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ackerfics · 4 years ago

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the parent trap — levi ackerman (iii)

part one | part two

— levi ackerman x female reader (modern au | the parent trap au)

— warnings: angst if you squint??? and another original character that was annoying to write

— summary: caelum was too excited coming back home to london but found out that there was someone ruining their plan with their advances.

— word count: 6.6k

— author’s notes: this has been updated yey !!! i’m so happy to finally write for their series again. i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it.

London was an entirely different world for the boy of eleven, blue-gray eyes memorizing every building and street as their car drove past the city.

The trip back home finished without a hitch; the only thing perplexing Caelum was that he was directed to the first-class section of the plane by one of the stewardesses. If there weren’t many people behind him, waiting for their turn to board on the plane, he would’ve stood longer at the entrance. The entire flight was spent vibrating with excitement on his seat, thoughts revolving around finally meeting you, his mother. His anticipation remained until he went out to look for Oluo at the airport, neck craning and standing on top of an airport seat to get a glimpse of the butler. Everything was going smoothly, Oluo never suspected anything when they did their handshake, however, the older man questioned him on his hair. Even though he practiced it a dozen times, Caelum froze in front of the narrowed eyes of their butler. Something was underlying in his gaze that made the gray-eyed boy nervous, managing out the reason for his undercut with a crafted smile.

“Now you remind me of someone I used to know when I went with your mother to a university overseas.”

Caelum was praying to any deity that this will not foil the plan.

If the first-class ticket and London’s bustling streets didn’t make Caelum awestruck, the house bearing the name [Last Name] in the gates definitely did. It was exactly like what was described to him and more. The first thing that came to his mind when he laid his eyes on the cozy home was that it looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. There were vines placed immaculately on the walls, presenting flowers with the color palette of lilacs, carnation pinks, and baby blues. The garden was a sight to behold and for Caelum, all the flowers he could remember were present there and taken with utmost care. Butterflies drifted in various areas of the estate, making it look magical than it already is.

It was a refreshing sight after all those years of seeing maroon and deep green walls.

When he heard the car door close behind him, Caelum jumped an inch in the air and composed himself. The tips of fashioning this aristocratic persona ringing in his head and reminding him of what he was here for — his gaze unknowingly going to the window above the front door, its curtains flying because of the wind. Oluo placed a gentle hand on the little boy’s shoulders, a smile painting the man’s lips as he gestured for the little master of the household to greet his awaiting family. With an excited smile, he went up the pathway and reached the door. When he placed a hand on the doorknob, he could feel his heart beating erratically in his chest with his cheeks hurting from how widely he was smiling since he landed from his flight.

A small, shaking hand was placed on top of his heart, a deep breath was released, and finally, Caelum opened the door.

A hallway greeted him, paintings coloring the plain background, and carpet leading to a set of stairs. There were two doorways on either side of the hallway. Caelum glanced at the closed door to the left side of the hallway before peeking excitedly at the doorway with a tantalizing smell emanating from it. As if he was about to enter Wonderland, the onyx-haired boy took careful steps into a vast living room. The couches were arranged to be surrounding a low table and facing a fireplace that was between two open doorways, which Caelum noticed was leading to a study or mini-library.

A vase with white roses behind the long couch caught his attention, making his way over there the moment he saw the card dangling from the stems. It wasn’t in him to be nosy but the scented card with romantic connotations was enough for him to feel nervous. The roses now didn’t sit right with him the more he stared at it. It was much too flamboyant for the eleven-year-old’s eyes after seeing the flirty card. He hoped to God that it wasn’t what he thinks it is.

Caelum looked up at the top of the wall presenting an open kitchen and dining table. There hung a banner with an explosion of colors saying, ‘Welcome home, Caelum’, in everything glittery that the kid snickered at. It sent a wave of warmth through his little body.

Then, there were giggles coming from the study — a series of small laughter that made Caelum abandon his curiosity of the feast dedicated to his homecoming. He followed the sound towards the library beside the living room, the rustic atmosphere reminding him of the library from the Beauty and the Beast. Even though a whole wall was covered with books from all generations, there was still an armchair positioned under the wide window letting in the cool breeze. A small laugh once again rang through the room. Caelum hesitantly glanced at the desk at the other end of the study, a person holding a newspaper piquing his interest.

Caelum remembered a name.

“Hange?”

A messy array of brown hair, shining glasses, and a lopsided smile were behind the newspaper. The person had stars in their eyes as they planted both hands on the desk, standing up from the chair with a squeal.

“Little bean! My, have you grown in those eight weeks. You’re practically a gangly young man now.”

Hange rounded the desk, arms wide open for the little boy running towards them. They let out a playful huff when Caelum wrapped his arms around their waist, the brown-haired person cooing. The little prince was like a koala, making Hange’s heart melt at the sight. They swayed the two of them back and forth, humming happily under their breath, smile so wide that they didn’t care if it hurt their face. Hange was so happy to finally have the boy home until their mood dampened a little when they felt their button-down shirt becoming wet by the second. Peering down at the onyx-haired boy, Hange panicked at the steady stream of Caelum’s tears, with the boy ducking down to hide his cherry red cheeks that seemed to bloom after realizing he carelessly cried.

“Holy shite, are you alright, little bean? Hey, you can talk to me, you know?”

The gray-eyed boy’s hug tightened around them, taking note of the warmth exuding from the person’s body and welcoming. “I’m home,” he muttered against the shirt of the family friend.

Hange smiled softly at the eleven-year-old boy, planting a kiss on the crown of his head. “Welcome home. Uhm, what are you doing, little bean?”

Caelum stopped from taking a deep breath against the crook of Hange’s neck, his face erupting in a pretty shade of rouge as he looked up at the brown-eyed person. His gaze bounced back from left to right, avoiding any eye contact with Hange. It was rarely that he could express his emotions freely like this and for once, it felt good. His whole life, he always kept his expressions in check when out of the comforts of his house, he hid them behind those scowls his classmates feared or the blank face he perfected under a certain someone’s guise. Caelum smiled brightly at Hange, eyes carrying an entire constellation map that the person gushed internally at. “Just smelling.”

“Smelling?”

“I’m creating a memory,” Caelum whispered only for the two of them, the books their witnesses.

Hange lightly tapped the boy’s nose with their finger. “So what do I smell like?”

“Years from now, I’ll always remember the person who taught me how to read and write short stories, acting them out before my eyes and making me see the beauty of the world. I’ll always remember this person and how they smell like,” he paused to inhale the older person’s scent, “old books, lavender, and orange marmalade.”

Hange snickered. “I miss you!”

“Caelum?”

The two pulled away, looking at the doorway towards the hallway. Hange had a knowing smile on their face, nudging the gray-eyed boy encouragingly to the direction of the melodious voice. “The queen is here, little bean. Go greet her.”

That gesture flew by Caelum’s head as he took careful steps out of the library and to the living room with wide eyes. It was finally happening. The moment he was waiting for all his life. The moment his father across the oceans was waiting for all those years of being separated. Caelum could barely contain the magnitude of feelings circling his stomach, going up towards his chest in the best way possible. He was nervous at the thought that what if you wouldn’t like him. He was excited to finally get a glimpse of your face in real life rather than in pictures. He felt like flying at every step leading him to the hallway that presented the winding stairs. Caelum gulped down his saliva before taking one step nearer the stairs.

There you were, looking like a seraph descending from the heavens with your white flowy, long-sleeved chiffon dress reaching to your toes. Or a fairy gracing the presence of the mortals as you stood barefoot on top of the stairs with the most beautiful smile Caelum received in his lifetime. Your hair was styled in effortless waves that framed your oneiric visage, eyes gleaming from the windows and hand pressed against your heart. Simple pieces of jewelry decorated your neck and wrists, making it seem like you were royalty. He could see how your breath hitched the longer you stared at him, almost as if you remembered something that was supposed to be locked and forgotten. He hoped it was because of this father that you smiled in a bittersweet manner that took Caelum’s breath away.

One thing was certain in the little boy’s mind — the pictures his dad owned didn’t do you justice.

“Mother,” Caelum managed to breathe out.

He can see Hange and Oluo peeking from the living room, the latter being the one tending to the finishing touches made by the cook of the family, but Caelum didn’t mind them witnessing the reunion of two pieces of an incomplete puzzle.

“You’re back,” you gleefully stated, carefully running down the steps of the stairs to engulf your son in a much-awaited hug. You planted a kiss on the side of his head and shoulder, feeling the boy nuzzling more into your figure.

You noticed how much he’s grown the past eight weeks he was away. Even if this was an opportunity for him to make some friends aside from the ones residing in your home, you didn’t want the only piece of your ex-husband to be away that long, much less with seas separating the two of you. Hours before Oluo told you through the telephone that Caelum’s flight just landed, you were mindlessly touching your bare ring finger, the silver band enclosing around it long gone and stored in the confines of your drawer. The blank sketchbook on top of your lap is forgotten with the unfinished sketches of beautiful wedding gowns that your clients requested. If this were set in the times when you were still a university student, the pages of this sketchbook would be filled with defined jawlines, soft light-colored eyes, and a small smirk that you loved so dearly. That person’s face can now be seen on your son, the undercut making his Ackerman features more pronounced.

You pulled away, placing both of your hands on the sides of Caelum’s face. “And with an undercut. Who helped you with this haircut?”

Caelum was crying when he answered, “A boy I met at camp. Do you hate it?” His face was contorted into a grimace since he knew looking like his father would probably affect you.

“Hate it?” You searched his face, kissing his forehead. “No, I absolutely love it. You look so much like someone I know.” Your eyes caught something shiny in his ears. A delighted gasp came out of your lips as you ran a finger on the silver stud earrings decorating Caelum’s ears. “Well, are there any other surprises? Bellybutton rings? Tattoos?” You shared a laugh with Caelum, only for the boy to start crying again. You caressed his cheek, wiping away a tear trickling down. “Oh, darling, what is it? Are you feeling blue at seeing me again?”

Caelum shook his head. “I just missed you so much, Mummy. Don’t worry, these are happy tears.”

You cooed, pulling the little boy in your arms again, patting his back soothingly. “I know.” You can feel him nuzzle his face on your neck, rubbing his back to help him calm down. “This summer has been too long without you, my little prince.” Your eyes met with Hange’s at the entrance of the living room and smiled when you saw them wiping away a stray tear.

“You have no idea, Mum.”

You pulled away from your son, cupping his face delicately on your palms. “Shall we have the feast that was waiting for our prince to come home? I’m sure you’re pretty famished from the flight.”

“Yes, little bean!” Hange exclaimed from the living room. “Oluo prepared the roasted beef especially for you. How about we murder that with our appetites?”

“Please don’t, Hange,” Oluo sighed at the animated person. “I don’t want to clean another mess in the dining table from you and the little prince’s small eating competition.”

“You spoilsport!”

Caelum laughed heartily. “I think that sounds amazing.”

Lunch was divine.

Caelum was hungry after that flight and all the pretending that he gobbled everything that he could place on his plate. It started with the mashed potatoes and gravy, something that he didn’t have for a long time. Then, he tasted the roasted beef Hange mentioned earlier and it took everything in him not to hum in satisfaction. He didn’t want his family to notice that he ate this dish in years when in fact, it was a certain someone’s favorite food. Hange continuously placed some more lunch on his plate that by the end of the meal, Caelum thought that there wasn’t any room in his stomach for dessert. You laughed at the boy’s remark and teased him that if he caught a glimpse of the sweet, he would think twice. And he did. The dessert that followed was a tall, clear glass of strawberry parfait that smelled heavenly for the onyx-haired boy. His father wasn’t too fond of sweets, which meant that whatever his old man was eating, he will entertain it, too. Parfaits after a hearty meal were just the cherry on top of a sundae.

“So you’re saying that you gained a friend in that camp?” Hange asked through a mouthful of the parfait. For some reason, Caelum still understood them despite the unintelligible blabber coming out of their mouth. “And that he’s like your soulmate?”

Caelum nodded as you scolded Hange. You took the napkin on your lap and dabbed it in the corners of your best friend’s mouth, making them presentable and not the mad scientist that they were known for in the university that they worked at. “Hange, at least use the napkin provided by Oluo.”

“Why would I do that when I have you?” Hange cackled after swallowing the full strawberry they plopped in their mouth.

You threw a playful glare their way. “Say that one more time and I won’t hesitate to throw you out of the house.”

“Oh, but you won’t! You love me too much to do that, [Name]!”

You shook your head with a smile before facing your son again with sparkling eyes. “So how did you and your friend meet, little prince?”

“We had a fencing match one time at camp,” he started, vibrantly ready to relate the story.

“Ooh!” Hange interrupted as if they were guests in a quiz show on the telly. “I bet you kicked your friend’s ass at first! You always had a knack for fencing even before Mike taught you the basics.”

Caelum choked on a strawberry, incredulously staring at the brown-haired person. Was he that weak compared to the person he was trying to be at the moment? Judging from the grin of Hange and the proud gleam in your eyes; that would be the case. The little boy they knew took private classes in fencing with a talented family friend, with his life homeschooled (the teacher in any field other than sports being the exuberant scientist just sitting across from him). And there he was, learned fencing because of a show his father was watching. He recalled everything that was told to him back at camp before engaging in an engrossing conversation with the members of his family.

“Uhm, he did a pretty good job parrying my attacks and I have to say, I was impressed when he managed to corner me in the pavilion. To think we managed our way there from the fields.” He prevented the grimace from surfacing. “But I was the one who pushed him in the washing area. His words were too colorful for the whole camp to hear — they gasped.”

Hange’s chortles rang through the dining area. Even Oluo smiled while he poured you another glass of iced tea. Your look of surprise was then replaced with a laugh, joining Hange, though yours weren’t as loud as theirs. “Little bean, now I need to see that!” The brown-haired person spoke in between laughs.

“It is quite funny,” you admitted with a light chuckle. “But think about it, we’re laughing at a boy’s demise.”

“What can I say, Hange’s happiness is too shallow these days,” Oluo interjected from beside the said person, making them stop for a moment to pout at the butler’s statement.

“At least I didn’t always have a stick up my arse,” Hange huffed. “You’re always moody, Oluo. One would think you won’t have any chances in picking up a partner in the future.”

Oluo gasped, a hand placed on his chest.

“Okay, you two, leave the fighting for when Caelum’s not in the room,” you reminded them with a cool stare over the rim of your glass. “This is his day after all.” When you saw them resort to glares to not spoil the atmosphere, you nodded in satisfaction. Placing the glass of iced tea on the coaster beside your plate, you turned to your son who was holding back his amused laughs. “What happened after that—?” Then, your phone rang and everyone’s eyes fixed on the device sitting at your side of the table. With a sheepish mutter of apologies, you stood up and answered the call from your wedding gown studio. “Hello, [Name] [Last Name] speaking.”

“Ma’am [Name], thank God you answered immediately,” Armin, your secretary, practically shouted in relief. “There was a problem here and we would like to ask for your inquiry. I know Caelum just got home today but Historia’s gown has some minor complications.”

You hummed, taking a glance at your son laughing at something Hange said (probably another one of their experiments that they recently tested out), and fixed a smile on your face. Armin was a sweet soul who always had a talent for managing your wedding gown business — being the brains of the whole team. You were kind of lucky when he applied to be your secretary because the way he organized everything around the studio and the way he conversed with your clients was just sent from the heavens. “How bad is it? What exactly did Historia say?” Your client, Historia Reiss, was one of the kindest people you welcomed in your studio. You only hoped this wasn’t as bad as you conjured in your mind because there’s not a negative thing that came out of that young woman’s lips.

“She said that the veil covers too much of her gown,” Armin sighed. There was a faint chatter in the background and you discerned Sasha’s voice asking if there was free lunch because Caelum came home. “Sasha, no, I won’t ask her that. Just buy something from the bakery down the road,” Armin exasperatedly answered his colleague’s question, his voice too far away from his phone. “Hello, Ma’am, I’m sorry, Sasha asked me something.”

You laughed. “No, it’s alright, Armin. Good to know that you’re all lively there. How about this, I’ll be right over the studio in about ten minutes to fix the issue with Historia’s veil and bring you some packed food. Is that alright with you?”

“Fuck, yes!” Came from the other line, followed by a “Sasha, she can hear you, mind your language! Ah, yes, Ma’am! We will be waiting for your arrival. Have a safe trip going here!”

“Always, Armin,” you replied, the call cutting off. You turned around and faced your little family with a bright smile. “Sorry, I bet that was a loud call.”

“Was that from the studio, Miss [Name]?” Oluo voiced out the collective question of the people at the dining table.

You nodded, taking a seat beside your son again. “They have some small problems with my current client’s veil. Didn’t specify the problem because Sasha asked Armin if I should bring some food over to them. They must be hungry from all those clients coming over for a photo shoot.”

“Ah, I miss those little rascals,” Hange sighed, leaning back on the chair with a satisfied hum.

“They’re not little, Hange. Connie is practically taller than all of us here.”

“Ah, I miss those rascals.” Oluo snorted from behind Hange’s chair. The brown-haired person turned around to give the butler a playful, narrowed look. “I heard that.”

You chuckled at their little banter, eagerly facing your son. He rose an eyebrow at your hopeful face so you told him with an arm wrapped around his shoulder. “Hey, little prince, want to clear your afternoon schedule and come with me to the studio? Everybody there has been dying to see you after eight weeks.”

“Really?!” Caelum brightened at the invitation. Too much that Hange and Oluo stopped their bickering to stare at the boy with surprised faces. Of course, their little prince always held an excitement whenever you invite him to your studio but this time, it seemed like he was too eager as if he never stepped foot in your safe haven of tulles and silks. Upon realizing the mistake, Caelum let out a nervous laugh, scratching his undercut sheepishly. “Uhm, because I miss them, too. Being away from home for eight weeks is taking a toll on me. Makes me forget the little things here.” He didn’t meet any pair of eyes around the dining room, hoping that they wouldn’t pay too much mind in his little slip-up.

It was always your son’s enthusiasm that made you cherish him his whole life. He was rather closed-off with strangers, making his first meeting with the people in the studio rocky. Seeing him express such joy at the prospect of meeting Armin, Sasha, and Connie again sent a smile on your face. You pinched his cheek endearingly, kissing the crown of his head right after. “I understand, sweetheart. Whenever I go overseas for a client, I would forget what home feels like, too. Well, then,” you turned to the two people smiling at your interaction with Caelum, “will you two hold the fort while we go visit the bridal shop?”

Hange flashed a huge grin that made you wary for a second, two thumbs-up for the dining room to see. “Don’t worry, [Name]! You know I’m more than capable of keeping this place squeaky clean and free of malignant atmosphere.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Oluo murmured.

“Again, I heard that, Oluo!”

“So we’re just going to forget how you nearly set the kitchen on fire because you wanted to try baking? Or that time where the house looked like a pigsty because you stayed inside your lab for who knows how long while we’re away for Miss [Name]’s client in Greece? Or—“

Hange waved their hands around. “Okay, okay! You don’t have to remind me of those, Oluo!” They all but whined.

“We don’t have to worry about those anymore because Oluo is here to make sure nothing of that sort happens again,” you told them, standing up from your seat and offering a hand to Caelum. “And, Oluo, can you pack some food fit for five people? I bet Sasha didn’t eat her lunch yet.” The little boy took your waiting palm with a warm smile, returning it with a grin of your own. “I’ll head first to my room to pick up my sandals and handbag, then we’ll be good to go.”

Caelum followed you out of the house after changing into a baby blue suit. He didn’t have any of this clothing in his closet back home, fidgeting with the collar of his undershirt that was buttoned up because he couldn’t breathe properly. The two of you were inside the family car, the chauffeur following your instructions of heading straight to the studio when you noticed how he kept fiddling with the top buttons of his white button-down. Reaching a gentle hand on his neck, you unbuttoned the too-tight undershirt, chuckling in disbelief. “You always unbutton the top button of your button-down whenever you wear your suits. What made you change your mind today?”

The gray-eyed boy froze for a second before laughing at his mistake. “I just forgot, I guess? I’m so excited to be in the studio that it completely flew from my mind.”

