.S. — Of the praises of that little dirty blackguard Keates in the Edinburgh — I shall observe as Johnson did when Sheridan the actor got a pension. ‘What has he got a pension? then it is time that I should give up mine!’ — Nobody could be prouder of the praises of the Edinburgh than I was — or more alive to their censure — as I showed in English Bards and Scotch Reviewers — at present all the men they have ever praised are degraded by that insane article. — Why don't they review & praise ‘Solomon's Guide to Health’ it is better sense — and as much poetry as Johnny Keates.”

To his publisher John Murray 26 April 1821:

“Is it true – what Shelley writes me that poor John Keats died at Rome of the Quarterly Review? I am very sorry for it – though I think he took the wrong line as a poet – and was spoilt by Cockneyfying and Surburbing – and versifying Tooke’s Pantheon and Lempriere’s Dictionary. I know by experience that a savage review is Hemlock to a sucking author – and the one on me – (which produced the English Bards &c.) knocked me down – but I got up again. Instead of bursting a blood-vessel – I drank three bottles of Claret – and began an answer – finding that there was nothing in the Article for which I could lawfully knock Jeffrey on the head in an honourable way. However I would not be the person who wrote the homicidal article – for all the honour & glory in the World, – though I by no means approve of that School of Scribbling – which it treats upon.”

To Percy Shelley, 26 April 1821:

“I am very sorry to hear what you say of Keats — is it actually true? I did not think criticism had been so killing. Though I differ from you essentially in your estimate of his performances, I so much abhor all unnecessary pain, that I would rather he had been seated on the highest peak of Parnassus than have perished in such a manner. Poor fellow! though with such inordinate self-love he would probably have not been very happy. I read the review of ‘Endymion’ in the Quarterly. It was severe, — but surely not so severe as many reviews in that and other journals upon others.

I recollect the effect on me of the Edinburgh on my first poem; it was rage, and resistance, and redress — but not despondency nor despair. I grant that those are not amiable feelings; but, in this world of bustle and broil, and especially in the career of writing, a man should calculate upon his powers of resistance before he goes into the arena. ‘Expect not life from pain nor danger free, Nor deem the doom of man reversed for thee.’

You know my opinion of that second-hand school of poetry. You also know my high opinion of your own poetry, — because it is of no school. [..] I have published a pamphlet on the Pope controversy, which you will not like. Had I known that Keats was dead — or that he was alive and so sensitive — I should have omitted some remarks upon his poetry, to which I was provoked by his attack upon Pope, and my disapprobation of his own style of writing.”

To Percy Shelley, 30 July 1821:

[First page missing] “The impression of Hyperion upon my mind was – that it was the best of his works. Who is to be his editor? It is strange that Southey who attacks the reviewers so sharply in his Kirk White – calling theirs ‘the ungentle craft’ – should be perhaps the killer of Keats. Kirke White was nearly extinguished in the same way – by a paragraph or two in ‘the Monthly’ – Such inordinate sense of censure is surely incompatible with great exertion – have not all known writers been the subject thereof?”

To his publisher John Murray 30 July 1821:

“Are you aware that Shelley has written an Elegy on Keats, and accuses the Quarterly of killing him?

‘Who killed John Keats? / ‘I,’ says the Quarterly, / So savage and Tartarly; / ‘Twas one of my feats.’ / Who shot the arrow? / ‘The poet-priest Milman / (So ready to kill man), / Or Southey or Barrow.’’

You know very well that I did not approve of Keats’s poetry, or principles of poetry, or of his abuse of Pope; but, as he is dead, omit all that is said about him in any M.S.S. of mine, or publication. His Hyperion is a fine monument, and will keep his name. I do not envy the man who wrote the article; — you Review people have no more right to kill than any other footpads. However, he who would die of an article in a Review would probably have died of something else equally trivial. The same thing nearly happened to Kirke White, who died afterwards of a consumption.”

4 August 1821, to his publisher John Murray:

“You must however omit the whole of the observations against the Suburban School – they are meant against Keats and I cannot war with the dead – particularly those already killed by Criticism. Recollect to omit all that portion in any case.”

To his publisher John Murray, 7 August 1821:

“All the part about the Suburb School must be omitted – as it referred to poor Keats now slain by the Quarterly Review — [..] I have just been turning over the homicide review of J. Keats. – It is harsh certainly and contemptuous but not more so than what I recollect of the Edinburgh R. of ‘the Hours of Idleness’ in 1808. The Reviewer allows him ‘a degree of talent which deserves to be put in the right way’ ‘rays of fancy’ ‘gleams of Genius’ and ‘powers of language’. – It is harder on L. Hunt than upon Keats & professes fairly to review only one book of his poem. – Altogether – though very provoking it was hardly so bitter as to kill unless there was a morbid feeling previously in his system.”

To Thomas Moore, August 27th 1822:

“It was not a Bible that was found in Shelley's pocket, but John Keats's poems.”

From his poem Don Juan Canto Eleventh written October 1822 and published August 1823. He was going off the popular gossip shared to him by Shelley (who believed it), which was that Keats health had sharply declined due to receiving bad reviews:

“John Keats, who was killed off by one critique, / Just as he really promised something great, / If not intelligible, without Greek / Contrived to talk about the Gods of late, / Much as they might have been supposed to speak. / Poor fellow! His was an untoward fate; / ‘Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle, / Should let itself be snuffed out by an article.”

To his publisher John Murray, 25 December 1822:

“As to any community of feeling, thought, or opinion, between Leigh Hunt and me, there is little or none. We meet rarely, hardly ever; but I think him a good-principled and able man, and must do as I would be done by. I do not know what world he has lived in – but I have lived in three or four – and none of them like his Keats and Kangaroo terra incognita – Alas! poor Shelley! – how he would have laughed – had he lived, and how we used to laugh now & then – at various things – which are grave in the Suburbs. You are all mistaken about Shelley – – you do not know – how mild – how tolerant – how good he was in Society – and as perfect a Gentleman as ever crossed a drawing room; – when he liked – & where he liked. – – – – –“

The excerpts above are taken primarily from Peter Cochran’s transcriptions.

[dinaaaaee]

My knight and shining armour. ♡

★Mammon x gender neutral reader, heavily inspired by the new princess dame event, could be abit of an au? it depends on how you read it. Otherwise this is fluff.

★Mc is a referred to as knight but gender neutral. Mammon might be abit ooc?

★Warnings: depending on how you read it, it may come across abit suggestive, its not really suggestive but just how I described the kiss? otherwise its just fluff. Swearing, but not to eachother just the narrative which was only once. ALSO my first fic, so don't expect it to be not cringe, I tried. 😭

@dinaaaaee work, do not repost, reblogs are appreciated. <3

Mammon walked over to the window and reflected on his luxurious surroundings. ''How did I get so lucky?'' he thought to himself.

He had always had a taste for expensive things and cold palace rose was one of them. With its glamourous chandeliers, grand staircase that proved this was not some commoners house, he knew this was the place for him. The misplaced grandfather clock ticking every second and dark red roses everywhere, this place could not compete with the house of Lamention.

He was so mesmerised by the area that he almost forgot that he was meeting with Mc. Until he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. ''What… what is that creepy figure standin' outside of the palace?!' the avatar of greed panicked.

Only until that figure came closer, Mammon gulped and sighed a breath of relief. Mc... you scared the hell outta him!

He dashed down the staircase, opening the large red and black, gold-imprinted rose door for you.

''Mc! your here finally! you had a whole lotta nerve scarin' me like that!'' he exclaimed, ushering you closer to the door.

''Sorry Mammon, The anti-lucifer league striked again, and surprisingly it wasn't a bust- huh? scared you? what do you mean?'' tilting your head to your side in confusion.

He frowns. ''You were just standin there, next to the fountain not moving for a good minute.'' He points.

You looked where he was pointing and realised what he was saying. "Ohhhhh, my bad, a rock got stuck in my shoe, sorry Mammon…" you say, trying not to laugh at the thought of him being scared.

Before he could say anything about your apparent chuckle, you walked past him and inside, looking around in amazement. Your expression made him chuckle fondly.