You hummed, putting this aside as you looked out the bustling city passing by. You felt a small hand subtly clutching your own, making you turn to Caelum who was also staring into the buildings outside their vehicle. You smiled, squeezing his hand tightly to let him know you’re always there for him. You didn’t miss the small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. The steady playlist emanating from the radio made you relax until you reached the white establishment that carried all your hard work.

“Have a good day in the studio, Miss [Name],” the chauffeur bid you goodbye.

“Thank you so much, Marcus,” you replied, going out of the car with Caelum in tow.

The studio was breathtaking just like your house. Caelum had to prevent the look of awe sprawled on his visage. The building was pristine white with a huge window showcasing the many gowns you designed through the years, some of them were made after the original dress was sold to remember the people who you made happy on their wedding day. There was a glowing chandelier visible through the glass and a huge space between hanger racks of white gowns. Caelum took the front of the studio in with a proud smile until his eyes stopped on the gold, cursive letters on the building and the glass windows. There was only one person in his mind who fits the letters L.A. and he was across the sea with his twin. Caelum glanced at you, a spark of hope flaring in his chest at the sight of your loving smile directed at the letters.

The plan will be sailing perfectly in no time.

“You know who would look really beautiful in that gown?” Caelum looked up to you with a wide smile. “Like breathtakingly beautiful?”

“Who?”

“You.”

You stared at Caelum incredulously. Did Hange say anything? Knowing your best friend, if a secret is shared with them, they wouldn’t hesitate to spread the good news. Despite that, they were still the most lovable person you know in your lifetime. You ruffled your son’s hair affectionately. “Did Hange say something? I was hoping I would be the one to tell you the news.” The look of confusion on Caelum’s face made you smile. “You know, eight weeks has been a long time, and,” you trailed off, staring into the initials on your studio, “I think it’s time for us to have changes in our family. Let’s go inside, yeah?”

What you didn’t notice when entering the studio was a pale, horrified Caelum following you.

Surely this isn’t what he was assuming at the moment. But the image of the bouquet of white roses sitting daintily in the living room back home was plaguing his mind. That flirty card he accidentally read. He couldn’t help but say,

“Fucking hell.”

You glanced at your son with raised eyebrows. “Did you say anything, sweetheart?”

An innocent smile replaced the scowl on Caelum’s face. “Nothing, Mum.”

There was some clamoring in the next room that attracted your attention. You squeezed Caelum’s shoulders before entering the main studio that housed the people you grew to care about. Connie was manning the camera and lighting, Sasha trying her best to help Historia with adjusting her veil, and Armin pacing in the middle of the room with a hand on his chin. Historia’s fiancé, Ymir, was standing at the side clad in a white suit, worried for her lover’s situation. At the sound of your laugh, the blonde man looked up and instantly brightened, almost as if you were a goddess relieving them from their hardships, which is exactly why you’re there.

“Ma’am [Name]!” Armin exclaimed with brilliant sapphires directed at you. “I’m so happy you’re finally here!” He turned his head to the side to catch the attention of his coworkers. “Guys, she’s here!”

“Yey!” Sasha cheered.

“Miss [Name],” Historia breathed. “You’re finally here.”

“Don’t you worry, Historia,” you reassured, walking towards the small group of people. “Can you tell me what the problem is? Oh, and Sasha, there’s some food for all of you in Caelum’s bag.”

Caelum lifted the lunch bag in the air, jumping back when the brown-haired girl dashed in his direction with stretched arms. He let out a yelp when he felt a bone-crushing hug from the woman. She reminded him of Hange when he arrived home earlier. Caelum shakily laughed at the grip and swaying of Sasha. He could tell she was a lovable person and when she pulled away from him, a large grin mirrored his. “Hello, Sasha,” he greeted.

“Caelum, little prince!” she squealed. “Aw, you’re still so cute as ever. And you got an undercut!” She gasped. “It looks so good on you, champ.”

“Thank you.”

“So the veil is covering the backside of the gown,” you noted as Historia wore the train of fabric. Caelum and Sasha looked on to where you were standing, hair now tied in a high ponytail, locks curling against the back of your neck. “But if the veil isn’t there to accentuate the dress, it feels bare. Historia, love, can you try turning sideways with your chin up?” Historia followed your instructions, revealing the back of the dress where flowers were sewed on top of a see-through fabric covering the blonde’s back. You hummed, “Darling, is it alright if we change the veil?”

Caelum stared at you, eyes shining as you started to wear the façade of being the known designer in Europe. It clogged up his throat that he finally saw you like this. Years and years of talking to the stars and asking them if they can align your fates together to meet you for the first time were all worth it. Caelum bets that if it’s nighttime at the moment, the little dots making up the cosmos would shine even more, and they would rain their lights down on you. Because you were so beautiful that Caelum felt like crying. His mother is finally at his reach. He truly loved his dad but a motherly lullaby will be the one completing his dream. His dad would be over the moon seeing you this way, with your flowy dress and genuine smile, Caelum hoped that it was enough to make Levi fall in love again.

“Your mum is amazing, right?” Sasha knowingly told him. The boy was out of his trance, facing the woman who was munching on a piece of chocolate chip cookies. “Every time you would visit the studio, you always have that look on your face while watching your mum. It’s like, to you, Ma’am [Name] holds the entire universe in her hands. And I agree.” The brown-haired girl smiled, looking at you picking out some tulle in the nearby rack, Armin helping you decide. “You know that feeling where a person feels so far away yet they’re there in front of you? That describes what Ma’am [Name] is like to us. She sometimes got this faraway look that it’s hard to bring her back to us.”

Caelum pursed his lips. “I think she’s just missing someone.”

“Oh?” Sasha was surprised to hear that, especially since you have someone at the moment. “Do you know that person?”

The onyx-haired boy looked up at Sasha with a sad smile. “It’s a person across the ocean, longing for her, too.” He looked down at the carpeted floor. “It would take years for them to meet again but I know this time, something will kindle again.”

“That’s the person behind the name of this bridal shop, isn’t it?”

Caelum nodded. “I hear he’s an amazing man.”

“I think so, too.”

“Caelum, sweetheart,” you called out. “What do you think?” You gestured to Historia, intricately woven hair decorated with the veil you made at the last minute. It was a shoulder-length veil of a single-layered tulle, the top bunched up to imitate a band holding the fabric together. There were pinpricks of small gems in the veil, making it lovelier than before.

“It looks amazing, Mum,” the boy whispered, the response a signal enough for you to continue the photoshoot. There was movement in the corner of his eyes and Caelum found himself looking at an awestruck Ymir, eyes solely focused on her fiancé. Did his dad ever look at you like that when you were still together? Will he still look at you like that after years of separation?

“Can you check these shots, Ma’am [Name]?” Connie asked, showing you his camera screen.

“That’s beautiful. I love how Historia shows the gown like that. Historia, love, can you do those turns again? And smile the widest, think of this as your wedding day and Ymir is standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for you. There we go! Did you get that, Connie?”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

“Darling, are you still here?”

An unfamiliar voice came from the entrance. Sasha groaned in distaste, making Caelum curious as to who would barge in the studio without an appointment. It seems like it wasn’t only Sasha who expressed their dislike to the person, Armin had a wince on his face and Connie rolled his eyes inconspicuously because you were by his side. Caelum turned to the sound of the voice and a tall man clad in a three-piece suit greeted his eyes. The man’s face was contorted in a smug, cocky expression that screamed he was above everyone else. The gray-eyed boy heard Sasha mutter, “Arsehole,” under her breath. He furrowed his brows in confusion and irritation as the man sauntered inside the studio, making his way to you. His jaw fell to the ground when the unknown man wrapped his arms around your waist.

Caelum missed the way your form tense under the embrace of the man.

“Lucas, I’m working,” you told him in a flat tone, the earlier atmosphere dissipating at the arrival of this Lucas person. “I told you through the phone that I’m unavailable today. Why are you here?”

“Aw,” Lucas cooed, planting a kiss on the side of your neck. “I just miss my bride-to-be. Is that too much? I went into your house and asked that boisterous scientist friend of yours. Hannah? Is that her name?”

“Their name is Hange and don’t refer to them with a specific pronoun or call them boisterous,” you reminded him in a tired voice. “You know the reason, right?”

“Of course, silly me,” he laughed. “I texted and called you too many times this afternoon. Why aren’t you answering?”

“I had my phone on silent because I’m working.”

“Why have a phone if you don’t even use it?”

“Why come here if we don’t want to see your face?” Sasha murmured, hiding it behind a bite of a cookie.

“Who’s that?” Caelum asked no one in particular, his incredulous face showing a multitude of emotions.

“That man is Lucas Williams,” Armin answered since Sasha was too busy grumbling and eating at the same time. The blonde gave the boy a sympathetic smile. “Maybe your mum didn’t tell you this yet but that man over there, clinging like a koala to her, is her fiancé. We were actually surprised one day at the start of summer when your mum entered the shop with him following her like a clueless child. I heard from Ma’am [Name] that Lucas was the man your grandparents wanted her to marry when she was young. I think they set her up with him the moment you went away for summer camp.”

“No,” Caelum breathed, repeating it like a mantra.

“The little shite is here?” Lucas asked, looking around the room until his eyes met with dull gray irises. “There’s my future son. How was camp, Your Highness?” That nickname immediately settled a bad taste in Caelum’s mouth. It was too mocking for his liking. “It’s boring, right? Your mum insisted to let it happen because you were deprived of social interaction your whole life. Oh, stop looking at me like you’re ready to murder me. That’s so cute.”

The boy’s eyes transferred from the annoying man to your worried ones. His glare softened into a pleading pair of eyes, wordlessly asking you if what Armin said was true. You could only look away with a hurt expression and a hand over your arm, answering all the questions in his mind. No, this can’t be. If you’re to be married, what was going to happen to the plan? He was sure that you still love his dad, that you long for him, but why did you accept this proposal? What’s more distasteful was that this man had no care in his surroundings, being too loud that even Historia retreated to where Ymir was.

If looks could kill, This Lucas person would have been too deep in the ground for it to be called a grave.

And the more Caelum glared at him, the more he noticed things that are amiss — just like that faint imprint of pink lipstick on his neck, just below his ear. His eyes widened in realization, analyzing the way Lucas looked at you.

It wasn’t like the way Levi would look at your pictures.

There wasn’t any lingering affection and adoration in Lucas’s eyes.

Caelum will do anything to cut off Lucas from your life. A new plan will be set in motion, he hoped the other boy in California will accept the changes Caelum will be making.

The next morning when breakfast wafted through every part of the first floor of the [Last Name] residence, his phone rang with a very mysterious caller name, ‘Weatherby’. He excused himself from the dining table and locked himself in his room, leaving behind the questioning pairs of eyes following his running form. Sitting on the plush mattress of his bed, Caelum leaned forward until both elbows settled on top of his knees.

A posh voice that he was trying to imitate rang through the other line of the call, “It’s me. We have a major problem here. A pest made herself known. What’s your situation over there?”

Altair took a deep breath, losing the British accent. “Please don’t freak out, Cae, but,” there was a pause, “Mom’s getting married.”

taglist:

@loveprisms @halparkebitch @omlbarnes @a--nonymousse

just give me an ask if you want to be added to the taglist !!

#attack on titan #aot x reader #snk #snk x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi attack on titan #modern au #shingeki no kyojin #rorywrites #the parent trap

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thebadboyfanclub · 4 years ago

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The Dream Pt. 2 (Geralt x Reader)

So since a lot of you liked this so much I have decided to listen to the people and give y'all a part two. I hope I did it justice and please leave a note to tell me if you like it. Enjoy!

P.s I suggest you read this while listening "like real people do" by hozier

Part 1

It had been years since he last saw her, since he had felt her touch, since he heard her tantalizing laugh and gazed upon her glistering skin as she swam with her sisters. He had spend a week with her, sleeping next to her was the most peaceful slumber he ever had, waking up had never been easier when she was next to him, he would scoop her and cradle her in his arms knowing she was awake but allowing her to play the sleepy part cause it made it even better.

The worst part was when he had to leave her, she had slipped away in the middle of the night, when the sun came up she was hidden away from him with her sisters, he had called her name multiple times but she remained unseen. She had heard him, she could see him standing there waiting patiently for her to come out but chose not to, what good could that do? She would only hurt even more if she got to hug him goodbye, no it was better this way.

Jaskier had written and performed many songs about her as him and geralt travelled, as much as Geralt was hurting to listen and be reminded of those times he was also thankful of them, time has passed but the dreams and memories were still vivid. While Jaskier slept Geralt would hold the crystal she had given him, remembering how happy she was that he liked it, he kept it tucked away in his armor to bring him luck

"I think it will be best if we stopped at the next village"

"We have to go at the castle in two days, suck it up"

Geralt responded as Jaskier huffed. He had been extra irritated today, something was not quite right, he woke up heavy hearted which was a rare occasion for Geralt yet he chose to keep it a secret, he didn't need Jaskiers blabbering about Geralt being sensitive or whatever the barb had to say.

"Does this forest look familiar?"

"You're stalling"

"I'm being serious, are we making circles?"

Then he heard it, the laugh, her laugh. Geralt immediately made Roach stop as he froze, his eyes shot wide open. How could he have missed it? It's her forest, her lake, he was so in his head that he didn't realize he had to pass by her river.

"Ohhh this is marvelous! Come on Geralt let's go see your nymph."

Jaskier didn't even turn to look at Geralt who was ready to protest, he was already running towards the river.

(Y/n) was about to hide as she caught a glimpse of the eager visitor. She smiled brightly as she swam in a fast pace to reach him.

"JASKIER! WHAT A SURPRISE!"

she got out of the river and wrapped Jaskier in a tight hug. She squealed as Jaskier lifted of the ground for a split second, as she was let go of his welcoming embrace Jaskier span her around to take a look at her.

"My goodness you look exactly the same dear"

"Perk of being a magical creature, you however look so much better, you look like a man"

She was genuinely happy to see him. Over the span of that week Jaskier and (y/n) had developed a sibling type of love, his childlike outlook on life was so colorful and hopeful that you just wanted to be around him.

"Thank you, I'll take it as a compliment"

"Where is he?"

She asked him. Jaskier smile became a bit more mischievous, of course he understood her but it was so beautiful to observe their love. Jaskier could swear that his brood friend became a different person when she was around.

"Up the hill, you should go find him, he was extra grumpy today"

"Sisters! Jaskier is back!"

Jaskier wasted no time and left his belongings on the ground as he ran towards the water. She was perplexed over the fact of why didn't he follow Jaskier, why was he still over the hill. Still, her legs acted on their own as she walked away from the river and closer to him. As she got closer her heart beat grew stronger and it was almost painful, she could hear Roach step and his armor clicking. Finally there he was, his back facing her as he tied his horse to the tree.

"Geralt"

Her voice was barely audible, but of course he heard it. He had heard the encounter between his friend and (y/n) and her light steps as she came to him. For some unknown reason he was scared to face her, even shameful if you will.

He slowly turned to look at her, her cloth that was barely covering anything stuck to her, her hair was wet and her skin under the sun made the drops of water look like diamonds sliding of her silk like skin. He felt a wave of happiness as his eyes met hers, her surprising enchanting gaze put him under her spell that he never wanted to break out of.

They remained like this for a few moments, Geralt instinctively ran to her and lifted her off the ground as he hugged her, his face went to her neck as he took in a deep breath and her smell took over his senses.

"I missed you so much"

She said as tears of joy ran down her face, she closed her eyes as she enjoyed the feel of his armor against her after all this time. Geralt kept her in his arms for a bit after he lightly let her down, her hands went to his cheeks almost immediately, tears still running down hers as she tried to take in his features. Geralts hands remained on her face as they both tried to find the right words to say.

"You-you… I"

"I know. I'm sorry"

She didn't even have to finish her sentence. He understood exactly why she remained hidden back then, he also knew how much pain his departure had caused her. He took her hand in his as she kissed her palm again and again as she smiled and laughed while still crying.

"Don't cry, I'm here"

He whispered to her in such a soft way that you would think Geralt was possessed. He wiped away her tears as they both laughed together, it was a laugh of relief, their hearts finally felt that weight of being apart being lifted and they could breathe freely once again. She was the one to reach out and kiss him in the lips, the kiss showed intimacy, love, eagerness, true passion as the one craved the other so much. Geralt lifted her once again as she laughed in the kiss, to him she was as light as a feather.

"You look beautiful"

"I missed those eyes"

She replied back. So many nights she had jumped out of slumber because she would dream of his eyes, the dreams felt so real that once she was awake she would start crying over the fact that it wasn't real, that those eyes were only in her memory. Now here he was, Geralt in the flesh as she hugged and kissed her all over the face while her melodic laugh filled his ears. To him her laugh was better than any ballad Jaskier or any other barb had sang.

"My dream"

He said as they both took a breath after their kiss, their foreheads touching while she was still hovering over the earth. They were a sight for sore eyes, as they both got lost in each other's eyes and nothing else mattered to them. It was exactly what the poets and writers tried to put to words, yet no one did it justice.

"I want to come with you"

"I want to stay with you"

They said ok unison. Once again laughter was heard as they understood how much alike yet different they were, yet they wanted to sacrifice their life, to leave behind all they knew for the sake of love, they were ready to surrender themselves into this strong feeling and just live together for as long as this world aloud them.

"I shouldn't have left"

"I shouldn't have allowed you to"

She replied. Geralt gave her a kiss on her forehead and let her down once again, still taking in her presence. She smiled at him while she intertwined her fingers with his, silence took over but their eyes said everything, they had reach euphoria in the arms of the other. Their missing half was finally home.

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seriouslyhooked · 4 years ago

Text

The Bast Bad Idea (Part 2)

Three-part CS AU where Emma and Killian are doctors working at the same hospital (world without pandemic). They’ve yet to meet, but Emma has definitely seen the sexy Dr. Jones in her travels at Mist Haven Medical. It’s generally a bad idea to get involved with a colleague, but a little fantasizing never hurt… right? Inspired by the song ‘Bad Idea’ by Ariana Grande and a TV couple who set the bar for true love stories.

Part One Here. Story available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hello everyone! First and foremost, I want to start with a huge thank you to all of you who have reached out about this story. The response was so far beyond what I was expecting, but I am thrilled to know that all of you enjoy a CS Doctor AU as much as I do. As someone who grew up watching Grey’s Anatomy, it’s essentially engrained in my DNA to love a medical romance, and this story is one I have wanted to write for a long time. I’ve had more than a month away from writing thanks to my busy schedule, but finally my muse came to play and add a bit of fluff to this sweet short story. Chapter two picks up with a critical question – what was Dr. Jones going to propose to Dr. Swan…? Without further ado, here is our answer. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

“This might be presumptuous of me, love, but I find I’m helpless to resist. I was wondering – that is, I was hoping that perhaps, you and I, we could…”

His eyes strayed down to her lips, and Emma wet them absentmindedly. She heard a low growl, and realized it was coming from Killian. She shifted in her seat, turned on in a way she had never been before. Instinctively she moved closer, sensing the sinfully sweet current between them, like lightning just before it cracked across a summer sky. The instant attraction was breathtaking. It felt almost out of time and space.

“We could…” she continued, nudging him along and hoping he would elaborate. She wanted so badly for him to say aloud what she herself was wishing for.

Yet where Emma expected words, she was instead met with action, tantalizing and surprising, but inspiring something in her she never expected. Before she knew it, Emma was in Killian’s arms, aching for this moment, kissing him and knowing she was positively senseless. All that existed was this kiss, this touch. It was electrifying and invigorating, a blaze rushing through her blood stream that emboldened a part of her she’d always held back. Desire. That was what this was, and it was luscious and intoxicating.

Following his lead, Emma broke away from the kiss only to gasp for air as he crowded her body against the wall. The hardness of the cement blocks behind her, coupled with the heat and definition of Dr. Killian Jones was too much to handle. She arched into him, striving for contact, and reveling in the feel of his skin on hers. The only problem was these damn clothes between them. Never in her life had she been irritated at this doctor’s coat she’d worked so hard to earn. For years she studied and poured everything she was into medicine, all for the authority this coat portrayed, but she practically purred when Killian stripped hers off and tossed it to the ground. Pushing his off of his body in return made her mind race. The muscles of his chest and arms were driving her to distraction. Then they flexed, and she swallowed harshly, earning a deep, decadent chuckle from this man who drove her crazy.

“See something you like, Swan?”

God that cockiness. They’d never had any kind of real conversation before now, but the way he smiled spoke volumes. His air and his persona were dripping in assuredness. Emma used to think that she hated so much confidence, but when it came to Killian, she craved it something fierce. It was somewhat infuriating, the way his eyes shone with mischief and conceit, but it was also hotter than anything she’d ever known. Still, part of her would rather die than admit that aloud. She had her pride, no matter how wrapped up in this moment she may be.

“It’s hard to say,” she replied, her voice sounding out with a shredded silkiness that she’d never heard before. “I haven’t seen much of anything yet.”

“My apologies, love. Allow me to rectify the situation.”

Emma watched as this ridiculously attractive man purposefully teased her. With deft fingers he reached for the base of his scrub top, inching the material higher up his body. The trail of dark hair he revealed was evocative, but it held no candle the shape and tone of those abs underneath. Sweet Jesus, were those real? Emma bit back a groan at the sight, her lip pressed tight between her teeth. It took everything in her to keep her hands from reaching for him. She lay them flat on the wall behind her at her sides instead, but they balled into fists unconsciously as Killian eventually tossed the shirt away.

His black hair was mussed now, both from removing the scrubs with that always-present swagger, and from her fingers having run through it during their never-ending kisses. His eyes were dark navy blue, but still they shone with hunger and delight. His grin was a mix of charming and predatory, but instead of inciting a fight or flight response, Emma only wanted to surrender. This was a man who knew he was in complete control. He had hooked her, totally and beyond any shadow of doubt, and all she wanted was for him to have his way with her.

The curses he whispered while helping her shed her own scrubs were like prayers on high, a sweet song to her ears that only added to his allure. Killian’s eyes never strayed from her, but his reactions were so open and transparent. He hid nothing, allowing her a glimpse to the world inside, and it caused the power between them to shift. If Emma was being hunted, then she was also hunting in return, and Killian seemed ready to be caught.

“Emma, I -,”

His voice faded out, and she struggled to hear him. Instead, there was a blaring alarm. Was this a fire drill? Why had the light in the room gone hazy? Still, Emma heard herself whisper his name.

“Killian?”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The screech of the sharp, incessant chiming by her ears wrenched Emma’s eyes open, and immediately she groaned in disappointment. All of that – every exquisite moment – was a dream. Ugh, of course it was! Because this was her life now: fantasizing about a hot trauma surgeon ceaselessly and wishing that her memories of him were more than mere imagination.

“Damn it,” she muttered aloud, covering her eyes with her hand in frustration. With her vision blocked, Emma was more aware of the feeling that her body was wrapped up in her sheets. She’d obviously been tossing and turning through the night, restless in ways she rarely was before seeing Doctor Jones. These freaking dreams just felt so real, and they’d only gotten worse since officially meeting him.

That was three days ago now, but things had been chaotic in the meantime. The level four trauma that came in when they’d been formally introduced totally swamped the ER. Emma was called down for consult on multiple patients, needing to give life and death assessments and treatment plans for half a dozen people. While down there, Emma had the chance to see David and Killian in action. She was struck, even in the grips of adrenaline, by their cohesion and capability. They were cool and collected, battling odds that were dire to say the least, but they prevailed. Emma had worked for years to hone her craft, to heighten her skills, and to meet the moments of medicine that her work provided. But the energy in the ER had shifted, and she felt her own abilities elevated by the camaraderie and collectiveness of everyone in the hospital.

That shared experience only lasted a short while, for after initial inspections and emergency consults, Emma was quickly rerouted to the surgical wing. For 16 hours straight she worked to save the lives of four people, and through something that felt like magic, or maybe divine intervention, she was successful each and every time. That good fortune held, not only for her, but for all of her colleagues as well. The hospital had managed something next to impossible – they had saved every victim of the horrible accident, but the work had been backbreaking. When she’d finally scrubbed out of her last procedure, Emma admitted defeat, heading home and sleeping for twelve straight hours.

Her next shift was markedly slower, and Emma had the chance to see the progress of her post-op patients, and to connect with the others in her unit. It was critically important that the doctors, nurses, admins, tech teams, and other staff were all feeling strong and secure. Patients needed everyone working as a collective whole, and Emma took it upon herself to monitor that. It was unusual for a Doctor, especially one who wasn’t overseeing daily operations, but it mattered to Emma. Saving lives took so much more than her medical degree and steady hands. She needed each and every person in the cardiac wing to be successful, and she valued every one of them for what they brought to the team.

Unfortunately, while Emma’s day was slower and steadier, there was also a favorite element now lacking. She wasn’t too proud to admit that she’d willingly joined Ruby on the daily trip to the coffee cart. Actually, she’d been the one to page Ruby this time, earning more than a bit of teasing from her best friend, but Killian and David never showed. Only later, when Emma was at the tail end of her workday and helping with a consult in the ER, did she learn why.

“He was here for sixty-eight straight hours,” David said bluntly, after having confirmed his diagnosis for a patient presenting with a blood circulation issue.

“I’m sorry?” Emma asked, confused for a moment at David’s turn of topic.

“Killian,” David said, prompting Emma’s face to heat. Here she was, hoping it wasn’t totally obvious that she was looking for a man she hardly knew beyond imaginings, but David had seen through her in a matter of moments.

“Oh, um – that’s, well that’s… crazy. Sixty-eight hours?” That beat even her record, and she’d been called a workaholic on more than one occasion.

“Mhmm. We were on the end of a twelve-hour shift when the call came in and he stayed, until every last patient in the trauma department was seen and attended to. I left for eight hours and was dead to the world the entire time. Still felt laggy when coming back. Meanwhile, he caught maybe four hours sleep total interspersed between rounds, crashing in on call rooms. You’d never know though. He was totally unfazed. Brilliant as ever. It was like being back in the field again.”

“Seriously?” Emma asked, amazed at that. She was no stranger to long shifts, but to work that hard for that long was a herculean feat. Somehow, though, she wasn’t surprised to hear Killian had pulled it off.

“Yup. I had to force him to go back to his hotel. Actually, Regina had to. I tried, but until the Chief said something, he wouldn’t budge. She had to spew all sorts of protocol and legal jargon at him to get him to go. Even then, I could tell he was debating whether to stay or not.”

“He has a real connection with his patients,” Emma commented, vocalizing a fact she’d ascertained by watching him in action. Killian cared deeply, and while his main job may be all about stemming the flow of crisis, and bouncing around from one case to the next just to keep people holding on, he kept track of all those he helped, and invested in each patient no matter what.

“Maybe. I think it had more to do with the fact that it was only eight am and you wouldn’t be at the coffee stand yet.”

Before Emma could respond, David was paged for something else. He’d left her with a polite goodbye, but also a knowing smile. Another time, Emma might have tried to fake that she wasn’t interested or deny that there was something between her and Killian, but instead she was too busy fixating on what she’d just heard. Emma carried David’s assessment around with her for the rest of the day, well after leaving the hospital and heading home. She spent the night wondering if what David said was true. Was Killian as interested in her as she was in him?

“This might be presumptuous of me, love, but I find I’m helpless to resist. I was wondering – that is, I was hoping that perhaps, you and I, we could…”

“We could what?” she whispered, getting out of her car, heading inside to her next shift. “What was he going to ask me?”

“Did you say something, Emma?”

Emma jumped at the unexpected question, senses on high alert as she stood before the elevator in the parking garage. When she found Mary Margaret only a few feet from her, and clearly the orator of the previous question, Emma relaxed slightly. She tried her best not to show her embarrassment, but it was difficult. Now she was talking to herself? Jeez, she was truly losing it at this point.

“Oh, uh, nothing. How are you today?” she asked her friend. Mary Margaret smiled widely. Her excitement was palpable, filling up the elevator car as the two of them stepped inside.

“I’m great! Just eager to get to work.”

“Any interesting cases on the schedule?”

“Oh, uh, sure, there’s a few, I guess. Well really most of my day is going to be in consult with the Chief’s office.”

“Wait a second, you have to spend a prolonged period of time with the Evil Queen and you are smiling? Who are you and what have you done with Mary Margaret?” Her friend now looked flustered, clearly trying to grasp at an explanation and then it dawned on Emma. “This is about David isn’t it?”

“David?” Mary Margaret asked, her pitch higher than it had been just moments ago. Emma laughed at her friend’s terrible play acting. Trying to pretend that this wasn’t about David Nolan was a lost cause. Eventually Mary Margaret realized that, and she sighed, releasing the tension in her shoulders as she exhaled. “Okay, yes, I am seeing Dr. Nolan today.”

“Let me guess, he’s also going to be at the admin meetings.”

“They’re about coordinating long term therapies better with our emergency protocols and treatments. So yes, the head of the ER is likely to make an appearance.”

“I see,” Emma said, biting back a smirk so as not to make Mary Margaret too uncomfortable. In the end though her curiosity won out, and she had to ask. “So, any movement there?”

“Movement?”

“Has he asked you out yet?”

“Not exactly.” Emma waited for her friend to explain herself. Mary Margaret held off for a few seconds before blurting out the truth. “I actually asked him.”

“Really?” Emma was shocked. Not because she thought any less of Mary Margaret. In fact, quite the opposite. She was proud of Mary Margaret for going for what she wanted. She just had never ever seen Mary Margaret step outside of a comfort zone like that, and certainly not with a hospital colleague. “Good for you. And he obviously said yes.”

“Why is it obvious?” Emma rolled her eyes, but in a teasing way.

“Come on, you know you two were making heart eyes at each other the other day. There was a definite spark. We all saw it.”

“I’m honestly surprised you noticed since you had your own, what did you just call them? ‘Heart eyes’? Well, you definitely had heart eyes for a certain trauma surgeon.”

Now it was Emma’s turn to blush, and what perfect timing, because the elevator doors had just opened to the lobby. They exited the quiet of the elevator to a hustle and bustle found only at a top tier hospital. It felt like a swarm of people, buzzing every which way, on their own individual paths.

“David and I going to dinner tomorrow,” Mary Margaret said quietly, looking around and finding no eavesdropping colleagues. When the coast was clear, she smiled, looking back at Emma with excitement all over her face. “That’s all I know though. I may have asked him out, but he made it very clear he had plans for how our first date was going to be.”

“I have a good feeling about this guy,” Emma said, referring to David. She had known Mary Margaret for a long time, and she knew how much her friend wished for a real and solid love in her life. Few people desired and deserved that kind of connection like Mary Margaret, and for Emma, there was a real satisfaction in seeing her friend’s instant connection with a stand-up man. Based on past experience, there weren’t too many of those to go around.

“Which one?” Mary Margaret asked. Emma stammered something non-committal out, causing her friend to laugh once more. “And that right there is all the answer I need. See you later, Emma. Oh, and when you see Killian again, just go for it. Believe me, it’s so much better than waiting and wondering.”

With that, Mary Margaret headed towards the wing of the hospital where the Chief and her admins worked. At the same time, Emma turned her attention to the cardiac unit. She had a ways to go to get there, but while still in the main entrance of the hospital she was stopped short by a gruff, and somewhat uncertain voice.

“Excuse me, Doctor Swan?”

“Yes?” Emma replied, looking to the young man who approached her. Taking in his features, she realized she knew him peripherally. He was one of the new interns cycling through the hospital this year, but he hadn’t worked in the cardio wing or in a surgical capacity. Taking in his lanyard, which bore his ID card over plain clothes, she saw he was an ER intern. Interesting. “Can I help you?”

“This is for you.” The young man offered her a paper box. Emma accepted, thoroughly confused before the intern elaborated. “Curtesy of Doctor Jones.”

“Oh,” Emma said, suddenly incredibly interested. Unable to resist, she opened the box. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but what she found made her smile widely. “These are flowers. Paper flowers.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m not entirely sure of the significance, but Doctor Jones told me there is a note inside as well. He wanted me to be sure to mention that.”

Emma was more than excited to read what this astonishing man would write to her, but something the intern said reminded her of the awkwardness of this situation. Had Killian used his authority over the interns to have this delivered? It wasn’t a crazy assumption. Many of the residents and attendings here saw interns as the low rungs on the ladder. They were meant to be learning and training, but often they were sent on coffee runs and foolish errands. Emma never believed in that though. She found it unkind and unnecessary.

“To be honest, it was hard to convince Doctor Jones to let me bring these,” the intern said, perplexing Emma further while eerily reading her mind. “I had to offer about a half dozen times. My shift was ending, you see, and I’ve been looking for a way to thank Doctor Jones since he got here. You know he created extra hours in the ER skills lab? He’s working with first years too. We get very little access usually, because the third years are prepping for exams and stuff, but he convinced Doctor Nolan to extend the hours. He’s even hosting classes himself. Cool right?”

“Very cool,” Emma said with a nod, and another smile. She breathed out a sigh of relief, genuinely happy to realize this man she’d been thinking of was good to others. It also made accepting this thoughtful gift so much easier.

From there, Caleb said goodbye, heading out for whatever interns did with down time these days. Oh, who was she kidding? Sleeping. That’s what she’d done, and no doubt that was what all interns still wanted most of all. Emma though, felt more awake now than she had in a long while. She found a quiet corner in one of the corridors leading to the cardio unit and took a seat, opening the box away from prying eyes.

Inside the box there were six different types of what looked like origami flowers. They were beautiful and delicate, and she wondered where he could have bought them. Only when she opened the note did she realize the truth.

Emma,

As you know, I’ve been away for quite a while, out in the field in a completely different world. In the desert there’s not really that much to do, except survive and keep as many of your people as well as you can. The downtime is long and hot and quiet. I picked up these tricks from a fellow soldier. It kept my hands at the ready and my mind clear, and there’s an honest beauty in them that reminds me of you.

Truth be told, there’s a flower for each time I’ve tried to catch you at the coffee cart since our meeting. Clearly my missions have been unsuccessful, so this calls for a change in tactics…

Emma smiled at the thoughtfulness and felt the pull of butterflies low in her chest. He thought she was beautiful, and he said it without fear. Had a man ever said so much? Had it ever mattered? Certainly not like it did now. Reading on, Emma laughed at the lightheartedness of the note and the bit of cheeky humor that accompanied it. His easygoing candor and transparency enchanted her, drawing her in even more than she already was. Then she memorized the time and place he suggested that they meet at the bottom of the page, knowing nothing and no one was going to keep her from this meeting.

Only after reading through his handwritten thoughts three or four times did she realize an added layer of perfection: these flowers weren’t just handmade and crafted with intention. They were also safe for her to take with her to her ward of the hospital. Being in and out of the ICU and cardiac units, Emma couldn’t bring real flowers into her offices without putting some patients at risk, but she could have these. From within the box she selected a bright yellow blossom, beautiful and intricate and folded to perfection. Wordlessly she tucked it away in her pocket. The others were deposited for safe keeping in her office as soon as she arrived back in the East Wing, and displayed on her windowsill, brightening the space.

The hours between the start of her shift and the time she was meant to meet Killian passed by slowly. Her rounds usually distracted her, but not today. While she still gave all due attention to her patients, Emma had that sense in the back of her mind that this afternoon would bring so much more to the forefront. The promise of seeing him again kept her heart pattering faster than it should be, and by the time the clock was minutes from their meeting, she was positively bursting with anticipation.

“Okay, usually I would give you a hard time and pretend to tag along, but even I can’t mess with a smile like that.” Ruby’s words snapped Emma’s focus back to the hallway where she was standing, pretending to read a chart. As she looked to her friend, however, she would never be able to recall what was on the screen in front of her. Ruby grinned when their eyes met. “He gave you the flowers, didn’t he?”

“You knew?” Emma asked and Ruby nodded.

“Yup. Ran into him at the cart a couple of times. He was really starting to piss off the kiosk guy with all his loitering. Had to give him a hundred dollars just to shut him up.”

“He didn’t!”

“No, I wouldn’t let him. I told Boris to shut it unless he wanted a hospital wide nurses strike. Guy knows better than to cross me. He just acts tough for clout.” Emma laughed, knowing her friend truly ran this place in most ways. But then the apprehension of the moment caught up to her again, and Emma’s brow furrowed in worry. “Oh no you don’t. No doubting this, Ems. I’ve vetted this guy. Run all the background, checked all the sources. He’s a good one, a one in a million, needle in a haystack, diamond in the rough kind of man. And, to top it all off, he’s crazy about you.”

“You think?” Emma asked and Ruby nodded.

“I know, but that’s all I’m saying. Let Killian speak for himself, okay? And, even though it’s hard, try and trust this.”

“I think I already do,” Emma whispered. “Trust him, I mean. But that’s crazy, right?”

“Love tends to be that way.”

“Ruby.”

“Emma,” her friend parroted, taking her hand and squeezing gently. “Just go for it. Go for it and see for yourself.”

With a nod, and the validation that she needed to hear from a trusted friend, Emma headed off. It felt natural and expected to make her way towards the center of the hospital once more. This time though, she passed the coffee cart, with only a fleeting glance. Killian wasn’t meeting her there today. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure where they were meeting. She followed the directions he’d given her, up a few more flights of stairs and through the wing with pediatric patients and newborns. She had been here many times before, for consults and comfort. It was a draw here in the hospital – the cuteness of babies just starting their journeys in the new world. Emma looked at them today, noticing the vibrancy inside the nursery, but didn’t linger. Instead, she followed the last of the route that Killian had given her and ended up somewhere she’d never been before. A place that must have just finished being renovated.

“Wow,” Emma whispered, walking into the sunlight on the open terrace.

With the glass surroundings and the plant life everywhere, this place was beautiful. There were pergolas and hanging vines, topiaries and flowering plants, daffodils and tulips, all breathing in the spring. It felt like a park, floating in the air, with the sounds of the city barely audible below. Emma could imagine the kids and the families who would come here someday. She hoped it would be a space for them to find some peace and happiness while staying in this unfamiliar and often stressful place. Hospitals were rarely any fun for patients, necessary as they may be, but this space was beautiful enough to distract from that.

“You made it, love.” The deep rumble of that familiar voice sent a shiver through Emma’s whole body. She cast a glance over her shoulder, finding Killian, leaning against the stone façade of the building behind them. In his hands were two coffees, and as he moved towards her, he offered her one with a boyish smile. “This is for you. Didn’t want you missing a routine caffeine fix for my sake.”

“Thank you,” Emma said automatically, feeling his fingers brush across hers, sending a zing of awareness through her. Her eyes flashed up to his, and she knew he felt it too. Suddenly she had no want or need for this coffee. She cleared her throat slightly before continuing on. “Where exactly are we? And how, might I ask, does the new guy know about it before I do?”

“It’s the Hubbard Family Wellness Gardens, gifted by one of the hospital’s most loyal benefactors” he said, full of knowledge. Emma was shocked that he actually knew what this place would be but then he smiled, gesturing to the plaque bearing that information. She bit back a laugh. “And as for how I found it, that’s easy. I never leave well enough alone, and I’m curious by nature. I’ve been nearly everywhere in the hospital now, but this place seemed the best for what comes next.”

“What comes next?” Emma asked, her voice hitching up as she repeated the words.

“Aye,” Killian murmured, his tone dipping sensually low. She swallowed harshly as he entered into her space, and he tracked the motion. She felt the heat of his closeness, and caught his scent in the air, clean, and male, and with a hint of spice.

“I’m afraid I didn’t think this through,” he said, close enough to kiss her. God, how she wished he would kiss her. Emma vocalized her first thought.

“Really? I did. Like a lot.”

His smirk told her she’d said that aloud even though she never meant to, but before she could react, he took hold of her cup once more.

“I meant these,” he gestured to the coffee in her hand. Oh, right. “May I, love?”