"A real beauty, ain't it?" he sighs blissfully, proudly flapping his arms around the area. ''Yeah! It is, and you're very lucky to be staying here for the rest of the week, Mammon.'' you smiled back as you can practically feel him beaming. "Think I can have a tour of the palace, mams?" you ask, looking at the coordinated roses on the staircase. "After I show you the best part of the palace, c'mon!!" He says excitedly, like a sugar high kid. He grabs your hand, which caught you off guard; despite his sweaty hands, you couldn't help but blush.

You gasped, wide eyed as you set foot into the surreal garden. Mammon stared at you in amusement. There were different types of rose bushes everywhere, that could rival the queen of hearts, a pound that glistened with the soft moonlight shining on it, different birds chirping, devildom ones, ones that appeared to be from the human realm… Is that a blue jay you see? A path of stones on the floor leading to…a statue? Some kind of monument. You approached the monument, which appeared to be a statue of some knight, surrounded by painted red roses and a rock with a sword half out…? What in the Lord of the Rings was this?

''Hey mams! whats this?'' you questioned as you got further towards it, him following behind you.

He explained that this statue was made to honour a Dame by queen rose her self, honestly you couldn't hear much as you were preoccupied with your own thoughts of pulling the sword out. As an act of impulse you finally listened to your mind and pull the sword out with ease.

''It has been said that no other demon could pull the sword o-''

You both looked at each other...oh shit?!

Well...

"Heh, Heh, looks like I was able to pull it out," you said proudly and arms by your side, standing like superman, opting to make light of the situation. "Do I look like a knight now?" you ask, holding the sword to your side.

"Even better, I'll be your knight. Your knight in shining armour," you wink.

How did you get the sword out, Mammon couldn't help but gape open his mouth and stare at you in disbelief? Wait what did you just say... before he could respond, you kneeled in front of him, sword in your left hand, and your right took his in yours.

You looked up at him so innocently, rubbing your thumb against his veiny index finger, looking flustered he still hasn't clocked on to whats happening, but the obvious pink undertone to his cheeks says otherwise. While looking at him, you ever so slightly brushed your chapped lips on his palmar, you could tell he wanted this, looking through your lashes you could see him tense in anticipation with your hot breath on his skin. Slowly, you began to kiss him, teasing him with each kiss. You could hear him complain about how long you were taking, but you couldn't help yourself, he was always so tsundere with you and now you're in front of him making him want more. When you pulled your lips away from his hand, he couldn't deny feeling a little empty.

"Oi, knight, I think you're missing a spot," he says, blushing and pointing to his lips.

[blueraineshadows]

Heart Breakers: Chapter 3A - When Seb wins

I strongly advise you read Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 if you haven't already. Written from a request from @simpy-slytherin F!MC is called Leina in honour of her MC

Sebastian x Leina x Garreth

This is 1 of 2 alternate endings. In this chapter, Sebastian is end game 💚 Chapter 3B will see Garreth get the girl.

He wasn't in the Undercroft or in the clock tower. Leina avoided the spot where she had seen Trixie all over Sebastian, hurrying on in her search for him. Eventually, she found herself standing outside the Slytherin common room, students wandering about giving her curious looks.

Maybe they were hoping more drama was about to kick off. She really hoped not.

After about 15 minutes of waiting and hoping Sebastian would appear, Ominis came down the staircase, wand out flickering. He headed for the door but paused, head tilting slightly. "Leina, is that you?"

"Yes," she said, stepping forward. "How are you, Ominis? I feel like we haven't spoken in a while."

"You have had your hands rather full it seems, no time for chit chat," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping to catch Sebastian. Do you know if he is around?"

"Hmm, yes, you two do need to sort out this new mess of yours," he sighed. "He has been an absolute monster to be around lately. I'm growing rather tired of it."

He paused in thought and then moved a little closer. "You won't find him here. He mentioned needing to catch up on some Astronomy assignment work and headed that way after dinner. I would assume he is still there in the tower."

"Thank you, Ominis, I will give it a try."

"Before you dash off, may I say something?"

"Of course."

His brow pinched and a glimmer of sadness washed over his face. "I know he has upset you terribly, but please, don't go too hard on him. He is the bane of my life sometimes, but he is also like a brother to me. I know when he is hurting, and he is definitely suffering. He still hasn't got over the events of 5th year. And as for Trixie, well, her behaviour has been disgusting to say the least. Sebastian was in a very bad place that night, and roaring drunk to boot. She took advantage of him. Had the roles been reversed, a boy would have been reprimanded within an inch of his life. I do not believe he set out to hurt you. In his own stupid way, he thinks he protects people with his wild ideas and protective nonsense. Anne being a case in point. I think what I am trying to say, is that he feels deeply for you, and that is why he tangles himself up in knots."

"Feels deeply for me?" Leina felt like her lungs had been squeezed at those words. "He has never said such a thing to me."

"He would never admit any of this to himself, or anyone else for that matter, he is far too stubborn for that. But he doesn't fool me."

Leina stood there taking this speech in with her eyes wide. She took a long, shaky breath as she tried to process all of it. She reached out a hand and placed it on Ominis' arm. He flinched a little, but didn't push her off.

"I understand," she said. "Don't worry. The last thing I want to do is hurt Sebastian. I just want to try and make things better because they can't go on as they are."

"Then we are agreed," he said with a smile. "I wish you luck."

.....*.....

Sebastian rolled up his parchment now that his ink was dry and put a stopper in the ink bottle. The Astronomy Tower was now deserted and quiet and he liked it that way. It was peaceful.

He sighed and moved towards a railing to look up. It was one thing to stare through the telescope and mark the detail of the stars, but when you stood and took in the whole blanket of them across the sky, it just hit you differently. It was huge, beyond comprehension, and you remembered that you were one small thing before it. Your troubles a mere wisp against the great, and therefore, should be more manageable to carry on your shoulders.

He wished that were true. He rubbed a hand across his eyes and gingerly moved them to his neck. The bruises there were less tender, the sticky salve on them seeming to do the trick. He scowled about the how and where of the salve, hating that he had to go begging to Leander Prewett, of all people, to ask for help. Wiggenweld just didn't seem to budge the dammed things and he hated the way people were staring at them, sniggering behind their hands.

Most of all he hated that Leina had seen them. His heart wrenched at the way her eyes had dimmed, losing their usual spark and fire. He hated that he hadn't been able to take her hand and try to soothe away the hurt. But, it was on him. He had nobody but himself to blame.

And now, he owed fucking Leander Prewett a favour for bailing him out with a Herbology trick for getting rid of bruises. The smugness on the idiot's face made his wand hand itch something terrible.

But he had been desperate. Desperate to hide the marks that had left him feeling dirty, stained. He shivered at the memory of her tongue violating him. It made his skin crawl. Never mind the stares of others, he needed to scrub all the evidence away that she had ever touched him in the first place.

Footsteps on the stairs signalled the end of his peace and quiet. He sighed and turned to gather his things, not really in the mood to stay for small talk. He froze when it was Leina that appeared at the top of the stairs, though. Alone, and looking right at him.

"Hello, Sebastian,' she said softly. "I've been looking for you."

.....*.....

Now that Sebastian was there, right in front of her, any words she had been trying to piece together on the way up here slid right out of her mind. He stood stock still, eyes wide and fixed on her like she would startle if he so much as blinked.

She stared at him in the moonlight, drinking in the sight of him, that heavy feeling in her chest shifting, feeling as though it might shrink a little. It was just him, and her, just like she was used to, and that had never been a bad thing. Not really.

She pressed her lips together, tears burning the backs of her eyes and then she was running, crossing the gap between them and throwing herself at him. Her arms wrapped about him and she buried her face deep into his neck, breathing in his scent like she had been holding her breath since the last time she had touched him.

He had stiffened at first, shocked perhaps, but then his arms circled her waist and crushed her to his chest.

"You're such an idiot, Sebastian Sallow," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

"I know," he said. "I know. And I'm sorry."

His voice cracked on the last word and she pulled back to look at him. He gulped, a hand reaching to swipe quickly at the tear that rolled from his eye. He tried to look away from her, but she wouldn't let him. "Its alright," she whispered. "It's just me. You're alright."

His lip wobbled and she pulled him in tight again, her fingers sliding into the hair at the back of his head as the dam broke and he cried into her robes.

The moment wasn't lost on her. It was the mirror of what she had done to Garreth, and Garreth had not questioned her need for comfort. She would not question Sebastion either, not if he wasn't ready. But she could hold him, she could soothe him and, maybe, it would help.

"I'm alright, honestly," he said. He pulled back and wiped his face. "I don't deserve your hugs, as lovely as they are."

"Everyone needs a hug at some point, Seb," she said. "How could I not comfort you if you need it?"

"I should be the one comforting you. I...I've been a fool, Leina." He hung his head. "There aren't enough apologies in the world to make up for it. But, I would like to try."

"Then, let us try," she said.

Her eyes drifted down to the marks on his neck and she swallowed, her nose wrinkling in distaste at the goop covering them. "Blimey, Sebastian, what on earth have you smeared on your neck?"

He groaned. "Don't ask. It's some nasty salve to get rid of bruises. I can't wait to be rid of them."

"You and me, both," she said, grimly.

An awkward silence filled the air and Leina shivered, the cold evening breeze cutting through the dampness of her clothing. Perhaps she should have changed after all.

"You're cold," he said. He rubbed at her arms.

"A little, unfortunately my clothes are a bit damp," she said. She tugged at the front of her jumper, wrinkling her nose, and he frowned in curiosity. "There was an incident during my Potions detention, I got a bit soggy."

His frown deepened. "I assume Weasley is just as damp?"

Leina stepped back out of reach of his arms. They dropped to his sides, fists clenched. She wrapped her own arms about herself, maybe because of the chill, maybe because she felt like she needed to protect the soft feelings she was harbouring in her chest for Garreth.

"I didn't come here to argue with you, Seb," she said. "But, let me make one thing very clear. I won't hear a word said against Garreth. He doesn't deserve it, not one bit."

She could see the clench in his jaw. Clearly, there were words fighting to get out, but he held his lips firmly clamped. Let them stay there. She didn't want to hear it.

"If we are going to have any chance at moving forward from this point on, then Garreth is non-negotiable. He is someone important to me and I won't give him up. Not even for you."

He processed that. He didnt like it, his eyes flashed, but he nodded. "Okay, so Garreth is off the table," he said slowly. "What did you want to talk about? Why did you seek me out?"

Her heart pounded. Yes, why did she seek him out? Did she want his confession of undying love for her? Now that she was here, she wasn't sure if she could handle it. It felt too huge, too all encompassing a thing, and she felt her chest tighten. It didn't feel heavy anymore, although she definitely hadn't forgotten the image of him wrapped up with Trixie. She wasn't sure if she ever would.

But, was that fair? He didn't owe her exclusivity. They weren't a couple. She had clearly spat the words into his face that a few kisses didn't lay a claim on each other. Also, how would he feel to see her wrapped up with Garreth? Livid, thats how, if his rage in the Undercroft was anything to go by.

Even here, in the chill wind cutting right through the tower top arches, she felt her cheeks warm. What if she had kissed Garreth on the floor of the Potions classroom? What if Sebastian had walked in on that? If Sharpe hadn't caught them, she thought it was quite likely she may have kissed him, and the thought threw her into a spin.

It was all too much. Her mind was fudge, and she didn't know what on earth her body was trying to tell her. He was there, waiting for an answer and she didn't know what to say.

She backed up a step, two, her lungs burning for air but she was gasping it in.

He frowned. "Leina, what's wrong?"

"I...I..." She threw a look towards the stairs, the exit, escape. Coward. "I accept your apology."

Inwardly, she cringed. Gods that was so formal. So cold. She didn't mean to be, and the flicker of uncertainty on his face made her want to run.

He took a careful step to the side, slowly lifting his hands. All the times they had been in a duel, fought dark wizards, trained together, it had given them a bond, an understanding of each other. He knew she was going to bolt just as much as she knew he was going to try and stop her. Their bodies were in tune, they could read each other in a split second.

She stepped back and to the side, one eye on him, the other on the exit. He stepped as well. Her heart hammered right up into her throat, her ears roaring with it and she forgot about the chill of her clothes.

Tension, electric and hot, sizzled. To her shock, she felt it in her abdomen, curling like some wild thing. Would he chase her? If she ran for those stairs, would he chase her? What if he caught her? Unbidden, a small sound came from her throat at the idea.

What the fuck was wrong with her??

He lifted an eyebrow at that sound, she was so distracted by it, and the slow curving tilt of his lips, that she had let her guard slip. He was closer than before. Damn him!

"I will catch you," he said. His voice was low, dark. Filthy.

She swallowed, her throat working double time. She shook her head in denial, but it was a pathetic shake, weak. Gods, he made her weak and she couldn't be. She had to get a grip on herself.

Her eyes darted to the exit and back to him. Where would she run to? That was a lot of fucking stairs to get down, she would no doubt end up tumbling to her death, if his smile didn't kill her first. Look at him, his smirk, that wicked, wicked mouth. Fuck!

She ran. Her feet bounded across the Astronomy deck and into the stairway, cloak and hair flying as she took the stairs in a leap. He was right behind her, feet pounding on the wooden steps, she could hear his excited breaths.

She ignored the shooting spear of fire that shot through her, if she didn't she would falter, and if she faltered then it would be too late. He'd catch her.

Oh, but what if he did?

Legs trembling, she skidded across the landings on the switch back steps, hands shoving off from walls for momentum, before hitting the next flight of stairs, curving down, and down, to her inevitable doom.

Leina was almost at the Room of Requirement. For a split second, she considered it an escape, but the door needed to form, it would take too long, and he was gaining on her. Was that the brush of finger tips on her cloak?

A cry left her lips, a cry that sounded far too excitable for her liking, and she pushed harder, feet slapping against wood as she hurtled down the corridor past her secret haven.

The corridors were getting smaller, portraits and statues whizzing past as she ran, legs beginning to burn, every breath now a fight, and still, he was right behind her.

He wasn't going to quit, it wasn't his style. He could be near death and he would keep chasing her. Now, that thought nearly made her stumble as she burst out into the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower.

She barely had time to glance at the shocked faces of the students in the seating area as she made a desperate sprint for the switch back stairs going down, down, down.

She hadn't planned on it, but her feet were carrying her closer and closer to where it all began. That Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom where she had knocked him on his arse on her first day. And, what was underneath it? The Undercroft.

She risked a glance back, he was so close, face flushed but determined. A laugh, rasping and breathless trailed behind her as she kept going, on and on until she thought her legs might just give out from under her. She was flagging as she passed the rhinoceros skeleton and she felt fingers catch hold of her flapping cloak.

He had her.

They both stumbled to a stop, his hands tugging her closer and she braced her hands against his heaving chest. They barely had the breath to laugh, but somehow, they did.

"So...now what?" He puffed. "I caught you...what's...what's my prize?"

She stared at him, fighting for every breath. This was crazy. Stupid. Reckless. How very them.

She smiled and grabbed his hand. A quick glance told her that the coast was clear, no prying eyes to see as she tugged him towards the secret entrance of The Undercroft.

He did the spell to open it, she watched him, couldn't tear her gaze from him. She remembered how she had realised how alive he made her feel, living life on a dangerous edge. It was exciting. Was it enough? What was enough?

She needed to know, her heart and soul had a choice to make. Was this love?

.....*.....

Leina was holding his hand. He stared down at their interlocking fingers as if to fully confirm that he had her in his grasp. All he had to do was keep her there.

He was fucking knackered. Chasing her down all those stairs had damn near killed him, but he would do it again, in a heartbeat. He would run after her until he dropped dead if he had to. She was worth every burning breath, every screaming muscle.

She led him in to the centre of the Undercroft. The last time they had been here, they had fought. How many times had he gone over it? He wished he could turn the clock back.

But they were here now. The anger was gone from her face. He looked at Leina, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright, her hair was some kind of chaotic right now, but he didn't care. She was beautiful!