Emma nodded, and shakily let go of the cup she forgot she was holding. With deft hands, Killian placed their drinks back on a table beside them with far more poise than she could muster at the moment. When that was done, he stepped towards her again, looking at her with a glint in his blue eyes that made her heart skip. His hands came to her body, one to her hip, the other to cup her cheek. The rightness washed over her, and so did the realization that none of her dreams could actually prepare her for real intimacy with Killian Jones.

“Last time we spoke I intended to ask you something. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from wanting this so badly. Without thinking, she wet her lips, and he caught the action, letting out a groan that mixed pain with passion and pleasure. Then he cursed, a totally British ‘bloody hell’ falling past his lips before dipping his mouth to hers and giving them both a taste of temptation.

The kiss was… beyond incredible, but Emma was so deep in it she had no ability to comprehend anything at all. She was consumed with the moment, arching against Killian, feeling the silky strands of his dark hair and the scruff of his beard. His kiss was assured and passionate, dominant and indulgent all at once. She succumbed to the sensations, and let the rightness surge within her, not caring at all that they were outside or at work or that they’d just met. Instinct took over, and her gut, which Emma had always trusted, was telling her that this man was even more than she imagined, and someone she should choose to let in.

Pulling back from the kiss, Emma and Killian stayed close, and Emma took stock of all the places they were touching. His hold on her was firm but caring, like she was precious, and he wouldn’t let her slip away. In his eyes she saw so much emotion, and again she was struck by his transparency and trust. He wasn’t shying away from her or the moment. He was in the depths of desire with her, and their kiss, that perfect, sexy as all hell kiss, had left him tongue tied. The quiet wasn’t awkward, but assuring, and Emma felt secure here, safe even, while also being filled with more unknown wonder than she’d ever been before. Like someone at the start of a glorious adventure, she took a next step born of passion and hope.

“I’m off at six tonight… so, you want to pick me up at seven thirty?” she asked, referencing a date he hadn’t actually asked her out on. She feigned ignorance even though she could read him like a book. “Unless you were going to ask me something else…”

His hold on her tightened, and he shook his head immediately. She was right. He wanted a date – and she saw no reason to wait when she wanted one just as badly. She grinned at him, loving how the tables had turned. This time he swallowed harshly, and she was oh so tempted to kiss him again and see if he’d stay shy or rise to her challenge.

“It’s a date, Swan,” he said dazedly.

Emma hummed out her agreement, going in for one last fleeting kiss. But where she meant to only tease, he took the reins again, kissing her senseless and leaving her breathless when they finally broke apart. Only when her pager beeped with an incoming call did they end their inevitable interlude, and as they did, Emma felt a pang of longing, wishing this moment could last so much longer than this.

“Tonight, love,” he whispered, running his thumb against her lips. “Far away as it may seem, I promise the wait will be worth it.”

“Good,” she replied, nipping his thumb ever so softly, and bringing the fire back in his eyes, before taking a step back. And with that, and just enough presence of mind to grab her coffee, Emma headed off, back through the hospital to the work that awaited her, knowing she could and would get through anything today for the promise of tonight.

Post-Note: Ah!! Finally!! I got the words on the page!! I did the thing!! I wrote the story!! And honestly, it’s such a relief. It felt, at some points, like I may never get this chapter written, but finally today it came. I know many of you were waiting, and I cherished every comment and review and message along the way. I hope all of you who wrote me, and those who read along with chapter one, all enjoy this installation. I write these stories for me and to brighten my world ever so slightly, but also in the hopes that they’ll spark joy for others too. In a time like this, a little joy goes an awful long way. Anyway, thank you all for reading, sending you the best, and hope you’ll join me next time for the final chapter of this CS AU! xE

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tcm · 4 years ago

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Rita Hayworth At Her Best By Constance Cherise

In 1994, THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION reintroduced Rita Hayworth to a new generation, but from her most famous film role in GILDA (‘46) to years later, her effervescence and distinct beauty remains. The film DOWN TO EARTH (‘47) was not one of Hayworth's most popular features by far, but full-length Technicolor musicals available on YouTube during a restless night are always a draw. Hayworth glides with sure-footed exuberance and joy during her opening number in DOWN TO EARTH, and even though her plan is apparent, her subsequent domination is rightfully justified. There is no competition. There is only Hayworth, and because she is unequivocally confident within herself, we are confident in her also. All other dancers must fall back due to her sheer magnetism, and this is how I was introduced to the beguiling Rita Hayworth.

Trained in multiple dance disciplines from the age of three, the Brooklyn-born, Margarita Carmen Cansino is somewhat falsely thought of as fully Latina. Her father was from a generational line of Spanish dancers. Her mother, a former Ziegfeld Girl, was of English and Irish descent.

Hayworth’s film debut was an uncredited role at the age of eight in the short LA FIESTA (‘26). At age 16, after being discovered dancing as her father’s partner in Tijuana, she appeared in the Fox Studio production of DANTE’S INFERNO (‘35). She was dropped from her contract after five films. As the result of her first husband and manager’s unabashed promotion, Hayworth was offered a contract by Columbia Pictures, beginning her tumultuous career-long professional relationship with the infamous studio head, Harry Cohn.

Although she was seemingly the envy of the modern world, Hayward led a tragic life. She endured three years of painful electrolysis of her hairline, giving her a higher forehead and helping to square her rounded face. She shed extra pounds and lightened her naturally dark hair color in order to anglicize her Latin features. Shockingly, the process of her ethnic erasure was publicized and celebrated by Columbia. She later became involved in a series of abusive marriages which not only contributed to her alcoholism but left her financially crippled. In 1974, both of her brothers died within one week of each other. In 1987, Hayworth tragically passed away at the age of 68 from the progressively debilitating disease of Alzheimer’s.

She was named the “Love Goddess” of the ‘40s and was neck-in-neck with Betty Grable as the pinup favorite of the era. Although she performed in a series of films, it was the role of Gilda that not only catapulted her into stardom but would negatively plague her off screen for the majority of her life.

“Every man I knew went to bed with Gilda... and woke up with me.”

She was one of a handful of actresses who performed with both Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire, who was thoroughly impressed with how quickly she could learn complicated routines. In Columbia's first Technicolor and highest grossing film, COVER GIRL (‘44), Hayworth displayed her perfected tap-dancing skills alongside Kelly. Between the staged numbers of “The Show Must Go On,” “Poor John,” “Put Me to the Test” and Hayworth descending from the heavens in a seemingly endless swirling stage, Columbia’s introduction to Technicolor and choice of Hayworth and Kelly as its stars was a clear success.

In the musical comedy YOU’LL NEVER GET RICH (‘41), Hayworth tap danced with Astaire in “Boogie Barcarolle,” and by the glint in her eye and the slight wobble of her head, it is apparent that she has cleverly devised a ploy that Astaire seems to have graciously fallen into. It takes Astaire only a short amount of time of scrutinized observation to be convinced Hayworth's character knows precisely what she is doing. She is exacting, mirroring Astaire’s performance with an air of certain aloofness. When finally, she makes eye contact with Astaire, a shift of power has taken place, where instead of Hayworth keeping up with Astaire—Astaire must keep up with Hayworth.

“Dancing in Tijuana when I was 13 — that was my 'summer camp.' How else do you think I could keep up with Fred Astaire when I was 19?”

Hayworth appeared in comedy, drama and film noir, however for all of her natural enchantment and stunning good-looks, Hayworth self-admittedly was a dancer. Although her famous (or infamous depending on perspective) “Put the Blame on Mame'' number in GILDA has imprinted itself in classic film history, in my humble opinion, her most outstanding performances were not part of her hyper-sexualized persona. Native dance is such an imperative component of identity, and in the film TONIGHT AND EVERY NIGHT (‘45) a pregnant Hayworth performs a highly glamorized version of a Flamenco dance in the number “You Excite Me.”

But it is in THE LOVES OF CARMEN (‘48) where her el duende is truly unleashed...where the constructed Rita Hayworth is pushed aside and the soul of Margarita Carmen Cansino, that no amount of ethnic eradication can conceal, reemerges in all of its glory. She is incandescent, beaming with fluid passion. Once again, her expression proves she is aware of exactly what she is doing as she seductively tantalizes her co-star Glenn Ford with her dazzling smile, her sparkling eyes, and her...castanets. THE LOVES OF CARMEN may not have been one of her most popular films, but it is a film worth watching as it gives us a rare glimpse as to who Rita Hayworth was, after society dictated whom she genuinely was wasn’t good enough. No orchestration, no glittering costumes or ornate sets, simply the one and only Margarita Carmen Cansino, performing the ultimate role, herself.

#Rita Hayworth #Columbia #Gilda #Cover Girl #Glenn Ford #TCM #film noir #flamenco #Turner Classic Movies #Constance Cherise

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louiserandom · 4 years ago

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Of Stolen Innocence and Ruined Dates

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara | Rating: E

Summary: Madara wants a date.

Tobirama also wants a date, and normally he’d have to ask his ridiculously overprotective brother’s permission first, but he’s feeling rebellious today.

Hashirama just wants to protect his darling Otouto’s innocence—and what the fuck is Tobirama doing naked in Madara’s bed?!

Read on AO3 or continue under the cut :3 Ko-fi info is in the header!

Madara takes a moment to breathe and silently reassure himself that he is, indeed, an exceptionally courageous man.

He was always able to face his fears and unafraid to check under his bed for terrifying giant spiders when he was a child (even though he would have to scramble to one of his brothers’ room more often than not for additional comfort). The latter is a redundant detail, however, since he’s grown into quite the dangerous, deadly, brilliant war strategist and army leader who sent his enemies fleeing in terror from his gunbai. Madara is, in fact, the only one strong enough to fight the fabled God of Shinobi to a standstill... well, was. As he’d learned soon after Konoha’s formation, Tobirama manages the feat just fine as well.

And therein lies the problem, of course. In Senju Tobirama, who seems perfectly content to keep at his paperwork, ever productive and efficient, completely oblivious to Madara’s struggle.

Madara grinds his teeth, groaning inwardly.

What a dick.

A shameless one at that, always flitting about with that overly lose kimono shirt and tight-fitting breeches, sitting with his legs spread out on his chair, lounging on the small couch in the corner or downright sprawled over his desk like some indecent... something.

Even more annoying is Madara’s inability to keep his eyes off him.

It was so godsdamn easy to deal with him before, going from hate to dismissal as they built the foundations of their village and Tobirama stopped being the chief threat to Madara’s only remaining brother. But things took a drastic turn for the worse (or better, as his mind insisted) that fateful day when Madara did learn that he’s not the only one able to match Hashirama in combat. There was something positively tantalizing and admittedly riveting about Tobirama’s genius, how he pushed his already exceptional water style far enough to be able to manipulate not only blood, but the water contained in Hashirama’s Mokuton, which often enough rendered it powerless. Even more surprising was his insistence on only doing the latter in the privacy of highly secluded sparring matches, lest any enemies of the village discover his Anija’s weak spot and take advantage of it.

That was the first time, really, that Madara ever saw something in the Senju that left him hopelessly intrigued. Intrigued enough toーnot stalk him, obviously, of course not, but to watch Tobirama more closely, to notice what made him tick, pick up on the little details Madara had never had an interest in before. He should have known it was a dangerous path, with every time he noticed Tobirama absolutely melt in the presence of children, every time he found Tobirama playing with cats, dogs, birds, even the wild and freakish animals populating the Forest of Death and cooing over them not unlike Hashirama would. Then there were the glimpses Madara got into Tobirama’s personal life, getting more acquainted with his mind-boggling experiments and audacious research that never left Madara bored. Neither did Tobirama’s impeccable training routine which Madara has grown used to running through together in the mornings, and his eager willingness to dance with Madara during their increasingly frequent spars is an added bonus.

Then there’s his efficiently in all matters ranging from politics to economics and infrastructure, which Madara gets to appreciate more now that he’s fled from Hashirama’s clusterfuck of an office to Tobirama’s working space. But that also led to the inconvenience of seeing those loose kimonos and flattering breeches (which Tobirama only tends to wear around Madara, incidentally, behaving more or less proper when Madara masks his chakra and... observes him). And those striking red eyes and messy locks of hair Madara wants to just grab andー

Well, Madara decides, I'm fucked.

Because even he had to admit, despite his best efforts to strangle his stupid fucking impulses before they manifested into fucking feelings, that somewhere along the line, he developed a dangerously persistent crush on his once enemy.

And the fourth night in a row dreaming about Tobirama writhing under him as he kisses him senseless was Madara last godsdamned straw.

He wants a fucking date.

One fucking godsdamned date. Maybe a good, hard fuck on top of that, and that will be the end of it.

(The end of it, he reiterates in his mind just in case.)

So, Madara reminds himself for the umpteenth time in a row that he is exceptionally brave, and he is not afraid to tell the Senju out, godsdammit. Ask him out, he mentally corrects himself, remembering Izuna’s advice on being civil and subtle and whatnot.

Madara can do that. There’s little in this world he can’t do. And Izuna’s assured him that Madara isn’t imagining things, that Tobirama’s gaze does linger a little too long whenever Madara strips in the summer heat. That Tobirama has made far too many an excuse to align his meetings and breaks with Madara’s schedule, rather than Hashirama’s, Izuna’s or Tōka’s.

This speaks to at least a little interest from his side, right?

Madara's sigh rings loudly in his miserable silence. Because of course there's only one fucking way to find out for sure—and the workday drawing to a close as they finish up their remaining concerns for the day seems like the perfect opportunity to embark on his romantic pursuit.

“Oi, Senju,” he starts, wincing at himself because how could he fuck up right from the beginning? “I meanーTobirama?”

The man in question gives him a questioning look from where he’s loungingーagainーon his desk. “Yes, Madara?”

Oh, gods that voice. Deep, and smooth, laced with the delicious inflections that make Madara's insides tingle... what he wouldn’t give to hear it tremble upon a moan.

“Uh.” Madara blinks, yanking himself back to reality. Tobirama is still staring at him with a raised eyebrow and what looks to be an inkling of amusement in his eyes. “I was going to say.” He clears his throat as his voice cracks a little. Fuck. Fuck, fuck. “You look exceptionally hot today,” he blurts out, giving himself another extra strong mental kick for such a foolish slip of the tongue.

Handsome. All he had to say, per Izuna’s careful, repeated instructions, was fucking handsome. Before he can correct himself, though, Tobirama says,

“Hot? Madara, you remember that my body temperature is much lower than is normal and I’m really sensitive to cold, right? It may seem hot to you outside but I’m freezing.”

Ah. He didn’t even get it. Madara sighs with an exasperated roll of his eyes. Calmly continue, he decides, no need to worry in the face of such inexperience.

“I meant,” Madara goes on, punctuating his works with a blatant leer and a smirk, “appealing. Easy on the eye. Handsome, one might say.”

He stops himself before he can overdo it, relishing the sharp intake of breath, the shock flashing briefly in Tobirama’s eyes.

“You mean,” Tobirama says, schooling his expression into casual curiosity, “you might say?”

Madara chuckles. “Why, yes. I’ve been thinking it for quite a while now, in fact, and thought it unproductive to keep this from you any longer.”

“Unproductive to what?” Tobirama asks, and even sans the Sharingan, Madara sees a hint of blush blooming on his pale, sculpted cheeks.

Beautiful.

“Unproductive to beautiful?”

Madara’s hands jerk of their own accord, knocking down half of the stacks of paper already placed dangerously on the edge of his desk. And Izuna warned him, too, to keep control of his limbs, but how is Madara supposed to do that with Tobirama smiling at him like that?!

“I-I didn’t mean to say that,” Madara rushes through his words, “I mean, out loud, I did meanーyou areーbut...” Overdoing it, alarm bells ring in his head. Giving up, he slams his hands on his desk as he stands up and glares at the grinning fool. “Fuck you, Senju! We’re going on a date! Tonight. Any place of your choice. With me,” he clarifies just to be safe, “andーif you want, that is! Yes.” In a desperate bid to fix the disastrous tirade at least a little bit, he says, more of a whisper this time, “I mean. Yes? Or...”

Tobirama laughs.

The utter bastard.

It’s a wonderful melodic sound Madara so rarely hears from him, cherishes each and every time his jokes land just right to gauge at least a chuckle from the man, but the fact that Tobirama is now laughing at him only makes anger boil at the pit of his stomach.

“What the fuck, Senju,” he growls.

“What you’re asking,” Tobirama drawls in a maddeningly playful manner, “is whether I'll consider accompanying you for a pleasant dinner tonight, just the two of us?”

That godsdamned look. Eyes narrowed suggestively as they glide over Madara’s body before locking with his eyes. The grin Madara now realizes is far from just that, watching, mesmerized, as Tobirama’s tongue slips out to wet his lips in a downright debauched manner.

Oh, gods. This man is going to be the death of him. And thinking back now to the time he distinctly remembers both Tobirama and Izuna supervising Hashirama’s questionable attempts to woo the Princess of Uzushio, Tobirama had to have gotten the meaning of Madara’s first flirting attempt.

Madara has just been played. And he’s enjoying it, too, the masochist he apparently is.

“Yes,” he grinds through his teeth, hoping the gravity of his glare impresses upon Tobirama just how pissed he is and pleading Amaterasu that it’s not a blush warming his cheeks as he seethes. “So, Senju? Don’t try my patience.”

Another chuckle escapes that infuriating, kissable mouth.

“You are ridiculous,” Tobirama says, the absolute bastard, “and nowhere near eloquent. But I must say I’m intrigued. If only because you’re...” He gives Madara another once-over, seemingly searching for the right term. “Cute.”

“W-whaーwho are you calling cute!” Madara shrieks despite himself, springing over his desk and stalking up to Tobirama to jam a finger into his chestーdistractingly prominent underneath the tight shirt he’s wearing. “Don’t you dare call me that to my face if you don’t wish to die.”

“Why, I was hoping you’d give me at least one little death today,” Tobirama purrs.

Andーwell. Whatever Madara was planning to yell next flies completely over his head, and damn his brain for shutting off completely in favor of imagining those lips stretched not in a grin but around Madara’sー

“But I suppose we really shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves,” Tobirama says, covering Madara’s hand with his and lowering it gently. “I’m intrigued but...” He scowls. “I really should be asking Anija’s permission first.”

That brings Madara back to reality. “Permission? From Hashirama?” Madara frowns. “What are you, twelve? Why do you need the loghead’s permission for things concerning your personal life?”

Tobirama rolls his eyes. “Anija is... protective. Overprotective,” he corrects himself, before sighing heavily. A crazy urge compels Madara to squeeze his hand in reassurance before Tobirama can let him go. “Really fucking overbearing. I hate it. But we’ll all be better off if we get his consent first. He might ground me.”

“Ground you?” It doesn’t make any sense. The most efficient warrior Madara knows, seen as the White Demon by clueless fools and as the incredible genius he is by those who know him, a shinobi capable of standing up to the idiot their kind considers God being grounded by said decidedly ungodlike idiot is... mind-boggling, to say the least.

“He’s my Anija,” Tobirama says, long-suffering, as if that explains everything. Madara keeps staring. Tobirama sighs again, his thumb rubbing circles onto Madara’s wrist as he collects his thoughts before speaking again. “I allow it, really. He hasn’t been the same since Kawarama and Itama died, and there’s this anxiety and fear he has of me being in danger or taken advantage of by others. He’s never unreasonable, though, and you’re his best friend. I’m sure he’ll be lenient.”

Madara makes a face. “Perhaps.” The important thing, he thinks, is to avoid letting on exactly what he’d like to do to Hashirama’s younger brother. Madara is sure he wouldn’t be so ‘lenient’ if he knew. “It’s still strange.”

“Tell me about,” Tobirama groans, a helpless look in his eyes, “I even have a curfew.”

“What if,” Madara asks, “we’re back before the curfew?”

Tobirama glances at the watch. “We have three hours,” he says, tentative, “and we have to be impeccably cautious unless you want the Mokuton up your ass.”

“Literally?”

“Literally.”

“We are great shinobi precisely because we can be careful, Tobirama,” Madara says, lifting their still interlocked hands to give Tobirama’s a gentle kiss. “So I say let’s give it a try.”