He asked her again, his breaths more regular now. "What's my prize?"

He gave her his best smirk and watched her gaze drop to his lips. She was trying to pretend she wasn't looking, but she definitely was. He loved that. When she had done it up in the Astronomy Tower it had turned him on, the force of the burn overwhelming. How could he resist chasing after her?

She let go of his hand. Disappointing, but she wasn't turning away from him. "Alright," she said. "Your prize. But first, a truth for a truth."

"What?" He frowned. "Play fair now. I've already won, I caught you."

Her lips twitched. "Maybe I let you."

Dangerous smirk. "You wanted me to."

Her lips parted, little pants of breath slipping out. He wanted to make that sound come out of her with his touch, his mouth on her, her mouth on him.

"Alright, I'll play," he said. He tilted his head, thinking. She wanted a truth. He grinned. "When I was six, I stole Anne's favourite doll and tried to cast charms on it with my Father's wand. I accidently made it explode. To this day, she still doesn't know it was me."

She gaped and then frowned, folding her arms. "That's just mean, and totally not the kind of truth that I meant. And you know it."

Oh, he knew it. He just got a kick out of the little huff she did when he wound her up. He leant towards her, smirk in play. "Your turn."

She hesitated and damn if a little flush didn't colour her cheeks. He lifted a brow, waiting.

"I...I punched Trixie in the face. And I liked it.' She winced.

"I know," he said. "Have you seen her since? That was quite a punch, Leina. I'm impressed."

Impressed and so fucking turned on. Beautiful, and she could throw a mean punch. He tilted his head thoughtfully, still playing the game. "That wasn't a truth I didn't know, you're supposed to tell me something I don't know. So, spill it. What's your deepest, dirtiest secret?"

Wow, now that was a glorious blush she was sporting now. She pressed her fingers to her cheeks, her eyes darting away from him.

He hesitated. Something slippery, cold and sickening filled his gut. Gods, no. Surely not. Would she? Did something happen with her and Garreth?

His fists clenched, her warning up on the tower coming back to him. She said Garreth was important to her, that she wasn't prepared to give him up.

Suddenly, this game didn't seem so fun anymore. Not when he was terrified of what might come out of her mouth.

"I...oh, Merlin," she whispered. She touched her fingers to her lips. His stomach clenched. "I can't believe I'm going to say this..."

Don't say it, don't say it. His hands ached they were clenched so tight.

She looked him right in the eye, cheeks crimson. "I touched myself in the bath while I was thinking of you."

Her fingers clamped over her mouth and the silence that followed seemed to swallow him whole. His eyes burned because he was so frozen in shock, he didn't think he could blink. She did what, now?

Well, fucking hell, he was speechless. He asked for her deepest, dirtiest secret, and she had delivered. That was definitely dirty.

Her saw her begin to regret the words and snapped himself out of his stupor. Come on Sallow, bring the charm. Somehow, he pulled a quip out of nowhere. "Why didn't you just ask? I could have leant you a hand."

He heard her sharp intake of breath, her fingers twitched. He smiled. This was back to being fun.

"Your turn," she said, quickly. "And you need to better mine."

Oh, you clever girl. Nothing like throwing a challenge down in front of him. Although, his heart skittered at the thought of speaking these next words out loud. But she wanted the truth, and he always wanted to be able to give her what she desired. He tried and failed not to imagine her, naked and wet in the bath, her name on his lips...yep, definitely worth running after.

He nodded. His mind was made up and he was terrified. But he hid it well. "I love you."

.....*.....

I love you.

Three little words. One, two, three. So simple, and yet so big. Earlier, she had been too scared that he would say it. And now he had.

He looked more vulnerable than she had ever seen him, even more so than that day he had been slumped on the floor of the catacombs after taking out Solomon.

She swallowed. They had been through so much. The webs that surrounded their lives had thickened and strengthened, and how could it be anyone else?

Garreth. He flashed up behind her eyes and her heart squeezed. Oh, she loved him, she really did, but it wasn't like this.

It wasn't running so fast, waiting for him to catch her, wanting him to catch her, it wasn't knowing each other so well that when one moved, the other did, like a dance. It wasn't covering up murder so you didn't lose them. It wasn't punching a girl in the face because you couldn't stand that she had touched what was yours.

Yes, that's right. He was hers. Sebastian Sallow was hers, for better or worse.

She walked up to him, slowly, savouring every step. He watched her, lips parting, eyes darkening. Smirk for me baby, show me that wicked mouth, she thought. Better yet, let me taste it.

She stared at that bottom lip, swiping her tongue over her own as she reached up on tip toe. He didn't move an inch, watching her as she slowly kissed that bottom lip, teasing it ever so gently.

And then, there it was. His delicious smirk. She gave him one of her own. "So, you love me?"

"I do," he said. His voice was deep, silky dark, full of promise. "I love you. I always have."

She could drown in those eyes. If she wanted. And, oh she wanted to. "I love you, too," she whispered.

He looked like he was afraid to believe it. Her Seb, so smooth, so cheeky, and yet so vulnerable, so deep and dark, so passionate, if only one cared enough to take the dive and see.

"Kiss me, Seb," she whispered against his lips. "Make me burn."

His kiss stole her mouth, and this time it wasn't about making a point, this time it was making a fire, and she was ready to burn. His tongue slid over hers, dominant but sensual. Her toes curled in her shoes and she let her body melt into his hands.

Her robe slid to the floor, his hand slid under her shirt, fingers grazing the skin of her back with trails of fire. Her head fell back, a soft sigh escaping as his mouth slid to her neck, tongue swirling up under her jaw. Her hands luxuriated in his soft hair, trailing against his scalp, drawing a moan from his lips.

Impatiently, he tugged her collar loose, his mouth dipping lower. Her hand skimmed down from his hair and slid through the sticky balm on his brusies. She froze.

She winced. She couldn't help it, she could see that bitch sucking his neck and her chest twisted.

"Don't," he said. He shook his head, voice strained against her throat. "Don't say it, please."

She released him and looked at those bruises. The balm had made some effort to erase them, but they were still there, taunting her. She took a deep breath and flexed her fingers.

She had promised herself she wouldn't use it. It was too powerful, too dangerous. People died when she threw that much power around. But, she had been practising. She was getting better at controlling it.

She took another breath and placed her fingers on his bruises. He stared at her. "What are you doing?"

His lips were damp from her kiss. Nobody gets to kiss that mouth but her. Her mouth, and her mouth alone gets to taste him.

"Trust me," she said. She focused, careful, controlled, and a delicate wisp of blue curled from her fingers.

He gasped as they swirled against his skin. "That's cold."

"Hold still." He did. She traced his bruises, erasing them, wiping every last trace of her. She had to fight to focus, to keep a lid on the fury that tried to awake at the thought of her. But then, all the marks were gone. She drew her fingers back and he watched as the delicate, blue wisps were absorbed back into her skin.

"There, much better," she smiled.

He put a hand to his neck, eyes wide. "They're gone? You...you healed them?"

"You look like my Seb again," she said. Her eyes narrowed. "If she touches you again, she will live to regret it."

If she wasn't mistaken, she thought she saw a flicker of fear in his gaze. She couldn't blame him. She scared herself sometimes.

She took his hand. "Now, I don't know about you, but I could do with a bath. You coming? I might take you up on that offer of a hand."

His smirk was perfect. "I fucking love you, Leina."

"I know," she said, grinning. "Let's go."

Notes: You guys are awesome, thank you for reading! And, yes, I admit it. I went in to Hogwarts and had my MC run down from the Astronomy Tower for that scene 🤭. This got so long and I didn't get to the smut (angst came first, sorry 😏) However, I might do a bonus Smut part for Seb and Leina. For now, let's get to 3B and give Garreth some love. ❤️

[just-kit-ink]

To my followers who love her, on the 100th anniversary of Walt Disney Studios, Kitty, (now in her 50s) and her family are invited as the guests of honour to a party for animators and their cartoon characters. Every character ever created by the studio is there. She's hesitant to turn up, she was an animator a long time ago after all but with some encouragement from her family she decides to go. She dresses smartly and to her surprise there is a fancy car waiting for her outside their house. The chauffeur explains that the escort is courtesy of Mickey and Minnie themselves. Maisie excitedly clutches her mother's arm and they arrive to a bustling reception.

She shakes hands with old friends, makes some new connections and embraces the toons she's known and helped since she was young.

•Prince Charming and Cinderella greet her at the staircase and Kitty asks how they and their mice are doing. In response, Jacque-Jacque and Gus run through riding Lucifer the cat like a horse.

•Dumbo swoops overhead and gives her a wave with his trunk.

• Baloo sings on stage with Thomas O'Malley and Scat Cat, dedicating a song to the guests of honour.

•Ariel and Moana are chatting in the foyer and smile brightly as she returns from touching up her make-up.

•She runs into Ursula in there who was reapplying her mousse and gossiping about which Prince and Villain look the most dashing tonight.

•She gets a similar gracious nod from Maleficent and the Wicked Queen.

•Hades pulls on the old "You look familiar kid, do I know you? Ah! Amazon chick, right?"

•She is given a warm reception from the animals: Scar, Shere Khan, Shenzi Banzai and Ed, Kaa, Bagheera, Robin Hood and Little John, Kenai, Iago, Sebastain, Louis, Ray, Bambi, Thumper, Big Bad Wolf, the Three Little Pigs, Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps are just a few of the animal toons she chats with that night.

•Anastasia and Drizella do fangirling over her outfit. They also praise how well she's aged.

•The Genie appears out of a nearby ink well to surprise everyone and when he sees her he gives the biggest smile. "Kitty Hawkins!" *transforms into a cat and a hawk in the space of a second* "I knew it was you Sweetheart, I never forget a face except my own!" *takes off his face* "I'd forget my own head if it wasn't attached!" He lifts it off his shoulders and Ichabod Crane faints.

•Elsa and Anna come up to speak to her when they sense her nerves. Elsa's a bit overwhelmed by the crowds too.

•Bruno Madrigal apologises profusely when one of his rats jump onto her shoulder and is pleasantly surprised when she doesn't mind and even asks how he got on with family group therapy.

•She gets a hug from John Silver.

•Milo Thatch is there with his wife Princess Kidagakash and they talk about languages. In Dutch.

•Mr Smee brings Captain Hook a drink. He's a surprisingly giggly drunk.

•Belle and her have a terrific catch up. She also thanks her very much for helping the Beast become comfortable with his drawn form.

•Lumier helps to watch Maisie and calls her "la petite madamoiselle."

•Merlin knows how to make everyone a good cup of tea and mix cocktails. The Mad Hatter is behaving more erratically than usual.

•Kitty's husband is shaking hands with a lot of anti-heros and even a villain or two. They are incredibly grateful to him for helping them clear their names and turn their lives around.

•Snow White recieves a standing ovation for singing. She invites Asha, the newest Disney character up on stage and gives her a hug to quell her fears about not being welcomed.

•Kitty and Meg roast the executives behind their back.

•At some point in the evening, a cake is wheeled out and Tigger jumps out of it holding a "Happy 100 Years!" sign.

Kitty is sipping her drink and enjoying the armosphere when a hush falls as Mickey and the organisers give a special toast to all who turned up tonight. He thanks Scrooge McDuck for the funding, Tiana's Place for the catering, Daisy Duck for the decorations...suddenly Kitty hears her name. And a round of applause. She's being honoured and thanked by all the cartoons she ever helped mentally and emotionally. Her family are cheering.

"Hooray Honey! Congratulations!"

"Yay Mom!"

She smiles. It's all worth it. It was always worth it.

[jonnowrites]

Sylvia Cooper - Chapter 1: Making a Withdrawal

Set years after the events of Honour Among Thieves, the next generation of the Cooper Gang works to uncover a worldwide conspiracy... and make some cash along the way.

Sylvia crouched on the edge of the rooftop. A night time chill brushed her hooded coat and a smile crept across her muzzle beneath her face mask. Her brown, striped tail eagerly swished side-to-side as she stared at the building across the street. The Parisian skyline was where she felt most at home.

Her eyes were set on a large building across the street. A large holographic sign glowed with the name Chat D’or Bank with the symbol of a sleek golden cat. Her smile grew with anticipation.

She tapped the side of her mask and activated its onboard Binocucom. The Binocucom was just as its name suggested – a set of high-tech binoculars doubling as a communicator. The display came to life, a small scope appearing in the centre of her vision, and a pair of small windows flickered to life beneath the lenses. The face of a rabbit girl appeared on the left screen, while on the right was her own. She wore a confident smirk while the rabbit looked more apprehensive.

“Okay, Lily,” she said, “ready for an old-school bank heist?”

“Sylvia, are you absolutely sure about this?” asked the rabbit. “I’ve told you who owns Chat D’or , right?”

“Julien de Griffe,” Sylvia answered with a nonchalant smile, “entrepreneur by day, crime boss by night. Don’t fret, girl – what we’re doing is one hundred percent morally sound.”

“It’s not the morality of it that worries me,” said Lily. “It’s the fact that you’re about to break into a high-security building owned by one of the most powerful people in the city.”

“By that definition, it’ll be my third one this month. Any safe ways in?”

“I’ve got the schematics in front of me, and your best method of entry would be that air vent on the roof.”

Sylvia watched as the vent in question pulsed light blue on her Binocucom, showing through the concrete walls, and she zoomed in the lens for a closer look. “I see it. My first stop is the security office, right?”

“Right,” Lily nodded. “Just put that drive into the computer and I’ll take over from there.”

"And if anything goes wrong, we have Plan B," grinned the raccoon. "Talk to you inside."

Sylvia deactivated the Binocucom and pounced off the roof. She arched forward into a nosedive and reached for the small crooked staff on her belt. With the press of a hidden button, the staff extended into a long cane, its hook snagging onto a telephone wire. Using the rebound, she bounced back into the air and landed both feet on the wire with practised precision. Holding out her arms for balance, she danced across to the bank rooftop.

The thought of breaking into a place with security tighter than a wedding dress nearly made her burst with excitement. A lesser thief would be at least nervous about committing such a caper, but Sylvia was a Cooper – the latest in a family of master thieves dating back to the days of the Egyptian Pharaohs. What set her apart from other thieves, aside from the obvious skill difference, was that a Cooper only stole from other criminals. After all, where was the honour or the fun in swiping Joe Nobody's wallet on the street corner? Hence why tonight's target was one of the most influential men in Europe, who after some digging, turned out to be taking advantage of his bank's customers by overcharging them and keeping the bonus tucked away for himself. His leadership of the biggest criminal syndicate in Paris certainly didn't help his case either.

Once close enough, Sylvia jumped off the wire and dashed across the roof to the air vent. She pushed another hidden button and the cane retracted, the tip of the blunt end flipping open to reveal quite the Swiss army knife of thieving tools. She opted for the universal screwdriver, removing the bolts on the vent grate and quietly setting it down. She hooked the cane back on her belt and dove head-first into the vent, sliding down a ways and slowing to a safe stop after a bend.

"Okay, you're showing up on my screen," she heard Lily say in her earpiece. "The security room's just up ahead–take a left, then another left, then two rights, then three lefts, then another-"

"Lily, Lily," hissed Sylvia. "Remember what we said about 'one step at a time'?"

"Sorry," Lily muttered. Sylvia could hear the blush on her cheeks. "Take the first left."

Sylvia followed Lily's directions and scurried through the ventilation system. For a moment, she found herself wondering if any of her ancestors were claustrophobic. That would be quite the obstacle. 

She peered through a grate and watched as one of the bank's night guards strolled along the floor, blissfully unaware of her presence. Sylvia was never worried by guards–she could slip down there, pick the dude's pocket and get back in the vent before he even had a feeling something was wrong.

The floors and walls coated with lasers the guard was walking through, however, she wasn't so confident about.

"de Griffe didn't skimp on the security," she whispered.

"It's a system that responds to facial recognition," Lily explained. "You get scanned when you go in, and if your face is in the database, you can go around those lasers no problem."

"But my beautiful face…?"

"Will get deep-fried, yes. Until you get that drive to the security room, that is."