Tobirama fixes him with a thoughtful, conflicted gaze for but a moment, yet even that seems too long, with Madara’s heart still racing from the brief conversation they’ve had, anticipating an actual fucking date with the manーthe geniusーhe couldn’t help but fall for, if only Tobirama saysー

“Yes.” Tobirama’s smile is a dazzling thing. “Let’s.”

One minute stretches past Tobirama’s curfew, and Hashirama is ready to crawl out of his skin. Not having his brother near him for their evening tea and easy conversation before bed is... a struggle. It's been a tradition of theirs for as long as he could remember, save for the evenings of battle, and Hashirama cherished each moment he spent with his little brother, the unambiguous reminder that he was alive, safe, and right there.

(Not like the two bodies, bloodied and broken and far too little, resting too small graves in a forgotten compound littered with the countless sacrifices of a meaningless war.)

Of course, he realizes that will soon be spending most of his evenings with Mito instead, that Tobirama had long been planning his move out of their shared home to give them privacy. And however much he’s enamored with his future wife, Hashirama can scarcely imagine not being near his brother at least half of any given day, the insidious fear of peacetime shattering and devolving into another bout of bloodshed ceaselessly clawing at his mind.

It's fine, Anija, Tobirama would placate him were he here, as he always is, to listen to Hashirama's worries. I can take care of myself. You know this.

The clock ticks on, merciless, and soon enough it’s two minutes of Tobirama being lateーwhich he never is unless he’s in serious troubleーso, without further ado, Hashirama springs to his feet and runs out of the house. Channeling his chakra into the wood and plants around him is second nature by now, and he commands them to search the village and beyond for his Otouto, to immediately incapacitate any threat that might be endangering him. He follows their lead, little by little deciphering their vague, pulse-like 'speech’ which is more visual than resembling an audial message. Only the oldest trees, which have had time and put effort into studying humans around them, are able to communicate in the more normal sense of the term.

Luckily, Hashirama stumbles upon one of those soon enough.

Hello there, Kotomi, he greets the ancient willow tree stationed by the Administration Tower like the guard it is, unbeknownst to most people.

Looking for your Otouto? Kotomi asks, an inexplicable hint of derision in their tone.

Yes! Hashirama says, frantic. I think he’s in trouble. Do you know where he’s gone? He should have been back by now.

Don’t worry so much. He’s with the flailing firestarter. Having fun.

Madara? Hashirama frowns. The trees have taken to calling all the Uchiha firestarters and only ever use the word flailing to describe Madara, whose agitation and screaming seems to annoy them more often than not. Why would Tobirama break curfew for Madara? And are you sure it’s fun they’re having and not a fight?

Oh, they’re fighting all right, Kotomi actually tries imitating a giggle, which confuses Hashirama further, about who’s going to end up on top, apparently.

As the reality of the situation dawns on Hashirama, he can feel a different type of devastating horror overtaking him, as he realizes it’s not exactly Tobirama’s life he must fear for, but his innocence.

And to think his best friend would betray him this way. Hashirama clenches his fists, letting unbridled wrath wash over him in waves as he follows Kotomi’s direction towards Madara’s house.

Best friend or no, he will have to answer for his crimes.

Tobirama should have known they wouldn’t be able to make it in time for curfew. But, trapped now against the wall with his legs wrapped around Madara’s waist as he’s being kissed senseless, Tobirama finds he’s long since stopped caring.

Because they’ve been at this for an hour. A long, agonizing hour they intended, in all seriousness, to spend over tea at Madara’s place before Tobirama went back home but spectacularly failed to keep their hands to themselves. It should have been obvious, really; the closeness, their spirits high from a dinner date that went perfectly, the palpable desire in their chakra they could both sense and relished in how their signatures resonated. Fueled by just a touch of alcohol in place of the tea, then by a far-too-passionate kiss goodbye and just enough groping to warrant a continuation in the bedroom.

Madara’s bedroom. Which feels unreal, and even more so when Madara didn’t even manage to carry Tobirama all the way over to the bed, instead pinning him against the wall and trading shallow, intermittent kisses for a much more thorough exploration of Tobirama’s mouth, tongue hot, and demanding, and steadily driving Tobirama insane with want.

Tobirama moans, despite his efforts to keep quiet, too overwhelmed and craving to get Madara’s hands on him. Not like they are now, feeling him up through his clothes, but flush against his skin, sliding over his cock, moving inside him like he’s fantasized about far too oftenー

“Fuck,” Madara groans against his lips as they part for breath, just for a moment before leaning in for another messy, bruising kiss.

“Me, please,” Tobirama pants, pulling away this time to urge Madara towards their destination. “Bed.”

The ease with which Madara hauls him towards the futon only turns Tobirama on further, and he can’t help the keens and whimpers that escape as Madara claws his shirt off. His hands are finally on Tobirama’s chest, grazing his nipples, fingers digging into his sides as his chakra flares, hot and crackling, surging with lust and melding with Tobirama’s own as their cocks press together through too thick clothing.

“You haven’t actually done this before, have you?” Madara asks, voice lower than usual and strained as he speaks, pinning Tobirama with a gaze dark with unbridled desire.

Tobirama groans. “Was it that obvious?”

“You kiss well for a first time,” Madara says, grinning as he leans down to press his lips to Tobirama’s neck, “but I’m a sensor too, you know. You’d do well to calm down a bit.”

“I’m notーno, that’s not it,” Tobirama says, averting his eyes. As if he hasn’t lost count of how many times he’s touched, fingered himself, fucked himself with painfully insufficient toys with Madara’s name on his lips. And yet there’s treacherous embarrassment spiking up, fear creeping in that he’ll simply disappoint. “I am worried I’ll do something wrong.”

“Don’t be,” Madara whispers against his ear, kisses traveling down to his jaw and to his lips. “The only thing that can upset me is you not enjoying this.”

“I am,” Tobirama breathes, a shudder running through his body as Madara moves back to his neck, sucking bruises onto sensitive skin, making the pleasure all the more overwhelming.

“Good. But I’d like to do this right,” Madara says firmly, so unlike his usual blustering self, “and take things slow if you want. How about we keep things here for now?”

Tobirama amplifies the spike of annoyance in his chakra, lashing out with it enough to catch Madara off guard and flip them around.

“How about no?” he says, tugging Madara’s own overshirt off, relishing the thick, rippling muscles revealed for him to explore. “At least teach me how to suck you off. I’m a fast learner.”

“Fuck.” Madara squeezes his eyes shut, and Tobirama could swear he feels his cock twitch against his, though that may have just been his imagination. “You can’t just say things like that, Tobirama!”

“I can and I will.” Tobirama smirks, content to know he’s snared his target as Madara lets out a strangled moan when Tobirama palms him through his pants. “And do them, too, if you’ll let me.”

So contrary to his usual explosive nature, Madara seems conflicted, hesitant, even as Tobirama definitely feels his cock twitch this time.

This won’t do.

His own heart racing, throat dry and blood running hot, Tobirama leans in to mouth at his neck in an imitation of what Madara did to him before, just to test how sensitive he is.

The sound it earns him is divine. As is the way Madara’s grips his waist, pulling him closer, tangling a hand in Tobirama’s hair, tugging slightly as he trails a path of open-mouthed kisses to Madara’s chest.

“Tobirama...”

He keeps eye contact all the while, watching Madara bite his lip, trying and failing to hold in another groan, struggle to keep his eyes open, flickering between dark and red as his chakra flares hot like the fires of his jutsu. Beautiful, Tobirama thinks. So hot, panting and shivering under him, when all Tobirama is doing is lapping at his nipple, sucking it into his mouth, teeth just shy of grazing it. Then again, the taste of Madara’s skin, the closeness, the delicious feel of his chakra and the sounds he coaxes from the man are intoxicating, and Tobirama soon finds himself thrusting lightly against Madara’s thigh, hands wandering lower to touch him through his pants, finding him hard and already leaking through the fabric, andー

Another flare of pleasure, echoed by Tobirama’s own signature. He squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed, heat pooling in the base of his stomach as his cock aches for someーanyーkind of stimulation.

All right, maybe he’s a little overenthusiastic.

That isn’t any reason to stop, obviously.

Yet Madara’s sudden laugh, dark and low and feral for lack of any better word to describe it, gives Tobirama pause.

He moans, despite himself, as Madara’s grip on his hair tightens and he draws him up and away from his treat, and opens his eyes to the sight of a purely animalistic look on Madara’s face. Flushed, and panting, and still squirming under Tobirama’s hands, there’s no prior hesitation in his gaze, only pure, unbridled need.

Tobirama swallows heavily.

(Gods forbid Madara catches Tobirama actually drooling over him. What he does and doesn’t do behind closed doors is irrelevant; what Madara sees shouldn’t be as humiliating.)

"Teach you to suck me off, huh,” Madara says, voice closer to a growl as he cards his fingers through Tobirama’s hair, his other hand reaching down to still Tobirama’s that’s still palming his cock and guide him to a more languid rhythm. “You are infuriatingly eager.”

“And you,” Tobirama pants, “are infuriatingly slow. Honestly, I thought you’d be more efficient.”

It probably isn’t that convincing, what with Tobirama breaking into a gasp as Madara flares his chakra far, far stronger than he has up to this point, firewantlustsearing sensations prickling through Tobirama’s whole body, eliciting a whimper he’d be ashamed of if he had the capacity to be so, as his mind seems to self-destruct for a blinding flash of a moment.

Tobirama comes to slowly, thoughts still foggy, to the feel of Madara dragging his head towardsーoh. His cock, hard and slick with precome, bigger than Tobirama had expected even as he’d felt the girth through the fabric before.

“Whaー” Tobirama asks, because he’s certain Madara is saying something, if only the ringing in his ears would let him process it.

“I said get to work if you want it so much,” Madara command, the gaze blazing red now, tomoe spinning, recording this into memory which makes Tobirama all but preen under the scrutinyーand in the face of Madara’s devastating grin. “Go on. I’ll guide you through it.”

Tobirama lets out a shaky breath, ignoring his own cock pulsing, trapped painfully by the far-too-tight pants he’s taken to wearing to provoke more of Madara’s unsubtle ogling. Leaning down, he has time enough only to wrap his lips around the head of Madara’s cock, mouth stretching around hot, slick skin, the heady taste of precome on his tongueー

ーbefore the window crashes open and Tobirama’s mind flashes back to all the times he’d had to witness his Anija and Madara shout each other’s names stupidly across the battlefield.

“MADARA!”

Tobirama releases Madara with a not-quite decent pop which prompts Hashirama’s dramatic gasp.

“WH-WHY-HOーWOULD YOU FUCKING EXPLAIN WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE DOING WITH MY LITTLE BROTHER?!”

“What the fuck am Iーit’s none of your godsdamned business!” Madara scrambles to shove himself back in his pants. Tobirama almost wishes he wouldn’t; maybe continuing with the blowjob out of spite would have scandalized Anija enough for him to run off. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

“Will not! Why are you keeping Tobirama past his curfew?”

“Why does a full-fledged adult need a curfew, you worthless fucking tree stump?”

“So he’s not exposed to people who are intent on defiling him,” Hashirama says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “like you, apparently! Madara, I expected better from my best friend.”

“And I didn’t expect you to be a fucking control freak,” Madara shouts. “You don’t see me stalking and cockblocking Izuna, do you?”

“Well, no, but that only means I’m more diligent in looking out for my Otouto,” Hashirama huffs.

“What the hell are you implying?” Madara growls, chakra crackling like it does every time before he throws a punch or sets a fire.

Tobirama sighs, giving up his attempt at meditation from where he’s settled cross-legged next to Madara’s flailing form.

“Anija,” he intervenes, “may I remind you...”

“Tobi.” Hashirama turns towards him, an almost pitying look in his eyes. “Please don’t believe whatever lies Madara spouted at youーejaculate is not a healthy bedtime snack!”

Oh, gods. Not the healthy bedtime snacks again.

“What the fuckー” Madara looks about ready to implode now, and Tobirama places a hopefully comforting hand on his shoulder.

“To be fair, he is right,” Tobirama concedes, resisting the urge to simply Hiraishin out of the situation and leave the two idiots to deal with it themselves. But that would disprove his following point. “But I must once again remind you, Anija, that I am a grown-up. I have been killing people since I was four, and I improved the efficiency of our clan’s entire taxing policy when I was twelve. A possibleー” one-night stand, dalliance, arrangement, “ーrelationship is nothing I can’t handle.”

Tobirama hates how his heart skips a beat as he glances to see Madara’s reaction, only to find him still staring at Hashirama, a mesh of confusion and anger battling in his chakra as he alternates between confused whispers of “what the fuck” and “bedtime snacks.”

“Butーbut I had a glass of milk and your favorite cookies ready and you weren’t there,” Hashirama whines, lip quivering as his face crumpling in a way that only ever leads to tears.

“Anija, I will be there next time,” Tobirama says firmly, “I promise. But tonight, I’d like to spend with Madara.” He gives his brother a look that hopefully conveys get the fuck out of here, Anija enough for Hashirama to understand.

But of course not.

“So, what,” Hashirama says, throwing his hands up, “you’re now going to spend all your time with Madara and completely forget about me?”

Tobirama sighs. “No. All I wanted was a date, Anija.”

“A date which ends with him stealing your innocence?!”

Tobirama closes his eyes and counts to ten as he replies, “If I say no, will you believe me?” He was tempted to say, Yes, and I’ll enjoy every fucking moment of it, but decided against it, if only to keep Madara’s barely coherent stuttering and wheezing from turning into a full-fledged seizure.

“Yes! If you come back home for bedtime snacks after a perfectly serviceable date, I’m sure,” Hashirama says, classic puppy dog eyes in full swing, “because Madara, if you’re courting my brother, you have to take it slow and woo him properly!”

Madara’s reply to that is a low, threatening growl now that he’s shaken himself out of the shock. Just in case, Tobirama tightens the grip on his shoulder. It wouldn’t do for Konoha to be destroyed by these two after the recent anniversary of its founding.

“Anija,” Tobirama says as calmly as he is able (which is, admittedly, bordering on furious), "since I consider it preferable that ‘wooing’ me ‘properly’ includes at least one fucking blowjob this evening, stop spying on me, leave us be and I will talk to you tomorrow.”

“Waitー”

Completely ignoring his Anija’s hysterical flailing, Tobirama tugs on one of the Hiraishin markers in his bedroom, and the next second he and Madara land in a heap of tangled limbs on his futon, well withinー

“...the professional Anija-repellent traps I’ve developed over the years,” Tobirama explains while Madara struggles to get his bearings, “so we shouldn’t be disturbed anymore. IーI’m sorry about that.”

“What the fuck,” Madara seethes, eyes still wide and hair sticking out from his insistent pulling on it during Anija’s tirade, “even was that?”

Tobirama sighs, rolls his eyes, and decides to answer with a kiss, hard, wet and sloppy, hopefully distracting enough to keep Madara’s mind away from pesky cockblocking idiots who will be wise to stay away if they value their wellbeing. And blessedly, Madara kisses him back after but a moment of stillness, the wild mess of confusion and irritation that is his chakra mellowing, gradually, into the familiar simmer of heat, scorching, electrifying, melding with Tobirama’s desire in turn.

“How about,” he suggests amid short-lived open-mouthed kisses, unfastening Madara’s breeches somewhat clumsily in his urgency, “we focus on more... pressing matters, shall we?”

Madara lets out a surprised laugh, gaze never leaving Tobirama as he forges a wet trail with his lips down Madara’s chest. “Still so eager to, uh, part with your innocence, I see,” he tries for a joke which breaks off into a harsh breath as Tobirama sinks down to lick at the head of his half-hard cock, stifling a moan at the feel of it twitching against his lips.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs with a self-satisfied smirk before focusing entirely on the very hard, very mouthwatering task at hand.

#madatobi #tobimada #madara uchiha #tobirama senju #lou writes #fluff #humor #smut #fanfic #naruto

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princessvicky01 · 4 years ago

Text

The Peacock and the Vixen

Since it’s valentines day, me and @inner-muse have decided to share a swoon worthy romance!

It features my oc Annabel Trevelyan and hers Lord Asharion as they trade glances and much more at a masquerade party.

If you have a thing for dashing lords, firey ladies and steamy seduction, then you might just enjoy this co-written fic. NSFW - Lemons.

The Peacock and the Vixen ❤

Asharion smirks below his mask, preening just like the peacock it depicts. It had taken even less time than usual to attract an adoring crowd; the anonymity of a masquerade emboldened even the most timid. The relative anonymity, anyway – no one seems to have any trouble recognizing *him.* The hair is a dead giveaway, he supposes, flowing loose over his shoulders in coppery waves – though he likes to think that no one else could possibly match his style, either. Really, who else could pull off a coat trimmed in actual feathers?

He does so love to be the most fabulously alluring person in the room.

Though he has to admit, some of the Ladies’ gowns could give him a run for his money. Not that he minds all that much— especially with half the ladies in question are busily fawning over him. He’s lost count of how many compliments he’s given, how many hands he’s kissed, how many playful kisses he’s blown. Maker, but this is a glorious night!

Seduction was thirsty work, however. He excuses himself – effusively, of course – and makes his way to the sideboard. While he could probably get half a dozen drinks hand-delivered with a word, he prefers to give himself a little break and pour his own wine. The glamour and power were as intoxicating as any fine vintage; he did try not to let it all go *completely* to his head.

He’s not the only one seeking refreshment. His eyes widen behind his mask as he emerges from the crowd to behold a vision of scarlet and gold, helping herself to a glass of fine white wine. The mysterious Lady looks up as he approaches. She is utterly stunning, with a tumble of dark hair, full red lips, and luscious curves – but it’s her sultry smile that most intrigues him, lighting up her face below her vixen mask. Something about her niggles at his memory, but he can’t place her for the life of him.

“If I may... you have exquisite taste, my Lady.” Bowing smoothly, Ash offers her his most charming smile. “I’d thought to indulge in a glass myself, but if you linger here much longer, I’m afraid I shall be drunk on beauty before I’ve tasted a single drop.”

"Do you use that line on all the ladies, Lord Asharion?" She makes a point of using his name as he pours a drink, curious to see if he knows her own, or if she remains the mysterious lady in red. "If you'd like to make me weak at the knees," her smirk turns decidedly naughty. "I'm afraid you'll have to try harder than that."

Annabel had been enjoying watching the throng, the colours and fabrics of the garments on display tonight catching her eye with shimmers of silver, emerald greens and fiery reds. Although, the latter appeared to be simply Lord Asharion's natural hair. She toyed with the end of her own, briefly wondering how copper locks of fire would look against it, before returning to her drink.

Drink she would need to get through the evening, no doubt. She'd already lost count the number of dances she'd twirled for, the number of hands that had 'slipped', by accident of course; noble lords would have her believe they were clumsy fellows. A sharp word and fiery glare were usually enough to make them stutter apologies - apparently, they weren't accustomed to ladies taking offence at their clumsiness. It seemed in a room full of Lords there was not a single gent. Funny really.

As she spies Asharion break from the crowd, she could swear he pauses on sight of her. His reaction, however subtle, is compliment enough to bring out her sultry smile. Perhaps he is the gentleman she seeks? Perhaps not— but either way she desires to find out. His outrageous flirting cracks a smirk that glitters in her eyes. For once it seems she's caught some welcome attention.

The first quip that comes to Asharion’s mind is entirely inappropriate for polite company. “Only the ones who take my breath away,” he says instead, lifting his glass in a light toast. The wine is indeed delicious – although, with a beautiful woman watching, he can’t resist exaggerating a little, humming and wetting his lips with a deliberate flick of his tongue. What was the point in having a mouth made for kissing if he wasn’t going to flaunt it?

The lady’s smirk has only widened. Her mystery – and her restraint – have only made her more intriguing. It’s rare to find a woman who doesn’t immediately swoon and giggle at his attention, nor simply rebuff his advances. The challenge makes his pulse quicken— though as always, he’s wary of overstepping anyone’s boundaries.

“Were you seeking solitude, my Lady vixen? Or shall I continue my attempts to sweep you off your feet?” He can’t shake the feeling that he ought to know who she is... “If I can manage to entice you half as much as you’ve enticed me, I shall consider myself a very lucky man... but if you’d rather be alone tonight...?”