"I'm getting, I'm getting."

Sylvia continued her journey through the vents, swiping through cobwebs with her cane. Some more lefts and rights later, she looked through another grate.

"You should see a room overlooking the main bank floor," said Lily. "Big bulletproof windows and a Silverkey 7000."

"I see big bulletproof windows and a big fancy computer," whispered Sylvia. "And a guard typing away on it."

"If only we had someone on the team who could sneak up on a lone guard and knock him out."

"Twist my arm, why don't you."

"Camera in the room is down, go ahead."

Sylvia rolled her eyes and slowly opened the grate to silently land behind the guard. It helped that he was too busy dealing with an offline camera feed to look over his shoulder. She slunk up behind him and with one swift motion, extended her cane and knocked the hapless guard into the air, grabbed his shirt with the hook and brought him down to the floor with an overhead slam to knock him out cold.

If Dad could see that, she thought with a proud smirk.

"Okay, now plug the drive into the Silverkey 7000," Lily instructed.

Sylvia looked around, blinking cluelessly.

"The big fancy computer."

"I knew that." After double-checking the guard was indeed unconscious by prodding his face with her cane, Sylvia crept up to the computer and fished a small flash drive out of her pouch. It took her a few seconds to find the right port.

"Sweet," said Lily. "Don't get comfy, this'll just take a sec."

"How long's a se--"

"Done. Head for the elevator."

"Huh." Sylvia retrieved the drive and ducked back into the vent. "And this'll stop me getting cooked by the lasers?"

"Yeah, but you'll wanna avoid going on the floor anyway. Computers are often easier to fool than guards."

"You'd be surprised."

Sylvia scurried to another grate and silently lowered onto the floor. She pushed the button to the elevator and watched a security beam scan her up and down. After a second, the doors slid open with a ding and she went inside, using the tip of her cane to tap the button for the top floor.

"I've got you on the security cam," said Lily. "Currently blurring you out."

"Aw, but how will anyone see me?" Sylvia mock-complained.

"Why are you so eager to get arrested?" She could hear Lily's frown.

"Ahh, you know I don't mean it."

"Anyway, de Griffe's office is just outside the elevator. He doesn't keep any guards or lasers up there because of all the requirements just to access the floor."

"The requirements we just bypassed."

"You got it."

The doors opened and Sylvia slunk to the wall, creeping along it before leaping to the opposite side, repeating the process down the corridor.

"I just told you there's no one there," sighed Lily, watching through the cameras.

"It's called 'drama', Lil." Sylvia knelt down at the door and produced another tool from her cane–a universal lockpick. She made short work of getting inside and took a look around the spacious office.

"Why do bad guys always have giant paintings of themselves?" she asked, looking at a huge portrait of a lynx in an expensive black suit leering down at her. "Talk about an ego problem."

"I don't think Sylvia Cooper: Master Thief of the World is one to talk about ego," snarked Lily. "Anyway, turn on that computer and plug in the drive."

The raccoon did just that and perched herself on the leather seat, idly running her hand on the smooth desktop while Lily worked her magic.

"You think we should get a mahogany desk?" she wondered.

"Where would we put it?" asked Lily.

"In the hideout, obvs."

"But where in the… oh." The rabbit's tone turned nervous. "Oh, this is big ."

Sylvia's ears perked. "What's up?" The computer screen suddenly had windows of details and names popping up.

"It's not just bank customers paying kickbacks. There's cops, business owners, politicians… and they're all from different countries. de Griffe's taking huge sums from nearly everyone in Europe!"

"Explains all his fancy stuff."

"And that's not all – he's not just taking money, he's also giving it away. To different names, but at regular intervals."

"You got the deets?"

"Copying them onto the drive. Just make sure it gets back here in one piece, because that's the only copy and I do not trust the Cloud."

"Got it," said Sylvia. "While we're here, we should make sure this extra money goes back to the proper owners. Y'know, the ones who really need it."

"I'm sure the mayor will be happy to repay us for uncovering this interest scam."

Sylvia could tell Lily was wearing a smirk as big as hers was. "A few thousand Euros? That's quite kind of you, sir."

She nearly jumped out of the chair as an alarm began blaring. A red light started slowly flashing.

"Oh, carrots!" gasped Lily. "I think I tripped a hidden alarm!"

"I thought you shut down the security!" said Sylvia. Metal shutters came down over the windows.

"It must be on a separate system! I'm working as fast as I can!"

Sylvia rushed to the door and pressed her ear to it. "I can't hear a thing over this stupid alarm."

"I have to transfer this data first," Lily insisted. "Once it's safe, I'll shut the backup security off."

"Something tells me it's not backup security."

"Just a little more…"

Sylvia anxiously hopped in place, darting her eyes around for an exit. The windows were barred, there were no air vents, and the hallway outside no doubt had an army of guards rushing toward it.

"Almost…"

She reached for her cane and started fidgeting with it.

"Done!"

Sylvia raced to the desk and grabbed the drive. "Sweet. Now if you could just find me a way out?"

"I'm trying to get through this firewall, but it's a lot tougher. I think you're onto something, Sylvia – this isn't just backup security. It looks like there's a whole other grid just for de Griffe's office."

"What makes him so special?" remarked Sylvia. The alarm suddenly turned off and the lights returned to normal. "Oh, nice going Lil."

"Um, that wasn't me," muttered Lily.

"Now I can get a good look at you." A man's deep voice caught Sylvia by surprise. "Sylvia Cooper, I presume? My name is Julien de Griffe."

She looked at the monitor, and her heart skipped a beat at the lynx glaring at her. His indifferent expression was mostly hidden by his steepled fingers, but that did nothing to help the icy glint in his eyes.

“Smart enough to invade my place of business while I’m out of the country,” he continued, “and yet stupid enough to get caught.”

“Having your office on a different security system is cheating!” Sylvia protested. She then asked Lily quietly, “That is cheating, right?”

“Don’t distract me,” Lily muttered. “I’m nearly done.”

“I’m afraid whatever you’re scheming is doomed to failure,” de Griffe said. “The proper authorities have already been called.”

“Like I’m scared of some donut dunkers,” scoffed Sylvia. “Besides, they’ll be pretty interested to learn about this little racket you’ve got going on.”

“Bold assumptions, girl.” Sylvia saw the hint of a smirk behind the lynx’s hands. “The proper authorities I speak of will be more interested in finally apprehending a Cooper.”

Sylvia lowered her head just a bit, to hide the surprise in her eyes.

“My security team will keep you company until then. Au revoir.”

The video call ended, and Sylvia let out a quiet sigh. She had a feeling she knew exactly who he called.

“Done!” Lily gasped.

Sylvia grabbed the drive and hopped off the chair. The door was suddenly kicked in, and a small squad of guards surrounded her from all angles. She felt like she’d never get used to having this many guns pointed at her.

“Freeze!” one snapped. “Don’t move a muscle!”

“Put your hands behind your head!” another ordered.

Sylvia looked between the two. “He wants me to freeze, and he wants me to put my hands over my head. You two are gonna have to decide what we’re doing here.”

“Quiet,” the largest guard, a burly polar bear woman, snarled.

Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Uh, Lil, I’m in a bit of a bind here. We’re gonna have to go with Plan B.”

The moment she finished talking, the polar bear rounded on the other guards. A huge fist knocked one of them flying into the wall, and another was knocked out by the butt of her gun being thrown right between his eyes. She grabbed the last two by the shirts, lifted them off their feet and slammed them into the floor. 

Sylvia watched with a grin, thinking of that movie she watched once where a sleeper agent was awakened by a key phrase.

“Plan Brooke never fails,” she chirped. “Nice work, big girl. You really got into character too.”

The polar bear grunted and bumped Sylvia’s waiting fist with her own. “We done here?” she asked curtly, ignoring the pained look on the raccoon’s face.

“We’ve got everything,” said Lily through both their earpieces. “Head back to the van.”

The two dashed back to the elevator and made their way down.

“Heads up,” Lily said, “there are guards heading your way."

“You redirect traffic then head for the van,” Sylvia said to Brooke. “I’ll take the scenic route.”