“Oh, no, my Lord Asharion, by all means continue. I want to see if your silver tongue is all it’s rumored to be.”

Ash grins, sinful and eager, and offers her his arm with another little bow. “Seeking my tongue already? My, my, how forward of you,” He winks and is rewarded with a light, musical chuckle. His heart flutters in his chest. Maker, who *is* she? He steers them towards the nearest private balcony, rather selfishly wanting her all to himself for a while. “I am glad you’ll suffer the company, my Lady. Having glimpsed your radiance, the rest of the ballroom is beginning to pale in comparison.”

He gives her a smoldering sideways glance, eyeing her up and down— and very carefully lingering on the shadowed glint of her eyes beneath her mask. Nowhere else, no matter how much he might want to stare at those luscious curves... He’d learned long ago that if he wanted to get anywhere with anyone worth his time, he had to think with his head, not his cock.

Small wonder women flocked to him. A shining beacon of finery with a charm to match, and she is more than a little intrigued. Truthfully, she hadn't expected to catch his eye; she never had in years gone by, and yet he steers her away to a scheduled spot.

She'd always glimpsed him from afar, usually trading quips with her older brother. Of course, he'd attracted her attention, she's not blind and had easily lost moments to watching his graceful movements through the crowds. She'd been introduced, received that winning smile and a kiss on her knuckles that made her heart flutter, but he'd always then gone ahead and fluttered by, more interested in girls his own age. However, time changed all things, it seemed. Here she stands captivating his attention, and she intends to take full advantage of that, even if just for tonight.

The heat behind his glance threatens to flush her skin as it rushes through her, but she manages a small smile, almost coy, and a flick of her hair.

"So the crafty Vixen has captured the majestic peacocks attention, has she?" His smile is all the answer she needs. "It’d be rather foolish to turn down the chance to spend time with Ostwick’s finest bachelor."

He practically preens at the compliment, and Annabel can’t help but smile warmly. It's rather endearing. "And I am no fool." She leans back gently against the rail, making sure to emphasise every curve with a slight hitch of her hip. "I shall enjoy indulging myself in your company, Lord Asharion."

Ash‘s gaze travels down her body once again, slower this time. He can’t help but linger a little; the tantalizing promise of soft flesh beneath tight fabric is more than even he can resist. He’s grateful for the dim evening light and his mask, for concealing the flush of his cheeks. She smirks as he finally meets her eyes again; he chuckles, acknowledging his wandering gaze with a tip of his head.

“A vixen indeed,” he murmurs, low and husky. Settling beside her at the rail, he picks up her hand to lift her fingers to his lips. He keeps his eyes fixed on hers, a sultry smirk of his own tugging at his lips. “With every passing breath, I grow more astounded that I found you alone... Surely I’m not the only one who sought to bask in your presence, my Lady?”

“Mm… The rest sought far more than my mere *presence.*” She tosses her hair, a note of bitterness coloring her tone, and Ash growls softly. With curves like hers, he can guess what sort of liberties the lesser lords had been taking – but just because it was predictable didn’t make it any less abhorrent. How dare anyone try to take advantage of a Lady?

“In that case, I’m glad you shooed them off,” he says seriously. “Such rabble are far beneath you.” He’s still holding her hand; now he brushes his thumb across her knuckles, letting the warmth seep back into his tone. “But I can assure you, you’re in much better company now. If I do say so myself, that is.”

“Well, I’d hardly be here if I thought otherwise, now would I?” The playful lilt has returned to her words, bringing his smile back in full force. For a minute, he’d been concerned he’d spoiled what was shaping up to be a lovely conversation – but it seems he needn’t worry.

“As I said before, my Lady... you have exquisite taste.” His grin flashes against the velvet backdrop of night. He can’t help but wonder if she would taste exquisite as well... but he’s more determined than ever not to let his carnal urges guide the conversation. Whoever she is, this Lady deserves nothing but the utmost respect.

The husky drop of his tone is downright intoxicating. Maker, but how she can't wait to make him rumble, to feel the tingle of his soft caress, and hear hot, wanton, moans mumbled against her skin. Annabel's teeth can't help but nip at her lower lip in approval, polished ivory digging into supple ruby.

“Well, thank the Maker for good taste,” she twirls her crystal wine glass playfully. Lust has quickened her heart, his dark smouldering smirk already making her ache. No wonder the ladies battled so hard for his attention. Bold, as always, and flushed with confidence from his hungry gaze she steps towards him, closing the gap until she's running her hand down the velvet of his arm.

“If I might be totally honest,” she leans closer, body now pressed against his so she can drop her voice to a sinful whisper. “I'm far more interested in *your taste*,” with a mischievous smile she grants him a little space again, the erotic purr of her tone lost to all but him and the chill of the night.

“It appears to be uniquely exquisite,” her tone returns to it's playful nature, her fingertips briefly caressing the feathers on his lapels, curious and tender. “I'm intrigued to find out just how true that is…” Annabel had found that this was the point when most men fell apart, stammering and blushing as lust soaked their minds, yet she gets the distinct impression she's met her match in dear Lord Asharion.

“Are you, now?” He purrs. As she leans against his side, he moves a stray lock of hair behind her shoulder, his fingers brushing feather-light across her skin. “Mmm, and here I was just thinking the same of you, my Lady.”

Mirroring her intimate gesture, he runs his fingers lightly up her arm. When she makes no move to pull away, he shifts his weight away from the railing, and lifts her chin with a delicate knuckle. “Would you care for a sample, dear vixen?” He murmurs, hot and sinful. The nip of her teeth against ruby lips makes his pulse quicken. Maker, how he wants to feel her mouth on his...

As if answering his silent prayer, she closes the gap between them. He kisses her, slowly and thoroughly, wanting to savor and be savored in turn. It’s a delicate dance, maneuvering around their masks – but the decadent slide of her lips on his is more than worth it. When they finally part, she’s pressed up against him once more, her fingers clutching at his lapels, her bosom pooling against his chest. It’s more than enough to make him stir in his trousers, but if she can feel him beneath all the ruffles between them, she gives no sign of offence. Indeed, she seems as reluctant to pull away as he is.

Ash strokes along her jaw, staring down into her eyes, trying to plumb their depths beneath her vixen mask. “Who are you?” He whispers. “I’m certain we’ve met before— but I don’t see how I could have overlooked such an incredible, alluring woman...”

Annabel reflects his softness back with a glowing smile. “Hmmm, well perhaps if you continue to impress you'll get to find out. Take off my mask...” Now it's her turn to run her thumb up his jaw, and skim it over the gold and emerald edge of his disguise as she tiptoes up. “And so much more…” With a whisper her lips ghost over his, soft as rose petals, before they sink deeper into another slow, tantalising kiss.

His taste lingers long after his lips pull away, and already Annabel craves more. Exquisite indeed. She's been left near breathless by a single, slow-burning kiss, her bosom lightly panting against him like something from a romance novel. Perhaps gentlemen did exist, and perhaps so did real romance... Stroking his lapels in her fingers she tries to ground herself, lest she pounce and devour the poor man. There would be plenty of time for that if the twitch of his groin was anything to go by.

The tilt of his head is gentle, as is everything about him, save for the smoulder in his eyes. Dark pools that search hers intensely, trying to solve a riddle but seeming to only become more lost in whatever he finds in her gaze.

Ash hums into the kiss, his hands coming to rest against her hips. He’s panting lightly when they part, his pulse racing with desire. Andraste preserve him, she’s as good a kisser as he is. He closes his eyes for a moment, calming his breath and his heart... and reminding certain other parts of his anatomy who is really in charge. The primal, carnal parts of his brain served his conscious mind, not the other way around.

Opening his eyes again, he peers down at her earnestly, one hand rising to caress her jawline. “Ahh, such a cruel temptress, leaving me to languish in ignorance all evening...” The only thing his soft doe eyes get him, however, is a naughty giggle. His lips twitch in response, despite his best efforts to keep up the playfully mournful facade. “You, my mysterious Lady, are simply delightful. Not to mention delicious...” The husky edge is creeping back into his voice. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me, sweet vixen?”

She bites her lip again, practically purring, and presses even tighter to his chest. “Hmm, I can guess...” A subtle roll of her hips sends a jolt of pleasure down his spine. His breath catches, his grip tightening around her waist.

“Naughty, naughty,” he rumbles. Her wanton noise sends another ripple of heat pooling in his groin. He can feel his control starting to fray at the edges – which meant it was time to diffuse the tension between them.

With a rueful little huff, he disengages from their clinging embrace and returns to a more gentlemanly position by her side. Their wine glasses lay forgotten on the railing beside them; retrieving his, he takes a careful sip to cool down the simmering fire in his veins. “Forgive me, my Lady – it is far too easy to let oneself get carried away, in such an... intimate, exchange. And I have no wish to turn this into a mere tryst. You have me far too captivated for that.” He tips his head to her, smiling warmly.

Annabel returns his smile. She truly hadn't expected for him to be interested in anything more than a simple, albeit, passionate liaison. Impressed once again by his chivalry, by his restraint, she returns to lean herself against the railings, her pose distinctly erotic, from the right point of view: it would take little more than the lifting of her skirts to claim her, scandalously, right here and now.

"I'm very impressed with your restraint Lord Asharion," she casts him a naughty sideways look. "It far exceeds my own, but that's not really saying much. My family is known for being....hot-blooded." She teases him with the tidbit about who it is he's been so enthralled by but doesn't divulge any more.

She takes a sip of wine, trying to clear the haze in her head that had been fueled by the taste of him, by his subtle musky scent and warm embrace.

"Ah! There you are Lord Asharion!" The almost shrill tone of Lady Elizabeth cuts through sultry tension. Annabel gives her new date an irked and weary glance before turning to face the small throng of pastel pinks and purples.

The insult is brazen, as is the women's attempt to physically place herself between Annabel and Asharion. Annabel's lips twitch with a growl, heckles bristling as she bites her tongue, glare flaring with molten heat as the Lady takes Asharion's arm and attempts to actually steer him away! As if he were too precious for the likes of her company. She knows that's exactly what her rival thinks, but she's far too caught out to come back with a witty retort, and far too angry to trust herself to open her mouth.

The butterfly of Elizabeth's mask barely hides her disdain when she spies Annabel, but the three women with her quickly turn their focus onto the handsome Lord as they flock around him. "You left before I could tell you about what happened to Lady Margaret's poor little poodle... Such a horrid affair..." Elizabeth’s eyes flick to Annabel then back to him with a pleasant smile. "It was mauled by a damn mangy fox, of all things! Pesky vermin. A blight to every manor if you ask me, why they can't stay out in the wild where they belong I'll never know."

Annabel appreciates the soft touch and flicks her hair back, radiant and defiant as ever. "Yes, well, I'd rather be a fox over a leashed yappy pet any day. And to be fair, she's usually far worse, she must have been playing nice for you. No doubt I'll be tripped over accidentally or have wine split on me by one of her ever so clumsy minions," Annabel huffs out a growl and spins back to the balcony, anger and hurt all muddling her mind.

“Mind yourself, Lady Elizabeth,” Ash says softly. “You know I have no tolerance for disrespect.” In this, at least, he doesn’t play games. Lady Elizabeth was perfectly lovely on her own, but her manners left something to be desired with a posse in tow. He frowns beneath his mask, glancing at his mysterious vixen. No wonder she hadn’t joined his usual crowd if this is how she was treated. She’s practically radiating hurt and anger. Unacceptable.

Elizabeth pouts, tugging insistently on his arm. It would be a pretty expression, if not for the ugly feelings behind it. “Why, Lord Asharion, you ran off on us! Surely you can’t blame me for being a little put out...”

Ash peels her fingers off his coat, gently yet firmly. “Jealousy does not become you, darling Elizabeth. I don’t recall anyone giving us trouble when it was *you* I ran off with last week, hmm?” She gasps, and glares at him, but he simply stares calmly back, refusing to be baited. With a huff, Elizabeth yanks her hand from his and flounces off. Ash sighs in exasperation. He’d make it up to her later, he supposed.

Then again... perhaps not.

The rest of the little gaggle are dithering, casting uncertain glances between him and their vanished leader. Ash clears his throat, nodding pointedly towards the balcony doors. “Ladies? Unless you’ve anything more to say about my choice of company tonight?”

They scamper off, trailing ribbons and perfume. Asharion scowls after them. “I had thought I kept better company than that,” he huffs. “I hope that little... episode... has not spoiled your evening too badly, my Lady.” Looking sideways at her, he gives an apologetic little bow, a hand pressed to his heart. “If there is anything I might do to make up for such rudeness, of course, you need only ask.”

“You were awfully polite to those, those, jackals, Lord Asharion.” His vixen props a hand on her hip, her stare a challenge – but he can sense the insecurity beneath it. The whole thing is so stupidly unnecessary! It’s hardly the first time he’s been fought over, and it’s always unbearably petty. He sighs mournfully.

“You’re right. Lady Elizabeth’s cruelty did not deserve a gentle response. I make it a point to be polite to everyone— but that does not mean I lend any credence to her cruel words whatsoever. You have just as much right to a place at my side as anyone else.” He might not know who she is, but he knows that much with certainty. He touches her arm, wanting nothing more than to sweep away every trace of lingering upset.

"Corner a vixen like a rat and then complain over being mauled." She shakes her head with another puff, trying to shift the petty irked emotions. Elizabeth really wasn't worth it and she won't let her spoil such a pleasant evening. More than pleasant in fact... Although learning he'd wooed one of her rivals a week ago brings her notion of romance back down to earth a little, he is only wooing her into bed after all.

"She wasn't just saying that because I was by your side, she's been saying things like that since we were knee-high, although "stealing her man" will likely mean I have to make sure I pour my own drinks for a while. She does enjoy spitting in them and subtly letting you know at the most inappropriate moments, yet apparently, I'm the uncivilized one..." She trails off with a sigh. All of this is hardly his problem... Just another day at court. Just another part of the game.

"I'm sorry," Annabel adds finally, playing loosely with her wine glass, before gathering enough courage to look back up at him, eyes hopeful. She may be wearing a mask but they betray her feelings as clear as the summer sky, her truly greatest weakness in a world of lies. "I hope that, well that all this, hasn't deterred you?... I did rather enjoy the taste of you..."

Asharion’s frown only deepens, his eyes going storm-dark as she speaks. Playing the Game was one thing – he’s no stranger to the shifting web of power at court – but this... this was not politics. This was bullying, pure and simple. His heart aches for the vixen before him, so bold and yet so vulnerable, with her soul shining out from behind those sparkling blue eyes. And despite everything, despite being marked as a target, she still had the courage to be bright and brazen and beautiful.

“You have nothing to apologize for, my Lady.” Stepping up behind her, he slips his arms around her waist, encircling her in a light embrace. “Rest assured, I am anything but deterred. If anyone deserves a night of splendor and sweet passion, it is you, dear vixen. I may not be able to make up for a lifetime of petty abuses, but I can very well try.”

The Lady in his arms half turns to melt against him, her head resting on his shoulder, that little spark of hope flaring brighter. He presses his lips to the top of her head, nestling a kiss amidst the dark silk of her hair above the delicate ears of her mask.

“If anything, I should be the one apologizing,” he murmurs. “It seems dear Elizabeth’s pretty face conceals an atrocious lack of nobility— and our dalliance must have only encouraged her. If I’d realized what sort of appalling behavior was going on behind my back, I would have put a stop to it. Or ceased associating with her, at the very least.” He shakes his head, disgusted with the whole situation.

“It’s not your fault either, Asharion.” Her fingers brush tenderly down his lapels once more, comforting rather than seducing, this time. He smiles softly at the sweet gesture, and is rewarded with an answering smile, small but warm. How much he already yearns for that smile... How perfectly she fits in his arms...

Maker, he is well and truly besotted. And he doesn’t even know her name.

“Hmm, perhaps not. But I still intend to make up for it.” Lifting her chin, he favors her with another brief, warm kiss. When he pulls back, the playful sparkle has returned to his eyes. “Hmm, what do you say we show those yapping poodles where a vixen truly belongs?” She cocks her head curiously, and he smiles once more. “Right in the center of court, naturally. Just beside a certain dashing peacock.” He winks outrageously. Her answering giggle makes his heart glow with warmth.

“I like the sound of that, my Lord Peacock. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I was wondering...” Taking a step back, Ash sweeps her an elaborate bow and holds it, one elegant hand raised in invitation. “...If you might honor me with a dance, my Lady?”

Annabel watches his playful and flamboyant actions with a growing fizz of excitement in her blood. The bow, however, breaks out a beaming smile full of unabashed delight as she bounces on the balls of her feet. It's not the correct reaction, she's been schooled long and hard over such matters, but it is her natural one.

"I'd love to, dear Lord Asharion," she takes his hand with perfect poise and elegance as she tips her head in thanks. She had not actually been raised in the wild afterall.

Linking her arm through his, she steps out to match his stride with the distinct clink of her heels and swish of fabric around her ankles. Holding her head high and his arm snuggly, she dismisses the world around them, and any spiteful looks cast her way. The only looks that mattered are the ones he gives, and right now they brim with confidence and smoulder with rekindled desire.

As they take position on the ballroom floor, she finds her hand seems to fit naturally in his and for some unknown reason, it makes her smile fondly. Silly really, to let herself be swept up by romantic notions once more, but she just can't help herself.

"Hmmm... carry on like this Lord Asharion and it won't be long before you earn my name," her naughty smile glitters up at him and she tiptoes up once more so her purred whisper can burn hotly against his ear. "I can't wait to hear it groaned from your lips..."

Asharion had found himself grinning as her excitement had bubbled out of her. It was hardly the usual response, but it was awfully endearing. Her innocent glee then segues smoothly into a true Lady’s refined grace— and from there, descends once more into pure molten sin. She fascinates him like no one else. It’s not just her beauty that’s enthralling him, now; he could easily spend weeks exploring her every sparkling facet.

Not that his purely carnal attraction has diminished. A rich chuckle rumbles in his chest at her sultry murmur; he gives her hip a little squeeze. “Gladly, my wicked vixen— but only once I’ve heard you moaning mine.”

Her eyes gleam up at him within her mask, shining with desire and sparkling with a coy teasing light. “Moaning? Why, my dear Lord Asharion... I expect you to make me *scream* it.”

That startles another chuckle out of him as their dance begins. There’s not much time or breath for banter as they sweep smoothly through the motions, scarlet silk and azure feathers swirling together in perfect harmony. His Lady is a wonderful partner, graceful and athletic, with a dash of cheekiness thrown in: she presses rather closer than is proper, and splays her fingers against his chest instead of resting her hand on his shoulder. He smiles the whole time, more than pleased to share in her joy.

Annabel can’t help but become lost in him, in them, Asharion really is as majestic as he'd always seemed, his timing is perfection, as is every movement he makes, every muscle she feels...

Maker but *he* is perfect. Annabel knows she really shouldn't let herself be so swept away by a dalliance that won't last, but he is impossible to resist. His hands hold and tug her waist to lead the way, firm but fluid, and more importantly, they never slip or fumble. She can just imagine his slender fingers digging into the bare skin of her hips, helping to guide them.

Skin flushed pink, she twirls for him as he spins her around, a flurry of red and gold that sweeps to settle over every tantalizing curve. As he tugs her back, she allows herself to gracefully fall and melt against his chest. Resting in the crook of his neck as the music slows, she nuzzles under his jaw in pure affection, beyond mesmerized. The audience is long forgotten as the dance fizzles out, only registering as applause beings to sound. Remembering they're not as alone as she'd like, Annabel pulls back slightly and reaches up once more to whisper his reward with a delicate kiss peaked against his cheek. "It's Lady Annabel."

The rest of the world had fallen away as she twirled. She’s beautiful. Radiant. How could he have ever overlooked this woman?! It’s maddening. He wants to push back her mask, to see her face... And even more, he yearns to tilt her face to his and kiss her, deeply, passionately, till his arms are the only things holding her upright. But the first would be a betrayal, and the second was impossible in the middle of a crowd. All he can do is hold her close, and hope she sees fit to end the torment of his ignorance soon.

And then she does. Asharion’s breath catches at the gift; he whispers her name, in pure adoration— and then his eyes widen as everything clicks into place. “Lady Annabel... Annabel Dracon Trevelyan?” He stops short of adding ‘Bryan’s little sister’ – *that* would be a disaster from which he would not soon recover.

She’d melted back against his chest as soon as they’d ducked behind the draperies. Her cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes shining like sapphires. “Please,” she whispers back, and so he does.

She nods. Now that he knew, it was obvious... as soon as he stopped looking for the girl she’d been, and started seeing the woman she’d become. He’s staring at her, he realizes; there’s a trace of anxiety in her eyes. He smoothes out his dumbfounded expression, a heartfelt smile taking its place.

“You have grown into a remarkable woman, Lady Annabel. I am privileged to have you at my side tonight.” He caresses her cheek before turning to lead them off the dance floor. Letting the court see them together was suddenly not nearly as important as being alone with her once more: he leads them to a draped alcove in the corner, not quite as secluded as the balcony, but much closer.

“May I kiss you again, dear Annabel?” He has to show her he doesn’t think of her as a child anymore. That she’s opened his eyes at last.

This time, he laces one hand through her hair to cup the back of her head. The other arm wraps tight around her waist. It’s a smoldering, fervent kiss; insistent, but never rough, rich and warm like melted chocolate, like molten sin. Annabel’s hands clasp behind his neck, her back aching as she moans into his mouth. Her breasts are soft and full against him. He could swear he can feel her heart, thundering in her chest...

When her knees go weak, he guides her backwards a step to press her back against the wall, and kisses her some more. The mystery of her had been driving him mad all evening; it was time to return the favor.

Annabel had worried for a moment her name had deterred him. That the connection to her brother, or maybe being several years younger, or even the simple ‘hot’ nature of her blood might have taken the shine off her appeal. As he kisses her though, every trace of anguish is burnt away, dashed by the thunder of her heart and the heat he stokes in her veins.

Clasping at his neck, she gasps with pleasure as he presses her into the wall, beautiful, magnificent man. She feels his fingers dig tight through the many layers, she's crushed between him and the stone and honestly, nothing has ever felt better.

The kiss deepens and flows effortlessly, mouths meeting and melding together, his tongue sliding over hers until she steals a cheeky nip of his lip. The huff of his chuckle only serves to make her more desperate, panting a moan against his lips as she feels him twitch against her. Hitching her leg up, she drags his hips down against hers and his wanton rumble shudders pleasure right down her spine. Damn, he could take her right here against this wall for the whole court to hear and she would gladly drag out his every thrust…

“This is the spot, they said-” a shocked gasp escapes two Lords a mere moment after the drape is partly lifted aside.

Annabel doesn't care, too consumed by her new lover to notice. It seems Asharion, however, has more sense, and pulls away. She let's his lips go but keeps him pinned to her with the firm hold of her thigh. He is going *nowhere*. Panting, flushed and dishevelled, she spies the two Lord's, with hands over gaping mouths, cheeks flushed pink and eyes blown wind by the scene they'd mistakenly uncovered.

“Lord Asharion… I… I… We were just… Just looking for you…”

Ash‘s fingers clench even tighter around her hip. He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a breath, and then turns very slowly to face the intruders. He says nothing, letting his piercing stare do the speaking for him.

“Er, I’m sorry my Lord, we didn’t think you’d be so—“

“Is the ballroom on fire, Lord Gareth?” Asharion doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to. The haughty lift of his chin, his icily crisp diction, and the edge of a growl rippling beneath the words are more than enough.

“N-no! No, wel just—“

Ash’s voice drops further, rumbling in a true snarl. “Then. Get. Out.” In another heartbeat, they’re gone. He turns back to his vixen— to Annabel— both of them still breathing hard from the kiss.

“Now then, where were we?” He smoulders with anger and desire alike, their mingled heat darkening his eyes and deepening his usual purr to a husky growl. Annabel shudders deliciously. He smirks. “Oh yes, I was busy kissing you to within an inch an inch of your life.”

She pulls his mouth back to hers at the same instant he dips his head. Pinning her hips with his, he devours her, drinking in her wanton moans and returning her passion in kind. The kiss is rougher than the last, hotter, but no less heartfelt. Delicious, sinful, magnificent woman...

“Come to bed with me tonight,” he whispers hoarsely against her lips, when at last they break for air, pressed so tightly together it’s impossible to tell whose thundering heartbeat is whose. “I want you, my Lady Annabel, in every possible way...”

Another hot kiss, her hands cupping his jaw, her body crying out for him with every beat of her heart. His request is unexpected, most men would just assume a woman so wanton would fall into their bed. It's sweet and chivalrous- but then again so is he under all the smoulder.

"Hng... yes," she nods, eyes peering up through their golden frame, burning with sincerity, with want. "I want all of you..." her murmur is breathless in the heat between them. Her lips drag over his until she can suck tiny kisses along his jaw, drinking in the scent and taste of him as if he were the finest wine. "Please..." the panted plea is made, hot and wanton, against his ear, her hands now roaming over the lithe muscles of his shoulders as she yearns to explore him, to know him. "Take me."

“Of course,” he rumbles in answer. He sucks hard on her lower lip, and then nips it lightly, chuckling as she moans again. If this is how she sounds when he’s teasing her in an alcove, he can only imagine how fantastically decadent she’ll be in the bedroom. But he wouldn’t have to imagine for long.

Asharion draws back slowly, intending to offer his arm once more, but Annabel clings to his side. He chuckles again, carding his fingers through her tousled hair. “We shall have to walk through the ballroom, my Lady,” he points out. “As much as I enjoy the sight of you like this, I should like to keep it for my eyes alone, not the entire court.”

“Hmm, I could, it’s true.” Catching her hand as she takes his arm, he brushes her knuckles with a kiss. “Some other time, perhaps, but not the first. I am a not-so-secret romantic, at heart.”

She sighs dramatically, but straightens up, tossing her head and smoothing the front of her dress. “You could simply take me right here, my Lord,” she murmurs, eyes glinting, coy and playful. Ash huffs a laugh as he straightens his jacket.

“Would you like me to purr for you, dear peacock?” She murmurs. “To moan…” her fingernails lightly prick into his scalp. “To groan…” her fingers rake through his silken locks which glitter brighter than any mask. “To praise you with every breath… to call your name as I come undone, to blaspheme as you claim me…” her hips rock lightly against his as she speaks.

“So I'm starting to see,” Annabel's eyes may be dark with pooling lust, but they still cradle a gentle warmth for him. “Another time then… hmm it's probably for the best,” she tussles her hair to fall as loose waves. “I'm known to be… hmmm. Rather vocal, when enjoying myself.” Now he gets her smirk once more, one which he returns, his hand lightly stroking her jaw and settling to cup her chin up at him.

“I can imagine…” his words trail off as he gently wipes smeared lipstick from her plump lower lip with the slow drag of his thumb. “I only hope I can make you sing for me, my darling Vixen.”

Her breath, her heart, catch in her chest for a moment, held there by his majesty, by the depth of his smoulder, his eyes almost hypnotic as he gazes at her. Then a tiny smile, almost cheeky, spills onto his lips and brings out her own. Clasping both his cheeks in her hands she doesn't kiss him, instead, she reaches up and nuzzles at his cheek, as any vixen might.

Pulling back ever so slightly, she lets him catch the naughty sparkle in her eyes, eyes which promise all the above and so much more. Inch by inch, she prises herself away, all too eager to peel that mask from him and bask in his beauty, his undivided attention. Slipping her arm through his, she trades an almost innocent sideways glance at him, the perfectly rosy-cheeked Lady once more. “Shall we?”

Ash scrapes his nails lightly down the back of her neck, eyes dark with lust. “If I told you every sweet sound I wanted to draw from you, my wicked temptress, we’d never make it out of this alcove.”

Ash preens at her regard, shaking back his hair with a rippling copper shimmer. But nothing could distract him long from her, not even himself; reaching up, he cups her face between his palms and cocks a brow, asking the same silent question. Annabel’s teeth dimple her full lower lip once more as she nods. Near breathless in anticipation, Ash lifts her mask just as gently as she’d lifted his, setting it carefully aside.

With a great deal of effort, he gathers the scraps of his lordly composure and tips her an elegant nod. They receive a few knowing glances as they weed their way through the crowd. They’re perhaps a little hastier than was strictly proper – but Asharion’s eagerness in such matters was entirely familiar to the court.

Ash leads his Lady up the grand staircase, along tastefully furnished halls to his private quarters. Opening the door for her, he bows and gestures gracefully. “After you, my Lady.”

Annabel is on him as soon as the door clicks shut behind them. Grabbing his jaw, she pulls him down for a hot, urgent kiss; with a purring growl, he wraps his arms around her waist and responds in kind. When they part, panting slightly, she drags her fingers through his hair again, making him hum contentedly. After a few soft moments, she toys with the edge of his mask and tilts her head in question. At his nod, she gently lifts the brilliant enamelled mask away, then pauses to stare, lips curled in an awestruck smile.

He studies her face as if it truly is the first time he’s seeing it – and in a way, it is. The flush of her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes... “You are... so beautiful,” he whispers, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. This time, when he leans in for a kiss, it’s feather-light, sweet and soft with admiration.

Annabel notes how they light up the moment her mask is gone, and although he must say such things to all the women, that doesn't make them feel any less genuine. The softness in the kiss steals her breath away, unexpected, but wholly welcomed. She wraps her arms up around his neck and nudges him into a private slow dance all their own, bodies hugged close as their lips tenderly explore each other. Nothing has ever felt like this, no one has melted her with such ease, no one captivated her so completely. It isn't just his looks or his gentleman's manners, it's the honesty, the sweetness, the softness refined by steel.

Somehow she'd forgotten how beautiful he was. How refined. How elegant. As if he'd been sculpted by hands with exquisite skill, and coloured by the finest artist. The shine of his copper mane, like liquid fire, is almost as mesmerising as those eyes, dark and rich, begging to have their depths explored...

He’s finally free to stare and Asharion’s eyes gleam with erotic anticipation. The dark shimmer of her hair catches his attention, however, and he drags his eyes up, over the bare skin of her shoulders and the smooth line of her neck. A deep, near-silent purr rumbles in his chest as he moves to stand behind her with casual grace.

“Please, my lord, allow me.” With a delicate swivel, Annabel is facing him. Rather than stepping towards him though, she reaches out and tugs on the front of his trousers, pulling him close and making him smirk all at once.

Annabel buries her fingers amidst the ruffles on his shirt and wriggles her hips to settle herself, a naughty gleam in her eyes, and he moans unabashedly. Grabbing the back of her neck, he pulls her down for a steamy kiss. By the time they break apart, she’s tugged his shirt open, baring his lean muscled chest. She drags her nails lightly down that strip of bare skin as she sits up. Running his hands up her bare thighs, he favors her with a sinful smile. “Hmm, it seems now we can begin, darling Annabel...”

“Your wish is my command, my Lady Annabel,” he murmurs huskily. Grasping under her rear, Asharion hitches her up against his hips; with a delighted giggle, she locks her legs around his waist, allowing him to carry her over to the bed. The pressure of her heated core against the bulge in his trousers has him panting by the time he sets her on the mattress, but he has breath enough to chuckle as she clings to his neck, dragging him down on top of her.

He makes for a magnificent sight beneath her, his chest rising and falling in time with her own.

“Not quite,” she grins back, full of delightful mischief, sliding her hands up her own back Annabel arches decadently as she unclasps her bra before tossing it away. The moment she’s free she feels his grip on her thighs tighten slightly. With a flick of her hair, she basks in his undivided attention.

Delicately leaning over him, Annabel splays her hands against his chest. Running her palms slowly down his torso until she reaches the few remaining buttons left of his shirt, with a sharp sudden tug she tears it, popping buttons free to send them flying with a wicked little chuckle.

“Naughty little vixen,” the husky rasp of his reprimand pools heat between her thighs, hot enough to make her fingers curl into his waistband.

“Don't tell me you've not been dying to be set free ever since you first swept me aside, dear, lord Asharion…” her own voice purrs with molten desire, desire that doesn't wait for an answer and instead sees her hand wrap around his cock. He's already wet and so she slides her hand in a long slow pump. Mmmmm, seems every part of him is perfection, including the little strangled gasp he gives at her touch.

Hips bucking in unabashed pleasure, Asharion finds his hands climbing until they are kneading her scrumptious rear. Maker, she is sinfully divine, responding to his every wanton touch with moans erotic enough to make a saint blush.

As his fingers slip to rub over her heat with only thin, damp, panties between them, her eyes close as she shudders over him. He basks in her pleasure as he takes his time, stroking, teasing out little wanton sounds. Glorious woman.

A sharp shot of pleasure shots up his spine, distracting him from all else as she mimics him, palm teasing circles over his tip. A lesser man would have come undone right there and then, the woman, the goddess, over them proving too much erotic sin to bare. Asharion, however, simply moans then chuckles richly. It seems he's met his match…

The warm touch of her is sharply contrasted by a rush of cold air as she tugs his trousers down so he can kick them away. Fingers wrapping around her panties he tugs as he rolls her, releasing a mischievous giggle from Annabel as she squirms free of their confines and settles under him. He can't resist touching her, feeling her wet heat slide along his fingers, imagining how sweet her nectar tastes even as he nuzzles against her curves.

Wet fingers trail over her hips then up to brush circles over pert nipples that harden with every touch. There is one, greedy knead of her chest to fulfil his most basal desires, before his lips descend to lap and suck against that pert little bud. Asharion feels her nails carding through his hair, her moans growing louder as his devotion grows stronger, more earnest and incessant.

Never has a lover absorbed him so, and when she pleads, a panted whimper just for him, he can resist her no longer.

She can't breathe as he enters her, breath hitching with a gasp as he stretches and fills her with a divine glide. Maker preserve her… one time will never be enough... How could it be, when he drives pleasure singing through every nerve with every slow, deep, roll of his hips.

Every pump delivers another ripple of ecstasy that shoots up her spine to release a deep-throated groan from her chest. Needing more, needing all of him, Annabel finds his lips and claims them with her own until she's moaning into his mouth, blunt teeth dragging over his plump lower lip as he pants and increases his speed. Each hit now comes firm and fast, the pleasure too much for her to bear as it surges through her with every rut, every smack of his flesh against hers made in glorious harmony.

Her nails dig into his skin, into the lean muscles of his back and those in his tight, peachy rear as it clenches with every slam. His name spills from her lips, urging him onwards, singing his praises in a way few lovers ever earned. When his mouth crashes over hers, moaning her name with passionate devotion she comes undone around him. Body shuddering as she cries out, a wordless sound borne of pure ecstasy, blinding her to all but the euphoria he sends lurching through her veins.

Another few ruts follow, dragging out the shimmer of pleasure before she feels his muscles clench under her hold, his breath catches then gives way to a deep rumbling groan as he pulses then spills hotly inside her.

Humming softly to herself, Annabel cards her fingers through his damp hair, riding high on a cloud of bliss that renders everything obsolete save for the thunder of his heart against her chest. After a moment, he groans as he seemingly comes too, lifting his gaze to hers, face haloed by fire as his hair tumbles over them both.

“Hmmmm, and how was that, my lady?”

There is a softness to his lopsided smile that matches his tone and Annabel can't help but return it.

“Just as magnificent as you, my Lord,” smile growing she chuckles and presses herself up to peck a kiss against his lips.

Even the most charming can be lost for words. Still recovering in the wake of shared bliss, Asharion can do little more than chuckle at her reply. After a moment of serene smiles, his forehead comes to rest against hers. He brushes a stray lock of hair away from her face, tingling with a glowing warmth, and nuzzles close against her. “Good,” he breathes. His thumb stroking up her jaw is just as tender as the words on his lips. “You deserve nothing but the best, darling Annabel… And I intend to deliver.”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, then don’t forget, Likes, reblogs and comments show love!

#inner-muse #my writing #annabel trevelyan #annabel x asharion #asharion trevelyan #romance #ocs kissing #peacock and vixen #self indulgence #oc kiss week

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martenvankammen · 4 years ago

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A different way of life

Rarely I awaken without finding myself drenched in a cold sweat. Remnants of the past returning to haunt me, following my days within the Imperial Guard. Such horrific memories of war and bloodshed ingrained within my mind that it seems impossible to escape them. I would wager even the most stoic individual would be left with a foul taste upon their tongue at the mere thought of such dreadful sights.

Nothing seems to allow refuge from these dreams with each night a different memory taking hold of my psyche and tormenting me throughout the night. They are so lifelike, that I barely consider them dreams anymore but instead punishment for all I have inflicted upon others. That it simply had become my turn to suffer.

Yet despite being plagued by memories of my former duties, I am now anything but a soldier. Though I remember little of how that part of my life had ended. All I do know is that it was abrupt and brutal. Beyond that it’s all a blur no matter how hard I try to recall.

Now I have a different vocation to fill my days. Instead of cleansing distant worlds of the Imperium’s foes I now do a cleansing of a different sort. Cleaning floors and workshops within my new place of employ. If you could call it employment at least.

Regardless of the lacklustre nature of this work I am thankful for it. I have learned very early on that within this place there are far worse fates one could be subjected to. One could even say I’m thankful for the position.

My beloved wife on the other hand had been granted a more prestigious role among the workers. A position at our employers’ side as an assistant of sorts.

Because of this I am often granted the pleasure of seeing her on the odd occasion. Whenever our employer visits one of the workshops.

That brief sight of her always refills my heart with the strength to continue onward with my work. Although I’m sure anyone would feel renewed if they saw my wife’s beautiful smile.

Honestly, I’m not sure how else I would continue. While I’ve grown accustomed to the hours to some degree, we are always short staffed and the burden of shouldering that will always fall to those that remain. Seeing that wonderful smile however allows me to persevere despite it.

But, I suppose its to be expected to have a constant shortage of workers around here. The level of skill expected of the workers here is rather outrageous with little to no reward in return.

Then again what choice do they have? What choice do I have?

Thus, I simply work the days away with a continuous zeal that was expected from me during my days within the Imperial Guard. All in order to make sure I can witness that smile another day.

Yet today there was no smile to soothe me, as my wife was absent at our employer’s side.

I had considered asking where she was out of curiosity but thankfully stopped myself from doing so.

Anyone that works here quickly learns that it’s better not to bother the higher ups with mundane questions and it would be dreadful to get my beloved into trouble because of a little curiosity.

While I worked my way through the halls however something had caught my eye. Something that wasn’t there before on a particular wall. It was shocking to say the least and I had found my answer to my wife’s absence.

There she was, framed for all eternity with the very smile that was so endearing to me. It would seem the mistress of this place had chosen her to added to this wall filled with the faces of employees.

Before I knew it tears flowed freely across my cheeks. I was overwhelmed with emotion, wondering if I’d ever be added to it myself.

Unfortunately, I could not linger any longer. Idle hands are frowned upon by my employer and it did not take long for someone to call upon me to clean a mess. A particular mess in a workshop I wished they had left for someone else to clean.

Another day had passed without witnessing my beloved’s smile.

When my employer wandered passed me in the hall, I couldn’t help but expect my wife in tow yet no one followed. It surprised me how much the lack of her presence affected me. To the point where I had caught myself staring blankly into nothingness during my duties. A nasty habit I could ill afford.

Anxiety was taking hold of me merely thinking about the entire situation. Fearing that it would ultimately cost me my position here.

So, in a bid to alleviate the fears that weighted my heart I found myself back at the wall my wife’s visage was placed. Just to get a glimpse of her.

I couldn’t help but ponder on how strange it may have looked to the other workers in passing. But in the end, I cared little anymore. It was the only way to cull the pressure which had taken hold of me. And soon I found myself at that wall every day, looking at the smile of my beloved.

Yet it held nothing compared to the genuine thing. This framed smile felt hollow despite its perfection.

Still, I felt drawn to it. The hollow smile was enough to sustain my resolve and soothed the weight which had been brought on by my wife’s absence.