Brooke nodded. Once the door opened, she clumped across the floor while Sylvia hid beneath the floor panel. She pressed a button on her gloved palm, and her body faded out of sight starting from her feet.

“She’s headed to the vaults,” said Brooke. Sylvia pounced up to an open grate just as Brooke ushered the guards into the elevator, and scurried back up to the rooftop. Once she was outside, her body fizzled back into view.

“This active camo thing is awesome. Recharge time needs work, though.”

“It’s a prototype,” Lily said defensively.

Two familiar clicks behind her made Sylvia pause mid-step.

“Hold it right there,” she heard a man say. Young, around her age.

She turned around and caught the hard glare of a fox pointing a pair of pistols at her. His grey fur went nicely with his dark red shirt and black jacket, blue jeans and black boots. A gold star glistened out on his chest.

Sylvia lowered her hood, revealing her brown shoulder-length hair, giving him a grin.

“Hey, bro.”

[flamingoinkart]

hi hello im sending u an ask bc i still dont know how to respond to tags on this god forsaken web site but!!! thank u for appreciating my silly little gay ppl :)

i honestly would love to try selling prints or stickers or whatevs at some point but i dont rly have the time/means to properly set things up rn! if u want to print em off tho i will genuinely be honoured like, ohmygod sorry it just means a lot ot me when ppl say they wanna physical copy of my stuff or set it as their lockscreen or whatever idk :)

(sorry if this is weird btw i just thought id acknowledge ur tag hehe love ur art btw!)

hi!!!! thank you!!!! <3 your art is so cute it's a ray of sunshine when it appears on my dash <333

I run my own shop selling stickers and prints so genuinely if you have any questions about starting your own, feel free to message or send an ask! (can't really help about legalities of running of a business depending on where you live though U-U, I'm US-based).

[toomanyf4ndoms7]

Justice League Versus The Legion of Doom character concept: Cheetah.

Biography: Once a friend of Diana upon her arrival to Man’s World, a chance encounter with a cursed God’s idol turned archaeological genius Barbara Minerva into a ferocious combination of woman and cheetah-like beast. With a personal grudge against Diana for a perceived abandonment and a primal hunger for blood and hunting prey, Cheetah is one of the most dangerous enemies anyone could make.

Play style: A ferocious rush down fighter with high speed and long combos, Cheetah specialises in getting into close quarters and scratching her foes apart.

Ground Combos: 12.

Air combos: None.

Special moves:

Tail sweep: Cheetah swings around, her tail tripping the opponent.

Pounce: Cheetah pounces on the opponent, slicing with her claws a couple times.

Primal Run: Cheetah runs across the screen with a few options:

Claw strike: Cheetah slices with her claws, dashing past the opponent.

Cancel: Cancel the run.

Paw-Trip: Cheetah does a sliding kick to trip up the opponent.

Blood-Hungry: Cheetah growls and her eyes begin to glow a faint orange. Her normal attacks do more damage for a brief time.

Character Trait:

God’s Curse: Cheetah’s appearance becomes more animalistic and her attacks become more wild and uncontrolled. When this wears out, she’s in a vulnerable state and dies less damage for a time.

Super move:

Begins with a ferocious roar. Cheetah performs multiple lightning fast slashes across her opponent, cackling wildly, before doing a final cross slash with both hands.

Victory cinematic:

Cheetah notices some blood in her claws and licks it off before noticing the camera and racing towards it with a wild grin.

Some dialogue:

Cheetah: My favourite quarry…

Wonder Woman: What did Luthor promise you?

Cheetah: I’m hurting you, what else could I want?

Cheetah: You and I draw from the same force.

Flash: That still won’t make you faster.

Cheetah: I only need to be deadlier.

Cheetah 1: And who might you be?

Cheetah 2: (A more American accent): Priscilla Rich, the original Cheetah.

Cheetah 1: You are merely a costumed imitation.

Cheetah: You need six gods to challenge me?

Shazam: I’d be honoured to challenge someone like you.

Cheetah: Believe me, you won’t.

Story dialogue:

Circe: I’m sure you remember. She abandoned you on that island, let you be twisted and warped into who you are now.

Cheetah: I know…

Circe: Good, then you have no reason to hesitate when she arrives. Remember, the heart of an Amazon is a rather useful tool. And if you do well, I might reward you…

(Cheetah growls, snapping to Circe.)

Cheetah: You might have saved me on that island, but that doesn’t make me your pet. I will claim Wonder Woman’s life. If you want something from her, you can take it from the corpse.

(Cheetah pushes past Circe and leaves the room.)

Trivia:

Cheetah's base design is based on New Earth Cheetah, a humanoid and feline design. But with her trait, she gains traits that look closer to the Prime Earth version.

@ohbee-whatcanyoube

[mansplainmanipulatemalewife]

a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

the character everyone gets wrong

for whichever fandom u wanna rant abt 😃👍 HTDJDJCJF

There's a couple questions and I have a lot of opinions so I'ma stick it under a the read more to avoid clogging everyone's dashes also I'll probably repurpose my whole ramble about Trant into an actual post with citations at some point its what he would want

A compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

This one is kind of tricky on account of everyone deserves the opportunity to switch and also like I don't want to push the misconception that bottoming = submission however:

very insistent that the body he's in needs to put things up his ass

clearly insecure and overcompensating

prefers to rely on rules and codes of honour instead of his own agency

becomes stressed when people behave unpredictably

Largely involved with understanding power dynamics, not dominating them (that would be Half-Light)

seemed pretty enthusiastic about Kim outclassing him

In conclusion: Authority is a bottom and a sub, someone get him some nice easy-to-follow instructions so he can feel useful without having to think and a consistently applied reward/discipline system that maybe includes whatever passes for bottoming when you're not a human person. You can't expect him to take the lead here he'll get too stressed about it.

The unpopular character you like and why more people should like them

Again, Authority. He's my silly little guy and if you don't love him I'm going to explode you with my mind.

Common fandom opinion everyone is wrong about

Idk if it counts as an opinion but. Jean's scars. Mostly people say they're from pox or acne but like. Jean would have been born in like '17-ish (depending when his birthday is) so his childhood would line up with the measles outbreak we were told occurred in the '20s. While that doesn't typically scar in itself, as a child who would have probably been minimally supervised in quarantine, it's not unlikely that they would have been self-inflicted as a result of scratching at the rash. That would also be compounded if he does in fact have dermatillomania, as I've seen a few people suggest. They look more like patches of severe discolouration than anything with any real texture in his art so it makes sense.

Character everyone is wrong about

Trant! He's not a moralist! A lot of the people who critisise him assume that he is, but there's nothing really supporting that idea. I think most likely he's just a very bland kind of upper/middle-class liberal - willing to acknowledge that the system isn't great but with a comfortable enough life to not be particularly invested in changing it.

Evidence:

while Jean does strike me as center-right (though disillusioned with the MI), he's probably not far enough along the spectrum to consider an actual centrist a lefty dink

While he doesn't consider himself a "traditional leftist", in a system that doesn't skew right like it does in the US that's pretty standard for liberals - in my experience they generally consider themselves pretty apolitical

Trant's involvement in the moralist questline is probably related to the fact that having a lot of information and passing it on to cops is his literal job it would be weird if he didn't agree to give you that information when asked

he declines to actually give an opinion on the MI and appears uncomfortable with being asked about it, so probably doesn't actually like them all that much

Trant has a history of inter-isolary travel, a young son, and no particular attachment to the Revacholian identity - when Le Retour comes the fact he won't stand with the people doesn't inherently mean he'll stand against the people, he's more likely to simply emigrate before the violence starts

That being said, many of the other criticisms of his character (especially in terms of how he reacts to other people's suffering) are very much valid and I do like seeing people engage with him as a morally complex character.

Speaking of which, especially in fic, there can be a tendency to portray him as just a happy, supportive, well-read guy with no real depth. Even in fics that do show him as having actual emotional needs there seems to be a lack of complexity, especially moral complexity, so it feels like he's just there as a narrative device rather than like... an actual character people care about and want to explore. It's just sad. Why is he always either a throwaway background character or flattened into bland wish-fulfillment to fit into tropes. It feels like barely anyone actually cares about him even when they're writing fic specifically about him.