Soon days had turned to weeks and without even realizing a month had passed with my wife absent eventually turning my quirky routine into a dependence I could no longer bear without. Today was no different of course. I had slinked away from my duties to meet with my beloved’s eternal smile.

“She is such a lovely addition is she not?” A whisper in my ear from someone I had not noticed until the very first tone reverberated into my ear. My heart skipped a beat and my body felt frozen in time.

That sultry voice was familiar to me. It was a voice I had heard countless times before but never had it struck so much fear into my very being. There was no need see who had uttered those words to me in such a manner because it could only be one individual.

She was the one who had placed my wife’s face upon that wall. But despite her words. Her focus was not on me in the slightest. instead, she was enamoured with her own creation.

“So many wonderful emotions captured for all eternity. Each emotion a perfect representation of what they stand for. Allowing anyone to savour them whenever they wish. Do you agree?” I found myself nodding without even realizing, my body no longer my own. Fear had overtaken it and forced me into submission. Her voice devoid of any malice or threats had already reduced me into such a state. No, her mere presence already accomplished that on its own.

“This is the one you covet so dearly is it not? Tell me, have I captured her smile perfectly?” My stomach churned when she asked that question, knowing she did not care in the slightest for my answer. Her cruel smile left no doubt regarding that facade.

Never had I witnessed such a venomous expression during all my years. My instincts shouted at me over and over, telling me that this Drukhari woman beside me was simply a predator waiting for the signal to devour me. Yet I knew staying silent would grant me a fate far worse.

“Yes, my mistress. There is nothing quite as beautiful as her smile.” I hadn’t cried since that first time I saw my beloved’s face among the others on that wall. But to confirm the atrocity this wretched woman had inflicted upon her as beautiful, tore my very soul apart.

But I had spoken the truth on the matter. Nothing could compare to the beauty that was my wife and it pained me knowing her very soul was bound in that wall for all eternity. Forcing to smile in the same way she comforted me in this hellish place. This monster had twisted it and perverted that smile and all I could do was to selfishly use it to keep myself sane.

My self-loathing however was interrupted by another question from this serpent disguised as a Drukhari woman.

“Do you hate me for what I did to her Mon’keigh? Despise me for it? Or do you find my work as tantalizing as I do?” Despise? Hate? Those words felt lacking to what I felt for this monster who had done unspeakable things to my beloved. And here she was taunting me about it, expecting something from me. Yet then I came to a realization. Why haven’t I struck her? Killed her? I should be at this woman’s throat yet here I am frozen in fear.

In the corner of my eye however, I found my answer. This monster was gleefully enjoying every moment of my turmoil. As if she was feeding of the suffering that enveloped me in this very moment.

Why can I not attack her? All I want right now is to rip her throat out and take vengeance for the love of my life yet any desire to do so is snuffed out each time!

“You still have not realized have you Mon’keigh?” My eyes widened at the realization of it all. She knew exactly what thoughts were gripping me so tightly beyond her mere presence.

“Why can’t I harm you?” Not the words my mind had conjured yet it was all that could escape my lips

“Because I took it away from you, just like I took this smiling creature before us away from you.” How could I be so foolish to think this nightmarish place couldn’t take anything they wanted. The fool I was.

She had castrated my ability to exact any aggression upon her. Leaving it to fester within my mind for as long as possible. But why? I can’t fathom why one would do such a thing just for the sake of it.

It was a question only she held the answer too.

All I knew she was savouring every moment of it. No, that was an understatement.

The suffering I had endured was a pleasure to be savoured in her eyes.

Sorrow, anger, confusion and fear mixed into a delicate cocktail for her own consumption. It was in this moment that I knew why she was called an artisan among her people.

When I finally snapped back to reality she was gone and I hadn’t even realized. It felt like hours had gone by leaving me there in a daze once that monster had been sated by my grief.

My beloved was still there eternally smiling upon me even in this pathetic state even though deep down I knew she would be disappointed in me.

No, that would be an insult to her very being. She would have understood and comforted me.

I miss her…

My heart can take only so much yet I fear I cannot even take my own life anymore. Is it even my own life anymore?

I should return to my duties for now. There are far worse fates in store for those who do not work.

#warhammer #drukhari #warhamer 40000 #warhammer 40k #story #short story

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cavalier-life · 5 years ago

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Before Corellia

Art by @soddingcloudgazer (And I cannot thank her enough for it.. It’s my phone background and I am so in love with how it turned out!)

Short companion fic beneath the cut.

Dignity. Decorum. Duty. These were the ironclad watchwords that Malavai Quinn valued, and normally, he found them quite easy to maintain. Walking into the rarified air of a party, however, at which Dark Council members would be in attendance? That was somewhat challenging.

Doing so on the arm of the Twi'lek at his side, herself a Sith of some growing influence and power in the Empire, and newly his wife? Even more difficult.

Social gatherings such as these had always been far beyond the scope of someone like him, and he had never imagined that situation would change. In particular, not once he'd been buried on Balmorra, unlikely to advance in rank or ever be transferred to a more desirable post. Even Baras' indifferent patronage had done little to change his prospects, until the ambitious Sith's fiery Lethan apprentice had burst into his office with a personality as bold as the rare crimson hue of her skin.

His eyes sought out his wife's presence as she circulated in the room. Her black dress clung to her body in graceful folds, the high front slit revealing tantalizing glimpses of one long bare leg when she took a step. A low V neckline showed the black Sith tattoos marking the skin of her throat, several of which he knew were freshly inked and still tender beneath the caress of the silky fabric. Long cream sleeves cut in generous trailing bells enveloped her arms, revealing only the slender, strong hands he'd seen so often gripping a lightsaber hilt in battle, and black embroidery in the shape of exotic flowers bloomed down her arms to her wrists. A glimmering silver headband graced her forehead, artistically designed with elegant flowers that shimmered with a fine jeweled dust. It was a perfect frame, he thought suddenly, for her striking, tattooed features.

Quinn had never thought that she would love him, marry him. And the way that he felt when he was with her, he'd never imagined anything like that, either. The price he'd paid for Baras' protection had always seemed so insignificant. What could it hurt to accept, if it saved his career from further damage? Now, he knew all too well exactly how that decision could destroy everything that his life had become since setting foot on the Fury.

Selirah was talking to a Moff and several ranking Sith, and he could hear her husky, amused laugh at something one of them said to her. It'd taken him a while to realize that her icily perfect Kaas City Imperial accent was practiced; a flawless imitation of the people she'd been surrounded by in the Academy on Korriban, and during her apprenticeship on Dromund Kaas. His wife was a talented mimic. She'd amused the crew often with her mocking impressions of stuffy officials on the various worlds they'd been sent to on her Master's errands, but now he knew that she'd developed the skill as a defense, so that she would fit in to the stratosphere she now occupied. He'd been guilty of judging her based on her species at first.. there was no point in pretending that he hadn't. It was just another moment of shame that he'd buried as deeply as possible, even though he was sure that she knew what he'd thought of her in those early days.

His face must have given away something of his thoughts. A crimson-skinned hand touched his arm, fingers resting lightly on the fabric of his dress uniform's sleeve. “A credit for your thoughts, Malavai?” she asked in a quiet tone meant for only his ears.

“They are hardly worth that much, my lord,” Quinn answered, his guilt evaporating under the warmth of her smile. “You are overpaying.”

Selirah shook her head in playful refusal, her lekku gracefully shifting down her back with the movement. “You are here in your capacity as -husband- and guest, Malavai, not as an officer. I forbid another 'my lord' from leaving your lips for the rest of the evening. There are far better uses for them, in my opinion.” Her eyes caught the flush of color rising in his pale cheeks, and she laughed delightedly at the sight of his obvious chagrin over the slip and her flirtatious response before leading him to a quiet area at the side of the room. “I will count each and every transgression, I assure you.”

Daring greatly, Quinn drew Selirah closer to him, watching her violet gaze lift to meet his eyes. Her smile softened affectionately, and he cupped her face with his hand, regretting the necessity of gloves when he wanted so badly to feel her skin against his. “You look beautiful,” he told her, then added with a sly smile, “my lord.” He watched the laughter fill Selirah's eyes at his final words, and ignored the elite surroundings and powerful party guests in favor of kissing his wife with all the passion that he felt for her.

Decorum could wait.

#swtor #swtor fanart #sith warrior #malavai quinn #star wars #twi'lek #soddingcloudgazer #cavalier-life remembers how to write #and it's 100 percent about being inspired by cloudgazer's amazing artwork #cannot say enough good things about commissioning her <3 #check her out!#thank you!#OC: Selirah #Selirah x Quinn #before the Quinncident #happier times #omg I haven't written in so long ;)

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plagueofchaos · 5 years ago

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Ich tu dir weh - Metalhead Vincent Sinclair X Reader - Pt. 2

I’m sorry this is going up late. I was having an internal struggle with how to handle certain parts <3 I hope you enjoy, let me know if you do. Expect part 3 soon.

Lips crashed together once more. Y/N’s tongue was driving him mad with playful flicks and twirls around his own. Vincent lost himself in the taste of mint and though he wasn’t an amateur by the grace of a few hot Halloween nights and some sticky mardi gras fumbling thanks to creative masks, he felt like a stumbling virgin with Y/N. Where do put hands? Put hands here? Yes, good.

He wanted them to enjoy him more than anything in the world. He wanted them to want him again and again. Vincent Sinclair wanted Y/N to crave him. He wanted to be seared into their memory like they would be into his.

He softly suckled their bottom lip before breaking apart to gulp down air while running his hands up under their hoodie and tattered band shirt. He paused for a moment after feeling something odd. He tilted his head leaning back while bunching the material of their shirt up to see if they were wearing what he thought they might be. He found himself correct, a fishnet body stocking taunted him underneath.

Vincent’s eye went wide as his hands ran down the fabric covering their soft stomach, threading his fingers through the little openings to sink his fingertips into plush love handles with a poorly suppressed smile.

“Mmn, Vincent…” They let out a little snicker at his reaction as they watched his silent giddiness. He hmm’d at their little mewl of his name while moving in to trail wet kisses and smatters of black and white paint down from their lips to the curve of their jaw. They wrapped their arms around his neck and pressed themselves flush against him.

He loved how they felt. So warm and real. He could feel the blood pumping beneath soft skin. Hot flesh willingly surrendering to his hands like wax ready to be shaped. His hands explored every curve and round of their torso while his lips ghosted over the pulse point in their neck. Vincent’s teeth caressed the quivering flesh asking for permission which he received with a heady “Please.” from Y/N.

He bit down tepidly at first, a dull thump of pain shooting through his jawline as he gingerly increased the pressure, his teeth to bring bruises blooming to the surface of their skin while a sweet moan brought white hot sensations to his mind making everything, but them disappear into a fog. He shivered as their nails softly clawed at the back of his scalp and neck. A gentle mantra of expletives escaping their lips as his tongue soothed his mark until he was forced back by the pain in the right side of his face.

“Get this fucking hoodie off me.” Y/N growled fighting with their clothing. Vincent was all too happy to oblige helping pull the offending garment off over their head. He heard it slap against the mirror, but was much more interested in the feeling of his hands cascading over the fishnets that enveloped Y/N’s soft body. He ran his fingers over every inch of teasingly covered skin he could find. Something about being able to only get a fleeting idea of their luscious skin was driving him to nearly salivate.

Vincent staggered a bit when they began tugging his jacket off, but let them with a shaky breath. He usually left his clothes on, as many layers as he could, but something about this made him want to feel. Like they were safe to feel. They’d been nothing, but kind and gentle so he could trust them to get closer than the others couldn’t he?

They’d kissed him and not run screaming when they felt his exposed teeth against their lips or thrown up when their tongue had slipped in his mouth for a moment and felt what was missing that shouldn’t be. He could fool himself into thinking they’d accept the rest of him for a little bit longer.

His sweater was being lifted up before he really registered Y/N’s hands had been at it. He was desperately trying to get his jumper and undershirt off when they grabbed him by the hips and began kissing their way up from his navel to his neck nearly causing him to drop from a corenary on the spot.

He slung his clothes onto the counter jerking turning his head to hide his face once more with his greasy hair while their hands began trailing up his bare back to trace scars and muscle alike with reverent fingers. He shivered finding himself in a shockingly helpless state as their hot tongue made his constantly tense shoulders relax with a single long lick along his clavicle to the curve of his neck.

“I knew there was something yummy hidden under that silly sweater, but goddamn Vinny.” He stared at them in shock. Him? Yummy? They sounded so enraptured when they said it too... He was shaken from his surprise by little teeth repaying him for his earlier nibble. Y/N left a lovebite right over his heart mumbling something about him having a “dad bod” before pulling off their ratty t shirt and whipping it to join the rest like it had offended them in some way leaving them standing with nothing covering their chest but that endearing yet somehow also infuriating fishnet bodysuit.

Vincent leaned away slightly when they reached out to him, but stopped himself. Determined to trust them, wanting to so desperately be close to their kindness. They twirled a lock of hair from his good side around their finger then smiled so sweetly as they pulled him gently in for a chaste kiss before taking his hand in theirs to caress their chest giving wordless permission.

Muscle memory seemed to take over for Vincent, he knew the human body like a religious man knew holy texts. Kneading sweet flesh with a gentle hand he ran his fingers down the curve of their waist to tangle his fingers in their baggy pants.

He had been attempting to pull them closer, but when he began to pull several loud pops made him freeze for a moment, “Easy there, Tiger, my-” but only a moment. Their pants had snaps and with one vicious jerk Vincent had them off like he’d pulled a tablecloth out from under fine china. Y/N let out a loud squeak when he did it too, eyes so wide and precious as they watched him toss the trousers haphazardly onto the pile.

“Whoah.” He tilted his head slightly looking them over to make sure he’d not gone too far. “Wow.” Was all they said before pulling him into a desperate kiss by his hair making him moan against them while they stumbled back into the wall.

He pinned them in place like a butterfly against a display with their hands over their head to keep them from pulling his hair to save himself from anymore obscene noise making if only for a moment to try to regain some semblance of self control. He did not find it so easily, his eye locked with the panting figure beneath him only managing to look away to watch the line of saliva between them break when he pulled away to get a better look at them.

Y/N was so deliciously flushed, face a tantalizing shade of cinnabar even though they had been wearing a pair of tiny black shorts under the snap pants. Maybe he wasn’t fooling himself? Vincent found himself relishing it, the faintest idea of being able to drive someone as wild as they drove him.

He kissed them once, twice, a third time making them whimper then remorsefully left their lips to begin inching his way down their body with his lips letting their wrists go with some trepidation. He paused for only a moment to nip at their belly button then earning a wince and a giggle that made him smile slightly.

He paid them back for their kindness on his knees like a sinner seeking penance by worshiping their gorgeous thighs and hips with his mouth in spite of the chronic pain. Running his tongue down the iliac crest to their low stomach. They wiggled against him ticklish and flustered, but not unwanting. Vincent glanced up at them as he slid his hands up their shins around their knees and up into the legs of their shorts giving them a little ‘May I?’ head tilt. They nodded enthusiastically already kicking their shoes off.

He didn’t even bother adding them to the pile, the shorts were abandoned on the floor with Y/N’s shoes the moment they hit the ground. All of Vincent’s attention focused on leaving hickies and lovebites on now nearly bare thighs and hips. “Jesus Christ, fuck!” They bucked and jerked against and away from him as he took advantage of the most rarely touched flesh that set even the most jaded loins aflame. The curve of the hip bore his mark, the crease where leg met hip, nothing was sacred or safe from him. At last he wasn’t the one making shameless noises. Y/N was absolutely profane. Moaning and mewling with their hands covering their face.

He hissed at the goddamn fishnets, it had a modesty panel keeping him from what he craved the most and threw his head back sending chocolate tresses flying in his haste to taste more flesh trying to get his hair out of his eye then nearly threw up as the panic struck like an arrow in his breast.

He’d made a fatal mistake. He’d uncovered his face. His entire face. There wasn’t just quick glimpses of the horror now. He stared up on gap mouthed terror quickly letting go of Y/N’s hips. His chest clenched tightly as if it was trying to protect his heart in preparation for the rejection that always came. They stared for a moment with only a fleeting hint of shock on their face then smiled and whispered ”Der Körper schon total entstellt. Egal erlaubt ist was gefällt.”

His hand slipped into his boot as he rose to meet Y/N in a soft kiss, it was a sweet thing. A heart crushingly pure thing. Then they did something not even his mother had ever done. They leaned down and pressed a kiss into the fissure that consumed the right side of his face. An inch below where his eye should have been. If it caused him any pain he didn’t register it in the moment, he’d feel it for the rest of his life in more than one way. Right then, the moment their lips touched his ruined flesh, he belonged to them heart and soul.

The sound of scissors opening drew their eyes. “Vince?” He smiled, it made his eye twitch, but it was a very genuine one. ‘Trust me.’ it said.

Vincent rose slightly pressing his forehead to theirs easing the scissors between their legs. They jumped at the cold steel taking quick breaths and shivering against him. Eyes locked as he pulled the fabric away from them with the blade. The sound of the scissors shearing through the fishnets would be a hymn in his mind forevermore. Y/N gasped softly arching their back and biting their lip, knees buckling slightly. “Oh fuck me.” He was planning on it.

They were in some fuzzy wonderland, not even flinching when the scissors clattered to the ground, until their ass bumped against the bathroom sink making them jump to attention. The whole room began to shake, but it wasn’t because of any spotty plumbing, a band had begun to play above the lovers. Vincent stole a kiss from his partner as they looked up at the ceiling trying to figure out who it was before kneeing once more.

“Wait, wait.” He stilled looking up at Y/N very obviously concerned he’d done something wrong while spreading their legs. “Links, it’s Links two three four, we’re missing Rammstein.” ‘Au contraire.’ Vincent thought hoisting one of their thighs onto his shoulder, he had the best seat in the house and it was very safe to say he wasn’t missing a thing pride and lovelust burning in his brain upon seeing how he saw how ready they were. Even their thighs were soaked.

He went to raise their hips to a better angle, but was met with “Oh no no no! Don’t try to lift me up like that, I’m too big.”

They laughed in such a disgusting self deprecating way. He hated it. His eyebrow slowly rose, an ‘Oh really?’ look etched across what face he had. Vincent was many things, but weak was absolutely not one of them and as of that little remark he had more than one point to prove.

He shot up with a hoarse, but determined roar, lifting Y/N with a bruising grip so they were forced to sit on his face. “Oh fuck me!” They screamed grabbing a handful of his dark hair with one hand while the other ruined it’s pretty black nails clawing at the ceiling, scratching the tacky popcorn overspray off before tangling their paint stained fingers in the crystals of the little bathroom chandelier.

A painful grin making the ruined side of his face burn as he continued to eat out their delicious cunt as he watched her scramble.

His face was screaming, it felt like someone was shoving a white hot brand against his flesh as his tongue dragged over their clit and cunt. His swollen lips suckled and pressed kisses into sensitive flesh while the sweet sounds and half screamed stuttering pleading of “Don’t stop, don’t stop! Please for the love of God! Don’t stop!” drove him on and made ignoring the chronic pain fathomable.

He’d have been more concerned about said screaming if Rammstein wasn’t shaking the entire building. Higher and higher their pitch soared while they pulled his hair nice and hard driving any and all thoughts from his mind besides ‘Fuck yes, pull it. Harder! HARDER’, thighs trembled with every stroke of his tongue until “F-fuck, Vincent, I’m going to- OH God!” They came on his face grinding their hips down onto his tongue. He groaned happily into their core licking them clean with tender loving care, leaving one last kiss before gently easing them down onto the the pile of clothes on the bathroom counter. “Holy shit.” They rasped bringing a hand up to their chest trying to catch their breath.

Vincent smiled serenely down at them quite proud of himself unable to stop staring at the mostly grey now face paint he’d left behind on their legs and stomach, tilting his head slightly unsure if they were going to be alright now that he’d made his point clear. “Oh no,” They held their hand up showing him a light fistful of his hair. “I’m sorry.”

#vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #house of wax #mhv #horror #slashers

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