[dastardly-homo-writing]

(Queer) Pride and Prejudice || Chapter Three

Chapter Three: Darcy Makes *Eye Contact* With Lezzie but Ultimately Leaves a Poor Impression

Not all that Mrs. Bennet, however, with the assistance of her five daughters, could ask on the subject, was sufficient to draw from her husband much satisfactory description of Ms. Bingley. They attacked him in various ways—with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and distant surmises; but aside from the lone offhand complement of Bingley’s handsomeness he eluded the skill of them all. They were at last obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence of their neighbour, Lady Lucas. Her report was highly favourable. Sir William had been delighted with Bingley. She was quite young, confirmedly wonderfully handsome, extremely agreeable, and of a seemingly athletic disposition. And to crown the whole, she meant to be at the next assembly with a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love; and very lively hopes of Ms. Bingley’s heart and hand (in multiple ways) were entertained.

“If I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield,” said Mrs. Bennet to her husband, “and all the others equally well married, I shall have nothing to wish for.”

In a few days Ms. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet’s visit, and sat about ten minutes with him in his library. She had entertained hopes of being admitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty she had heard much; but she saw only the father. The ladies were somewhat more fortunate, for they had the advantage of ascertaining from an upper window that she wore a blue coat, and rode a black horse.

An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards dispatched; and already had Mrs. Bennet planned the courses that were to do credit to her housekeeping, when an answer arrived which deferred it all. Ms. Bingley was obliged to be in town the following day, and, consequently, unable to accept the honour of their invitation, etc. Mrs. Bennet was quite disconcerted. She could not imagine what business she could have in town so soon after her arrival in Hertfordshire; and she began to fear that she might be always flying about from one U-Haul to another, and never settled at Netherfield as she ought to be.

Lady Lucas quieted her fears a little by starting the idea of her being gone to London only to get a large party for the ball; and a report soon followed that Ms. Bingley was to bring nineteen companions with her to the assembly. The girls grieved over such a potential number of ladies, but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing that she brought only six with her from London—her five sisters and a cousin. And when the party entered the assembly room it consisted of only five altogether—Ms. Bingley, her two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another dashing young companion.

Ms. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike. She had a simultaneously boyish and girlish air about her. Her countenance was pleasant, her manners easy and unaffected. Her sisters were fine women in all eyes, with an air of decided fashion. Her brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely looked the gentleman. Besides, the majority of the young ladies’ eyes fell elsewhere. Bingley’s friend Ms. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by their fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes after their entrance, of their having ten thousand a year. Possibly twelve thousand, though this insight had been spread from the mouth of Lady Trent, who was intelligent but adept at dishonesty.

Many in the room pronounced Darcy to be much handsomer than Ms. Bingley; it was not quite a case of more favourable appearance, but rather of a sharper allure. Their expression held a unique confidence as they first scanned the room. They were looked at with great admiration for about half the evening, till their manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of their popularity; for they were discovered to be proud; to be above their company, and above being pleased; and not all their large estate in Derbyshire could then save them from having a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be compared with their friend.

Ms. Bingley had soon made herself acquainted with all the principal people in the room; she was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, most skillfully. There was, at the same time, a sturdiness to her movements which suggested a hidden display of musculature under her dark tailcoat. She was angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one herself at Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves. What a contrast between her and her friend! Ms. Darcy danced only once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of their own party. Their character was decided. They were the proudest, most disagreeable person in the world, and everybody hoped that they would never come there again. Amongst the most violent against them was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of their general behaviour was sharpened into particular resentment by their having slighted one of her daughters.

Lezzie Bennet had been obliged, by the mismatched number of attendees, to sit down for two dances; and during part of that time, Ms. Darcy had been standing near enough for her to hear a conversation between them and Ms. Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes, to press her friend to join it.

“Come, Darcy,” said she, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance, you insipid fool.”

“I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.”

Lezzie pondered the origin of a friendship between two people who seemed so drastically different from one another. Whereas Ms. Bingley seemed gentle and eager, Ms. Darcy was cutting and conceited. Though, in Lezzie’s view, these were not the differences which most definitively drew a line between the two—no, not this at all. Ms. Darcy had an...intriguing air… about them, which Ms. Bingley did not…

This observation Lezzie would soon choose to discard.

“I would not be so fastidious as you are,” cried Ms. Bingley, brushing back her pale locks, cut just north of her collarbone, “for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty.”

“You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” shrugged Ms. Darcy, looking over at the eldest Miss Bennet.

“Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld!”

“Wax not your poetry in front of me, I beg you,” drawled Ms. Darcy, and now Lezzie was struck, amusedly, by the lightly-mussed state of their short dark curls. Ms. Bingley was not the only one in attendance with a habit of playing with their hair.

“I say, there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

“Which do you mean?” and turning round Ms. Darcy looked for a moment at Lezzie, till catching her eye, upon which she felt her breath catch in the most peculiar of ways. Eyes darkening, Darcy withdrew their gaze and coldly said: “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by others. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”

Ms. Bingley followed their advice. Ms. Darcy walked off; and Lezzie, shaking off their momentary connection, remained with no very cordial feelings toward them. She told the story, however, with great spirit among her friends; for she had a lively, playful disposition, which delighted in anything ridiculous.

The evening altogether passed off pleasantly to the whole family. Mrs. Bennet had seen her eldest daughter much admired by the Netherfield party. Ms. Bingley had danced with her twice, and she had been distinguished by her sisters. Jane was as much gratified by this as her mother could be, though in a quieter way. Lezzie felt Jane’s pleasure. Mary had heard herself mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most accomplished girl in the neighbourhood; and Catherine and Lydia had been fortunate enough never to be without partners, which was all that they had yet learnt to care for at a ball. They returned, therefore, in good spirits to Longbourn, the village where they lived, and of which they were the principal inhabitants. They found Mr. Bennet still up. With a book he was regardless of time; and on the present occasion he had a good deal of curiosity as to the events of an evening which had raised such splendid expectations. He had rather hoped that his wife’s views on the stranger would be disappointed; but he soon found out that he had a different story to hear.

“Oh! my dear Mr. Bennet,” as she entered the room, “we have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there. Jane was so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well she looked; and Ms. Bingley thought her quite beautiful, and danced with her twice! Only think of that, my dear; she actually danced with her twice! and she was the only creature in the room that she asked a second time. First of all, she asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see her stand up with her! But, however, Ms. Bingley did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody can, you know; and she seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going down the dance. So she inquired who she was, and got introduced, and asked her for the two next. Then the two third she danced with Miss Bette, and the two fourth with Miss McCutcheon, and the two fifth with Jane again, and the two sixth with Lezzie, and the Boulanger—”

“If she had had any compassion for me,” cried her husband impatiently, “Ms. Bingley would not have danced half so much! For God’s sake, say no more of her partners. O that she had sprained her ankle in the first place!”

“Oh! my dear, I am quite delighted with her. She is so excessively handsome! And her sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the lace upon Mrs. Hurst’s gown—”

Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet protested against any description of finery. She was therefore obliged to seek another branch of the subject, and related, with much bitterness of spirit and some exaggeration, the shocking rudeness of Ms. Darcy.

“But I can assure you,” she added, “that Lezzie does not lose much by not suiting their fancy; for they are a most disagreeable, horrid person, not at all worth pleasing. So high and so arrogant that there was no enduring them! They walked here, and they walked there, fancying themself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance with!”

“But mother, they were most handsome, I must insist, electrifyingly so! —”

“Nonsense, Lydia. If you speak the truth then you should also find a toad handsome,” said Mrs. Bennet in her typical righteous manner, despite the falsity of her statement which was evident to all present. She addressed her husband: “I wish you had been there, my dear, to have given them one of your set-downs. I quite detest them.”

Once the conversation quietened, Mrs. Bennet and the girls, fatigued by their evening of excitement, retreated to bed. Mr. Bennet was alone once more. From underneath the book perched in his lap, he slipped out an old, weary letter.